Deadly Captive (9 page)

But how to get Joe to go along with it?

"Joe, you're the one who told me you'd do it if you had to." I kept my eyes on his face, even after he'd turned it so I could only see his profile.

His eyes showed how tired he was. "I said I'd do it to save her life. I don't think they'll kill her."

Mary frowned at him. "You don't
think
they will? Wow. That's reassuring."

Joe reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her to face him. "Do you know what Lydia's suggesting, Mary?" He gestured to the food. "They only give meals like this when they want us to be fit to feed from. The last time they came, they didn't just feed. They—" He glanced at me, then bowed his head. "Lydia wants me to . . . make it a little easier for you."

Mary had no idea what he was talking about. Passing over his vague implications, she went right to his first remark. "Feed?

"Stop avoiding the issue. You're not as clueless as you like to pretend." Joe gave her a little shake. "Why do you think Lydia asked if you were a virgin, then looked at me? We might be pleasant company, but I've no doubt you know our wardens aren't monks."

Mary shook her head, desperately grasping for ways to avoid the reality that Joe was trying to make her see. "It's the food, isn't it? I was freaked out because I was thinking of my mother and how she used to make that—" She pointed at the bowls.

"She made it for me 'cause it was always my favorite. But it means something else, doesn't it?"

Shaking his head, Joe pulled Mary into his arms. "Mary, please."

Mary wrenched away from him, eyes burning with rage. "No! You guys are in love! I'd have to be blind not to see it! I can't! No, I won't do that!"

With that, she walked away from him to the corner of the room farthest from the bed, braced her back against the wall, and then slid down. Hugging her knees to her chest, she began to cry. "Let them do what they want."

Joe and I exchanged a look. Drawing in a deep breath, Joe gave a curt nod. I watched him go to her.

The stark whiteness of his flesh against her dark golden brown seemed to accentuate how much bigger he was. The grim lines on his face, strained with regret and concern, made her youth much more apparent.

Only once had her age been brought up. She was eighteen. Hard to believe, but Joe's strange tests had proved it. The rapid fire of questions, sprung at her from the moment she'd made the claim, tended to make her grumpy. Finally satisfied when she'd recited the numbers for her driver's license, social security number, and visa, and somehow knowing how to identify her birthday among the numbers, Joe dropped the issue. It made me feel very old.

There was no way I could be just a year older than Mary. Her fresh-faced innocence felt like something left so far behind. Even without my memories, there was an edge to me, a conditioning from having truly lived. Mary lacked it; she had the air of someone sheltered, which explained Joe's hesitation. Not only was he much older than Mary, but there was no way to ignore the age difference as he did with me. With me, he could assume I could take as much as I could give. With Mary, he wasn't sure if she could take anything at all. She was not a child. Still, she needed the tender care of one.

Cheeks streaked with tears, Mary looked at Joe when he traced his fingers along her jaw. She shook her head. Joe caught her chin in his hand, pulling her up to him, silencing her protest with a kiss.

I felt like a sick voyeur, but I couldn't look away. Joe was good, and Mary didn't stand a chance with the full power of his seduction aimed her way. A loud moan left her as he deepened the kiss, and her fingers wrapped around his forearms, as she unconsciously clung to him, lost to sensation.

Joe dived into the opening. Lifting her up without interrupting his gentle assault of her mouth, he carried her to the bed.

I moved then and decided to distract myself with a hearty helping of whiskey, which I'd developed a taste for, and the delectable meal that was now growing cold.

Seated at the table, my back to them, I tried to ignore the sounds they made.

Scrapping the spoon noisily against the bowl, I tried not to hear the distinct sound of the sheets, or the bed springs. I focused on chewing, pretending not to hear the little gasps Mary was letting out. I phased out the whispers and the squeaking of the mattress.

But I couldn't ignore the way my hand shook every time I brought the spoon to my mouth. Finally, I gave up. Setting down the spoon quietly, I grabbed the bottle of whiskey and went to the bathroom, careful not to slam the door.

Gulping down as much as I could, without choking, I turned all my focus to finishing off the whiskey. One hand braced on the edge of the sink, I tried to remember the words in my dream that had seemed so easy to follow before. Emotion, balance . . . .

I couldn't find either. Tilting the bottle back, I drained it to the last drop. My breath came hard and fast. A scream sounded from the room, a scream of pleasure. My grip tightened around the bottle, and, before I could stop myself, I smashed it against the sink. One sharp sob left me, only one. My strength returned in time to keep me from falling apart.

At my broken sob, all went silent. I bowed my head and cursed as the broken end of the bottle cut into my palm. Letting it fall, I braced both hands on the edge of the sink. I could feel blood, wet and warm on the cool porcelain. I swore again and lifted my hands to see the bloody mess I'd made.

I soon saw it for the blessing it was. Tearing two long strips from the bottom of my makeshift dress, I wrapped one around my hand, tucking the end under to keep it in place. Wetting the other cloth, I cleaned up the blood.

The sink was shining by the time I finished. The only soap I had was the small, white bar we did all our washing with, but with enough scrubbing, it did the job. The toilet and the floor were also spotless. Once I'd wiped everything down, I picked up each and every shard of glass and wrapped it in the bloodstained cloth.

Out of excuses for hiding in the bathroom, I knew it was time I go out and face them. We all had to find a way to deal, before
they
came and made what each of us was feeling now seem trivial.

Opening the door slowly, I looked around. Joe was sitting at the table, his head in his hands, bent over. Just the sight of him sitting there, looking broken by what he'd been forced to do, made me want to assure him it all could be forgotten. I wanted to tell him it was okay, tell him that he'd done the right thing.

Mary was on the bed, curled in a little ball, face pressed against her knees, blanket covering up to her chin like a frightened child. I wanted to tell her, too.

I didn't get a chance to say a word to either of them.

The door opened. Joe stood. Mary sat up. I stayed where I was. Cyrus stood in the doorway, looking us all over. Several people crowded the hallway behind him.

"Good evening, Lydia. Joe." Cyrus smiled at Mary and took a step toward the bed. Mary slid back and cringed when he reached out to her. "Mary, my sweet. Are you all right?"

Mary nodded quickly. "Yes. I'm fine. I'm good. How are you?"

Cyrus's smile never wavered. He took a seat on the edge of the bed and patted the space at his side. Mary shot a look at Joe, then at me. Dropping her eyes, she shifted forward, cheeks flushed and shoulders bowed as she sat next to Cyrus.

Cyrus caught a slick braid between his finger and thumb, sliding his fingers down slowly. Mary stiffened.

Joe stepped forward. "Leave her alone!" The way his fists clenched at his sides convinced me he was going to take a swing at the omnipotent man.

Cyrus rolled his eyes and waved Joe back. "Sit down, Joe. I'm not going to hurt her."

Chrissie, the woman who'd fed from Joe the first time I'd been exposed to these people, was suddenly standing behind him. Joe jumped at her touch, pivoted around, and then stepped back. His teeth ground together audibly as he bowed his shoulders like a wolf with his hackles raised.

One of the men who had restrained me for Cyrus grabbed me when I moved toward Joe.

Chrissie laughed. "If you don't want to sit, Joe, I'm sure I can think of other things for us to do. Somewhere more private."

"That's an excellent idea, Chrissie. Perhaps we should all find our own privacy."

Cyrus looked from me to Joe. "Unless you're willing to cooperate?"

Joe sat. The man holding me released me and extended his arm toward the second chair. I went to it and sat as well. I hadn't missed Cyrus's cryptic warning. I knew Joe wasn't doing this for himself, any more than I was. There was little we could do to spare Mary any more suffering. But we'd do what we could to keep from adding isolation with Cyrus to the torment.

"Lydia seems to have injured her hand, Bruno. Can you tend to it while I pour us all a drink?" Cyrus reached under the bed and pulled out a bottle of rum even as he spoke. He smirked at me as he brought it to the table. I wanted to laugh. Did he really think, after all that had happened, I would care that he'd force me to drink the one liquor I couldn't stand?

The man Cyrus called Bruno pressed a damp cloth to the cuts on my palm and I winced. He closed my hand over the cloth, his dull brown eyes showing concern.

"I've got some ointment—should help with the pain." He twisted the cap off a small tube with his teeth, then bared my palm to smear the ointment on it. The pain dwindled as he bandaged the wounds. "There you go."

My eyes narrowed at his show of kindness. He smiled and straightened.

"You're welcome," he said.

Another man came in, setting down a glass for each of us on the table. The man hesitated, glancing from me to Cyrus. I held my breath, not sure what the look meant.

Did Cyrus have something special in store for me?

Cyrus waved the man away. "Not tonight, Duke." He gave me another smirk.

This one was more effective. "Maybe next time."

I took the glass Cyrus filled and handed to me, drained it quickly, not tasting the rum, and set it down, frowning at the floor when he laughed and refilled it. He left Joe, Chrissie, and Bruno to serve themselves and brought a glass to Mary.

"Have you ever had rum my dear?" He waited for her to shake her head and then pressed the glass on her. "Try it. It has a rich, sweet taste. Warms one up on the coldest of days."

Mary accepted the glass, but she made a face at it when she did, sniffing it once before tugging her lip between her teeth, and gazing up at Cyrus. "I don't like drinking.

I got really sick the last time I did."

The genuine sympathy in Cyrus's expression threw me off guard. "I understand, darling, but you must. What I'm going to do will have some rather unpleasant aftereffects if you don't."

Mary took a sip, accepting his explanation, but too curious not to know more.

"What are you going to do to me?"

Cyrus gave her a gentle smile. "Nothing horrible. It's rather hard to explain.

You'll find you quite like it once the surprise passes."

I opened my mouth, wanting to warn her. Bruno put his hand on my arm and squeezed, bending down and speaking low so only I could hear. "One word, Lydia. One word and you will all suffer much more than Cyrus plans. You wanted to spare her pain? Keep your mouth shut."

My eyes watered at the pain in my arm, but I nodded. I didn't trust that we all wouldn't suffer in any case, but, if my silence would hold it off a little, then I wasn't about to break it.

I saw Chrissie whispering to Joe as well and assumed it was the same warning.

By the hardening of his jaw, he had come to the same conclusion.

We both watched as Mary drained one glass after another. Once the third was finished, Cyrus took her glass from her and calmly brought it to the table. When he returned to her side, he put his arm around her, moving her hair from her neck. Power hung thick in the air as he met her eyes.

"Tilt your head, Mary."

Without question, she tilted her head, baring her neck to him. Cyrus pulled her closer, then pressed his lips to her throat.

"This will only hurt for a second." He breathed against her.

It was fascinating to watch, so much so I couldn't tear my eyes away. Cyrus was still handsome when he bared his fangs and eased them into her flesh. I had been expecting a warped monster, having paid little attention to his face or Chrissie's the last time they'd come for feeding. The monstrous features of Hollywood depictions were absent. The only things that marked these creatures as other than human were the teeth and the power.

When Cyrus opened his eyes, he fixed them on me even as he sucked. His perfect blue eyes were glowing with light, a light that shone against Mary's skin, illuminating her obvious pleasure. Obvious, but I didn't get it. I hadn't felt any pleasure when Cyrus had ripped into my flesh.

I wasn't given much time to think on it. Bruno leaned over me, and I felt his breath, stirring the hair on my neck before he bit down. I closed my eyes as he fed. It was pleasant. Very pleasant. I shifted in my chair as my body reacted as though he was sucking somewhere else entirely.

Bruno withdrew and put his hand on my knee. "Tell me you want me, Lydia."

I closed my eyes and shook my head. "No."

His hand moved up, stroking my inner thigh. I couldn't stop him when he dipped his hand under my skirt. His thumb touched my clit, and he circled it, breathing hard against my cheek. "He just fucked her, Lydia. Would it be so wrong for you to find your own pleasure?" He slipped his fingers into the wet folds of the body that betrayed me. "Cyrus doesn't want you raped, not now. He doesn't want to scare the little girl."

My body clenched around the two fingers he inserted, and I leaned back against him.

"Say 'yes', and he never needs to know. I promise, you won't regret it."

He kissed my throat, and I whimpered. For some ridiculous reason, I wanted him to bite me again. It felt so nice. "Please."

"Please what, Lydia? If you want me to bite you again, I will. Just let me have you. I want to bury my rock hard dick in this tight—" He pushed his fingers in deeper.

"Wet—" He pulled them out, then shoved them back in. I shifted my hips to make it a little easier for him. "Pussy."