Demon's Kiss (29 page)

Reaper was nowhere in sight, nor was Vixen.

Surging to his feet, he raced to the door, yanked it open wide.

“Seth?” Roxy's sleepy voice came to him, and he heard her getting up. “What's up, kiddo? What's going on?”

He turned, saw Topaz and Jack coming awake, as well. “The van's gone. So are Reaper and Vixen.”

“I expected as much,” Jack said. He stretched his arms over his head, and before he lowered them again, Seth was in front of him, gripping his shirt.

“What do you mean, you expected it? Where are they?”

Jack lifted his brows and glanced down at the hands on his shirt. “You really don't want to do that.”

“You don't have a clue what I want. What do you know, Heart?”

“Let go of him,” Topaz said. She said it calmly, and in a low, steady tone. Didn't shout or raise her voice. But it was intense, and brooked no argument. Seth released Jack, for her sake and for the moment. He knew he'd been out of line, though he would never admit it.

Jack smoothed his shirt. “I don't
know
anything, pal. But I sensed the two of them having a private conversation before dawn. Had a feeling they were planning something of this sort.”

“Something of what sort?” Seth demanded.

“Use your brain instead of your temper for a change, kid. What do you
think
they're doing?”

“They went after Gregor, didn't they?” Topaz asked.

“That would be my first guess,” Jack said dryly.

Seth swore, turning in a slow circle and pushing a hand through his hair.

Roxy got to her feet, began folding her blanket. “I expected him to try to shake us off and go it alone,” she said. “He believes he could have killed us all last night, after all. He wouldn't want to risk that happening again. And if Gregor has his triggers, he can send Raphael into a killing rage with no more than a word.” She sighed deeply. “What I can't understand is why he would take Vixen with him.”

“I doubt she gave him much of a choice,” Seth muttered. “She can be stubborn as hell. Dammit, I'll never forgive Reaper if anything happens to her.”

“Given her abilities, he was probably wise to take her along,” Jack said. “I've never come across a vampire with such unique talents.”

“She's one of a kind, all right,” Roxy said.

“I hope she's okay,” Topaz put in.

Everyone looked at her, and she shrugged. “I was getting used to having the little weirdo around.”

“We have to go after them,” Seth said.

“Be reasonable,” Jack told him. Seth shot him a look of disbelief, and the other man lifted his brows. “What? How do you suggest we go to the rescue? They took the van, and presumably all the weapons with it.”

“Right,” Roxy said. “And the Mustang was abandoned when we fled The Crypt. Though I suppose it might still be wherever Reaper parked it.”

Jack nodded and went on. “Gregor's place will be surrounded by hulking drones who can snap us like toothpicks. And they'll likely be expecting us. Are we going to charge in there and let them murder us all?”

“We
have
to go after them,” Seth repeated emphatically.

Roxy nodded. “I don't disagree with you, hon. But we have to do it wisely. It won't do them any damn good whatsoever otherwise.”

V
ixen crouched in the sheltering trees outside Gregor's mansion. She was trembling with fear but determined to do this thing, to help her friends.

It was odd, having people she considered friends for the first time in her life. She actually cared about them and believed that they cared about her, too. Even Seth, in his way.

Reaper put a hand on her shoulder. “Gregor can trigger the rage in me at any second, Vixen. It's important that you put some distance between us. You're in twice the danger that I am here, because you have to fear my attack, as well as that of our enemies. So be careful. Don't be seen. Don't risk yourself, no matter what.”

She met his eyes in the darkness and smiled gently. “I'll get the information we need. I promise.”

“Listen for me. I'll block everyone but you and Gregor. He won't hear me until he's outside the mansion. Wait until he leaves, and even then—”

“I'll be careful.” She nodded once, then turned and raced away from him, circling the mansion, to a secluded spot near the back. And there she waited, working to pull in her focus, her energy, preparing for the shift.

Moments ticked by, and finally she heard Reaper as he called out mentally.

Gregor.

The reply was immediate, and there was no sense of fear in Gregor's mind. Vixen heard his reply through Reaper's mind.
Hello, Reaper. I've been expecting you. Which is why I've been listening through the open window.

Reaper looked up, guided by his sense of the man, and spotted him near an open window on the second floor. The bastard waved in his direction, even though Reaper was concealed by trees. Gregor knew he was there, must sense him there. Oh, he was good.

I hope you haven't come for Briar, though. If so, I'm afraid you'll be sorely disappointed. She's terribly glad to be back where she belongs.

I'm here for you, Gregor. And I'm alone. There's no one here you can make me hurt.

Smart move, I suppose. But I don't need to trigger your insanity to take you out. I can do that all by myself.

Now's your chance to prove it. Come out, meet me. And come alone, Gregor, or I won't be there when you arrive. I'm watching. I'll know if you deploy drones or set traps for me. This is you and me, one on one. If you're man enough.

When and where, Reaper?

Fifteen minutes. There's a vacant lot, where kids play baseball. Ten miles north of here, turn left and take the dirt road another three miles. It's on the right. No cover, nowhere either of us could hide reinforcements. Nothing.

I'll be there.

I'll be waiting.

Vixen closed her eyes, but only briefly. She had to watch the mansion. She had to watch until she saw Gregor leave, and make absolutely sure he left alone and no one followed. If anyone did, she would be able to alert Reaper instantly.

So she watched, and she waited. Ten minutes ticked past before she sensed Reaper leaving in a blur of speed. And a minute after that she saw Gregor leaving the mansion.

But he wasn't alone. He had Briar at his side.

No one else followed. No drones, no backup.

Vixen focused on Reaper's mind and worked hard to apply Roxy's lessons in blocking anyone else from hearing her thoughts. She envisioned a pure beam of light surging from her mind to Reaper's, but traveling through a pipeline of solid lead, a pipeline nothing could penetrate.

Reaper.

I'm here.

He's on his way. Briar is with him. No one else, at least not so far.

Good enough. Thank you, Vixen.

Be safe, Reaper.

 

Briar walked beside Gregor through the night to the waiting vehicle, his shiny black Porsche. Wherever they were going, she was glad they were driving. She wouldn't have been able to go very far on foot.

She'd been taken to the cell in the hours before dawn. She'd been stripped, her wrists shackled to the wall on either side of her, her ankles encased in a single iron band. And there she'd stayed, almost unable to move, in a pose reminiscent of the crucifixion.

Every little while, perhaps at fifteen-minute intervals, the collar at her neck came alive with cruel jolting energy. Her entire body went stiff, every muscle tensing until she thought they would tear apart. Her back arched, and her head slammed back against the stone wall. Her body jerked against its restraints, and she couldn't control that, so the iron cut into her wrists and ankles more deeply every time. And when it ended, she would hang there, trembling, weak, shivering, her entire body in pain.

She could only assume Gregor was above, comfortable at the fireplace, hitting the button maliciously whenever the mood struck him. The pain was intolerable. Maddening. And after the first few jolts, she began to feel terror as the minutes ticked past and she awaited the inevitable.

By the time the sun rose, she'd lost most of her ability for coherent thought. She only knew intense relief as she sank into the vampiric day sleep and waited for the healing power of a vampire's rest to restore her.

But when the sun sank that dusk, even as she began to wake, the jolting came again. And again. And again. Yes, the day sleep had restored her, but she was weak—in dire need of blood to complete the healing and replenish her energy. Instead, she received only torture and pain, weakening her body and mind even further.

And then Gregor was there, standing at her cell door. She hadn't even sensed his presence until she heard the key turning in the lock, metal on metal. She lifted her head weakly, squinted through eyes not quite focused.

Gregor swung the door open and stepped into the cell. He slung a handful of clothing onto the floor and came to her, unlocking her ankles and then her wrists. She sank to the floor.

“Get up and put the clothes on. And do it as quickly as your current state allows, Briar. We have an appointment to keep.”

She pushed herself up onto her hands. “I…can't.”

“Oh. Well, in that case, I might as well keep the electricity surging, I suppose.” He reached to his chest, and she saw the blurry shape of the remote, his torture device, hanging from a chain around his neck.

“No, please.”

“Then do as I say.”

“I need…sustenance, Gregor. I'm not even sure I can stand.”

“I anticipated your needs. Here.” He took a flask from his pocket and removed its thimble-sized lid. He filled it with a sip of blood from the flask, and then he bent and held it to her lips.

She drank, but it was barely a swallow. Nowhere near enough.

“That's all you're getting. Ask for more and you'll get another taste of my power over you. Now, get dressed.”

The blood caused a slight tingle, a dim echo of the power that would thrum through her veins if she could truly feed. She prayed it was enough to keep her alive, because truly, she felt nearer to death just then than she had ever felt before. And maybe it would be better if death took her. At least there would be no more of this agony.

She struggled to her feet, shuffled to the corner and began to pick up the clothing he'd thrown there. They were her own things. Black leather pants, skintight and difficult to put on. A leather jacket. No blouse, no undergarments. She struggled into them, then sank to the floor again to pull on the black boots, wondering how she would manage to walk in their spiked heels when she could barely stand.

As soon as the second boot was zipped, Gregor grabbed her by the arm and jerked her to her feet.

“You'll walk beside me. You'll hold your head up. You'll appear for all the world as if nothing is wrong, and you will also appear to adore me. Waver from these instructions in any way and I'll put you on your knees, Briar. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“You'd better. Now, come along. We're going to meet your lover. And you're going to watch me kill him. I might even make you help.” He smiled slowly and tugged her along beside him, through the basement and up the stairs to the main house, then through it and out the front door.

He led her to the sleek black Porsche, settled her into the passenger seat. And then he was behind the wheel and driving through the night. Briar couldn't stop looking at the remote control he wore around his neck, or thinking about the flask of blood in his pocket. If she could get those things from him, she might be able to stop him from murdering Reaper.

That thought gave her pause, and in her pain-fogged mind, she clarified her goal. If she could get those things from him, she might be able to survive. That was the goal—the
only
goal: her own survival.

It always had been.

 

Moments after Gregor and Briar sped away in the black car, Vixen trotted on furred toes toward the house. She went straight to the front door and launched herself bodily toward it, colliding hard enough to make a loud thump she knew would be heard. She landed on her feet, jarred but determined, and quickly darted behind a large potted plant on the landing to wait.

Soon the door opened, and one of the drones stepped through it and stood there, looking around.

She trotted past his feet unnoticed and into the house, shooting underneath a sofa and curling up there, waiting.

Soon enough the drone returned, closing the door. He tromped across the floor, returning almost mindlessly to whatever he'd been doing before. And when she was sure the room was once again empty, Vixen darted out from her hiding place, her tail flying behind her, and up the stairs to Gregor's suite.

Once there, she faced a closed door, and she knew it was likely locked. There was no way to open it, not in her current form. But shifting back would take so much energy—and she wouldn't be able to change again for hours. She might very well become trapped in Gregor's lair.

And yet she didn't see any other option. She looked up and down the hallway, and seeing no one nearby, she lay down on the floor, curled into her luxuriant tail and focused on shifting back.

Minutes ticked by as her body strained and morphed, lengthened and broadened. A haze of oblivion lay over her mind like a silk blanket, and as it cleared, she found herself curled on the floor, in plain sight. She'd left her clothes in the woods and so had nothing with which to cover herself. But first things first.

She rose to her feet, willing the strength to return to her body quickly, as she looked again up and down the hallway, and again saw nothing. No one. But she could hear the heavy footfalls of one of the drones in the great room below.

Turning to the door, she quickly twisted the knob. It opened—unlocked, by some miracle. Or maybe it wasn't a miracle at all. There was no one left here but the drones, so far as she knew. And they would never defy Gregor's orders, so he had no reason to lock his door.

She pushed the door open and ducked inside, just as the drone's footsteps began slamming on the stairs. Quickly, silently, she closed the door behind her, and unlike Gregor, she turned the lock.

She waited there, listening as the drone's steps came closer, then slowly moved past. Sighing in relief, she turned to examine Gregor's rooms. The first, the one she'd entered, seemed to be a sitting room of sorts. There was a desk, with the usual supplies littering it: pens, telephone, blotter, laptop. Beside the desk, a birdcage dangled from its stand, a rough-looking rat sitting silently inside, staring at her.

There was an open doorway leading into the bedroom, and something about the energy coming from there drew her attention quickly and without warning. She realized she was not alone. And, just as suddenly, she felt drawn to whoever was inside—irresistibly drawn.

Frowning she moved forward, as if compelled. There was something square in one corner, covered with a sheet. She moved toward it, and the energy now had a familiar feel to it. Very like Roxy's energy, but altered in some way.

Quickly she reached out and yanked the sheet away. A woman was cowering in the corner of the metal cage underneath the sheet. Her clothes were ragged and filthy. She was far too thin, her collarbone and shoulder blades protruding as she hugged herself. Closely cropped pale blond hair contrasted madly with her dark, lush brows and lashes, and her eyes were a stunning, vivid violet. She was trembling and staring in wide-eyed terror at Vixen.

Vixen lifted a hand, put a finger to her lips.

The frightened woman didn't respond in any way. Just stared, waiting, petrified. And no wonder. God only knew what she'd suffered at Gregor's hands, but the marks on her neck were a good indication. She was snack food. And, Vixen realized as she stood there, naked and unashamed, the woman was something more. She was one of the Chosen.

It stunned her to realize that Gregor had tortured, harmed and used one of the Chosen. No vampire could do such a thing—or so the legends said.