Enslaved by the Others (8 page)

The older vampire rose, sweeping his hands down his pants to clear off more imaginary dust. Sara and I both shrank back as he approached, though we were clinging to each other too tight to get very far. Once he was close enough, Max bent at the waist, reaching for Sara. That was enough to spur me to action.

Though he was undoubtedly faster and stronger than I was, and even though I had resolved not to give him a reason to hurt me, right then I didn’t care. Rage and fear and frustration drove me to my feet, my fist arcing up in a smooth swing that bloodied his lip and split my knuckles. He brought his arm up to block the next hit, his bloodstained smile enraging me further. Something was off about my vision and his reaction, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but getting him away from Sara.

Snarling, I did everything I could think of to drive him back. Fingers curled into claws, I swiped at his face, arms, and chest, kicking at his shins, throwing punches at his solar plexus—and he shrugged off every attack, eyes narrowed, moving at about the same speed I was as he parried or took each strike. What game was he playing?

In a moment of clarity, I recalled his swordfight with Mouse, then the later one with Royce when he had made his bid to take control of New York. During both fights, he had moved in such a blur that my eyes hadn’t been able to follow. He was barely moving a fraction of the speed I knew he was capable of, which meant this was some kind of test, not a fight. Like an adult dealing with a little kid’s tantrum, letting them wear themselves out before stepping in to end the theatrics.

That thought was enough to make me hesitate, which seemed impetus enough for him to move in and sweep my legs out from under me, sending me crashing on my back on the tile.

“I see,” Max said, Fabian nodding sagely as if agreeing with some brilliant observation as I lay there, gasping back my breath and clutching at the back of my head. Nothing manages to make you feel like the greenest rookie quite like being dropped on your ass.

Sara scooted over, taking one of my hands, though her gaze stayed focused on Max as if she was afraid he was about to make another grab for her.

“Yes, you were quite right,” Max continued. “I should have considered the option earlier. We’ll have to do something about that infection.”

“Yes, of course,” Fabian replied. “Gideon?”

The necromancer moved into my line of sight, coming to a halt beside me and Sara. Fabian waved airily in my direction, still beaming at Max as though they had just shared in some wonderful, terrible secret.

“See what you can do about that, hmm?”

Gideon nodded, then turned to me, considering. He rubbed his chin, then knelt down next to Sara. She edged away, clinging to my hand, which he was attempting to pry out of her grip.

“Don’t touch her!” My demand went ignored.

“Relax, Sara.” Gideon lightly touched her shoulder, and to my surprise, she did as he said. She didn’t let me go, but she did let Gideon reach for me without protest this time, which, come to think of it, didn’t seem like such a good idea.

Though it made the ache in my skull momentarily blinding, I yanked my hand away from both of them and rolled into a crouch, putting some distance between us.

“Spry little thing,” Fabian commented.

Max made a sound of irritation. Gideon pursed his lips, then held out his hand. The glint in the necromancer’s eyes spoke of some kind of plan—something he was trying to convey—but I wasn’t sure what the message was supposed to be.

“Come on, Copper-top. You want to stay that way forever?”

I glared at him, staying right where I was. “Like what?”

“An abomination. And I’m not just talking about your face.”

That prompted a deep growl—too deep—not right. The desire to rip him to shreds with my bare hands was so strong, I had to clench my fists to keep from springing at him. Sara gasped, but I didn’t spare her a glance just yet. All my attention and fury was focused on Gideon.

His taunting smirk didn’t help. He gestured at my hands. “Look for yourself. Does that seem normal to you? I’m not your nail technician, so ...”

Suspicious, I did—and couldn’t tear my gaze away. My nails had formed into thick, curved talons and the back of my hands were covered with a webwork of spidery black veins, easily seen under my pale skin. It was enough to shake me out of my building rage.

“What the hell is happening to me?”

“You are not quite vampire, nor quite werewolf,” Max said. “You’ve been infected by both, though it seems the vampire in you is more prominent. It is in your best interest to let the necromancer see to you, Shiarra. If not, you may die.”

“And then he can’t use you to infiltrate whatever wolf pack that infection is connected to. Too bad, so sad,” Gideon said, throwing an arm dramatically over his eyes as Fabian and Max both glared at him. Clearly this was not something they had intended to make me privy to just yet—the key to how Max intended to use me.

As much as I didn’t want to believe either of them, wanted to think it was just another ploy to mess with my head, I couldn’t deny the evidence. Gideon had used the same tactic on me as he had with Sara; riled me up to bring my weaknesses to light so he could exploit them. What worried me more than the necromancer manipulating me or even the thought of dying because of whatever was in my blood was why Max cared enough to fix it—and what price he’d make me pay for my continued survival.

“Kneel.”

I glared, remaining exactly where I was.

Max repeated the command, and I felt the pressure of his will behind it this time, forcing me to obey. “I told you to kneel. Get down and be still.”

Both of my knees cracked on the tile, a jolt of pain driving through them, then up my wrists and forearms almost to the elbow as I caught myself before I fell in a sprawl. I stayed that way, panting, staring at the curved claws biting into the pale rose-colored ceramic.

The evidence of the taint in my blood was right before my eyes. Undeniable.

I was Other.

And Max still had the power to control me.

Worse. He had Sara. He had everything he needed to make me a cooperative little puppet, and it didn’t take binding or turning me to do it.

Gideon crouched down in front of me. “Look up.” I did, staring at but not really seeing those magnificent, glowing green eyes of his. I flinched when his palm settled over my heart, but couldn’t break away from his gaze or touch. He didn’t say anything, but I felt ... different. Cold spread in my veins, making me shiver. All the hairs on my arms rose, and the scent of something rich and sweet sparked a sudden, fierce hunger, made stronger with every thud of what sounded like muted drums beating in my ears.

The hunger grew sharper as a dull throb of pain in my gums was followed by the taste of copper on my tongue. I turned away, clapping a hand over my mouth, a combination of disgust warring with the hunger that grew so strong at the hint of blood rolling over my taste buds that it was turning into hurt.

Unsatisfying. My own.

‘Don’t let them see the fangs. Work with me and I’ll get you two out of here.’

An intrusion into my head, complete with a range of foreign emotions and nebulous desires. Fear for someone else. Calculation. Deception. Like the belt—but not. I almost gaped at Gideon before I remembered to keep my mouth shut, though my eyes were wide as he put on a look of disgust that was so convincing I might have bought it if he hadn’t just been in my thoughts.

“There isn’t enough vamp blood in there for me to work with. Or she’s stronger than you thought,” Gideon declared, rising again and rocking back on his heels, arms akimbo. He was lying through his teeth to his lover and his lover’s sire—and I had no idea why. What game was he playing? “My, my. You did mess this one up, didn’t you?”

Fabian gave the necromancer a look of warning as Max made a soft hissing sound.

“Thank Rhathos for this mess,” was Max’s reply. “He never did know how to care for his toys.”

“And you do?” I muttered, scrubbing the back of my hand over my mouth. It came away smeared with black and red, and I wondered exactly what part of my freakish nature had put that fresh look of terror in Sara’s eyes as she scooted away from me. Better to focus on that than the desire to pounce, drag her closer, sink my teeth into—

No. Not her. Never her.

Gideon dangled something green at me, drawing my eye. A handkerchief that stank of chloroform and, under that, rotting meat. Blanching, I waved off his offer, moving over to stay as close as Sara would have me without flinching away.

“Well,” Max said, “I suppose there’s only one way to guarantee cooperation, then.”

Fabian nodded, that high-wattage smile slipping just a tad. “Of course. You may have her, sire. All that is mine is yours to command.”

Gideon said nothing, but there was a new scent under the herbs and chemicals clinging to his skin and clothes—something that told me he didn’t like what Fabian’s statement implied. For a second, I thought Fabian meant me, but then Max moved and removed all doubt.

Max did not bother to acknowledge Fabian’s offer, but he did move closer to us, once again reaching for Sara. Whether it was done to deliberately provoke me or not, I didn’t have the self-control to keep from swiping at him, a growl rumbling in my throat.

He backhanded me so hard, I think I might have blacked out for a minute.

As soon as awareness trickled back, I reached for Sara, hoping to shield her before Max could lay a hand on her—but she wasn’t there. Blinking hard, I looked around, fighting the woozy unreality that made everything seem so hazy in my vision. The blobs of color a few feet away soon reformed into the figure of Sara, seated in one of the chairs, her head hanging and blond hair a shining curtain in front of her face. The zombies were holding her arms, keeping her pinned, while Max waited next to them and Gideon leaned against the far wall, pointedly looking away.

“Shiarra, we’re going to try something new.” Max snapped his fingers, then pointed at a spot by his feet. “Come. Kneel here.”

I spat a bit of blood in his general direction and gave him a one-fingered salute instead, keeping my ass planted right where I was. Gideon’s smirk made me feel better about my little act of defiance, even though I was sure I would pay for it later.

Max didn’t appear too troubled by this. He reached out to Sara, one hand tangling in her hair and jerking her head up. She grimaced, obviously in pain, but didn’t make a sound. His other hand swiped down her cheek, leaving behind a thin line of red that soon trickled in a sheet of blood down her pale skin. Fabian’s look of boredom as he watched all this from against the wall next to Gideon somehow made it even worse.

Eyes widening, I struggled to get to my feet, but Max must have struck me too hard. I couldn’t get my balance, earning more bruises as I stumbled and fell.

“Kneel as I told you, or I’ll do the same to the other side of her face. You wouldn’t want that on your conscience, now, would you?”

“You heartless fuck,” I said, tongue thick in my mouth, something sharp biting into my lip as I spoke. “Touch her again and I’ll kill you.”

The threat might have held more weight if I’d been able to stand while I delivered it. His nail swiped in a matching line down the other side of Sara’s face, soon followed by silent tears, her pleading gaze driving a spike of dread deep into my chest. I had to stop this.

Desperation got me to my feet, anger drove me forward, and fear for Sara had me throwing myself on Max in a frantic attempt to force him away from her. He grabbed my forearms and used my own momentum to send me hurtling past and sliding across the tile until my back thumped into the wall at the other end of the room.

Slow, taking his time, he pulled one of Sara’s wrists from Tiny’s grip and yanked her arm up, ignoring her struggles as he watched me catch my breath and drag myself back to my feet.

“Are you ready to obey?”

I ignored Max’s question, my own voice warbling with uncertainty. “Sara?”

Her reply was hushed, strained, laced with fury and pain. “Fuck him.”

I didn’t need further invitation. Growling, I pushed off the wall and rushed him again, fingers hooked to claws to tear him off of her.

He caught me by the throat as soon as I was close enough, ignoring the bite of my nails as I shredded his long-sleeved button-down and clawed the arm that held her. He shook me a little, but I wasn’t deterred in the least.

That is, I wasn’t until he shoved me down to my knees, then yanked Sara’s arm so hard I heard something pop, dragging her wrist to his mouth. His pale gray eyes stared into mine, cold, empty as he bit her, ignoring every effort I made to pull her arm out of his grasp even as my vision blurred from lack of air from his fingers crushing my windpipe.

Distantly, I heard her scream, noted her kicking and thrashing as she fought to get free, but the worst thing was being so close and yet so very helpless to stop it. There was nothing in his gaze that said he was sorry. Nothing that hinted at compassion or understanding. All he was looking for was acceptance from me. Acceptance and submission.

Every instinct I had was screaming to keep fighting, but he would kill her if I didn’t relent. I’d seen him do it before, and that wasn’t when he had anything personal at stake. Terrified that he might not stop, I grabbed at his shirt front instead, tugging, pleading the only way I could, desperate to find a way to get him to let her go.

As soon as I stopped fighting, he withdrew from her wrist, licking the faint sheen of red off his fangs before speaking down to me.

“Get on your feet and kneel where I instructed.”

He gave me a little shove as he let me go, and though I rubbed at the sore spots that would undoubtedly become bruises on my throat later, all I could focus on were the twin trickles of crimson on Sara’s wrist and the tiny sounds of hurt she was making. Her eyelids were half-mast with a languorous mix of exhaustion and terror I was all too familiar with. Gasping like a landed fish, I got shakily to my feet. Once I found my balance, I moved to the spot Max indicated and knelt, just as he’d wanted. Gideon was shifting from foot to foot. The necromancer was obviously uncomfortable but made no move to step in or help either of us.