Grace (7 page)

Grace flicked Jaron a worried glance. Slumped next to her with his head back against the wall, he seemed barely conscious. They'd hit him hard. Heavy purple bruising was already spreading along his temple and the side of his face. Grace winced just to look at it. It had to be painful.

Jaron felt like a damn fraud, leaning against the wall doing a dying duck act. Sure his head ached; it took a hell of a blow to bruise a vampire. A blow like that would have crushed a human’s skull. Luckily, the thugs that had picked them up and brought them to this place—an abandoned warehouse, by the looks of it—were none too bright. At least two of them were high on something; he could smell the chemical sweetness in their sweat.

He groaned and opened his eyes, meeting Grace’s worried gaze and feeling more of a fraud. He could end this in around ten seconds flat. The ropes around his wrists wouldn’t hold the weakest youngling, not even a new convert, never mind a five-hundred-year-old vampire. But despite the fact he could shred them like paper, something far stronger held him captive.

Fear.

No human could rip ropes like paper. No human would be able to take on seven heavily armed thugs. Hell, no human should have survived that blow with the crowbar but, thankfully, Grace didn’t know how hard he’d been hit. And the thug who’d hit him was one of the users. He’d just looked at the crowbar and shrugged. It had taken all Jaron’s control not to just rip his throat out and end it there and then.

But then Grace would know what he was; or at least she’d know what he
wasn’t
. Jaron smiled at her, a weak smile to go along with his play-acting. She was so worried about him; concern and something else shone in her eyes. Something he didn’t want to recognise, but he did, the emotions in the forefront of her mind.

Love. She loved him.

Guilt twisted in his gut like a knife. She loved him, she was worried about him. And he was lying to her about who he was. What he was. But he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. Once she knew he was a monster, her love would die. She would run. Leave him as Julia had.

“Are you ok?” she whispered, casting a nervous glance about to see if any of the goons were close by. Jaron had caught the way they were looking at her, the way the biggest of them looked at her, in particular, and his rage simmered.

“Yeah, I think so.” He added a groan for effect as he blinked, faking the effects of a concussion.

“Shut it you two.” The smallest of the thugs, a weasely looking guy, snarled from his perch on some crates nearby. Try as he might, Jaron couldn’t pick up any clues from any of them as to what this was about. The two high on whatever cocktail of chemicals they preferred were in their happy places so he ignored them. The others had just been told to pick them up and bring them here. He couldn’t get any other details from them, not even from the leader. They simply didn’t know. Their orders had come by phone from an unknown source. They’d been paid in advance with the promise of more if they delivered.

“I still say we should do the girl.”

A large man lurched in front of them, glaring down at Grace with undisguised lust in his eyes. Jaron felt sick at the images going through the thug’s mind. He’d thought
he
was a pervert because of some of the things he wanted to do to Grace. Things that involved silk bonds and soft whips, things he planned to introduce her to when she was ready. But the fantasies running through this guy’s head made Jaron’s blood freeze in his veins.

Jaron’s lip curled, just the tiniest hint of a snarl as he locked eyes with the thug.

“Don’t even think about it.” His voice was soft. He was tied up against a wall. To all intents and purposes there was no way he should be issuing threats.

The man stared at Jaron for a moment then his eyes widened in fear. Jaron relaxed a little against his bonds. No matter how good a vampire was at concealment, humans were smart. The instincts that had dragged them out of the caves, although dulled by civilisation, were still sharp enough to recognise death when it looked them in the face.

The goon swallowed, his gaze flicking from Jaron to Grace and back again.

“You can ‘do’ what you like to her when I’m done. Not before.” The voice came from the shadows.

Grace’s head snapped up in recognition. Her head still reeling at the savage threat in Jaron’s quiet voice, she didn’t have time to collect herself for this new shock. She knew that voice. Or she thought she did. Usually it was a whining, complaining voice directing snide comments at her. Now it was filled with hatred and purpose.

“Fayte?”

Her cousin’s tinkling laugh filled the cavernous room as bully boy stepped out of the way. Her heels rapped against the concrete as she walked across to stand over Grace, her features twisted and ugly.

“Surprised to see me, cousin dear?” She taunted.

Grace struggled to breathe as she realised what had happened, as she realised the truth. Fayte had organised this. She’d actually organised for Grace and Jaron to be kidnapped. Christ, they could have been killed. Jaron nearly had.

“Why?” Grace asked. She knew Fayte didn’t like her, but surely this was taking things a little too far? “Why would you do something like this?”

Fayte laughed, a bitter sound that echoed around the large room. The sound fell flat but she didn’t seem to notice, amusement in her eyes as she looked at Grace.

“Oh, come on, you can’t be that bloody dense, surely? You’ve been the bane of my existence from the moment you were born. So pretty, so delicate. So fucking perfect.” She spat. “I thought I’d dealt with you but you even screwed that up for me. Do you have any
clue
how expensive it is to arrange a car accident these days?”

Grace’s jaw dropped. Her car accident. The terrible, tragic accident which had stolen her life, stolen her dancing—at least until Jaron had come along—hadn’t been an accident at all?

Fayte’s face screwed up as she snarled. “I go to all that expense and planning to get you out of the way and you bloody survive.” She sighed heavily then grinned. “But that was cool; I could live with that if you couldn’t dance. Knowing I took away the one thing that meant more than life itself to you gave me pleasure.”

She leaned down, her breath hot against Grace’s face.

“But you couldn’t even stay the pathetic cripple, could you? You had to go and recover somehow. Then you fucking sack me. Me. Who are you to sack
me
?” she asked, her eyes wild, the rage in them visible for the world to see. Spittle flecked the corner of her mouth. Grace couldn’t stop looking at it. Fayte was always so perfectly made up, always fretting and checking her makeup to make sure it was perfect, so the tiny slip made things seem worse. Fayte would never allow such a slip, not without being out of her mind with rage, anyway.

Fayte’s eyes gleamed with malevolence. “This time it’ll be different. Last time, I let you live. But not this time. Oh, no. This time the job gets done right and you’ll be out of my hair for good.” She straightened up and looked around at the thugs who had brought them here.

“Have your fun, and then kill them both. Dump the bodies as we discussed.”

Silence blanketed the warehouse after Fayte walked out. Shocked into silence by the sheer lack of expression in her cousin’s last statement, Grace sat staring at her retreating back. She might have well have said ‘take the trash out when you’re done’. It chilled Grace to the bone. But not as much as the slow grins spreading over the faces of the thugs as they looked at her and Jaron.

Correction. At her. They weren’t looking at Jaron at all. A cold shiver of dread wormed its way up her spine. Without a doubt she knew they weren’t getting out of here alive. Earlier, death had seemed the worst thing that could happen, but now she realised otherwise. She shrank closer to Jaron as if he could protect her. There were worse things than death, all of them shining back at her from lust or drug-crazed eyes. By the end of the night, Grace knew she’d welcome death.

Jaron shifted beside her, agony in his face. “I’m sorry, love,” he whispered, “I’m sorry it had to come to this
...”

Grace shook her head. A sad smile curved her lips as she looked at him, memorised every line of his face. She had her memories; whatever they did to her she would try to escape to them. Go to a happier place to escape what was happening to her.

“It’s not your fault,” she told him. “This was nothing to do with you. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, that’s all. I’m sorry you had to be involved.” Why couldn’t they have picked another night, a night when she was alone? Why did Jaron have to die with her? But perhaps… He didn’t.

She lifted her head and located the leader of the little thug gang. She looked him straight in the eye and tried to find something human in there. Something decent. It was a struggle but there was a flicker. Maybe? She carried on, hoping there was something she could reach.

“Please,” she said, “he doesn’t have anything to do with this. You can let him go; you don’t have to kill him. He can walk away and you never need to see him again.”

Jaron froze as he listened to Grace pleading. Grace. Begging for his life.
His
life, not her own. Time slowed, shrank to this one moment for Jaron as his guilt overwhelmed him. He could stop this, save her, but fear crawled up his spine and held him immobile.

Regardless of what happened, he would survive this. Unless they dragged him out into the sun or chopped his head off they couldn’t do anything that wouldn’t heal and he wasn’t planning on making it that easy for them. He was in no danger but she was
begging
for his life.

He felt a sharp crack in the middle of his chest. His heart, an organ he’d thought long dead, broke in two. He had no choice and he knew it. Either way he looked at it, he lost Grace. If he did nothing, his secret was safe. She died, but he’d live—a long, dismal life without the other half of his soul. But if he saved them, if he revealed what he was, she’d run from him in fear.

But she’d live.

He sighed as he looked up, his decision made. He would die, of course. Oh, not at the hands of these thugs but the instant Grace looked at him with terror in her eyes his life would be over. He would seek the dawn at the next sunrise.

“Forgive me,” he whispered and stood.

Grace frowned at his words, not quite sure why he was apologising. This wasn’t his fault, unless she’d slipped into some weird alternate reality and he was in league with Fayte. But if he was, then he wasn’t likely to be tied up. So why did he need her forgiveness?

She
should be asking
his
forgiveness for dragging him into this situation with her insane cousin. Fayte had to be insane; no normal person would try to kill a member of their family…twice. Laughter, totally inappropriate laughter, started to bubble over from Grace’s lips, the hot prickle of tears behind it.

Grace tried to struggle to her feet. The gang of men had pulled their weapons—guns, knives, sticks—and Jaron was tied, unarmed. They’d kill him. “Jaron, no.”

He looked over his shoulder, his ice blue eyes sad. Sorrow, fear and longing all mixed into one. But not for himself. For her. Grace bit her lip, her tears welling over and silently flowing down her cheeks. He was going to die protecting her and there was nothing she could do about it.

“I’m sorry, love,” he said again and turned back to the gang closing in on them, bloodlust shining in their eyes.

Then everything went freaky.

She watched in stunned silence as Jaron ripped the ropes from his wrists. The tattered remains dropped to his feet, shredded. Grace’s mouth dropped open at the casual display of strength. He hadn’t even broken a sweat, and his pale wrists were unmarked from even the slightest rope burn. How had he done that? Impossible.

“What the—?”

Any thought he’d been working on his bonds with a hidden nail file or something was blown out of the water as he rounded on the gang with a feral snarl. He dropped to a defensive crouch, keeping himself between Grace and the thugs.

Grace gasped, her eyes widening. The sound, the way he moved…like something out of a film. One of those sci-fi or horror films with special effects. He moved, sidling to the side as one of them tried to creep around to get to her. He glided, as if he were boneless.

Grace brought her bound hands to her throat. No human moved that way. No human
could
move that way. She watched as he launched himself at his attackers. Shrieks of terror echoed around the huge room but there was no escape from the whirlwind Jaron had become. He ducked and wove between the thugs, avoiding their weapons with ease. His low laughter underscored their shrieks, a symphony of death, as though he was mocking them. And he was. As Grace watched, he reached out negligently, catching one of the thugs, the big one who had threatened her.

Easily, as though he were dealing with a recalcitrant child, he pulled the man into his arms, whirling him to face Grace. For a split second, Jaron looked directly into her face, into her eyes. His face creased in pain for a moment before it smoothed out. The beautiful and blank face of a dark angel again. Grace sucked in her breath, knowing somehow that what happened next would change her life forever.

He didn’t look at her again, seemed to not want to look at her, his gaze fixed to a spot just above her right shoulder. Then he leaned down, his eyes closing as his hands tightened on the man struggling in his grip. One hand clamped across his forehead as Jaron pulled his head back, exposing the line of his throat.

Jaron bared his teeth.

Bared his…fangs?

“Ohmigod!” Grace had seen enough vampire films to know what she was looking at. The impossible. Vampires didn’t
…couldn’t exist. Even as she thought it, things started to click into place. His absences during the day. He wasn’t dedicated to his work; he’d been avoiding the damn sun.

Jaron bit down. His teeth sliced through the skin of his victim’s throat like a knife through hot butter. The guy jerked and twitched as Grace watched in stunned silence. Jaron didn’t open his eyes as he drank. She could almost hear the muscles of his throat working as he swallowed.

A moment later, Jaron released the man and the corpse slid to the floor, like a puppet with its strings cut. Jaron looked up at her, flinching as he almost met her eyes, as though he was afraid to look at her. He looked away at the last minute. Then he was moving again and the rest of their captors didn’t stand a chance.

Grace looked away from the carnage. She curled into a ball against the wall, as Jaron tore through their abductors. Literally. Strangled screams of pain were followed by wet splashes and dull thuds as bodies hit the floor. She tried to keep her gaze averted, tried to make sense of what was happening around her.

Blood sprayed up the wall next to her, a hot, wet, vivid scarlet spray. It slid down onto the floor next to her in heavy drops.
Drip…drip…drip
. Like a leaky faucet. The tap in her bathroom had dripped like that until Jaron had called someone in to fix it. Fayte had never bothered. Grace snorted; well she wouldn’t have, would she, if she was planning to kill Grace anyway? Grimly she clung to that thought, ignoring the fact that not ten feet away her lover was tearing people apart with his bare hands.

Was she going to be next?

Silence fell over the warehouse. Only two sets of breathing. Hers and Jaron’s. His wasn’t even labored; she suspected he didn’t need to breathe, that he was only breathing as part of his human disguise.

“People tend to notice if I don’t.”

Grace flinched as he spoke, his voice far closer than she expected. His feet came into her field of vision, expensive Italian leather shoes. A speck of blood marred his toe. Grace couldn’t help but stare at it. He’d ruined his shoes; that stain would never come out.

“You ruined your shoes.”

“What?” His voice held confusion as he squatted beside her, his knees coming into view now. Grace felt rather than heard him move. He extended his hand toward her and she flinched, expecting him to grab her at any moment, sink his teeth into her neck and kill her.

“Grace, please, I wouldn’t do that.” His voice was agonised, as though he could see the image in her head. Startled, Grace looked up, directly into his blazing blue eyes. “You can read my mind.” Not a question, but a statement. Another realisation as things made more sense now.

Jaron nodded, his hand falling away. “Just the surface thoughts; I don’t go any deeper.”

“God, no wonder you were so perfect. You knew exactly what I wanted because you could see it in my mind.” Grace slammed her head back against the wall, irritation and embarrassment surging through her. No wonder he’d been able to seduce her so easily, been able to get around her normal reserve. She’d wondered at that. Wondered what it was about him that allowed him to judge her responses and know when to push and when to back off. He’d been reading her
damn mind.

The little part of her mind that was prone to hysteria yammered that there was a vampire crouched not three feet away but she ignored it. If Jaron wanted to kill her, there wasn’t anything she could do to stop him.

“Please, Gracie, look at me. Despite what you’re thinking, I’m not going to hurt you. I-I love you.”

Jaron had lived centuries but he’d never been this frightened. He sat, crouched in front of the woman he loved—the
human
woman he loved—who’d just found out he was a blood sucking fiend from beyond the grave.

She wouldn’t look at him as he untied her and her flinch cut him to the bone. If he’d been capable of bleeding, he’d have bled out onto the floor there and then. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way. Believe me; I didn’t want it to end like this.”

He risked a glance back at her to find her looking at him, her green eyes confused. “What did you just say?”

“I said I didn’t want it to end this way.” He rose to his feet, not bothering to conceal the fluid grace in his movements anymore. A small smile touched his lips. She’d have made a wonderful vampire, so beautiful and elegant. Pain raked through his chest, like someone had dumped a bucket of hot coals onto his dead skin. It hurt to even look at her.

He turned to go. Dawn would be here soon; he’d just go and wait for it. That way he wouldn’t have to move once the sorrow that yawned like a chasm in his chest claimed him. He started to walk away, his footsteps measured. Dead man walking. He finally knew how that felt.

“Jaron, stop. I didn’t mean that part.”

There was a scuffling behind him but he didn’t turn around, just stopped and turned his head to indicate he was listening.

“What did you say before that?”

“What? That I love you? Pathetic, isn’t it? The hunter in love with his prey. You can scream now; I won’t hold it against you.”

“Why would I scream?”

Her small hand touched his shoulder, surprising him. He hadn’t heard her move. With his blood in her, she was vampire silent. “If you’d wanted to kill me, wanted to drink my blood, you’ve had plenty of opportunity before now. But you haven’t. I figure I’m probably safe.”

Jaron laughed, the harsh sound reverberating around the empty space. “Oh sweetheart, you’re
far
from safe with me.”

“I don’t believe you.”

He shook his head.

“Why today? Why today of all days are you being so damn stubborn?” he asked, every line of his body rigid with tension. All he wanted to do was haul her into his arms and kiss her senseless, claim her as his own. Bury his fangs in the soft skin of her neck and wash away the taste of the thugs blood with the sweet ambrosia he knew flowed through her veins. Hold her close to him as she drank directly from him, not from a vial.

“Coward,” she taunted softly. “Face me and tell me you’ll hurt me. Look me in the eye before you bite me.”

Jaron’s control snapped. A low growl rumbled in his throat as he rounded on her. His hand lashed out and caught in her hair, wrapping the flame red curls around his hand as he dragged her flush against his hard body. He yanked her head back, his lips hovering over the creamy flesh of her throat as he crouched over her.

“And now, Gracie?” he asked, grinding his pelvis against hers. He was already rock hard, just the thought of sinking fang had him rigid. Ready to fuck her. Fuck and suck, the preferred method of lovemaking for a vampire. “Sure I won’t hurt you now?”