Rebel Obsession (39 page)

“Is that even possible?” Micah asked, dismayed.

The king could only shake his head in denial.

“It’s rare, but Miriam isn’t a typical female. In a lot of ways, she’s like….” Cordray turned toward the king. “She’s like her father. She inherited your essence, Bain. And from what I’m seeing, she’s not just in withdrawal. She’s attached herself to Io the way a male attaches to a mate, just not quite as strong, but strong enough to send her into a mental breakdown and cause the physical symptoms.”

“How…?” King Bain looked sick, his face pale.

Cordray grabbed his arm. “I know what I’m seeing, Bain.” She shook him. “Wake up! You have to fix this.”

Trace frowned at her. Who was this bitch who got away with what stronger men would be squashed for doing?

“And how do you propose I do that?” The king glared at her.

Good for him. Now maybe he would put that bitch in her place.

Cordray huffed as if talking to a six-year-old. “Send Io for her.”

The king recoiled, obviously not liking that idea.

“Listen to me,” Cordray said. “If you send anyone else, it could set her off. If she thinks Io is dead, she could do something stupid, such as kill herself. But if you send Io, she’ll see for herself he’s still alive. And he’s her mate.” She knocked her knuckles on the side of Bain’s head, and several gasps erupted around the room. “Hello! Think about that, Bain. He’s her mate. He’ll hone in on her like she’s a beacon with the hormonal overload he’s on.”

Bain didn’t look like he was buying it.

“Io is your only hope, Bain.” Cordray grabbed his arm.

By now, everyone had assembled in a disorganized mass nearby, ready and awaiting the king’s order.

King Bain erupted with anger. “Go after her! Bring her home!”

Cordray turned back to the king. “Damn it, Bain! You must send Io. If you send your guards, you will only provoke her. She won’t come home until she knows Io is safe, and the only way she will believe he’s safe is if she sees him with her own eyes.”

The king’s face flushed such a deep shade of red, he looked painted. “No.”

“You have to.”

The king paced away, but didn’t say anything.

“We’re wasting time,” Cordray said flatly. “The longer you wait to decide, the more likely it will be that you’ll find Miriam dead.”

Trace glanced around the room at the other shocked faces. None of them knew who Cordray was, but everyone seemed to be just as surprised as he was by her behavior.

“Fine!” King Bain spun around, his face the picture of menace and hostility. “Release him! Send Io after my daughter.”

“A wise choice,” Cordray said, as Donovan waved to one of the other guards and nodded. The guard immediately darted out of the room, followed by two others. “Only a mutant is more powerful than a mated male without his mate. Io will protect her well.” Cordray turned and bobbed her head toward Trace. “And send him, too.”

Trace glared at her.

“What?” King Bain took an aggressive step forward, but Cordray remained steadfast.

Micah was already handing the shackles back over to one of the guards.

“As you saw, Trace has a unique and powerful gift.” Cordray glanced back toward the center of the room where he had performed his magic act earlier. “If there
is
danger, he will be an asset to Io, who will be thinking of only one thing once he finds Miriam, since he has entered his
calling.
”

Everyone in the room knew what that one thing was, too. Io had already gone far too long without Miriam, and if he was in his
calling,
he was probably about to rip his skin off to mate with her.

Trace had to admit, as much as he disliked Cordray, she was smart and level-headed, thinking proactively while everyone else was in reaction mode.

King Bain waved his hand. “Fine. Release him. But as soon as this incident is over, you will serve your time,” he said, pointing at Trace. “Now go. Find my daughter and bring her home.”

“Let’s go.” Micah clapped him on the shoulder and made for the door as the rest prepared to move out.

He was about to hurry after Micah when a hand clamped down on his arm. As soon as he saw the silver-ringed fingers and tattooed hand, Trace scowled. With a severe yank, he pulled his arm away and jerked around to see Cordray standing next to him.

Her face was frozen in wonder, and she was staring at her hand as if it was a foreign object, not part of her body. It was as if she had forgotten Trace was even there.

“Do
not
touch me.” Trace punctuated the demand by bending down, getting in her her pretty face.

Cordray’s gaze lifted, and Trace could swear he saw fear in her eyes. Fear or shock. Maybe both. Either way, he really didn’t give a shit. She needed to be afraid of him, because his earlier fear of her was subsiding, leaving only anger.

Fueled by her show of emotion, Trace sneered and loomed closer. “Do I scare you, little girl?”

Cordray’s face blanched, and she appeared momentarily flustered.

“No. It’s just…you…I….” Cordray, who until now had been so eloquent, was at a loss for words.

“Spit it out, honey. I’ve got work to do.” Trace really did
not
like Cordray or the mind job she had pulled on him. The bitch needed to stay out of his thoughts and out of his way if she knew what was good for her. He had no reservations about icing her permanently after what she had done to him.

As if coming back to her senses, hot anger flared in Cordray’s eyes as she composed herself. “Make sure you bring back any humans or drecks you find with her. Do you think you can handle that, wonder stud?”

Trace glowered, his right hand going twitchy. “They might not give me a choice, sweetheart. When I’m ass-deep in the drink with fuckers who want to play hero with their stupidity, sometimes shit happens.” He pressed forward, looking down his nose at her. “But for someone like you, who spends her time indoors instead of out in the trenches, you probably don’t understand that, huh?”

“Well, Superman, make sure shit
doesn’t
happen. And what makes you think I spend my time indoors, hotshot?”

Trace got the distinct impression that if she could shoot fire from her eyes he would have been scorched by now.

When Trace didn’t answer, she glanced askance at Bain who was gesturing with animation as he spoke to his guards. “You know, I may not be the indoorsy type, but others are. And they’re a lot more dangerous to your health than I am.” She looked back at Trace with a satisfied smirk. “And he’s a lot tougher on shitheads with itchy trigger fingers than I am, too. You remember that.”

With that, Cordray turned and walked out the door, calling over her shoulder, “Time’s ticking, asshole.”

Cordray had trumped him. Clever bitch.

He would get his chance to put her in her place or die trying.

He stormed out to hurry and catch up with Micah. He didn’t even realize he had a hard-on.

* * *

Cordray ducked around a corner and slammed her back against the wall, gasping as she looked up at the ceiling.

She had felt Trace. She had actually experienced physical sensation when she had grabbed his arm. So much so that he had lit her up like a Roman candle on the Fourth of July. When was the last time she had ever felt anyone or even been aroused like this?

Running her palm down one inked up arm, she panted harshly and bent forward.

What did this mean? Why had that unbelievably powerful mixed-blood affected her like this? Was it just another attribute of his power, or was it something else?

All she knew was that her body was lit up like New York City on New Year’s Eve, a sensation she hadn’t felt in so long that she had forgotten just how torturous being aroused without a partner was. Too bad she wanted nothing to do with Trace to further explore whatever this was he had awakened inside her. As it was, she wanted nothing more than to see that smirk on his face get wiped off by Bain’s fist.

Fuck Trace. She’d find another outlet, because the last thing she wanted was that asshole’s hands on her.

What a pompous dick. She could do better than him. Much better.

With a frown, she pushed away from the wall and made her way out.

She wouldn’t let Trace get to her. That fuckhead was history.

CHAPTER FIFTY

Miriam entered the hotel, relentlessly scratching her arms, and smiled nervously at the desk clerk as she made her way to the elevator bay. The lobby of the Hotel Burnham had a nostalgic but elegant feel, as if the motif was modern-day 1930s.

Stepping into the elevator, she could barely hold her shivering hand still long enough to tap the button for the ninth floor, but soon the doors closed and the elevator began its climb toward freedom.

Even though her mind was completely lost to reality, one thought grew stronger with each passing second. She was done. Whatever her father had taken from her—which hung just beyond her realm of consciousness, in a place she couldn’t find through her haze of withdrawal and the dull ache in her chest—was too important to live without. It frustrated her to feel its importance but not be able to remember what it was, but she knew she couldn’t survive without it.

The elevator stopped on the ninth floor, and she stepped out.

After looking up and down the hall, she turned and made her way until she found the right room, took a deep breath, and knocked.

Within seconds, the door opened. A dreck stared back at her and she could see another one inside prepping a syringe.

Good. They could dose her so she wouldn’t have to.

“I’m Candy,” she said.

The dreck stepped aside. “I’m Grotek. That’s Chane. Come in.”

One more deep breath, and Miriam entered the room. The door clicked shut behind her. Blue bliss in a syringe awaited.

* * *

The door to Io’s cell unlocked with a series of loud clangs, and then the door swung open with a scream of metal on metal.

In a flash, Io was on his feet and rushing out the door. A mass of bodies greeted him, some he recognized, some he didn’t, but all of whom were in his way of getting to his mate. He needed her. Io was going crazy without Miriam.

With a shriek, he attacked the first guard in his path, easily dispatching him before moving on to the second. He was mad with fury and lust, clawing at the guards.

“I told you!” A voice shouted from behind him.

“Do something!” another cried.

“TRACE! Get over here! NOW!” Micah’s voice cut through the melee.

“Io…stop it, Io! You’re free! No one’s going to hurt you!” A familiar voice called to him, but he couldn’t place it.

“Give it up, Ari. He’s lost to the
calling,
” someone else said.

Ari?

Suddenly, Io released the guard and spun around. Ari? He knew Ari, right? Io’s chest rose and fell as he studied the group of vampires surrounding him, but especially the one in the front, with the short, dark hair and tawny eyes.

“Ari.” Io’s voice sounded foreign even to him, as if he was more beast than vampire.

Trace stood with his arm outstretched and his hand fisted as if ready to drop Io if he did anything stupid.

“Io,” Ari said, stepping forward. “You need to calm down. There isn’t much time.”

“Ari!” Io lunged forward, and everybody flinched.

He hugged his best friend—they were still best friends, right—as if Ari were a parachute and he was in a free fall, which he damn near felt like he was.

“Okay, buddy. I’m here, but we need you now. Miriam needs you. She’s in danger.”

That got Io’s attention in a heartbeat, and he pulled back, on the alert. His mind was misfiring with a kaleidoscope of emotions. One second he was angry, the next sad, and now he was overwhelmed with urgency.

“Where is she? Where’s Miriam?”

“They’ve tracked her to the Hotel Burnham,” Micah said, stepping forward. “She’s in withdrawal, and some think—” Micah shot a glance toward an unfamiliar female with long hair and enough ink to fill a rainbow. “Some think she might try to hurt herself.”

“Or worse,” Trace said.

His mate, his mate, his mate. Miriam was in danger. He needed to save her. Panic pushed him to near hyperventilation as he felt the link that had formed to Miriam fire up.

“Lead the way, Io. I’m with you.” Trace latched on to his forearm. “Take us to your mate.”

Without another word, Io looked up at Trace then connected their molecular structures to one another.

“Hold on,” he said.

And then he pulled Trace with him as he dematerialized from the king’s dungeon to the shadows near the hotel.

Miriam! I need to find her! Need to save her!

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

Apostle glanced down at Miriam, who lay passed out on the bed. Jessup had already gone
vanishing vampire
and taken the blood samples back with him to Bishop’s lab.

“By the way,” he said over his shoulder to Grotek and Chane. “Nice work.”

The two dealers lay in a stupor on the opposite bed. Jessup had mentally tranqed them not to awaken until Apostle was gone. They would awaken thinking that Miriam had passed out after taking too much cobalt. All memory of Apostle, Jessup, the withdrawal of her blood, and anything to do with any of the above had been stripped from their minds.

His phone rang.

Bishop.

“Yes?”

“Good work,” Bishop said.

“Do you have enough of her blood?”

“Plenty. You’ve done well, brother.”

Someone spoke excitedly in the background.

“What?” Bishop said, his voice fainter as if he had turned away from the phone. “Pregnant?! Are you sure? Check again.”

The voice in the background said, “I’ve checked three times.”

“God in Heaven,” Bishop said.

What was going on? Apostle turned and looked down at Miriam’s belly. Were they saying she was pregnant? She didn’t look pregnant, but then, maybe she wasn’t showing, yet.

“Apostle!” Bishop barked him back to attention.