Stake and Dust (Stake and Dust series, Book I) (25 page)

His brows lifted, and she realized what she
had admitted. "I was conflicted. You healed without complications.
Besides, only cutting off your head would truly kill you."

He chuckled. "I guess I should consider
myself lucky you were at odds with your decision to end my
life."

Shakespeare padded over to them and settled
in close, deciding he needed to be in on the heart-to-heart
too.

Cassandra didn't seem to mind. She reached
for the hound and rubbed him behind his ear. If a dog could sigh,
the old boy would be doing it now.

"I've been trained to kill vampires,"
Cassandra said. She needed to work through this and he would let
her. "I was given a vampire kit on my thirteenth birthday."

"I had guessed it was your fifth."

She glanced at him and her lips twitched.
"Did you now? And that didn't scare you away?"

He leaned down and kissed the top of her
head. "Not in the least." He inhaled her scent of honeysuckle and
closed his eyes. Cassandra did things to him – made him feel things
he'd never felt with any other woman. His hand roamed down her
scantily clothed body. He may be a vampire, but he was also a male.
Cassandra was an alluring woman fully clothed, but she lay in his
arms with only a bra keeping his fingers from touching those lovely
–

"
Tremayne!
"

Cassandra's sharp tone interrupted his
course of thinking. His eyes met hers and she arched one lovely
mahogany brow. "We're locked in a dungeon –"

"Most likely a basement," he corrected, and
that won him a snort. Most people thought snorting rude and coming
from a woman uncouth, but not him. Cassandra had a way of snorting
that set his libido on high. It was damn sexy.

"Basement, dungeon … whatever." She waved
her hand in a flippant manner. "We're in danger, don't you agree?
I'm sure someone didn't capture us and lock us up so we could work
out our differences. Be serious. What do you think we're up
against?"

She was right. They needed to concentrate on
finding a way to escape. It was just he'd been so pleased she
didn't hate him, that for a moment, he'd forgotten about their
predicament.

"I don't know." But she was right in
thinking this couldn't be good. Someone had gone to a great deal of
trouble to capture them.
Capture
being the important word.
They could have straight out killed them, but they hadn't. He ruled
out that their captors were any of Cassandra's clan. The Hayes'
killed first and asked questions later. Well, all except for the
company present. His lovely huntress hadn't made up her mind if she
wanted to end his life.

Rogue vampires?
No, again they
wouldn't take prisoners. He would be dead and Cassandra would
become their blood slave until she too succumbed to death. For the
life of him, he could not guess who would take them prisoner.

He pulled on the chains that bound him to
the wall. The chains were long enough to give him room to pace the
prison, but not enough to reach the door. He glanced at Cassandra's
T-shirt stuffed beneath the manacles. Red stained the fabric with
blotches of his blood. The cloth lessened the effects of the iron,
but it didn't completely protect him from the metal. His gaze
landed on the lone window situated on the adjacent wall.

The moon shone high in the winter sky. Once
the sun rose, the rays would filter in, licking their way toward
him until his skin burned. He swallowed back the lump in his
throat. He couldn't dwell on that now. He needed to think of a way
to save Cassandra.

He closed his eyes and concentrated on the
sounds from outside. He could hear the surf in the distance, the
crash of waves as it ventured close to land. Upon inhaling, he
picked up the scent of the sea. Their captors hadn't taken them far
then. Perhaps they were being held in one of the beach homes close
to his house. In the winter months, most of the homes remained
vacant. Summer was when everyone wanted to enjoy beachfront living.
When winter approached, they ventured inland. His eyes snapped open
and he glanced at her.

"Get dressed," he ordered.

She rolled her eyes at him. "I'm not naked,
Tremayne."

His lips curved and his gaze drifted over
her skin, his eyes lingering on the swell of her breasts in the
black lacy thing she called a bra. He'd call it a
wicked
tease
. "Put on your jacket, luv," he sighed with regret. "You
aren't properly dressed for the party I have in mind." He met her
confused gaze and clarified his intentions. "I'm breaking you out
of here."

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Cassandra hurried to her feet, excitement
bubbling inside her. Tremayne, her lovely vampire warrior, had a
plan. Somehow, she knew he would come up with one. She grabbed the
jacket she'd tossed carelessly to the floor. Yanking her arms into
the sleeves, she turned to face Tremayne again. He had risen to his
feet and leaned against the wall for support. Shakespeare sat on
his haunches, alert and ready.

Once her jacket was zipped, she placed her
hands on her hips. "So what's the plan?"

"I'm going to toss you toward the window
ledge, and you're going to escape. I can muster that much
strength."

All excitement left her at once, leaving her
deflated as a balloon without helium. She folded her arms across
her chest. "That's your big plan? Toss me like a football."

He nodded. Clearly missing her sarcasm, he
went on to explain. "I'll hold you by your waist and give you a
toss up. You're strong and there's enough of a window ledge for you
to grip. You can do it. You have to do it." He glanced at her now.
His emotions were raw and on display for her to see.

"No, I won't do it."

"What?"

"You heard me," she repeated. I'm not going
to leave without you.

"Think this through, Cassandra. I'm not
going anywhere." He lifted his hands and the chains clattered on
the stone floor, loud and clear. "But you can. You could go for
help," he suggested, but they both knew he was grasping at anything
to make her leave.

"Listen." He licked his lips before he tried
a different approach. "I've had a lifetime… lifetimes," he
corrected. "You haven't completed one. Please, let me do this for
you. Call it…" he paused a moment then his eyes lit up. "Call it a
Christmas present, if you will."

Shakespeare whined and cocked his head to
the side before a growl rumbled from his chest.

Tremayne's gaze riveted to the door and
Cassandra's followed his line of vision. "What is it?" she
whispered.

"Someone's coming. You must hurry." Tremayne
waved to her to come closer. "Please." His eyes beseeched her to
listen to reason.

He was right. She was weaponless and he was
chained to a wall. Their best chance was for her to go for
help.

"Dammit, Tremayne." But she took the steps
that separated them. She leaned in close and kissed him hard on the
lips. "Don't you dare die or I swear I'll kill you."

His chuckle was a deep rumble. He clasped
her face and met her eyes. "I will not die unless it is by
your
hands." He kissed her with sweet urgency and it ended
all too soon, but there was no more time. Even she could hear the
footsteps drawing closer now.

Tremayne's strong hands gripped her waist.
"Ready?"

She nodded. In her next breath, she soared
through the air toward the window. She reached out and grabbed the
ledge with one hand. She dangled for a moment and she thought she'd
lose her grip, but she found the strength to grab on with her other
hand too.

"That's it, luv. You're almost there,"
Tremayne encouraged.

Shakespeare's growls turned to sharp
repeated barks, warning her the threat behind the door was fast
approaching. She had to hurry.

She could do this. With her one hand, she
reached for the latch and yanked on it. It gave and the window
opened. A gust of cold air hit her with the scent of the sea. She
pulled herself up, silently thanking her parents for their strict
hunter's training. This stunt was nothing to the grueling regiment
her parents put her through.

She was halfway through the window and to
freedom, but the door flew open behind her, slamming against the
wall. Shakespeare snarled then yelped and Tremayne cursed.

But it was the menacing voice that froze her
in place. "Go any further and I'll end his life."

Chapter Thirty-Nine

"Don't listen to him!" Tremayne yelled to
her in desperation. Cassandra was almost home free. If she didn't
go, he feared what these men would do to her.

"Shut up." His captor zapped him with a 'hot
shot', an electrified cattle prod. The jolt of electricity sent him
to his knees.

If he had the chance, he'd wring the
bastard's neck. His gaze shifted to the other man who stood like a
bodyguard at the door. He was the one who shot Shakespeare the
moment he'd entered the room. He feared his hound was a goner, but
the mutt's snores told another story. None of this made any sense.
The men kidnapped them, threatened them, but to what purpose?

There were no identifying marks on them.
They wore all black, including the ski masks and dark glasses to
hide their features.

He couldn't articulate a word with the
electricity coursing through his limbs. He could only twitch and
watch in horror as Cassandra scooted back then carefully pushed
away from the wall, landing on her feet in a crouch. She rose
slowly and faced the enemy.

"That's a good little gal," the guy with the
cattle prod cooed.

The man at the door strode forward with
intent. Cassandra raised her chin and didn't flinch when the man
grabbed her by the upper arm.

"Leave her alone," he finally croaked, and
that won him a swift kick to his ribs.

"Do y'all know what mistletoe is?" the man
with the cattle prod asked Cassandra. He seemed to be the leader
and the only one who spoke.

She frowned but nodded.

The man fished into his pocket and produced
the lovely plant, fresh from picking. "Beautiful and deadly," their
captor said. "It is neither an herb nor a plant and grows high,
suspended in the branches of sacred trees." With a red ribbon, he
tied the mistletoe to the ring that held Tremayne's chains in
place.

The man's hands were large, agile, and …
gloved. Was it because he didn't want to leave fingerprints, or was
it because he was a vampire too, and feared touching the lethal
iron?

Tremayne inhaled and nearly choked on the
scents wafting from the man. It proved his captor wanted to mask
his true scent. Did this mean he knew who had taken them? Tremayne
narrowed his eyes. Something about the man did seem oddly familiar
and, every so often, he would catch a hint of an Irish lilt beneath
the overly done Southern accent, but before he could think further
on it, the man went for the cattle prod again.

The jolt of electricity was nothing compared
to hearing Cassandra's worried cry. He shook on the ground, his
limbs useless as he watched in horror.

Cassandra twisted in her captor's arms and
landed a kick to his midsection. The man grunted, but recovered
quickly and slammed her up against the wall. She hit hard with a
cry of pain.

Tremayne bared his teeth and managed a
pathetic hiss. He'd kill the man, slowly and painfully, for daring
to hurt her.

The man gripped her upper arm and hauled her
in front of him. He would not be caught by surprise again.

"Are we through now?" the leader asked, not
really expecting an answer from Cassandra. The man leaned down then
and hauled him up by the hair. He grabbed at the man's arm, but it
was useless. He couldn't regenerate with the iron clasped to him.
Even with Cassandra's shirt buffering the metal's touch, it wasn't
enough. He was at the mercy of this bastard.

The man yanked his head back and pressed a
blade to his neck.

"
Noooo!
" Cassandra wailed and lunged
forward to only be hauled back by the man who held her.

"No?" his captor said with disbelief. "Are
ya not a Hayes, a hunter of fiends?"

She nodded. "I am and, believe me, I have
every intention of hunting
you
down and killing you."

The man chuckled. "Dear lass, I believe ya
are confused. The only fiend in this room is Tremayne Graystone."
Through dark tinted glasses, the man leveled his eyes on him. "Aye,
a vampire that should be eliminated." He pressed the blade into
Tremayne's flesh, drawing blood.

"No, stop," Cassandra pleaded. "He's not
–"

"He's not what?" the man asked, a bit of
curiosity ringing in the words.

Cassandra licked her lips. "He's good." She
closed her eyes.

"He's good," he said sarcastically. "Really?
Y'all will have to do better than that, hunter." And he pressed the
blade deeper and drew blood again.

"Oh God, no. Don't hurt him. I… I love him,"
she choked.

The pressure of the blade lessened. The
captor's gaze latched onto him as he spoke. "Did ya know with all
the mistletoes' beauty and healing properties, it's also lethal
when consumed in high quantities."

Tremayne frowned, wondering why the man felt
the need to give them a lesson on plants.

"The hunter claims she loves ya, but do ya
love her?" the man asked Tremayne.

He didn't hesitate. "I do."

The man glanced at Cassandra. "Do ya believe
a vampire could truly love a hunter?"

"Yes," she said. "Yes, if he says so. I
believe him." Cassandra found his gaze. "I trust him."

"Prove it," the man challenged.

Her brows furrowed. "How?"

He turned and pulled off a handful of
berries from the mistletoe tied to the ring above. He yanked
Tremayne's head back before he could react and shoved the berries
into his mouth. He flayed his hands and tried to break free, but he
had no strength against his captor. His limbs had not recovered
from the jolt of electricity and the iron would not allow him to
heal.