Текст книги "One Immortal"

Автор книги: Tia Louise

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

15

Confrontation Melissa

Dinner at Demeter’s small home in Algiers rivals anything you’d find on the menu at an expensive New Orleans restaurant. When we enter through the back door she’s holding a colander of silvery, raw shrimp over a pot of boiling water.

The spicy bite of cayenne pepper mixes in the air with the scent of celery, onions, and garlic, and instantly my mouth starts to water. If I’d lost my appetite in the last several days, I just found it again.

I watch as she slides all the shrimp into the large boiling pot then turns to a smaller pot containing what looks like a creamy batch of yellow grits. She circles salt through her fingers over the dish, letting the grains fall slowly as she stirs.

“It smells like heaving in here,” I say to Mariska, who only smiles as she steps over to the cabinets.

“Five place settings, Yaya?”

The old woman nods and continues stirring the pot.

“Can I help?” I’m waiting just inside the door, unsure how to proceed.

“You’re our guest.” The old woman nods to me. “Take a seat at the table, and Mariska will pour you some wine.”

“I’ll just have tea if that’s okay?”

“I’ve got you covered!” Mariska’s voice is bright, and I’m sure she’s thinking about our conversation in the garden.

When we left Patrick and Elaine outside, Patrick had been texting with his brother. My friend’s face was lined with concern as she watched him, and I know she was reading whatever they have planned. I’m dying to ask her where Derek is, what he’s doing, if he’s safe, but I’ll have to wait until we’re alone.

At last they enter the room holding hands. I still detect a hint of worry on her brow, but Patrick is in good spirits.

“Wow!” he says with a smile. “I hope you made enough for seconds.”

“With a shifter in the house?” Demeter shakes her head. “I know how to feed my guests.”

Her voice is stern, but I can tell Patrick amuses her. He’s a charming guy, and I’m relieved Mariska has found a way to help me tolerate his presence. Sipping the lemon verbena tea she brewed, I’m feeling calmer than ever as they join me at the heavy, rustic table. Finished railroad ties serve as benches, and it’s all very homey and familiar.

As we wait, my eyes travel the small kitchen. Nothing particularly special distinguishes it from any other home kitchen, except I notice a leaf split in five sections hanging over the back door. I’m going to ask what it means when Demeter snaps at her granddaughter.

“Mariska, aider.”

“Oui, Yaya.”

I watch my young friend hurry over with a large, shallow bowl. Demeter quickly spoons a large portion of grits onto it followed quickly by another spoon of shrimp. Mariska tops the steaming orange concoction with a sprinkling of green scallions and carries it to Patrick.

“Merci,” he says with a wink, and Mariska’s nose wrinkles with her grin.

“You don’t have to speak French,” she laughs. “Yaya only does when she’s in a rush.”

“Mariska!” The older woman barks.

“I’m coming! Jeez!” She hurries back, grabbing two bowls this time.

Both are filled with a noticeably smaller portion of the steaming deliciousness. I’m not complaining. Sprinklings of scallions, and they’re placed before Elaine and me. The last two are filled, and Demeter carries a basket of French bread wrapped in a red and white checked cloth to the table.

I reach for my fork, but stop immediately when the old woman begins to pray.

“Bless us, oh Lord, and these your gifts which we are about to receive from your bounty. Through Christ our Lord. And guard us against the evil one. Amen.”

She adds the last line so fast, I have to wonder if she’s concerned about offending me. I am the one who brought the threat of the evil one into our midst, after all. A flood of shame warms my face, and I try to cover it by leaning closer to my steaming dish.

“This smells so delicious,” I say quietly. “And you made it so quickly!”

“Shrimp and grits is really easy to prepare,” Mariska says around a bite. “So long as your shrimp are processed right.”

I take a bite of the meaty, white shellfish, and a burst of savory juices fills my mouth. It’s hot, but not like a pepper. It’s a subtle simmer on my tongue, and the spices blend perfectly.

“I’d love to learn to make this,” Elaine says, covering her mouth with her hand.

Patrick nods. “I second that!”

“So,” Demeter’s sharp voice cuts through our banter, “were you born a shifter or made?”

Her dark eyes level on Patrick, but he isn’t bothered by her tone or her question.

“Born,” he answers with a grin. “My mother was also a born shifter, but my father was made. Probably why he didn’t imprint properly.”

“Good,” the old woman says with a nod, taking another bite.

Elaine’s voice is a bit more hesitant. “Does it make a difference?”

I’m sure she’s considering her own non-shifter status.

“It makes him stronger,” the woman says. “More magic. Harder to overcome.”

My eyes widen on Patrick, who’s wolfing down his shrimp and grits as if his paranormal status is nothing new. I suppose it isn’t to him if he was born that way.

“You’re not the alpha,” she continues, watching him.

“No, ma’am,” he says, glancing up. “That dubious honor is my brother Stuart’s.”

She pauses a beat as if a bell sounded only she could hear. A little light hits her eyes, but she blinks it away. It’s all so fast, I’m sure no one else noticed. “So you communicate telepathically?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he nods, taking another bite of shrimp. “When we’re fighting, when one of us is in danger. Not all the time.”

“Hmm.” She nods and returns to her meal.

“It’s so similar to my gift,” Elaine says, putting her hand on his arm. “Sometimes I’m amazed at how orderly the supernatural can be.”

Patrick looks at her with an intensity that almost makes me blush. I still don’t have a good handle on this imprinting business, but I’m learning to be happy for my friend. Seeing them together, being able to be in the same room with him, has removed my doubts. He’s friendly and kind, and terribly powerful.

“Did you always know you were a shifter?” Mariska asks.

“No!” Patrick laughs. “The first time I got pissed at Stuart, I was about five.”

“Five!” Elaine squeezes his arm, smiling.

“He’d done something… Damn, I can’t even remember what it was, but I was so mad, I wanted to bite him.”

Demeter sits back with a grin and takes a long, slender pipe out of her pocket. I watch as she tamps it against her chair then stuffs a pinch of tobacco in the small bowl and lights it.

“Bite?” Mariska pretends to disapprove. “You immediately went to biting?”

“I wasn’t very old,” he says. “Next thing I knew, I was gnawing on his leg in full puppy mode. He was swearing because you know. Puppy teeth are sharp!”

We all laugh at that, and it’s the first time in a long time I remember relaxing into humor. I wonder if Mariska added anything to my lemon verbena tea, which is now gone.

We spend the next hour listening to stories of the Knight brothers as children. Apparently their little sister Amy could hold her own once she learned she could shift into a cat.

“Her fucking claws…” Patrick shakes his head, a twinkle in his eye. “Hurt like hell.”

Demeter and I smile, but we’re the only two not fully engaged in the merriment. I’m sure for her it’s because she’s heard stories like this before. In my case, I only seem to lose the tension gripping my insides for a little while.

Even though we’re here, miles away from danger, hidden in this well protected home with a formidable shifter guarding us, something dangerous is happening in the city. Something involving Derek.

“Stuart really kicked my ass that time,” Patrick is finishing a story, leaning back against the wall with a grin.

Elaine leans into his side, wrapping a slim arm around his waist, when all at once he stiffens and sits forward fast.

We all jump at the sudden change in him. His eyes are focused on a candle in the center of the table, but I can see his thoughts are miles from here. He’s hearing something or feeling something—however it works. Elaine is beside him listening silently. Her eyes are round, and she holds his arm.

“Patrick…” The whisper dies on her lips. It’s as if she knows what will happen next, and she knows she can’t stop it.

He’s on his feet moving around the kitchen. Large hands go into the sides of his hair, and he looks down. Every muscle in his body is flexed, and the adrenaline in his veins is almost visible to me.

Demeter’s crackly old voice breaks the silence. “You have to leave us.” It’s not a question.

“How strong are you?” His green-hazel eyes fix on the old witch at the head of the table.

She is calm as a stone. “I’m not strong enough to fight an old one. I am strong enough to hide us. For a little while.”

He winces, the internal conflict clear on his face. “They need me.” His eyes move to Elaine, and his voice is quiet. “I have to go to them. It’s… critical.”

My friend is on her feet and nodding as she crosses the room to him. “Do what you have to do.” She clutches both his hands. “We’ll be safe here. I’ll hear you if anything changes.”

His jaw moves as the two look deeply into each other’s eyes. He pulls her against his chest, and for a moment, they only hold each other. Patrick’s eyes squeeze shut, and he inhales deeply at the top of her head. I can’t help thinking how primitive and perfect it is.

Another breath and his eyes open. He moves my friend out, holding her at arms’ length. “You hear me?” She nods her pale blonde head rapidly. “Listen to me as long as you can. I’ll tell you if you need to hide, go underground, run as far from here as you can get.”

Her eyes widen a bit, but she nods again.

“I won’t lose you,” he finishes, moving his hands to her shoulders. He looks up at Demeter then. “Use your strongest magic. Cover the house. You can’t fight him, but you can protect this place.”

The old woman’s lips pucker. “I’ve encountered strong ones before, cher. Your lady will be safe.”

Patrick’s breathing is fast, and I sense his desperation. Defying his alpha’s direct order is a unique stressor on its own, but leaving his mate unguarded is worse. Ice floods my veins as understanding fills me. He would only leave her if someone were about to die.

I shudder, thinking of Derek so far away. Oh, god, don’t let him be killed…

Derek

Stuart drums his fingers on the glossy wooden bar in Chartres House. “It’s not smart working with an unproven witch.”

“Patrick trusts her,” I say, lifting a tumbler of scotch to my lips. “And with him in Algiers, we don’t have a choice.”

He props an elbow on the ledge. “Too much is wrong with this situation. Our mission was finding Alison’s killer. We should be back in Princeton finishing that job. We’ve taken a personal detour, and now you’re carrying vampire blood in your veins. We’re not prepared, and if something happens to you—”

Normally, talk like this would piss me off, but I’ve served with this man in combat. He saved my life. Of all the people in the world I should listen to, he’s one of them. I manage to control my temper.

“Nothing’s going to happen to me,” I say. “Yes, it’s a personal detour, but it’s not outside our mission. We’re after justice, Stuart.” The vampire’s plans to torture Melissa flicker across my mind, the wooden box. “Tonight is about justice. Trust me.”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

Nodding, I accept his concession, even though I know he’s right. We’re vulnerable. We haven’t traded blood. Patrick is miles away. We’re facing one of the strongest vampires I’ve ever encountered—stronger than my immunity. If I didn’t believe emphatically time is of the essence, we wouldn’t be here right now.

I’m mentally calculating all our weaknesses when Star pushes through the door. She’s different, although I shouldn’t be surprised. She’s a witch in New Orleans. Dealing with the undead is second nature to her.

She looks around the room, chin lifted as if inspecting her domain. Her eyes light on me, and a thin dark brow arches. A smirk curls her velvet-red lips, and she crosses the small space, slim hips swaying under a long, black dress.

Her dark eyes sweep slowly from my waist to my face, and I have to confess, she’s good. She’s everything those undead fuckers love—rich, confident, and dripping with sex.

“How about you buy me a drink.” Her deep voice is sassy.

The bartender, along with all the straight men in the room, picks up his jaw and asks what we’re having.

“Scotch neat,” I say. I don’t have to ask. I know Star is a scotch drinker. Actually, I’m betting she’s more of a whiskey gal.

The small barroom returns to business as usual, and the bartender scurries off. Stuart hasn’t moved from leaning on the bar beside me. Irritation rolls off him in waves, but Star doesn’t seem to notice.

She looks up at me, speaking quietly. “My neck, arms, and wrists are all exposed. The slit in this dress provides access to my inner thighs…”

The bartender’s back, and I nod, slipping him a twenty. He’ll take care of us and leave us alone at the same time. Once he’s gone, she continues.

“I spent the last hour drinking a tea of verbena root, mountain ash, and wild rose. If he swallows even an ounce of my blood, he’ll be weak enough for you to kill him.” She slants a dark eye at Stuart. “A dose of shifter blood would make me practically invincible.”

My partner clears his throat and straightens, taking a hit of scotch.

She faces him then, amusement flickering in her dark eyes. “How about it, wolf? Care to step into the alley for a quickie?”

“No thanks,” he grumbles not making eye contact.

Her grin is wicked as she takes a long pull off the drink I ordered her. “You act like you haven’t been laid in a month. Is the horniness getting you down?”

That does it. Stuart’s voice rises. “Don’t fuck with me, witch. If I fucked you, you wouldn’t walk straight for a week.”

“Hmm… that’s a challenge I’m willing to accept.”

“Okay, cut it out.” I give Stuart a pointed look, and he turns away while I lower my voice again. “Let’s hear your plan.”

She bends an elbow, passing her fingers over her lips as she speaks. “It’s dark tonight. Fog is rolling in off the river, hiding the moon. I’ll take a lonely walk on the levee toward Woldenberg Park. Two small pavilions are hidden in the trees there.”

Remembering our pretense, I slide my palm along the outside of her upper arm, stepping closer as if we’re making a connection.

“You think you can entrance him?”

“I’m tipsy, half-dressed—easy prey.” She looks over her shoulder, ensuring no one is listening. Her chin drops, and her forehead almost touches my chest. “Don’t move too fast. Wait until he’s in the frenzy, then take him out.”

The simple perfection of her plan convinces me. I nod at once and glance up at Stuart, giving him a slight nod.

“We’ll be close. I won’t let him kill you.”

She exhales a laugh, stepping back to finish off the scotch in one large gulp. “I would hope as much. Later, wolf.”

She gives my partner a wink and turns on a tall stiletto. I watch her ass sway under long black silk as she makes her way to the door and leaves. Only a few customers glance at us as I bump my partner’s arm, and we settle up the bill. We’ll give her a bit of a head start then take off after her.

Out on the street, the night feels close. The fog has rolled in quickly, shrouding everything in a thick blanket. Tension grips my shoulders as we make our way the two blocks to the river. Stuart looks around as we cross Decatur and grabs my arm.

“Give me a minute.” He steps into a deserted alley, and I inspect the empty street, waiting.

Moments later an oversized black Rottweiler is at my side. As much as I hate to lose direct communication with him, his vision and hearing are improved, and one man walking a dog is less conspicuous than two men walking alone, clearly on a mission. Too bad we didn’t have time for the ritual.

Making our way down St. Louis Street, the lamps are hazy balls of light in the thickening fog. Banana trees cast eerie shadows, and a few bodies are hunched against the wide planters lining the large, waterfront parking lot for the Creole Queen riverboat.

On nights like this, the city settles into an unusual quiet. Of course, the revelers are going strong on Bourbon Street, but once the French Market vendors clear out, the storefronts roll down their doors, and only a few bars remain open for tourists brave enough to roam the streets of New Orleans in a fog this thick.

We’re at the steps leading up to the levee. The riverboat entrance is behind us, and the large vessel is gone, making its nightly voyage up and down the expansive waterway. Two dark figures are moving toward us. My fight reflex kicks in, but after a moment, I realize it’s only a couple strolling the levee, talking and laughing, oblivious to the danger around them as they gaze out at the wide, black water swirling in crosscurrents.

Their soft, disembodied voices reach us through the fog before they do, and I place my hand on Stuart’s neck. He’s not wearing his protective chain collar tonight, but I still try to make it look as if he’s restrained. The less attention we draw the better. They pass us without greeting, and we keep moving.

The Mississippi River Bridge looms in the distance, white lights dotting its three metal arches. A small tugboat pushes a massive barge out on the water. Only muffled beams of light and large ripples signal its presence. The further we go toward the trees and bushes surrounding the small pavilions that dot the path, the darker it becomes.

We’re completely alone, and we both stop to listen. Stuart’s ears perk forward. He might not like Star, but he won’t let her be vampire food any more than I will. For moments that stretch out like hours we hear nothing. Then Stuart’s ears twitch. He detects something, and with a slight lowering of his massive head, I know it’s time to move.

My heavy boots make a dull thud against the pavement as we jog quickly to the hedge surrounding the smaller pavilion. Palms mix with holly bushes to form a thick, natural barrier. It’s good—it will cover our scent.

Adrenaline races in my veins. I open my mouth to quiet my breathing. I don’t see anything. I don’t hear anything. I’m relying strictly on Stuart’s lead. The gun loaded with silver bullets is in my left boot, and a stake is strapped inside my coat. If he’s latched onto her, it won’t take long to finish him. I can only hope her potion is as powerful as she believes.

I pull up short when at last I hear voices, and we recede into the shadows. A quick scan of our surroundings confirms we’re alone. They’re in the smaller pavilion, the one away from the river, and their voices echo off the tin roof clear as a bell to where we’re hiding.

“…just taking a walk.” Star’s voice is high and a little giggly. She’s going for tipsy, vulnerable. It’s good.

The voice that answers puts ice in my veins. “You’re overdressed for a walk on a night like this.”

His speaking voice is different from his voice in my head. It’s smooth and polished with a low vibration of glamour. But in addition to that, in addition to the overt threat, something else gives me pause. I can almost place it…

“Oh, I was at a party,” she sighs, and we see her in the shadows, leaning on the pavilion railing. “I just got so bored. Do you ever get so bored of people you want to scream?”

“All the time.” His smile is hungry. “What bored you tonight?”

“Nothing.” She turns and faces him. “I mean, the prospect of nothing. Another night. Nothing changes.”

“Ah.” He nods, sitting on the opposite railing facing her, watching her.

From our vantage point behind the foliage, we can see and hear them. If Star gets in trouble, we’ll have a slight delay reaching her, still, if we get too close, we risk detection—especially with Stuart in his shifter form.

Pushing off the rail, she walks straight to him. “You say I’m overdressed. What’s with the tux?”

She slides her hands under the lapels of his black dinner jacket. I’ve got to hand it to her, she’s brave to get so close.

“I’m going to dine.”

“Dinner? You’re going to dinner, you mean?”

“No.” He reaches out and catches her wrists, lifting one to his mouth. “I said what I meant.”

My muscles tighten. I’m not sure if he’ll bite her… He seems only to inhale her skin.

Everything stops.

His expression hardens, and he throws her arm down abruptly.

“How often does this work for you?”

“What?” She’s still grinning, stepping to him again.

Faster than the human eye, he spins her around, pinning her arms and holding her back against his chest. A little shriek comes from her as he restrains her. Her breasts rise and fall rapidly with her breathing.

“You thought you would trick me?” The smooth vibration is gone, and he’s speaking in the sinister hiss I recognize. “You think I can’t smell the poison in your veins?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Her voice trembles. “You can smell my veins?”

I can’t tell if this is more of her act of if she’s truly asking. It seems the vampire isn’t sure either. He releases one of her wrists in favor of grasping the front of her throat with his long fingers.

“You’ve drunk verbena root… and it smells like mountain rose.”

“M-my perfume is rose.” Her lips are quivering, and I can see tears in her eyes. Stuart and I start to move until… “What is verbena root?”

We stop again, waiting. She knows exactly what verbena root is. Is she working an angle?

The vampire pauses as well, but his slim fingers clutch the front of her neck as if he’ll rip it away. For a moment, the only noise is Star’s whimpering. Her rapid breathing shifts the deep V of her dress, revealing the crease under her cleavage. It’s a succulent sight for a vampire, but ours isn’t biting.

“I didn’t get this far being stupid.” His gaze lifts, and he looks around the area. “You’re a trap.”

His grip tightens, and the sound of choking fills the air. His fingers are strong enough to break her skin and throw her windpipe across the levee. I’m not convinced he won’t do it.

“Is this clever, little witch?” He hisses in her ear, and Star lets out a strangled cry. He jerks her around to the side, and the muffled lamplight falls across her face. I see her cheeks are slick with tears. Her nose is running.

“I don’t… know… what—”

“LIAR!” He snarls, but just as he starts to tear her throat out, my partner dives through the opening, knocking him back. Star instantly falls in a heap as a loud yelp screeches from my partner.

The vampire has both hands on his body, and I see his pale head in my partner’s throat, shaking side to side. More heart-chilling screeches come from Stuart.

“STUART!” I yell, pushing my arms against holly, fighting to get through the fucking hedge.

I’m finally out and running, grabbing inside my jacket for the stake.

The monster throws my partner to the ground, a limp, black heap of fur. His whimpers meet my ears, but he doesn’t get up. He appears to be paralyzed. Or injured so badly, he can’t stand.

I’m inside the small shelter facing the vampire. The blur that once clouded his features is gone, and I see he’s taken a huge bite out of my partner’s neck. But even with the blood covering his mouth and chin, I recognize him, and the shock hits me like a tidal wave.

“Sloan?” I can barely say his name. I take a staggering step back. “You did this?”

He sneers. “I’ve been waiting for this moment.”

At the sound of his cruel, vampire voice, any compassion I might have had is erased. Star’s life, Stuart’s life… Alison’s life. Melissa.

All the rage in me races back. “So have I.”

Just that fast, his demeanor switches. He straightens, takes a cloth handkerchief from his pocket, and wipes his chin clean as if dining in a fine New Orleans restaurant. “Always the good little boy scout aren’t you. Or should I say the good little soldier?”

At those words, understanding floods my mind. He’s prepared for me. He saw me in the street and blinded my vision. He saw me today when he was tracking Melissa and did it again. He knows about my immunity. He knows all my methods as a hunter. He taught me how to hunt his kind.

Now I’m alone, facing him. My partner is bleeding out. The vampire saliva will work against his shifter powers, and if the wound is severe enough, he’ll die.

Star hasn’t recovered from her injuries or else she’s staying down. I don’t have time to lose if I’m going to finish what’s left of my former mentor and save them.

I start with the charges, each one of them fueling my determination to beat him. “You raped Melissa. You forced her to drink your blood against her will—”

His eyebrows shoot up, and he starts to laugh. “Really? That’s what you’re charging me with?” His laugh is a grating, animal noise, and I can’t help noticing again how much he’s changed since I knew him.

The light in his face that used to guide our hunts has turned cruel and sinister, and his mockery is as wicked as the thing we killed in the cemetery.

“I’m only getting started, bloodsucker,” I growl.

He takes a step to the side. “I see you’re using the old lingo,” he scoffs, casually waving a hand. “Will you call me demon next?”

“If the label fits.”

All at once, he’s serious. He straightens as if having an idea and turns to face me. The white shirt beneath his black tuxedo jacket gleams in the lamplight just like his skin.

“Do you remember when I taught you to hunt?” He watches me intently, as if measuring my reaction.

I remain neutral. I’m well aware he knows every move I’ll make to bring him down. I’m on guard against tricks. “Of course, I remember.”

He nods and takes a few more steps along the perimeter of the pavilion opposite me. “We were an unbeatable team. We just never had a chance to prove ourselves in any real fights. Still, my brains combined with your muscle… I was invincible!”

I almost laugh at his fucking arrogance. “Then why are you here now—as a vampire? Clearly someone bested you.”

I’ve heard of vampire blood causing madness, but I’ve never spoken to one long enough to verify it. His eyes lower as if remembering something from long ago.

“She was so beautiful.” He speaks the words in hushed, longing tones. “She came to me at the reflecting pool, in the sculpture garden. Her long, red hair undulated in waves like magic.”

“She used her hypnotic powers on you.”

“If she did, she didn’t need to. She entranced me from the start. I would do whatever she asked. Lilith…”

A whine from the back corner reminds me Stuart’s condition is dire. I don’t have time to listen to his bullshit anymore. “You killed Alison.”

Those three words snap him from his trance. His eyes turn white-blue and almost seem to glow in the darkness. Only the fog that surrounds us does not bind them. They’re little rays of pure evil pointing straight at me. My breath ticks up a notch, and my heart rate quickens. Here it comes.

“Who told you that?” He snarls like a cat, and I know he’s cornered. I’m calculating the right moment to drop and grab my gun.

“The old one in the cemetery. He was far less worried about dying as he was about ratting out your sorry ass.”

Something changes. My vision blurs like I’ve been hit with nerve gas. Sloan’s body starts to undulate before my eyes. He’s an image on the surface of the water, rippling after a stone has been tossed. My strength fails, and I realize in a panic, he’s overpowering me with his glamour. I don’t know how he’s doing it, but I can’t fight him. I drop to my knees as he begins to torture me with his words.

“Yesss…. Alison,” he says. “Alison Spencer Alexander, with her soft blonde hair. Her blood was sweet like peaches. A little spicy like nutmeg.”

Rage blazes in my chest, and I try to fight his power. He’s holding me on my knees, numb from the neck down. My limbs won’t obey me, and the fury builds in my useless body, pressure pounding in my temples. Dropping my head back I use all my strength to raise my arms.

“RAAAHHH!!!” I shout, willing my body to respond. The power of the vengeance inside me should be enough. It isn’t.

Sloan only laughs, which piques my fury higher. “Sucks, doesn’t it? Being under my control. I’m as powerful as an old one, thanks to all our study and work. Most of those idiots take years to learn what I already knew the moment I changed. It’s possible I’m the most powerful vampire on this continent.

“Melissa is merely another step in my climb to greatness.” White-hot rage glares back at me. “You thought you would take her from me, but that’s where you’re wrong. She’s mine, and she will always be mine as long as my blood is in her veins.”

I’ve got to break free of him. If I don’t we’ll lose everything. Not only is my partner’s life on the line, if Sloan eludes us here, we’ll never find him again. He’ll go so deep underground… I know him. I know his cunning. He’ll take Melissa and go so far, I’ll never find him. He’ll torture her, and I won’t be able to save her.

Sweat forms on my brow, and desperation twists in my lungs. “You’re not getting away with this,” I say through my clenched jaw.

“Looks like I already have.” He leans toward me. “It should only be a few moments longer before his life is gone.”

Fucking murderer! He’s waiting for Stuart to die. His cold blue eyes hold mine, and if I had any use of my arms, I’d break his neck.

I’m ready to bargain with him. I’m ready to say anything that will make him leave so I can save my partner when a noise like a puma snarl echoes in the metal building.

My head snaps up just in time to see a large golden body fly through the opening and hit Sloan square in the chest. His power over me breaks, and I fall forward briefly before staggering to my feet. What happens next, is hard to explain.

Blue fury blinds me. A burning need to kill him overshadows my thoughts. I reach out and grab my former mentor by the top of his hair, jerking him to his feet with one hand as my other holds the stake. His head pivots and those white eyes fix on mine. In that moment, I get the twisted idea to finish him the way he finished Alison.

I don’t hesitate. I rip his head back against my shoulder, and a satisfying CRUNCH! of bone greets my ears. His neck is broken, but he’s still alive. Only three things kill a vampire, and a broken neck isn’t one of them.