by Kristie Cook
“Then it really was . . . was a . . .” I tried to swallow but my throat refused to cooperate. “. . . a person’s hand?”
He nodded. I felt all the blood drain from my face.
“Oh, dear God.” No way did a person fit in that trunk, not whole anyway, which only meant . . . “Holy hell! Who is it? Is the rest of him in these trunks?”
In answer, Tristan lifted the lid of the first trunk and pulled out the leather bags. With a solid determination I could never muster, he withdrew the hand, which remained attached to an arm, and I knew immediately it didn’t belong to a “he,” but to a “she.” The skin was whiter than snow.
“A vampire?” I whispered.
“Remember, that to kill a vampire, you must cut it up and burn the pieces. If you don’t burn them . . .” Tristan pulled out the other contents of the bags from that trunk, laying out another arm and the top of a naked torso with perfect, full breasts. The pieces, all of them rock hard, started trembling in place, as if the floor under them quaked. Then . . .
“Oh. My. God.” I threw my hand over my mouth.
The body parts were moving. Moving! The sound of stone scraping across the ceramic tiles screeched like nails on a chalkboard as the pieces inched across the floor on their own volition. They slid toward each other, as if each one was magnetically pulled to the others.
Tristan fingered the top of the other trunk to unlock it and lifted the lid. He pulled out more bags, these containing hips and butt, thighs, calves and feet, and placed them near the rest, the display representing a morbid piecemeal of a human form. Somehow in my daze, I pulled a blanket out of the closet and was about to throw it over the naked female’s chopped up body.
“Wait,” Tristan said, holding his hand up to stop me. “You have to let it finish first.”
He stood and turned his back to give the . . . the thing . . . privacy. He pulled me into his arms but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the macabre scene. Each white, stony body part made its way to the others and latched on with a sick, sucking sound like shoes pulling from mud. The body melded itself back together until it was whole. Well, almost whole.
“Where’s . . . where’s her head?” I whispered. The form ended at the shoulders with only a stub for a neck. The whole thing began to vibrate, quivering on the floor as if it knew it was missing a vital part but didn’t know where to find it. My own body shook, and my voice came out as a shriek, escalating with hysteria. “She doesn’t have a head. Where’s her head? Oh, my god, it’s not here! She doesn’t have a head, Tristan!”
A faint pop sounded, and suddenly Owen stood in the corner of the room. His eyes immediately went to the body on the floor, and he nodded in appreciation.
“Last piece,” he said, holding up another leather bag, a round object the size of a basketball shaping its bottom. My stomach churned again.
I couldn’t respond. I couldn’t squeal my happiness at seeing him. I couldn’t scold him for his gruesome delivery. I couldn’t do anything. I simply stared in a daze as he moved toward the snow-white vampire. His body came between us, thankfully blocking my view as he pulled the . . . Oh, god, the head . . . out of the bag.
But I did catch a glimpse of the hair.
My eyes trained in on the long, silky locks as my brain processed what I’d just witnessed and what I saw now.
Long, silky, white-blond hair. The newly re-formed vampire let out a long sigh—and even it was musical.
I gasped.
“No. Fucking. Way.”
Chapter 13
My mind tried to decide whether to thank Owen for capturing Vanessa or to demand from her where my necklace was. My body didn’t wait on the decision, but acted on its own. One moment, I stood in Tristan’s arms and peeked around his shoulder. The next, I had the vampire-bitch by the upper-arms and slammed her against the concrete wall.
Her head flew toward mine with a head-butt, but I blocked it with a hand in her face. Of course, this meant loosening my hold on her body, which she took advantage of. She did a spin-and-duck move under my arm, freeing herself completely from my grasp. I swung my leg in a roundhouse that pounded into her ribs, but she caught my foot before I could kick her again. I flipped out of her grip and lunged at her. We flew into the steel medical cart and crashed to the floor, medical tools and supplies clamoring around us. She grabbed my throat, and her ice-blue eyes held mine as she punched me in the cheek. I zapped her with a shot of electricity. She pulled her knees under me and shoved me hard with her legs, and I flew backwards like a ragdoll. My head and back cracked against the wall.
The pain stopped me for a moment, and I closed my eyes, bracing for the impact. She should have been on me instantly. We had to have been moving in a blur before, and she had her chance now. I opened my eyes and prepared to grab onto her thoughts to know her next move as electricity sparked along my fingertips.
But the vamp wasn’t making a next move.
She couldn’t. Owen stood in front of her, blocking her out of view, but I could tell he gripped her upper arms. Okay, she wouldn’t make a next move, because the vampire was definitely stronger than the warlock and could have broken free from his grasp if she really wanted to.
“You promised,” he snarled at her.
“I was only defending myself,” she said, her voice dripping with false innocence.
Defending herself? Yeah, right. But as I thought about it, I couldn’t deny that every one of her moves had been in self-defense. Except . . .
“Choking and punching are offensive moves,” Owen said.
Vanessa’s glare cut over his shoulder at me, and I took a step toward the two of them, my fists still balled at my sides. She shrugged as she looked me in the eyes. “Yeah, well, I’ve been wanting to hurt that pretty face of hers for years. I couldn’t help it. One last hurrah and all that.”
Tristan stepped forward with a growl of warning to the vampire. I’d have to remember to thank him later for not interrupting our fight. I just wished we could have finished it. Instead, after being absent for so long, Owen suddenly decided he had to do his job. Only . . . I cocked my head. Despite his accusation of her, he sure stood as though he protected her, not me.
Vanessa’s eyes flew to Tristan at the sound of his warning, and I hoped she’d start calling him lover boy and proceed with her infatuation with him. I needed the excuse to pick up where we left off. But she didn’t. She was standing there naked with one of the hottest bodies on the planet, an ideal opportunity to flaunt all of her perfection, and run at the mouth about what he was missing out on. But she didn’t. Her eyes didn’t have that usual spark of lust when she saw Tristan. And she actually looked as though she hid behind Owen.
“Can I get some clothes or at least a blanket?” she asked. And she was modest? Vanessa? What was going on here?
With a swish of magic, Owen lifted the blanket I’d dropped earlier and wrapped it around her.
“What the hell?” I finally demanded.
Tristan crossed his arms over his chest. “I’d like to know the same thing. What are you up to, Scarecrow?”
Owen turned to face us, but kept his body in front of Vanessa’s and angled, as if prepared for an attack. By me. Tristan must have noticed, too. He cocked an eyebrow.
“You know, the ‘so-called’ part of being my protector, I’d only said that because you were gone,” I said. “Not because I thought you actually abandoned me. You’re supposed to protect me, Owen. Not our enemy.”
“You don’t need protecting,” he said. “Not right here or right now, anyway.”
“And she does?” Tristan scoffed, nodding in Vanessa’s direction.
Owen’s sapphire eyes hardened as they looked at me. “As long as Alexis can’t control herself, yeah, she does.”
I sucked in a sharp breath. Tristan took another step forward and leaned in closer to the warlock who was supposedly his best friend.
“She is our enemy, Owen. How did you expect Alexis to react? What in God’s name are you
even thinking, bringing Vanessa in here like this?”
“She was completely defenseless when she got here.”
A chill ran up my spine at the memory of the beautiful, crazed vampire-bitch in white pieces only minutes ago.
“She’s weak now,” Owen continued. “She needs blood. And she needs your help.”
I laughed. It sounded deranged, maniacal. “What? Have you lost your mind? Why on earth would we help her? She wants to kill me!”
“I told you.” Vanessa’s musical voice came out from behind Owen’s back. And something about her tone, about the implication that she knew how I’d react better than Owen did, pissed me off.
Owen ignored Vanessa, though. “She has something you want. You have something she wants.”
“We don’t negotiate with the enemy,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest.
“She doesn’t have to be your enemy. You two have a lot in common, you know.”
My eyes bugged. Red hatred seeped into my vision. My pulse flooded in my ears as the anger built up. But I managed to bite back all the profanities I wanted to slew at my so-called friend and protector.
“Chain her up until we figure out what to do with her,” I said through clenched teeth.
“What?” Vanessa shrieked. Her eyes went wide as they took in the silver cuffs at the ends of the chains hanging on the wall. Tristan lifted his hand, and Vanessa’s body rose several inches off the floor.
“Alexis,” Owen said, his voice harder than I’d ever heard it, “this isn’t necessary. Will you just listen to me?”
I spun on him and narrowed my eyes. I practically spit my words at him. “She has nothing I want, and she will always be my enemy. And I’m beginning to wonder if you are, too.”
I heard the cuffs clamp around Vanessa’s wrists and ankles as I stomped out of the room. The sound of her wails—not so much of pain but more of indignity—followed me down the hallway. So did Owen and Tristan.
“You need to shut her up,” I snapped back at them.
As I rounded the corner to the left wing, a hand landed on my shoulder and spun me around.
“She wouldn’t be screaming if you’d unchain her,” Owen said, but at the same time, his hand flicked, and her shrieks suddenly stopped. I didn’t know if he actually silenced her or blocked the sound from leaving the room. As long as Sheree and Sonya didn’t hear her—and I didn’t have to listen to her—I didn’t care about the how.
“And why would you even think we’d do such a thing?” I said, glaring at him. “Her ultimate goal has always been my death. Really, Owen, whose side are you on?”
His eyes flicked to Tristan and back to me. He didn’t answer my question, but denied everything about Vanessa instead.
“She won’t kill you. That’s not what she wants. Not now.” He looked away from me and cleared his throat. He shoved his fists into his pockets, then finally returned his gaze to me. “She doesn’t even want Tristan anymore. She has a, uh, new . . . interest . . . obsession. Whatever you want to call it.”
I stared at the warlock, trying to decode his meaning. What could finally pull Vanessa’s attention away from Tristan and me? According to Tristan, she’d been chasing him for over two centuries, desiring him to be her boy-toy. She hated me and had wanted me dead before I was even born. She pursued these goals with the kind of single-minded determination that doesn’t simply disappear without good reason.
Owen’s gaze jumped about from the wall behind me to the ceiling and to some point down the hall, as if he avoided looking at me. And then I knew. Not what distracted her, but who.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said with a hollow laugh as I rocked back on my heels. Owen finally looked at me, and a pink tint crawled up his neck and face. “You? She’s obsessed with you now?”
His face reddened even more, confirming my statement.
“But you don’t feel—never mind, don’t answer that. Of course you don’t.” I shook my head in disbelief. “Well, I guess that’s somewhat of a relief.”
“Hardly,” Tristan said. “Just because she isn’t after me at the moment doesn’t mean she won’t still try to kill Alexis. Or both of us. She is Daemoni. Tell me again what exactly you were thinking by bringing her here, Owen.”
“Yeah, what could she possibly want from us?” I asked, already knowing what we needed from her. My angry claim that she didn’t have anything we wanted was a lie. She didn’t have it on her naked body now, but she knew where the faerie stone was. Would she really exchange it for something from us? What could she want in return? Owen? “You’re your own man, as you’ve shown us for the last fifteen months. That’s up to you, not us. Or . . . wait, if you made some kind of deal sacrificing yourself—”
Owen shook his head. “No. I’m not that self-sacrificing at the moment.”
I tilted my head at his tone and meaning. We were definitely dealing with a changed Owen. He didn’t elaborate but returned to the subject of Vanessa.
“She wants to make the sacrifice. She’s been talking about it for a while . . . months, actually . . . has been begging for me to bring her to you.”
“She wants us to kill her?” Tristan asked.
Oh, dear God, I thought. A suicidal vampire? Thing was, we couldn’t kill her. As much as I’d wanted to on the surface, I knew I couldn’t do it unless she was trying to kill me or someone else. Which she hadn’t been earlier—she really had been defending herself for the most part, definitely not doing anything to jeopardize my life. There was still hope for Vanessa’s soul. I could feel it; I’ve always felt it every time I was around her.
“No, not that either,” Owen said. “She thinks . . . she really wants . . .”
Why did he have such a hard time voicing what Vanessa wanted? Before he could manage to say it, a squeal came from the other end of the hallway.
“Owen!” Sheree sprinted down the corridor and threw herself at the warlock. She wrapped her arms around his neck. “My savior! I was hoping I’d get to see you soon.”
Owen’s mind tugged at mine. “She can’t know about Vanessa.”
Of course not, I agreed.
“Hey, Sheree.” Owen returned her embrace and spun her around, acting as though everything was peachy-fine. He pulled back and seemed to drink the shifter in with his eyes. “Lookin’ good.”
She blushed and grinned. “Thank you. I owe it all to you.”
And I knew that tone, the same one she used when talking to Tristan, but huskier with a heavier layer of flirt. She started chattering away about how much her life had changed since he’d saved her from the Daemoni and how appreciative of him she was, until I finally cleared my throat. Sheree looked at me with chagrin and dropped her head, almost in a bow.
“Sorry, Alexis,” she said. “I just wanted to let you know that Sonya’s begging for more blood, even though it’s not really time yet. What do you think?”
“Sonya?” Owen probably recognized the name from when he accompanied me on book tours. Sonya, Norman at the time, hadn’t been a real threat, but my publicist had been told Owen was my bodyguard, so she’d notified him of the “stalker.”
“Oh, Owen, you have to meet Sonya,” Sheree gushed. “She remembers you and has been dying to meet you. Come on.” She tugged on his hand, and Owen willingly followed her down the hall.
“Owen,” I said, tossing my hands out in a what-the-hell gesture. He looked back at me and shrugged, as though he were completely helpless against Sheree. “We’re not done here!”
“He’ll only be a minute,” Sheree said. “I promise.”
I sighed and waved my hand in the air with resignation as I watched them saunter down the hall. As they turned the corner into the main house, I caught Owen’s hand move out of hers so his arm could lie over her shoulder instead.
Great. First Vanessa. Now Sheree. Owen was on a roll. But at least I liked Sheree, and her interest in him made perfect sense. She probably hero-worshipped him. After all, he’d saved her from being nearly be
aten to death. By the vampire in the room down the hall.
And Owen wanted us to help the vamp with something? He was out of his mind.
Sheree will totally freak if she finds out Vanessa’s here, I silently told Tristan.
He agreed as he took my hand and led me into one of the master suites, all the way into the bathroom, the room farthest from the hall, shutting doors along the way. He tapped on his forehead, and I tuned into his thoughts.
“Too many vampires who might be able to hear us,” he explained, and I nodded. “Do you have any ideas what Vanessa wants?”
No, but I’m sure you do. At the moment, though, I’m more worried about Owen. Do you think . . . The thought felt like a boulder in my throat, blocking my air. Do you think he’s left us? The Amadis, I mean? I never would have thought it possible but . . .
“He is acting odd, isn’t he?”
Definitely not our usual Owen, I agreed.
Tristan shook his head. “I honestly don’t know, Lex. I trust him for the moment, but this stunt he’s pulled . . .”
You can’t help but wonder. I nodded, completely understanding.
I wanted to trust Owen. But I struggled to do so, especially when he’d brought Vanessa, of all people, right here to the safe house, of all places. Of course, maybe he thought he was doing us a favor so we could get the stone back. And he had taken precautions to make sure she couldn’t really hurt me. Even during our fight, either he or Tristan could have jumped in if I could no longer handle her myself.
But he’d also defended Vanessa. Protected her, not me.
“You’ll have to listen to his thoughts to know where his loyalties are,” Tristan said.
Ugh. I hated the idea of breaching his privacy, especially when he knew I could and trusted me not to. Of course . . . He’d be sure to think the right thoughts while he’s around me.
“Then you’ll have to do it when he doesn’t think you’re around. Preferably when he’s with Vanessa.”