Angel Falls (Cassandra Bick Chronicles Book 3)

by Sinclair, Tracey

  ‘Honestly, vampire, you think I’ve lived this long without having to make the occasional compromise? Cass here might be naïve about this stuff…’ Gee, thanks! ‘But we’ve both been alive a long time. We know how the world works, and what it takes to move in it.’ He sounded almost bored, now, though as he spoke the fingers on the hand trapped beneath Laclos’ knee flicked at me, in some kind of gesture. Unfortunately, my angel telepathy being on the blink, I had no idea what he was trying to say to me. Run? Try again with the gun? I have pins and needles because a vampire is sitting on top of me and cutting off my circulation? OK, judging from the frown he sent in my direction when I shot him a confused look, not the latter. Cain sighed again, a shopkeeper annoyed by a customer who just needs to make up his frigging mind, already.

  ‘I really don’t see how this is a tough decision for you,’ he said, exasperated. ‘You get the angel notch on the bedpost and enough blood – just a little – to keep you topped up for a while. If you think that comes at some enormous sacrifice to my self-worth or masculinity you don’t know me. I get to live and fight another day and recover so the next time you come at me I can tear your fucking head off and mount it on the front of my bike.’

  ‘Ah. Now that is the Cain I am familiar with,’ Laclos grinned, though his voice was laced with caution. I could hardly blame him. Cain always sounded utterly – terrifyingly – convincing when he was running one of these games; it was enough to make anyone doubt their own better judgement. I’d seen Cain do this enough to know he could lie like a politician when it suited him, but it also made him reckless. Since the last time he pulled a fake-out I had ended up, quite literally, being thrown at a werewolf, I was inclined to be wary myself. But then his fingers twitched at me again and, belatedly, I understood what he was trying to tell me. He had realised he had absolutely no hope of appealing to Laclos’ rational side anymore: the alternative was to push him completely in the opposite direction, in the hope that would unbalance him long enough for us to take him down.

  ‘Laclos, he’s right. Please don’t hurt him.’ I sounded fake even to my own ears as I crept towards Laclos, letting the sheet fall away, proving I was unarmed. Awkwardly straddling Cain’s legs as I shuffled up behind the vampire, I put my arms gently – unthreateningly – around Laclos’ waist, nuzzling the back of his neck with my face, pressing my bare breasts against his back like an actress in a bad porno, trying not to flinch at the heat of his skin, so different from his usual coolness. But, ridiculous as I felt – if I survived this and went bankrupt, I wasn’t going to be saved by a career in adult movies – Laclos’ discernment had clearly gone the way of his sanity. He responded to my embrace with a low, animal growl, arching his back against me, letting go of Cain so that his hands could take mine. He twisted round to kiss me, moving me effortlessly off Cain’s legs to the floor beside him: hopped up on blood he might be, but he was also positioning me so he could keep an eye on both of us at the same time. I tried to respond convincingly, but I was tense, waiting for Cain to make his move. But Cain did nothing, and I started to worry that I had misread his plan. Or, even worse, that he didn’t actually have a plan at all.

  ‘Do I need to spell out the consequences if you renege?’ Pulling back from me, Laclos snarled – at me? At both of us? I tried not to recoil, my Sense overwhelmed by him, by the oil black core of the vampire, the coil of stripped back need and hunger that drove him; a vampire at its purest and most basic, entirely steered by its own desires. Cain looked bored.

  ‘If you’re gonna talk the whole way through, I take it back. I’d rather you just killed me.’

  Laclos laughed – it was such a Cain thing to say – and for the merest second, I Sensed him – the real him – inside there. He hesitated, a flicker of sanity, of recognition: of who Cain was, of who he himself was. Cain tensed, seeing it as well, but it wasn’t enough to trust our lives to. Instead the hunter smiled, his expression softening, and he reached out with his free hand and laid it gently on Laclos’ hip.

  ‘C’mon, man. If we’re gonna do this, it doesn’t seem fair you’re the only one with clothes on.’

  And then he tugged, lightly, at Laclos’ belt, easing his hand under his t-shirt, and at the touch of skin on skin, the hot pulse of angelic blood against his bare flesh, I felt what was left of Laclos’ sanity evaporate. His lips drew back in a snarl, fangs bared, and his eyes were almost black with lust and hunger. He reached down and grasped the hem of his t-shirt, pulling away from me slightly so he could undress. I scrambled out of the way, some instinct telling me I needed to be clear of this grotesque charade, and I moved just in time. Laclos raised his hands to pull the t-shirt off over his head, but the minute the fabric covered his eyes, Cain struck. Lashing out with a strength I thought he no longer possessed, he punched Laclos square in the face, so hard the vampire let out a howl of pain and toppled backwards, the cloth of the white t-shirt blossoming red. Cain twisted his body sharply, throwing Laclos clear. There was no sign of the defeated angel, now. As Laclos struggled to free himself from his tangled shirt, Cain snatched the fabric and quickly twisted it, forming a rough bind around Laclos’ trapped arms. He grabbed him and hauled him roughly onto the bed, throwing him down with such force I thought I heard the frame crack. Laclos squirmed, blinded by blood and his own clothing – it would have been funny had it not been so horrific. I saw Cain glance at the fallen gun, and was about to protest – we wanted him alive – but then I realised he was planning something far worse.

  ‘No! Cain!’ I screamed, lunging at him, but of course I was far too slow. He stood on the bed and pulled the samurai sword from the wall, then turned without hesitation and plunged it through Laclos’ exposed chest. Blood exploded from the wound like oil from a well, so forceful even Cain’s face was splattered as he stood back, panting. Laclos, pinned to the bed by a sword that not only went through him and the mattress but was embedded in the very floor beneath them, thrashed helplessly, his screaming muffled by blood and cloth, distorted by his ruined nose and mouth. Then with a look of pure fury, Cain stepped forward and took the hilt of the sword in both hands and, to my utter disbelief, he twisted it: first one way, then another, widening the wound until it was a gaping, viscous hole.

  ‘Cain!’ I half screamed, half sobbed, frozen in horror. Whatever Laclos had done, he didn’t deserve this. But before I could do anything – if I could even have done anything – Cain reached down and scooped up the cat, who had emerged when his hiding place under the bed suddenly had a sword thrust through it (thank God, I had the presence to think: I would never have forgiven the bastard if he’d stabbed my cat). Then he grabbed my wrist and pulled me from the room, slamming the door behind us.

  ***

  ‘Fuck! Ow!’ Cain dropped Dante, who had reacted to his unexpected evacuation by giving Cain a well-deserved clawing. The cat sped away from us both, and Cain sagged against the door, looking grey with exhaustion. Clearly he wasn’t that recovered, after all. He let out a huff of surprise as I flew at him, furious, trying to pull him out of my way, hitting him uselessly as I sobbed out my fury, desperate to get past him and stop the terrible, inhuman cacophony of screaming, gurgling death that was on the other side of the door.

  ‘Cass! Cass!’ Cain eventually managed to get a grip on me, pinning me in his arms even as I kept struggling, yelling and cursing. ‘Cass! I didn’t kill him. I didn’t kill him, Cass.’

  It took a moment for his words to sink in. I stilled, staring at him in disbelief and confusion. He reached out and gently stroked my hair, his voice soothing.

  ‘That’s why I didn’t shoot him, Cass. The bullets were silver. I didn’t want to kill him. I just needed him to bleed.’

  Chapter 3

  As we decamped to the kitchen, I was shaking with a mix of adrenaline and shock. Cain had pointed out that since we’d foolishly left the badly injured, furious vampire in a room with a bag full of weapons, it was unwise to be leaning against a door which it would be relatively easy to shoot
or stab through, so despite wanting to stay and see what was happening to Laclos, I agreed to move. And though I was grateful Cain had chosen to grab my terrified kitty rather than his gun-stuffed duffel bag I was still pretty annoyed, though I didn’t think the situation would be served any by me pointing out that if Laclos decided to come after us, being in the kitchen wouldn’t be much help, since all we had to defend ourselves were some cheap knives and a frying pan, and Cain looked too weak to wield either of those with any efficacy. He’d been brutally efficient with Laclos, but this had clearly taken its toll, and he looked like he’d been run over by a truck.

  I’d grabbed a robe from the bathroom, and Cain had towelled off the worst of the blood splatter and pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt that had been discarded several days earlier in the living room, thereby confirming my long-held belief that not tidying up always came in handy sooner or later. He might not be shy about nudity, but autumn was closing in and my flat wasn’t that warm, and everyone thinks better with their clothes on. He padded quietly around the kitchen, making tea and snacks. I thought I was too wired for food, but accepted a couple of slices of toast and Nutella, which he assured me would help with the adrenaline come-down. Cain didn’t need food, but I was realising he was pretty keen on it, and it seemed useful fuel for his recovery; little seemed to dent his prodigious appetite, even being drenched in vampire gore. In part, though, I suspected he was stuffing his face with bagels because if he had a mouth full of food he wouldn’t have to answer any of my questions. That was fine, though – I had no idea what I was going to say, or what I wanted to hear, so I just sat, slightly shell-shocked, and watched him demolish two cups of tea and a couple of bagels in short order, before he leaned back on the counter, regarding me with a look I couldn’t quite read, though it was kind. But no words of wisdom or explanation were forthcoming, and I realised if I was waiting for him to start this conversation, I’d need to be as immortal as he was.

  ‘He’s still in there somewhere, isn’t he?’ I asked, eventually. ‘I mean… Laclos. The Laclos I… we know.’

  A slight shrug.

  ‘You probably know that better than me. What did your Sense tell you?’

  ‘I… I think he’s fighting. I think he’s losing.’

  Cain nodded.

  ‘Yeah, that’s my take. I’m not the guy’s biggest fan, but sane Laclos isn’t stupid – he’d never fall for a trick that transparent – and it’s not one you could play on him, anyway. Whatever his many, many flaws, I can’t ever imagine Laclos being keen to fuck someone who he has to coerce.’

  ‘So you think he wouldn’t have… hurt you?’

  Cain quirked an eyebrow, because we both knew ‘hurt’ wasn’t the word I meant. But he looked like he was seriously considering the question.

  ‘It wasn’t going to come to that, obviously,’ he said with a confidence that, I thought, belied the genuine fear I’d seen back in the bedroom. ‘But I think the blood… my blood… has amped up the vampire side of him, and that ain’t pretty. It’s the side that is desire without restraint, the animal side of him that’s concerned with fucking and fighting and feeding and doesn’t much care who or what is on the other side of any of those equations. I think clearly Laclos has some control – he’s been orchestrating a takeover campaign, not going on a mindless murder spree, and if he’d gone completely, he wouldn’t have been… negotiating. He’d have killed us in our sleep without a thought.’

  ‘But you wanted to push him. You did that deliberately.’

  Another shrug.

  ‘Half-mad Laclos is the worst of both worlds for us: strong, vicious and ruthless but with enough remnants of smarts to be dangerous. I needed him sane enough to control himself or mad enough to outwit. He would have killed me, Cass. I don’t think he’d have meant to, and maybe even he’d have been sorry, but if he’d drank from me even half as much as before I couldn’t come back from it. If I have to use… to distort… his normal attraction to me, I can see why you think that’s distasteful, but it was a risk I thought I needed to take.’

  I said nothing, for a moment. How could I articulate to him what I felt – that I’d been terrified both for him and of him, as well as sickened and scared of what he had pushed Laclos into being, of what Laclos, in his purest vampire form, was capable of doing. Cain used the pause to top up on tea and bagels, and I gratefully accepted a refill.

  ‘Do you think it’ll work?’ I asked, after a while.

  ‘I have no idea. We’re not exactly in charted territory here. I’ve never heard of a blood exchange like this where both parties survived. But I’m pretty much out of other ideas.’

  I cast a nervous glance towards the direction of the bedroom. I half expected Laclos to emerge, sword in hand, cackling evilly and swearing revenge.

  ‘Should we check in on him?’

  Cain looked surprised.

  ‘Oh. He left. Went out your back window about ten minutes ago.’

  ‘Wha…?’ Of course. Angel hearing. But it worried me that my Sense was so jangled I hadn’t picked up on his departure. Cain wasn’t the only one off his game at the moment.

  Chapter 4

  You know something is seriously wrong with your life when you find yourself disposing of blood drenched bedding for the second time in less than a fortnight. I was thinking of this – and the many other ways in which my life was messed up – as I trudged once again down the fire escape from my kitchen with a plastic bag full of ruined sheets to dump in the communal bins at the back of my building. My bedroom looked like Carrie on prom night. I was just too exhausted to think about cleaning it all up, but there seemed no other option: I imagined even the most hardened of cleaners might baulk at being asked to come wash the blood off my walls. Though when I voiced this concern to Cain, he shrugged and told me not to worry.

  ‘I’ll make some calls,’ he said, because of course he would Know a Guy: he probably had some Harvey Keitel type on speed dial to dispose of unwanted evidence. Deciding I didn’t want to be around when Mr Pulp Fiction showed up, and having convinced Cain that I would be safe in daylight (an argument I won, I suspect, mostly because he was too knackered to argue), I left him on the sofa with the cat, a blanket and a packet of biscuits and decided to go and see Medea. I’d wanted to give her and Katie as much space as possible, but like it or not they were involved in this too, and they needed to be told what was happening. If there’s a TV trope I hate, it’s the ‘I’m not telling you this for your own good’ and I would be damned if I was going to commit that sin in my actual life. Plus, I needed her – not as a colleague, but as a friend.

  ***

  I’d promised Cain I’d get a cab straight there, but since, unlike him, I don’t have a stash of gold bars hidden away (I had recently discovered he had caches of wealth all around the world, and I was still more than a little mad he hadn’t told me), and clearly I needed to save my money for refurbishing my flat, I got the Tube into town, distracting myself with the time honoured method of retail therapy. I treated myself to some lacy knickers from Top Shop – since I was finally at a stage in my life that someone other than the cat saw me in my underwear, I figured it was an excuse to buy new things. I allowed myself the brief fantasy, over coffee and cake, of a bullion-fuelled shopping spree in Agent Provocateur, but that evaporated in the realisation that if anyone was going to be willing to pay the equivalent of a month’s bills on sexy scanties, it wouldn’t be Cain, but Laclos (who would, I knew, have done so without quibble), and that opened up a whole load of complicated feelings that I’d gone shopping to avoid. So I popped into Primark to stock up on bedding – no John Lewis for me until I could be sure there would be no more in-house evisceration – picked up a box of cupcakes, and headed to South London.

  ***

  I’d called first, of course: nobody in London likes unexpected visitors, and only a fool calls on a witch without warning. She’d said to come over for a late lunch – which was what I had been hoping when I called, since
Medea is a fabulous cook. As I waited on the doorstep for her to come to the door, I idly patted their ginger tom, Timmy, who was taking advantage of the unseasonable weather to bask on the roof of the neighbour’s garden shed. Despite taking a bit of a battering at the hands of an angry werewolf, he seemed to be recovering well, though his skin showed in patches where he’d been shaved by the vet, stitches visible, and he was now short an ear and had a leg that didn’t look to be bending in quite the right direction. But he seemed happy enough, unbothered by the fact that a neighbour’s dog – a great big beast of an Alsatian type thing that for a moment gave me werewolf flashbacks and made my Sense jitter – dozed only inches away from him.

  ‘Are you moving in?’ Medea asked, smiling down at the bags in my hands as she opened the door and leaned forward to kiss me on each cheek.

  ‘Long story,’ I said, but as I stepped forward, already salivating at the smell of garlic and warm bread that was emanating from the kitchen, my Sense picked up a tang so sharp and sour that I almost stumbled. Luckily she didn’t notice, having turned her attention to the cat.

  ‘C’mon! I’m serving up soon!’ she called, which seemed an odd thing to say to the cat, but then the dog sat up with a sleepy shake of its head, cleared the fence in one easy bound and, with a bark of greeting at me, loped past us both and up the stairs. Medea shot me an apologetic look as she led me towards the kitchen.

  ‘She’s been changing a lot lately,’ she said, voice low. ‘Getting her balance back, I think.’