by Roh Morgon
He reached in and turned on the lights, ushered Chelsea in ahead of him, and took off his jacket as she strolled across the sparsely decorated living room. She turned around.
“You don’t exactly live in the lap of luxury, do you?” Disdain colored her Texas drawl. “Not quite what I expected.”
Colin raised his eyebrows, then hung up his jacket. Walking across the floor, he stopped in front of her, unable to control his irritation any longer.
“You here to bite me or my furniture.” He growled and curled his lip, exposing his fangs.
She smiled and beckoned him closer, her hot pink nails flashing in the lamplight.
He reached out and yanked her to him, then spun her around and pulled her back against his chest. He trapped her arms with his and clamped them against her ribcage.
I’m done with this game.
He buried his fangs into the soft curve of her neck and began to pull.
Chelsea moaned, then tried to loosen his arms. He didn’t give an inch, and kept drinking.
“Whoa, darlin’, slow down. This ain’t exactly gettin’ me off, if you know what I mean. It’s my turn now.”
Ignoring her protests, he took a little more, cringing at the anger and outrage now coursing through her blood as it made its way into his veins.
This was a bad idea.
“Let me go, you sonuvabitch! You wait ‘til I tell Claudette. She will waste no time informing Katarina. I’m one of her favorites and she will not stand for your mistreatment of me! You hear me?”
This was a really bad idea.
Unable to deal any longer with her rage and indignation, Colin released his bite on her neck. But he maintained his hold on her struggling body as he decided whether or not to kill her.
She’s an enemy Chosen. I should just end her.
But she was no different from the other Chosen in Gilles’ lineage, and he couldn’t kill them all. It occurred to him that she may not have even chosen this life willingly. He had no right to play judge and jury.
And he didn’t kill Chosen unless they were trying to kill him.
But he could put them out of their misery. And his. At least temporarily.
His decision made, he released his grip on Chelsea, stepped back, and in one fluid movement, broke her neck.
~ * ~
The faces that greeted Colin as he made his way along the warehouse aisle were the same ones that greeted him from their cages every night.
No, he thought. Not the same faces. The same expressions. Expressions of pain and terror and despair.
But he hoped tonight’s faces wouldn’t share the fates of those who’d gone before them. That the men and women stuffed into row after row of dirty animal cages might have a chance at freedom, to pick up their lives where they’d left off.
And the children. I’ve got to get those children out.
There were too many factors in play now for him to calculate his odds of success. His chances of completing his mission and escaping with his hide intact were dwindling as each passing moment brought a new complication.
The latest was Chelsea. Her broken neck would keep her unconscious and out of commission for a few hours, maybe half a day at the most. But once it healed, and she woke up and broke free of the restraints in which he’d left her, his life was forfeit.
Wouldn’t be the first time.
Colin made his way to the warehouse office, his gaze fixed firmly ahead of him. He had no desire to see inside the cages any longer, fearful that the cost of his failure to free their occupants would be the memory of their terrified faces burned into his very soul.
~ * ~
Colin perused the computer screen in the warehouse office, massaging the kinks in his neck. Ending the operation early complicated things, and he hoped he could pull this off.
One phone call and all is lost.
The awaited purchase order finally came through. He checked it over, then hacked into the authorization function, selected “Approve,” and sent it to print. Sticking the printout on a clipboard, he headed downstairs.
He spotted Rousseau talking to one of the guards at the loading dock. The swarthy warehouse manager nodded as he approached and reached out for the clipboard.
Colin tightened his jaw and handed it to him.
~ Chapter 6 ~
Katarina glanced at the clock on her desk. Midnight.
Irritation squirmed within her veins. Gilles’s forcebonding two nights in a row had left her depleted, spawning a bloodthirst she seemed unable to satisfy, even after spending the remainder of the night in his game room. The level of her atrocities had surpassed his—something that rarely happened—and her killing spree had continued into late morning despite being so bloated on blood she had trouble keeping it down.
And it’s not over yet. Time to see who’s won my Birthday Game.
She pressed the button on her desk. A guard opened the door and stepped inside.
“My Queen?”
“Bring me that Chosen from the warehouse—Colin, or whatever his name is.”
“Yes, my Queen.”
The door shut and she settled back in her chair, returning her attention to her laptop. After clicking through several webpages, she leaned forward, puzzled, unable to make sense of the figures on the screen before her.
There’s . . . there’s no money in this account. What the hell?
She clicked open another page and frowned.
There’s none in this one, either.
Her fingers tapped a furious rhythm on the keys, and then froze.
All the money in the warehouse accounts is gone.
Katarina stared at the far wall for a long moment before shifting her attention back to the laptop. She clicked the warehouse shipping manifest.
“What the—? No! This is impossible!” She picked up the phone.
~ * ~
The slow beat of her heels against the dirty concrete floor resounded throughout the warehouse. Katarina strolled up the aisle between the empty cells, not believing her eyes.
“A copy of the sales authorization, my Queen. With your electronic signature.” Rousseau bowed and offered the printout.
Katarina snatched it out of his hand and scrutinized it, then glared at the filthy cages that should’ve had people in them.
“How many are left?” She resisted reaching around and tearing off his head.
“None, my Queen. They even requested the sick ones.”
She inspected the order again.
CN Industries.
The knot in her stomach tightened.
“But . . . but . . . my Queen, the new shipment should be here by this evening.”
“What new shipment?”
Rousseau swallowed.
“The one you authorized—” His words choked off beneath the finely manicured fingers gripping his throat. The only response she could manage was a deep growl.
You’re lucky there’s no one to replace you right now.
Katarina released him, pivoted, and headed toward the door, accompanied by the loud clack of her heels beating a much faster rhythm than before.
“Call me when it gets here.”
~ * ~
The web search for CN Industries proved futile. Katarina hissed and shoved the laptop aside. She considered the two Chosen who’d been standing in her office with their gifts for the last several hours. Hiroki had been her operative in Asia until he’d been compromised a few months back. She’d offered him a chance in The Queen’s Birthday Game to see if he had any usefulness left.
Apparently he still has some connections.
The birthday present he’d brought stood beside him, another Asian. The shirtless man wore shackles and a cold, flat-eyed stare. His tattoos told his story.
Yakuza. Japanese mafia. Very impressive.
The other Chosen, Philippe, had become a headache for his Elder. His constant machinations in The Game had earned him far more enemies than friends among his peers.
Someone
seems to have missed the lesson on the importance of alliances.
A young human woman in her early twenties, half-supported by Philippe, kept nodding off, only to be jerked upright each time she did.
Wonder what the story is behind his present.
Katarina’s cell phone beeped and she picked it up.
“It’s Rousseau.”
“And?”
“The shipment arrived.” He paused. “And so did Interpol. I barely got out of there.”
“What?!”
She smashed the phone against the desk, shattering the screen. As scarlet tinted her vision, a loud knock on the door jolted her. Snarling, she stabbed at the button. The guard commander entered, trailed by a second guard. They bowed, keeping their gazes fixed on the wall behind her.
“Tell me you found him.” She stood.
No one in the room breathed.
“No, my Queen. Well, maybe.”
Katarina moved and the commander blinked at her sudden appearance just two feet from him.
He coughed. “My Queen, someone matching his description boarded a plane at CDG earlier this evening.”
She curled her lip. “Bound for where?”
The commander grimaced. “New York, my Queen.”
She moved again, fast, snatching at the wall. A Samurai sword whispered through the air and a bright red seam blossomed across the commander’s throat. Shock contorted his features as his body collapsed and his head fell to the floor.
The woman with Philippe shrieked. Its piercing sound died beneath the Frenchman’s hand covering her mouth.
Katarina glared at the other guard. “You’ve been promoted. Have that taken away, but don’t leave.”
She studied the dripping blade.
New York. Nicolas.
A deep growl slipped out from between her clenched jaws.
CN Industries. CN. Corvinus Nicalao.
She marched across the room and slammed the sword onto the desk, then spun the laptop around to face her. Her fingers flew over the keyboard and stopped. Her breath caught.
Rome.
She punched a few more keys.
Warsaw. And Moscow.
All of the European warehouses. Stripped of their merchandise and likely raided by Interpol.
You son of a bitch! Katarina swept the laptop across the desk and it crashed onto the marble floor.
My Birthday Game. No one’s going to take the satisfaction of that from me.
She picked up the bloody sword and slowly pivoted.
A knock sounded on the door. The guard answered it and a large white envelope marked “Special Delivery” passed through the opening.
“Well? Bring it over here,” Katarina said through gritted teeth, placing the sword back on the desk.
He crossed the room and, bowing, held it out to her. She snatched it and tore open the envelope.
The CN Industries letterhead shook between her fists.
Dear Ms. Habsburg,
I apologize for my absence this evening. I trust my gift demonstrates the ingenuity and understanding of the requirements necessary to become a member of your court.
However, I must respectfully decline your offer.
Colin
P.S. – Nicolas sends his regards.
Her nails dug into her palms, soaking the edges of the paper in blood as she read the elegant handwriting over and over. With a low snarl, she crumpled the note into a tight, red-smeared ball and dropped it on her desk.
You’re going to pay for this, you bastard.
Barely able to contain the fury boiling beneath her skin, Katarina picked up the sword again and sauntered across the room to the Asian and his captive.
The sword sliced the air just above their heads. Neither one flinched.
Promising.
“Unbind him.”
Hiroki shifted behind the man and unlocked the shackles. They hit the ground with a loud clank and the sobbing woman, standing to his left, buried her face against Philippe.
“Yakuza. Can your master offer you immortality?”
The expressionless eyes flickered and his empty gaze met hers.
Katarina handed him the sword, then glanced at Hiroki.
Quick as a cat, the Yakuza spun. The blade flashed and Hiroki’s head tumbled to the floor, followed by his body. His head rolled a few feet and came to a rest face up, the surprise splashed across it made even more grotesque with his moving lips as he struggled to speak. The words fell soundless to the marble beneath.
The woman screeched and clutched Philippe, sobbing and begging him to take her home. Katarina ignored her mewling.
“Hiroki fumbled our Asian operation. I need a new agent. You have your Choice: work for me or join Hiroki on the floor.”
The Yakuza dropped to one knee and, bowing his head, offered her the bloody sword from his upraised palms.
“Good.” Taking it, she signaled the guard.
“Incinerate that, and escort our new prospect to the dungeon. I’ll tend to him later.”
He bowed, opened the door, and spoke through the doorway. Two more guards entered, and Katarina turned toward Philippe. The woman pressed herself against him, tears streaming down her face. Her dark hair fell to her shoulders in thick waves. Terror-filled blue eyes stared up at Katarina.
“So. You’ve brought me a present. Tell me. What could be better than a Yakuza?”
Philippe bowed, swallowing several times. Fear contorted his features. “My Queen. I . . . I’ve brought you a gift I believe demonstrates my loyalty and ingenuity beyond all others.” He bobbed his head again.
“And? Why is this young woman so special?”
“She’s my sister. I could think of no better sacrifice for you than one so dear to me.”
“What? Philippe? What are you saying?” The horrified expression on the woman’s face triggered an unexpected flash of pity in Katarina.
The little rat would sacrifice his own sister? She scowled at Philippe and his eyes bulged. I’m tired of males always using females as pawns in their stupid games.
“Well, Philippe. I believe you’ve won my Birthday Game. I can think of no reward more fitting than a place on my special council.” She raised the bloodstained sword. He cringed and the woman screamed again and sagged to the floor. Katarina used a corner of his shirt to clean the blade. She hung the sword on the wall, then walked over to the desk and pressed the button. She motioned to the guard who entered.
“Take her to my chambers.” Katarina ignored the woman’s shrill protests as he dragged her from the room.
“Come, Philippe. I think it’s time for you to meet your new companions on the council.”
Philippe bowed as she passed, then followed, a nervous grin plastered on his face.
Katarina’s thoughts drifted back to the collapse of the livestock business as she made her way down the hall toward Gilles’s offices.
Gilles will have my head if I don’t get the supply line up and running quickly.
The guard outside Gilles’s door bowed and opened it for her. Katarina swept inside and signaled Philippe to follow. She strode past the elegant furniture and fine art scattered about the room and knocked on the door at the far end.
“Come in.”
The cavernous inner room was a complete opposite of the outer, furnished with only a simple desk and chair. A long counter with an industrial-sized sink occupied one side. Katarina avoided looking up at the wall-mounted shelves lining the room. But it made no difference. Her skin crawled as it did every time she entered Gilles’s inner sanctuary.
The flagstones ringing beneath her heels, she kept her attention on Gilles standing next to the desk. Behind her, Philippe gasped. When she reached her mate, he held out his arms. She obediently moved into his embrace and tipped her head as he kissed her on the cheek.
“Welcome, my darling. It’s been a long time since you visited. Are you all right? You seemed upset earlier.”
“I’m fine.”
He gestured to
ward the door. “Is this the winner of your little game?”
Katarina glanced at Philippe and smiled. The terror blooming across his face was one of the few things that had gone right during this very long day.
“Well, then, shall we introduce him to the other members of your special council?”
She nodded, opened another door on their right, and beckoned Philippe forward. Philippe trembled as he sidled past her and into the small room.
“No!” His body jerked to a halt as he surveyed the interior.
Katarina prodded him forward, then strode past him to a smaller version of the sink and counter. Laying on the countertop were three brass plates with names engraved upon them.
Hiroki. Colin. Philippe.
She picked up the last one and smiled at Philippe. Bloodtears ran down his face, and his head shook back and forth in denial.
“Here. You even have your own nameplate,” she said, handing it to him.
His knees gave out and he dropped to the floor. A sickly keening sound poured from his lips.
Katarina gazed up at the shelf above a large brass plate engraved with the words “Special Council.”
A row of three-gallon, wide mouthed jars, their glass tops sealed with wax, lined the shelf. Blood filled every jar, and suspended within the viscous red fluid of each one was . . . a head.
The eyes of the heads followed her movement as she motioned between Philippe and the shelf. The lips of several opened and closed, like fish attempting to talk.
“Philippe, meet my special council, and your companions—for eternity.”
A sob was his only answer.
“Your sister will enjoy a much better fate than you. Who knows, maybe I’ll make her my companion. I’m sure I can devise plenty of games to play with someone who reminds me so much of Nicolas’ whore.”
Katarina left him on the floor and returned to the large room. She again avoided looking at Gilles’s shelves—many of those jars were inhabited by Chosen who’d been her friends and allies, before word spread about the dangers of befriending the King’s consort. He’d taken great delight in her despair each time he’d jarred one.
“Well, ma chérie, is he excited? I know I am.” Gilles’s eyes glowed bright crimson as he unbuttoned his shirt.