by Margaret Carter, Crystal Green, Erica Orloff, Patricia Rosemor
“Elijah,” Hans said, voice like the ring of a blade being sharpened.
Elijah? If Camille hadn’t been so fixated on the vampire, she would’ve given Sarge a tough time about having an actual first name. A stately one, too.
The creature spoke again. “You are searching for the vampire who was driving the cab?”
“Yeah,” Sarge said. “The one with the gargoyle roof ornament. How’d you guess?”
Elegant, long-fingered hands emerged from Hans’s robes. “I am lucky, I suppose. Do you want the boy?”
Camille busted in before Sarge could. “Yes, I do.”
Hans glanced from Sarge to Camille, interest sparked. “The boy speaks of a hunter with red hair. I assume I have found her. Come. The vampires will entertain your request.”
The vampires? Great. There were more of them?
When the street opened beneath Hans’s feet, Camille turned to Sarge.
“What the hell is going on?”
As the vampire walked down a set of stairs that faded into darkness, Sarge holstered his weapons, then followed.
“Told ya.” Sarge started to disappear below ground level. “You’re about to meet some devils I’ve made a deal with.”
Demons, she thought, keeping her own weapons out. Everyone had them.
Shutting down her now silent watch, she trailed Sarge into the black of the unknown, heartbeat screaming in her veins.
Hans led them on an endless trek belowground, one in which Camille kept her ears peeled for every echoing sound, every ghoulish sight her brain taunted her with during the pitch-black journey.
Her final descent. On the way down, Camille had tried to get Sarge to explain this baffling development, but Hans had shushed her.
Shushed by a vampire. She’d truly hit rock bottom.
The stench of death filled the room Hans led them to, even though the floors and walls were built of white marble. It resembled something from a history textbook, scenes from a Greek senate.
In the stone seats, the other silent vampires rested, dressed in all manner of costume. She was struck by the opulence of their mahogany velvets, luscious blue silks, green satins, all of the material flickering under electric chandelier lights. The only vampire in the room wearing humble robes was Hans. However, he seemed to be the one in charge. The judge in this court.
Sarge seemed relaxed as they stood before the gathering. “You’ve got our boy?” he asked simply.
Nodding, Hans took a seat and, immediately, a black gargoyle winged over to his chair, resting behind it.
It was the monster from Castle Bethlen’s roof, Camille realized. The one she’d taken a shot at with the crossbow and missed. The one Sarge had probably seen flying over Griff’s escape taxi.
With a ghastly smile, it blinked at her, made a veering motion with its claw, mocking the arrow she’d shot at it.
“You have both met Radu,” Hans said, “though Elijah has never had the pleasure up close. My pet acts as our eyes in Transylvania. And he uses his brain waves to fend off projectiles that are rudely shot at him.”
Her first urge was to smart off—Sarge had gotten her in the mood, of course—but one warning glance from her rival changed her mind.
“I won’t do it again,” she said. There. Peace be with you.
“Certainly, you will not in this chamber.” Hans calmly surveyed her stake and machete. “But you are willing to use them if you cannot tame the boy, stop his murderous acts by reminding him he once had a soul?”
Griff biting, blood, his golden eyes fired with murderous intent.
“I’m willing.” There. She’d committed. But even a painful swallow couldn’t wash away the taste of fear.
“I’ll stake him,” Sarge added. “Get this over with.”
Hans turned to the mercenary. “Griffin does not like you. If this one is to be tamed at all, it would be by someone who can reach his mind and heart. That is not your strong suit, Elijah.”
She wondered if they were wrong about that.
But Hans wasn’t finished with Sarge. “I hope you will stay so calm for the duration of our meeting. We do not intend to harm your friend. We want her help.”
Sarge rested his hands on his hips. “Who’s worried? She can take care of herself.”
His compliment made her smile a little, but she quickly chased it away. “Why would vampires need help?”
“I should explain,” said Hans.
He gestured to the center of the room, where a misty image appeared. It featured Camille, sitting in a library, hunched over a large book. She recognized it as an ancient account by a monk that detailed the lore of the male Carpathian Mountain vampires.
“You have been curious about us,” Hans said.
Us?
Was this the legendary male tribe?
And Sarge knew them?
She cast him a dirty look, and he raised an innocent eyebrow.
I tried to tell you, his gesture said.
Another image overtook the library picture. Now there were dark caverns, bright eyes.
“Hundreds of years past,” Hans said, “we sheltered ourselves in caves, away from society. The tribe was begun by two pets who escaped from the strigoiaca. We have sought to gather our kind ever since, though they are few and far between.”
Now she doubled the chiding power of the glare she aimed at Sarge.
“In all my studies,” she said, “I never found a connection between you and the Girls.”
“It is not important for most humans to know our ways. You have read folklore. Fictions.”
Sarge inserted his own mocking commentary. “Yeah, they don’t document how these guys upgraded from caves to a marble underground, either. I’ve never seen this place.”
“We do not tell you everything, Elijah. Just enough for you to find Nicolae. Someday, when he resurfaces.”
Okay, now this was making sense. Sarge used these vampires to hunt down his Holy Grail—Nicolae. It was like a cop using informants, Camille thought, separating different degrees of evil for a higher purpose.
Had he been hired by these guys to neutralize Nicolae? Why?
The mist picture swirled again, forming the image of a vampire with white hair and a black-streaked white beard, his eyes as dark as bottomless pits.
“Nicolae is rogue,” Hans said. “Like me, he is a master vampire, one of two who started our tribe. But Nicolae and I do not share the same philosophy.”
“Or the same appetite,” added a dark-haired vampire with translucent, unlined skin. His fangs dug into his lower lip as he grimaced at Nicolae’s mist picture.
Sarge looked like he’d heard all this before. “Yeah. The philosophy. See, Camille, these guys here don’t hunt and kill humans. It sickens them, they say. And when one of their kind—like Nicolae—turns against this code, that vamp is put down like a rabid animal. Keeping any hint of vampirism out of the evening news is pretty important to Hans and the boys.”
“And that’s why you want Griff?” she asked Hans. “Because he’s put your existence in danger?”
The master vampire nodded. “But there is something more. He is our brother. We are all born of strigoiaca blood, having sipped from them to survive. But Griffin is different.”
His pause spoke volumes. So did Hans’s violet eyes versus Griff’s wild-gold ones.
Different.
The lab treatments. Had she and Beatrix changed his composition into that of an animal?
“He is rogue,” the dark-haired vampire said.
The jury all hummed in agreement.
“Just like Nicolae,” Sarge said.
From the way the others kept nodding, Camille wondered how often Sarge worked with them. Was he their enforcer?
“Where is Griff?” Camille asked, restless to see him. Tame him. If it was even possible now.
Hans calmly bridged his hands below his chin. “Somewhere he cannot kill anymore.”
The eerie room picture changed to images of Griff striking at Beatrix in the lab.
Of him slashing at Sarge in the disco’s passageway.
Dammit, did this vamp need to rub Griff’s sins into her heart?
Sarge stepped forward, next to her. A protective gesture, probably because he knew she wanted to go after Hans more than the other way around.
“Camille,” he said, “they don’t like to put down their own, just like humans consider killing each other to be murder. Getting rid of a tribe member is a last resort. They’re asking you to do it for them, if he’s beyond taming. You realize that, don’t you?”
She took a second to absorb the horror of it. “I realize it. And aren’t you their executioner, Sarge? I thought all vampires are scum to you.”
“I know how to prioritize.”
Hans laughed. The other vampires joined him, breaking their silence. They were like echoes, all connected.
“Elijah wishes we were expendable, but we both want to neutralize Nicolae,” the white-haired vampire said. “We are bonded by our mission.”
Sarge grunted. Camille sneaked a gaze at him, lingering on the lips that’d caressed hers earlier.
Something like an electric spark zapped through her body. Bad timing. Bad libido. Sure, her heart had been serrated by Griff tonight, but that didn’t mean she’d turn somewhere else for comfort.
Definitely not to Sarge.
“Why didn’t you go after the female strigoiaca?” she asked, ignoring her inner soap opera.
As the room picture waved into a blaze of the strigoiaca’s red eyes and streaming hair, Hans answered.
“The strigoiaca were discreet while they existed.” He shot both Camille and Sarge a harsh glare. “Though feral, they hunted with order. They confused the villagers with stories of whether they were fiction, or indeed real. Though they disgust us, they were not a danger to our security until tonight’s very public bloodbath.”
The horror of Griff tearing that man in half in the disco replayed on the room picture, but this time, Camille couldn’t look away.
Why had Griff gone animal? she asked herself again. What had they done wrong in the lab?
“Child,” Hans said softly, obviously reading her thoughts, “do not attempt to inflict rationality on our existence. Have you wondered why the strigoiaca came to Juni instead of any other village last year?”
Petar Vladislav had summoned them out of disrespect for an elder, a know-it-all college boy attitude. That much she’d figured out long ago. But for months, she’d wondered how the females had heard the invitation.
“And,” Hans added, “have you wondered about those wolves guarding the castle? What they were?”
“I don’t have answers for any of it.”
“And you won’t,” Hans snapped, standing from his marble throne. The gargoyle’s wings flapped. Dark applause for its master.
Sarge must’ve noticed how lost she felt. He stepped in front of her, shielding her, offering the only support she’d accept from him.
“Elijah, do not pretend to go on guard.” Hans smiled. “Even your Camille seems to understand that we’re too valuable to your ego, too instrumental in finding Nicolae.”
Your Camille?
A mysterious shiver traveled her skin. The thought of his possessing her should’ve given her the hives. But, instead, the idea enticed her a little.
Hell, she just needed someone to watch her back. That was all. And Sarge was here to do it. Surely being kind of grateful for that wasn’t against the laws of nature.
“Just give Griffin to Camille for taming,” Sarge said.
He’d said “Camille.” Not “us.” What was he up to?
He glared straight ahead, ignoring her, mouth set in a grim line.
At that moment, Camille’s heart cracked, creating another fissure. Was he doing this for her? Why?
Hans stepped forward, robes whispering, gargoyle stepping in each of his light footfalls. “You would make demands of us?”
“This means the world to her,” Sarge said softly.
Camille crossed her arms over her chest, holding in the grateful emotion.
“Oh, he is arrogant.” Hans turned to his friends, laughing.
They echoed his amusement, right down to the number of “ha-ha’s.”
“Touching. I like to see you in this position. It is rather torturous for you to be so loyal and tender to this girl, is it not? A change from habit.”
Sarge managed to look embarrassed, his rough skin reddening—except for that neck scar. The emotion hadn’t claimed that part of him yet.
“Elijah,” Hans said, “I know you would love to see my blood spilled for pointing this out.”
Ignoring the taunts, Sarge glanced at Camille.
A beat passed, and she finally understood what he was silently saying.
The man you love tried to kill me. Are you going to let him off the hook? Choose him over me again?
He was going to trust her to do this? He was going to let go of his pride and code of living so she could save her own soul?
With a shock, she realized that yes, he’d make the sacrifice. By stepping back, he was enabling her to become whole again, even at the cost of his beliefs.
He was relying on her to do right by him, too.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He bowed his head, still snagging her gaze with such emotion she didn’t know if she could contain all of it.
“I think I am going to weep,” Hans said mockingly. “The hunter is evolving before our eyes.”
“Back off, Hans,” she said, tearing her attention away from Sarge. “You said you’d take me to Griffin.”
He walked closer, and the gargoyle took off into an adjacent hallway. “You can tame him?”
“Let me try,” Camille said, trying not to sound too desperate. For the chance to get Griff back, if it was even possible, she’d do anything. Everything. “Please.”
“True, you have tamed Elijah quite nicely,” Hans said. “It makes me believe you can accomplish your hopes. But if you should fail, he will need to be put down.”
Lord help her. “I understand.”
She couldn’t believe this was happening. Maybe this was just one of her nightmares.
Or maybe, if she failed, she’d be living another layer of the old one for the rest of her life.
“Elijah,” Hans said, “you may go in if she fails.”
“I won’t need to,” he said.
His confidence lit through her, and she knew she could do it. Knew she could save Griff.
Even if that meant she would choose him over Sarge in the end.
“Until then,” Hans added, “she is to be with the boy alone. He has spoken of this Camille ever since we jailed him. He has spoken of Elijah, too, and clearly he would do no good in the rehabilitation of him.”
Impulsively, Camille blurted, “You won’t hurt Sarge?”
While the mercenary’s eyes widened in disbelief, Hans seemed quite amused.
“We cannot harm Elijah, unless he should attack first. The spilling of human blood weakens our own souls, Camille, but we will fight to save them if provoked.” Stressing his point, he gestured in the shape of a circle. “Besides that, Elijah is walking under the protection of the moon tonight. He will be fine.”
Ashe’s final spell. That explained why Griff hadn’t torn Sarge in half at the disco, too.
“Then lead me to Griff,” she said.
As the vampires rose and guided her and Sarge to the hall where the gargoyle had disappeared, Camille and Sarge exchanged glances.
He mouthed, “I’ve got your back.”
Beyond words, she nodded, wanting to say so much more. Say things she couldn’t even comprehend right now.
Once in the hallway, Camille tried to stay frosty, on her toes. It was weird, but knowing that Sarge was here, too, pulsed strength into her system.
Like Griff’s cage in the lab, this one had a window. The walls were white marble, slick and shiny. But there was no security glass to capture him, just some sort of clear, impenetr
able field that allowed her to see inside.
His back was turned while he painted something red on the pristine wall. His T-shirt was torn, his jeans bloodied.
Who was this man? Did she even know him anymore?
She looked closer, hoping to catch some hint of familiarity, some flicker of who he’d been.
When she saw what he was drawing, she fell against the force field, thankful that it had the power to hold her up.
Using his own blood, Griff was recreating the picture he’d sketched of her in the National Gallery when they’d first met.
The girl with the haunted stare.
The girl he said he’d love forever.
Chapter 17
Griffin dipped his finger in the well of blood he’d made from slashing open his inner arm. He was painting Camille, recalling how she’d stared forlornly at Sunflowers.
As he paused, assessing his work, a drop of blood winced as it hit the floor.
He took in her blurry image, filling all the voids he’d created inside of himself.
Then the pain arrived. It wrenched apart his head again. Crashed, invaded, forced him to his knees. One of his hands slipped down the wall, blood smearing, leaving a road of carnage like the trail he’d forged tonight.
Razor shreds of memory cut his mind’s eye to pieces: Sinking his teeth into Dr. Grasu’s neck. Clawing the vocal cords out of a lab guard as he tried to scream. Gnashing into the waist of a man at a disco, just to quench the thirst that had been growing all night. Ripping the guy’s body in half, the blood flowing freely.
Griff gagged. Grappled with himself to take back control.
And he did, thank God. This time.
The insanity had been coming and going, a slide show of reaction. One minute, he’d be standing in front of Camille, her stake aimed at his chest as he regretted what he’d done this time. The next minute, he’d be slurping blood, enjoying the thickness and warmth.
Every time he’d escape from the madness, he’d also physically run away. Into the hole of that nightclub’s stone wall. Into the streets of Bucharest to steal a cab.
But there was no escape, here in this new cage. After that gargoyle had brought him to the male vampires, Griff had resigned himself to fate.