Taken by the Others

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Taken by the Others Page 14

by Jess Haines


  When he spoke up this time, it was more weary than angry. Thank God for that. “I suppose I should apologize as well. My actions were uncalled for. It’s been a long time since I let my hungers cloud my judgment so badly. I won’t let it happen again.”

  Well, maybe he could be civil after all.

  “Does that mean you’ll keep your fangs to yourself now?”

  “Yes,” he said, followed by a brief fit of laughter. Real laughter, not the polite sounds you hide other, more human emotions behind. “Really, you don’t have to worry about that. I won’t touch you unless you want me to.”

  There was a world of heat and unspoken promise behind those words. I very carefully ignored them, and the implications behind them. “Good. Thank you.”

  “What time can I expect you at the club? You should come through the employees’ entrance in the back. I’ll inform security to escort you inside.”

  “Maybe around eight o’clock? Warn them ahead of time that we’ve got a shifted Were with us so they don’t freak out.”

  “My. His injuries are that severe?”

  “Yes, they are. I told you, someone from your office informed the cops to watch for Were when they came to scope my apartment. They came with silver shot preloaded in their guns. They were expecting him.”

  He made a thoughtful sound, barely heard over the sounds of traffic and background noise. “Did they say who from my office?”

  “No, I don’t think the officers knew. If you didn’t tell them to do it, why would one of your people make that call?”

  “As I said earlier, I do believe that someone is following you. The loyalties of some of my coterie are in question.”

  I opened my eyes and stared out the car window, rubbing at the deepening furrows between my brows as my frustration and puzzlement grew. “What does that mean exactly?”

  “It means,” he stated flatly, in far too neutral a tone for such a statement, “there is a good possibility that some of the vampires and possibly even humans who work for me are also working for Max Carlyle. It means you should be very, very careful where you go and what you do, because one or more of my own are using my resources to keep track of you. Not that it is particularly difficult with that trail of media you are leaving in your wake, but more than that, I fear they may be using my own resources against the two of us. Perhaps against others as well. That Chaz was attacked, but not your other friends or family, lends more weight to my suspicions that Max is using someone inside my own organization to find ways to hurt the people present the night Anastasia died.”

  I had to swallow back the bit of my heart that lodged in my throat at this news. How in the world could Max be using some of Royce’s people like that? If he had access to Royce’s resources, he might use the connection to find Sara, Arnold, and possibly my family. There were also dozens of werewolves involved in Anastasia and David’s deaths. Did this mean they were in trouble, too?

  Maybe I needed to get in touch with Rohrik Donovan and call in that favor the Moonwalker tribe owed me. At the very least I should warn them a vampire might be out to get them. I sure knew I’d appreciate a heads-up if some psycho vampire was coming after me.

  “That’s just peachy keen. Are you sure it’s such a good idea for us to come to one of your clubs?”

  “Yes. I can’t give you the details about it just now, but I believe there is a way for me to get you and your friends out of the public eye and somewhere safe. I didn’t survive this long by being easy to find.”

  My turn to laugh. “Could’ve fooled me. Why do you advertise your whereabouts on your Web site then?”

  “Publicity has its benefits, as well as its drawbacks. These days, any move made against me publicly is more likely to raise an outcry and bad press against the ones who attack than against me. It doesn’t seem to matter if it’s the police, your White Hat friends, or some other equally brazen group of hunters. It also makes me a much harder target to approach due to the number of witnesses and potential casualties.”

  “Yeesh, I never thought of it that way.” I’d never taken much interest in the politics or intrigue behind how the Others came to be accepted in society. Before I’d been involved in any of this supernatural hooplah, they were just… there. Not worth my time and attention, surely, other than to know that they were something to avoid at all costs. Not until my continued existence depended on thinking about it. “Do all vampires have the same world-view as you?”

  “Few do,” he said. “Most of my brethren don’t view being in the public eye as beneficial. They see our new status in society as more of a nuisance than anything. Some of them find it dangerous. I’ve had to work almost as hard to convince them of the benefits as I have in speaking with government officials and committees to view us as something other than a menace.”

  By “us” I knew he meant vampires, not all Others. Elves, fairies, Weres, magi, and all the other many varieties of supernatural beings were more readily accepted in society than the vamps. Oh, don’t get me wrong. There were still occasions where that wasn’t the case, where hatred or fear or some other uglier emotions led up to dead bodies on the ground, not all of them human. Regardless, few Others were hated quite so much as vampires, who were seen as the unholiest and most dangerous of all supernaturals. Even I was guilty of looking at them that way–but that was probably because it was true.

  Come to think of it, there weren’t many vampires with celebrity status other than Royce. Aside from the ones involved in sensational headline-making crimes, there were only one or two who were so brazen as to publicly announce their scheduled appearances at charity functions or parties ahead of time. The one in Los Angeles, Clyde Seabreeze, was the only vampire other than Royce who made himself available for interviews or photo sessions by the general public.

  “Okay, I would love to pick your brain about this sometime later, after all this is over. For now, I’m using up Chaz’s minutes, and I need to give directions. I’ll see you at the club.”

  “Until then.”

  Chaz and Devon were staring at me, giving me weird looks. Well, Chaz’s look was weirder than normal for a shifted Were. “What?”

  “Nothing,” Devon answered, turning his attention back to the road.

  Chaz made a huffing noise and looked away. He started twisting around onto his back, rubbing his shoulders on the rough carpeting in the back of the jeep. The car swerved as Devon cringed to avoid the clawed paw peeking out between the seats as Chaz stretched.

  “Jesus!”

  “Watch the road!” I screeched, clinging to the oh-shit handle.

  I slapped at Chaz’s big, hairy arm as Devon got us back on a straight line to the accompaniment of honks and shouted curses. He’d gone rigid in his seat, carefully not looking at the thick black talons curled limply in the air a few meager inches away.

  “Chaz! Stop scaring him.”

  He made a grumbly sound and withdrew that hairy, clawed arm. I twisted in the seat again so I could get a look at his shoulder.

  The skin around the bullet wound had closed into a pinkish, puckered blemish. Since the wound was made with silver, it would remain a scar for the rest of his life. If he’d been hit with a lead slug, it would have healed hours ago, the flesh reformed as though he’d never been injured. The only reason he’d healed at all was because I’d pulled out the bullet. Even so, it was incredibly fast. It never ceased to amaze me how quickly a lycanthrope recovered. They couldn’t heal back a severed limb, and damage caused by a silver weapon didn’t heal quite as quickly, but damn, it would be nice if everybody’s bodies fixed up so quickly and neatly.

  If the bullet had stayed in much longer, he would’ve healed human-slow. Luckily no fragments must have lodged in the muscle since the wound was fully closed. Anyone who didn’t know any better would have said the scar was from weeks, not hours, ago.

  I leaned over the seat to run my fingers along his shoulder and was rewarded with a pained whine. It must have still been tender, the muscle not y
et whole.

  “I can’t see out the rearview.”

  Whoops. “Sorry, Dev.” Settling back, I gestured at the road before us. “You know how to get to The Underground from here?”

  “Yeah,” he said, hunching lower in his seat. “Are you sure about this?”

  “Sure about what? Meeting with Royce?”

  “Yeah.”

  There was a great deal of unhappiness lacing his voice, piquing my curiosity. “Why don’t you want to go?”

  “What makes you think I don’t want to go?” he said, glancing askance at me.

  “This is the first time I’ve seen you this jumpy and nervous.”

  “Am I that easy to read?”

  “Yup. Spill it.”

  Devon looked up into the rearview at Chaz before focusing very hard on driving. A sheen of nervous sweat had broken out on his brow. “I’m afraid Royce will recognize me. The last time I saw him, not counting that night we came to save you, we didn’t part friends.”

  “Shit, you tried to hunt him before, didn’t you?”

  He nodded, not looking at me, the muscle in his jaw twitching. I turned to watch the road, too, unsure what to think about that. How would Royce react to me bringing a hunter who’d previously attempted to kill him into his den?

  After a minute of tense silence, I couldn’t help it anymore. I started laughing.

  “What’s so funny?” Devon demanded, a mixture of worry and irritation on his features.

  “It’s just"–I had to gasp for air between words, rubbing away the tears forming in my eyes–"Oh, God, it just can’t get any more complicated than this. My life. I’m dating a Were, I’ve got a crazy vampire trying to kill me, another one who wants to jump my bones, and I’m about to bring him a visitor who’s tried to kill him before. How can it get any worse than this?”

  Devon’s lips cracked into a reluctant smile. “You’re the only person I know who’s got a crazier, more messed up life than I do. You make me seem positively normal in comparison.”

  This from a White Hat. It only made me laugh harder.

  Chapter 20

  My laughter was under control by the time we reached The Underground. It was far too early in the evening for anyone but the staff to be around. They hadn’t yet opened the adjoining parking lot or set out the velvet ropes to control the inevitable crowd of revelers.

  Devon pulled into an alley behind the building. Several news vans followed us, not helping my peace of mind. There was a loading dock and a handful of parking spaces for employees, every spot taken but one–soon occupied by Devon’s jeep. The press would have a bitch of a time getting out of here or following us once they realized there were NO PARKING signs plastered all over the alley.

  A heavily muscled guy jogged over when we pulled up into the last of the reserved spots for employees. His black T-shirt had SECURITY written in huge white letters; he was some new guy I hadn’t seen before. He called out as I opened the door, his voice faltering when he spotted the Were in the back.

  “You’re Shiarra, right?”

  “The one and only.” I yanked the duffel out of the front seat and grinned at him before hurrying to the back of the jeep. Some of the news vans were parking despite the signs. Great.

  The security guy nodded, reaching out to help me with my bag while Devon and I waited for Chaz to slink out of the back. Once he got out of the way, Devon growled a curse as he spotted the claw marks left on the upholstery. I sympathized, I really did, but we didn’t have time for it and I slammed the door shut, urging everyone to hurry up and get inside. I was willing to bet we were being photographed as we stood there. Was Jim Pradiz, that lying sack of crap who wrote the article I spotted in the supermarket, somewhere in the mix?

  The bouncer gaped at the wolf-man following in our wake. He wasn’t struck dumb with terror, which was a plus. Up on his hind legs, Chaz’s long, slow strides were smooth and predatory, fluid instead of a pained limp. It was good to see him back to himself. Aside from meaning the pain had lessened, it indicated he’d be able to shift back soon.

  He still favored his injured shoulder, occasionally rubbing it with the pads on his hands–paws–whatever you want to call them. He was forced to crouch low to walk through the door. We all rushed inside as the first reporter came sprinting our way, having ignored the parking signs to get in a last couple questions before we were behind the safety of a locked door. I liked the security guard better for slamming the door in the reporter’s face. Pushy bastards.

  “Well, something finally went smoothly,” I said, hefting the bag higher on my shoulder. Devon nodded, too nervous to smile or speak.

  The security guard stared curiously at Chaz, who was returning the look in kind. “Mr. Royce said you could wait in his office upstairs. He’s on his way and should be here in the next fifteen minutes or so. If you’ll leave me your keys, I can move your car to the other lot so he has a place to park.”

  Devon reluctantly handed them over. Considering giving away his keys meant our means of escape from this vamp-infested club was gone, I couldn’t totally blame the hunter for his hesitation.

  After taking the keys, the security guard brought us deeper into the echoingly quiet club. It was stark with all the lights on, eerily empty without bodies packing the dance floor or music pounding so loud my bones vibrated with it. The only people aside from us were a janitor pushing around a mop and a handful of employees stocking the bars as we came through. Most of them stared open-mouthed. A couple shrank back when Chaz passed them. Funny that they had no problem working for a vamp but were scared of a shifted Were.

  At the elevator, it became obvious that Chaz wasn’t going to fit in the confined space. The guard scratched his head, then shrugged and moved down the hall. He unlocked a door that blended so well into the black walls, I’d never noticed it before.

  We took the secret stairwell up, and by the second floor, I was panting. Just a bit, but it was a painful reminder of how weak I felt after being bitten by Peter and Max. By the time we reached the top floor, Chaz was holding one of those gigantic hands out as if he needed to be ready to catch me. It wasn’t like I was about to pass out. Maybe I should’ve been worried, but there were too many other pressing matters on my mind to think about it for long.

  The place was just like I remembered it. We came out closer to the fountain bubbling on the end table than we would have if we’d taken the elevator. It was quiet, peaceful, and looked nothing like you would expect to see on the inside of a Goth club. The guard showed us into Royce’s office, then hurried off to move Devon’s car.

  The office had changed since the last time I was here. The décor was the same. English hunting scenes done in vivid oil hanging on stark white walls, framed by enough ivies and ferns to make the room smell fresh and earthy. There was a computer on the slick black desk now, and several posters of varying sizes and pictures advertising the club laid out on the end table, some marked up with notes. Similar posters and a number of invoices were on the desk, a few papers scattered on the floor. He must have left here in a hurry; Royce was usually more fastidious than this.

  Despite this being a vampire’s territory, I felt safe. Max Carlyle was unlikely to look for me here. I took a seat on one of the black leather couches, tilting my head back and closing my eyes. I pulled the duffel into my lap, resting my hands on it. I felt rather than saw Devon taking a seat next to me, and Chaz lying down by my feet. Quite the cozy little scene.

  Devon broke the comfortable silence. “Jack is going to be so pissed off.”

  I cracked open one eye and arched a brow. “So?”

  “You don’t care what he thinks, do you?”

  That earned a deep, rumbling sound that could’ve passed for a laugh out of Chaz. I nudged him with my foot. “Hush, you. No, I don’t.”

  He must have been more nervous than he let on that Royce was coming. His hand kept creeping down to touch his gun, then jerking away like he’d been caught doing something bad. Rinse, repeat. When
he figured out I wasn’t about to say more, he kept talking.

  “I still don’t understand how you got on the good side of the monsters. Why you keep working with them. Doesn’t it bother you? I mean, yesterday I would’ve shot him"–he gestured to Chaz absently–"on sight. Now we’re working together. I feel like my whole world just turned upside down.”

  “Join the club,” I said, sounding more wry than sympathetic. “It does bother me, but I am not about to let a little squeamishness get in the way of my survival. That comes first.”

  He leaned forward, his gaze narrowed to focus with intense scrutiny on Chaz. I wasn’t sure he heard me. “Look at this. He’s perfectly content to lie there like some gigantic puppy. I’ve never seen a shifted Were who wasn’t in the middle of trying to kill me or someone else. I didn’t know it was possible for them to be this still, this calm.”

  I shrugged, pushing the duffel to the side and riffling through the clothes I’d packed. “Then you haven’t given them a chance to be themselves. They’re not unthinking beasts unless they’re really afraid or pissed off. Then, instinct kicks in and they can’t help themselves until the threat is gone.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense to me. Knowing they can be rational goes against everything I’ve ever seen or been told.”

  “Then, like I said, you haven’t given the ones you’ve met a real chance. Come on, you’ve just driven for an hour with him in your back seat. He didn’t do anything but tear up the carpet.”

  Devon scowled, and Chaz lowered his ears, hiding his head under his paws.

  “What about vampires, then?” he asked, reluctantly turning his gaze off the embarrassed Were. “Are you saying they’re like this, too?”

  I glanced up from the bag, meeting his gaze. “No. Weres are a lot more easygoing about turning prospective pack members. Also, when a Were is going to hurt somebody, most of the time it’s because they’ve been badly provoked. Not to justify it, but vampires go about things a lot differently. They prey on people, so they do what they can to appear harmless and friendly, then use that to get close enough to get what they want out of the people they hunt.”

 

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