by TL Reeve
“You look quite fetching in that frock.” Abraham glanced down at her. “I'm sorry about earlier.”
“Are you reading my mind now?” She quirked a brow, staring up at him.
He chuckled. “No, but I smelled your rejection when I asked you to leave.”
She shrugged. “Whatever, it’s all good.”
He paused stilling Warren as well. “No. It's not. What happened last night. It's my fault for not paying attention better. I hurt you. I keep hurting you without meaning to.”
She brushed it off. “Last night was wild. I should have paid attention too. We both are the reason we got drugged. We let our guard down. Tonight, we can’t.”
They stepped into the lobby of the classy hotel and were greeted by attendants holding masquerade masks. As they passed, they were each handed one along with a paddle adorned with a number. They continued, not speaking as much. Being there, they couldn't say anything to give them away. They were Ghost's guests and as such, they had to act accordingly.
Warren followed those in front of them to the large ballroom decorated for the event. The place reminded her more of a ball than of auction for a black market. It was ostentatious and glamorous. Most of the people inside the space appeared to be made of more money than she’d ever dream of having. Questions swirled through her mind. The biggest being, if everyone there was rich, why couldn’t they go to a doctor to cure what ailed them? Why did they need, what essentially boiled down to, blood, organs or skin of shifters and vampires to fix them? The psychic abilities she could understand, if it was true, but all this?
“Ah, there you are.” A man wearing a silver mask with sandy-blond hair and piercing gunmetal grey eyes approached them. “Did you have any issue on the way in?”
“No,” Warren said, holding out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Kirkpatrick.”
“Pleasure’s all mine.” His gaze danced along Fallon’s body before stopping on her face. “You are beautiful, Miss. These two are lucky to have such a diamond on their arms.”
Heat filled her cheeks. “Uh, thanks.”
“My pleasure.” He motioned for them to follow. “Our seats are this way.”
“Do you do this often, Mr. Kirkpatrick?” She bit her bottom lip.
“Attend auctions?” He glanced over his shoulder. “Sometimes. Depends if there is anything to my liking.”
She couldn’t figure him out. He acted like he had money, though away from this, stuff, he wore biker leather and needed a haircut something awful. He also had an air of authority and haughtiness, but could also be some random Joe off the street. Not being able to peg him, rubbed her wrong. Plus, there was the whole issue with not knowing his name. Nobody names their kid, Ghost. Rey and Crow are any better? Their names matched them. Ghost... Those were invisible to the naked eye. Only a certain few could see them.
Guess it does make sense... “What do you like tonight?”
He hummed and a naughty glint filled his eyes. “You’ll have to wait and see.”
Again, she didn’t like the implication in his tone. “If you say so.”
He grabbed a flute of champagne for himself and her. “Relax, Miss. We'll enjoy the evening together.” There! The dangerous glare she'd seen before entered his eyes and swirled with death. If she were honest with herself, it frightened her. She wasn't sure trusting him was the right thing to do, considering.
“Sure.” She cleared her throat. “Together.”
Ghost leaned in and whispered, “You’re doing great. Remember this is a role we’re playing.” She gasped when he pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Don’t tell my mate. She’s a firecracker.”
Fallon giggled. “I won’t.”
“Perfect. We should take our seats then. The auction is about to begin. Don’t want to miss some of the better lots.” He placed her hand on his arm, leading her to their seats.
Behind her, Abraham and Warren grumbled under their breaths about Ghost being sly and too into the act. She grinned. After last night, finding anything funny or lighthearted, made everything a bit easier to endure. “I believe my escorts are jealous.”
“They’ll live,” he replied with a wink. “For the night.”
Jerked awake, Grainger tried to sit up but hit his head on metal bars. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision. It did no good. His eyes were covered, and his hands were bound behind him by plastic zip-ties. A cacophony of noise drew his attention to the right of where he lay in the fetal position, and he realized he wasn't beneath the warehouse any longer. Where he was though, he didn't know.
The last thing he remembered was talking to Yevgeni in hushed tones until the man began to whimper as though he were in pain. It didn't make sense to Grainger until the sickeningly sweet scent enveloped the man. He'd caught a hint of it before when Fallon and Abraham brought him to the warehouse. It was shifter heat mixed with a chemical compound. Éviel, if he had to guess. It wasn't a common drug yet, but all indications were PBH was ready to put it out on the streets as a designer drug.
Yevgeni suffered through the worst of it alone and shackled below the warehouse. It had been embarrassing for both of them since they’d had no privacy. When the man finally fell asleep, tugged under by the pull of the sun touching the horizon, Grainger had been grateful. No one needed to endure that; however, it begged the question, how had Yevgeni been dosed up? What had he touched? The only people who’d been to see them in the last twenty-four hours was Abraham and Fallon.
His breath hitched. Had they somehow come in contact with the drug? He frowned, Fallon offered her blood to him and he didn’t suffer as Yevgeni had. Which left Abraham. Rage churned in his gut. His friend and now bonded mate was drugged, and he’d been stuck in a hole away from all of them. It’s not about you. Later he could allow the guilt in, because, after all, he’d been the one to offer himself up for the mission.
“Here’s one of them,” a man said coming up beside Grainger. “Let’s get this cage ready for the auction.”
They were already there? Shit. He tried to sit up, slowly but found out rather quickly not only was his box small length-wise, but there was also no height to it either. He'd have to stay on his side while he waited it out.
“Don’t look so dangerous now.” Another man laughed. “Bet they’ll fetch a pretty penny for the boss.”
For the boss, which meant Yevgeni was there with him, somewhere. Grainger stayed as still and quiet as he could. Later, when he was released, he’d seek his vengeance, until then, he had to keep his cool. His team was counting on him. Yevgeni and the Nemescu family were counting on him.
The men who carried his crate dropped him on a flat surface then walked away. The scent of blood and raw meat assailed him. He couldn't place the smells of what type of shifter they were, but his fangs descended, and his stomach clenched with hunger. Even though he could stop breathing and not suffer the thought of a food source being so close, it sent him into bloodlust.
Beside him, a groan of hunger caught Grainger's attention. “Yevgeni?” His tone was so low, he worried the other vampire might not hear him.
“Yes.” The torture in the other man’s voice would haunt Grainger for the rest of his days.
“How are you feeling?”
“Death is near. I can feel it in my bones.” Any other night Grainger would have laughed. However, after what Yevgeni had been through, he worried.
“If you feed you will get better,” Grainger murmured. “Hang on.”
“I am so weak. So sick.”
He understood. The majority of what the man experienced came from the drug. Of course, he couldn’t explain it right then. Later, when they were freed, he would. “This is almost over. Don’t you want to exact your revenge on Vicktor and Carolinne?”
The man groaned. “Yes.”
“Then you have to fight. We both do.” He twisted his hands and hissed. The burns from the iron hadn't healed, and without washing his skin, it would continue to corrode the area.
“Okay. Fight. Together.”
Clapping from nearby grabbed Grainger’s attention, drawing it from the wounds on his wrists. The auction had begun. The soft mutterings from the person leading it drifted behind the curtain to wherever they’d been placed. Grainger knew the operation inside and out. However, there were always variables when it came to situations like these. If something went wrong, he’d have to sit put and wait.
“Hey, they’ve started,” Yevgeni said, drawing his attention.
“Yes, they have. We have protocols in these instances. Don’t worry.” He reassured the man.
“Do you think those protocols will include me?”
The corner of Grainger’s mouth lifted. “Of course. We’re PRA after all.”
“Sure.” Yevgeni settled. “PRA.”
Lot after lot went on stage. The bidding started slow, but eventually grew tenser as the objects most desired were brought out to be bid on. When the seer's eyes were carried out, the crowd went into a fervor Grainger had never heard before. If they'd been real, he worried there'd be some bloodshed before the night was over. Then it was his turn and he didn't go alone either, Yevgeni came with him.
It didn't make sense to Grainger, but he'd been grateful. He didn't want the man alone when all hell broke loose. The minute one of his team members gave the go-ahead, the place would fall into chaos. Together they had a better chance of not being separated. When they appeared on stage, the light of the room cut through the black mask covering his eyes. He could make out the shapes of individuals in the room, but not faces. Then he heard it. Fallon's heartbeat. It was nervous yet steady and strong. He latched onto it, using it for strength.
“The next lot will be bid on differently. Both of these vampires are members of the Nemescu clan. They are of noble birth and their blood is some of the oldest on the planet. We will be opening the bids at two-hundred and fifty thousand apiece. The two highest bids will be taken for each.” The man hit a palm-sized object on the podium where he stood, opening the bidding.
The room erupted in noise. The bidding came fast and hard. Before he realized it, Grainger’s price had been well over nine million with Yevgeni’s at nearly ten million and bidding showed no sign of slowing.
“Do I have twenty-five million? Twenty-five million?”
Someone pushed from their chair. The dark figure shoved his paddle into the air and yelled, “Fifty million.”
Another person closer to the stage lifted their paddle. “Forty-nine and a half million.”
Fallon’s heartbeat increased. Could whoever bid on him be part of his team? He licked his lips hopeful it would all work out to their advantage or else they were screwed. His body tensed waiting for the auctioneer to call the bid.
“Fifty million going once... Going twice... Sold!” He smacked the gavel. “Forty-nine and a half million going once... Going twice... Sold!” He smacked the gavel again.
The cage Grainger was in began moving in the opposite direction from how they entered. He didn’t know how much longer they’d have to wait before everything would come to head, but he hoped like hell it would happen sooner rather than later.
Fallon blew out a breath. They’d done it. She didn’t know who the other person bidding on Yevgeni was, but the person seemed adamant about winning the bid. Fifty million, real or not was a steep sum of money to be paying for a vampire. She squeezed Warren’s hand and let out a shaky breath.
The minute Grainger came out in the small box, it’d taken everything inside of her to stay seated. They treated him worse than trash. But, when they started wheeling him off the stage, she whimpered in protest. She didn’t want to lose sight of him. He looked horrible and sick, worse than the night before.
“Easy, princess,” Warren whispered. “A little bit longer.”
Ghost stood then. When the attendant approached, he followed the man to the back of the room to complete the transaction. They couldn’t risk using their comms. They were in the middle of a lion’s den of bad guys. If they accidentally tipped someone off, it would be all over and they wouldn’t do anything to endanger Grainger any more than he had been.
She glanced over her shoulder to the table at the back of the room. Ghost stood there with this regalness to his posture. If he’d been tense about the situation, he didn’t show it. She was in awe of him.
Then, the lights went off.
“Ready?” Warren said, this time not caring who heard him.
“Always,” she said.
“Remember our objective is to find Grainger and release him.” He pulled off his jacket and shirt. The rending of trouser material accompanied his growth. The horns she'd toyed with, sprouted from his forehead and his jacked-up leather wings unfurled from the slits in his back, expanding to their full width. He was a majestic beast of a man and he was all hers too.
“Suān ní,” she called out. “Time to fight.”
“Yes, mistress.” He unfurled from her shadow. His long wispy tendrils swirled until his body formed before her. He wore a hanfu with one arm exposed, ready to fight his way through the throng of people standing around them momentarily confused.
“Don’t you hate when the power goes out?” Abraham teased. “Makes everything a pain in the ass.”
“Ah well,” Warren added. “Better for us.”
Fallon slipped from her gown and allowed her tiger to take over. It would be easier for them if Grainger couldn't move. Plus, nobody wanted to mess with a five-hundred-pound big cat. The warm glow of her shift enveloped her, and she stretched, enjoying the pull and reshaping of her muscles and bones. It'd been a while since she last allowed her cat out for fun, not including the night before.
“Damn, what a pretty sight.”
She swung her head in Warren's direction and yowled before she took off. In her cat form, she could smell Grainger better. She followed the scent while Abraham and Warren begged for her to slow down and wait for them. She couldn't, not now. She had to get to her bonded. Their mate. The feminine screams of surprise and fear, though music to her ears, weren't enough for her. She wanted to taste it in the air. Roll it in and devour their terror so they could experience an ounce of the horror they caused other shifters and psychics to endure before they were killed.
Fallon hissed at a woman who didn't move quickly enough when she lunged for the stage. She cleared it with a mighty leap and hurried in the direction she knew Grainger would be waiting for her. In her feline form, everything was louder too, including the cocking of a rifle behind the curtain. She crouched down, thrashing her tail from side to side, waiting for the others to join her. A low yowl filled her throat. If those assholes thought they were going to shoot her, they were mistaken.
Warren appeared beside her and scrubbed her head before casting the curtain aside, exposing the men who waited for them. They raised their weapons at the same moment Abraham used his speed to snap their necks. Fallon growled, standing over their bodies before jumping over their bodies and padding over to the two cages where Grainger and Yevgeni were. Using her massive paw, she tapped on Grainger's crate, rousing him. He jerked and groaned in pain. The smell of sickness wafting off of him scared her. Vampires were more durable than shifters. To know her vampire was sick, enraged her. She yowled. The soulful sound of her tiger hurt her heart. She couldn't lose Grainger. Not now. Not after everything they'd been through.
“Hey now,” Abraham murmured, running his hand along her neck. “He’ll be fine. Don’t you worry.”
Warren broke open the box then snapped the cuffs holding his hands together. “There. Fuck. Your hands.”
“Yeah. Sorry.” Grainger winced as he pulled the back cover off his eyes. “Oh, hey Fallon. Look at you.”
She bared her teeth and yowled again then chuffed at him. How could he be so calm in a situation like this? She wanted to yell at him, but she knew it wouldn't do any good even if she did. Grainger marched to the beat of his drum. She went to the second cage and found Yevgeni laying motionless. She scented the a
ir, finding the same sickening smell.
“We’ve got this.” A man stepped between her and Yevgeni.
She growled again, the low menacing quality of it rumbled in her chest. Whoever the guy was, he didn’t have any business touching their friend. Fallon raised her paw, claws out, ready to strike.
“Bad move mister,” Abraham said, placing his hand in her scruff, stilling her motion. “You’re about to become kitty pâté.”
He scoffed, glancing back at her. His face went pale and his pale blue eyes widened in fear. “My apologies. I only wished to save my master.”
Fallon sat back, cleaning her paw.
Warren laughed. “I believe that’s her way of giving you permission. Say, you wouldn’t happen to have an extra bag of blood on you, would you?”
“I’ve got both of you covered,” Ghost said, holding up a small cooler. “This should tide you both over until you can feed properly. “Hey, kitty, kitty.” He handed the bag over to Warren and knelt beside Fallon. “Aren’t you pretty.” He scratched her chin, causing her to purr. “I never get used to how beautiful you shifters are when you shift.
She snorted.
“It’s true.” He glanced up at Warren and Abraham. “Scene is secured. We’ve got what we came here for.”
They both sagged.
“You got Orlov?” Warren asked.
“Yep and Dima. We’ll be transporting them back to Window Rock for interrogation.” Ghost continued petting Fallon. “If you need a place to lay low, Mr. Nemescu, Window Rock is available for you as well.”
The man frowned then nodded. “I suppose it might be best, considering how I ended up here. Thank you.”
“Master?” The man standing beside Yevgeni blinked. “The desert? For a vampire?”
If she could have laughed, she would have. Instead, she made a deranged chuffed squeaky noise, startling everyone.