Roaring Shadows

by Colleen Gleason

  “What do you—argh.” Macey gasped as he plunged his fangs into her shoulder. She stifled a scream and twisted, trying in vain to free herself from the brutality. The pain was intense—dark and red and searing; somehow different from anything she’d experienced before.

  Her veins leapt and blood surged and she sank into darkness, dark splotches of nothing, sagging and writhing in the grip of the creatures who held her.

  When Iscariot withdrew, he was panting and his eyes were lit with an unholy emotion. A delicate trickle of blood oozed from the corner of his mouth. “If only I didn’t have other plans for you, my sweet…” His finger was unsteady as he reached up to wipe it away. Then he smeared the blood—Macey’s blood—over her parted lips. It was rich and hot, tasting of iron and life.

  “But,” he said, turning away reluctantly, “I do have other plans for you. And now that the stage has been set, it’s time to get down to business.”

  Macey tried to get her bearings, for now all was coming to a head. But her vision tilted and spun. Her legs no longer had the strength to support her body; the guards were doing all of the work to hold her upright. How could a single bite have affected her so violently?

  Was he marking her this time?

  “I have two tasks for you to accomplish, Macey Gardella,” said Iscariot, stepping upstage, away from her. “Please, if you will?” He gestured for her to follow him, and when her three vampire assailants released her, Macey complied on unsteady feet.

  She looked around for Grady, but he was no longer in sight. With the spotlights flaring onto the stage, and no illumination out in the house, she could see nothing but vague silhouettes of undead…and their pairs of red or pink eyes. If Grady was out there, she couldn’t detect him.

  Please, let him have left. Let him be gone.

  A mechanized grinding attracted her attention, and Macey looked over to see the floor opening in front of her… No, it wasn’t the entire floor. It was the front third of the stage, folding down and in on itself in the manner of an accordion, leaving a large open hole.

  The orchestra pit.

  Iscariot came to stand next to her, and she saw he was holding a wooden stake. His eyes gleamed and he gestured for her to look down into the pit. She couldn’t see the entire space, for part of it was hidden beneath the stage. What she could see, however, appeared empty and shadowed.

  “There are two things I want, Macey Gardella. Succeed in them, and I’ll set you and your friend free. I’ll never bother you again.”

  An awful, cold dread settled over her, and she resisted taking the two steps forward that would give her more of a view inside the hole.

  “What?” she managed to say.

  “I want the Rings of Jubai,” he said, grasping her arm. “And I want Sebastian Vioget’s soul.”

  He flung her into the pit.

  TWENTY-SIX

  ~ Wherein Our Hero Plays the Role of a Buffet ~

  Grady was no fool.

  When the tall, redheaded gal had arrived at his house, knocking vehemently on the door—but wouldn’t step over the threshold even when he opened it and stepped back—he knew something was not right.

  He recognized the redhead as Macey’s friend—he’d seen them together the first night he really got to talk to her, at the club called The Gyro. The night the vampires attacked.

  “It’s Macey,” exclaimed the woman, whose name he couldn’t remember right away. She stood on the doorstep in pouring rain, beneath an umbrella. Her light blue eyes were wild and filled with concern, and he had a moment of appreciation for what were surely excellent acting skills. “She needs help. I don’t know where else to go. Or what to do. You’re her boyfriend, right? You can help!”

  Grady played along with the lass, though the idea of him being Macey’s boyfriend was not only laughable but painful. No, it wasn’t he who was waking up next to her, smelling the sweet, musky scent of her skin, teasing her about which vampire literature she’d been reading, debating with her about pretty much everything, seeing her dark eyes glow with humor…

  “What’s wrong? Where is she?” He pretended to be as naive as the gal—Flora was her name; that was it—thought he was. He started to ask her to come in and caught himself in time. She hadn’t put even a toe over the threshold and its embedded silver crosses the whole time they stood there talking. His suspicions grew.

  “There’s no time,” she replied, dancing about impatiently—but still not allowing any part of her body to break the “plane” of the doorway. “Hurry! We have to leave now!”

  “All right. Just give me one minute. Wait out there,” he added for good measure, just in case she thought he was inviting her inside.

  Grady dashed up the stairs, his mind reeling. It only took him a few minutes to gather up what he needed, change his shoes, and then scrawl a quick note for his housekeeper to give to Uncle Linwood…just in case. He only hoped Linwood would be around to read it.

  His latest contact with the hospital had given him no news—nothing had changed. But at last Grady would have the chance to do something other than wait around and worry.

  When he came bounding back down the stairs, Flora hadn’t moved, but the freckles stood out in sharp relief on her white face. She was still standing in the downpour, dry beneath her umbrella. “Let’s go.”

  “Where are we going?” he asked, steeling himself and stepping outside. He braced himself for attack, curling his fingers around the stake he’d slipped in his pocket just in case…but Flora only grabbed his arm and bullied him through the rain to a waiting vehicle.

  Grady hesitated before climbing into the automobile—once he was in there, he would be completely at the mercy of the undead. But he hadn’t been reading, studying, preparing, and investigating for almost a year now for nothing—though the seeds had been planted long before.

  A quick look through the windows told him there was only the driver inside, which gave him a modicum of relief when Flora gestured for him to climb in the back. At least he wasn’t sliding into a complete ambush.

  Still, his fingers remained around the stake, and he was careful not to look directly into the eyes of either vampire. He settled into a seat in the corner, keeping a distance from Flora, and prepared himself for whatever was to come.

  “Where are we going? Where is she?” Grady wasn’t certain whether Macey was actually at the location Flora was taking him, or whether he was the bait for the vampire hunter.

  While upstairs, gathering up everything he thought he might need, Grady had considered all of his options. If Macey was wherever he was going, she obviously needed some sort of help. It was possible Flora really was trying to help her—though why she’d come for Grady, that was the question.

  If Macey wasn’t there, and he was going to be the lure—so to speak—Grady figured it was better for him to be the bait rather than someone who had no idea what he or she was getting into.

  He wished he had a way to contact that bloke Chas Woodmore, but other than the name of the dark, angry man—and the knowledge that it was he and not Grady who was the “boyfriend”—he knew nothing about the guy.

  There’d been something mentioned once about a placed called The Silver Chalice, which Grady had put in his note to Linwood—but even that could be a dead end. And he’d never been able to find the place anyway.

  So all he had with him were his wits and his two decades of experience escaping an infinite number of dangerous, impossible situations. If they didn’t serve him well, Grady thought grimly, he didn’t bloody deserve to be trying to help anyone.

  “You ever hear of the Oriental Theatre? The new place?” Flora said. She was examining him with the interest of a cat with a mouse. Grady was too careful to look directly at her, so it was hard for him to tell whether her eyes were glowing red.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact. My uncle was attacked there last night. Is that where we’re going?”

  “Right the first time.” She smiled, and now her fangs showed. “You’re
a good-looking guy, Mr. Grady. I can see why Macey’s sweet on you.”

  He reared back a little in spite of himself, and she moved closer, attempting to enthrall him with her gaze. When she reached for him, he closed his eyes and curled his fingers into fists. He didn’t fight it as her fangs slid into his skin.

  * * *

  Grady wasn’t certain how much time had passed since he’d arrived at the Oriental Theatre. But now, he was in possession of Macey’s heavy silver cross, having just removed it from her trembling, abused body.

  He’d taken his time with the task, fumbling purposely with the clasp at the back of her warm, slender neck in order to be close for a moment. He wanted to say something to her, but he didn’t know what. He wanted to tell her it would be all right, that he would be all right…but he couldn’t.

  Because he didn’t have any idea how it would come true.

  He was still stunned, remembering the battle she’d fought in vain: the beating and vicious feeding…the kicking and fighting and stabbing… He’d witnessed the melee with horror, sitting next to Flora in the wings of the stage until they’d hung him by the wrists from the catwalk.

  The vampires had foolishly bound his hands with thick rope—one of the easiest bonds to loosen because of its rigidity and inflexibility—and left his legs unencumbered, though they had removed the stake from his pocket. But their examination hadn’t been thorough enough, and he still had several tricks up his sleeve—or in his heels, to be more specific.

  Despite his preparations and expectations, Grady’d been more than a little unsteady when they arrived at the theater. Flora seemed enamored with him, and though she’d fed on him briefly in the auto and forced a few blood-tinged kisses from his mouth, he was aware how much more thorough and vicious she could have been. Linwood was an example of that, and now so was Macey.

  Therefore, they must have other plans for him, and they surely involved Macey. When he emerged from the automobile, the continuing trickle of blood pumping from his throat had made him lightheaded and weak as he followed Flora though the rain, into the back door of the theater.

  Once inside, things happened quickly and in a dizzying manner, and the next thing he knew, he was watching Macey fight her way through a horde of undead as he hung from his wrists in a spotlight.

  He could have escaped from the fetters quite easily, but that would be tipping his hand too soon—and too overtly. He was right onstage in front of everyone. So Grady had more than one reason to be thankful when they unfastened him from the hanging rope and commanded him to remove the cross from Macey’s throat.

  Apparently, the undead weren’t terribly concerned with him retaining the pendant—or maybe they were simply distracted by the threat of Macey—for when he was finished, he was able to stuff the powerful pendant into his pocket, and no one seemed to notice.

  Wrists still bound, Grady casually moved out of the limelight, keeping an eye on the man who was clearly the leader of the vampires. Nicholas, Macey had called him. Grady admitted the creature was the most terrifying being he’d ever encountered.

  It would be to his best interest to remain beneath the vampire’s notice—which didn’t seem to be difficult, for Nicholas had barely looked at him. All of his attention was on Macey.

  No one seemed to notice when Grady eased further into the shadows then off the stage. His foot landed on something that shifted. It was round and slender, and he crouched to the ground and snatched up the stake. Even with bound wrists, he was still able to slip it up one sleeve, then returned his attention to the stage. Now that he was armed, and relatively free of notice, perhaps there was something he could do to change the game in their direction.

  Perhaps now was the time to use the small packet of powder tucked inside his sock.

  He looked up in time to see the lean, pale-skinned vampire Iscariot slam his fangs into Macey’s shoulder. Horrified, Grady jolted along with her, and he found he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight of the creature penetrating her flesh while his long-fingered, lethal hands dug into her skin.

  Tears of rage and horror filled his eyes as he watched her fighting in vain, gasping and shuddering, writhing and bucking as the torture went on and on. His heart beat so fast and hard that Grady’s vision turned red and throbbing, and he had to actually curl his hands around the edge of the stage to keep himself from leaping up there to stop it.

  “It’s delicious, isn’t it?” said a voice through the roaring in his ears. “Watching it.”

  He barely heard the words, hardly registered her presence before Flora sank her awful fangs into the curve of his neck.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  ~ A Desperate Battle ~

  Macey hit the ground hard, with the breath knocked out of her. Just after she thumped onto the floor, she heard the hollow sound of a wooden stake landing next to her.

  Everything was quiet in the space—an empty, unused orchestra pit. The edges were shadowed and dark, and the only light came from the opening in the stage above.

  Macey picked up the stake, heart pounding…for by know, she thought she knew what Iscariot had planned.

  And just as she rose to her feet, something shifted at the edge of darkness…then moved slowly into the light.

  “Sebastian,” she breathed. Though she’d prepared herself, the sight of him—battered, bloody, and wild-eyed—knocked the breath from her. Anguish and hunger burned in his eyes as she moved closer to him, still holding the stake. She could see he’d been fed on, that so much blood had been taken from him…

  “Get away,” he said. “What the hell are you thinking…” His eyes burned hotter, and his nostrils flared as if he’d caught her scent.

  Macey stopped, fully aware of her predicament.

  I want the Rings of Jubai. And Sebastian Vioget’s soul.

  Iscariot’s desire was clear: she was to battle Sebastian to the death. Killing him would release the rings, but by marking her, drawing her blood so viciously and thoroughly, Iscariot had ensured Sebastian would be unable to fight the temptation to taste mortal blood for the first time—thus losing his soul.

  He should be weak and helpless, with such a loss of blood…but it had only made him desperately hungry. The scent of her own fresh blood would be filling his nostrils, and he would go for her—inhumanly strong in his weakness and need.

  Her rough breathing filled her ears—no, that was Sebastian’s. He was breathing, and his heart was beating…Macey felt its thudding, the power of it trapped inside the pit with her. His immortal pulse throbbed, pounding like an insistent drum, determined to capture her own heartbeat. To control it. To subdue her.

  She saw, now, that Sebastian was crouched on the floor, his arms wrapped around his bent knees, each hand gripping the opposite wrist. Blood oozed from the imprint of his fingernails into his own flesh. He was holding himself back.

  “Go,” he groaned, burying his face in his knees. His body shook visibly. “Get out of here.”

  Macey didn’t bother to look too closely for an exit—not only would Iscariot have ensured there wasn’t one, but she was not about to leave Sebastian here. Never.

  She would kill him first.

  She would kill him, and take the rings if she needed to.

  Then Macey remembered, somehow in the midst of this turmoil, the copper ring she’d found in his bedside table. If it was one of the Rings of Jubai, Iscariot wouldn’t have them all even if Sebastian dies.

  “Sebastian,” she whispered, moving as close as she dared, while wiping away as much of her blood as possible with the flap of her shirt. “Are you wearing all the rings?”

  He lifted his face and she nearly fell backward. That was when she knew there was no hope.

  His eyes…they blazed with hunger and pain and lust. She didn’t know whether he’d even heard her…whether he even cared. Whether he even knew it was she, Macey.

  His fangs: they were long and sharp and lethal, desperate for their first taste of mortal blood. His fingers had slip
ped and were digging viciously into the backs of his hands now. But even in the faulty light she could see how he trembled with desire, and how desperately he fought the need to lunge for her.

  Macey felt cold and empty. So it would come to this. It was the only way. If Victoria Gardella could slay her husband…

  She gripped the stake. No matter what, she’d kill Sebastian before he tasted her. That was the only way possible to save his soul, and—perhaps, if he’d somehow fulfilled his long promise—Giulia Pesaro’s as well.

  Sebastian was starved and beaten, and he was weak—not so much physically as emotionally and mentally. Whatever Iscariot had done to him, it had made the Venator-turned-vampire into the most vulnerable of men.

  And it was Macey he wanted. Only Macey that could cause him to lose control, to succumb to the desire that had festered and been controlled for more than a century.

  Not just any mortal, but she: the manifestation of the two women for whom he’d made his sacrifice.

  “That’s not much of an entertainment.” Iscariot’s impatient voice traveled down into the darkness. His shadow moved around near the rim of the stage. “Shall we spice things up a bit?”

  Macey had no chance to react or respond, for all at once, there were more dark figures struggling over the top of the pit, and then someone was flung down inside.

  Grady.

  He landed so close to Sebastian that Macey actually heard the Venator-vampire groan with desperation.

  But Sebastian could resist Grady. This was merely Iscariot’s way of upping the ante, of bringing more temptation to Sebastian, to overwhelm him with the scent and sight and proximity of fresh blood.

  Macey grabbed Grady by the shirt and yanked him away from Sebastian while whispering in his ear, “Find us a way out of this place.”