by J. K. Beck
“Derrick,” he repeated. He wasn’t interested in this woman or in her customers. More than that, though, the Sergius that Derrick used to know wouldn’t be interested in them, either. Sergius had always had his own agenda; had always been the biggest badass in the room. If he wanted to reestablish himself with Derrick, he had to be that vampire again.
Looking at Vivian and her customers—some of whom were rogues he recognized—Serge thought that it wouldn’t be too hard.
“Now,” he added, because the woman still hadn’t answered. “Or I’ll just start looking for him myself.”
“In the back,” she said, her eyes darting toward a door off to his left. “I’ll take you.”
“I’ll find it,” he said, then headed that way. As he did, he saw her pick up a phone and send a text. Undoubtedly telling Derrick that Serge was on his way. Good.
He pushed through the doorway and found himself in a long, dark hall. On alert, he took a step forward, testing the air, searching for anyone who might be hiding in the shadows. Nothing.
The door at the end of the hall flew open and Derrick stood there, his arms outstretched. “Sergius! My God, I feared those bastard Dumonts had destroyed you as they almost destroyed me.”
“And yet we’re still here, and the Dumont men now rot in the earth,” Serge said.
Derrick threw his head back and laughed. “Ah, Sergius! You are the same, after all. I’d feared you’d changed.”
“Did you?”
“The Sergius I remembered would not remain hidden for so long. I was certain you were here in Los Angeles, and yet you were a chimera, a shadow, nothing more than a rumor.”
“You assume that I was forced under by the PEC agents sniffing around. I assure you that wasn’t the case.” He kept his eyes on Derrick’s face, well aware of all that was riding on this conversation. He had to convince his old friend that he hadn’t changed. That the darkness still thrived within him. “I’ve been pursuing a purpose of my own. That’s one of the reasons I came tonight. We had a uniquely beneficial relationship in the past. I hoped we could resume it. That, and I missed the company of my old friend.”
“And I you. Come in, come in.” He stepped back so that Serge could enter the small room in the back. It was set up as an office, and Serge raised a brow in question.
“Tom and Vivian appreciate the customers I bring into their establishment, and they’ve done an excellent job spreading my message.”
“I’ve seen the results of your work—I assume I’m correct? You’ve been sharing your philosophy with the younger generation? They’ve been putting it into practice?”
“You’ve been very observant.”
“I find it amusing to watch the PEC chasing its tail. The rogues have them baffled.”
Derrick frowned. “Them, perhaps. But someone has been playing a game of cat and mouse, and I’m afraid that my men are the mice.”
“I’d heard rumors that rogues were disappearing. I’ve heard rumors of worse things, as well.”
“It’s horrible,” Derrick said. “So many of my men have been found completely desiccated.”
“And you have no inkling of how they came to be that way?”
“None. It’s baffling.” He waved a hand as if pushing away these disturbing thoughts. “But enough of this. We’ll have plenty of time to discuss political philosophy. What I want now is to hear about you. I wonder, for example, who replaced me as your companion. We had good times together, didn’t we?”
“Very.” Serge fought the rising memories of his time with Derrick, memories that disgusted him but made the beast and the daemon curl with pleasure. Alexis, he thought, reaching out through the blood connection, seeking her strength to calm him.
He couldn’t find her, though, and that failure sparked a tiny flicker of worry.
“Was I tossed aside and replaced?” Derrick asked. “Let me guess. By Lucius?”
“Luke?” Serge said, adding a note of scorn to his voice. “Haven’t you heard? He’s the new Alliance chairman. Far too tame for me.”
“Indeed. Then perhaps a woman?”
There was nothing strange about Derrick’s voice, but Serge stiffened anyway.
“A woman?”
“Just a guess, of course. I can imagine you with a woman at your side. Fiery of spirit. A hunter.”
On guard now, Serge shifted position, his muscles tensed and ready. Derrick had said nothing volatile. And yet still Serge felt his trepidation building.
“Of course, I would never have imagined you with a woman who hunted our own kind.”
Alexis. Dear God, Alexis.
“What have you done, Derrick?”
“You’re a fool, Sergius, to think that you could walk into my territory and play games with me. The world truly has changed over the last century. Because you never were a fool before.”
Behind them, a door opened, and four vampires filed in, all wielding stakes. Serge ignored them as he rushed Derrick, fueled by a fierce need to destroy this threat to Alexis. This bastard who would surely kill her at the first chance, if only to antagonize Serge.
When he was only inches away, he stumbled under the unexpected weight of a metal mesh that fell from the roof. Hematite.
“It’s been a pleasure talking with you, my old friend. I’m sorry to say we won’t be working together. But you see, I don’t need you. After all, I already have your woman.”
And with that, Derrick dissolved to mist. Serge tossed the mesh aside—hematite no longer affected him—and immediately spun around, ready to defend himself against the four vampires. But they were gone, too.
Derrick hadn’t even tried to kill him, and Serge damn well knew why. Hadn’t he done the same thing far too many times in the past? Why torture your enemy when you can torture the person your enemy loves most?
Alexis. Again he reached out, searching for her. Again, he found nothing. Derrick was too smart to have his plans foiled by something as simple as the blood connection. Now Serge had to be smarter. He had to find her, and if he couldn’t track Alexis, then maybe he could track Derrick.
And he knew just the person to help him.
Serge pounded on Leena’s door, waited about two seconds, then broke the thing in. She stood there, crossbow raised, ready to release the arrow.
“He’s taken Alexis.”
“Who?” Her expression didn’t change, and she still held the crossbow.
“His name is Derrick. He’s been organizing the rogues. Alexis and I had a plan to infiltrate his organization, but he must have gotten wind of it.”
“Derrick,” she repeated, her voice low.
“Dammit, Leena, I need your help to track her.”
“The blood connection?”
“He’s blocked it.”
“I have no way of tracking her, either.” The crossbow came down, and Serge stepped farther inside.
“You have her blood. She told me you used it.” Used it to track Tori’s killer. To track me.
“And that blood has served its purpose. It can’t be used again.”
“Goddammit!” He lashed out, his fist putting a hole through her wall.
“We’ll find her. What about the men under him? Would they know where he took her?”
It was possible. “Let’s find out.” He took another step toward her. “I can get us there faster,” he added, and without waiting for her reply he transformed into mist, becoming corporeal once again only after they’d reached the Z Bar.
“Out,” he said as he burst through the door. The place was mostly empty now, and the few vampires who were left looked at him and rushed out, obviously not wanting to die that night.
Vivian Clamdale was still behind the bar, and Serge vaulted it with one clean leap. She backed away, obviously about to transform, but Serge grabbed her.
And in that moment of contact, the beast rushed up. Desperate. Hungry. Demanding.
It reached out, ready to take from this woman, this vampire, this fucking bitch. Ready to draw the life from
—
No.
With a violent shove, Serge pushed her back, sending her tumbling against the bar.
Beside him, Leena gaped, but he ignored her, all of his focus aimed at controlling the beast, on keeping it down. Alexis. He couldn’t feel her. But he could remember her.
Could conjure her. Could tap into his love for her.
Alexis, Alexis, darling Alexis.
“Stop!” Leena’s voice rang out, and Serge whipped sideways, his eyes going wide as he saw Vivian held in what looked like the kind of heat shimmer that would rise from a hot street in the summer. “I can’t hold it for long.”
“You could never hold me for long enough,” Vivian spat back, fighting against the spell that contained her. “I have his strength within me, and I cannot be defeated.”
“His strength?” Serge looked at Leena. “His blood. Can you—?”
“I can,” she said, and before Vivian had time to figure out what they were talking about, Serge leaped forward. Leena dropped the force field so that he could get through. He practically flew at the vampire, knocking her backward onto the ground. And then, before she could anticipate his next move, he used a bar knife to slice her arm, then bled her until she’d filled a shot glass from the bar.
And then, because he just didn’t like the bitch, he used the stake that Leena tossed him and slammed it through her heart.
“You’re sure this will work?”
“I can do it,” Leena said, using her finger to draw an intricate pattern on the oak bar in blood. “I’ve actually been working out a spell for tracking a vampire through its blood. Alexis originally wanted to use her blood to track you—that was when she was trying to find the teenage girl and all she knew was your name. Even after she found you, I kept on working on it. I thought it might come in handy.”
“You were right.”
“It will weaken me, but for Alexis I can manage.”
“How is it that you know witchcraft?”
She eyed him sideways, her lip curving into the slightest of smiles. “You could say that it’s in my blood. My mother was a sorceress, and hers before that, all the way back into our dark, distant past.”
An odd sense of déjà vu washed over him. “What’s your surname?”
“Dumont,” she said.
A chill chased up Serge’s spine. “I knew a witch once. She was a slave at the Dumont plantation outside New Orleans. I asked her for help.”
“And did she agree?”
“The evening went awry. It didn’t end well for anyone.”
“Then I was fortunate to be born in a different generation. Let’s hope tonight goes better.” She nodded at the pattern on the bar. “It’s ready.”
As he watched, she pressed her hands against the wood and tilted her head back, her mouth open and her eyes closed. She muttered something in a language he didn’t know. At first, nothing happened. Then the blood on the bar began to shimmer and glow. As if it were quicksilver, the blood pooled up and eased over her hands. No, not over, into her hands. Until the pattern that was on the wood seemed etched under her skin. The pattern quivered and glowed, and then a tiny dot of red appeared.
Leena opened her eyes and turned her head. Her teeth glowed white in the dim light of the bar, giving her a lean, dangerous look. “Got it,” she said. “Let’s go.”
A dozen ice picks rammed into Alexis’s skull. And that horror had been joined by wave after wave of nausea and bloating and stomach cramps so horrible she wanted nothing more than to double over, clutch her knees to her chest, and moan.
She couldn’t, though, because she was strapped to a post—hands tied behind her back, legs strapped at the ankles, head held stable by duct tape across her forehead.
Twice she’d almost vomited, and her mouth was now swollen and dry. She felt miserable. Wretched. Positively vile.
But that was nothing compared with the horrific knowledge that the only reason she was being tormented was to entrap Serge.
“You’re going to die first,” she told Jonathan. “He won’t even think twice. You’re like some little bug he has to swat out of the way.” She grimaced as a wave of pain hit her. But she fought through it and shifted her attention to the vampire who’d introduced himself as Derrick. “He’ll take more time with you, though. He’ll want to watch you suffer.”
“I don’t doubt it for a moment,” Derrick said. “Sergius has always thrived on the suffering of others. He was the master of pain and of death. My mentor, my friend. Certainly my equal in that regard.” He took a casual step toward her. “Did he tell you? When he had you in bed and his cock was deep inside you, did he whisper sweet nothings? Did he share with you how he’d drained young women purely for the joy of watching them die? Did he make you come by telling you of the still-beating hearts he’d ripped out, for no reason other than to hear his victims scream?”
Nausea overwhelmed her, but she refused to turn away. She met his eyes defiantly. “Is that why you’re luring him here? Because he’s not that person anymore and you can’t stand that he’s decent and you’re still vile?”
Faster than she could see, his hand lashed out, slapping her hard against the cheek, the pain increased exponentially since she couldn’t move her head to absorb the blow. “It would serve you well to watch how you speak to me.”
“Why? I’m dead already.”
He chuckled. “True. But there’s still the question of the pain, isn’t there, Alexis, darling? I owe you a great deal of pain. How many of my men did you kill?”
“Not nearly enough,” she said.
“No, your death won’t be easy. Not easy at all. But until then let’s be friends, shall we? Come on, darling. Give us a kiss.” And then his mouth was on hers, and she squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to jerk away, but was foiled by the binds that held her. He forced his tongue in and she gagged. He pulled away, laughing, his fangs scraping her lower lip.
“I suggest you get your hands off my woman.” Serge! She opened her eyes, afraid her mind was playing tricks, but he was there, the door behind him hanging open on one hinge. Jonathan was crumpled, headless, at his feet. And beside him, Leena stood, a crossbow tight in her hands.
Alexis wanted to cheer, but her joy at seeing him was stolen by the knife Derrick pressed against her throat. “Bravo, Sergius. It took you a bit longer than I anticipated, but at last you’ve made it to the party.” Serge took a step forward. “Ah, ah. Careful my friend. I can cut off her head with one stroke. And that’s a death even you cannot defeat.”
Hesitation filled Serge’s eyes, and she watched his face as he calculated what to do. Beside him, Leena hadn’t moved, though she appeared to be talking to herself, muttering low, unintelligible words.
A fresh wave of nausea crashed over Alexis and her stomach and chest convulsed, her body wanting to bend over and fight the pain, but unable to do so. Simultaneously, she felt the flick of the knife as Derrick tightened his grip.
Serge’s cry of “No!” mingled with Leena’s, and Alexis squeezed her eyes shut, afraid that this was the end.
But then the press of steel was gone and she opened her eyes and saw Derrick frozen in front of her, only inches away, a heat-like shimmer surrounding him. A second later, an arrow pierced the shimmering air, landing dead-center in Derrick’s heart. The vampire’s mouth opened in a gape of surprise, and then there was nothing. Just dust cascading to the floor.
The shimmer disappeared, and Leena dropped her crossbow and sagged against her cane.
“Dead,” she said. “And about time.”
In an instant Serge was at Alexis’s side. He ripped through her bindings, and she collapsed, shivering, into his arms. It was getting worse. She felt hot and cold and she was certain that any moment her head was going to explode.
“She’s ill,” Serge said. “Alexis, what’s wrong?”
But she could only shake her head.
Leena approached, then stood over them, frowning down. “Tell him,” she said. “Tell him wha
t’s wrong with you.”
Her friend’s voice sounded harsh. “Leena?”
Leena laughed, but there was no humor. “I said to tell him. Tell the vampire who killed your sister why you’re dying.”
More nausea rose inside her as the truth washed over her. Dying. Oh, dear God, Leena was right—she was going to die right here in Serge’s arms.
“Dying?” Serge repeated, his voice frantic. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“The spell,” Alexis whispered, forcing the words out past the pain. “When I gave my blood for the map. The scar on my wrist. I pledged vengeance. I pledged death. Either I killed the vampire I was hunting or the magic would have my life.”
“No.” His voice was firm, unbelieving. “No, that isn’t possible.” He turned to Leena. “You’re a witch. Can’t you do something?”
“It’s a vengeance spell. She made the pact of her own free will.”
“But things have changed. And you have power to alter the spell.”
“I have power? You’re asking me to use my power? Funny how things never change, isn’t it?”
The words flowed over Alexis, and she tried to understand what was going on. But the conversation wasn’t making sense.
“Never change?” Serge repeated, his voice full of disbelief. “No. No, it can’t be true.”
“You and your friend took everything from me,” Leena said. “You took what I loved. Now you can watch as I take what you love. Cure her? Not possible. And now you suffer. And the irony is that she chose that, too. And of her own free will.”
Trapped.
Inside her own body, Leena watched what was going on. Watched as someone who looked like her and talked like her but so wasn’t her tormented her friend. Threatened death.
And Leena knew the threat wasn’t idle.
She tried to lash out. Tried to break free. Tried to find a way to slam at this prison with all of her consciousness and fight the creature that had pushed her down.
Tried to make the tiniest of chinks.
She’d come close a few times—so close that she could almost feel her limbs. Could almost grab control.