by Nina Lane
Then it shuts.
What am I going to do? Let Batiste go free. That’s what my heart says.
But I can’t do it—he’s a vampire. Everything he said to me could be a lie.
Come to me, Lauren. Come and see for yourself.
That would be stupid, wouldn’t it?
* * *
What in hell I should do? This is all too much. I thought I was going to start a new life in New York. I thought I was finally embracing the future instead of being always caught up in the pain of my past.
I loved my job. I loved the excitement when an auction happened between publishers over a book. The agency was navigating its way into the new world, where authors publish their own books. The state of flux meant agencies hungered for new ideas and new perspectives. I was used to thinking outside the box—after all, I grew up knowing vampires and demons were real.
But that whole real life I’d built seems so pointless now.
I should go to him. Can I live with myself if I don’t go?
Then I hear Batiste’s voice, soft and deep and almost like a whisper in the room. Lauren, I need you. The pain—
I turn around and he is there again, but he’s on his knees on the carpet, his head bowed. I crouch in front of him. “Oh God.” I barely recognize him for the black and purple bruises that cover his face. Vicious cuts criss-cross his face and torso, as if he’s been slashed with claws or repeatedly whipped.
“How could they do this to you? It—it’s inhuman.”
Despite the swelling, he smiles. “They believe I am inhuman.”
“That makes no difference.” I could never inflict such pain onto any being. How could my father do this?
I realized then that I really knew nothing about my father.
“In a way, I welcome the pain,” Batiste mutters. “After you brought my soul slamming back into my body, I went through hell. Every moment of my existence since then has been torment.”
“I had no idea I could do such a thing…or maybe I didn’t do it. Maybe it happened some other way.”
“You did it. And you can heal me now.” His voice is raw, hoarse.
“W—with my blood?”
“With a kiss. Freely given.”
“A kiss? That won’t heal you.”
“It does. I promise.”
His battered face lifts to mine. He’s an image and he can’t hurt me. I touch his cheek with my fingertips. I can feel him—my fingers don’t go through him. He has soft, smooth skin, cool to my touch. “I can’t believe my father—”
I break off as sudden heat rushes through me. Along with a tingling sensation that is so strong I cry out and have to shut my eyes.
I see Batiste in the cell, chained up. A man in black walks around him, carrying a heavy metal pipe. “What do you want with Lauren Knight?” the man asks. “You and Renoir want her. What is her special power? What can she give you?”
He doesn’t answer. The pipe swings in an arc. The guy hits Batiste in the side of his head, making it snap to the side.
“I can endure any torture,” Batiste mutters, in my vision.
“This isn’t torture. I’m just having fun. Tell me about Lauren. Your brother took Christiane, now he wants the twin. What power does she have?”
The man repeats he question over and over, beating Batiste for his silence. Battering him.
Finally Batiste lifts his head. His mouth curves in an arrogant smile. “She’ll make a delicious meal. All I want to do is plunge my fangs in her throat…and suck her dry. You can stake me, cut my head off, beat me until I’m a bloody mess, and all I’m going to tell you is that I want her blood. Just like I want any other human.”
The man hits him again, viciously.
The image stops, leaving me feeling dizzy and sick.
“They wanted to know things. About me,” I whisper. I open my eyes and see the pain reflected in Batiste’s black eyes.
“When I told them I wanted to just drain you dry, that was a lie. I couldn’t tell them the truth,” he says. “Your father thinks he’s in charge and they let him think he is. But they would take you and lock you up like this. Like me. If they knew you had power, they would experiment on you. I won’t let that happen.”
Those words echo in my head with each loud thump of my heart. “But I don’t have any power.”
“Kiss me and find out.”
His hand cups the back of my neck, drawing me close to his mouth. He doesn’t pull hard—he does it tenderly. I could pull back if I wanted to.
But I want to kiss Batiste Carlyle.
After what he did for me, I want to help him.
I look at his full, wide lips, amazed at how kissable they are. So pouty and seductive and sensual. How many women have looked at his mouth and wanted him, only to have him bite—
His lips close over mine.
This would be crazy dangerous, except he’s not real…
Oh God, this kiss…I’ve never experienced anything so real. My temperature rises to molten levels. My whole body aches, especially my pussy, which throbs for him as his mouth plays over mine. His every move is commanding. Powerful.
He knows how to be in charge.
He’s been doing it for one thousand years.
“Lauren.” He breaks the kiss for long enough to whisper my name. In a voice so full of need, it makes my legs shake.
With a ragged groan, he kisses me again. Both his large hands cup my face, but as if he’s holding a diamond-encrusted Faberge egg. His fingertips skim my cheeks. His hands are cool. His mouth—his mouth almost melts mine. Almost sets me on fire.
I’ve never kissed anyone who saved my life before. Never kissed a man who endured torture to protect me.
Realizing that, I kiss him harder. I never really knew how to kiss. But with Batiste, I’m kissing him wildly because I just want him. I want to explore him, taste him, tease him. I want my mouth on his because his mouth is so beautiful.
I’m losing control.
Parting my lips, I press my tongue into his mouth. How can this not be real? It’s so hot. Suddenly I fear—does he taste like blood? But he doesn’t. His mouth tastes sweat, clean. I suckle his tongue a little. I don’t know if it’s a sexy move, and I want this kiss to be hot.
His hands close on my waist. He moves me as if I’m weightless, bringing me down to my knees beside him, and he never stops kissing me.
He entwines with me and I realize again how big and strong his arms are.
Need for him overwhelms me. Controls me. I’ve felt desire, but I’ve never had a wash of lust hit me like a wave.
As he falls back on the rug, pulling me with him, I kiss him like I’m going to devour him. I land on top of him. I’m aware of my breasts plumped against his naked chest. A long—incredibly long—ridge presses between my thighs.
I want to be naked against him. I need him inside me. The pain of wanting him makes me crazy. My hands are on my pajama top, trying to pull it up.
He stops me. “Not yet,” he murmurs. “Come to me for real. Give me one kiss for real, Lauren. Just one. Only you have the power to heal me.”
“I don’t see how.”
“Come to me, let me explain it.”
Chapter 5
Am I crazy to do this? Crazy to go to him? I hit the down button on the elevator, not expecting anything to happen. But with a soft mechanical whir, the elevator door slides open. It stays open, revealing an empty car, waiting for me. I hesitate—
Lauren, I need you.
There’s something in his voice…I can’t resist Batiste’s plea. And I can’t stand to think of him having suffered so much torture. So much torture to protect me…
I make my choice and I run into the elevator. The door closes behind me.
The cells…press floor C1.That’s where I am.
I do and silently, the elevator shoots downward, fast enough to make my stomach lurch.
There’s no bell sound, only the sudden cessation of motion. The doors open again and
I step out. I’m in a long, empty corridor, in a narrow space dimly lit by a few fluorescents. Plastic-coated crash bars run along the walls, like those used in hospitals to protect the walls from gurneys. The floor is light grey, the walls white. A grey metal door stands at the end. It looks institutional, but also creepy and cold.
If I walk to that door, it will probably burst open and a monster will grab me.
But I have to go. I have to go to Batiste Carlyle. I know the door will be locked, and I have no idea how to get through it. But I keep going. I reach the door at the end—it looks like heavy steel. A viewing screen is set in the door just above the height of my head. I’m surprised I don’t see security cameras in the hall, cameras trained on the door. I turn the knob. Of course it doesn’t open. But there is a key pad on the wall beside the door.
Think of the code. It was set by your father. What would he use? An important date. Your birthday?
I hear Batiste’s deep, husky voice vibrating in her head.
“I doubt that,” I say out loud. “He left me.”
He did that only to protect you. You would have been always on in his thoughts.
Christiane and I shared a birthday, of course. And I could see our father wanting to honor Christiane. I punch it in, using the day first. The keypad flashes and the numbers scroll in green across a small screen. It blinks quickly. Getting ready to explode?
A loud click echoes in the hallway.
Damn, of course the lock made noise. I wince, expecting to hear alarms erupt. To hear the pounding of military boots as vampire hunters run down the corridor.
Bang. Bang. Bang. That’s my heart. Wedged in my throat and stuck tight.
But the door is open now. I turn the handle and race through the door, letting out a huge sigh of relief.
My shoes make a weird clanging sound. I look down and almost scream, stumbling back. I am walking on an open mesh landing that is part of a metal stair. The concrete floor seems to spin in front of my shocked eyes, about fifteen feet below me. I am in a large space, like a warehouse. On this upper level, it’s gloomy and ill-lit. Most of the space is lost to darkness, but beneath me, a light glows. A cold, bluish-white light, stark as moonlight but not as beautiful. It gives me enough brightness so I can see I’m looking down on metal roofs. Two rows of them run along the walls. These must be cells.
I am down here, Lauren. In one of the cages. Held like an animal.
Angry pride reverberates in the voice that speaks in my head. I don’t understand how he can do this, but I know vampires can. He’s speaking in my head, but I don’t feel that he’s controlling me.
Holding the metal banister, I hurry down the stairs, as fast as I can in heels. Each metal stair tread clanks as I hit it. I wince at every one. I reach an elevated walkway that runs between the rows of—of cages. There is no other way to describe them. They are cages with metal bars on the front, metal panels for the floors and white walls. The ceilings are also white. Chains hang off the walls and lie on the floor. Thick, heavy chains with metal cuffs are attached to them.
The cages I pass are empty.
Lauren, I need to see you. I’m not going to hurt you. Even if I wasn’t in a cage, I would not hurt you. You have to know that now.
I step into the light in front of Batiste’s cage. He’s bathed in the cold light. And he is on his knees, just as he was when I saw his projection in my room.
I slide down along the bars, crouching so we are eye-to-eye, except the bars stand between us. Chains secure him to the concrete floor, chains attached to cuffs around his neck, his wrists, his ankles.
Before my eyes his cuts are vanishing, little by little. His bruises are slowly fading.
“You’re heal—”
“Christ. Hell,” he barks, making words die in my throat.
His body thrashes in pain. Batiste flings his head back, and his powerful body jerks against the chains, straining them tight. It stops and he slumps, panting. Then it happens again.
Oh God. God, I can’t bear to watch his pain. “W-what can I do to help you?”
“Just be here,” he says. “So I can look at you. Watching you—watching the brilliance of your eyes, the beauty of your mouth, watching your soul glow inside you—it distracts me from the pain while I heal.”
“Are you really unable to feed from humans anymore?”
“With a soul, the pain is too great. I cannot harm innocents. Not anymore.”
“Yea, well when we...uh landed after you flew off the roof, you told me to run away before you lost control.”
He managed a wry smile, even with his partly swollen mouth. “Your blood—the smell of it, the sound of it pumping—is a powerful lure.”
“Oh.” I swallow hard.
“But it is one I am strong enough to resist,” he says. “I wanted to scare you away, Lauren, so you would leave me and go to safety. I would never want to hurt you. But sometimes I am aware of the irony of a vampire who cannot prey.”
“How do you survive?”
“I purchase blood. There is an underground market of human blood for the right price. All acquired painlessly from willing donors who are paid. Or I get animal blood from butchers.”
“And you’ve never bitten anyone since I touched you. I wish I could remember that night. Glimpses of it come to me, but it’s like I’m looking through a veil. Though I am sorry I’ve tormented you.”
His low laugh ripples over me.
“You saved me, Lauren. And you looked so serious and strong when you did it, even though you were just a child—” He breaks off and his body writhes. The muscles of his torso flex and ripple. The chains snap straight and creak as his powerful body yanks at them. I watch, horrified, until he stops struggling. He sags but the thick metal chains hold him up, supporting his weight. His chest heaves with deep breaths as the pain obviously ebbs away.
“If you’re healing, why does it hurt you so much?”
“The curse of being immortal.” Through the pain, he grins. “It’s the process of healing. Stay with me.” Then he says, “I wish I could touch you.”
“I wish I could touch you,” I say honestly. I’m admitting I care about him. That he has touched my heart, even though he’s a vampire. But it’s true. I would touch him if the chains let him reach.
Another jolt of pain shoots through him. His face contorts in a grimace and he pulls viciously on the thick metal links. I need to think of a way to distract him. “Have you really lived for one thousand years?” I ask.
“I have ‘existed’ for that long…”
“You’ve seen—you’ve seen the world change completely.” I laugh awkwardly. “That sounds inane. But one thousand years ago…”
“I traveled from Normandy to England to invade with William. After the victory, once William proclaimed himself king, I was given land. Renoir fought at my side. But I realized my brother was drawn to magic, to dark arts. Renoir, it seemed, had delusions of grandeur. He wanted to be king. He got his wish—calling himself king of vampires.”
“Magic? But—”
“Demons are real. Vampires are real. So is magic.”
This is so much to take in. To believe. But I can’t deny the evidence in front of my eyes. Almost all his cuts are gone. The bruising is just patches of light bluish-purple, almost completely vanished.
“Look at your power,” he growls. “I’m almost healed. See how strong you are.”
“Lauren! Back away from that cell.”
At the angry bark, I turn. My father stands on the stairs beside Lab-coat and his dreadlocks, and behind them are three armed guys in military garb.
* * *
My father saw me on the camera in the cell area—cameras I hadn’t even noticed. When I protest over Batiste’s torture, my father says, “You are upset and exhausted. You need to rest. Remember that Batiste Carlyle is a vampire. A killer. He does not deserve your sympathy.”
I don’t answer that. I’ve been taken back to my room, escorted by the guys with guns
.
“If I had not found you tonight, you would have been one of his victims,” my father continues.
“ No, I wouldn’t. He wasn’t going to bite me.”
“How do you know this?”
“He—” Now, I realize how lame it sounds. “He told me.”
Then I remember what my father said earlier. “How did you find me tonight? How did you know I was at the gallery? How did you find me near the alley after Batiste took me off the roof?”
“We’ve been watching you.”
“So you sent me the invitation. Why?” Then I get it. “I was bait. Damn, how could you? How could you do this without telling me? Why didn’t you come back in my life, rather than send me to a vampire? Obviously you didn’t really care about protecting me.”
“I never sent you to a vampire. I did not send you an invitation. But we followed you to the gallery. In there, one of our men put a tracker on your clothing.”
“Again, without me knowing.”
My father draws the covers down on my bed. “If we had not, you would have been at the mercy of Renoir Carlyle.” He stands there, obviously waiting for me to get into bed. I’d changed back in to my tank top and skirt, and my shoes. I just stand there. I don’t kick off my heels. Instead, I glare at him.
“I suppose you did the thing with the elevator—having it open on the floor and stay open, waiting for me. Why—you wanted to send me to him?”
“Of course not. I want you nowhere near that monster.”
“I don’t believe he’s a monster.”
“Vampires can control minds. Remember that, Lauren. Whatever you are feeling…it is not real.”
“I know what I felt when Renoir controlled my mind. That is not what I’m feeling now.” I cross my arms over my chest and shake my head at the bed. “I am not going to sleep,”
“You will.” At that, my father spins around to me and grabs my wrist. He slams some kind of automatic needle against my wrist. A quick, painful pressure hits me. There’s a burning sensation. I jerk away but I’m too late.
“What did you do? What is that stuff?”
I stare into my father’s green eyes—eyes just like mine—and see a heavy sorrow in them. Such crippling, guilty sorrow, that I feel weak with panic—