Startled cries followed from behind a partially closed door just ahead and to the left as she and Brian approached, and a woman shouted in Spanish, not Catalan. “Wake up. Someone’s here!”
A sub-machine gun on full auto filled the air with lead as the door swung open, but Layla and Brian held back, waiting until the gun went quiet before rolling into the room to come up firing their own weapons to much better effect. There were two hostiles—one male, one female, both teenagers, the girl just barely. The boy was already down, from three shots to the chest. But Brian had switched his aim at the last minute, taking the girl in the legs.
Layla figured the gunfire and the wounded girl’s resulting screams would have brought any other hostiles running. But wanting to be sure, she left Brian to play medic, and hopefully shut up the girl before she roused the neighbors, while she went to check out the rest of the house. It was small compared to some of the others, but had a big yard and a long driveway with a detached garage at the end. It was probably what all the houses had looked like, before wealth moved in and took advantage of the large lots to upscale.
Once she was sure the house was empty, and after listening at a front window to be sure that no neighbors had gathered in response to the screamer, and no sirens were signaling the approach of authorities, she walked back to where Kerry and River were gathered in the kitchen with the kids.
“Brian knocked her out,” Kerry said, pointing to where the wounded girl was lying on a lounger outside the back door. “He’s gone for the SUV,” she continued. “Simpler and faster than trying to get these poor little ones across the street. He can back right up to the where the van is concealed. If no one’s noticed that so far, they’re not going to notice us parked for the few minutes it’ll take to evac.”
Once Brian returned with the SUV, they loaded the older children into the cargo space, then River went back for their prisoner. Meanwhile Kerry and Layla climbed into the back seat and, with Brian’s assistance, distributed the little ones onto laps. The smallest girl, who’d been inconsolable, crying in hard hiccupping sobs through the whole process, immediately stood on the back seat and stretched her arms over to a boy who reached up from the cargo space and pulled her onto his lap. He couldn’t have been more than nine years old himself, but he held her close, kissing the top of her head and making soothing sounds.
Siblings, Layla thought, as the little girl’s sobs died down to soft cries, and then quieted altogether. She watched River return with the prisoner, whom he stuffed into the front passenger seat well, and then maneuvered himself inside with one leg bent and his foot on the seat. It had to be uncomfortable, but it made more sense for her and Kerry to be in back, leaving more room for the kids, and not traumatizing them any further at the sight of a bloody, unconscious body.
Brian closed his door and cruised down the slight slope of the drive, not hitting the gas until he was on the street, leaving the empty house and a dead teenage boy behind.
Arriving at the motel, Layla’s team moved like the well-oiled machine they were. In a change of plans, Layla and River exited the SUV to load up the teenagers in the minivan, and drive back with them, while Brian and Kerry would go straight back to the Fortalesa with the smaller children already in the SUV.
The prisoner remained stuffed into the seat well, but no one cared about her comfort.
Brian had wanted to wait, so they could all drive back together. But Layla wanted those kids returned as soon as possible. She also figured the SUV, with Kerry and Brian, was more secure than the minivan, and certainly less of a familiar vehicle to anyone who saw it. So, after Brian took off, she and River opened the motel room door to find a bunch of guilty looks, while on the TV screen a very buxom woman was making herself very available to three men at the same time. Or “air tight,” as it was called in the porn industry.
“What the bloody hell?” River demanded.
“They’re teenagers,” Layla said, as if that explained everything.
“Christ. I’m not touching a single God damned thing in this room. You mob are loading your stuff and ours. Get on with it.”
Layla, feeling cautiously more relaxed now that the children were at least no longer in the clutches of their captors, chuckled and clapped to get the kids’ attention. “You heard the man, boys and girls. Load up everything that doesn’t belong here. We’ll sort it out later.”
“Wait,” Miri cried, jumping to her feet. “What about my sister and the others?”
“Safe and on their way home,” Layla said belatedly. She should have started off with that, damn it. “The sooner you get everything loaded, the sooner we’ll join them. So, chop chop. Let’s get moving.”
River gave the room a single disgusted look, then marched out to stare at the minivan—most likely in despair that he’d soon be driving it. “Whose fucking idea was that color?” he asked.
“My father’s actually. He figured the kids couldn’t get up to too much trouble, since everyone in town would recognize the vehicle.”
“Well, shite. He was probably right about that. I’m embarrassed to drive it.”
“You can ride in cargo, if you want. No one’ll see you back there.”
“Yeah, like that’s going to happen. Get in, you lot,” he said to kids. “I’m evac’ing this cesspool of bacteria permanently. If you’re not in the vehicle in two minutes, I’m leaving you behind.”
Layla made sure everyone was in and belted where possible. It was a tight squeeze, and poor Marcos bit the bullet and volunteered to sit with the cargo, which had her forgiving his earlier bout of teenage sulkiness. When she slid into the front passenger seat and closed the door, she said, “Let’s boogie, Riv.”
“You wound my fine British ears with that ghastly American slang,” he said in his poshest accent, then swung a grin in her direction and took off.
Layla texted both Danilo and Tony once they were out of the busiest part of town, letting them know that Brian would be arriving first. And that all the children and the teens were safe and unharmed. That last was probably a bit of wishful thinking, since the children who’d been kidnapped would probably have nightmares for a very long time. But she knew Xavier would spare no cost to secure whatever counseling or other help they needed. He was a good leader, a good man . . . even if he was a vampire.
Chapter Eleven
THEY PULLED THROUGH the gates of the Fortalesa to the expected sounds of a joyous homecoming, with tears and laughter overriding the few angry demands to know everything she and the others had learned about the kidnappers, and what was going to be done about it.
Layla had to jump out of the minivan, stand on top of the wall above the closed gates, and yell to get their attention, until finally Brian joined her with a bullhorn that he must have dug out of his own gear, or been provided with by someone wise enough to see that all the shouting was getting nothing done. With the bullhorn amplifying his strong male tones, he ordered everyone to shut the fuck up. And when they did, he apologized to the ladies and children, then turned it over to Layla who told them she’d arrange a town hall with everyone invited, as soon as she’d briefed Lord Xavier. He, of course, would be the one making any decision as to what they would do next.
Layla knew he wouldn’t tell them everything—just enough to ease their minds. Certainly, he wouldn’t announce whatever actions he was going to take to hunt down and destroy Sakal and whoever had helped him. But by reminding the people that Xavier would be taking charge, Layla had calmed the crowds enough that they followed her suggestion to use the intervening time to care for their families, while specific arrangements were gotten underway for the town hall.
She remained on the wall until almost everyone had dispersed. Then leaving Danilo and Tony to answer any remaining questions, she joined her teammates. Brian had parked the SUV so that the front passenger door was even with the open door of the barracks.
That door was wider than usual to allow various pieces of equipment and weapons to be easily maneuvered in and out. More importantly, it also made it easy to sneak a bleeding and unconscious prisoner inside without anyone noticing that the four fighters who’d rescued the children had also brought home a present for Lord Xavier.
XAVIER SHATTERED the final chain holding him to sleep and sprang off the bed with a roar of rage that had every one of his vampires shivering where they lay sleeping up and down the hallways of the vault. Fresh information flowed to his thoughts, driven by his awareness of every soul who lived within the Fortalesa, every person who was his to protect. From the eldest avi to the youngest nena, Xavier was aware of them all on a gut level that was difficult to describe to one who’d never experienced it. He simply knew.
And that was how he knew that all of the children were home and safe. He could sense the mood of his people, and while there was anger simmering below the surface, the dominant emotions were joy and relief, tempered by a lingering concern. He shared all those emotions, but it was anger that drove him.
He paused a moment, standing perfectly still as his power swept the entire Fortalesa once more, skimming over the familiar, searching for the unknown. Of which there were several.
Concentrating, he reached out to a mind that was as familiar as his own. “Chuy,” he said, jolting his lieutenant out of his daylight sleep an hour or more before he would have done so naturally. The older and stronger the vampire, the earlier he woke and the later he was driven to sleep. As a powerful vampire of nearly four hundred years, Xavier wasn’t forced into his daylight sleep until the sun was fully over the horizon, just as he woke while the evening sky was still bright and the sun’s orb barely visible below the earth’s edge. Chuy was one of his own children, nearly two hundred years old and a powerful master vampire in his own right. He couldn’t match Xavier’s strength, but he was closer than any other in the Fortalesa.
“Sire.” Chuy’s mental voice was slightly groggy, but alert to the fact that something was very wrong. Xavier wouldn’t have wakened him otherwise.
“We were attacked today, and the children kidnapped. They’ve been rescued and returned, but there are strangers inside the Fortalesa. I want every vampire up and alert within the hour. Meet me in my office in thirty minutes. That should give me enough time to discover the identity of our visitors and gather in Layla for a briefing.”
“Sire.”
Xavier cut the connection without useless niceties. There was a time for politesse. This was not it. His first impulse was to damn the niceties, throw on clothes, and storm upstairs to assess the situation. But reason stopped him on the verge of opening the vault door. If he appeared among his people raging and incoherent, it would only add to the terror of the day, and do nothing to assure them that their families were safe and the criminals would pay.
He kept the black jeans he’d already pulled on, but ripped off the T-shirt and walked back to the bathroom. He ignored the shower. Reason hadn’t prevailed to that extent. But he did brush his teeth and give his face a brisk wash with cold water, then ran wet hands back through his long black hair, which tended toward unruliness if left to its natural state. His beard, he decided, was just long enough to pass for an intentional scruff, which was a good thing because he had no intention of taking the time to shave.
Now marginally more presentable, he went to his closet and donned a long-sleeved black T-shirt, then sat to pull on socks and lace up combat-style boots. He’d be hunting tonight, one way or another.
He walked down an empty hallway in the vampire wing, the only vampire powerful enough to already be fully alert and functional, although Chuy and Joaquim were both awake and had communicated their readiness. Having gotten a better sense of the mood in the Fortalesa and knowing there was no immediate danger, Xavier sent them additional orders regarding the scouts’ information and the need to clean out the rogue vampire nest they’d found.
As for the strangers he’d detected inside the Fortalesa, he was beginning to believe they were Layla’s fellow fighters, although there was one . . . a young female, he thought, who was giving off such strong and violent emotions that she had to be someone other. Not a friend. A prisoner, perhaps, he thought with vicious satisfaction. He would enjoy nothing more than interrogating an enemy prisoner. He would scrub her brain, until he’d discovered every hope, every secret, every fear she possessed. Until there was nothing left but spongy scars in a hollow skull.
His first thought upon emerging into the fresh herb smell of the courtyard outside the vampire wing was to search for Layla. A glance up at her parents’ second floor apartment found it dark and unoccupied. He strode into the small, protected courtyard, leaving it behind where it merged with the larger main yard. He passed the hospital—quiet and dimly lit with no fresh agony flavoring the emotions of either patients or medics. Stepping farther into the yard, he immediately caught the scent of fresh blood and looked right, toward the far end, where an unfamiliar vehicle was parked in front of the barracks. It was completely black, with tinted windows, and wheels that had been blackened until there wasn’t even a glimmer of light to betray its presence. Tonight, however, the cargo door was open, the interior light revealing three people, including Layla, who were unloading various bags and pieces of gear.
He turned in that direction, but paused when he saw a big, blond man exit the barracks, put his arms around Layla, and bend his head to murmur something against her ear. She laughed and shoved him away, but they were both grinning when she swung a canvas duffle over her shoulder and entered the barracks, turning right beyond the door, where the sleeping quarters were located.
Brian, Xavier thought. Layla’s good friend. And she’d brought him here, to his Fortalesa. If it had been any other day, he’d have considered the man’s presence a mild irritant and let it go, confident in the knowledge that Layla was his. But it was this day—a day he’d spent helplessly trapped in sleep while his people were attacked, their children taken. And it had been this Brian who’d gone with Layla to rescue the children who were his to protect.
Just as Layla was, quite simply, his.
“INCOMING,” BRIAN said softly, when Layla returned for a second load.
“What?” she asked, then looked up to see trouble with a capital X striding down the long length of the yard. Wanting to put some distance between what looked like an enraged vampire lord and her people, she took several steps in his direction before she was drawn up short by his appearance. His eyes were shining with power, that odd pewter glow eclipsing his irises completely. But it wasn’t only his eyes that told her he was angry. Xavier was a big man. Three inches over six feet, with a broad chest and thickly muscled shoulders and thighs. And every one of those muscles was taut with rage, his powerful hands clenched to highlight the strength in his arms and shoulders. He was still beautiful, maybe more than she’d ever seen him. But then, she’d never seen him this angry.
He didn’t speak to her at first, but looked over her shoulder to where Brian stood watching, his stance ready to defend her if necessary.
“Rémy,” Xavier said, and a lone male vampire appeared out of the shadows as if he had been conjured there by the sound of his master’s voice. “There’s a prisoner in the barracks. Take her to my interrogation room.”
“Yes, my lord,” Rémy said, and walked past Layla without a glance.
Turning, she signaled an “okay” to Brian and Kerry, who both stood watching with wary expressions as the vampire drew closer. Rémy didn’t acknowledge them at all, simply walked past and emerged a moment later with the still-unconscious prisoner over his shoulder. He walked past her and Xavier without a word, just going about his master’s bidding.
“Where are you taking her?” Layla asked, more out of curiosity than anything else, since she’d already decided to let Xavier do the questioning.
“The vampire win
g,” he said, as if he wondered why she was asking. “Feel free to observe, although I warn you, it won’t be pretty. And she won’t survive.”
Layla concealed her wince at the matter-of-fact way he said that, even though she honestly had no problem with the judgment.
“Layla.” Brian touched her shoulder lightly as he came to stand next to her.
He stared at Xavier for a moment, then introduced himself. “Brian Hudson,” he said simply. Between the stories Layla had told him and the few vampires they’d encountered in their various assignments, he knew better than to offer a handshake.
Xavier’s already cold expression went positively frigid while he eyed Brian up and down, his glittering eyes slowly shuttered behind a lazy blink as his gaze shifted to Layla. “This is your commanding officer?” he asked her.
It was Brian who answered with a low chuckle that didn’t win him any points. “No, sir,” he said. “She’s mine.”
“Your what?” Xavier growled.
“My commanding officer.”
Xavier’s lip curled. “Then why are you standing here?”
“I thought my captain might need some help.”
“And you thought you could help her? Against me?”
“I don’t know,” Brian admitted. “But I’d have to try.”
All but forgotten in the escalating testosterone battle between the two males, Layla sighed and stepped between them, breaking their stare-down. “Thank you, Brian, but I don’t require assistance. You should join the others and get settled in the barracks. You guys have more gear to deal with than I do.”
Brian studied her for an unhappy moment, turned and shot Xavier a hard look, then snapped a sharp salute—which had to be for the vampire lord’s benefit, since they never saluted—and strolled into the barracks with deliberate ease.
Xavier watched him go, then looked back to Layla. “My office, now,” he growled.
Xavier: Vampires in Europe (Vampires in America Book 14) Page 17