Roaring Dawn: Macey Book 3 (The Gardella Vampire Hunters 10)

by Colleen Gleason

  The red haze of lust washed over him in wave after wave even as he fought it back—fought it with every ounce of his strength and mental capacity. But she was touching him in places she had no business touching him, writhing and rolling beneath him, sucking and dragging the hot lifeblood from his veins, grinding and arching up against his crotch as she fed.

  Chas focused on one thing: the wrist he gripped in his hand. He couldn’t let it go, no matter what. He struggled to train every bit of his consciousness, every particle of his mind on not releasing her hand, on blocking away the hot lick of pleasure, the smell of his blood mingling with the scent of musk and sex, the press of her body against him, the sound of her feeding: the utilitarian kuh-hn…kuh-hn…

  She pulled away from his pounding veins, and he felt his blood pumping free as she tried a new assault: swooping up to cover his mouth with hers. The taste and scent of his own blood on her lips, a mouth that raped his, a tongue that plunged and stroked, was enough to set him free.

  With a roar, he gave a great twist, then smashed her hand sharply to the ground and saw the brief glint of the pyramid as it tumbled out of her fingers into the shadows—free for the taking, but lost in the darkness.

  As she cried out in pain, pulling away from his mouth, Chas slammed his forehead down into Flora’s face and yanked her hand from where she’d been groping him.

  Now her cry was that of fury, and she was scratching and kicking in a frenzy. They rolled around, smashing into chairs and tables—none of which conveniently shattered so he’d have a weapon.

  Suddenly, as he twisted away while lifting her over him to throw her to the floor, he felt a sharp, hard pain beneath him. The pyramid.

  Chas grappled it into his hand as she snatched him by the hair and whipped his head into the floor.

  “Fighting like…a…girl,” he managed to taunt, even as his head exploded with pain and flashing lights. Then, with a great heave, he flung her off to the side.

  He bolted to his feet just as she rolled to hers, and they faced each other, panting. And then he held up the pyramid so it glinted evilly in the dim light.

  “What is it?” he asked one more time.

  She didn’t answer. Her eyes went lasciviously to the object in his hand, and then she grabbed a large table and threw it at him. He ducked successfully, but it was followed by chair after chair careening through the air as she made her way to the door, keeping him stumbling back and putting more space between them.

  She whipped two final chairs at him in quick succession so they spun through the air like wild tops, then ducked through the door.

  All at once, it was silent and still but for his panting breaths and the sounds of his blood dripping onto the floor. Plop…plop…plop.

  He had the black onyx stopper…but he didn’t know what the hell it was or why Flora had nearly gotten herself killed over it.

  And then he looked around the pub, at the tumbled tables and chairs, the broken glasses and upended stools. The pool of blood on the floor.

  Christ. Temple was going to kill him.

  EIGHT

  ~ Of Thunderstorms and Dripping Frocks ~

  A mere second after Chas had that thought, he bolted for the pub door, dashing in Flora’s tracks…then immediately thought better of it. Still panting, and with blood streaming from his wounds, he spun around and vaulted one-handed over the top of the bar.

  He took the precious time to shove the pyramid inside the safe, then dashed out of the pub. The onyx triangle was secure—for the time being.

  But he had to find Flora and stop her before she brought the information to Iscariot.

  Water splattered wide with every footstep as he emerged from the subterranean stairs and dashed down the street first one way, then the other. He paused, trying to sense the direction Flora had gone, but the vampiress had made her escape.

  He felt nothing at the back of his neck, nothing to indicate her presence.

  Damn.

  He jogged around a block or two, up and down, cursing himself all the way. Bad enough that the information Sebastian Vioget had protected for who knew how long was now revealed, but just as infuriating and demoralizing was the reality that Chas had fought a single vampire and she’d escaped from him.

  Christ Jesus, what was he coming to?

  Chas walked the streets, combing them for any sign of Flora or any undead, for more than an hour, searching for something that would lead him in the right direction. But the vampire had enough of a start ahead of him, and he wasn’t certain which direction she’d gone.

  At last, sick at heart and lightheaded, he leaned against a damp brick wall, heedless of the incessant drip from the building’s cornice that landed on his shoulder. It actually felt good, the cool dampness drooling over skin that was hot and sore from lust and vampire bites. He looked around one more time, hoping he’d find some way to redeem himself from such a blunder.

  If it hadn’t been for his weakness when it came to lust and fangs, if Flora hadn’t mentioned Narcise in that way, bringing up his heartbreak and seducing him at the same time…if he hadn’t been more than half drunk and already tired and bone-weary…taken by surprise…

  Damn.

  What the hell am I doing here? he demanded again. He pushed the dripping hair from his face. Why am I even here?

  Not for the first time—and more likely not for the last—he glared in the direction of the heavens and demanded an answer.

  Why am I still here?

  All he got for an answer was rain on his face.

  + + +

  “Could it really be Rekk’s Pyramid?” Macey asked.

  She, Temple, and Chas were all gathered around the onyx bottle stopper, which had prompted Macey’s question.

  Chas had returned to The Silver Chalice after exhausting his search for Flora just as Temple had returned—dripping wet and from the outside door, not from the depths of the apartments—from wherever she’d been since who knew when. But from the looks of her, she’d been gone overnight, for even Chas knew the frock she was wearing was for evening.

  The proprietor took one look at the destruction in her establishment and said, “I sure as hell hope you’ve got an explanation for this.”

  “I do. And it’s going to make you even less happy than a few broken bottles and splintered stools.” With a grim smile, he flipped one of the chairs upright and shoved it into place at its table. “I suggest you get Macey out here too.”

  So Macey had been roused from her bed only hours after her own return, and Chas filled them in on his altercation with Flora.

  “Rekk’s Pyramid?” Temple frowned, still looking at the onyx stone.

  It would be more accurate to say she frowned more, because the irritation lines between her brows and the grim folds at the corners of her mouth hadn’t relaxed since she’d entered the pub and saw the destruction therein.

  “When I saw Flora at the photography exhibit, I managed to get some information about it from her. I would have told you earlier,” Macey said, sliding a sidewise glance at the other woman, “but…well, we went our separate ways. You must have gotten home very late, despite the thunderstorms.” She cast her attention down over the same glittering frock Temple had been wearing when they left for the photography exhibit.

  A definite flush colored Temple’s cheeks, and now the frown lines eased, turning into something more like a secret smile. “Oh, there was some thunderstormin’ all right, sister,” she muttered. “In a good way.”

  Chas cleared his throat and raised his brows. “What else did Flora say last night?”

  “She told me Iscariot wanted the Rings of Jubai so he could retrieve Rekk’s Pyramid, which was supposedly in the enchanted pool near Muntii Făgăraș…but apparently someone beat him to it.”

  “Presumably Sebastian Vioget.”

  “Presumably. I wonder how long he had it. And why he never bothered to tell anyone.” Temple’s frown lines were back, making a little W between her slender brows.
<
br />   “The joke’s on Iscariot—and whoever else wants the rings. It’s just bad luck Flora happened to be here and see it, or he never would have known.”

  “We might not have known either,” Macey said, picking up the object in question for a closer examination. She’d seen it numerous times previously, but never paid it much mind.

  The pyramid itself shone black with blue highlights, and it fit easily in the center of her palm. As she held it there, she felt the slightest tremor of something emanating from it…very subtle, and perhaps even imagined. The sensation made her want to set the stone far, far away from herself.

  Someone had created a setting for it from silver, like that of a gemstone for a ring. But instead of it being attached to a band, the “gem” sat atop a rubber-ringed silver stopper in the shape of a cone.

  “If we had known, or if Flora wouldn’t have managed to escape, we could easily have fooled Iscariot by giving him the rings and sending him on a fool’s errand.” Temple had begun to pick up the shattered glass behind the counter.

  “Sorry I didn’t take the chance to dust her,” Chas replied sarcastically, gesturing at his damp, bloody shirt and the fresh scars all over his neck and throat. He was still oozing thick, dark blood, and his hair, though finger-combed away from his face, gleamed with rain. “It wasn’t as if I’ve had multiple opportunities to do so.”

  Macey bristled. “Your point is made, Chas. But I couldn’t exactly poke her with a stake in the middle of the Chicago Library. Someone would have noticed.” But when she took a better look and noticed how deep and rough his wounds were, her ire dissipated. Flora had really done a number on him. If he weren’t a Venator, he’d be lucky to still be alive.

  “My question is…how did she even know it is Rekk’s Pyramid? Could be she’s wrong.” Temple was piling thick, curved pieces of glass on a towel spread over the bar.

  “Could be. But the minute I brought the bottle out from the safe—”

  “Which, by the by, what the hell do you mean snooping around back here?” Temple growled.

  “Macey’s the one who found it,” Chas retorted. “She’s been sneaking that drink on the sly for week—”

  “Traitor,” Macey said. “I knew I shouldn’t have let you have any.”

  “Children, children,” Temple mocked them. She paused, standing with her hands on her hips. Her hair was almost dry, and she’d hung up her wet coat. “Do I have to draw circles on the blackboard and make you stand with your noses in them?”

  Chas blinked. “What?”

  “Never mind,” Macey said. “You were starting to say: when you removed the bottle…?”

  “Right. As soon as I removed the bottle, Flora reacted. It was as if she’d been stung…or maybe… Hell, maybe she sensed it. I can feel the evil when I touch it. Maybe that’s why it was locked in a lead safe—we’ve had undead in here before; there’s always that risk—and Vioget couldn’t take the chance that one of them might come in and recognize the pyramid’s presence—or, at least, the presence of something malevolent. So he put it in a safe to mask it.”

  “Why even have it in the pub at all?” Macey grumbled. “Why not put the damned thing in the church sacristy like we did with the rings—or somewhere else just as safe?”

  Chas shook his head, a small smile playing about his lips. “That’s Vioget for you. He probably found it wildly amusing to know the very thing Iscariot and all the other damned vampires are desperate for was right here, under their noses. And ours as well,” he added darkly.

  “Yes. And ours as well. And he never told anyone. We might never have known about it,” Macey added, suddenly horrified at the thought. “What if we’d never found out?”

  “More importantly, what if Flora had managed to escape with it?”

  Their eyes met, the three of them, and Macey shuddered.

  “But now she knows, which means Iscariot will soon know,” Temple said, dropping another piece of glass onto the pile with a sharp clink, as if to punctuate the proverbial falling of the executioner’s blade.

  “Right. My question is, what’s he going to use it for? What does it do? Why is it valuable to an undead?” Macey was still holding the innocent-looking object.

  “That’s going to require some time in the research library, or an answer from Wayren. And since no one’s heard from her for a while…” Temple said, looking pointedly at them both. “Well, if I didn’t have a disaster to take care of here, and a pub to run, I could—”

  “Go off with you, then,” Chas said with a sharp gesture. “That’s more important than opening up the bloody pub—and it’s well before noon anyway. No one expects you to open till five. Plus it’s Sunday anyway—they don’t expect you to open at all. But I sure as hell am not going to hunch over tiny, faded text in languages I don’t know.” He glanced at Macey. “You like books. You could help.”

  Obviously, he had a burr in his trunks, but she wasn’t certain why. Because Flora had gotten away? Because she’d left him bleeding and mangled? “Thank you for the suggestion, Chas,” she replied sweetly. “But I think I’ll help out in here.”

  “You’ll both just get in my way,” Temple said, sounding like a parent again. “I’ve got all my notes organized, and I know just where to look. As long as the information is there, I’ll find it.”

  After Temple left, Macey turned her attention on Chas. “You need to get doctored up.”

  “You offering, lulu?” His dark eyes fastened on her mockingly.

  “Sure. I’ll be happy to pour salted holy water over your open wounds,” she replied evenly. “Pitchers of it. With great relish.”

  He just cast her a black look, then turned to continue setting the tables and chairs upright—using a little more force than necessary.

  “Chas, don’t be an ass. Those bites and scratches need to be seen to.” She could make out fresh blood pumping gently from a deep gash over his shoulder, a result of his current exertions.

  When he kept whipping the chairs back onto their feet, she stepped away from picking up chunks of glass. As she approached, he stiffened.

  “Leave me alone.”

  “What the hell happened when Flora was here?”

  He shot her another look; this time, one that was probably supposed to portray confusion over her question, but fell short of doing so. “We fought over the pyramid—as you can plainly see.”

  Macey put her hand on him. She was strong enough that he couldn’t easily shake her off. “Chas.” She gave his arm a little yank to get him to look at her.

  He spun, eyes glittering. “Leave off, Macey. Unless you want to really tend to things.” His tone left no doubt as to the meaning of his suggestion.

  She didn’t back away, for below the lasciviousness there was hurt and anguish in his expression. Clearly whatever was on his mind wasn’t the simple matter of a vampire escaping him.

  “Chas,” she said, forcing him to face her. The fact that he allowed her to do so indicated a lack of true resistance. “Talk to me.”

  Misery flooded his eyes, then was gone as if he’d snapped his fingers. “No. I’m not interested in talking, lulu.” His gaze went flint-hard. “But I’d sure as hell be interested in another kind of activity.”

  Comprehension dawned at last. Now she understood—his anger, his pain, and the self-loathing that he was doing his best to turn onto her. Flora had either tried to seduce him, or vice versa.

  “Come on, lulu,” he coaxed, his voice edgy and rough. “You enjoyed it the other night, even in the middle of all that trash in the alley.” His smile, though devastating in its beauty, held tension at the corners as he moved closer. “And so did I.”

  Macey felt the edge of a table behind her, and she flattened a hand against the center of his chest. His heart raced beneath her palm, and the heat of his skin burned through the damp, bloody shirt. She wasn’t frightened, or even angry. Far from it. The pain lurking in his eyes and beneath his taunts was palpable and desperate, and she knew that was what fue
led his actions.

  “Chas—” she began.

  “You know how it was…all rough and wild,” he said, his voice dropping low. “That’s the way we do it, isn’t it, lulu? You and me. We’re alike in that way, and we—”

  He was abrupt and strong, his hands pulling her close, his mouth descending on hers as he arched her back over the top of the table. Macey caught herself up with an elbow, and pulled her face away from his skilled, sensual mouth even as he plucked at the buttons of her shirt.

  “Let go of me, Chas,” she said, becoming a little annoyed at his insistence—as well as her own reaction to his convincing kiss. “This isn’t the ti—”

  A door slammed open—the exterior door. The glasses on the shelves rattled.

  Chas didn’t move other than to cast an annoyed glance over his shoulder, but Macey froze when she saw the man striding toward them.

  She couldn’t believe her eyes, couldn’t even catch her breath, couldn’t speak, before he was there, grabbing Chas by the back of his collar.

  “Who the hell are you?” Chas demanded, finally swinging around to face the newcomer as Macey stared, hardly able to comprehend.

  “Max Denton,” replied the man. “Now take your damned hands off my daughter.”

  NINE

  ~ A Miscalculation of Great Proportion ~

  When Max imagined how his reunion with Macey might go, he assumed there would be tears. Tears of joy, perhaps; tears of anger too, and likely a few harsh words as well. He wasn’t delusional, and Savina had given him plenty to think about.

  But he didn’t expect Macey to take one look at him then stalk from the room without a word, slamming the door behind her. Though Savina, devil it, had warned him something like that would probably happen. Why were women always bloody right?

  The sound of Macey’s wordless but emphatic exit echoed in the otherwise silent room.

  “Right, then,” he said with a forced chuckle, then turned his attention to the chap who’d been mauling his daughter. He scraped up his anger again—which wasn’t difficult to do. He was much more experienced in dealing with that emotion than whatever the other was. “And who the hell are you?”