They stayed on his heels all the way to his door. Bishop slowed, a gut feeling telling him something was wrong. He rested his hand on the door handle and put his ear to the surface.
He didn’t hear anything. Fyra’s delicious scent was faint. Opening the door and entering, her scent remained at low levels.
“Fyra?”
Demetrius swore and elbowed past him. Bishop dumbly turned in a circle.
She was gone.
Stark betrayal wound its way around his soul. Had she run to her kind and tattled on him and his friends? Told them everything about where and how they lived and what kind of wards they had on the place? Had Bishop done what he feared and put the lives of his friends in danger?
Demetrius came charging out of the bedroom. “She’s gone.”
Rourke was on the phone, his brow deeply furrowed. “Creed says he hasn’t seen anything. He’s been watching the monitors like a hawk since she left the holding cell.”
“Then how’d she leave?” Demetrius asked.
Bishop closed his eyes. He’d found her before.
“Can’t they come and go when they’re bound?” Rourke asked.
“Fuck.” Demetrius spun around, much like Bishop had. “I’ll talk to Calli, see if we have any way to trace her.”
“She’s close.” Bishop squeezed his eyes shut. “I sense her. She’s in our realm.” He shook his head, trying to clear it like an Etch A Sketch.
“Guys!” Zoey rushed around the corner, phone in hand. She held it out. “What do you make of this?”
R has her. B better act quick.
Fear sliced Bishop down the middle. “Rancor’s got her.”
Demetrius’s incredulous expression landed on him. “This is a text. On Zoey’s phone.”
Bishop wasn’t going to question it. If the message was for him, Fyra was in trouble. He stormed into his room, stripping as he went.
“You can’t be—” Rourke came in after him. “Bishop, it’s full daylight.”
Bishop clenched his jaw. It had to come out sometime. He wasn’t going to hide his ability to walk in sunlight at Fyra’s expense. He pulled on his black tactical clothing of cargo pants and a long-sleeved shirt, all sized big and tall. His weapon belt was next.
“This is crazy.” Demetrius was ganging up on him now. “I’m not letting you endanger yourself for a de—”
“Save it.” Bishop finished buckling and holstering all his weapons in place. He faced the two males. Zoey was in the doorway, her brows pinched in worry. “You say you’re concerned having a demon under the same roof is dangerous. Well,” he gulped, just say it, “I think you’ve had one all along. Sunlight doesn’t bother me.”
Incomprehension covered all of their faces, but all the pieces clicked into place for Bishop.
“At some point in my bloodline,” he clarified because it suddenly made sense to him, “I think my recent ancestors procreated with someone from the underworld. I don’t know the details, I don’t care. Since Fyra came to me, I’ve been remembering my mam’s warnings about sunlight and limiting who drank my blood, and her arguments with Pap. I don’t know what I am, but I can make it snow. I get cold and freeze stuff. Right now, all I know is Fyra’s in trouble and no matter who she is or what she’s done, I’m going after her.”
All three of them paled at his confession. He marched past them. They’d all see soon enough. He might be wrong, maybe he legitimately had a genetic mutation, but like he’d said, he didn’t care. Fyra was in danger.
Winding his way to the upper level, he entered the garage and chose keys for an SUV. It was Zoey’s favorite ride, but with no more Hummer, Bishop was claiming it.
Glancing at the camera in the corner, he nodded at Creed as he pulled out of the garage into broad daylight.
***
Fyra groaned and tried to roll over. Her hands were bound. She shifted her feet. Those, too. Brimstone was thick in the air but the scent of her environment wasn’t one she’d been in before.
As she shifted through all the most recent events she could remember, Bishop’s words of betrayal stimulated her recollection.
Escaping. Hitching a ride with Stryke. Him chasing her naked through the woods. It would’ve been a good time not too long ago, but now it filled her with irritation. She’d let him get one over on her. They’d fought and he must’ve knocked her out.
Cheater.
Not that she wouldn’t have done the same thing.
She inhaled deeply. Assuming he’d brought her to Rancor, she was in deep shit.
With a languid stretch, she opened her eyes.
“Stryke, you shifty bastard.”
He had the decency to look contrite for a second before he covered it with a glare.
She glanced around. Two more second-tier demons manned the door. Let’s see…their names were… She didn’t often work with them and they’d offered no benefit worth getting to know them for. One was a male and one a female; both had the typical humanoid forms of second-tiers.
Diluted blood, like her and Stryke.
The room she was imprisoned in was a study. She was secured on a floral-patterned settee, with her hands and ankles cuffed. An ornate, solid wood desk sat in front of a row of bookshelves. No windows. They were underground, naturally. This would be a prime’s place of residence. The Circle didn’t dabble in anything less.
She wrinkled her nose as the underlying smell of mothballs and old paper assaulted her nose.
A tall, dark, and powerful vampire strode in. His eyes were black as midnight on a moonless night and his stench was all Rancor.
A lump worked its way into her throat. She swallowed. Now was not the time to show weakness.
She attempted to sit up. A glint of metal caught her eye as she pushed herself upright. It wasn’t the cuff around her wrists.
The bracelet. Had it been the reason her powers were muted?
So. The Circle had been busy since she’d turned Trance into a Roman candle. Was sending her after Bishop a diversion, a way to keep her busy while they worked on additional ways to control her?
Fury swept through her. Her skin blushed hot.
She sucked in a breath and her gaze flew up. The cuffs didn’t dampen her heat. The two minions were eyeballing the floor with Rancor’s ominous presence. Stryke’s eyes widened briefly and changed to bemused when he noticed her flushed skin, then he slid his calm mask into place.
He gave her a barely detectable nod of approval. Rancor was too busy glaring at her to notice Stryke’s reaction and was too far away to feel the wave of heat she released.
She couldn’t call on her fire, but her emotions could rage hot, literally. Tucking the tidbit away in her mind, she turned all her attention to Rancor.
Go seductive? Scared female? Pouty? What would work best? She’d obviously run from him so she couldn’t play it off as a sudden urge to visit a friend.
She adopted a sultry grin. Interest flared in the black depths of the prime’s eyes. Rancor was always interested and she’d make it his Achilles’ heel.
“Rancor,” she purred. Resting her bound hands on her lap, she tucked her secured ankles under her to strike an alluring pose on the couch. “Nice host.”
In reflex, Rancor checked himself. The prime vampire he inhabited was striking, in a good way, unlike the demon himself.
“Fyra, you angered me.” Rancor’s rough voice came from the vampire. “You betrayed our world.”
Switch to pouty. “How did I do that? I’ve been working hard to gather information to bring back to you.”
He assumed an arrogant stance she hadn’t thought possible. Rancor did fearsome, intimidating, and monstrous, but in a host he could produce actual expressions in, she might be able to read him more easily.
He bared his fangs before speaking, and thankfully they weren’t his own shanks of death. “You disappeared from us.”
He smacked his mouth as if he found her ability distasteful. She may have neglected to inform him how well she’d
bonded Bishop, but in all fairness, she hadn’t known herself until it had been a case of life or limb, and likely death.
With each word, he moved closer until he was looming over her. “Then you ran from us. During your flight, how were you able to gather intel?”
She swallowed in an attempt not to gag. Rancor’s natural fetid scent overwhelmed her.
“Well, now, Rancor. That vampire I seduced has a soft spot for me and I used your pursuit to gain his trust.”
He canted his head and pulled his lips back. The demon couldn’t quit baring those fangs. “And just what did you find out?”
She raised her hands and kicked her feet out. “How about a little exchange? You undo these and I’ll talk.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Stryke grew tense. Yeah, she’d tempt fate and use every advantage she might have.
Rancor squatted in front of her. His host really was handsome. But surrounded by Rancor’s smell and the overlay of his nasty expressions, she didn’t have to worry about getting fooled by a pretty face. If Rancor were smarter, he’d use the upper hand to get what he wanted, instead of resorting to being a monster.
Fyra planned to wield what her mama gave her. She gazed at him through hooded lids and gave her hips a light wiggle.
Desire wafted off him, but he snarled again. “How about you talk and I won’t tear you apart limb from limb and eat you for dinner?”
She pushed her lower lip out. “Rancor, I just want to be comfortable so we can chat.”
Summoning her daring, she patted the seat next to her. Not an easy feat with bound wrists.
The move twisted her breasts in her loaner sweatshirt and they hooked Rancor’s attention. He stroked a fang with his tongue.
She held her breath, waiting for his decision.
Rancor snatched her hands and jerked them up to his nose. He inhaled deeply and she couldn’t breathe if she wanted to.
He flicked his tongue out to run up her forearm. “What makes you think I care about your comfort?”
Resisting the urge to pull back and roll away from him, she leaned forward, pushing her knees into his groin.
“Because my information is that good.” Read into that double entendre.
Sexual greed flared bright in his dark gaze. He snapped the metal cuffs off her wrists with his teeth and she sternly ordered herself not to flinch. She covered her revulsion with sensuality.
The other second-tiers in the room shifted slightly, but only Stryke’s movement was in uneasiness. The other two radiated anticipation.
Stryke was a bad guy, but he wasn’t a bad guy. She was still mad at him, though.
Rancor held her ankles in one hand and snagged one metal cuff. He twisted and broke apart the cuffs. She would worry about getting the metal off of her limbs later, but at least she could move freely.
“Okay.” She squirmed into a more comfortable position, hoping Rancor would release her. “Let’s talk.”
He pressed closer. “Yes, let’s.”
Her plan was backfiring. He wedged in between her knees and inhaled deeply. She couldn’t help herself. When he tasted her wrist, again, she flinched.
He pulled back, his mouth puckered in distaste. “You smell like him.”
So much better than what Rancor stank like. She dropped her voice to a dramatic whisper. “He likes to talk in bed.”
More desire wafted off of him. No choice but to use it. If only she could pop back to the underworld, but he or one of the second-tiers would follow her. Giving up a prime host wasn’t easy for one of the Circle to do. But the way her luck was going, Rancor’s host would decide that the demon was a good time and welcome Rancor back.
Rancor shoved her back and crawled on top of her, not releasing her wrists. She could fight him. In the vampire, he couldn’t call on all of his physical strength and his powers were limited.
But she was surrounded, so it was best to play along until there was no more hope.
He shoved himself between her legs and anchored her hands above her head with his face inches away from hers. The erection outlined on her abdomen would’ve been impressive if she hadn’t been exposed to Bishop for the last twenty-four hours.
Working hard to keep her voice from wavering, she smiled demurely. “It’s going to be hard to concentrate if you keep that up.”
“Then you’d better get talking.”
Yes, she’d better. Talk and talk and talk and hope he was an avid listener. “He was difficult to crack. The big brute is very faithful to his friends.”
Rancor stilled. Brimstone and tinder, her delay tactic had hit the mark!
“There are eight of them.”
He frowned. “I thought there was six.”
She shook her head. “You don’t see the others.” Because they don’t exist.
Technically, there were others, but they weren’t part of the team. But she wasn’t specifying; therefore, she wasn’t lying.
Why was she protecting not only Bishop, but his whole crew and his home?
Because she never forgot his dedication to them when she’d tried prying the information from him. He’d defied his oath to serve her. He’d wanted to remain loyal no matter what. And it’d made him stronger.
Huh, she’d thought at the time. She could use some of that, even if she’d never experienced anything like it, the willingness to sacrifice himself for her.
Dropping his head, he sniffed again. “Do I detect…sadness?”
Son of a— Keep your mind in the game, Fyra!
Back to distraction. “They’re incredibility dedicated to their females.”
She was going to shoot Stryke a dirty look, but what he’d said right before knocking her out registered. He was protecting his own female, just like he’d said Fyra would protect her guy.
She wouldn’t hurt Bishop, but she wasn’t going to turn herself over to a male who only meant to use her. Not him, and not Rancor.
“Attachment to their females is their weakness,” Rancor growled.
She almost rolled her eyes. Not from what she’d seen.
He rocked his hips and his free hand crept down her torso. When it reached the hem of her sweatshirt, she fought off panic. Not in front of an audience, not ever.
“I’ve been in their place,” she blurted.
Rancor stopped the upward path of her top.
“It’s north of town.” If you’re referring to Chicago as the town. “It’s not as big as I thought.” If she compared it to the underworld. Her mind spun with ways to not fully lie. “And it’s weird, the material they chose to build it out of. I mean, haven’t they heard of the three little pigs?”
His attention was rapt so she came up with more. How long could she keep talking? At some point, she’d run out of lies, out of information, and Rancor would demand—take—what he’d been after in the first place.
“Honestly, I thought they’d be stronger.” She hadn’t really seen them in action.
“What weapons do they have?”
Here she didn’t have to lie. “Guns. What good are those against us? Knives, of course. They’d have to, they don’t have claws. Ummm…”
He hissed with impatience. “Anything that could be used against us?”
“I’m sure they could cobble together some fire or get close enough to saw our heads off.”
His eyes narrowed. “You really don’t know much.”
“I do.” Ohshitohshitohshit. “They drive normal cars.”
He snorted. “Good try. They live in a building, drive cars, and carry guns. Nothing we didn’t already know. What about the tome?”
Ummm… She hadn’t thought of asking. Or checking.
“What about wards? Any specifically against demons?”
“Noooo?” Her voice wobbled. It was a sad day when she couldn’t even come up with a believable lie.
Telling him Bishop was an ice demon would buy her time, but she couldn’t bring herself to dwell on the option.
Rancor reared up and ripped her s
weater in two. If she hadn’t worn a bra, her boobs would’ve gotten whiplash.
She struggled, but he held her tight, only she didn’t detect any more strength than a normal vampire.
For a second, the words “Stryke’s bonded to someone in this realm” hovered on her tongue, but she didn’t spill.
Would loyalty to Bishop and his team, and to Stryke, strengthen her, or open the door for destruction? Because right now, she was having a hard time finding the positive side to remaining loyal.
She met Stryke’s gaze as Rancor’s head descended to her chest. His rigid stance and the frantic light in his dark eyes discouraged her. He was at an impasse and she could guess his decision. She wouldn’t rate above whoever he protected and he’d stay out of it as Rancor took her.
How sad that he was the closest thing to a friend she could claim.
Demons didn’t get friends. Every girl for herself.
Rancor hooked a fang over her bra’s material. She exploded upward. As soon as his grip loosened, she pried her arms free and shoved him off.
She swung to get off the couch and as Rancor rolled off, she kicked at him.
Stryke stood still, his face awash with relief that he didn’t have to watch her get assaulted, but still wary because she was far from safe.
The two second-tiers stepped closer, not sure if they should help or if it’d get their hosts killed and themselves sent back home.
Rancor rose with smooth grace.
Fyra took a startled step back and almost toppled over the couch behind her.
“Kneel.”
The temptation to laugh was replaced with fear when her knees buckled.
Rancor loomed over her. She was glued to the floor and no amount of struggling would budge her.
His deep laughed settled with dread in her bones. “My gift of jewelry doesn’t just suppress your fire ability. It’s laced with compulsion. You will follow my directions, although I will miss the fight.”
Bishop (New Vampire Disorder Book 3) Page 13