by J. K. Beck
Caris turned as he leaped, slamming the car into park even as she began the slide toward the opposite door. It did her no good. He'd yanked the driver's door open before she was even half out of the car.
He lunged, snarling, his hand grabbing her shoulders as they both slid through the car and out the passenger door to land, hard, on the rough asphalt. Whatever surprise she'd felt, she'd recovered, and now she kicked back, trying to free herself from him.
"Nowhere to go, Caris. Nowhere to run."
She spat in his face, then froze, her expression one he knew well. Transformation. He clung tight to her, the hematite bands at his wrists and ankles seeming less of a burden now that their proximity was screwing with her abilities.
Confusion flashed in her eyes, and he closed one hand around her neck. With the other, he pressed a stake to her heart. "The truth," he said, "or you will die. Are you prepared for that, Caris?"
"What do you want, Dragos?"
"Tasha," he said. "I want revenge."
There was a pause, then her brow furrowed. "What the hell are you talking about?"
He reached down and ripped open the white linen shirt she wore, then pressed down on the stake, hard enough to draw blood, the daemon itching to press harder. To kill. "Do not fuck with me. I should end you this instant for the things you've done, but first I need you to tell me where Stemmons is." He leaned in close and lowered his voice.
"Go ahead and resist. Trust me when I say I'll enjoy getting the information from you." Not a hint of fear rolled off her. "Stemmons? That human worm? Like I'd associate with that kind of garbage. And you know damn well I'm not inviting little Tasha over for tea." Her eyes flashed. "So tell me what the hell you're talking about, or stake me. The asphalt's cutting into my ass, and I want to get up."
"Don't tempt me," he said, increasing the pressure on the stake. "And do not even think about lying to me. I caught your scent, Caris. At the Slaughtered Goat, and then at the scene of Stemmons's last victim."
"Well, color you clever," she said. "I had my reasons for being there." 187
"Share," he said, twisting the stake like a drill.
"Dammit, Lucius, I--"
"Tell."
"I had a project," she said. "A special project that you put the brakes on, thank you very much." She flashed him a harsh glare. "And then I learn about some human doing murder and making it look like a vamp--and, hey, that's my territory. So, yeah, I went. Wanted to see who was stepping on my toes, maybe planning on blaming me for things I haven't yet done. But there's no crime in that, Dragos. And I sure as hell don't have your precious fruitcake of a ward."
He opened his mouth to retort, but the words never came. Instead, his head seemed to explode, bursting apart from the force of Sara's scream all the way on the other side of the city. A scream and then the sharp snap of an image forced into his mind--the bastard Stemmons, and beside him, Tasha.
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Chapter 35
Luke backed away from Caris, the image still sharp in his mind as the truth hit him with the intensity of a punch to the face. Tasha had played him. A game of revenge to punish him for wanting another woman, and to punish Sara for being the woman he desired.
He ran. He left Caris battered on the driveway, her face a mask of confusion, and he ran from the house, his blood pounding, terror raging through him. She was trapped. She was scared.
Snatches of her hand. Her gun.
And then the connection popped.
Gone. Nothing.
The lock he'd had upon her thoughts had snapped like a rubber band. They'd taken her, and in him, the daemon raged, screaming to kill, to find. Calm, he told himself as he sucked in air, trying to find a center, a place where he could think and plan. Sara needed that. Needed him sharp. Stay calm, and you can find her.
He lifted his head, nostrils flaring, as if he could catch the scent of her on the wind. There was nothing, of course, but the motion, the effort, seemed to sharpen his mind. Allowed him to home in, bring him closer.
To see what she saw and feel what she felt.
Except there was nothing but the faintest hint of her essence. Panic rose within him, and he fought it back. They'd taken her. Transformed her into mist. That was why he couldn't find her with his mind.
He needed help. And right then, he could think of only one person who could offer the help he needed.
He pulled out his phone and called Doyle. "They've taken her," he said without preamble. "Goddammit Doyle, Stemmons has Sara."
He heard the sharp intake of breath, then Doyle's gruff and steady response.
"Where was she?"
He released a breath. "Her apartment. They took her. Transfigured and got her the hell out of there."
"Materialized yet?"
"No." He said the word forcefully, because he had to believe that the connection between him and Sara would remain strong. Once she was solid again, he'd find her in his mind.
Once she was solid again, he would save her.
"Tucker's on the phone beside me contacting Security Section. We'll meet Roland at her apartment. See if we can learn anything."
"I'm in my car," Luke said. "Call me the moment you know anything." He had to keep moving. Had to keep doing. If he didn't, he was certain he would go mad. God damn the detention device. It kept him solid. Kept him there. Kept him from moving fast 189
and striking hard.
Dammit, dammit, dammit.
With no other way to unleash his fury, he took it out on the streets, flooring the Mercedes and careening around curves as he drove. Ignoring Tasha's betrayal. Ignoring his own blindness against the daemon that had been preening and playing all these years. Ignoring everything except the singular task of getting to the woman he loved, and getting there as fast as he could despite the shackles on his body. He moved through traffic like a wildman, running lights, cutting off the late-night, bar-hopping crowd crawling along the road at a fucking snail's pace. He was exiting I-10
for Wilshire Boulevard when Sara ripped into his head once again, her terror and pain enough to stab a thousand holes in his heart, the pain counterbalanced only by his relief in finding her once again.
He punched the redial button on his cell phone to connect with Doyle and focused on locating her, on pulling thoughts from her head. Thoughts that would give him help. A clue. Anything.
Fear.
Fear, and death.
Death all around her.
But no scent of it. Only the trappings.
Stone.
Bars.
And something familiar. Not to her--her thoughts were confused, ragged. But to him. He knew this place. The small flashes in her mind adding up to a picture of- Luke!
I'm coming, he said uselessly. She wasn't vampyre. She couldn't hear him. Even so, he had to call out to her. Had to let her know. I'm coming, he repeated. I swear that I am coming.
"Where?" Doyle demanded, his voice sounding hard and fast over the speaker.
"Beverly Hills," Luke said. "My crypt. He took her to my own fucking crypt."
"Steady," Doyle said, his gruff voice surprisingly gentle. "We'll get her back. I promise you. We're going to get her back."
"Please, no." Sara knew it wouldn't matter. Knew he couldn't be reasoned with, yet she begged anyway. Begged for the life he was about to steal from her. A life she now so desperately wanted to share with Luke. "Please. Don't do this."
"But I have to," he said, looking at her with glassy eyes. "You were very naughty."
"I was. Absolutely." Her head pounded, and she wanted to reach up and clutch her skull in her hands, but her wrists were bound. She was naked, her pants and shirt in tatters on the ground.
As if in a dream, she realized where she was. A crypt, cold and dank. And she herself strapped down to the lid of a hard stone coffin.
"The blood is the light," he said. "And my Dark Angel feeds on the light." In her mind, she screamed for Luke and prayed that he would hear. But there was 190
no
thing there. Nothing but the pounding in her head and the shivers that wouldn't stop. Bone-deep trembling that shook her so much her teeth were chattering.
"You'll be warm soon," Stemmons said. "The dead don't feel the cold."
"I don't want to die."
"You won't at first," he said, and then he actually smiled at her. "First you have to give the light. To me and to my Angel. The light nurtures. The light heals. I have drunk my Angel's light, and it has healed. Soon, it will make me divine." He'd fed off Tasha, Sara realized, and the gunshot wound now looked like nothing more than a scratch. All her fantasies about blowing him away only to learn that it wasn't a gun she needed. Not to kill a monster. Not in this world, anyway. He stepped closer, and for the first time she saw the knife in his hand, glinting in the hint of moonlight that crept in through the bars of the crypt.
"I would say that this will only hurt a little, but I'm afraid that would be a lie." He smiled wide. "And I don't lie. That's very, very naughty." She wanted to cry, wanted to scream, but no sound came out.
No sound that is until he dragged the tip of the knife across her belly. Until he rent flesh and muscle.
When he did that, the scream burst from her, a desperate cry. A piercing plea for Luke to come, to please come, to save her.
And as the world started to turn gray around her--as Stemmons sliced his knife into her breast, her thigh, her neck--she imagined that she saw him there, her dark warrior, her life, her love.
He would come.
He would come for her and end this nightmare.
But as the world slipped away from her, she knew the nightmare was real, and this time, she wouldn't wake up.
Blood.
Sara's blood.
He could smell it, could practically taste it, and the scent of it drove the daemon wild.
Lucius let it. He needed the beast now. The daemon's speed, the daemon's rage. Needed to use the daemon to destroy the bastard who had dared to hurt his Sara. And as for Tasha ...
His heart twisted with the pain of it even as he raced forward, feet pounding over the soft earth, Sara's scent drawing him, her thoughts--incoherent, terrified, pain-filled, but alive, still alive--calling to him.
She was close. So very close.
Luke ...
The tiniest of echoes, but the beast within him unfurled, head snapping up, rage boiling.
He'd traveled by land, the route swifter than the tunnels beneath his home. And now he raced toward the familiar structure. Moving swiftly. Moving silently. And then felt the shock of seeing her like a punch in the gut when he peered 191
through the bars at the horror that lay within.
Stemmons was there, and he stood over Sara with a blade tipped in blood. Lucius tilted his head back and drew in the scent. Tasha. But not present. Not there. Instead, her blood was within the human.
She'd not turned him, but she'd made him strong.
Deep within Lucius, the daemon growled. Not strong enough. Not fucking strong enough.
Sara was naked, her breath coming in stops and starts, and he could hear the shallow, weak beat of her heart. He could smell the blood that had been spilled on the stone. The life that was draining out of her.
No time, the daemon cried. No time.
With a guttural roar, Lucius ripped the door off the crypt, then tossed it aside. Stemmons turned, his eyes so wide it was almost comical, and found the beast barreling down on him.
"Die," Lucius said, and took the blade the human wielded. Then swiftly, purposefully, Lucius drew it across the man's own throat.
Blood gushed like a faucet, but its scent did not entice. The human was putrid. Rotten.
And only Sara mattered.
He rushed to her side, the daemon still raging, screaming out in denial and fear as he felt the life draining from her.
Back, Lucius thought, trying to gather himself. He had to think. Had to think, and could not do so with the primal beast raging in pain and fury within. He felt the beast withdraw, as if understanding that the life of the woman depended on its departure.
"Sara." He stroked her forehead. "Sara, my love." Her eyelids fluttered, and when he again caught the scent of her pain, a new swell of fury rose within him.
"I knew you'd come. Had to say good-bye."
"No." He stroked her face, held her hand. "No, you cannot leave me."
"No ... choice." Her voice was so weak, but still she smiled at him, even as a vise tightened around his heart.
"I'll heal you. I can make you well." With grim determination, he bit his wrist, then pressed it to her lips. "Drink."
She did, but her eyes did not spark. The life did not return. She was too far gone, and he was losing her, his blood barely prolonging the inevitable. He pulled his wrist away and brushed her hair off her face. Lost, so terribly, terribly lost.
Footsteps behind him, then Doyle's voice. "Oh, God. Oh, damn. That son of a bitch. That goddamn fuckwad."
"Your coat," Tucker said. "Doyle, put your coat over her."
"Getting darker," Sara said as Doyle draped her. "No time." Her lips twitched, as if she was trying to smile. She looked straight at Lucius. "I love you." His heart twisted, and he felt his eyes well with tears. He had not, he thought vaguely, cried in centuries. Now it felt as though if he started he would never stop. "You cannot go."
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"I don't want to." Another flash of pain crossed her face, and her fingers twitched as she tried to grip his fingers.
"Do something," Doyle said.
"My blood is not healing her. She is too far gone."
"Dammit, Lucius, she's not there yet. You can save her. You can change her. Don't let her go. Not like this."
"I cannot." He thought of Livia. Of the daemon within. Sara was too weak, and he felt too much. He would go too far. He would fail.
And even if he succeeded, it was not what he wanted for her. The daemon. The horror. The never-ending battle within.
And yet ...
He drew in a breath, felt a tear trickle down his cheek.
And yet he could not see her gone.
"What the fuck?" Doyle spat. "Cannot? The hell you can't. You're a goddamn bloodsucker."
"I cannot," Lucius said again, this time standing up and pressing a hand to his chest. "Countermeasures. One taste of human blood and the stake is triggered, and I must feed to turn her. The curse vampyre demands the exchange of blood." Doyle sagged. "Ah, hell."
"There is a way," Lucius said, turning back to Sara and holding her hand. Her eyes were glassy, her grip weak. But her fingers moved beneath his. "Hold on," he said.
"Hold on, my love."
"What way?" Doyle asked, and Lucius told him about the fail-safe, the mechanism by which the detention device could be released by either the prosecutor or Doyle inputting their authorization code back at Division. "You will go?" A beat, then Doyle nodded. "I'll go."
He headed for the door.
"Ryan," Lucius said. "There is no time to drive." He saw Doyle hesitate, and he saw the sharp jab of fear. Then Doyle glanced at Sara. He swallowed, then nodded. "Right," he said. "No time." He turned then and faced the wall, his hands thrust out in concentration. The bones in his face seemed to shift, rolling beneath his skin, even as his eyes grew beady and red. His skin turned a pale orange, the color seeming to gather at his fingertips. He drew in a breath, then another, then whipped his arm in a circle, as if drawing upon the air.
In the wake of his hands, a hole opened, dark and black. He stepped inside, and the air mended itself, the hole disappearing.
"How long?" Lucius asked Tucker, who was staring slack-jawed at the place where his partner had disappeared.
"I've got no idea."
Lucius bit back a curse and knelt again at Sara's side.
"I trust you."
He clenched his teeth together, determined that she would not see the tears threatening his eyes. "You are not afraid?" He himself was terribly afraid, the memory of Livia close to the surface, his failure w
ith her as fresh as if it were yesterday. And even if he did not fail again, he could not protect Sara from her daemon. That, she had to battle 193
on her own.
"Safe," she said. "With you. I'm safe."
Her trust humbled him, and he thrust one hand into his pocket and pulled out Livia's ring. The reminder of how he'd lost control. The talisman that had soothed him before he'd found Sara. It would, he hoped, protect them both now. He slipped it onto her little finger, then clasped his hand over it as Sara struggled to breathe.
"Not long now," he said. "Not long, and you will be healed."
"Dark, Luke. Don't let me go. The nightmares."
Fear stabbed at him. Where the fuck was Doyle? "Hold on, Sara. Don't leave me." Behind him, Tucker paced, his phone plastered to his ear. "Where the hell are you?" Tucker shouted. He turned to Luke. "Now. He's doing it now." Even as Tucker spoke, the band around Lucius's heart popped open. And as it dropped to the ground, Lucius leaned forward and sank his fangs deep into Sara's throat. 194
Chapter 36
She was his.
Sara. Her blood filled him. Primed him. Gave him life and strength even as he drew the same from her. He had to take her to the edge--right to the edge, and no further. Too far, and she would slip away, unable to be turned. But pull back too quickly, and she would never recover, alive but damaged from the loss of blood, the loss of this sweet, tangy life that he now drew from her veins.
This was the connection he'd craved. That the daemon within had begged for, yearned for. The sharing. The connection. The blood. The daemon within rose as he fed, crowing with joy and need.
It wanted to consume her, to feel her life within him, to draw her to the surreal point of death and take and take and take some more.
"Luke," Tucker yelled. "That's enough. Luke! Pull back!" Something tight and firm closed on his shoulder, but he ignored it, instead clutching Sara against him, her body trembling next to his, his mouth curved to her neck, the sweet smell of her skin filling him, arousing him. And the blood. By the gods, the taste of it, such sweet nectar that he would lose himself forever in the sweet, decadent delight.
"Luke! Stop!"