by J. K. Beck
He could hear her heart beat, its steady rhythm now spotty. Somewhere within, he realized he needed to stop, to pull back, and though he knew that, he couldn't do it. Couldn't push past the daemon. The lure of the blood was too intense, the cry of the daemon too strong. And then it was Sara inside his head, telling him to drink. To drink it all. To consume and live and glory in the allure of the blood. Pater!
Pater, stop!
He froze. That voice--that cry of father--it belonged to Livia. His Livia. And the moment he realized that, his senses rushed back.
Sara.
By the gods, Sara. What had he done?
She was curled up in his arms, the beat of her heart almost indiscernible even to his ears. Her eyes glassy, her skin deathly pale. He'd almost taken her too far, but there was no time for self-recrimination. He bit down hard on his wrist, opening a vein, and pressed the wound to her mouth.
"Drink," he ordered. "Drink, Sara."
And despite his worst fears and premonitions, her lips closed over his flesh and she drank, her thirst strong and deep as life flooded back into her. As his blood warmed and changed her.
He held her tight as she suckled and said a silent thank-you to the gods and to the sweet voice of the child he'd once failed.
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This time, he'd beaten the daemon--and Sara still lived.
She woke to pain and light dappled across a velvet darkness. Her body, sore and weak, was covered with beads of blood rising off long, slim cuts. Concrete walls surrounded her. Above her, a ceiling with drilled holes. And in the distance, she heard the low, harsh growl of a monster. A sharp blade of fear cut through her as she realized that she remembered nothing. And the fear grew steadily stronger as slowly, ever so slowly, memory returned. Stemmons.
Tasha.
Blood.
And Luke. Always Luke.
She shivered, remembering suddenly the way he'd thrust his fangs into her neck. The way her body had arched in response, the pull of blood strangely enticing, all the more so when she took from him, drinking and drinking until she'd collapsed beside him. Until she writhed in the agony of death, then stretched with the strength of rebirth. She'd wanted this. Despite the fear, despite the unknown, she'd wanted it because it meant that she would be with Luke. That they would be together, forever. Now, though, the fear was rising. She was trapped. Alone with a beast. Her beast. Her daemon.
Dear God, what had she done?
Time to feed, Sara. Time to come out and play, play, play. All around her, the room seemed to whisper. A soft female voice urging her to feed, to kill. Her whisper. Her voice. And as it spoke, the hunger rose within her. She explored her mouth with her tongue, felt the tips of her fangs--and reveled in the burst of power that seemed to explode within her.
It's what you are now. It's who you are.
Nosferatu!
Vampyre!
Monster!
Kill! Feed! Live!
Each word struck as a blow, knocking her back, pummeling her flesh. "No!" She screamed the word, slammed her hands over her ears to shut out the voices and thrust her head between her knees to ward off the blows. But they were in her head--the words, the blows--and nothing she did would stop them.
That's the way. Hide, Sara. Hide and let me take over. Let me live. Release, release, release me and you will be free.
She tried to stand, dizzy from the voices battering her, her mind still fuzzy. But she understood now. Understood that she couldn't close the voices away because they were within her. They were her daemon, and she was deep inside the Holding.
Deep in the ritual, and she didn't know the way out. She didn't want to succumb. Didn't want to stay hidden down here. Didn't want the daemon to feed while she cowered below.
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But she didn't know how to stop it.
He hadn't told her how to fight.
"Luke!" she cried. "Luke, help me!"
This is all his fault. Stay away. Stay here. Stay down here and punish him for what he did to you. Easier, so much easier, to stay.
"No," she said, and then with more force. "No." Coward.
Bitch.
Liar.
The words came at her like blows, knocking her off her feet. She fell, confused, then found a hand reaching down to help her up. "Luke?" She was safe. He was there. "Is it really you?"
He smiled at her. "I'm here to help you."
The Numen. It had to be. She nodded, and let him draw her up. "Your daemon is blood and fear," he said. "Do not give that to her."
"But I am afraid. And my body bleeds."
"Come," he said, and she melted into his arms. "Do not think about the pain." He laid her gently on the ground. From his fingertip, he drew blood, then traced it over her wounds. The skin knitted in his wake, leaving her tingling, her body suddenly awake and alive.
She realized with a start that she was naked.
"Pleasure," the Luke- Numen said, as his hand slipped down to cup her between her thighs. "Take pleasure from me. Take strength from me. And we will fight the daemon together."
His fingers had found her core, his mouth her breast, and she gasped, focusing only on Luke as the whispers around her grew louder, bolder. "Are you real?"
"I am as real as you need me to be." He flicked his tongue over her nipple, and a hot thread of desire shot through her, finding the finger that teased her clit.
"Please," she said, her hips bucking shamelessly. "Please take me."
"You need to go over," he said. "Do you see the walls?" She turned her head, saw the walls of the room and realized that the ceiling had disappeared, replaced by a black sky, twinkling with stars. "Just get over the wall, and you'll be fine."
"How?" The walls were steep and slick and seemed to stretch up forever.
"I'll take you there," he said, and as he did, he thrust inside her, filling her. She moaned, her hips rising up to meet him, wanting to take more and more of him in. Searching for that place, that way, that path up to the top.
"That's it. Yes, yes, that's it."
She looked at him above her, the love in his eyes urging her on.
"Please," she said. "More. Harder."
"Dear gods, yes," he said, and took her, slamming into her, battering them both. She arched against him, eyes squeezed shut, desperate, so desperate to climb, to take all of him. To consume him, to be with him, wholly and completely. She was climbing. So close. So close to the top.
And then over, over, over, over.
It came upon her fast, her body's surrender, and when she opened her eyes, she 197
was warm and soft and curled up within his arms.
His arms. Not a dream.
Luke.
It was over.
And then she wept, his soft murmurs caressing her as the tears spilled out.
"How long?" she asked when she could speak again. "How long was I in that place?"
"A week," he said, wiping her tears. "But you're free now. And you're in control." She closed her eyes and looked within, where the daemon was bound up deep.
"Yes," she said. "I won."
She smiled up at this man she loved, and who loved her. "I knew you'd be there. I knew you'd help me through it."
"I was so scared," he admitted. "Terrified that I'd lost you. That I'd failed you."
"Never," she said, pressing a hand to his cheek. "You saved me."
"You're spoiling me," Sara said, setting aside the biography of Augustus Caesar that Luke had brought her the previous afternoon.
"And I will continue to spoil you," Luke said, stepping into the room with a breakfast tray. "So I suggest you get used to it." He settled the tray over her lap. An English muffin, sausage, coffee, and a thermal mug filled with warm blood. Looking at it, she realized how hungry she was, even for the blood, which she'd discovered was surprisingly tasty. Or, perhaps, her taste buds had simply changed. So far, she'd sucked down liters of the stuff, with Luke assuring her that the thirst would wane as time passed, and she would not feel the need to feed at
such regular intervals. She took a sip, then turned her attention to the muffin as he sat on the edge of the bed beside her. "I'm not an invalid, you know."
His mouth twitched. "Have I been treating you as such?" She recalled the vigorous sex they'd had the previous night, and had to concede that he hadn't. "It's been more than two days, though. Bosch is going to think I skipped out on him."
"Two weeks off," Luke said. "And if my memory is correct, he instructed you to take it, or else."
That much was true. After the ordeal at the crypt, Ryan Doyle had apparently gone to Bosch and explained what had happened. Following a brief review of Sara's notes and a short interview with Luke, the charges in Division v. Dragos were dropped. In support of the dismissal, the PEC entered a stipulation formally outlining the facts as known. That Dragos's ward had not in fact prevailed during her Holding. That her daemon had broken free and was, as Ryan Doyle had once commented, clever enough to wait, silently watching the workings of their world even as the daemon became more and more entwined with the girl who'd become obsessed with having Luke all to herself. She'd concocted a plan to force Luke to go on the run with her, and although no one knew for sure if Braddock had actually raped the girl, everyone was certain that Tasha had taken advantage of Braddock's past history. She'd gone to Luke hysterical, swearing she would kill the judge for what he'd done to her. As she'd anticipated, Luke 198
would not allow Tasha to risk punishment, and had stepped in to protect her, going so far as to drain the last drops of blood from the already critically injured victim in order to frame himself.
"A decadent plot," the judge had said. "Maybe someday we'll know all the pieces to the puzzle." And Sara, who heard about the judge's words after the fact, had to agree. The judge had signed the dismissal of the charges against Luke at the same time that he'd issued the warrant for Tasha's arrest. It was not a case Sara looked forward to prosecuting, because every day that Tasha was on trial would be another twist of the knife in Luke's heart. Another reminder of the depths of her betrayal.
"Has there been any word?" she asked.
"None," he said.
"There may never be any," she said gently. "She could be on another continent by now. And you can't keep me hidden in here forever."
His smile was small and sad. "You see too much now."
"I see you," she said. The bond between them had grown stronger since the change, but even without the new connection, she would have known what he was thinking. What he feared.
"We cannot close our eyes to the possibility that she'll try to harm you again," Luke said.
"Well, for now the price isn't too bad," she said, trying to lighten the moment. "I get to sit here in this incredible Beverly Hills mansion and read books and be totally pampered. I've never really taken a vacation before," she said. "I honestly don't know what to do with myself."
She was gratified by his quick smile. "You're not vacationing," he said, stroking his fingers lightly up her arm. "You're recovering. And if you're at a loss for ideas, I'm sure I can think of one or two things to keep you entertained."
"Yeah? You want to show me?"
"Very much," he said. "But I'm afraid we'll have to wait. Right now you have a visitor."
"Really?" She wanted to ask who it was, but he'd already crossed the room and stepped out through the door. A moment later, he returned with Ryan Doyle in tow.
"Well, look at you," Doyle said. "You look a damn sight better than you did the last time I saw you. You doing okay?"
"I'm great," she said, happy to see the investigator. "Thanks for coming. And thanks for taking care of the case. Working things out with Bosch." He shrugged. "Least I could do, what with you almost dying." She noticed that he didn't look at Luke. Whatever trouble had brewed between them was still there. Perhaps, though, it had faded a little.
He inclined his head, then shuffled his feet, as if she'd embarrassed him, which considering the para-daemon's usually gruff demeanor she thought was particularly amusing, and chalked it up to the fact that she was in bed and wearing a nightgown. He was turning as if to go when Luke's phone rang. He opened it, pressing the handset to his ear, but with her newly sharpened hearing, Sara could easily hear both sides of the conversation.
"Pain, Lucius," Tasha said, her voice thick with tears. "And blood, so much blood! The daemon came out. It came out, Lucius, and I tried to fight it. Tried to do what 199
you told me. Tried to be good, but it wouldn't let me." She sobbed. "It kept me under for so long. It kept me buried. It made me lie and hurt people. Hurt children! And it wouldn't let me find you."
"Tasha," he said, and Sara bristled at his low, calming tone. "Hush. Hush. It's okay. Everything's going to be okay. Where are you?"
"South. La Jolla. You'll come get me? You're not mad at me? I did bad things, Lucius. Naughty things. But it wasn't me. I wouldn't. I didn't, and I'm so scared now. Scared of me, and what's inside. We need to push it back again, Lucius. Together. We need to push the daemon back under."
"I'll get you," he said in that low, toneless voice. "I'll help you. You know that I will."
"Because Lucius Dragos takes care of what's his. I'm yours, Lucius. I'm yours, yours, yours."
"That's right, Tasha," he said, with a hard look toward Sara. "Lucius Dragos takes care of his own."
The moment he hung up, Doyle rounded on him. "What the fuck are you doing?" he asked, voicing Sara's exact thoughts.
"Exactly what I have to," Luke said, his face hard and his eyes sad. "I'm doing exactly what I have to."
Tasha stood on the roof of the house across the street from Luke's mansion on Bellagio Way, miles away from the Los Angeles subway tunnels where she'd been hiding in grime and filth. A dark place, not right for someone like her. Someone precious. Someone extraordinary.
She tossed her arms out at her sides and let the breeze blow over her, causing the white gown to billow around her ankles. So soft. So pretty.
He should have wanted her. Should have taken her. And yet he'd never touched her. Never bit her lip and drew blood, sweet blood. Never thrust himself hard inside her. She'd played, though. She'd played with other boys' toys, and there'd been blood and teeth and glorious pain and their thick bodies shoving inside, filling her up, making her spread her legs and draw them in and it was good and nice and she wanted it more and more and more.
But Lucius never saw it. Never saw her. He saw only the shell, not what was inside. What she kept hidden. What she let loose when she played with the other boys. She had to show him. Had to make him see.
Needed him to prove he loved her. Prove he'd be with her always. With her. Inside her. And that he'd take care of her.
And he did love her. Did, did, did.
Wasn't that why he killed that pasty-faced Braddock? Hadn't she planned everything just so?
Except she hadn't planned for the bitch. And the bitch had swooped in. And now the bitch had her Lucius.
And he was hers. Not the bitch prosecutor's.
Tasha had tried to get rid of her. Learned about the murderous human the bitch 200
had trapped in a cell. Formed her plan. Played the rescuing angel for the human, the one who was almost worthy. And she'd been lucky that the vampire Caris had swooped into town, drawing Luke's attention away from the truth.
But still her plan hadn't worked. The worthy human was dead, and the bitch was in Lucius's house. In Lucius's bed.
Not for much longer.
From where she stood, she couldn't see into Lucius's bedroom. But she could see the garage, and she felt a trill of satisfaction when the door swung open and Lucius's Mercedes purred down the driveway, cleared the gate, and took off down the street. La Jolla was nearly two hours away. Plenty of time for a little talk with the bitch. Just girl to girl.
Getting in wasn't a problem. Lucius had changed the access code, of course, but she'd known his override code for a decade. Never bothered to mention that to him. Some secrets a girl had to keep.
The co
de operated both the gate and the front door, and Tasha was soon inside, the marble floor cool against her bare feet.
The bitch would be in the master bedroom. She'd be thinking that was where she belonged. There, in the bed, with Lucius.
She was wrong. Tasha would have to explain that to her. And as she climbed the stairs, she let the anger rise in her, the power that it gave calming her, making her strong, making her confident.
The bitch had changed, Tasha knew that, but a new vampire was weak after the Holding. Weak, that is, unless it emerged in harmony with the daemon. Then there was strength and power. So sweet. So strong. So very, very clever. Had to be clever. Let the daemon show, and bad things happened. Stakes. Blades. Had to hide inside. Had to be smart.
She climbed the stairs slowly, quietly, then padded down the hall to the doorway that stood open to Lucius's room. The bitch was there, sitting pretty in the bed, and she looked up, eyes wide with surprise at Tasha's presence.
"Tasha? I--are you okay? Luke just went--I thought he went to get you in La Jolla."
"Changed my mind. Allowed to do that, aren't I? Change my mind?"
"Sure." She shifted on the bed, one hand holding a book, the other under the sheet. "Ah, um, do you want to call him? Tell him you're here?"
"No, no, no." She took a step toward the bitch. Easy. Was going to be so easy.
"You know I'm prosecuting the Braddock murder, right?" The bitch's tone was chatty, and Tasha wanted to giggle. Death was in the room, and she didn't even know it.
"I was wondering if I could ask you something. The detectives have some questions and--"
"Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies."
"Will you tell me the truth?"
"Maybe, maybe, if I like the question."
"What did Braddock do to you?"
"Bad man. Naughty man. Said things to me. Mean things."
"What did he say?"
"He insulted us."
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"Us?"
"Me and I. I and me. We are we."
She almost laughed as the bitch frowned, trying to figure that out.
"Insulted the daemon? Is that what you mean?"
She touched the side of her nose. "Clever, clever girl. But no prize for you. Clever girl's been bad. Took what didn't belong to her."