To his shock, the pain faded, the laughter dimmed, growing fainter, even if it didn’t completely disappear.
He grinned. It was a beginning.
Now he just had to reach Cat and make her listen to him. Without his even knowing, she’d began to heal his damaged mind. And his fractured heart.
He had to tell her, make sure she knew.
Eric pulled up near a cluster of buildings and slammed on his brakes, stopping right behind Cat’s tiny car. Jumping out, he glanced around. The air was heavy, the place seemingly deserted. There was supposed to be a party here?
He headed for a door, found it locked. Frustration welled and he drew his axe, bashing the flat of the blade against the handle. It popped off and the door creaked open.
Cat’s scent drifted to him, but it was overpowered by the dark stink of magic, and the stench of decay. Of death.
His instincts urged him to flee from the magic as fast as he possibly could.
But damn it, he refused to leave Cat.
He pushed inside and glanced around a deserted hallway. A thumping sound came from below. Wasting time, he searched until finding stairs leading down. Once more, he scented Cat. And her blood. Drops of crimson splashed over the stone steps sporadically.
His vision darkened with the same reddish haze. He hurried down the stairs, silent, cautiously listening. All was quiet.
At the bottom, a bigger pool of blood reflected dim light. Three hallways led into darkness, the stench of death overpowering. He moved down the first hallway, only to have it abruptly end at a brick wall.
Turning back, he retraced his steps, and moved down the central corridor. Luck—or fate—was with him as he spotted another droplet of blood on the floor. He slowed, worry filling him, screaming at him to rush in and save his woman. Yet he didn’t know what the hells was going on. He had to figure it out if he had any hope of getting them both out of here safely.
The hallway opened up into a cavernous area. Lights flashed on, blinding him for a second. When his vision cleared, he gazed at the other end of the room, stupefied.
Cat’s coven member, Malia, sat on a raised dais in a throne made of human bones. Once more wearing only a bra and panties, her face and skin were painted with strange symbols. Painted in blood. At her side, a woman stood, also only wearing a bra, underwear and blood. There was something familiar about her, though he couldn’t figure out what. He suddenly caught Jeremiah’s scent... coming from her.
Along the sides of the room, people and Arcaine creatures were chained. Some hung limp, obviously dead. Others moaned, nearly unconscious. Between those chained, stood others, their eyes vacant, staring but unseeing.
Voodoo created zombies, like the man they’d captured.
He took another step inside, facing Malia and the woman. “Where’s Cat?”
Malia laughed. “Ah, sleeping. Don’t worry. You’ll see her soon.” She raised her hand, and as if one, the zombies around the room moved toward him. “Jenna, how long do you suppose he’ll last?”
“Not long, my love,” the woman, yet another incarnation of Jeremiah replied.
He raised his axe, ready to fight. Arms clasped him from behind. He hadn’t heard or sensed anyone at his unprotected back. He jerked from their grasp and spun, slashing with BrynTröll. His vision turned a deep red as he downed one, then another. More reached him.
Hands grasped.
Nails scratched, digging deep.
Teeth sank into skin and muscle.
Magic shuddered through the room, and some of the people shifted into animal form. Wolves, a couple bears. Howls and screeches from the creatures rose, echoing deep into his mind, blending with the memories of the sorceress’s beasts.
Fire flickered over him from somewhere. Nails were replaced by claws, slicing through his clothes, then skin.
He hacked with his axe, spinning, slashing, but there were too many.
His memories rushed to the fore, blocking his vision of the present. He could see only a dim light, outlining familiar dungeons. The sorceress’s laughter filled him with ice and a shudder of weakness and fear engulfed him.
“There’s no hope,” she whispered, as the brand on his left thigh blazed in fiery agony. “Have I not shown you this?”
Fiona’s voice joined in, filled with a crazed childlike glee. “Hurt him, hurt him. Make him beg.”
Teeth and claws and nails ripped at his skin. His axe was yanked from his grip. He could barely move, as if once more in the sorceress’s chains.
He fell to one knee. The press of bodies all around him was suffocating. The stench of decay all encompassing.
“No!” he screamed. Cat’s face came to mind. “I said leave me be. You will not keep me from her.”
His vision began to clear of the past, bringing him back to the present. He could smell Cat. She was nearby.
Had to reach her. Save her.
But though he’d managed again to push his damn memories away, the hands and claws and teeth around him were immense.
He fought harder, relishing the power flowing to him from his berserker strength. Blood covered him, the floor. But it wasn’t only his.
He blinked, and Jenna stood in front of him, gazing at him, assessing.
As more creatures slipped past his guard, biting and scratching, grabbing hold of his arms and legs, trying to bring him down, she smiled.
“I see into your mind,” Jenna whispered. “You are too far broken. Let me help with that.”
The world went blank and all Eric could see were flames surrounding him, burning him beyond belief.
“No!” he screamed, but the agony of the fire, eating him alive, took over everything else as the sorceress and his king’s sister laughed.
Chapter Twenty-One
When Cat woke, she was in the strangest place she’d ever seen. Across the room, people dangled from chains hooked to the ceiling. She caught a glimpse of some familiar faces, but her thoughts circled uselessly.
She couldn’t put a name to any of them, though she felt certain she should be able to.
A headache throbbed at her temples. Her senses were hyper-aware. Her heart beat loudly and each breath she took was a whooshing of air rushing in and out of her lungs.
Someone moved and the rattle of chains sounded like a jazz band playing right next to her ear.
Slowly, through the fog, a scent came. Masculine and musky. Comforting, though she couldn’t remember why.
“Ah, you’re awake. Good,” a female whispered.
Cat blinked, staring at a beautiful, dark-skinned woman. “Who are you?”
She laughed softly, and Cat once more felt comforted, as if she knew her. Not the person the familiar scent was coming from, though.
“Who am I?” The woman smiled slyly. “So my potions are working on you. I wasn’t sure they would. You see, Jacques was far too strong for them. It seems I can only bend younger, less powerful creatures to my bidding.”
A sharp spark of fear inched up Cat’s spine. The words didn’t make sense.
Jacques? Who was he?
Potions?
“Who are you?” Cat repeated.
The woman scowled. “I am your mistress. Your queen.”
Cat searched her thoughts, but something about this woman, no longer comforting, screamed danger. “My queen?” she asked hesitantly, as if trying out the words.
Chains rattled and a weight lifted from her wrists and ankles.
“Rise,” her queen commanded.
Cat stood.
“Good, pet.” The woman circled Cat. “I always thought you weaker than you appeared. Why, Jacques, even after many potions, never did succumb. You only needed four doses.”
“Potions?” she asked, her confusion growing. This wasn’t right. None of it.
The woman slapped her hard enough for Cat to stumble backwards. “I did not give my pet permission to speak.”
An urge to apologize, to drop down and grovel at her queen’s feet filled her. Biting her t
ongue hard enough to draw blood, Cat resisted.
Queen? She had no queen. Did she?
Across the room, one of the people suspended from the ceiling screamed, thrashing against their chains.
“Blake,” the woman commanded. “Silence him.”
A dark haired man, his eyes glassy, blank, strode by without a glance. Again, Cat felt a pang of familiarity, but again, it was uncatchable and faded.
A whip cracked, the scream came again. Then silence reigned.
The woman pushed Cat’s chin up, staring into her eyes. “Hmm. Not complete control, I don’t think. Let’s test it. What shall I have you do first?” Her dark eyes lit. “I know. Follow me.”
They left the room and headed down a narrow hall to another door.
Inside the large room, more people were chained to the surrounding walls. Metal beds were scattered through the room. Cat felt another flash of familiarity.
Death... Lying on those beds.
The people here, though, seemed merely unconscious. Her queen led her to a large man on one table. Covered in so much blood, she wondered how he still lived.
He mumbled in his sleep, hands fisting and jerking against the shackles at his wrists, his mouth twisted in a scowl.
Heat rose from the pit of her belly, a deep anger mixed with that same niggle of recognition at that scowl. And she realized the familiar, comforting scent came from him.
Yet, it was flames of fury that fanned her sense of knowing this man.
“What should I do to him?” the woman asked.
Cat’s first thought was to set him free, but she was certain that wasn’t the answer she needed to give. “I don’t know.”
The woman slapped her again.
Cat stumbled. The scent of her own blood spiked into the air. She wiped her mouth, her hand coming away with a crimson stain.
“You will address me as My Queen, understand?”
“Yes.”
The woman raised her hand to strike and Cat mumbled out, “Yes, My Queen.”
Triumph blazed in the woman’s eyes and she lowered her fist. “Good. I enjoy a fast learner.” She turned her attention back to the man lying on the bed.
Cat glanced around the room, not sure what exactly she was looking for, just feeling the need to find... something.
“No,” her queen finally said. “Perhaps he’s not the best to begin with. I see the recognition in your eyes.”
“I don’t recognize him, My Queen,” Cat replied.
There was something about him that drew her, called to her. She felt the deepest need to make sure he was all right. All that blood... She shuddered as an ache grew in her chest, worry and fear for the man.
The woman spun, baring her fangs. “Do not lie to me.” She stalked forward until Cat was forced to step away. “Do not act like some useless male. They lie. Women do not treat one another that way,” she spat with fury.
Cat felt the wall at her back. There was nowhere else to go. She must apologize. She’d made the queen angry. Yet, she couldn’t push the words out. Something deep inside her stopped them from even forming.
Another woman, tall, with spikes of dark hair, approached. “Malia, what are you doing?” she asked.
The queen turned. “Now you dare question me, Jenna?”
Jenna smiled softly. “Of course not.” She held her arms open, and Malia walked into her embrace.
Within the other woman’s arms, Malia turned back to Cat. “I want to test her. Make sure she’s truly under control. I don’t trust this one.”
“That is smart,” Jenna replied, staring at her with a distant coldness that made Cat shiver. The woman grimaced, baring sharpened teeth.
Cat realized it was supposed to be a smile.
“Test her with this man. If she breaks, we will know for certain.”
Malia glanced up. “You don’t think that would push her past the point?”
With a shrug, Jenna replied, “If it does, so what? We’ll up the dose and try again.”
“Fine.” Malia waved to the prone, unconscious man. “Wake him and we will see.”
* * *
Eric slowly came awake, though he kept his eyes closed. He could smell Malia and Jeremiah, and now, Cat. Struggling not to tense, he flexed his wrists, finding them shackled.
His mind was hazy, his thoughts mixing between past memories and the present.
He forced his mind to slow.
Building. Basement. Hordes of Arcaine under some voodoo spell. His body reminded him of the fight as every part of him began to ache. He needed to save Cat.
“We know you’re awake,” Malia said.
He slowly opened his eyes, only to wonder if he wasn’t still dreaming of past tortures. He stood in front of a wooden cross in the shape of an X. Chains on his wrists led to rivets in the top of each of the cross’s bars. He glanced down, to see his ankles attached to more chains leading to the bottom posts.
Malia drew closer, trailing a sharp nail over his shoulder. “The whipping post is an excellent device. Designed by men, of course,” she stated. “But do you know how quickly men break down and beg for release? Not one man has ever come close to lasting as long as I was forced to do.”
She raised a hand and the chains jerked tight, forcing his chest, arms and legs against the rough wood. “Let’s see how long you can go before crying, begging for mercy.”
He looked at her, jaw tightening. “You will not break me,” he stated. He couldn’t allow it. Cat needed him.
Her scent filled the air and he craned his neck until he could see her.
She stepped up next to Malia, the woman who smelled like Jeremiah holding her arm. Jenna, Malia had called her.
Jenna handed Cat a whip, then pushed her forward. “Punish him. Bring him to his knees.”
Cat’s usually crystal green eyes were hazed, though a spark of confusion flashed through them for a short second.
“Now,” Malia commanded.
“Yes, My Queen,” Cat replied in a monotone, not herself.
“Cat?” he whispered as understanding dawned. Whatever Malia had done to the others, somehow making them walking puppets, she’d done to Cat.
She raised the whip, her jaw tight from gritted teeth, her eyes a deep crimson from fury.
His heart raced, his mouth dried. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, trying to block out all thoughts of betrayal. Of this woman torturing him.
The whip cracked in the air behind him and he turned his gaze to Malia and Jenna. They both watched with glee. The whip cracked the air once more.
Malia flinched, as if she, like him, had been too long on the receiving end.
His thoughts spun, weakness hitting him, draining him.
Tortured like a dog.
Again.
And he wondered how long it would take before his mind broke completely. He was already partly insane. He didn’t know if he could survive a repeat of his past... not from her.
He slumped against the post, hanging his head in shame at the urge to give up.
Using every last ounce of strength, he stared at Cat. The sight of her, a pawn under someone else’s control, the listlessness in her form, the glaze in her eyes, sparked his anger.
No.
She might not know it at this moment, but he was there to save her. It wasn’t just himself who would be lost if he gave up now.
And he couldn’t bear to allow this spitfire to be dampened by the bitch urging her to torture him.
What would be next? The woman had already killed countless vampires and other Arcaine. How long would she keep Cat alive?
His flagging strength returned, borne on the blood of his ancestors as his rage filled him. The world glossed with a crimson glow. He tested his muscles against the chains and felt some give in the restraints.
He pulled harder, calling on that anger, the rage. Metal popped softly. Malia and Jenna didn’t seem to notice.
He’d wait for the right time. Escape. Get Cat out of there.
Confidence filled him. He’d not let his woman down.
Never again.
Malia commanded, “Enough playing. Whip him as he deserves.”
The whip tickled over his back, not even like an annoying fly, it was so soft.
“I-I can’t,” Cat whispered.
Malia’s reply was furious, “What is he to you then? He’s just some man, his only purpose to rule over you, force you to his bidding. His only desire to hurt you, a mere woman.”
“Cat?” he asked, staring at her. “Wake up.”
She met his gaze and a spark of recognition flared. Then it turned to anger tinged with agony. “Yes. His only desire is to hurt me,” she said. “All because he wants to push me into a despicable category from his past.”
His heart ached for causing the pain drenching her eyes. And he couldn’t deny her words.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Cat turned to Malia, unable to stomach the sight of her strong warrior shackled to the whipping post.
How agonizing this must be for him, forcing his old memories to mind.
She let the whip clatter to the floor. “That doesn’t give me the right to beat him. Every single one of you people are stuck in the fifteenth century for crying out loud. And you. You’ll never be my mistress or my queen.”
Malia let out a cry of rage. “You lying, faking bitch.”
Cat backed away.
Malia’s dark eyes narrowed, predatory and furious. “I have magic you’ll never defeat.” She threw her head back and screamed.
From other rooms, hoarse screams echoed back. The zombies she’d created. The sound of shuffling steps headed along the hallway, coming toward them.
Cat raced for the door, slamming it shut just a second too late. An arm slid through the opening as the press of people shoved at the door. Panic crept up inside her and she shot a glance at Eric.
If the voodoo zombies got inside, he’d be helpless, chained to the cross.
Whispering her command, she directed fire at the arm, hoping it didn’t sweep through the innocent people.
Malia raked her nails through Cat’s hair, jerking her backwards.
The press on the other side of the door lightened and she slammed it closed, throwing the antique bolt shut. Then she spun. “Power-hungry bitch.”
Firestorm: Heart of a Vampire #5 Page 14