Vincent (Vampires in America Book 8)

by D. B. Reynolds

  But Poncio didn’t know that, which made him a fool for not taking the chance.

  Not that it mattered. Vincent was on him before he’d managed to put both feet on the floor, grabbing his ankle and dragging him back across the bed, kicking and squealing. He managed to score a decent kick with his free foot as Vincent secured the other ankle to the bedpost, and Vincent cursed silently, more irritated than hurt. He was pissed enough about it, though, that he glanced up and drew on his power to deliver a directed blow that snapped the man’s tibia like a twig. The fucker wouldn’t be doing any more kicking. Poncio screamed, and Vincent smirked.

  He snagged the broken leg mercilessly and tied it to the other bedpost, barely registering the man’s agonized shrieking. His only thought was that it was a good thing he had the sheet to use for bindings, because it was a big fucking bed and Poncio wasn’t that big of a guy. There was good distance between the bedposts and the man’s various limbs. Not that it would matter much longer.

  “You want me to gag him with something?” Lana asked, and Vincent turned to her with a pleased grin. As a vampire, it was in his nature to be what humans would consider heartless, even cruel. He didn’t see it that way. He simply did what needed to be done without letting useless emotion clutter the situation. But few humans would view it the same way he did. It delighted him that Lana understood. It already made his dick hard just being around her, waking up next to her. Add this into the mix, and no more excuses. They were going to fuck . . . soon.

  But first . . .

  “Nah, let him scream,” Vincent said, turning back to his task. “There’s no one to hear it, and he won’t be screaming much longer. I don’t want to keep Jerry waiting.”

  “I have money,” Poncio begged, using English now, barely intelligible through his sobs.

  “What a coincidence,” Vincent said dryly. “So do I.”

  “Please, what do you want from me?”

  “Your pain, mostly, but you can answer a question for me first.”

  “Si, si, anything,” he choked out.

  “I know you’ve been using Salvio as an enforcer, so don’t deny it. I want to know who gave him to you.”

  “Señor Enrique. Ask him. He’ll tell you it is okay what I do.”

  “Oh, I’ll ask him. But it’s not okay. It was never okay.” And with that, Vincent jammed both fists into the man’s chest, one on each side, breaking several ribs and driving them into his lungs, shredding both organs, before stepping back and watching as Poncio struggled to breathe, to scream. The human’s eyes grew comically wide, his mouth gaping open like that of a fish, horror filling his gaze as he realized there was no air.

  Lana came up next to Vincent, her hand moving to his lower back, warning him she was there. As if he wasn’t exquisitely aware of her presence, as if he hadn’t known the moment she’d started across the room toward him.

  Her fingers clenched in Vincent’s shirt as Poncio fought for oxygen, his lips turning a blue that eventually spread to his entire face, a red-tinged blue that bordered on purple as he strained against the inevitable.

  “How long will it take?” she asked softly, and Vincent knew she wasn’t as blasé as she liked to pretend.

  “I can end it now,” he told her. “We should rejoin Jerry anyway.”

  Lana didn’t say anything at first, and he figured she was torn between wanting it over with and not wanting to appear weak. But then she said, “We can’t waste too much time here. We still need to rendezvous with Michael and get to Carolyn.”

  Carolyn. Vincent cursed himself. Lana was right. There was no time to waste. He stabbed a spear of power into Poncio’s chest and incinerated his heart, ending the man’s useless life once and for all.

  Vincent took Lana’s arm as he turned, momentarily startled by the fresh sight of her braless chest beneath the white tank and covered by his jacket. Shit.

  “You should get dressed before we head over to the barn.”

  “I’m okay if you don’t want to—”

  “You’ll get dressed, Lana. It will only take a moment, and it’s cold,” he added, though it sounded lame even to his own ears. The truth was, he didn’t want Jerry or Salvio or anyone else seeing her like that.

  “Yes, sir, master, sir,” she said, but she sounded more amused than anything else. Vincent suspected she knew the real reason he wanted her covered.

  They didn’t linger in the house. Poncio had already given them what they wanted. Vincent went ahead of her down the stairs, mostly so he could grab her bundle of clothing and bring it back inside. The guard in the kitchen was out cold and would stay that way for several hours still. So, there was no reason for her to change out in the open . . . where anyone might see her.

  Lana removed his jacket, then disappeared into the sitting room opposite the kitchen to get dressed. It took only a few minutes, but when she returned, he saw that her bra was back in place, as well as her long-sleeved T-shirt, and that her shoulder harness was once more secured as she pulled her own jacket on over it.

  “So what’s the plan?” she asked, handing him back his jacket, and then working to re-braid her hair.

  “I can’t be sure, but it’s very possible that Salvio felt Poncio’s death. Had Poncio been a vampire master, Salvio would definitely know. But if—” Vincent froze as a sudden strong thread of alarm jolted his senses. It wasn’t his own perception, which meant . . . Jerry. There was no other vampire around who belonged to him.

  “Let’s go,” he said urgently. “Something’s happened.”

  He would have waited for Lana, but she slapped his shoulder and said, “Go. I’ll catch up.”

  Vincent did a quick survey to be sure there was no danger lurking in the shadows, then took off with a burst of vampiric speed that had him out of the courtyard and in sight of the barn in a moment’s time.

  Jerry was no longer concealed in the shadows, but had moved to the center of the yard. He was staring at the barn where Vincent could see the outline of a bright light around the closed door.

  “Jerry?” he asked.

  “Sir,” Jerry said, acknowledging him. “Lana?” he asked.

  “Right here,” Lana said before Vincent could answer. She came up behind them, not even slightly short of breath from her run.

  “I heard shots, sir. Automatic weapons on full, and screaming. Lots of screaming,” Jerry said. “Not one person, but many.”

  Vincent frowned, contemplating the possibilities. But then the barn door opened and he didn’t have to wonder anymore. A single person was silhouetted in the doorway, a vampire, not a human. Salvio?

  Jerry started forward and the unknown vampire did the same, stumbling to his knees when the two were less than ten feet apart. He’d been shot. His chest was a bloody mess, and his left arm appeared broken at best, ravaged by gunfire at worst.

  “Jerry?” the new vampire said, his voice weak with blood loss.

  “It’s all right, Salvio,” Jerry assured him, rushing forward to kneel at his side. He spoke English, which told Vincent that Salvio at least understood that language. “My human master is dead,” Jerry continued, “As is yours.”

  Salvio nodded weakly. “I felt him die. It was my chance.” He tried to brace himself using his injured arm and gasped. His voice, when he continued, was tight with pain. “I killed my guards to get away. The other prisoner, the one I was questioning, he died in the crossfire.”

  Jerry put a hand on Salvio’s shoulder in a gesture of support, then gave a sideways nod of his head to indicate Vincent, who still stood just behind him. “This is—” he started to say.

  But Vincent spoke up, not waiting for an introduction. There was a protocol among vampires, and it didn’t include waiting for lesser vampires to make introductions. “Salvio,” he said. “I am Vincent.” He bared his power for a heartbeat,
long enough to let Salvio know who and what it was he now faced.

  “My lord,” Salvio whispered, his head bowed, shoulders slumped in resignation.

  Vincent felt a moment’s pity for the vampire. Salvio assumed he’d gone from the proverbial frying pan into the fire. From one cruel master to another even worse, with barely time to breathe in the fresh air of freedom in between.

  “It’s all right, Salvio,” Jerry was saying. He rested a gentle hand on his friend’s shoulder in reassurance. “Lord Vincent is not like our human masters. You’ll see for yourself. There is a whole new world for us, my friend.”

  “Salvio,” Vincent repeated, demanding attention as he stopped before the kneeling vampire. “Your human master is dead. I killed him. If he were vampire, that would make you mine. But your situation, like Jerry’s, is not that simple. Enrique enslaved you to a human, which goes against every tenet of vampire society. But he is still your Sire, and for now, you belong to him. So, I’m offering you a choice. You can return to Enrique, who may very well hand you over to another human, if he doesn’t execute you on the spot for knowing too much. Or . . . you can pledge your loyalty to me. But know this, Salvio, I do not tolerate disloyalty in my people. Betrayal will be punished swiftly and permanently.”

  “Sir, may I?” Jerry asked, looking up at Vincent.

  Vincent frowned. He didn’t want Salvio persuaded against his will. On the other hand, given his experience with Enrique, the vampire had no reason to trust anything Vincent said. He nodded for Jerry to go ahead.

  “Salvio, you know me. Our situations were the same, and I’m telling you, you can trust Lord Vincent.”

  Salvio looked up at last. He was smaller than Jerry, with dark hair and eyes, and the characteristic features of Mexican Indian descent.

  “How do I do this?” he asked, and Vincent realized that although his appearance was Mexican, he’d spent enough time in or around the U.S. that he both understood and spoke American English.

  “Your last name is Olivarez, is that right, Salvio?” Vincent asked as he stripped off his jacket once more and handed it to Lana. She took it, and then without a word, handed over the same small knife he’d used before. He grinned as she moved slightly away from him. Far enough that she would be out of his way if Salvio made a hostile move, but close enough that she could see what was happening. It might have been curiosity on her part, or a desire to be within reach if he needed her. But whichever it was, it gave him a strange, warm feeling that she didn’t shy away from what he was. Just as she hadn’t been horrified by what he’d done to Poncio, she wasn’t turned off by the bloody aspect of the ritual he was about to engage in with Salvio.

  “Yes, Master,” Salvio answered. “My last name is Olivarez. My family is from Los Cabos.”

  Vincent gave him a pitying look. “Not anymore, Salvio. Your family is with me and mine.”

  Tears filled Salvio’s eyes, but he nodded. “I know.”

  Vincent touched the young vampire’s bent head briefly. “It will get better, mijo.” He remembered what it was like to leave his family behind without so much as a letter to say good-bye. It was how it had to be, but that didn’t make it any easier.

  With these thoughts running in his head, he sliced his arm open with Lana’s knife. It hurt like a motherfucker, but he kept his expression carefully blank. It wouldn’t do to let the newbies know that even a powerful vampire could feel pain.

  He lowered his arm and blood surged from the wound, running down to pool in his cupped hand. He held his bloody hand out to the kneeling vampire and spoke the formal words.

  “Do you come to me of your own free will and desire, Salvio?”

  Salvio’s dark eyes were slightly puzzled as he looked up at Vincent, but then his nostrils flared as he caught the rich scent of Vincent’s blood, and the puzzlement turned to raw hunger.

  “I do, Master,” he growled.

  “And is this what you truly desire?” Vincent demanded.

  “Yes, Master. Please.” They weren’t the formal words, but they would do.

  Vincent offered his cupped hand and said, “Then drink, Salvio Olivarez, and be mine.”

  LANA WATCHED THE ritual that apparently bound Salvio to Vincent in some vampish way. She didn’t pretend to understand the ties, but she couldn’t deny they were there. She’d seen the transition in Jerry. Not only in his newfound devotion to Vincent, but the lightening of his entire persona, as if he’d been carrying some huge weight for the two years he’d been enslaved to Camarillo and was now free of it. Even though he wasn’t actually free. Or was he? It was all very confusing and she made a note to herself to ask Vincent about it the next time they were alone.

  And that thought made her shiver in anticipation. If she was smart, she’d make a point of never being alone with Vincent again. But (a) she wasn’t that smart, and (b) she didn’t want to be that smart. What she wanted was one night with Vincent’s naked body all to herself. She’d barely tasted what he could do when they’d woken together earlier, or rather, when she’d awoken in his arms. All they’d done was kiss, but she could still feel the heat of her desire for him like a banked fire in her belly that was biding its time. And when that time came, she knew it would burn white-hot. She saw it every time Vincent looked at her, saw the hunger in his gaze, the promise of what was to come.

  A tiny breeze passed through the yard, bringing with it the copper smell of blood. Lana blinked away visions of a naked Vincent and focused on the bloody scene in front of her. This new vampire, Salvio, had clearly been through hell and survived. His arm looked like it was about to fall off, and his shirt was clinging to his chest and stiff with blood. He was probably lucky to be alive since Jerry had said he’d heard automatic weapons fire. Leighton had told Lana that anything that destroyed a vampire’s heart would kill him, she figured being ripped in half by bullets would do the trick.

  Salvio shuddered as he drank Vincent’s blood, and Lana had a momentary flashback of how good it had felt when Vincent had taken blood from her. She wondered if tasting his blood was the same thrill, or if that was only for vampires.

  After a few minutes, Vincent rested his free hand on Salvio’s head and pulled away from the young vampire’s questing mouth. Salvio gave a sigh of more than satisfaction—it was satiation, bliss. On the other hand, when Lana glanced at Vincent’s face, she caught a flash of exhaustion as he stared down at his ravaged arm.

  “Let me,” she said instantly, drawing him away from the other two vampires. Jerry was a good guy, and she had no reason to think Salvio wasn’t the same, but they looked to Vincent for everything, and right now, he needed someone to take care of him, instead of the other way around.

  “Come on,” she said, pulling him across the yard to a primitive wooden bench that sat next to an old-fashioned hitching post that had probably never seen a horse. “Sit,” she said.

  Vincent smiled as she ordered him about, but he did what she asked without comment, which told her how tired he was. When was the last time he’d had blood? He’d fed Jerry and now Salvio, but he’d been drained by that bitch Fidelia Reyes only two days ago and he’d only fed from Lana that once.

  “Are you okay?” she asked in a low murmur that was meant for his ears alone. Taking her knife from him, she wiped it on her pants leg, and slipped it back into her pocket. She’d clean it properly later.

  “I will be,” Vincent assured her.

  “Let me clean that. I have my big kit in the SUV, but . . .” She pulled out the small first-aid kit that she carried with her no matter where she went. Fortunately, she’d thought to restock it after using it on Vincent the other night.

  She turned Vincent’s arm into the light of the nearly full moon so she could see the damage better. Her mouth tightened at what she found. It was the same arm that he’d fed Jerry from, the arm that had healed remarkably fast, but still bo
re the fading scars of Jerry’s feeding. Or rather, it had before Vincent had cut it open again to feed Salvio.

  “This has to stop,” she muttered, and Vincent laughed.

  “This never stops, querida. It’s what we are.”

  “Isn’t there some other way?”

  “Sadly, no. We are creatures of blood.”

  Lana sighed. “I don’t suppose you’d let me take you back to the kitchen to clean this up.”

  “We don’t have time.”

  “That’s what I thought.” Lana started opening packages of gauze. She didn’t have many. It was a travel kit, after all. But then, her main job here was to clean up the blood since Vincent’s super-vampire system would heal itself without any help from her. She used the regular gauze first, finishing with the antiseptic wipes. By the time she was done, the wound had stopped bleeding. It still looked angry and raw, but the blood was down to a few seeping spots closest to his wrist where he’d dug in the knife before ripping upward to his elbow.

  Lana forced away the gruesome image, then stared down at the small pile of bloodied bandages at her feet.

  “Do we need to burn these or something?”

  “You mean because my blood’s on them?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  Vincent gave her a crooked smile. “We’re not witches, Lana. No one’s going to cast a spell on me.” Without warning, he leaned in so close that his beard tickled the skin below her ear, his breath a brush of warmth when he whispered, “Except you.”

  Desire surged, and suddenly her clothes were too hot, too tight. She grabbed the pile of bandages, squishing them in her fists along with the paper wrappers as she stood. “I can’t just leave this. It’s not . . . sanitary.”