by Jess Haines
“Tara. No, Anastasia Alderov. How?”
David gestured to the chair Royce had pulled out for me. “Please sit, Shiarra. Did I say your name correctly? It’s rather unusual.”
“Yeah, well, my parents were hippie gamers who liked fantasy novels.” I stayed standing. “What do you want with me? With Sara?”
Anastasia laughed, a soft tinkling of bells. “Cuts right to the chase, doesn’t she?” I was a bit surprised to note a rough Brooklyn accent lurking behind the mellifluous voice. It didn’t match the china doll face, the delicate hands, or the pretty dress. She smiled at me, a dazzling curve of lips baring just a hint of pearlescent fang. “Oh, don’t be so surprised. Born and raised in Brooklyn Heights, though I was living in Chicago up until recently.” Malice dripped from the honey-dipped tones of her voice, and I knew without doubt that she had been the one to speak to me through Royce. She turned to look at David, and the two of them locked eyes in a sickeningly sweet way which said to me that, despite being evil and all that, they actually had feelings for each other.
This vampiress was not under the influence of the focus. Both of them used it. Both of them controlled the local vamps and Weres. And considering how many Weres greeted me on the way in, it looked like he was a lot better at it than she was. This kid was the sorcerer?
Fuck.
“Your parents have been looking for you, David,” I said, realizing that he looked older and more sophisticated in the suit and with his hair slicked back than he had in the photo his parents had given me, taken of him in a ratty T-shirt with his hair dangling in his eyes.
Tight irritation lines appeared around his eyes, the hint of a pout curving his lips. “My parents don’t own me. I’m old enough to do what I want. Go where I want.” His gaze returned to Anastasia, softened. “See who I want.”
Good God. The little emo freak was kidnapping and murdering and causing mayhem to spite his parents?
He turned back to me, and I backed away from the vicious force behind his gaze. “Anastasia doesn’t like you. Royce wanted to turn you into one of his own, did you know that?”
I glanced at Royce. He remained as he had been, hands clasped behind his back, black eyes staring at nothing in particular somewhere off to the side of the table. No movement, no breathing, still as a stone and about as lifelike.
“Anastasia wanted to become a vampire but Royce wouldn’t accept her. Thought she wasn’t good enough for his tastes.”
The vampiress narrowed her eyes, that glint of malice switching from me to Royce in a heartbeat. Suddenly, the reason she hated me so much became clear, if no more insane than any of the other reasons I had imagined they wanted me dead.
Incredulous, I spelled it out, seeing how they both glared at Royce and nodded while I spoke. “She was jealous of me. That he wanted me but not her. But how did…who made you a vampire then?”
“No one you would know. He was a patron of the arts. When I went to school out in Chicago, he saw me and took me under his wing. When I asked to come back here to negotiate a treaty with Royce, he let me go.”
“So what does that have to do with you two being together? Or the focus?” Or me, I wondered. At least they were obliging me for the time being, answering my questions. Maybe if I kept them talking long enough, Chaz and the others would find a way to sneak in.
David smiled a pleased cat-that-got-the-canary smile, one I didn’t like at all. “We went to high school together. Stayed in touch by e-mail when she went to Chicago. When she came back, we wanted to do something special, live the kind of life we dreamed about. So I made a new Dominari Focus.”
My jaw went slack, eyes widening. This kid had the kind of power it took to make something like that? I mean, I was impressed with a talking belt, and it apparently took a whole coven of magi working together to make one. This was something entirely different.
He looked with something like pride to the gigantic Were panting at his side, then with a hardened, sadistic joy at Royce. “The vamp fought pretty hard not to kill you. You’re lucky, you know. The last meeting you had really took the fight out of him. He would’ve made you his slave if he could’ve bound you instead of killed you. We would’ve just killed you quickly and kept using him to front this little empire of his, and live a nice, safe, happy eternity together. He would’ve made whatever was left of your life hell.”
Oh, and that made me feel ever so much better. I shifted my weight, one hand stealing toward the stakes as he told me this. An air of tense readiness took over Royce and the Were, sensing I was up to something. That didn’t stop me. “Well, aren’t you the most kindhearted of souls. So what do you want with me now? Really?”
He slowly stood, the Were rising to tower at his side, Anastasia leaning back comfortably in her chair to watch. A calm, sly grin curved his thin lips as he reached one hand into the pocket of his dinner jacket, pulling out the ugly lump of the focus to set it on the table before him. He kept his fingertips on it.
“Why, I want to give you your reward for getting in our way, for making my baby jealous. For being so intuitive and resourceful. For helping my parents try to stop me, you redheaded little bitch.” Despite what he was saying, his voice never wavered or grew angry. Just the same antagonizing calm, grating on my nerves.
Anastasia looked so pleased, I knew I was in deep shit. Alarmed, I tried to think of something to do, something, anything to stall them. “Look, I don’t think—”
He cut me off as he offhandedly gestured in my direction with his free hand, chuckling softly. “I’m going to make you an Other so I can use you like the rest. What did you think I was going to do, make it easy and kill you quickly?”
I gasped and jerked back as Royce and the big werewolf both rushed at me at once, hands and claws reaching out to grab me.
Chapter 44
Without thought, I drew the guns in each hand, firing shots as I staggered back out of the immediate reach of Royce and the Were. Jesus Christ, the open mouth of that Were could’ve easily engulfed my entire head.
I twisted and turned, avoiding their grasping hands as I shot at them, doing what I could to ward them off while ignoring the commands Anastasia and David were shouting. Some part of me distantly heard the double doors across the room slamming open, the sound echoing across the great ceiling as a chorus of howls and yips and barks came spilling in to join the fray between me, Royce, and this monstrous Were I was starting to think must be Rohrik Donovan.
There wasn’t much time for anything but reaction. I did everything I could to ignore the screams and inhuman sounds surrounding us. Royce made a grab to catch me around the waist and tackle me to the floor. When I dodged to the side, I twisted right into the swinging, hairy arm of the Were.
It was like being hit by a flying tree. A very large, very solid, very hairy tree. All the air rushed out of me as I flew across the room, coming to a painful landing against the table, with its lovely spread of flowers and expensive food and wines which were probably bottled before I was born.
On the bright side, I hit it on my side instead of my back, snapping a couple of ribs instead of my spine, and knocking the table over in the process. I could hear the dull crack of bones, but it was distant, like it came from somewhere else. At least, it felt that way until I tried to struggle up to my feet, gasping and fighting back tears as I hurriedly grabbed at the fallen table with one hand, trying to steady myself. The pain was incredible, blinding, but even now I knew Royce and Rohrik were both coming for me.
I managed to raise the one gun I’d been able to hold on to in time to catch Royce in the gut, making him gasp and fold over in pain. Despite myself, and despite the incredible pain of breathing against the jab of broken ribs into my lungs, I screamed in sheer terror and threw up one of my arms as the Were leapt on top of me, an unbearably heavy pressure on my legs and stomach. Its fetid breath washed over my face before it tilted its head and bit down on the arm I’d lifted to protect myself.
It didn’t bite down very hard
, only twisted its head slightly to one side like it was trying to catch and tear the fabric or skin. The weight of it crushed me, forcing the table under me to scrape with a high-pitched screech over the floor as the Were pushed me down, making it even harder to breathe than it was already.
All of a sudden, something else was on top of the Were, a grayish blur forcing it right over the edge of the table and off me. I heard a woman scream, and hoped to God whatever it was had landed on top of that bitch Anastasia.
Chaz stood over me, one clawed paw splintering the edge of the table as he leaned forward and howled a challenge to the Were that had attacked me. Rohrik came sailing over my head and crashed into him, the two of them gray and red blurs streaking over my head and tumbling in a roll across the floor, snarling and clawing and snapping at each other in movements so quick I could barely follow them.
I stood, panting, trying to get a handle on what was going on and clutching the gun to my chest like my life depended on it. There were furry bodies clashing against each other everywhere I looked, biting and snarling and clawing as they tumbled over and around each other and the bubble of energy, or whatever it was, in the center of the room.
Anastasia was nowhere in sight. David was a few yards away, dodging around the fallen table and running toward the circle, where it appeared Sara was stirring.
Though every muscle on my right side seemed to protest the movement, I slowly raised my arm and aimed the gun using the laser sight. I hadn’t counted down the shots when I was fighting with Royce and Rohrik, and I didn’t know how many rounds were left. Just one more would have to be enough. Just one.
It seemed overly loud, even amid the pandemonium in the room. David staggered and fell gracelessly to the floor, the focus spilling from his fingers as he howled in pain and clutched at the knee I’d shot out. What do you know, it works just as well on sorcerers as it does on vamps.
Unfortunately, his dropping the thing didn’t seem to have the immediate effect I was hoping for. Everyone else was still fighting. Even worse, he twisted around from his stomach to his back, hatred hot in his eyes, and flung his hand at me in an abrupt, angry gesture. A ball of snot green energy shot toward me. I yelped and dived to one side, scrambling around to hide behind the upended table even as the magic missile, or whatever it was, destroyed the top half of it.
To make my day complete, Anastasia was on the floor next to me, looking extremely rumpled and pissed off, particularly as she noticed I’d come to join her hiding behind the furniture. I was right, I thought dimly as she dived at me, fangs extended and nails curved into claws to gouge out my eyes. Her dress was ankle-length.
Her own momentum impaled her on the stake I had somehow pulled up to meet her charge, the gun falling to my side as both hands braced the slick metal against my stomach. The two of us howled in pain simultaneously; her for the stake shoved deep in her chest, ruining that pretty red dress, and me for the butt of the stake grinding against my broken ribs. I must have missed her heart. She was scrabbling at the stake and trying to yank it out, probably trying to avoid having it go any deeper and piercing her dead, shriveled excuse for a heart.
I let go of the stake and grabbed her shoulders, shoving her to the side and twisting so I could straddle her waist.
“Get off me, you bitch!” she screamed, one hand still curled around the stake while the other came at my face, red painted nails seeking to score my cheek.
I grabbed the hand with one of my own, catching her slender wrist and forcing it back to the floor. Then I snagged the wrist of the hand that was trying to yank out the stake, finding it much easier to subdue her than I had Royce. Either the belt was giving me more strength this time around, or she was a pushover.
She’s young, an easy kill, it whispered. Just twist the stake up and to the left and she’ll be truly dead.
“Not yet,” I muttered, twisting to one side as she arched up in an attempt to bite me. Her fangs scraped harmlessly along my collarbone, unable to find purchase against the body armor. Unfortunately, I think she might have made holes in my nice new leather jacket. At least I was alive.
Using the leverage of my grip on her wrists, I stood and yanked her to her feet with me, twisting her wrists so that I had them locked at the small of her back with one hand. I was slightly annoyed to see that she was quite a bit taller than me, my head coming up only to her shoulder. I slid the other hand around to her stomach, grabbing the stake protruding from her. It was slick with blood, but I tried not to think about it, even as I had to choke back a gag reflex when I shouted at David.
“Yo, dumbass!” It was supremely gratifying that his pained gaze almost immediately locked on me, still glaring daggers in my direction but now with a touch of obvious concern for his ladylove. “Let Sara go, you fucking nutjob, or I swear to God I will finish what I started here.”
To drive the point home, so to speak, I twisted the stake just a little to make Anastasia gasp in pain. Thank goodness the darn things had leather grips, or I wouldn’t have been able to hold on against the slick flow of blood.
“Let her go or I’ll kill Sara! I’ll kill you all!” he shouted back, shrill, furious.
I glanced at Anastasia, who was staring up at the ceiling, mouth agape in pain and terror as she took deep, gasping breaths she probably didn’t need. More an involuntary reflex than anything, I was sure. I racked my brains, trying to think of something to say that would convince him I meant business. “Do you really want to risk your girlfriend over a human?”
“No!” he screamed, lurching forward as if to stand and falling back with a pained cry as he clutched at his wounded knee. If he survived tonight’s ordeal, he’d walk with a limp for the rest of his life.
Though there was a part of me that felt bad for causing him that kind of pain, the rest of me knew he was the reason Veronica and Allison were dead, and Sara would be, too, if I gave him half a chance.
“Hurry up, let her go!” I shouted.
Anastasia tried to wrest her hands free, and I got her to stop that quick enough by tightening my grip on the stake and jiggling it just a little. Just enough to hurt.
I watched, suspicious, as he reached out a hand to the circle. Only then did I notice Sara was standing, pacing, on the other side of the shimmering curtain of energy. When David’s fingertips brushed the surface, it was as if all that energy got sucked back into him through his hand. In seconds, it was gone, and Sara was racing in my direction. Smart Sara, stooping to pick up one of my fallen guns on her way, halfway between David and me.
Only when she picked it up, she took a shooter’s stance and aimed it right at me.
Chapter 45
I pushed Anastasia sharply away from me and dived in the other direction to get behind what was left of the table as the first bullet whined over my head. It knocked Royce back to a kneel, snarling at me as he clutched his shoulder where the bullet had embedded itself. Guess she was still on my side after all. Glory Hallelujah.
I looked around frantically for the other gun, but somehow in the shuffle with Anastasia it had gone missing. Not only that, but both Royce and Anastasia were getting back to their feet. The stake made a disgusting slurping, popping sound as she slid it out of her stomach and flung it across the room. Judging by the look she was giving me, I’d better think of something else quick because she was going to flay me alive the second she got her hands on me.
Though every part of me screamed some kind of protest, from my chest down to my knees, I took to running, skittering around table legs to meet Sara. I tossed her some extra ammo while I ran, my breath coming in tight, wheezing gasps. My eyes widened when I saw the focus on the floor, just a few yards away, dangerously close to where Chaz and Rohrik were still fighting with each other. Both of them were covered with bites and claw marks, dripping blood on the floor, but I had no time to worry about it.
I ran past Sara and slid on my knees to scoop the thing up in my hand. Abruptly, the room seemed to shift like I was seeing two of everyt
hing.
No, not everything. The room itself was steady. It was the people in it that weren’t. I could see the Weres, the vampires, and even David clutching at his injured knee and shouting something in a language I couldn’t understand. Sara was shouting at me, too, but I couldn’t hear her clearly over the snarls and yips of the Weres.
It was as if there were two of each of them, all moving and shuffling and fighting in motions too fast for me to completely make out. Like there was something solid and then a ghostly bluish-white “something” behind and a little above them. What were those things? Despite the danger, I took a second to try to focus on one of them, maybe figure out what it was and if it was something I could use.
Almost the second I did look at one, I had a complete awareness of the Were I was looking at. Mark Roberts of the Moonwalker tribe. Accountant and happily married father of two by day, werewolf by night. Not too high nor too low in the pack’s pecking order. He was afraid, desperately, for himself and bleeding heavily from a bite in his throat. One of the not-pack had bitten him, tried to take out his throat. He could feel it, the pain, the blood, but he couldn’t stop fighting. Something was making him fight, making him stay, even though he wanted to run, to be out of this vampire den that smelled like blood and death, to hide and lick his wounds.
I could feel his pain. His fear. His confusion.
I had no idea what I was doing. Didn’t want to know. Just as abruptly as I’d come to focus on him, I lost whatever it was as something else, a sense of gathering power, nabbed my attention. The hair on the back of my neck rose, and I twisted to look in David’s direction.