by Lisa Marie
After settling him on the closed toilet seat, she rummaged under the sink and found a couple of washcloths and some soap. She closed the drain on the sink and filled it with warm water. She dunked one of the washcloths and soaped it up, then turned to Ash. Kneeling in front of him, she gently began washing the blood away from the worst wound on his stomach.
Ash’s eyes drifted closed as he savored Eve’s warm touch on his abused skin. He was tired and hungry and pissed off beyond belief. He had no idea why Sebastian had put her in the room with him. It didn’t seem smart if he wanted to use her for bait. Then again, nothing Sebastian had done since they had been taken made any sense. He remembered, with a grimace, the torture session he had endured. He had taken it, expecting to be grilled about Brie’s whereabouts, but he hadn’t been asked once. It was like Sebastian was more interested in Ash’s past than where his cash cow was.
“So, I take it you’re not mad at me anymore?” he asked, pushing Sebastian aside for now and opening his eyes to look at Eve’s worried face.
A ghost of a smile curved her plump mouth and she gave a shake of her head. “Kind of seems irrelevant now. I’ll figure out some way to get back at you, after we get out of here. Okay?”
Ash snorted in laughter, the action making his wounds leak.
“Jesus,” Eve gasped at the sight of the fresh blood. She blinked against the sting of more tears. Get a hold of yourself, she snapped in her head. She was never the type to weep like some vapid female. And even though these were far from normal circumstance, she refused to start now.
With new resolve, she pressed the cloth across the wound and guided Ash’s hand over top to keep it in place, before turning to get the second washcloth. When his hand curved around her cheek, she looked up at him and had to fight off the urge to fall into another puddle of tears. His eyes were so full of feeling and concern for her that she nearly choked on it.
“So, what’s this ‘claiming’ we supposedly did?” She needed to hear him talk, if for no other reason than to get her mind off of what she was doing. Most of the skin had knitted back together, but the wounds were still red and angry looking, and some of them still slowly seeped.
Ash got lost in the feel of her soothing touch and leaned back on the toilet tank before answering. “I guess the best analogy would be I was marking my territory.”
Her hand paused, and she looked up at him. “Marking your territory?” She tucked her tongue in her cheek and arched a reddish brow. “So, I guess that makes me … what? The vampire equivalent of a pissed on tree?” She glared up at him when he laughed.
“Sorry. Maybe not so good an analogy.” He fought to keep his face straight, but the sight of her nose all scrunched up with annoyance was too cute. The corner of his lips twitched, making her glare even harder. He could almost ignore the sound of her blood rushing in her veins, igniting his baser urges. Sobering, he leaned his head back, closed his eyes and forced himself to concentrate on her touch. “I guess—ow!” His eyes snapped open and he glared down at her.
“Sorry.” Eve smiled sheepishly, but went back to cleaning out the dirt encrusted in one of the slashes across his chest. He looked at her for a long minute, then rested his head back and closed his eyes.
“Big baby,” she whispered, knowing Ash would hear her. His mouth pursed, but other than that he ignored her. Until her fingers traced over the cross scar.
He opened his eyes to see her jaw trembling. “Hey. He didn’t do that,” he assured quietly, reaching out and sliding his fingers across her cheek.
“Then, how…?” Eve watched the emotion leave his eyes, blocking her out, and was surprised by how much it stung.
“One thing at a time. I haven’t explained the claim yet.”
She stared up at him, silently begging him to let her in. But his expression never changed. Conceding defeat—for now—she nodded. “Okay,” she said after a minute and looked back down at his chest. “Explain away. ‘Cause, I’m not loving the dog pissing analogy.”
“It’s not like that. More like, uh, marriage, I guess.” He said it hesitantly, imagining her explosion. The only outward sign she gave was a slight hesitation of her hand over his skin.
“Okay.” How she managed to keep all inflection out of her voice was a wonder.
“It means that no other vampire can touch you. Without reciprocation, it just means that you are under my protection until such time that I either dissolve the claim or another vampire wins a challenge against it.” Ash rushed on to explain, trying to make it sound less monumental than it was. The thought of her demanding he dissolve it had his chest tightening uncomfortably. “If the person being claimed accepts it, it binds the vampire and the claimed together, like a marriage.”
“I see.” She knew that she should be pissed off, having this pushed on her. Granted, she didn’t have to accept. But the thought of being bound to him didn’t sound so bad. And, hey, one could do worse than having their own personal vampire bodyguard.
“It’s not that big a deal really.”
Now she knew he was lying. She could hear the hurt in his words that she wasn’t acting a bit happier about being claimed.
“So…” she finished cleaning his front and twirled her finger to indicate he turn around, “—how are we going to get out of here?” Okay, she’d copped out. She knew it. He knew it. She just couldn’t deal with the claiming right now. Not when survival was an issue.
“If you have any ideas, I’m more than willing to listen. Even at full strength, I’d be hard pressed to find a way.” He glanced over his shoulder at the top of her head.
“When was the last time you fed?” she asked, her fingers sliding over his skin, finally realizing that he looked a good deal thinner then when she had last seen him. She had no clue that a couple of skipped meals could affect a vampire so badly. Then again, he had also lost a lot of blood. His back and chest looked like Sebastian had gone after him with a whip made of razors. Her hatred for the vampire kicked up a notch and she gleefully thought of all the things she would love to do to him for revenge.
“The morning of the party.”
“So, two days ago.” Eve chewed thoughtfully on her bottom lip, trying to repress the shudder threatening to overtake her. The evidence of his pain was staring her in the face and they were talking about it like the weather. He had almost killed her when she had been brought into the room and it didn’t seem to matter. Not in that “he’s a dangerous creature that could rip your throat out” type of way, at least. She ached from their almost vicious lovemaking against the door, her knees were trembling from exertion, and her neck throbbed—not painfully, however—from where he had bitten her.
A thrill coursed over her skin and a sharp stab of arousal hit her abdomen as she remembered how it had felt. She had been terrified at first. Then that terror had melted away to reveal something more intimate than she had ever experienced.
“You all right?”
Ash’s quiet question had her jolting back to awareness. She looked up from where her hand had paused over a deep puncture and met his eyes. She swallowed heavily, resisting the urge to toss aside the now red washcloth and haul him into the bed. Escape first, libido later.
“Yeah.” Her voice came out husky, and she quickly cleared her throat and went back to work. “I don’t think Sebastian is going to offer you anything to eat, either. How long will that little bit you took from me last?”
“Not long enough,” he told her, not wanting to reveal how hard it was for him to hang on right now.
He sounded miserable and scared to Eve. It was something she would have never expected from him, and she felt the edges of her confidence start to crumble. She took a deep, calming breath and gently swabbed at the few remaining cuts, surprised to see that the smaller ones had closed already. She guessed what they said about vampire healing was true. Now if they could just find some way to feed him, they might have a chance.
“Okay. So, we have to find some way to get out of here before
you get the urge to go all bitey again,” she said, half to herself. Ash made a sound in the back of his throat in agreement. “Well, at least we have a starting point.”
He snorted, but didn’t raise his head. He didn’t know how much longer he could last without blood, or how long he’d be able to keep his darker half at bay. He couldn’t fathom the game Sebastian was playing. It just didn’t make any damn sense. “You know, while he was using me for a pin cushion, he didn’t ask me once where Brie was.”
“That’s because he already knows who to go after,” she said quickly and quietly, half hoping that he wouldn’t hear her. He went still under her hands, the gentle rise and fall of his chest stopping and every muscle in his body going rigid. She knew that he had heard.
“What?” He raised his head to look at her, his dark brows drawn together and the blue of his eyes flashing a dangerous red.
“Apparently, there’s only one demon hunter in town that works with a vampire.” Eve rushed the words out, hating the feel of them in her mouth almost as much as he had to hate hearing them.
Eve looked so sorrowful, so afraid for her sister and the others, that Ash had the urge to let a tear or two slip himself. “How?”
“Money, fear. Some people aren’t that hard to get information out of.” She gave a tiny shrug and blinked. She tossed the washcloth aside and sat down on the floor, her face suddenly filled with fatigue and the hint of despair. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, staring down at her hands.
“Why?”
She heard the warmth in his voice, could feel the concern radiating off of him, but she refused to look up. “If anything happens to them, any of them. It’s my fault.” Usually Eve didn’t wallow in guilt. But the thought of four lives hanging in the balance because of her … well, guilt was the least of what she should feel.
“Hey,” Ash started softly, leaning forward to tuck a finger under her chin. He tilted her head until she was looking in his eyes, hers shining with tears. “It’s not your fault. We decided to help you.”
“But for what? I mean, if they get caught and we get killed, what the hell was it all for?” Her voice cracked, and she hated it. Fear was not something she was used to, even with all the months she’d worried about Brie she had never allowed fear to break through. But now, with no obvious means of escape and the very real threat that Sebastian was going to kill everyone involved, fear twisted around her like a chain dragging her to the depths of the ocean.
“You had to at least try, Eve. And trust me, we would have had to deal with Sebastian soon enough. He wouldn’t have flown under our radar very long.” As he spoke, Ash turned on the toilet seat and pulled her into his lap.
She easily slid into his arms, grateful for the strength of them. She hated being needy and teary and all those other damsel-in-distress things. But her fear was starting to push past the barrier she’d put it behind and the time for lying to herself was over. She—as well as her sister and the others—were going to die.
Ash rocked her gently, whispering soft words into her hair and rubbing the small of her back. He concentrated on soothing her, because the thought of anything happening to his family made him sick and angry enough to lose control again. When she started to cry, he never stopped rocking, even as her controlled sobs turned into a raging sea of emotion, all of which soaked his bare chest. Eve cried out fast, like she was embarrassed by it, and was soon quieting down to soft snuffles and whimpers.
When she fell asleep, he carefully stood and carried her into the other room, then placed her gently on the bed. He took a moment to stare down at her sleeping face and felt a tug on his heart. He was falling fast and hard for this woman. And now, with the claim evidence standing out so starkly against her slender throat, he had renewed energy to find a way to get her out of here and, hopefully, help the others.
With that in mind, he left her to sleep, grim determination setting his jaw, and started to thoroughly search every inch of the room. If there was a way to get out, he would find it. Then Sebastian would pay.
* * * *
“Have you always been this damn stubborn?” Flora demanded, crossing her arms over her massive bosom and glaring down at Cyrus.
They were in the basement workout room of his house, where Flora had found him cleaning his guns. She had tried to get him to listen to reason and get out of town. At first, she had been just as hellbound as he to stay. But now had a feeling that they needed to get out and get out fast. Unfortunately, he wasn’t hearing it.
“Dammit, Flora.” It always seemed that that was the way he started any response to her. A ghost of a smile passed her lips at the thought. “If you want to go,” Cyrus continued, “go. In fact, I think that’s a good idea. Give me one less thing to worry about.”
“And what about me worryin’ about you? Doesn’t that matter?”
“I’m not leaving. If they find me, that’s fine, I can take care of myself.”
“What about Mark? He’s lost enough don’t you think?” Flora challenged.
Cyrus let out a disgusted sigh and glared up at her. “What makes you so damn sure he’s going to lose me?”
“Because you’ve had a death wish ever since Maggie was killed.”
Cyrus’ hand went still with the utterance of the one name that hadn’t been mentioned since Wanda had left. The image of his wife, an older replica of their daughter, flashed through his mind, making him grimace in pain. It was like her death had just happened the day before, as opposed to almost thirty years ago.
His faded blue eyes glared hotly up at Flora, anger mixing with grief on his wizened face. She looked back down at him, her chin raised in defiance. “Go away,” he snarled.
“No.”
He surged to his feet and took one menacing step towards her. Flora merely arched a brow. She wasn’t scared of him before and she certainly wasn’t going to start being so now.
“Listen to me…” He had raised a finger and stabbed it in the air in her direction, his voice dangerously low. Mid sentence he trailed off, his attention averting from her to the ceiling.
“Cy, what…?”
“Shh…”
She fell immediately into silence, her own gaze lifting upwards. The faintest of creaks on the floorboards upstairs drifted to them. Flora’s eyes met Cyrus’, their lids opened wide with fear while his face settled into a hard mask.
She shook her head and reached out a hand to him. “Cyrus, no. We have to go, now!”
“No, you have to go. Get out of here, Flora,” Cyrus hissed, turning away from her and walking to the far wall. A small shield hid a button that he pushed to open a gap in the wall.
“Not unless you come with me,” she insisted, planting her feet.
He cursed under his breath when another creak sounded upstairs. “I ain’t got time to argue with you woman. Get in them sewers. You’re so worried about Mark losin’ me. What do you think it would do to him to lose you?” She stared at him, her face stricken. She looked to the opening in the wall, then back to him, clearly torn.
“Please.”
His softly uttered plea was what finally urged her to hurry over to the exit and gather the dragging hem of her skirt up. She looked into the near black, foul smelling space and grimaced. Shutting out the stench, she stepped through and turned quickly to catch a last glimpse of Cyrus as the panel slid closed, plunging her into blackness.
As soon as Flora was safely in the sewer passage, Cy reached down on the floor, snatched up one of the guns he had just finished loading, and started quietly towards the stairs. A stake that had been tucked into the band of his jeans was quickly in his other hand, and he crept silently up to the main floor. Hugging the wall, he dared a look through the open door, making sure it was clear before stepping lithely out into the kitchen. He saw nothing, but he could sense someone else was here.
With a stealth honed from years of hunting, he crept through the kitchen, careful not to step on any of the worn spots in the floor. When he reached the edge of t
he kitchen, he carefully looked into the living room. Again, nothing. He edged around the corner and slid along the wall, making his way towards the hall to check out the bedrooms. He was calm, a coldness overcoming him the second he realized that his home had been infiltrated. He blocked out everything, except the mission that was upon him. His ears listened for any sound, his eyes scanned for any movement. So far, his uninvited guest wasn’t making his whereabouts known.
He peeked as far down the hall as he could without giving up the relative shelter of the wall, before stepping carefully around it. It wasn’t until he was fully in the hall, his back turned away from the living room, that the attack came.
Edward lunged out of the coat closet by the front door, his speed and silence outmatching the old man. Before Cyrus had a chance to fully swivel around to face the danger, Edward’s clawed hands had the gun and stake knocked away, and Cyrus was pinned hopelessly against the wall. His eyes bugged as he took in the creature before him.
Edward was neither fully human, nor fully in his wolf form. He was standing, on his own two feet, his exposed skin covered in a thick coat of brown fur. His face, elongated from his partial transformation, had a hideously mutant quality to it. His brown eyes were now a watery yellow, and the most chilling grin claimed the werewolf’s face. The combination of human and razor sharp canine teeth made Cyrus’ blood freeze.
“Mr. Tanner, I presume,” Edward rasped, his voice caught on a deep-throated growl. When Cyrus didn’t answer, the hand around his throat squeezed tighter.
“What if I am?” Cy managed around the slow crushing of his larynx.
“Where’s Brie?” The werewolf leaned forward, practically pressing his nose against his captives’.
Cyrus’ stomach turned from the foul breath clogging his airwaves, but he merely stared at the creature, refusing to let an ounce of fear show. “Don’t know a Brie,” he lied.
Edward’s grin became even more chilling, balancing on the side of insane. “Was hoping you’d say that.”