The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Text copyright © 2012 Susannah Sandlin
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Montlake Romance
P.O. Box 400818
Las Vegas, NV 89140
ISBN-13: 9781612183589
ISBN-10: 1612183581
Dedication
To Lestat. You were my first.
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PROLOGUE
Business was hopping at the Circle K convenience mart in Roswell, Georgia, a few generic suburbs north of Atlanta. Matthias Ludlam slammed the door of his rental sedan and crossed the parking lot while his driver filled the tank. The pain of a headache pulsed in his temples, his muscles craved a good feeding, and anger roiled in his gut. The damp February weather didn’t help his mood.
He took his place in the checkout line behind a drunk human counting out change to pay for a six-pack of Budweiser. Hopeful, Matthias stepped closer to the young man in the dirty gray hoodie, inhaling deeply to filter out the scents of fast food, cigarette smoke, and pine cleaner from the store’s floor. Underneath it, like a living current, flowed the boy’s lifeblood.
A human who’d gotten the vaccine, damn it. The boy was worthless. Three years ago, a viral pandemic had led to the development of an effective vaccine—effective for the humans, at least. But the vaccine had altered human blood chemistry just enough to render it poisonous to vampires. Now the question was, would the vampire world starve to death after using up the remaining unvaccinated people, or would it erupt in civil war as different factions jockeyed for power?
All Matthias knew now was that he needed to feed, and this kid couldn’t help him. It showed how his standards had slipped that he’d even consider feeding from a dirty teenager. But he was tired of hunger sapping his energy, sick of having to share his unvaccinated human familiars, and annoyed at having to constantly ration the amount of blood he took lest his feeders get used up too quickly.
While the kid continued to fumble in his pockets, Matthias checked his cell phone log, flicking impatiently between screens. He found two missed calls and a text from another member of the Vampire Tribunal, which would have to wait until he had more time to focus on them, and two texts from his estate manager in Virginia, the second one flagged as urgent.
After Dirty Boy finished his purchase and stumbled out of the store, Matthias returned his phone to the inside pocket of his suit jacket and stepped up to the counter. He inhaled on instinct, and his slow-beating vampire heart sped up at the scent of the unvaccinated female tending the cash register. Maybe he’d have an opportunity to feed before returning home, after all. Perhaps even more than a simple feed—the girl had some physical appeal. A bit curvy for his taste and a little too ethnic, with her light-bronze skin and black hair, but oh, that pure blood would be sublime.
“Do you have any small cigars?” Matthias gave her his friendliest smile, careful to keep his fangs hidden.
“Ummm. Let me see—can’t believe nobody’s asked that before. Camels, you know. Everybody buys Marlboros and Camels.” She stepped back and scanned the overhead rack of tobacco products, her thick, shiny hair swinging above her shoulders. She was quite lovely, once you got past the cheap red cable-knit sweater and blue jeans. Her features, from the richness of her hair to her bright, clear eyes, so dark they were almost ebony, spoke to a Native American background.
But those clothes. Modern women had no clue how to dress properly.
“Aha, here we go.” She stood on tiptoe, reached overhead, and pulled down a small box. “Swishers. We only have the one kind. Is that OK?”
“Perfect.” Matthias smiled at her again, pulling out his wallet. He handed her a five and brushed her hand with his finger-tips, merely a little flirtation to gauge how she responded. Her touch sent an unexpected ripple of energy up his arm, and he narrowed his eyes, studying her more closely.
What are you, girl? He hadn’t felt that kind of energy often, and certainly not in recent years. Cheap clothes or not, this girl was no ordinary human. Possibly a psychic or even a witch. Whatever she turned out to be, rare magical abilities were far too valuable to be wasted on a convenience store clerk in an Atlanta suburb. His dinner entrée grew more interesting by the moment.
“Would you like your cigars in a bag?” She handed his change to him.
“No, I’ll put them in my jacket pocket.” He wanted to touch her again and felt the same tingle from her fingertips when she laid the coins and the small cigar box in his palm. He wrapped his fingers around hers before she could pull away, and her gaze rose to meet his. She was curious, a bit confused, but not fearful—not yet, anyway. Nothing alarming about a dark-suited, middle-aged man across the counter buying a harmless little box of cigars.
He knew the second he’d captured her mind. “What’s your name, girl?”
“Glory.” Her voice was fat, monotone. Enthralled. “Glori-ana Cummings.”
“What time do you leave work, Gloriana?”
“At eleven.”
Matthias checked his watch. Excellent. Fifteen minutes. “When you leave, you will come to the black sedan parked at the edge of the lot, and you will get in the backseat. You will not stop to talk to anyone. Do you understand?”
Her brow furrowed, but she gave the right answer. “Yes, I understand.”
“Good girl.” Matthias released her hand and her mind, and she shook her head as if to clear the mental aftereffects. “I’ll meet you again shortly, Gloriana.”
“Uh, sure thing. Have a good evening.” She was still rubbing her temples when Matthias left the store.
Matthias found his driver leaning against the car, fiddling with a cell phone. “Move the car to the edge of the lot—a guest will be joining me in a few minutes. Afterward, call Delta and reserve an extra seat on my fight to New York for a young woman named Gloriana Cummings.”
When unpleasant business had forced Matthias on this first-ever trip to Atlanta, he’d gotten the driver on loan from a colleague who owed him a favor. He found the city lacking in charm, overcrowded with traffic, and crammed full of modern skyscrapers without a hint of personality.
If the girl’s abilities—whatever they might be—were strong enough to be revealed by a simple touch, he’d find a way to use her. She might
even provide a solution to the problem of Penton, Alabama, where that sanctimonious Irish farmer Aidan Murphy had assembled a virtual army of vampires. They’d taken over the small town, living there with their unvaccinated, bonded humans while the rest of the vampire world scratched and starved.
Murphy had built up too much power and had too many vampires who pledged loyalty to him with a blood bond. He could overthrow the authority of the Vampire Tribunal once he’d finally had enough of hiding out in his rural backwater. Matthias had no doubt he would tire of the rural life eventually. It was no place for a master vampire.
The Penton community was a slap in the face to the struggles being encountered by their fellow vampires in the cities and a condemnation of the way the Vampire Tribunal had handled the situation. Not to mention his ingrate son, William, had thrown in his lot with Murphy.
He thought he’d found the solution, sending in Aidan Murphy’s brother to kill him and break up his town. Today, though, he’d gotten confirmation that Aidan’s would-be assassin was dead, along with a small scathe of vampire companions mostly bought and paid for by Matthias. Now, he had cleanup to do, making sure no one would ever link him to the fiasco.
This girl might help in some way. Until Murphy broke vampire law, Matthias couldn’t convince the Tribunal to take official action against him. But witches and psychics always proved themselves useful. If he could coerce her into it, maybe she could infiltrate the scathe, break it up from within if her powers were strong enough, or at least feed him information.
First, he might as well put out a couple of fres. Matthias slid the panel closed between the front and back seats and called his Virginia estate manager.
Shelton answered immediately. “Thank God, Matthias. I’ve been trying to reach you for hours. You’re not going to believe what I’ve had locked up in your basement since last night.”
“Spit it out.” If Shelton hadn’t been good at running Matthias’s property and holdings in the DC area, he’d have staked the man decades ago for being a drama queen.
“The Slayer.” Shelton’s voice dropped to a whisper. “We’ve got him. Caught him at one of those properties we’ve had under surveillance.”
Matthias straightened in his seat and double-checked to ensure the soundproofing panel had been fully closed. “What do you mean, you have the Slayer? Mirren Kincaid is there?” Kincaid—once the most ruthless of the Tribunal’s executioners—had disappeared for a century, then resurfaced as Aidan Murphy’s second-in-command in Penton. Matthias either wanted him dead or, preferably, on his payroll. In fact, he wanted Kincaid under his thumb almost as much as he wanted his son William back under his roof. No reason he couldn’t have both.
“Kincaid checked into a daysleep space in North Carolina yesterday—one of those places owned by Aidan Murphy that you’d told us to watch. Soon as dusk fell, I sent in a half-dozen men to take him.” Shelton sounded proud of himself. “Took all six of them to bring him down. We’ve got him wrapped in silver in the basement. He’s bellowing like a bull—glad there are no close neighbors.”
Matthias chuckled. After a miserable start, this was turning into a very, very good evening. “Keep Kincaid locked tight—no contact with anyone until I get there. Not even you. I’m on my way.”
“You don’t want us to give him a feeder?”
“We barely have enough for ourselves. Let him go hungry. He’s not used to suffering like the rest of us. Might make him more cooperative.” Since the pandemic vaccine had ruined so much of the food supply, most vampires were half starved. A thriving black market for unvaccinated humans had even sprung up, something Matthias planned to explore once he took care of the Penton problem. Aidan Murphy and his little town full of well-fed vampires and bonded humans had their own built-in banquet. It would do Mirren Kincaid good to experience how the rest of his kind had to live.
Matthias barked a few more instructions, ended the call, leaned forward, and slid open the panel. “Change of plans,” he told the driver. “Find out if there’s a red-eye to DC. For two.”
A jacked-up car, pounding out music loud enough to jar Matthias’s teeth through the closed windows, pulled into the opposite side of the Circle K lot. A young man exited and went inside. Less than a minute later, Glory Cummings came out, wearing a jacket too light for the frigid cold and carrying a shoulder bag.
The girl paused beside an old Volkswagen Beetle, the harsh light from the parking lot glinting off her dark hair in shades of blue. Spotting the sedan, she walked slowly toward it, the keys to the VW dangling in her right hand. Matthias opened his door, got out, and motioned her inside.
Silently, she slid onto the leather seat and moved to the far side to make room for him. He followed her in and slammed the door. “Take us to the airport,” he told the driver before sliding the soundproofing panel closed again.
“The airport?” The girl’s eyes widened, two fathomless pools in the dim interior of the car. An awareness seemed to bleed back into them. “Wait. Who are…what…?”
Matthias grasped her arm with one hand, smiling at the tingle of her strange energy, and used his other hand to force her face close to his. “First, my little Gloriana, you’re going to feed me. Afterward, we’re going to discover what your powers amount to and if I can use them to take down Aidan Murphy and Penton. At the very least, I can dangle you as bait for a big, soon-to-be-hungry executioner who needs to remember what he’s good at.”
CHAPTER 1
The persistent drip of a leaky pipe in the corner of the basement, the wet slap of water on concrete, footsteps treading overhead but never approaching the stairs—these sounds had become Mirren Kincaid’s constant companions. The leaky pipe ground on his last nerve. Final thing he heard before going into his daysleep. First thing he heard when he woke at sunset. Drip-drip-fucking-drip.
Hours bled into days and nights. He thought thirty day-sleeps had passed since he’d been taken, but he wasn’t sure. Could be forty. He hadn’t seen anyone since he’d been grabbed, had heard nothing different. Hadn’t fed. The dripping made his dry throat ache worse, tightened the muscles that were growing weak and stiff, and sucked the energy from him more with every wet splash.Obviously, living in Penton with Aidan’s scathe had turned him into a marshmallow. There’d been a time when no one could have gotten close enough to grab him or even would’ve had the balls to try. When Aidan’s brother had attacked Penton, one of Mirren’s fams had been killed. His friend Tim deserved better than what life handed him, so taking Tim’s wife back to North Carolina seemed like the right thing to do. He owed them that much.
Emotions equaled distraction—that was one of his cardinal rules. He lost sight of it, and now here he was, wherever that might be. Served him right.
Question was, why? Who’d spotted him? Why bother taking him, only to abandon him? Made no freaking sense unless it was political. Which meant one of those bastards on the Tribunal had to be involved. Or more than one.
Mirren forced himself to his feet, starting his regular rounds of pacing. What felt like rope binding his wrists behind his back held his physical strength to human levels and burned his skin, so it had to be silver laced. The bars of the cell were also silver coated, which kept him from being able to crash through them. But he didn’t want his leg muscles to grow any weaker than the hunger had already made them. Ten paces to the back wall, ten across the width of the cell, ten back, over and over, fifty reps at a time.
A bench in the corner served as combination bed and makeshift weight machine. Lying on the cement, as cold and damp as the earth beneath it, Mirren slid his bent legs under the bench and lifted it a few inches off the floor, then lowered it. His body weight felt like an anvil pressing on his bound arms beneath him, but nothing he could do about that. He lifted the bench again. Then again.
The more he thought about it—and what the hell else did he have to do?—the more convinced he became that the Tribunal had to be behind this whole sorry mess. Or at least one of the Tribunal members,
and he had a couple of candidates.
That son of a bitch Lorenzo Caias had been overly interested in Penton when he visited last month, but Aidan had been too loyal to see it. He and Renz went way back, and Aidan always wanted to think the best of people. It made him a good leader, but it also made him vulnerable.
And Matthias Ludlam wanted his son Will back in his camp—any guy who’d turn his own son vampire just to ensure himself of an immortal funky had no conscience.
Those two were both Tribunal, both serious players. And Aidan was smarter and commanded more loyalty than all the so-called vampire leaders put together. Which made Penton a threat.
Mirren stilled at the sound of voices. Male, growing closer. He rolled to his feet and slumped on the bench, back against the wall. A key tumbled in a lock. Heavy footballs sounded on the wooden staircase his captors had thrown him down what seemed like a lifetime ago.
Mirren closed his eyes halfway, feigning indifference but with every muscle alert.
He’d been right. That SOB Matthias Ludlam descended the stairs, followed by his longtime puppet, Shelton. Matthias had gone from slim to thin. Mirren hadn’t seen him since he’d faked his own death and walked away from his work as the Slayer, the Tribunal’s own mercenary, more than a century ago. The man still flaunted his wealth, though, from the expensive suit to the shiny black shoes to the stylish cut of his salt-and-pepper hair. His brown eyes twinkled with good humor, and Mirren would like nothing better than to rip his eyeballs from their sockets or separate his well-coiffed head from his coat-hanger shoulders. That would wipe the arrogant smirk off his face.
“Mirren Kincaid. Ever the tough guy, and above the fray even now.” Matthias came to a stop just outside the bars. “A little hungry, I imagine? Hungry enough to talk some business?”
Mirren barreled toward the bars, slamming his left shoulder against the metal so fast that Matthias took three involuntary jogs backward and knocked Shelton off balance. The silver bars stung Mirren’s skin through his sweater, but the feeting whisper of panic that crossed Matthias’s face was worth it.
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