She stuck her tongue out. “Yuck. That’s the grossest thing I’ve ever heard. For sure you’re dead now.”
She tugged one last time, and the wood came free.
“Get off me, you bloodsucking morons!” Quade bellowed. “I’ll rip your hearts out for this! Grab the girl!”
Just as she caught movement out of the corner of her eye and noticed the undead herd turning back in her direction, Malveaux’s body vanished, and a silvery mist floated out of the room. I’ll find you, she heard.
A scream that gave new meaning to the word “rage” sliced the air. The Master wasn’t happy.
The spear was wrenched from her hand, and one of Quade’s lackeys lifted her off her feet once again. “I’ve got her, Master. Should I kill her?”
Quade snarled. “No, you fool. That will be my pleasure when the time is right. You should be concerned about your own neck.” Quade leaned close, locked eyes with Tempest, and everything went dark.
* * * * *
As abruptly as it had been pulled from under Tempest’s metaphorical feet, the consciousness rug returned. Maybe it was because of the blood-curdling ululations slamming her ears from all directions. Or perhaps it was because Quade was in the process of cuffing her limbs to a wooden “X” fastened to the wall of a bona fide torture chamber. She was still naked. And cold.
The room was dim, the only illumination flickering from a single, weak light bulb swinging at the end of its electrical cord. She blinked to clear her vision and also because she couldn’t believe her eyes.
Jesus. What the hell?
The floor was lined with bloody bodies. Wailing, crying, howling, staked bodies. It took a moment to focus before she recognized the vampires who’d fallen under the spell of Malveaux’s suggestion to attack Quade. That explained the smell in the room.
Holy shit. If that was the punishment he gave to his own team, she didn’t want to think about her likely fate.
Quade finished securing her to the wood and stood, smiling.
“How do you like my vampire exhibit, little human? I’ve pinned them like insects. They needed to be punished for turning against me. It doesn’t matter why they acted as they did. In the future, I suspect they’ll fight the compulsion more thoroughly. They won’t get another chance to fuck up.”
He turned to his screeching minions and chuckled. “Ah, music to my ears. Pain adds so many interesting layers to the vocal repertoire, don’t you agree? Young vampires are so tender.” He returned his icy gaze to Tempest and then slid his finger across her breasts. “There are so many ways to cause misery. I have a special one in mind for you. The only question is whether I indulge myself before your boyfriend makes his futile attempt to retrieve you, or do I wait until the matter is disposed of?”
He sighed, caught her nipple between his thumb and first finger and twisted hard.
The pain caused her to gasp and her eyes to water. She shifted her body back and forth in the few inches allowed by the restraints and tried to lower her shoulder to knock his hand away. No luck. It felt like he’d grabbed her nipple with pliers.
When her knees bailed and she sagged from the pain, he let go.
She heard a low growl and then he grabbed her, his teeth penetrating her neck. He sucked hard on the vein, his erection pressed against her stomach. After satisfying one of his needs, he lifted his head. “I’ve decided to pollute Malveaux’s supply, to take away his prize.” He tore open the front of his shirt, traced a line on his white flesh with his fingernail, and cut the skin over his heart. Trails of blood raced down his stomach. He caught her eyes, fisted a hand in her hair, and whispered, “Drink, little human, and become mine.”
It didn’t matter that she tried not to taste his blood or that she was screaming inside. He’d done some vampire shit to her, and she couldn’t stop herself. She sucked the blood from his skin, constantly fighting to turn her head. “Don’t fuck with me, gorgeous, or at least not yet.” He forced her face into his chest, and she swallowed the warm blood flowing from the wound.
He released her. “That’s better. You’re on your way now. Welcome aboard. I guess I should’ve waited until my guest of honor arrived, but I couldn’t resist giving you a taste of your future. You can just hang for a while, as the humans say, and I’ll go torture my devoted followers.” He laughed as he strutted toward the suffering vampires. The demonic cacophony surged as he approached them.
Her nipple radiated pain. Her neck hurt, but it took second place in the misery contest. Even though the room was cold, her body had broken out in sweat. Her breast was already starting to bruise. She’d never experienced anything that agonizing in her life. Not even the time on stage when she’d had too many beers, tried to jump on top of her stack of amplifiers, and landed on some people on the dance floor, dislocating her back. She’d thought that was the worst that could happen.
Dream on. Welcome to vampire hell.
Hanging limp from the shackles which held her wrists, she became aware of the straining muscles in her arms and shoulders. She licked her dry lips and forced her knees to hold her weight.
She wondered what time it was. Didn’t these foul, undead denizens of the night need to hunker down in their coffins -- or crawl back into a nightmare -- before the sun came up? Was Quade going to leave her tethered to the wall all day? Or would he just kill her and get it over with? Her sick sense of humor emerged long enough for her to compare the benefits of death versus pissing on herself.
Quade crept between the vampire bodies, bending to lick blood from each stake-filled wound.
As she became mesmerized by watching the disgusting spectacle on the floor, she relaxed her arms. She felt the slack in her shackles a couple of heartbeats before she recognized what it meant. Obviously, the cuffs were made for someone with larger bones.
Excited, she concentrated on one wrist, twisting it as she gently pulled. Being sweaty helped, but she was only able to gain a couple of inches before the cuff caught on the widest part of her hand. Darting glances toward the suck-fest to make sure Quade was still otherwise occupied, she tried again with the same result.
Frustrated, she shut her eyes. She hated not being in control. Hated being at anyone’s mercy. She refused to cave, but what the hell could she do? She wished she could morph into fog as Malveaux had.
A flash of memory tapped her on the shoulder. The lack of sleep must have fried her brain cells, because she couldn’t believe she’d forgotten her lesson in mind over matter. Her martial arts instructor had invited a “mentalist” to their class to introduce the idea that the outer world was an illusion -- energy -- that could be manipulated by the mind. The guy had stuck himself with needles, knives, even swords without spilling a drop of blood. He’d done a Houdini and gotten himself out of a straight jacket in less time than she would have spent taking off her dad’s jacket.
Damn. Her dad’s jacket. She’d figure out a way to get that back, no matter what.
The straight-jacket guy said it was a matter of stilling the mind -- going into a trance -- and imagining the desired outcome. He said he sometimes “saw” his limbs boneless, so they could do “impossible” things.
She knew there was truth to the mind thing because she often went into a light trance while playing her guitar and was able to do things with the strings that fingers weren’t supposed to be able to do. She seemed to have a knack for the mind power stuff. Not to mention all the sexual positions she’d contorted her body into.
Sneaking a peek at Quade to reassure herself that he wasn’t watching her, she relaxed her body. Closing her eyes again, she took some deep breaths, as the mentalist guy had suggested. It was easy for her to use her potent imagination to dissolve the bones in her right wrist and hand. She envisioned her hand sliding easily and silently out of the cuff.
She pulled her arm slowly and “saw” the hand ease through the shackle. Opening an eyelid to check, she was overjoyed to find that the hand actually was free of the cuff. As much as she hated to do it,
she needed to push her hand back through the grip. If Quade saw what she’d been able to do with his equipment, he’d probably think of something worse for her. The throbbing of her nipple reminded her of what he was capable.
She imagined the process in reverse and slid her hand back into captivity.
Okay. It worked. She’d need to test out the ankle cuffs. Tempest hoped those restraints had also been created to hold bigger people, but feet were larger than hands. Luckily, she had long, skinny ones.
Shit. If she could force her feet into all the stiletto-heeled shoes she wore, she could find a way out of this medieval sex toy.
Quade was still lost in his blood orgy, so she closed her eyes again and focused on imagining her foot free of the cold circle. She tugged, and her foot snagged at the heel. Taking more deep breaths, she relaxed, remembering a time on stage when she’d been entranced by the music. Imagining her foot flaccid like a noodle, she pulled again, and this time her foot slid free.
She was startled by the sound of Quade’s voice close. Without mental preparation, she jammed her foot back into the cuff. It hurt like hell. She held her breath until the wave of pain subsided.
He ambled into her personal space and enveloped her in blood breath, appearing somewhat dazed. His pale eyeballs looked weirder than usual. Did drinking blood make him high? “I hope you’re suitably uncomfortable. It shouldn’t be much longer now. The loser formerly known as The Assassin should be plotting your rescue as we speak. I need to go up to the penthouse to take care of some business, but I’ll be back to roll out the red carpet before you even miss me. Red carpet, get it? Blood?” He doubled over laughing, then straightened and vanished. Tempest watched a cloud of fog seep through a crack in the ceiling.
She frowned. That was too convenient. Was it a trap? Did Quade somehow know that she’d been able to slip out of his restraints? Or was he that over-confident? Did she really have any choice?
Breathing deeply, she envisioned herself on stage, blissfully playing her guitar. Recognizing the familiar trance state, she focused her imagination on one limb at a time. Her hands came out easily and, after a couple of tries, her feet followed.
She almost fell on her face before she remembered to stop imagining her feet as noodles.
The staked vampires were all still whimpering and moaning, unable to rise. She probably only had a couple of minutes to find a way out of Quade’s insane asylum. Running across the room to the only set of stairs, she scrambled up and turned the knob on the door. Locked! She pulled on the handle, hoping it might just be stuck, but it didn’t budge. Turning, she scanned the area for any other escape route and saw nothing. She’d just swiveled and grabbed the door knob again when the door opened and she was pushed back, almost stumbling down the stairs.
A smiling head appeared.
“It took you long enough,” Malveaux said.
Chapter Twelve
Malveaux’s hand darted out to catch Tempest as she teetered on the stairs. The shocked expression on her face -- not to mention her sensuously displayed, magnificently naked body -- prompted a wide smile to curve his lips and triggered a twitch in his ever-ready cock.
She yanked her arm out of his grip. “Let go of me, fuckwad! What are you smiling about?”
He was irrationally happy to see the gorgeous musician. Much more jazzed than he had any business being. Her thoughts and emotions were transparent; she’d been worried about him and was relieved he’d returned.
Tempest stared at him for a few seconds, her eyes narrowing as anger clouded her features.
“Were you just waiting out there, pretty boy? Letting me be pawed, sucked on, and tortured for your amusement? Did you get your rocks off? ”
He lowered the wattage on his smile and shook his head. “Actually, I just arrived. I had to go fetch the Jag and grab a quick snack to speed the healing.” He stroked his hand over the perfect wound-free chest visible through his unbuttoned shirt. “I also had to prepare our resting place for the day. We’d better get moving.” He paused mid-sentence, listening. “Ah, yes. Our host will return shortly. I’d love to rip his heart out now, but there are only a couple hours of darkness left, and I have other plans. His true death can wait one more night. Come.”
“Hey! Put me down! I’m capable of getting myself out of here!” Tempest shouted when he scooped her up into his arms.
Walking briskly up another set of stairs and out the back door, Malveaux chuckled as he tightened his grip on her struggling form. Her resistance was half-hearted, but he understood the wild vixen well enough by then to know she’d always go down fighting.
“Yes, yes. I know. Feminism and all that, but regardless of gender, you’re human, which is like comparing a Model-T to a rocket. I am, of course, the rocket.”
As if to prove his point, he propelled them down a snow-filled alley so fast his feet barely touched the ground.
“It’s fucking freezing out here. I’m tired of having my naked ass hanging out for all the world to see. I notice you have clothes on. Where are…”
Malveaux opened the door and unceremoniously deposited her into the Jag. The rest of her words melted as she sank into the warmth blasting from the heater.
“Ahhhhhh,” Tempest moaned.
He took the driver’s seat. “See? What would you do without me?” he teased.
She shifted her gaze, studying him. “I look forward to finding out.”
He turned his head and smiled. “I don’t believe you. You forget that I’m the all-knowing mind reader.”
She snorted. “Up yours, fang. And what kind of idiot leaves a fancy car running in an alley in the inner city? Were you just begging for it to be stolen?”
“Nobody can steal my car. Another one of my undead abilities is rather like spell-casting, but much more primitive. I can simply surround the car with an aura of dread, the same kind of creepy feeling humans experience when walking through a graveyard at night. It’s an excellent repellant. Oh, I almost forgot.” He reached into the back seat, grabbed something, and thrust it into Tempest’s lap. “Here. I’m sure you were missing this.”
She held up her father’s jacket, slipped it on and then zipped it up. Snuggling into the worn-out garment, she mumbled, “Thank you.”
“It was the least I could do.”
“You got that right,” she snarled. “You obviously went back to the church. Is that where we’re going now?”
“No. We have to improvise. Any port in a storm, as they say. I collected everything useable from the church. We can get more supplies tomorrow. It’s a good thing the nights are so long this time of year. I did make one stop for your benefit, though.”
He reached into the back seat again and pulled out a bag containing a couple of sweat pants, several sweatshirts, some socks, and a pair of running shoes.
She poked through the stash on her lap, recognizing the name of the discount store on the labels. “You shopped?”
“Let’s just say I procured. They’re probably not the perfect size for you, but at least they’ll keep you warm.”
“That’s great. Thanks. I don’t suppose you cruised any junk food places as well? My stomach is growling like a pissed-off lion.” She scrambled into her new clothes as she talked.
He turned toward her, frowning. “Food? Food! I have to admit I didn’t even give it a thought. It’s been so very long since I ate anything…solid. Let’s find a place now. There should be something open twenty-four hours, right?”
They drove in silence for a few minutes, until Tempest erupted into sound and motion as she pointed to a familiar drive-through burger place. “Yes! Pull in, pull in! Burgers from heaven, come to me! I could eat a frickin’ vampire!”
Malveaux smiled at her antics and jumped through the necessary hoops to collect the odoriferous food. He’d forgotten how unpleasant human food smelled. He would’ve preferred to sink his fangs into the neck of the pimply boy hanging out of the delivery window.
Tempest ordered a lot of food, and
she made fast work of ripping through the first paper to get to the prize. She wolfed down several big bites, moaning with pleasure, and then sat back, ecstatic. She’d just jammed a handful of French fries into her mouth when she gasped, expelled the fries, and groaned. “Stop! Stop the car! I’m gonna hurl!”
“Hurl? What’s hurl?” But the gagging sounds provided a clear definition, and he pulled the car to the side of the road.
She opened her door, leaned out, and lost the contents of her stomach.
As she sat back in the seat, he could see sweat glistening on her face. Her heart pounded, her breathing shallow.
“Wow. What the fuck? I must’ve eaten too fast.”
“Have you ever done that before?” he asked. “Maybe after not eating for quite a while?”
“Nope. Never. I’ve got a cast-iron stomach. I’m sure I just tried to cram too much in too fast. I’ll take small bites and try again. You can pull back onto the road. I know you need to claw your way into the earth before the sun comes up. I’m fine.”
He frowned at her again and then turned his gaze to the windshield, easing the car onto the snow-covered road.
Eating too fast wasn’t the issue. He was sure of it. He’d seen this behavior too many times before to miss the significance. She sat still, her eyes closed, the burger forgotten in her lap. He tuned into her thoughts, picking up confusion and a hint of fear. The fear intrigued him, so he slipped into her mind, replaying the events that occurred during their separation. There it was. Quade had forced her to drink his blood. Malveaux had a strangle-hold on the steering wheel, his white fingers turning blue from his anger. The cretin was going to pay for taking what belonged to Malveaux.
How did everything get so fucked up? All he had to do was transform Tempest when he had the opportunity, and now -- even if he performed the ritual -- she could die. Mixing such strong vampire blood put the situation into unknown territory. The thought of ripping the asshole’s heart out only spiked his rage. He raised his hand, made a fist, and punched it into the door panel, cracking the authentic oak detailing.
Undead in the City Page 11