Prince of Shadows

by Tes Hilaire

  It didn’t take him long to pick up the bits and pieces of the story he’d been missing. Annie had somehow disappeared, a ransom note delivered: Gabby for Annie. For a moment he saw red, his anger flaring and burning as it found a new source: Fucking selfish brat, if it hadn’t been for her…

  He took a deep breath, focusing on the conversation again. Jacob, besides sending scouts out and a smattering of patrols to defend the area, had also sent out the command to prep everyone—new recruits included—for war. Bennett was arguing the wastefulness of such actions, demanding instead that they contact the Paladin council and ask for their aid.

  “We can’t involve the council,” Valin said in a voice that sounded far calmer than he felt.

  Bennett spun toward the door, fixing him with a lethal glare. “Why the bloody hell not? They may be our only chance of getting Annie out of there alive…wherever there is.” He mumbled the last under his breath.

  “There is somewhere on the north edge of the city.” He pushed off the doorframe and walked over to the table the men had been facing off over, glancing down at the smattering of tack-heads on the map. The greatest concentration was near Prospect Park. “You’re not even in the ballpark if you’re concentrating your efforts there.”

  “That’s where the note called for the exchange.”

  He would have rolled his eyes if he could have mustered the effort, but he just fucking didn’t feel like it. “Yeah, and I’m sure that’s where they’re holding Annie.”

  “Why do you think she’s being held at the northern end?” Bennett asked.

  “Because that’s the approximate location of where Gabby was when I lost…” His breath hitched, unable to go on against the remembered despair of that moment when Gabby’s essence had been cut from his senses.

  Bennett’s eyes widened. He reached out, clasping Valin’s shoulder in silent support. “Valin…I’m s—”

  “She’s alive,” he growled, cutting the Paladin off before he could say the irreversible word. “I lost connection with her, that’s all. There are a million reasons why that might have happened.” And only one very probable one that would mean the end of his world.

  She’s alive. She has to be alive.

  Bennett nodded, dropping his hand. “If you think she’s been taken too, then the direness of the situation is even worse than I believed.”

  Valin knew what he was getting at and didn’t give a shit. “And bringing the council into this will make that worse, not better.”

  Bennett’s mouth thinned, the muscle along the length of his jaw twitching as he ground his molars to bite back the words he obviously wanted to say.

  Not. Dead. Because if she was his world was on a free fall to destruction and there was a good chance he just might take the rest of humanity with him.

  Jacob tapped the table, nodding his head curtly as if they’d made a decision. “I need to finish gathering my soldiers and we need to leave. Now. Too many hours have passed since Annie was first missing.”

  Valin shook his head. On this he and Bennett saw eye to eye. “No offense, but we need more of a strategy than running off in a vaguely northerly direction and hoping not to be ambushed when we draw near.”

  “And I suppose you have a plan?” the man asked in a deadly low voice.

  “Does anyone have a phone on them?” Valin asked the room in general.

  Jacob blinked, but crossed the room, grabbing up a cell from his desk at the back.

  “Who do you plan to call?” Bennett asked, his eyes narrowed speculatively.

  “The one Paladin I can trust to care about saving Annie and Gabby.”

  Bennett tipped his head to the side. “You think maybe Alexander?”

  With how closely Senior was probably keeping the aider and abettor? Valin shook his head, twisting his mouth up in a semblance of a smile. “Nope. I’m going to call Gabby’s father.”

  ***

  The phone slipped from Roland’s loose grip, the beep signaling that the call had been ended sounding on its fall to the wool rug. He couldn’t move, couldn’t think; the shocks were hitting him too fast.

  Roland had hardly had time to come to grips with the thought that Gabby was in fact okay, then further had the shock that he was her dad laid at his feet. After the events of his turning he’d been too angry to accept, too self-centered in his own misery to connect the dots and come to the same conclusion himself, but now, with the slick sweat of fear coating him, the crunching sensation in his chest, he knew without a doubt that what Valin had suggested was true: Gabriella was his daughter. And if she had been taken by their enemies, there was a damn good chance he’d never get to tell her how glad he was.

  He looked up at the sound of the bedroom door creaking open. Karissa shuffled down the hall, yawning even as her eyes locked on him with concern. “Roland? What’s wrong?”

  He cleared his throat, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  She’d come in late last night after spending almost forty-eight hours straight at her brother’s side. Roland had been itching to talk to her about Valin’s visit the day before, but one look at the circles under her eyes had him sending her to bed instead. After all, he’d gone almost ninety-four years without even knowing he had a daughter; what was another few hours before sharing the shocking news with his mate?

  Too long. You waited too fucking long.

  “Roland?” Karissa crossed to him, her brow knotted with worry as she slid her arms around his waist and looked up at him expectantly. “Why are you blocking me? Correction, why have you been blocking the bond?”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t even realize…” He took a deep breath, trying to release some of his tension in the comfort of her embrace, simultaneously letting go of the walls he’d built around his turbulent thoughts. He couldn’t project, but Karissa could read him anyway, merely one of the miracles of being her bond mate.

  “Valin found Gabby,” he told her to clarify the most pertinent of what must have been an avalanche of turbulent thoughts.

  Her eyes widened, relief spreading across her features before her brow furrowed again, marring her face with confusion. “But this is good. Why are you so upset?”

  “Do you remember how I was turned? How I said there was a woman? A succubus.”

  She nodded, pulling her bottom lip through her teeth as he watched her mind tumble toward the obvious conclusion. “Roland, does that mean…”

  “There’s a chance, a good one, that Gabby might be mine.”

  “Oh Roland…That’s wonderful.” A smile spread across her lovely face, her grip tightening around him in a hug. “You didn’t think I’d be mad, did you? You know I would love someone to talk girl-talk with.”

  “You unman me.” He closed his eyes, his love for her, for her acceptance, overwhelming him. He knew what this cost her. Knew that she wanted children of her own, but given what she was, what he’d made her, she’d never have them. He felt so deficient in the fact that he couldn’t provide her heart’s desire, had half-feared she would feel awkward that he had a child by another, so her obvious happiness, the bright love for his child that streamed across their bond, was almost enough to have him crying tears of joy. Except for one thing.

  “Roland?” she asked again, her happiness dimming as his misery fed back across their link. She stepped back, searching out his face for an answer.

  “She’s missing. Valin thinks she might have tried to trade herself for the null that broke into Haven.”

  Her hand lifted to her mouth, his fear, her terror eating up the air in the room. “Oh no…” A second later she was pushing away that fear, her shoulders straightening as her face set with determination. “Do we have a plan yet for getting her back?”

  And that’s why he loved this woman. Fear, hopeless odds, neither ever stopped her when it came to fighting for someone she loved.

  “Not yet, but we will,” he said, taking her hand.

  ***

  Christos sto
pped inside the dimly lit room, waiting for his eyes to adjust. It had taken him longer than he thought it might to subdue his prodigal daughter enough to leave her unattended, and he worried that his men might have become…creative…in their torture of the null without him there to provide instruction. He was a bit surprised to find only two bodies in the room. One the unconscious form of the null stretched out on the bed, the other his chief surgeon who was currently tying off his last suture.

  “Where is Stephan?” Christos asked, having detected his heavy residual scent in the room.

  Cyrus shrugged, setting the thread and needle on the steel tray on the nightstand as he stood to face his master and king. “I don’t know. He got frustrated and left.”

  “Frustrated?”

  Cyrus jerked his head toward the bed. “She doesn’t respond to a thrall.”

  “Ah….” And Stephan was such an egotistical bastard that he probably took that as a failure. “And you? What do you think of her gift’s resistance?”

  “Me?” Cyrus lifted his brow, his mouth curving up into a smile. “I consider her a welcome challenge.”

  Christos grunted, moving over to the bed to study Cyrus’s work so far. The ravaged neck that Cyrus had just finished stitching would have been Stephan, and he made a mental note to speak to his second about risking the commodity’s life. The rest? Well, he had to admit that Cyrus had a skill for the type of pain that wouldn’t actually kill, but would make the recipient wish he would. Results had proved Cyrus’s method highly effective in breaking the spirit, but also time-consuming.

  “You might not have as much time as you normally do,” he warned. The moment Ganelon got wind that Christos had captured the null, he could be assured that the bastard would be breaking down his door. And no way was he going to hand her over—or his other ace in the hole for that matter—without making sure that no matter where they were, they’d answer to him first.

  “Hmmm. That does make things more difficult.” Cyrus looked at him with glowing red eyes. “How far did you want me to take this, my king?”

  “However far you need in order to make her break. Just don’t kill her.” Christos’s gaze flicked up toward the ceiling and the present that waited for him on the top floor of the other wing. “And keep her in a state that she won’t interfere with my other project, of course.”

  “Of course,” Cyrus agreed, sweeping his arm in a wide arc as he tipped his torso toward the floor.

  Christos swept by the bowing vampire, his blood already churning with anticipation on how next to break his daughter. Oh yes, Gabriella was indeed proving to be the best welcome-back-to-the-living gift a minion of his Lord Lucifer could hope for.

  Chapter 19

  Gabby was back in the corner of her room, the one that she’d spent way too much time curled up in during her seventy-nine-year sojourn here. She hurt, her entire body groaning with the mammoth effort it took to breathe. But it was her spirit that was bleeding out.

  Christos was alive. And though the body may have changed, the evil core had not. From the moment she’d been turned at the age of fourteen until her escape four months ago, she’d fought and resisted, clinging to the remnants of her humanity, etching out the barest of an existence from beneath the whims of his will. She didn’t kid herself into thinking that she’d just been that strong. She’d survived then because he’d had other things to do…and because, she suspected, he found her amusing and enjoyed playing with her. She didn’t fool herself into thinking she’d be afforded such luxuries again.

  She was going to die here. Soon. Today even. Because the alternative was unthinkable.

  He means to break you, another her whispered from deep within her mind, the one born of blood and darkness, the one who’d taken her pain and molded it into an angry determination to never, ever yield.

  I know, she replied, her gut clenching at the visual aids offered from her own memories.

  We can’t let him.

  I won’t, she promised.

  A pause. He’ll go after those you’ve helped next.

  Warm tears coursed over the bridge of her nose, combined, then trickled across her temple toward the cold floor. No heat here. Not that vampires needed the warmth. No electricity either, though not because they wouldn’t have enjoyed such luxuries but because they relied so heavily on magic for their wards. To keep the unwanteds away…and to keep their prisoners within.

  Magic and electricity didn’t mix well. And this entire place pulsed with the first. Which meant that she had failed before she’d even had a chance to succeed.

  Annie was either dead, dying…or they were keeping her someplace else. Regardless, her coming here had played right into Christos’s plans.

  The door swung open. Even knowing it was useless, desperation made her lunge toward the opening. The predictable lash to her mind cracked like a whip on her fraying shreds of hope. She moaned. Her brain muddled with pain. Her limbs unresponsive as rough hands grabbed her under her armpits, dragging her up. It was as if her body wasn’t her own, and all she could do was watch as another tied her wrists and looped them over the hook that hung in lieu of the light fixture from the ceiling.

  Not Christos—the coward. After subduing her and stuffing her behind the magical bars of her current prison, he’d yet to come himself. Only the others. Her kin. Her torturers. Christos would use them to peel away every layer of resistance she possessed before coming himself.

  She closed her eyes, willing her mind to another place as the hands roamed her body. She hardly cringed as fangs pierced her skin, lapping, suckling, before moving on.

  It doesn’t matter. They can do what they want to your body, just protect your soul.

  She tried to laugh but choked on the sound. Soul? She still wasn’t sure she had one. But even if she did, mental vacations could not help her. She was living her nightmare. And no matter how she fought against the sweeping tide of horror, she knew it was only a matter of time until she succumbed to the onslaught and drowned.

  Think of Valin. Close the connection between your brain and body and think of how full your heart felt when he held you in his arms.

  She swallowed tears. Yes. Valin had held her. He’d made love to her again and again, his gaze burning as he made her unravel in his arms. Until the morning. When he left.

  <>

  She moaned, shaking her head against the sibilant whisper that threatened to sever her last lifeline.

  <>

  He made love to me. He kissed me. He…

  <>

  No…

  <>

  Don’t listen…Don’t listen…

  Fangs pierced her throat, their weight suffocating against her windpipe as her attacker pulled directly from the carotid. Her limbs went heavy, clammy sweat beading on her skin and chilling her. Her ears began to ring, her limbs shaking involuntarily.

  Holy crap. He’s going to drain me dry. Her brain screamed at her to struggle, though her limbs still refused to respond under the lock Christos had placed upon her. Draining me dry. Going to die.

  Valin…God, Valin!

  <> Her attacker pulled away, his tongue swiping across the tender wound to start the healing. How sweet.

  She opened her eyes to glare at the asshole that had made her realize how very unprepared she really was to die. Her eyes widened, her breath catching in her bruised throat as she stared at the man fondling her breast: Christos.

  She forced herself to swallow her horror. She’d survived before and would again.

  “So you finally decided to come face me yourself?” she asked, inserting every bit
of bravado she could muster into her voice. “A girl could almost feel loved.”

  “Ah, Gabby, how I’ve missed the sweet lash of your tongue.” He ducked down, his tongue darting out to cleanse a path of still-moist blood that dripped down between her breasts before moving on to lap at a still-oozing wound below her nipple.

  Hate boiled in her veins, her body shaking with the need to respond despite the bonds upon her will. Those bonds would fail, had to, because somehow, someway she would kill him. Sink her fangs in him and drain him dry. And with his blood she could kill every one of the fuckers who’d touched her.

  Careful. Remember what he wants. Don’t let him win.

  Hands cupped possessively beneath her breasts, Christos lifted his head, his eyes filled with crimson fire as he breathed deeply of the pulse point at her throat. “It’s no wonder your Paladin was able to fuck you. Monster or not, you are one sweet bit of ass.”

  And just like that, the bonds snapped. She lunged, her fangs sinking deep in his neck. The first heady mouthful of warmth slid down the back of her tongue. He stiffened, but then sank a hand into her hair, pulling her closer so she had to swallow hard and fast to keep from drowning on his blood.

  “Yes, my daughter. Drink. Let my blood heal all your pains.”

  No! He tricks you! He poisons your soul with his evil.

  For one heady second she continued to drink before the truth caught up with her battered and bruised mind that had been locked in nightmarish reality. She gagged and jerked away, her throat working convulsively around the last drop of toxin coating it. What had she done? Son of Lilith, favored child of Lucifer, Christos had been evil before the abomination of his hell-born resurrection, but now?

  Pure evil. And you’ve invited him into your body with his blood.

  She screamed, but no sound came from her lips. Only in the distant recesses of her mind could her death cry be heard. For it was not her body that died, but something far worse. She, the Gabby she might have been, the child she’d fought to protect for seventy-nine long horrid years, was dying with each pulse that distributed Christos’s poison blood in her veins.