Guilty. Those had been his exact words.
Shit. She’d come to help her friend, and that was valiant. She and Sarah had been best friends for as long as he could remember.
But the real question was, how had she known where to find Sarah in order to help her?
If grounded for life was hell on a human, just wait until Hadley found out what that meant for an immortal.
Chapter 20
The moment Irish’s voice fled from her head was the moment Claire finally came face to face with Angus Sweeten.
He paused at the doorway, his looming shadow elongating across the painted concrete floor, creating a ghoulish image, sinister in its black length. Holding up a serrated knife, he ran his fingertips over it, the silver glinting in the light from the hallway.
Thankfully, Sarah had found peace in unconsciousness, her head falling to her shoulder as the water continued a wicked, sizzling drip directly onto her. Each drop made Claire’s heart bleed, but Irish was coming, and Angus surely wouldn’t risk killing a valuable product.
It was Claire he wanted dead—so she wouldn’t talk.
If that happened before Irish got here, so be it. At least he wasn’t torturing Sarah any further.
Angus crossed the room in long strides, his legs thin, his body lanky. His red eyes, eyes full of hatred, scanned her from head to toe. The long pause, the effects of the wolfsbane, her fear for Sarah began to ride her very last nerve.
She wanted to lash out, spew foul word after word at his depravity. Yet she knew, the longer she kept him talking, the better their chances were of Irish finding them before he killed her.
“You know what I like best about you, E’Claire?” he asked into the silence, his voice soft and low.
She lifted her chin, made herself look into his soulless red eyes, searched his clear-skinned face. “Gosh, I hope it’s my sunshiny personality,” she offered, her throat dry, her voice now but a cracking croak.
He chuckled, his full pink lips splitting apart in a grin. Bracketing her head by placing his elbows on either side of it, the knife still in his hand, he clucked his tongue and leaned in until their noses touched. “I like that you’re such a plucky-ducky. Just look at how resourceful you are.” He snapped the blindfold from her head with such force, the back of her skull smashed against the wall.
Claire bit the inside of her cheek even as her eyes wobbled. When he came back into focus again, she stared straight at him. “So I guess we’re at the point where I ask what you’re going to do with me. If I’m too old to be sold as someone’s plaything, where does that leave us, Angus Sweeten?”
He didn’t look at all surprised she knew his name. In fact, it was rather as though he relished it. “Where do you think that leaves us, Claire?”
“I’m rather hoping it leaves me with my head on my shoulders, but if I were a betting woman, I’d bet a hundred to one that’s wishful thinking.”
He stuck a one long, knobby finger in his mouth then proceeded to lick all five, one after the other. “Like I said, you’re delicious, and direct, too. I think I might actually have goose bumps.” Angus showed her his arm as proof, shoving it under her bloodied nose.
Swallowing, Claire swished her tongue over her teeth to unstick them from her lips and waited, keeping his gaze, using every last ounce of energy she had to hold her head up.
Angus sank his body into hers, grinding against her, the knife in his hand by her cheek. He put his slick lips to her neck again and nipped her earlobe. “I wish I had more time to spend, Claire. More time to get to know you on a deeper level, but I’m a busy man.”
“So little time, so many innocent children to sell?”
His finger popped upward, the glee in his eyes twinkling. Angus tweaked her nose. “Ah. The heart of the matter. So where were we when last I left you?”
“Gannon Dodd. Imbecile werewolf with the IQ of a jellyfish.”
Angus made a face of pity and sighed his empathy. “Yes, he really was all that and so much more, wasn’t he, Claire? How in all the babes in Toyland did he end up with someone as smart as you for his intended?”
“A real run of bad luck?”
He threw his head back and laughed, his smooth cheeks turning pink, the Adam’s apple in his throat bobbing up and down. “True-blue. He did end up dead with you as his promised mate, didn’t he?”
She cursed her fatigued eyes, eyes wanting so desperately to roll to the back of her head and allow blissful unconsciousness to take over. No. She had to stay alert, keep Angus talking until Irish found them. “I suppose it’s just my cross to bear.”
Please let Irish find us soon.
If things went sideways, she wanted his focus and rage to be on her and her alone.
He backed away an inch, planting his hands on his slim hips, the knife pointing upward at his waist. “Talk about crosses, huh? Phew, Claire-Bear, you’ve got plenty of that, don’t you? Being a murderess and such.”
Confusion warred with her jumbled thoughts. Maybe he didn’t know she wasn’t the one who’d killed Gannon?
“But wait!” he yelped, snaking a hand out to grab the length of her hair and pull it tight. “You didn’t murder anyone, did you, sneaky girl? You know it, and I know it. I know your secret, perky Claire. I heard everything that night on the phone. And listen, I’m not saying you weren’t doing the right thing by keeping the secret. Protect and serve is honorable. You’re a good little librarian, aren’t you? The trouble with all this is you know my secret now, too. I think I’ve said this, but I just can’t have that, Sugarsnap.”
“Never. It’s absolutely unacceptable to let the woman who knows you sell children live. Not only would hell likely take your evil card back, but I have to admit, I’d laugh in haughty disdain at you if you did. What kind of child selling villain would you be if you let the woman who caught you live?” she asked, her limbs liquid-like and on fire.
“If I asked you politely, would you keep my secret, Claire?” he mewled like a whimpering child, running the knife over her cheek.
“If I asked politely, would you keep mine?” She coughed, willing another breath into her lungs.
“I won’t have to. Dead people don’t talk. The question is, how would you like to die, Claire? You’re not exactly easy to kill, you know. I sent one of my idiots to slip that note under your door at the library and push you right over that cliff to a watery death, only to find out you’d survived. How freakishly resilient. I should have known werewolves can swim. Then you up and disappeared on me. Lucky for me, you walked right into the palm of my hand with your pert little nose stuck smack dab in my business. Imagine that.”
She’d thought Hadley had sent her that note. A shudder coursed through her when her legs finally gave way. “I’m a librarian. We know our research.”
Angus leaned back and brushed his hands together. “Bah! It’s neither here nor there now. All water under the bridge. I have this Hadley Gannon was so quick to sell me on, and she’s just like that puddle of puke described—dark, pale and so, so young. Yum-yum.” His eyes strayed to Sarah, their red glow homing in on her, his smile eerie.
Keep his attention on you, Claire! The longer he carries on, the longer you live. Think, Claire! But words were becoming harder and harder to put together.
“She’s divine, don’t you think?” he cooed. “As you can see, I went back to Rock Cove to collect the debt owed to me. Vampires as young as Hadley bring an especially fine price, you know. They’re on the top of every rich man’s list. The cream of the crop, and I never keep a customer waiting. She’s already a week late for a very important date. Because of what you did, you sullied my sterling reputation, Claire. This makes me a sad panda.” Angus pouted at her, his worm-like lips tipping downward.
Hadley… Claire’s fuzzy brain cleared and her head popped up. Hadley? Wait. Angus thought Sarah was Hadley?
Angus drew the knife over her throat again. “Anyhoodles, you know what all this means, don’t you, Claire? You really do hav
e to go. So, decapitation or gut you like a fish?”
Irish, where are you?
As he trailed the knife upward over the slope of her cheek, she licked her cracked lips, trying to piece together a single thought. So many choices. Gutting or decapitation—what to do, what to do?
Angus grabbed her throat and dug the knife into her cheek, slicing it open so quickly she didn’t feel it for a moment—until the fresh sting of hot pain clued her in. He was growing impatient. She could still smell that much, even rendered useless by the wolfsbane.
“I’ll give you one last chance to answer me, Claire. A or B?”
As Sarah began to stir, and Irish still hadn’t made an appearance, she knew her hourglass was on its last grain of sand. Her heart began to crash against her ribs, despite her weary body.
Pushing her tongue through her lips, Claire asked, “Which do you think will leave a bigger scar? And was decapitation A or B? I can’t remember. I’m a little under the knife here. Pardon the pun.”
Angus clucked his tongue one more time. “Hah! Goodbye, sweet Claire. I really, really, really wish we could have more time together. Because I like you, saucy Sally. I. Like. You!” he screamed down at her, lowering the knife to her stomach.
Just as Claire closed her eyes and spoke in her head what she assumed would be her last words to Irish, chaos ensued to the tune of shattering glass and the thump of Hadley’s feet, landing in the middle of the concrete floor.
Chapter 21
Irish roared in right behind Hadley, tearing a shocked Angus away from Claire by his arm. He lifted him high, using Angus like some modern-day caveman club when he slammed him to the floor. “I’ll kill you!” he bellowed, his fangs flashing.
Chunks of concrete flew into the air, leaving Angus’s imprint when the debris scattered.
Fangs piled in through the window like clowns spilling from a car while several of Angus’s men rushed in from the doorway, including some of the men Claire had seen in the alley. They hollered terse orders, their eyes cold, their movements blurred from the speed with which they covered the enormous room.
Stone was the first to run at them like a battering ram, a long knife held high, a bellow of anger tearing from his lips.
Claire had to look away after the head of one of Angus’s henchmen fell to the floor courtesy of Mondo. In the fray, she caught glimpses of Irish, who’d managed to lose his grip on Angus. He flew across the room, landing on the back of a man the size of a house, tipping his chin upward and tearing the blade across his throat like skates on ice.
Hadley had somehow managed to slip between the men, her legs lithe and quick, ducking as she kept her eyes on Claire. She rushed toward her, pulling at the chains, ripping them from the wall, grabbing at her as she slid downward. “Miss Claire!” she shouted.
“Listen, Hadley!” Claire managed to whisper in the young vampire’s ear, gripping her arm, pulling her close in her urgency, before pulling away to scan her face. “Listen closely. Say nothing. Do you understand me? Nothing!”
Hadley hugged her hard, fear on her pretty, pale face, her eyes full of concern. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!”
Dozens more of Angus’s men spilled into the room, fangs flashing, mouths snarling, but Irish’s crew swarmed them until more screams filled the air. Heads rolled, their dead eyes glassy and wide.
She couldn’t let Hadley see any more bloodshed—it would only make the nightmares she probably already had far worse.
Fatigue pulled at her, called to her, her limbs numb, her eyes throbbing. Cupping Hadley’s face, she forced the vampire to look at her, brushing the hair from her eyes with gentle fingers. “Cover your eyes and help me up, Hadley. We have to get to Sarah.”
Hadley dragged Claire upward, keeping her eyes closed as instructed. “Keep your hand at my waist and stay close. I’ll lead you.”
Life began to seep back into her sore limbs with slow bursts, the muscles in her legs beginning to loosen and flex. Tamping down her panic and the horror of the corpses piling up, the mounting fear the Fangs were outnumbered, she pushed to get to Sarah.
Claire heard Irish’s rage as she glued herself and Hadley close to the wall and made her way toward Sarah, heard the screams of the men as they each cried out in their last seconds before death.
Hadley must have peeked out between her fingers and caught sight of Sarah, because she pushed Claire out of the way and moved to rush to her friend, yelping her name. “Sarah!”
Claire shoved Hadley behind her, pressing her back to the wall. “Don’t touch it! It’s holy water. Now keep your eyes closed, Hadley McConnell, and don’t you move!”
Claire grabbed the pitcher before it tipped again, throwing it across the room with an arm that felt like a wet noodle.
She dropped to her haunches and examined the chains on Sarah’s wrists, willing her strength to return as she tore at them, almost shrieking a cry of triumph when she yanked her free.
Claire pulled Sarah into her embrace, away from the crosses, brushing her hair from her eyes, grazing the slashes of red on her pale face with hesitant fingers.
“Miss Claire?” she asked, her voice shaky and fragile.
Gathering Hadley up beside her, and tucking Sarah close, she whispered, “Yes, honey, it’s me. Everything’s going to be fine, I promise. Keep your eyes closed, Sarah, and heal. Rest and heal. This will all be over soon.”
Claire breathed, keeping her eyes peeled as the fight waged on, holding the girls pressed to her chest, letting the healing process begin. And as she healed, her rage built. Each inhale brought with it an exhale of hatred for Angus Sweeten. Each wound mended came with a vow to see him suffer a thousand ugly, bloody deaths.
Her eyes popped open when she heard Irish growl, heard the hiss of his fangs—and then her life flashed before her eyes.
In the middle of the floor, as the others fought around them, Angus had Irish pinned, his long fingers wrapped around a cross pressed into Irish’s chest. Tendrils of smoke wound upward, the crackling sear of flesh echoing in her ears.
Irish fought, the chords of muscle in his neck straining when he rose up, only to be pummeled back down. His fists clenched tight while he struggled to rip the demon from him, his jaw was locked, his face a mask of agonizing pain.
Irish’s eyes found hers across the room of scattered bodies, over the heads rolling like glassy-eyed beach balls, and then the words he spoke, words she would remember forever, popped into her head, I love you. Get out!
That was when Claire lost it. A ferocious spear of anger struck her to the marrow, ripping her apart until all she saw was Irish’s eyes, dark as coal, riddled with pain.
And so the shift began, tearing, searing, gutting her, shoving her forward to her haunches, shredding her clothes, giving her only seconds to scream at Hadley and Sarah, “Keep your eyes closed!” before she was rolling her head on her neck.
The crack of her bones and the tear of flesh were particularly painful this shift, but she welcomed it. Welcomed the power surging through her, welcomed the feel of her paws, the elongation of her teeth.
And when her change was complete, she howled, long and piercing, enough to make every last vampire still standing cover their ears.
Claire leapt at Angus, covering the span of the room with one vault of her hind legs, landing with a crash against the demon’s lanky body, knocking him sideways.
Angus flew into the far wall with a bellowing rage, fire spewing from his mouth as he rose and launched himself at Claire.
She saw the same kaleidoscope of colors she’d seen the night Gannon died, moments before she heard Irish scream her name and tasted the salty flesh of Angus Sweeten’s neck in her mouth when she caught him between her teeth.
And then she ran, carrying him toward the window Hadley had tumbled through, like a T-bone she’s stolen from a plate, all while he writhed and clawed at her. She picked up speed until everything around her was a blur and she was leaping from the window, taking Angus and his sickness
with her.
His screams were the last thing she heard, the wind on her way down the last thing she felt before everything shattered into tiny black pieces of nothingness.
Chapter 22
“Claire!” Irish roared as he watched the backend of her werewolf form fly out the window. The singe of his flesh ripe in his nose, the agony of his sizzling skin didn’t stop him from rising, stumbling toward the window, tripping on bodies.
Anguish tore at him, his vision clouded by the residual pain of the cross to his chest. Liam reached for him, wrapping an arm around his waist to steady him until his healing began.
He reached the edge of the tall window, and if he had breath to hold, he would have held it in fear of seeing Claire’s form, crushed against the sidewalk below.
But he forced himself to look. Gripping the edges of the brick, he peered down.
Nothing.
No Claire. No Angus. Nothing.
He didn’t know whether to cheer or howl in grief. Seconds passed while he gathered his thoughts, while he tried to keep it together. “Liam, get the girls and get them the hell out of here. Make sure they keep their eyes closed. Don’t let them see,” he ground out.
Liam gripped his shoulder. “You okay, brother?”
“Just go. Please,” he murmured, clenching his teeth, praying Claire was still alive.
Stone approached from behind, pulling Irish close. “You healing?”
“Yes,” he forced out.
“Then let’s get the crew and get the hell down there, see if we can find her.”
Irish shook his head, wincing as the wound on his chest closed. “You don’t have to. You could get yourself into trouble that way, Stone. This is mine alone.”
Stone laughed on a grunt. “Oh, fuck trouble, Irish. I live for it. I dine on it. Before all this government bullshit, I had plenty of werewolf friends. The laws are ridiculous. Besides, there’ll be no living with you if we don’t. You love her. It’s obvious. I don’t know what you’re going to do about it, considering the new laws. But I wouldn’t leave her here even if you didn’t have googley eyes for her. Did you see that shit, Irish? She charged that fuck like she was a deranged linebacker. She saved your ass while we were lopping off heads. Now, let’s go.”
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