by Jenna Black
The blocks passed in a blur of misery, eighteen of them in all. Toward the end, pellets of ice joined the raindrops, like tiny stinging bullets. Hannah’s teeth were chattering and she was about as miserable as she could ever remember being. She glanced over at Jules, who didn’t look much better. His sweater had the look of good, close-knit wool, but it was no more waterproof than her coat. His lips were tinged with blue, and he was visibly shivering.
“Whose bright idea was this?” she grumped, drawing a reluctant smile from him.
“Yours. And if we can’t persuade them to let you have your car, I’m going to have to kill you.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and tucked her hands under her armpits. “I might thank you for it.”
When the impound lot came into view, she gave a little cry of relief. She and Jules both hurried their footsteps. Maybe even if they couldn’t get her car out, they could at least stand out of the rain for a little while.
Jules’s long legs put him at a distinct advantage in the speed department, and he quickly outpaced her. When he came to an abrupt halt, she collided with him, grabbing his arm to keep herself from falling face-first onto the pavement.
“Marde!” he said.
“What does that mean?” Hannah asked, looking ahead to the impound lot and seeing nothing that should have triggered his ire.
“It means ‘shit’.”
“I thought that was ‘merde’.”
“It is. We just pronounce it differently in Quebec.”
“And the last time you were in Quebec was … ?”
He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her body slightly, and she finally saw what had drawn him up short.
There was her car, parked across the street instead of in the impound lot. And there was Gabriel, clad in a heavy raincoat and an Orioles baseball cap, leaning against the hood and staring at them.
DRAKE AND CAMILLE RETREATED deep into the foyer. The doorway would have made a good choke point, but it wouldn’t do to wage battle in plain view of all the neighbors and passers-by.
As they waited in the back of the foyer for the enemy to appear, Drake sensed a strange … stirring … in the air. Was that the sensation of power gathering for the attack, or just his imagination? He glanced over at Camille, who stood very still beside him.
She had slipped off her high heels and peeled away her gloves. Her fangs protruded, messing up her lipstick again. She was so still she might almost not have been breathing. Her eyes seemed unfocused, and again Drake had that sense of power filling the room.
Then, her eyes suddenly came back into focus, and she threw back her head and laughed.
Drake blinked, wondering if the woman had suddenly taken leave of her senses. The vampire horde was fast approaching, would be at the doorway in a minute or less.
“Care to share the joke?” he asked.
Genuine humor warred with malice on her face. “They are new fledglings. All of them. Infants! And they think they can harm the Master of Baltimore?”
“You can tell how old they are?” When Gabriel had guessed his age, Drake had assumed Camille had told him. Perhaps that wasn’t the case after all.
She smirked at him, but before she had a chance to answer—if, indeed, she planned to—the first fledglings charged up the stairs and into the foyer.
Drake had no chance to size up his options and choose sides. The fledglings poured through the door, practically pushing each other out of the way in their eagerness to get in. Most of them rushed directly at Camille, but a handful came after Drake, fangs bared, snarling.
A quick impression told Drake these fledglings had been chosen for a definite purpose. All were young, male, and built like football players, muscle layered upon muscle. They would have been strong as mortals, and now were even stronger as vampires.
One of them swung a meaty fist at Drake’s head. A very human form of attack, for even if he connected he was unlikely to do more than annoy Drake.
Drake ducked easily and came up snarling, showing his fangs, giving the idiot one chance and one chance only to make the right decision and retreat. The fledgling lowered his shoulder and rammed into Drake’s chest, knocking him to the floor and landing on top of him. He must have weighed over two hundred pounds, but Drake had little trouble tossing him off.
Another fledgling came at him while he was still on the ground. He bit at Drake’s neck, but missed his target, fangs sinking into the flesh of Drake’s shoulder.
For the second time tonight, Drake smelled his own blood in the air, and it pissed him off. Someone screamed shrilly, and the scent of blood grew stronger. Ignoring his own pain, Drake grabbed the head of the fledgling whose teeth were still embedded in his shoulder, and pushed him away, his flesh tearing as the fledgling refused to release his grip.
When the fledgling’s fangs finally tore free, Drake gave his head a hard, sharp jerk, snapping his neck with a loud crack. Drake pushed him off and leapt to his feet, braced for the next attack.
What he saw was a bloody rout.
The fledglings were in full retreat, practically stampeding out the door, eyes wide with terror. Camille howled and grabbed the one closest to her, pulling him toward her even as he screamed for his friends to help. She lifted him easily into the air, then threw him against the wall. The plaster cracked at the impact.
At her feet lay three of the attackers. Their blood soaked the carpet. Two of them had their throats torn out. There was no sign of any healing, so she must have snapped their necks in the process. The third fledgling’s head lay about two feet from its body, dead eyes wide with horror, mouth open in a silent scream.
Camille stalked the remaining fledgling, who was fighting to his feet, using the wall for support. Her face and hair were slick with blood, as were both her hands. As the fledgling cowered, she licked blood from her lips and smiled. It was a terrifying sight.
“Who made you?” she asked as she glided closer. “Tell me, and I’ll kill you quickly. Don’t tell me, and I’ll make the agony last for many, many days.”
The fledgling swallowed convulsively, his eyes bulging with terror. Drake felt briefly sorry for the man, then dismissed his own pity. This was a fledgling Killer, not a man. He’d prefer Camille not torment her victim, but he would be just as dead either way.
The fledgling, trembling violently, pressed his back to the wall. Camille bracketed his head with both her hands.
“Speak now,” she said, tonguing her fangs. “Who made you?”
“G-Gabriel,” he stuttered.
Camille’s shriek was so loud and piercing Drake had to cover his ears.
When she finally stopped screaming, the fledgling lay in pieces on the floor. Blood soaked her from head to toe. The walls and floor were spattered with it. Her chest heaved with heavy breaths. Drake’s stomach roiled. He’d seen gruesome kills before, but never anything like this. The room stank of blood and other bodily fluids.
When Camille’s mortal henchmen tentatively entered the foyer, two of them immediately vomited, adding another layer of foulness to the smell.
Camille’s eyes glittered with madness. A single tear marked a path through the blood on her cheek.
“Clean up this mess,” she ordered her henchmen, her voice hoarse and choked. She turned her gaze to Drake. “You’ll help them. And you won’t set foot outside this house until I give you leave.”
Her back straight, her head held high, Camille swept from the room.
“WELL,” HANNAH SAID, PEERING up at Jules from under the brim of his hat, “I guess we have two choices.”
The corner of his mouth twitched in a hint of a grin. The expression was ruined by the wariness in his eyes. “Those are?”
“Go have a nice chat with our friend Gabe, or run like hell.” Gabriel was still leaning against her car, arms crossed over his chest, legs crossed at the ankles. The pose would have looked a lot more natural and relaxed if little pellets of sleet weren’t bouncing off the brim of his cap. Of cour
se, no matter how relaxed he looked, he could no doubt catch them if they decided to run for it. Where could they go where his vamp-dar wouldn’t home in on Jules?
Jules brushed a lock of wet hair off his face and gave her a penetrating look. “If I tell you to wait here, will you do it?”
“Babe, I wouldn’t wait here even if you asked and said pretty please.” She doubted she could do much to help Jules if Gabriel had plans to kill him, but she wasn’t about to be left behind. She could tell from Jules’s tone of voice, and by his lack of surprise at her answer, that he was coming to know her.
He made a little sound that was either exasperation or resignation, then shook his head. “All right, then. Let’s go. But please let me do the talking. You really don’t want to stick your pins in this guy.”
Hannah shrugged in a way she hoped Jules would take as agreement. He gave her a suspicious look, then took her arm and guided her across the street toward Gabriel.
Camille’s son should have looked distinctly less intimidating in his raincoat and ball cap. But apparently, whatever it was that leant him his aura had nothing to do with the tough-guy clothes or hairdo, because Hannah felt a distinct chill in her spine—a chill that had nothing to do with the miserable weather—as they approached. She really hoped she and Jules weren’t about to die.
“Should I thank you for getting my car out of impound,” she asked, drawing a faint groan from Jules, “or are you about to do something that makes thanking you really low on my priority list?”
Gabriel blinked, then cracked an almost human-looking grin. “You have quite a mouth on you.”
She could feel Jules’s disapproving glare, but she did her best to ignore it. So far, she figured she had a pretty good read on how to act around Gabriel, and cowering in fear wasn’t it. She returned Gabriel’s grin, though it was hard to look too perky when her teeth were chattering. “Yeah, so I’ve been told.”
“It doesn’t seem to have quite sunk in.”
“Why don’t you just answer my question?”
“I’d like a word with your boyfriend.”
“He’s not—” Hannah started, at the same time Jules said “I’m not—” They glanced at each other, then away. Despite the cold, Hannah’s cheeks warmed. They had both protested way too vehemently.
Gabriel laughed. “How precious,” he mocked.
“Let’s just get on with it,” Jules said. “What do you want?”
The laughter died on Gabriel’s lips, replaced with that familiar, ugly sneer. “I want many things, Guardian.” He spat the word like an insult. “You’d better pray I don’t get them all.”
Obviously, Hannah’s technique was better than Jules’s. Which of course didn’t stop Jules from being his normal, prickly self. His eyes hardened, and he opened his mouth to say something stupid.
“Hey, Gabe,” she interrupted before Jules got a word out, “why don’t you just talk to me. You and Jules seem to rub each other the wrong way, so I think it’s better for everyone if you don’t talk to each other.”
“Oh for God’s sake, Hannah!” Jules snapped. He clearly had more to say, but the life suddenly drained out of his eyes and he stood there with his mouth gaping open.
Hannah shivered again, thinking she’d probably never get warm if she lived to be a thousand. Gabriel’s glamour was scary-strong.
“There,” he said, sounding terribly pleased with himself. “Now I don’t have to tear his liver out through his ass in front of you.”
Hannah crossed her arms over her chest, a defensive gesture she just couldn’t help. “I’d kind of prefer you not do that behind my back either,” she said. She hoped she didn’t sound as scared as she felt. “He’s not my boyfriend, but he’s a pretty decent guy, and I like him alive.”
Gabriel seemed to think that one over before he answered. “I try not to make promises I can’t keep.”
She swallowed hard. “Jules has never done anything to you. Why can’t you just leave him alone?” If Gabriel was going to kill them, why didn’t he just get on with it? Not that she was complaining, mind you.
He straightened, coming to stand nose to nose with Jules. Hannah noticed that Jules’s eyes tracked his motion. So, he couldn’t move, but there still seemed to be somebody home. Was that a good thing, or a bad thing?
“He’s a Guardian,” Gabriel said, once again imbuing the word with disgust. His lip even curled. “Eli’s pet. Eli’s slave.” He spoke those words into Jules’s face, almost like he’d forgotten Hannah was here.
With a little jolt, Hannah heard the words Gabriel didn’t say. “Someone your dad likes better than you.”
Gabriel whirled on her, a hint of madness in his eyes. She couldn’t help taking two stumbling steps backward. Her foot landed on the curb, which was now coated with ice. With a startled squeak, she started to fall. Headlights seared her eyeballs and a car’s horn deafened her.
If Gabriel hadn’t crossed the small distance between them at blinding speed and grabbed hold of the collar of her coat, she’d have been road kill. He yanked her back onto the pavement, and the cab that had almost hit her roared by, the driver still leaning heavily on his horn.
Hannah’s knees threatened to give out and her breaths came in short, frantic gasps. For a few seconds, all she could think about was the close call she’d just had. Then it occurred to her that Gabriel had just saved her life.
“Well, damn,” she said, her voice shaking. “I guess now I have to thank you after all.”
Once again, Gabriel looked taken aback, then laughed. “I’m sorry to have inconvenienced you.” The deadly rage, the near madness she’d just seen on his face was wiped away. “You’re much more entertaining alive than you would be as a hood ornament.”
Hannah’d never seen anyone whose moods changed as quickly as Gabriel’s. And his mood swung again before she even had a chance to continue that thought, his jaunty grin replaced with a marrow-freezing glare.
“But don’t ever taunt me about Eli again. I will kill you. And your boyfriend.”
“He’s not my boyfriend. And I didn’t mean to taunt you. You may have noticed that whatever goes through my head comes out my mouth.”
The rain finished its transition into sleet, which made little clinking sounds as it bounced off the parked cars. Hannah’s feet had gone numb from cold, as had her nose and ears.
“Look, I’m freezing my ass off out here,” she said. “Why don’t you just tell me what you want.”
Gabe’s smile turned sly as his gaze shifted to Jules. “I want to know more about my dear old dad. What he’s up to these days. How many Guardians he has working for him. Who they are. How old they are. Who matters to them. That kind of thing.”
Oh, that didn’t sound good at all. Was Gabriel thinking of taking a field trip to Philadelphia?
Jules moved slightly, and Hannah realized Gabriel had released him from the glamour. At the same moment, Jules’s cell phone started ringing. He ignored it, facing off against Gabriel.
“Why should I tell you anything?” Jules asked.
Gabriel snorted. “Perhaps because you’d like to live? Besides, I was under the impression you’d split with Eli. Why should you want to protect him?”
“Eli can rot in hell for all I care. But I don’t think you’d be a big improvement.”
Hannah’s cell phone chirped. She figured now wasn’t a good time to answer.
“Perhaps I’m not making myself clear,” Gabriel said. “You’re going to tell me what I want to know. I’m content to let you and Hannah walk away without a scratch if you answer my questions. But frankly, I’m extremely pissed off right now and I wouldn’t mind working off my frustrations.”
Hannah slipped her hand into her pocket, wrapping her fingers around the comforting weight of her gun. She suspected it would be of little use against someone as powerful as Gabriel—he didn’t seem to require any eye contact for his glamour—but she’d have to try. Jules’s cell phone rang again.
“Shut
that damn thing off,” Gabriel snapped.
Jules made no move to obey. “I have no personal loyalty to Eli anymore,” he said, speaking slowly, choosing his words carefully. “But I am loyal to the Guardians and our cause. I can’t answer your questions.”
It was Hannah’s phone’s turn to ring. It sure seemed like someone was very, very anxious to get in touch with them right this moment. Keeping her right hand clasped around the butt of her gun, she pulled out her cell phone with her left hand and answered.
“This isn’t a good time,” she said in lieu of a greeting. Both Jules and Gabriel turned to look at her like she was nuts for answering the phone at a time like this. But hey, she could stall with the best of them.
“Too bad,” Drake said over the tenuous phone connection. “Gabriel’s apparently more twisted than we knew. He had a band of a dozen fledglings attack Camille’s house tonight. You and Jules have to get out of town. If he’s still obsessing over Guardians—”
“Drake, he’s right here in front of us. I believe he was in the middle of threatening to torture Jules.” She lowered the phone away from her mouth. “Was that about right, Gabe?”
“Oh, shit,” Drake said.
“Maybe I ought to start my persuasion by cutting your tongue out,” Gabriel said, but as usual when he threatened her, there was a flicker of humor in his eyes that suggested he didn’t mean it.
“So Drake says you sent a band of fledglings to attack your mother this evening.” Instinct told her that was bullshit. Gabriel had plenty of anger to spread around, but he was way more focused on his daddy. He wouldn’t have wasted the energy attacking Camille, even if they had been fighting.
The expression on Gabriel’s face—a combination of horror, shock, and outrage—suggested her guess was correct. “The hell I did!” He did another one of those lightning-speed moves of his and snatched the phone out of her hand. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he shouted into the phone.