Craved: A Vampire Syndicate Paranormal Romance (The Vampire Syndicate Book 2)

by Rebecca Rivard

  The other vampires growled unhappily. But in his own lair, Philippe’s word was law. They sheathed their blades and went at Rafe barehanded.

  He fought back, tough and dirty, managing to hold them off until they pinned him to the floor, bleeding from multiple wounds. Two vampires held him down while the others punched and kicked him.

  His face. His stomach. His liver.

  Each blow he took felt like it landed on my own body.

  He grunted, and his pain reverberated in my chest.

  My fangs pricked my gums. No more than a minute had passed, maybe two, but I couldn’t stand it any longer. I slipped my stilettos from my boots and started forward.

  “Zoe.” Philippe’s hard tones halted me.

  I spun to face him. “Then stop them, damn it. He’s down. You’ve won.”

  Philippe’s eyes flashed electric-blue. Belatedly, I remembered whom I was speaking to—my mother’s sire, and a vampire with so much power, he could rip my head from my body barehanded.

  “He’s in my lair,” was the icy reply.

  My hands clenched on the stilettos’ ebony handles. Torn between defending Rafe and obeying Philippe.

  Samir kicked Rafe, and his agonized groan vibrated up my spine.

  “Please,” I said to Philippe. “I’m begging you.”

  Me, who’d never begged for anything in her life. But for Rafe, I’d swallow my pride.

  I wouldn’t survive losing him a second time.

  “The hell with him,” Philippe growled back. “What I’d like to know is why you thought you could sneak him in here. Do you think I’m weak? Too stupid to know when I’m being played?”

  Philippe wasn’t merely angry, he was furious. All the spit left my mouth.

  I’d betrayed his trust. To vampires, loyalty was everything—loyalty to your coven, loyalty to your syndicate—and as Victorine’s sire, Philippe was by extension a member of my coven.

  I started to apologize, to explain I’d just been trying to discover the truth about Zaquiel Kral’s disappearance. But the words died on my lips.

  Because I wasn’t sorry. Victorine had started this by setting the slayers on the Krals, and Philippe had aided her every step of the way. The way I saw it, that was ten times worse than anything I’d done.

  Rafe’s eyes were closed. Blood covered his face, seeped through his T-shirt. He’d curled up in a fetal ball, and no longer moved or grunted when they landed a blow. He was either unconscious or so out of it he might as well be.

  Something in me broke open. Rafe was hurting.

  The hell with begging, or trying to talk my way out of this.

  My fangs extended. A livid, animal-like sound erupted from me, torn from a feral part of myself I hadn’t even known existed.

  I leapt onto the nearest soldier’s back and stabbed the stiletto into his arm. When another man tried to pull me off, I jabbed the point into his eye. He swore and fell back, a hand to his bleeding face.

  Two more soldiers came at me, a male and a female. At least they’d stopped beating Rafe to fight me. And they were trying to contain me, not take me out, which gave me an advantage.

  I dropped into a fighting crouch and backed up they couldn’t get behind me—and slammed into rock-solid, living wall.

  Philippe.

  He grabbed my upper arms. “Drop the knives, Zoe.”

  “Let me go.” I tried to jam an elbow into his ribs, but he easily controlled me.

  “Drop the goddamned knives.” His grip tightened until I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out in pain. “Now.”

  “Call your people off.” I twisted in his grip. “Rafe’s down. He’s not a threat to anyone.”

  “The bastard’s really got his hooks into you, doesn’t he?” he muttered, but he ordered the men beating Rafe to back off, then gave me a shake. “Now give the knives to Jean-Michel.”

  I looked down at the stilettos, but I couldn’t win against Philippe, Victorine and a roomful of syndicate vampires. I shoved the knives at Jean-Michel.

  Victorine hadn’t made a sound since that first outraged screech. Now her head swung to me, her eyes rimmed a dangerous blue.

  “What. Have. You. Done?”

  She didn’t wait for an answer. She jerked a stiletto from beneath her skirt and stalked toward Rafe’s motionless body.

  “No.” I fought wildly against Philippe’s hold. “Don’t. You have to stop her,” I told him. “Please.” My voice broke.

  “Victorine,” he rapped out. “No. We need him alive.”

  When she didn’t seem to hear him, Philippe swore under his breath, shoved me at Jean-Michel with a muttered, “take Zoe,” and lunged for her.

  The bodyguard grabbed me by the shoulders. “Stop this,” he said in his comply-or-else voice, the one I’d been conditioned from childhood to obey.

  It halted me long enough to see that Philippe had caught my mother before she’d reached Rafe. I stilled, breath jerking in and out of my lungs.

  Philippe snatched the silver blade from Victorine and tossed it to a soldier. “Not in my lair, damn it.” He swung her around to face him. “That’s not the deal.”

  She bared long white fangs. “He staked my lieutenant. He dies.”

  “I don’t care what you do to the bastard, but I can’t let you send him to the final grave—not here in my own lair. Besides, if his brother fails, we may need him.”

  On the floor, Rafe groaned. His eyelids fluttered.

  Victorine lurched in Philippe’s grip, trying to get to him.

  “Take him away,” her sire snapped at Samir.

  “Yes, sir.” Samir and two soldiers jerked Rafe to his feet. He swayed, eyes half-closed.

  “Release me,” Victorine hissed at Philippe. “You have no right to intervene in a blood feud.”

  “No, cherie.” He smoothed a hand down her black chignon. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, because if you stake Rafael Kral, his father will come after Zoe. And this time, he might succeed. Is Étan worth that?”

  Victorine’s chest heaved. Rafe was being dragged, stumbling, toward the door. The look she trained on him should’ve dropped him where he stood.

  “His life is mine.”

  “Someday,” Philippe agreed.

  Rafe had recovered enough to dig in his heels. He swung his head around. His gaze locked on mine.

  Apology. Sorrow.

  And then his cheek creased in a cocky grin. “You’re free,” he mouthed at me.

  Samir kneed Rafe in the balls. “Enculé.” Motherfucker.

  Rafe grunted and doubled over. Samir and the two soldiers hauled him through the door and down the hall.

  The air whooshed out of my lungs.

  It was a nightmarish repeat of two years ago, only worse. Rafe was outnumbered, hurting—and I could do nothing to help. And this time, he’d not only been beaten, he’d end up locked in a cell, too.

  No.

  A silent scream started in my chest and spread to my throat, my head, vibrating in my nerves and pressing against my lungs until I thought I’d suffocate if I didn’t release it.

  No no nooo…

  I bucked in Jean-Michel’s grip, desperately trying to get away so I could go to Rafe.

  “Calm down,” the old soldier gritted.

  But I was no longer rational. I slammed my head backward, aiming at his nose, but he managed to jerk back in time so I connected with his chin instead. The shock of the impact exploded through my brain, but I ignored it to keep struggling. He snarled and wrapped me in a bear hug, trapping my arms against my sides. I kicked back, digging my boot heel into his shin.

  “Calm yourself, damn it.” He dropped his voice to subvocal level. “You’re just giving them ammunition.”

  “Let. Me. Go.” I fought harder.

  “You want him to suffer? Because if Victorine sees how much you want him—”

  That got through to me. I stilled, even though I wanted to go to Rafe so bad I could taste it. But Jean-Michel was right. The more I p
rotested, the more incentive I gave Victorine to hurt him.

  Philippe jerked his chin at the remaining soldiers. “Leave. The thralls, too.”

  They cleared the salon, leaving just me, him, Victorine and Jean-Michel—and Lainey Q.

  “That’s it,” Jean-Michel said. “Compose yourself. You’re his only chance,” he added under his breath. “Pretend to go along with them. It’s the only way you can save him.”

  I hesitated. Was the bodyguard on our side? Or simply trying to get me under control? But it didn’t matter because, once again, he was right. I was Rafe’s only chance. I’d already let Victorine see too much.

  I couldn’t fight all three of them—Philippe, Victorine, Jean-Michel. I needed to calm down, come up with a plan.

  “Zoe?” asked Jean-Michel.

  I dipped my chin. “I’m okay. You can let me go.”

  “All right.” Jean-Michel released one of my arms but kept a firm grip on the other.

  Off to the side, Lainey Q had remained in the salon, watching.

  I eyed her. She must have Victorine and Philippe’s trust, or else she’d have been removed with the other humans.

  A slayer.

  I shook my head from side to side.

  “Where do you want Zoe?” Jean-Michel asked Philippe.

  So I was a prisoner, too. I was still reeling at how fast everything had gone south when Victorine wrenched free of Philippe and grabbed my throat.

  “I warned you what would happen if you saw Kral again. I will not lose you to a half-breed bastard. And now Étan is in his final grave.” She shook me by the throat. “Because of you.”

  I pressed my lips together. I’d never seen her so angry. My first instinct was to apologize, to make her happy at any cost. Old habits are hard to break.

  But that thing inside me that had shattered when they’d beaten Rafe into unconsciousness was still broken and hurting.

  And it had had enough.

  I’d had enough.

  A red-hot fury clouded my vision. Without my volition, my hand shot out, latching onto her wrist.

  “Rafe was defending me,” I said between clenched teeth. “From your lieutenant.”

  Victorine’s jaw dropped. I never talked to her like that. The fingers on my throat loosened.

  I shoved her away, and she was stunned enough to allow it.

  “Étan humiliated me—and you stood by and let him. Your own daughter. You should be thanking Rafe for standing up for me. Neither of you did.” I included Philippe in my scornful look. “What I want to know is what in the Dark Lady’s name is going on? Because Rafe was right, you broke the truce with the Krals. But why?”

  Victorine exchanged a glance with her sire.

  My mouth twisted. “Don’t hide behind Philippe. Why would he kidnap a Kral if not for you? And why is she here?” I jerked my chin at Lainey. “Rafe said you were working with Slayers, Inc., but I didn’t believe that either.”

  “Zoe,” warned Jean-Michel.

  At the same time, Philippe snapped, “That’s enough, Zoe. Tais-toi.”

  My fangs pricked out. “I won’t be quiet,” I said, my voice shaking with anger. “I’m through being quiet.”

  I rounded on my mother. “I defended you. When Rafe told me you might be behind Zaquiel’s kidnapping, I was insulted. I told him he was wrong, that you wouldn’t have broken the truce. That you wanted peace as much as Karoly. So don’t you dare use Étan as an excuse to restart the blood feud. This is on you, not the Krals.”

  Victorine finally regained her voice. “You ungrateful little viper.” She bit out each word separately. “Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for you.”

  “Yeah? That’s not how it looks to me. Because when Karoly Kral finds out you’re behind Zaquiel’s kidnapping, he’s going to be out for blood—my blood. All you’ve done is make me a target. Again.”

  “Then we’ll have to make sure he doesn’t find out,” Philippe inserted smoothly.

  My heart stopped.

  I stared at Philippe. It was a threat, pure and simple. Rafe wasn’t going to leave that cell alive.

  But why had he said they might need Rafe?

  Philippe nodded at Jean-Michel. “Take the princess to the yellow guest room.”

  “Yes, m’sieur.” He set a hand on my arm.

  I sucked in a breath and made a last-ditch effort to reason with Philippe and Victorine.

  “Let Rafe go before it’s too late. And if you have his brother Zaquiel, let him go, too. You can’t get away with keeping them prisoner. Karoly knows they’re in Paris. If you continue with this, he will retaliate.”

  Philippe moved a shoulder in a very French shrug. “I’m counting on it.”

  I was still trying to figure out what that meant when Jean-Michel hustled me out of the salon.

  20

  RAFE

  Philippe’s people frog-marched me down two flights of stairs.

  I fought to clear my head, but powering a detailed glamour like I had, down to the clothes Zaq had last been seen wearing, was a hell of an energy suck. Suffering a beat down by cold-eyed professionals didn’t help.

  The adrenaline had worn off, and I was crashing fast.

  They shoved me into an small, dank cell. Tiny white lights set in the concrete blocks around the cell’s upper edges glowed on. The two men held me against a wall and ordered me to raise my hands. The female clamped silver cuffs around my wrists, securing me to the concrete with my hands on either side of my head.

  The burn of the silver shocked me out of my dazed state. The darkness swooped around me. I swallowed queasily.

  The three vampires formed a semi-circle around me, their eyes gleaming blue in the dim light. The middle one came at me—a big dude, with cropped dark hair and fists like sledgehammers—and I braced myself for a blow, but all he did was pat me down. He took my phone, which by some miracle was still intact, and the slim silver blade hidden in the sole of my left shoe.

  He handed the knife to the female, a curvy blonde with cheekbones that could cut glass, and pressed my thumb to the phone’s home button to open it.

  He aimed the camera at me. “Smile,” he said in French.

  I pulled my bloodied mouth into a sneer. “Fuck off.”

  “Mind your manners.” The blond vampire twirled the knife in her fingers. “Or I’ll carve my name into your pretty face.”

  I shook my head in mock-regret. “Sorry, cher, but you’re not my type.”

  She hissed and touched the knife point to my crotch. “Shut. Up.”

  I froze. The two men chuckled and exchanged a look.

  I glared back impotently, but I shut up. Might as well save my strength for whatever was coming.

  “That’s better.” The blond vampire’s gaze went to my mouth. Something dark slithered in her eyes. She ran her tongue over her fangs.

  I sucked in a breath.

  She didn’t want to kiss me. She wanted to drink the blood oozing from my split lip.

  “Ines,” said the man with the phone.

  She moved back, her gaze fixed on my mouth.

  He raised the phone again. “Smile.”

  I pasted a fuck-you grin on my face.

  He took a couple more pictures before handing the phone to Ines. “Give this to the techs.”

  She nodded and left.

  I swallowed, knowing my family would receive another photo like Zaq’s, this time of me. And if Philippe’s techs had any brains, they’d change the password so they didn’t need my thumbprint and reap any data they could. Fortunately, I hadn’t used the phone for anything but to call Tomas.

  The shorter vampire had tawny hair and eyes like small brown pebbles. He removed my shoes and tossed them in the hall.

  “Not so tough now, are you?” he said in an Italian accent.

  I snorted. “Tough enough that it took five of you to bring me down.”

  He went for me, but the vampire with sledgehammer fists slapped a hand on his chest, stopping him.

&n
bsp; “Leave it for now. No need to rush things.” The big dude’s gaze raked down my torn, bloodied clothes. “It took a week to break your brother.” A chilling curve of his lips. “I wonder how long you’ll last.”

  “That’s a lie. Zaq escaped because you fucked up.” A shot in the dark, but the two exchanged a look. I forced my mouth into another cocky grin. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

  “Shut it.” The big guy slammed a humongous fist into my gut.

  My breath whooshed out. I wheezed and pressed back against the wall, silently cursing my smartass tendencies and trying not to pass out.

  But I’d confirmed Zaq had escaped.

  My assailant regarded me, fingers still curled into a fist. I tensed against another blow, but when I didn’t say anything else, he jerked his head at the other guy and they left, leaving me alone in the dark cell.

  The tiny lights dimmed.

  “It took a week to break your brother.”

  My bowels iced. Dread licked up my spine.

  I set my jaw.

  Don’t think about it. They’re playing head games with you.

  I just hoped that Zoe was okay, that they weren’t planning to lock her in a cell, too. Even Victorine couldn’t be that cold-blooded—could she?

  I should probably be ashamed I’d broken my promise to Zoe. She’d sneaked me into Philippe’s mansion, and I’d paid her back by staking her mother’s lieutenant.

  But fuck that. Étan had deserved it. The moment he’d manhandled her, no promise in the world would’ve stopped me from coming to her defense.

  I’d stake that sonofabitch again in a heartbeat.

  I rested a cheek against the cool concrete. I could smell the iron-and-salt of my own blood. But something else teased my nostrils, a familiar scent—Zaq’s.

  The bastards had put me in the same cell.

  “It took a week to break your brother.”

  But he’d escaped. I smiled, even though it hurt. “Hope you took out a few of them on your way out, bro.”

  My head throbbed, my body ached like a mofo, but I’d already started to heal. Thank the gods I’d fed earlier.

  All but my wrists, that is. The silver had already eaten through the top layer of my skin. Soon, the poisonous metal would start to enter my bloodstream…a slow, painful sapping of my strength.