Vermilion Lies

by L. D. Rose

  Not to mention the fact she’d acquired the hybrid’s trait.

  “She lives,” Alek uttered, his power thinning under the weight of surprise. Jacques breathed easier, a trickle of blood sliding down his throat from a puncture wound in his cheek.

  “Yes, my Lord.” He idly wiped the blood away. “As I’d suspected. But we must proceed with caution—”

  “We must find her,” the sire demanded, his voice a whip lashing at the thick air. Balling his hands into fists, Alek pressed his knuckles to his forehead with anguish, his jaw clenched, his body wrought with tension. “How could this be? How could I not sense her?”

  “Maybe the hybrids—”

  “Years, Montague! Three years.” Alek dropped his fists, his royal pretense cracking as he bared his fangs. “She was mine, is mine. How could I not feel our bond, her life? She’d been amputated from me like a limb when she vanished. Only death can sever a connection like that.”

  Jacques didn’t have answers for him, although he wished he knew. Regardless, it meant she was free of him, free to choose another.

  Or have another chosen for her.

  Alek turned away, pacing toward the window, angst and fury boiling off him like volcanic steam. “The hybrids are responsible for this. If they’ve had her in their possession all this time . . .” he trailed off, the silence loaded with malice and the promise of bloodshed.

  “Sire, I can’t speak for the past.” Jacques hesitantly stepped forward, his tone calm enough to talk anyone down off a ledge. “But they undoubtedly have her now. And we must act before she disappears again—for good.”

  “Or before they glean any information from her.” Alek spun on him, his regal guise now securely in place, but the crimson sheen in his eyes remained. The veins in his neck and forearms seemed to bulge with restraint, a mad wolf in sheep’s clothing.

  “She’s different now, my Lord. There’s a high likelihood that everything we’ve known about her has changed. She’s been unleashed unto the wild and survived its ferocity. She may no longer be who you think she is.”

  Alek gnashed his bladed teeth. “Find her. Send a surveillance team to New Rochelle. Watch every fucking move the Knights make. Keep your sights on Dax, and if you see the slightest opportunity,”—he measured an inch between his manicured fingers—“attack. I want him alive, do you understand? I want them both alive. But Cindel is the priority, even if she’s so far damaged as to no longer be useful.”

  Jacques inclined his head, a slow anger heating his blood. Of course Alek was already prepared to throw her away like trash after he was through ravaging her mind. And Jacques knew exactly why his sire wanted the Snowman alive. After Cyrus’s discovery almost a year ago—where he demonstrated his newfound pyrokinetic and daywalking abilities after feeding from the hybrid, Blaze—the Senary was now pursued for capture, not kill.

  And Alek desired their power more than anything in this world, even his long-lost wife.

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  “Start tonight. Start now. After three years, I don’t want her another moment away from where she belongs.”

  Jacques nodded again. Liar.

  Snatching his jacket off the bed with a low curse, Alek moved past him, but halted before he cleared the bedroom threshold.

  “Jacques,” he said, craning his head over his shoulder.

  Jacques swiveled to meet Alek’s still smoldering gaze. “Yes, my Lord?”

  “You’ve proven your loyalty to me today. I imagine it was difficult to disclose Cindel’s existence given your obvious feelings for her. It seems this revelation has raised long dormant sentiments within both of us.”

  The words punched Jacques right in the gut, but he managed to keep from doubling over, standing taller instead. “I know my limits, Sire. Always have.”

  The corner of Alek’s mouth lifted, a tenebrous curve accentuated by the knowing glint in his eyes. “Good. Remember them now. And perhaps we’ll both have what we want.”

  Jacques didn’t ponder too much on the implications of that statement, his heart kicking against his ribs at the thought of what else Alek had surveyed during his trip inside Jacques’ gray matter.

  When Jacques didn’t respond, his mind replaying what it had inadvertently exposed to Alek, the sire only smiled wider. “Good night, General.”

  And with that, Alek left, his Oxfords clacking through the halls and echoing into the Reserve.

  ~ ~ ~

  Days passed. Cindel wasn’t sure how many since it was hard to keep track in this drab cell. It didn’t help that she hadn’t slept well either.

  She felt like she was locked inside The Metropolitan all over again.

  The hybrid who’d imprisoned her was the only one who visited. At what seemed like random times, Blaze escorted her to the communal showers, keeping his opalescent eyes averted and his hand beside his gun as she bathed. The showers were remarkably clean, suggesting that the Knights didn’t hold captives often.

  They more likely murdered hostages rather than detained them.

  Blaze supplied her with clothing, toiletries, and other bare necessities when deemed fit. A pretty blond woman would occasionally accompany him, her sweet jasmine scent defining her as human and her olive-green eyes constantly wary. An authoritative air wafted about her athletic frame and she was always armed like her mate. The bond between them was nearly tangible, strong and vibrant like their auras, and their expressions would soften whenever they looked at one another.

  Wasn’t love between a human and hybrid as illicit as hybrid and vampire? Cindel didn’t know, and they never answered her questions, no matter how often she asked.

  So she stopped talking altogether.

  At least they informed her that Dax was recovering well. If only she could see him just once before they condemned her to whatever fate lay ahead.

  Without distractions, her mind travelled to deep and dark places, her depression intensifying with each passing hour. Jacques had crept into her thoughts more often than not, and she couldn’t fathom the snarl on his face and the rage in his eyes at the sight of her. The fact he’d hit her only bewildered her more, especially after all they’d been through.

  Although Alek had treated his men better than her, it wasn’t by much. Power had a way of corrupting even the purest of hearts.

  Pain ruled her body as he pushed off her, emptying her of his wrath.

  He untied one of her arms from the bedpost, not even bothering with the other, his ragged panting rasping in her ears. She let out a whimper as he roughly kissed her battered face and climbed out of bed, stumbling and blood drunk. The shower turned on in the adjacent room and he moaned at the pleasure of heat striking his skin. Curling on her side, Cindel freed herself from the headboard, her wrists gashed from the rope in bracelets of raw, pink flesh. They would heal—they always healed—for that was the benefit of immortality, wasn’t it? The agony would soon subside only to be inflicted again.

  Tears welled in her eyes as she remained in a fetal position on their lush bed, blood soaking the white satin sheets. He liked to see it, the evidence of his conquest, and the heavier the stains, the more it aroused him. Sometimes he was gentle, allowing her bits of ecstasy, a rare climax, to the point where she anticipated these moments of tenderness from him.

  But most times, he was not, his face pitiless as he performed intimate gestures. Like tonight.

  When Alek finished bathing, he dressed and prettied himself, humming a song of satisfaction that sounded an ocean away. He didn’t say a word, never said a word, even as she sniveled in the corner, exposed and broken.

  Hours after he left, while she endured a restless sleep, a soft knock rapped on their chamber door. Enfolding his hooded cloak around her abused body, she opened the door to reveal none other than Jacques, only a Major then and her bodyguard
to boot.

  His expression was always impartial when he looked at her, but his eyes spoke volumes. Sympathy, sadness, understanding. He too had shown up beaten, bearing his own wounds at the hands of their master. A tsarina and a high-ranking soldier—two unlikely allies trapped in the same nightmare.

  “Zia is ready for you, my Lady.” He bowed his head with deference, even as anger burned in his eyes, motioning down the hall to where Alek concealed his greatest prize. “She’s in need of assistance.”

  And Cindel never ceased to be amazed that her husband hadn’t slain his precious treasure, the human who’d kept them both alive for years.

  Forcing a smile, she said, “Aren’t we all?”

  Jacques had been kind to her, treated her fairly, a gentleman amongst savages. She’d grown fond of him over the years, relied on him even, to keep Alek in check. When she planned to escape the Met, she considered confiding in him, asking if he’d be willing to run away with her. But it was a risk, a far too dangerous gamble, given his unyielding fidelity to their sire.

  And now here she was, condemned by him, the hybrids, her very self.

  Staring somberly at the ceiling while she rested on the cot, she felt his presence before he said a word, his movements carrying the silence of vampyr as he approached the cell. Jon’s aura now held a striped variety of grays, reminding her of the ancient agate jewelry she used to wear to the Assembly gatherings.

  “Did you know your aura is more gray than black?” Her voice sounded detached, strange even to her own ears. “Perhaps they should call you the Gray Bullet. It suits you better.”

  “Doesn’t have the same ring to it.” His lips curved behind the tungsten bars. “Does it, your majesty?”

  She laughed with contempt. “I’m not royalty. Far from it.”

  “Not anymore, I guess.” The beeping sounds of numbers being pressed into a keypad chimed in the air. “What do you prefer to be called?”

  “Cindy.” She continued to look skyward, remembering the way Dax said her name, growled with anger, murmured with gentleness, breathless with pleasure. “I like Cindy.”

  The cage unlocked, metal disengaging from its frame as the bars slid open. “Me too.”

  She turned her head in surprise, sitting up and swinging her legs to the cold floor. “What are you doing?”

  His expression was dour, but his eyes sparked with . . . amusement? “You’re staying with me for a while.”

  Confusion muddled her thoughts. “With you?”

  “It’s too risky to keep you here, since we’re not quite sure if you’re linked with Alek—”

  “I’m not,” she swiftly cut in.

  He raised a placating hand. “We can’t prove that unless Rome verifies it. And since you won’t let him confirm, we have to get you out of here before the Temhota rains hell down on us and our home base.”

  Jon blocked the opening with his black-clad physique, a set of tungsten cuffs hooked around his pale fingers. Her eyes narrowed at his handsome face. “I thought Rome wanted me dead.”

  “Until I talked him out of it.” His lips twitched. “My sister and I swayed him into keeping you alive, since the pros seem to outweigh the cons.”

  An undeniable hope blossomed in her chest, the most delicate of flowers. “Pros?”

  “I’ll explain later.” He dangled the cuffs in front of her and stepped into the cell. “Let’s go.”

  Cindel stood and turned, swallowing hard as she offered her hands behind her back. “Why are you doing this?”

  Warm metal squeezed her wrists, tight enough to restrain but loose enough to allow circulation. “Doing what?”

  “Helping me.”

  He grasped her shoulders before spinning her around to face him. She had to look up to meet his solemn gaze, his ash and incense scent calming and familiar. “Because you’re not the only vampire who deserves the benefit of the doubt. I trust Dax’s judgment, always have. He’s a bit crazy, but he’s never been wrong.”

  She smiled, unable to help herself, warmth filling her heart.

  But he quickly doused that heat with cold reality. “It doesn’t mean you’re off the hook, though. This is only temporary until we clear you from any connection with Konstantinov. But you’ve got to be willing to cooperate. If not, my mate will have no problem kicking you out on the street.” He smirked, a gleam of humor lighting his eyes again, eyes so much like hers. “Trust me, I know from experience.”

  She nodded, a bit eagerly, grateful to have found a kindred spirit. “You’re different, like me. Aren’t you?”

  “Yeah,” he admitted as he drew away and removed his gun, a reminder that she was still his prisoner. “The question is how. Everyone knows why I’m different. No one knows about you. And that makes you dangerous.”

  She didn’t bother to protest since it would go unnoticed. She’d save her questions about his differences for later. “Thank you. For giving me a chance.”

  He didn’t respond, a muscle flexing in his jaw as he gestured out the door to freedom, no matter how temporary.

  “After you, my Lady.”

  ~ ~ ~

  The Long Island Sound stretched out before him, not nearly as breathtaking as the open ocean, but soothing all the same.

  Dax slowly went through the motions of his tai chi cool down, attempting to ease his frayed nerves. His ribs still ached, but Kasen had pulled the chest tube the day before, confident Dax’s lung wouldn’t collapse around his heart. His brother sent a pulse of his electric, healing power into him for good measure, although Kasen conserved most of his energy for another round of wounded humans expecting to arrive tonight.

  As they did every night.

  Rest another day and don’t do anything stupid, Kasen had said with a meaningful grin, but Dax obliged his request. Now that twenty-four hours had passed, he needed to get out and breathe in the fresh air, to move his rusted body after days of inactivity.

  Not to mention he needed the distraction.

  Cindy, or Cindel rather, haunted his every waking moment, pervading his mind even in sleep. He replayed their time together over and over, searching for any hint of ill intention, any indication as to why she would manipulate him. And damn it all to hell, he missed her. He longed for her presence, the taste of her lips, the texture of her skin, her cherry and ash scent, and it killed him that she was locked up in a box beneath the mansion.

  She didn’t deserve that. After all, he’d dragged her here in the first place.

  Dax inhaled deeply and maintained his pose, listening to the water lapping at the shore. The morning sky held the washed-out gray of a dying winter, as if the dark season refused to spread its claws to allow in the light of spring. The air was chilly too, the cold nipping at his skin, but he didn’t mind the goosebumps and misty breath.

  Life was never more focused or sharper than in winter. Even at its end.

  Footsteps approached, sneakers crunching over rock as they decelerated to a stride. Only one man ran this shore for miles on end, day in and day out, never missing his daily therapy session.

  Rome.

  Dax wouldn’t acknowledge his brother’s presence, completely ignoring him, but Rome’s sure footing never faltered. Dax swept into another pose, bringing his leg out and back, lifting his arms as he perched like a skater cutting across the ice.

  He shut his eyes as Rome’s steps ceased, his brother standing so close Dax smelled his clove-tinged sweat.

  “Glad to see you out and about,” Rome said breathily. “You look well.”

  Dax didn’t say a word, holding the pose without the slightest tremor, concentrating on the lapping waves.

  Rome pitched a sigh. “Dax.”

  Dropping his leg down, Dax straightened and clasped his hands together. Anger lit off a fuse in the center of
his chest and his eyes snapped open onto the bleak horizon, the skeletons of trees scrabbling at the sky, the bones of the earth laid bare before him.

  The way he pictured an innocent mind would look like at the mercy of his brother.

  “Did you find the answers you were looking for?” Dax asked quietly, but the rage brewing inside him leeched into his voice. “When you invaded her thoughts?”

  “I didn’t invade a goddamn thing,” Rome shot back with his own heat. “Unlike her rapist of a husband.”

  Dax whipped around to face him, gritting his teeth so hard they should’ve cracked. “You heard her. She ran from him.”

  Rome popped both earbuds from his ears and let them hang at his collar, white wires hidden under his T-shirt. Rhythmic trance drummed from the speakers as he set his jaw. “So she says.”

  “Didn’t you see the truth?” Dax growled, a tenuous thread of hope tying around his furious heart. “When you knocked her out and threw her in a fucking cage?”

  Rome scoffed. “Are you listening to me? I didn’t enter her mind. No matter how badly I wanted to.”

  Dax advanced on him, cranking his hands into fists. “And what, you’re just going to wait until she offers you her brain on a silver platter?”

  Rome didn’t move an inch, totally and infuriatingly unaffected, his expression a mask of neutrality. “I gave her a choice.” His goat eyes bore into him, glowing their demonic yellow. “She can take it or leave it. You should be grateful for that.”

  “You gave her an ultimatum,” Dax countered. “That isn’t a choice.”

  His brother started to pace, hands on his hips, his long stride easily clearing the rocks. “I should’ve never sent you up there.”

  Dax raised a middle finger, positively seething now. “Fuck you. I’m not a child and you’re not my fucking father.”

  Rome stilled, black staining the molten gold of his gaze. “I’m your brother. And your leader. I’m responsible for protecting you, even from yourself.”