“Impose a curfew, effective immediately until I get to the bottom of things.”
Disconnecting the call, Destin Jourdain let a tear fall in mourning for those who had been lost, those that might still be lost should something not immediately be done. Then, he sucked in a bracing breath and released his pain in a roar that shook the floorboards. The vampires had no idea of the hell they had just unleashed.
Chapter Eighteen
“The boss wants to see you,” were the words that greeted Morgan immediately upon entering Rodolfo’s villa.
She gritted her teeth against the urge to ignore the summons and run up to the guest suites to check on her team, but that would most likely see her being chased down and probably dragged in front of the Born, considering how seriously Rodolfo’s Turned took their orders. “Of course. Where is he?”
Instead of answering, the muscle-bound vampire chose to escort her. Luckily for him, he wasn’t foolish enough to put his hands on her as he led her through the house. The way she was feeling, she may well have pulled the gun Travis had handed her before kissing her goodbye with enough passion to curl her toes and shot the belligerent guard.
Their destination was the billiards room, and upon entering, she noted that Rodolfo was currently speaking to a human man and something in the way the Born was staring into the other man’s eyes as he spoke almost had Morgan’s mouth dropping open with shock. Olivier Rodolfo had the gift of compulsion. It was an extremely rare gift among their kind, maybe only occurring once in every thousand naturally born vampire. But those gifted with compulsion were stuck in one singular form – a cosmic tradeoff so to speak.
The vast majority of her kind held the ability to change their shape either by dispersing their molecules into a thick mist or fog or by breaking apart into a cloud of bats. As a small child, feeling quite clever, Morgan had once made the observation to her parents that the latter ability gave the Born something in common with the shifters. They had been appalled by the very suggestion and she'd been assigned extra studies as punishment, her tutor told to, quote, keep her mind from contemplating such blasphemous thoughts, end quote.
Morgan personally didn’t like changing form, finding the sensation too unsettling, but it was a convenient attribute should she be attacked, and the knowledge that Rodolfo couldn’t elude her in that way was definitely useful information right now should she be forced to kill the Born if he’d done something to her team. But compulsion? She’d have to warn Travis.
No wonder he, and the rest of law enforcement, couldn’t get anything on Rodolfo despite their best efforts. It wasn’t blind devotion or payoffs that were making random people confess to crimes they hadn’t committed. They were being compelled to do so, leaving Rodolfo completely free to run his illegal businesses without fear of repercussion.
“Ah, Morgan, how lovely to see you again,” Rodolfo declared, striding forward to greet her. When the human man followed like an over-eager puppy, the Born shot him a look of annoyance before shooing him away with the flick of his fingers and a growled, “I’m done with you. Go away now.”
As the human scurried out, Rodolfo took her fingers in his and kissed the back of her hand. “Have you given any thought to my proposal?”
It was tough to keep the pleasant, smiling mask in place in light of both the question as well as the fact that he hadn’t released her hand, but somehow, Morgan managed. “I confess, I might still be in shock, Olivier. Someone like you could have any woman he wanted.”
Openly pleased with her flattery, Rodolfo kept hold of her hand as he led her deeper into the room and motioned for her to take a seat on one of the stools in front of the polished bar. “Let’s have a drink, shall we?”
Morgan wanted to scream. She didn’t want to have a drink, nor waste her time on stroking this asshole’s ego. She wanted to find her team, finish this mission so that she could personally deliver Rodolfo on Destin Jourdain’s doorstep. Then, she could concentrate on searching Rodolfo’s files for any clue as to what had happened to Sophia St. John.
With the end goal in mind, she accepted the tumbler of whiskey on ice Rodolfo prepared for her, took a drink, and went ahead with her previous plan to double down on her line of questioning. Pasting on a coy smile, she forced herself to skim her fingertips flirtatiously over the top of Rodolfo’s hand. “I heard a rather intriguing rumor about you lately.”
“Oh? And what would that be?”
His eyes had turned flinty with suspicion so Morgan was careful to keep her tone admiring as she leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “I’ve heard you may have ordered your people to exterminate those pesky little witches in your territory. How utterly clever of you.”
The smile he shot her was hard, his words clipped as he replied, “And where did you hear that, Mademoiselle Rhys?”
If his expression hadn’t been a dead giveaway, her demotion back to the formal address would have. Shit. She’d obviously fucked up, but before she could attempt to backpedal, Rodolfo suggested, “Perhaps you heard it from your cop lover, Officer St. John?” His face turned mocking. “No. He’s nothing more than a weak human you’ve chosen to amuse yourself with, I’m sure.”
Inwardly relieved that Rodolfo obviously had no clue what Travis really was, Morgan outwardly steeled herself for what was sure to come next. The Born was building up to something, taunting her with how much he already knew. Her fingers twitched with the need to arm herself.
Tapping his finger on his chin for a moment, he made a motion as if the answer had just occurred to him. “You must have heard it from your new friend, Destin Jourdain.”
His eyes narrowed threateningly. “Interesting company you’ve been keeping lately, my dear.” Releasing a sound of disgust, Rodolfo shook his head at her in disappointment, his expression a mirror image of one she’d seen on her father’s face far too many times. “Betraying your own kind,” he reproached. “How very sad.”
Done playing nice, Morgan was about to pull her gun, level it at Rodolfo’s head, and demand answers, but she was forestalled when one of the Born’s lackeys barged into the room practically at a full run. “Trouble outside.”
With the promise of, “We’ll finish this later,” Rodolfo walked off without a backward glance.
Hoping Travis hadn’t gone and done something stupid, Morgan ran for the nearest window that afforded a view of the front gates only to blink in surprise at what she was seeing. The gate was bent in on itself, a mangled ruin, the cameras mounted on top sparking in malfunction as Destin Jourdain stood in the gaping hole, arms spread wide. The leader of the Order of Witches, looked fearsome in the glow of the security lights, wearing nothing but a pair of linen draw-string pants. His gleaming torso was painted with symbols, his head held high, his voice carrying all the way to her as he shouted in his booming baritone, “You want to go to war with me!”
Vampires raced toward him to defend their territory only to drop to their knees, screaming and holding their heads as blood leaked from their eyes, ears, noses, and mouths. Morgan watched in awe of the power of a single man against an army of vampires and knew whole-heartedly that the vampires didn’t stand a chance.
Shaking herself out of her fascination, she raced for the stairs to find her team. She checked Jamie’s room first as Kane was more likely to join her than vice versa. No sign of the blonde vampire and while a quick check confirmed that Jamie’s clothes and toiletries were still there, not a single piece of tech remained.
With her heart seemingly lodged in her throat, Morgan ran for Kane’s room and burst through the door to find the younger Born sprawled across his bed sideways and bare-assed naked. The smells in the room, hard liquor, stale perfume, and sex told one story, but another scent, just the barest trace of a familiar, delicate and quite dangerous scent that Morgan recognized from her childhood, gave that story a sinister slant. Belladonna.
It had been one of her mother’s favorite games to play when she was displeased with Morgan’s father. And tho
ugh her father had eventually learned to recognize the scent of deadly nightshade, frustrating her mother’s future attempts to put her husband out, someone not familiar with the plant and its effects would never suspect that their drink may have been doctored. While the plant wasn’t fatal to vampires like it was for humans, if consumed, it would put that vampire out for a long period of time and upon awakening, they would be nauseous, their reflexes and mental acuity sluggish, leaving them vulnerable and open to attack.
Gunfire erupted outside, the battle escalating, but Morgan couldn’t afford to be distracted. Giving Kane several hard shakes to rouse him, she finally managed to get him to crack his eyes open. He blinked at her a few times, revealing bloodshot, red-rimmed eyes, grunted, attempted to roll over and immediately heaved the contents of his stomach onto the bed.
“You’ve been drugged,” Morgan briskly explained. “And Jamie’s missing. We need to find her. Can you walk?”
Pushing himself up with shaking arms, he let out a few more retching sounds but managed to get to his feet with a groaned, “That bitch.”
Kane shook his head hard in an attempt to clear it and stumbled, barely managing to catch himself before he hit the floor. Groaning, he extended his hand, his voice yet weak as he said, “Hand me my clothes, would you? And fill me in. Are those gunshots I hear?”
Morgan did her best to bring him as up to date as she could while she helped him dress and then admitted, “I don’t even know where to start looking for Jamie.”
“We’ll search the house,” Kane offered. “She has to be here somewhere.”
As the last word left his mouth, a loud shout from outside could be heard. Jourdain bellowing, “Face me, Rodolfo, you coward!” and Morgan was reminded of what the leader of the Order had told her about what Rodolfo did with vampires who displease him. “The greenhouse,” Morgan blurted, levering herself under Kane’s arms to support him as they walked. “There’s one somewhere on the property. It’s where he puts the Turned vampires that piss him off.”
Kane nodded, using his free hand to brace against the wall as they lurched awkwardly into the hallway. “I’ve seen it. I didn’t go inside but I saw it the other day when I was scoping things out.”
Morgan noted his voice sounded stronger and by the time they descended the stairs, he wasn’t leaning quite so heavily on her. Good. Because there was every possibility that they were going to need to fight their way out of here.
Chapter Nineteen
Travis had told Morgan he’d wait, be her back up when and if she needed it, but he’d never promised to do so patiently. His hand continually tapping out a beat on his thigh, he must have checked his phone at least fifty times by now.
He’d parked his truck a block away to ensure Rodolfo’s guards wouldn’t catch sight of him lurking, but he still managed to hear the commotion once it started. Checking his phone again and still not seeing anything from Morgan, Travis let out a frustrated, “Fuck it,” and got out of the truck to do a subtle walk-by to see if he could figure out what was happening.
Yup. Nothing to see here. Just taking a stroll at, checking the time on his phone he mentally continued, three-fifteen in the morning.
But as he drew closer to Rodolfo’s villa and the shouts became louder, he took in the mass of bent metal that had once been the front gate as well as the bloodied bodies littering the ground. “Holy shit,” he breathed, picking up the pace until he was running.
Gunfire rang out, a loud crack that had Travis ducking into a crouching run, and then a barrage of bullets. “Morgan!” he bellowed, his eyes instantly shifting from human into those of his other form as he scanned the bodies, looking for a familiar shape.
The leader of the Order of Witches, Destin Jourdain was standing in the middle of the carnage, his face a mask of lethal fury, his lips moving in a quiet chant as vampires fell screaming around him and bullets dropped harmlessly at his feet.
Travis was completely transfixed by the level of power on display when suddenly Jourdain bellowed, “Face me, Rodolfo, you coward!”
The Born appeared in a blur of preternatural speed attempting to outmaneuver Jourdain only to be halted a mere handful of feet from his goal. Jourdain flicked his wrist, and Rodolfo’s feet left the ground. The vampire hung suspended in the air, struggling to move as blood began dripping from his eyes, nose, and mouth.
“Ho-Ly-Shit.”
Ducking into the bushes that lined the fence so as not to be mistaken by Jourdain for one of Rodolfo’s men and become a recipient of the witch’s wrath, Travis pulled out his phone and called Morgan, chanting, “Come on, come on, come on, pickup,” the entire time it rang without answer.
Nearly desperate with worry, his brain managing to picture seemingly every possible worst-case scenario in a matter of seconds, the call finally connected, the sound of shouts and gunfire now in stereo as Morgan said without preamble, “I’m fine. I found Kane. We’re still looking for Jamie. Are you all right? You sound like you’re on the property.”
“I’m good,” he said on a sigh of relief. “It’s a fucking warzone out here. Do you need my help searching?”
There was a pause as she considered his offer before she said, “We’re about to check the greenhouse. Can you get into the villa?”
“No problem. By the looks of it, everyone is out here. The place should be empty.”
“Thank you. And Travis? Be careful.”
“You too. See you soon.”
Disconnecting the call, Travis resumed his running crouch and keeping to the shadows, sprinted for the villa. He’d search for Jamie as he’d promised, notify Morgan immediately if he found her, but once that was done he’d also be taking a little detour. He may never get this opportunity again.
∞∞∞
The greenhouse was a large structure, though typical in design, but the smell when they walked in held nothing of growing life. Mingled with the overpowering fake floral scent of air fresheners and the surprising undertone of coffee grounds was the smell of putrid desiccation, rotting flesh, a miasma of death that had Morgan reeling back in distaste and Kane bending over gagging.
“Jesus Christ,” Kane groaned. “When I saw how heavily guarded this place was, I assumed Rodolfo was growing weed or had a meth lab or something. This is fucking nasty.”
Numerous large wooden crates were stacked against one glass wall with smaller over-turned crates scattered haphazardly across the floor and under long banquet-style folding tables. Moving toward the larger crates, Morgan watched as Kane pried it open with his bare hands. The display of strength had her smiling. “You’re feeling better, I see,” she teased.
Kane threw her a grin over his shoulder before grabbing handfuls of straw out of the crate to reveal a shitload of automatic weapons. “Your cop is going to love this.”
Yes, he was. Especially if all of these crates held more of the same.
Curious about what, if anything, might be in the small, overturned crates, Morgan moved to the nearest one and toed it with her boot. The crate moved several inches before she met with resistance. Something was underneath. Flipping the crate up, she and Kane both jumped back when they saw what the wooden box had hidden.
A head. More specifically, the head of a vampire. The leathery, dehydrated skin was sunken tight to the skull, the lips withered, having pulled back from dirty, fanged teeth. What hair remained on the head had gone white, only wisps remaining to cover the scalp.
Suddenly, the eyes popped opened, revealing cloudy blue orbs and both Morgan and Kane let out a shout of startlement. “Christ! It’s the fucking Crypt Keeper!” Kane bellowed, quickly covering the head once more with the discarded crate.
“Shit,” Morgan breathed, still trying to get her rapidly beating heart back under control. “He buries them out here in this oven, starves them…” Shaking her head to clear it, she stiffened her spine. “We need to find Jamie.”
With renewed purpose, Morgan and Kane began lifting crates off of heads in varying stages of s
tarvation and degradation. “There’s so many of them,” Kane whispered in a small voice.
“We’ll find her.” Moving to one of the large crates just in case some of them carried more than just illegal goods, Morgan spotted a heavy door toward the back that looked like it led to a walk-in cooler. “Keep going with this,” she threw over her shoulder as she strode toward the door. “I’m going to check out that room, see if Rodolfo stashed Jamie in the back.”
“Be careful.”
Oh, absolutely. Just because all the exterior guards had run toward the battle didn’t mean there weren’t one or two or ten that had decided to hide and chill out back here. Literally.
Pulling her gun free of the waistband of her jeans, Morgan pulled hard on the door, the seal breaking with a hiss. Her breath fogged as soon as she stepped into the frigid temperatures of the room. Leaving the door propped open so she didn’t end up locked inside with whatever might be in here, Morgan attempted to sniff the air but her nasal passages were still too aggravated by the assault they had suffered in the main portion of the greenhouse. In here, all she could sense was cold.
Finding the light, she flipped it on to reveal an almost empty room. In the center, however, there was a huge, meticulously sculpted statue of a dragon. The magnificent piece was carved from black stone, perhaps obsidian, and stood over ten feet tall. Moving closer, Morgan took in the incredible attention to detail. Whoever had carved this was an amazing talent though why Rodolfo would hide it back here in cold storage, Morgan had no clue. Granted, the sculpture was a bit dark in its depiction, with one of the dragon’s wings torn, its body wrapped in silver barbed wire, its posture that of a beast writhing, attempting to escape capture, but she’d seen Rodolfo’s art collection and dark certainly wasn’t a problem for him.
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