by Linda Howard
Jonas flitted about the small basement room where he worked, slept on a hard cot, and fed on the donors Regina had sent to him—just often enough to keep him alive and functioning. Gone were the days when he’d fed at will, leisurely and with great pleasure. These days he didn’t receive a human for feeding until he was near starving, which didn’t bode well for the human.
This was Jonas’s world for now. Maps covered two walls, and a large corkboard hung upon another. A long plain table in the center of the room held notepads, pens, and pencils. Regina allowed Jonas the use of a laptop computer, but only when he was being closely supervised. That computer, and his carefully programmed cell, were his only contacts with the outside world. There was not a stick of comfortable furnishing, no rug to soften the concrete floor. It was a prison, as stark as Regina could manage to make it.
The thin, harried vampire flitted from one map to another with a handful of pins. Yellow for the recently activated, red for one who was close to bringing in a warrior, black for those who’d been eliminated. Sorin was glad to see that there were a fair number of black pins in Jonas’s maps. He was disturbed to see a new profusion of yellow, as well as a dozen red.
“How can we stop them all?” Jonas asked softly, as if he were talking to himself. “They’re everywhere. Paris, this morning, and now London. Why? The rebellion is here, in this country. Warriors are supposed to come in close to the site of battle, right? They don’t have the time to be traveling all over the world. It’s not like they can hop on a plane, not without money and identification and … and why are they starting to come in so far away?”
Sorin suspected that the warriors, who resided in a very real world beyond this one where they lived, waited and watched, realized what was happening and were taking drastic measures to ensure that some of their number arrived in time.
And look at this!” Jonas flailed a hand toward one map. “Eight in New York. Eight! How are we supposed to stop so many?” He shook his head. “She’s going to be so mad. She’s going to be angry as hell.” His entire body shuddered. An angry Regina had become his greatest fear, and with good reason. While no scars were left behind, thanks to Jonas’s vampire blood, the pain she inflicted upon him when it suited her was very real.
Sorin was concerned by the new developments, but he wasn’t alarmed. Regina had spent the last several years bringing over subjects, her own devoted children, who would serve her faithfully when she ruled. She treated them better than poor Jonas, and thereby kept them loyal, but at the same time she made sure they always knew who was in charge. Their numbers had grown, and though many in her army were newer vampires who had not yet discovered extraordinary talents, humans didn’t have a chance against even the weakest vampire—as long as they didn’t know what was coming and how to fight it. There were a number of veterans among the rebels, too, ancient vampires like Sorin who were tired of hiding in the dark corners of the world. He’d send veterans to handle the red, fledglings to the yellow. Soon they would all be black.
There remained only one pin in the D.C. area of the map that was not black, and it was an unalarming yellow. Sorin hoped Regina was right and Luca would soon tire of the human. It would be much easier to eliminate Chloe Fallon and stop her ancestor from coming in so close to the seat of the rebellion if she were not in the protection of one of the most powerful vampires in existence.
Sorin left Jonas to his mumblings and pins, issued orders to those who were waiting for them, and then swiftly climbed the stairs to Nevada’s quarters. In a few hours he’d leave for New York. Before then, he needed to do what he could to spur her on.
While he’d always championed a more subtle approach with Nevada—out of necessity, as a wounded and weak witch would be of no use to them at all—he sometimes wondered if Regina’s methods would be more effective. He shuddered at the thought of one so young and vulnerable in the kind of pain Regina could inflict, and he found himself glad that it had never come to that. Nevada was soft, her emotions her weakness. The threats to her family kept her in line. If one of those family members was disposed of before her eyes, would she work harder to save the others? Or would they lose her entirely? If he threatened to allow Loman to feed from her, would she find a reserve of strength to complete the spell?
He couldn’t allow her scent to distract him. Now that he’d identified why that smell was so familiar, he should be able to dismiss the memories and the unwanted weakness those memories brought forth. Nevada was a tool, nothing more.
One of the new guards was at the door, bored and disdainful of her new position. She’d rather be killing conduits, had all but begged to be taken on as a hunter. Sorin nodded to Danica and walked into Nevada’s room.
Nevada’s head snapped up in obvious alarm, her eyes widened. Was it his imagination or was she thinner than she’d been just a few months ago? He pushed the thought aside. He didn’t care, as long as she ate enough for her body to function until she’d done what she’d been brought here to do.
He was surprised that she didn’t glare at him for entering without knocking, as if her complaints had ever made a difference. “Wait right there,” she said softly.
“I don’t wait,” Sorin responded, but he did stop several feet away from Nevada and her worktable.
Nevada closed her eyes, stretched out her arms. She looked ethereal, with her fine red hair hanging around her shoulders, with the loose robe she wore clinging to her body here and there, flowing freely in others. Yes, she was thinner than she’d been, even a year ago. She hadn’t seen the sun for three years, and her naturally pale skin was delicately creamy, unblemished, and unmarked but for those light freckles. He might turn her, he thought idly. Then she’d be more pale, more beautiful, more powerful. If she kept her witch’s powers after being turned, she would be incredibly important in the new order.
There were only two choices for Nevada. She would be turned or she would die. If she had the power to undo the old spell then she could also cast it all over again, and that could not be allowed. If she were one of the kindred, she’d have no reason to work against them—if any of her innate witchcraft remained within her.
She began to whisper. He knew several languages, and this was not one of them. As Sorin watched, the shimmer he’d noticed on other occasions came to life. It grew. Sparks of light danced within the circle of magic Nevada created. The shimmer became a bubble that surrounded her, encased her. It grew until it almost touched Sorin, and then it stopped. He’d seen her do this once before.
Nevada opened her eyes. “You’re not welcome here,” she whispered. “You cannot come in.”
Unconcerned, Sorin took a single step toward her … and ran into the shield she had created. He could go no farther. He shouldered the transparent bubble, tried to push his way through the shimmer, but it was no use. She was entirely protected.
It occurred to him that if they didn’t have her family as leverage, Nevada could protect herself so none could touch her; she could effectively take “home” with her, wherever she went.
And then she said, “Come in.”
This time when Sorin stepped forward, he easily passed through the shield of protection. He was within it, with Nevada.
“This isn’t new,” he said, displeasure in his voice.
Nevada looked disappointed. “This recent spell is much stronger than the first one. Can’t you feel it?”
“No.”
“Man, I can feel it. It’s like the whole world is buzzing, like the magic is crawling on my skin, but not in a bad way. It’s so cool.”
“How close are you to breaking the original spell?” Sorin asked. Nevada was obviously experiencing a rush caused by the power of her magic, but he felt nothing. He was glad she was enjoying herself, but Regina was losing her patience, and he didn’t have an abundance of patience himself. How much longer would Regina give Nevada to finish the job that had been forced upon her? “How long before this is finished?”
“Days, I think,” she whisper
ed.
“Good.” He moved closer to Nevada. She didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. It had been a long time since he’d scared her, though if he tried …
“I have a request,” she said, looking at his chest rather than into his eyes.
It was unlikely that any of her requests would be honored, but it wouldn’t be wise to tell her so, not if she was close to breaking the spell. “What do you want this time?” As if he didn’t know.
“Release my family. Once I know they’re safe, I’ll break the spell for you.”
“This is becoming tiresome …”
“It’s what I need to do this. If I’m going to be responsible for letting vampires loose on the world, I should get something in return.”
Sorin didn’t have any qualms about making promises and not keeping them. Still, he hesitated, as if giving the matter some thought. Finally he said, “If you insist.”
She raised her head and looked him in the eye, studying him too closely. “I’ll require proof.”
Nevada was no longer the trembling girl he’d brought to this place. She’d found a new strength. Perhaps he should complain, but it was that strength that would allow her to break the spell.
“As I will require proof that the spell can be broken before I allow your family to go free.”
She nodded, and in that moment he saw the truth. Nevada wasn’t lying. After three years, she was finally and truly close to breaking the spell.
When no vampire could be denied access to a human’s home, an era of chaos would begin. Sorin smiled. There had been too little chaos in his life of late.
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
How was she supposed to pack when she didn’t know where she was going or what she’d be doing, how long she’d be gone, what she’d need? Basics, Chloe thought. She had to think basics: underwear, socks, jeans, T-shirts. Black yoga pants, and a lightweight sweater. A black knit dress that wouldn’t wrinkle, and a pair of black pumps, because who knew if a war with vampires might require something a little dressy? Yeah, she was feeling more than a little pissy about the whole situation, remembering that … that fuckfest last night, wondering what she’d gotten herself into, scared and annoyed and excited all at once. Anyway, if the need arose for a dress, she’d have one. That left enough room for a bag of toiletries and a pair of pajamas, though if last night was any clue, she wouldn’t be needing the pajamas.
As she packed, she could hear Luca moving about in the living room. No, hear wasn’t the right word, because he didn’t make any noise. The man was as silent as a cat. But she knew precisely where he was, and when he started walking toward her bedroom, toward her, she was instantly swamped in anticipation, hope, and a pounding need that threatened to wipe away everything else. It was annoying as hell, and so sexy she almost couldn’t bear it.
She was aware of his presence the moment he reached the doorway. She felt more connected to him simply because they were now breathing the same air, and she didn’t know if this bonding deal was a good thing or bad, if perhaps she’d made the biggest, worst mistake of her life. She had bonded herself to a vampire. On the surface, that couldn’t be good. But … Luca. Her heart leaped simply because she thought his name. She felt his gaze like a touch, a sense of electricity that hummed between them. He was watching her, watching her more closely than anyone ever had before.
“You called the restaurant?” he asked, his deep voice slicing through her as if the words had taken on a life of their own and physically touched her.
“I did.” She rearranged a pair of socks, staring into her bag so she wouldn’t have to look at Luca. “I told them I was sick—vomiting and diarrhea, to be precise—and would probably be out for several days. No one wants a restaurant employee with the stomach flu to show up for work, no matter how shorthanded they might be.”
“They believed you?”
The simple question touched a nerve, but then she already felt raw and exposed. She was now well beyond annoyed. “Why shouldn’t they?” she snapped. “I’m an honest person. I’m dependable. Maybe that’s not exciting, maybe you don’t think it’s much to brag about, but it’s who I am. I don’t stay out of work, I don’t call in sick when I’m not sick, and … and …”
Unwanted tears stung her eyes, and she blinked them back. “Dammit, I’m going to lose my job,” she said, her voice quivering despite her effort to hold it steady. “If I lose my job, I’ll lose my house, and none of it matters anyway if I’m dead, so forget I said all that.” She bit her lip and turned away, not wanting him to see what a mess she was. “I thought if we bonded I wouldn’t have to hide.”
He blew out a breath. “Bonding links us. It makes you stronger. It gives you certain advantages. But you aren’t, in any way, on a par with a vampire. You’re still vulnerable, just less so. It frees me when I need to leave you to feed, because I’ll still be connected to you. If you hadn’t agreed to bond, my only other option was to kidnap you and take you away. As it is, you’ll still have to hide and avoid your regular routine.”
“Until when?” she asked in despair.
“Until your Warrior comes through. After that, there’s no point in killing you, because the Warrior will already be here.” He suddenly went still. She didn’t have to see him to know. “I wonder how they knew you’re a conduit,” he murmured. “Fuck. I should have thought of that before.”
Hearing the word “fuck” from his mouth, even in a context that had nothing to do with sex, was like touching a lit match to dry kindling, at least as far as her body was concerned. She closed her eyes and carefully sucked in her breath, trying not to alert him that every cell in her body was abruptly focused on sex.
It was a useless effort. He said “Chloe,” and just that one word, her name, in a tone gone almost guttural with need, made her knees go so weak she began swaying where she stood.
He moved closer, his body hot against her back, and placed his hands—hands strong enough to tear another vampire into pieces, and wasn’t that a cheerful thought?—on her shoulders. Despite knowing what he was, his touch was comforting, and a whole lot more than just comforting. Low in her mid-section, a rhythmic throb began to beat. It was as if she needed him the same way she needed air. So much, so soon—or was it too much, too soon? Either way, this was a lot to handle. It was as if she had to have him just because he was here, as if he were an addiction. She was such a sucker for—Okay, bad choice of words, all things considered.
He leaned forward, placed his mouth on the side of her neck and gently bit down. Chloe held her breath, waiting. Was he going to really bite? She should shrug him away, tell him to back off, but she’d enjoyed the sensation of his teeth on her skin—in her skin—enough to be more hopeful than afraid.
She was sick, standing there holding her breath, hoping he would bite her, praying he wouldn’t, yearning for that sensation that joined them in a way she’d never expected to know. Understanding that it was wrong didn’t make her want any less, and was it wrong, when she had willingly entered the bond with him? Was it wrong when he was as caught in this trap as she was? She didn’t know why he’d come in search of her, maybe to make certain she was actually packing, but now she could feel the hard jut of his erection against her bottom, feel his heart pounding as surely as he could feel hers. He moved his hands to firmly cup her breasts, and increased the pressure on that sensitive curve where her neck flowed into her shoulders. The lash of sensation through her body wrenched a thin, helpless cry from her as her head tilted back against his shoulder.
He knew what she wanted. Of course he did. He wanted it, too, and she knew him as well as he knew her. He was inside her, in her head and her body, in whatever it was that made her who she was: soul, spirit, essence. He protected her; in a way she didn’t want to explore too closely he owned her. Chloe wasn’t the kind of woman who would ever agree to being owned by anyone, but she couldn’t fight what she felt, what she knew. The sex allowed her to forget, for a while, and she really needed to forget
.
Luca lifted her bag from the bed and dropped it on the floor. Pulling her close, he nipped at her throat, drew a drop of blood, licked there. Slowly. And everything inside her melted. She felt different when he touched her, different inside and out—more whole and sound and at the same time on the edge of completely losing control. For someone who never lost control that experience should be frightening, but instead she liked it. She wallowed in the new feeling. It was like flying—and she wanted to fly.
Chloe put aside worries about her job, her life, and turned to face him. “Sex can’t be the answer to everything,” she said as she draped her arms around his strong neck.
He bent his head to hers. “For now, it can,” he said, and kissed her.
Her body knew his as if they’d never been strangers, as if he’d always been a part of her. His scent, the weight of his hands, the warmth of his mouth. And more, the way they were drawn together.
She’d been bewitched. No, she’d been taken. She’d been changed. And at the moment, she didn’t mind at all.
She had thought Luca was determined to leave here before dark, but he didn’t touch her like a man in a hurry. He unbuttoned her blouse and slipped it down her arms, dropped it onto the top of her bag. He removed her bra, and at least this time it survived the effort; last night, her clothes had ended up in shreds around her. As he pushed her jeans and underwear down, he looked at the juncture of her thighs so intensely she almost came then and there, embarrassingly easy. Going down on one knee, he gripped her naked bottom and brought her forward to his mouth, his tongue playing with her clitoris. That was enough. She trembled, moaned, and began coming.
The next thing she knew she was flat on her back on the bed, stark naked, with only a hazy memory of being moved at dizzying speed. Luca was shucking out of his own clothes so fast she hoped they survived. He came down on top of her, positioned her, entered her. Oh, God. She arched at the sensation of being stretched by his thickness, her body instinctively trying to find the best angle and fit, but he didn’t give her the time. He simply gripped her hips and began thrusting and that was, after all, what she needed and wanted.