Читать книгу Angel's Pain - Maggie Shayne - Страница 7

“I understand you’ve been looking for me,” Gregor said, speaking as if he were perfectly calm. As if every cell in his body wasn’t coiled tight at the notion of what he was about to do.

“Yes, that’s true,” Special Agent Dwyer confirmed. He kept his hands thrust into the deep pockets of his raincoat, shoulders hunched, collar turned up against the icy drizzle that pelted them both where they stood in a rest area off a major highway in the middle of nowhere.

3:00 a.m. Gregor was at the peak of his wakefulness. Dwyer was having trouble keeping his eyes open, despite the fact that he reeked of the coffee he’d been guzzling.

“So?” Gregor asked.

“Look, I appreciate you comin’ in, Gregory.”

“Gregor,” he snapped. “Nobody calls me Gregory. Not anymore.”

“Sorry.” Dwyer had jerked backward a bit at the barked correction, and Gregor was glad to see it. It wouldn’t do to have this man thinking of him as just another mortal operative under his command. He wasn’t mortal. And he wasn’t just another anything. He was a vampire.

He was a god.

“Sorry,” Dwyer repeated. “Still, it’s good you decided to come in for this meetin’. It’ll go a long way toward convincin’ the powers that be of your sincerity.”

“Fuck the powers that be.”

Dwyer went silent, his head coming up slowly and his eyes seeming to reflect uncertainty for the first time during their clandestine meeting.

“I know full well there’s a burn order on me, Dwyer. Frankly, I’m surprised you haven’t tried to take me out already.”

“No one’s goin’ to kill you, Gregor.”

“You’re right about that much, at least.” Gregor lifted a hand, snapped his fingers. Immediately, the drones came lumbering out of the wooded area behind the rest stop.

They were not pretty, and they couldn’t even begin to pass for human. Their size, their lumbering gait, the blank, not-quite-right look in their eyes. They were a step evolved from the popular version of Frankenstein’s monster, but only in that their heads were not visibly stitched onto their necks, nor did they have bolts sticking out on either side of their throats.

Aside from those minor differences, though, they were pretty close.

A woman came out of the restroom, saw the drones lumbering across the slightly sloped lawn toward her, a dozen of them, and ran shrieking for her car. Change jangled like hailstones onto the pavement as a stunned man stared, his hand seeming to lose its ability to grasp the coins. A car that had veered into the parking area suddenly accelerated, nearly running other vehicles off the road as it sped back to the highway.

The mayhem caused by the appearance of the monsters lasted only seconds. And yeah, Gregor thought, maybe the witnesses didn’t really think of them as monsters. But there was no question something about them wasn’t quite right, no question that there were a lot of them, no question that they were big, oversized, powerful and intent on…some thing. That was enough.

And he liked to think someone might have had the word monster whisper through their mind.

“What is this?” Dwyer asked. He was already pulling a gun from inside one of those deep pockets, no doubt the one he’d intended to shoot Gregor with, and backing toward his car. The rest of the place was now deserted.

“This is what I believe you would call an ambush, Dwyer. But don’t worry. I’m not going to have them kill you.” He smiled slowly. “Not right away, at least.” And then he ducked behind the concrete building to watch as the drones closed in.

Dwyer lifted the gun, fired off a round, and one of the drones dropped in an oversized heap on the ground and lay there, moaning and bleeding and too damned dumb to do anything about it. Nor did any of his cohorts rush to his aid. They had one purpose. Obey their master.

They kept coming. Dwyer kept shooting. A few fell, but the rest came on faster. Dwyer grappled for his car door, yanking it open, stumbling backward into the car while still firing.

A wounded drone grabbed at his ankle. He fired again and tugged himself free, yanking his leg inside, slamming the car door, hitting the locks.

He thought he was free as he struggled to fit the key into the ignition.

The idiot.

A drone tore the driver’s door from the car and sent it sailing through the air. Another gripped Dwyer by his gun-wielding arm, squeezing his wrist until the pistol dropped uselessly to the ground. Then he picked Dwyer up easily as the terrified man struggled.

Why did he fight, Gregor wondered, when he knew he was beaten?

One paw to the side of his head and Dwyer was fighting no more. Gregor stepped out from behind the concrete bunker that housed the public toilets and tasted victory.

“Tie him up and put him in the Jeep,” he commanded. “I’ll take him from here.”

The lug with Dwyer over his shoulder gave a mindless nod and carried the agent to the Jeep Wrangler, tossing him into the back like so much dirty laundry, then binding his wrists and ankles.

Gregor looked around the parking lot. There were three dead drones, a handful more wounded. There was too much here to clean up. Bullets, casings, blood. “Leave the dead,” he said. “Leave it all, but tend to your wounded. Stanch the bleeding the way I’ve shown you. Remember not to bind the wounds too tightly,” he said, recalling how one injured drone had lost an arm the first time he’d tried to show them basic vampire first aid. “Once you’ve stopped the bleeding, help them back to the mansion. Understood?”

They nodded dumbly, and the healthy ones began lumbering toward the bleeding ones, tearing their shirts to make tourniquets on the way.

“Be back before dawn,” he added, because that was how dumb they were. You had to tell them specifically what to do. They couldn’t think or reason for themselves.

It was a lot of trouble to make more, though. And getting candidates from the CIA’s stockpile of potentials would be impossible now.

He climbed behind the wheel of his Jeep, started the engine and glanced back in the rearview mirror at his unconscious former employer. “You’re going to tell me about this spy you’ve planted in Reaper’s gang, my friend. You’re going to show me how to communicate with her, tell me exactly how it works and what you’ve learned.”

To his surprise, Dwyer sat up slowly, rubbing his head with his bound hands. “I’m not tellin’ you anythin’.”

“Oh, hell, of course you are, given time.” He lifted a dart gun, loaded with a human-sized dose of his favorite tranquilizer, just in case the spook tried anything. “I’ve become very adept at torture, Derrick.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“And I know you were Rivera’s immediate supervisor. I know you were the one who recruited him in the first place, and I know you’ve fought your organization every step of the way on his behalf ever since.”

Dwyer averted his eyes. “You don’t know shit.”

“Yeah, I do. I’ve seen the files. You argued against the brainwashing…excuse me—programming—from the start. You tried to cover up the fact that he’d become a vampire when you first found out. You tried to talk them out of trying to retake him, and you were vehemently against the plan to use me to do it. You were against all of it. On his side, all along.”

The older man was shaking his head slowly from side to side, but his denials wouldn’t convince Gregor of anything, and he had to know it. Gregor knew. This bastard had been secretly advocating on Reaper’s behalf from the beginning.

“You’ve been biased all along. What I don’t know is why.”

“You’re insane.”

“Perhaps. But you’re Reaper’s friend. Whether he knows it or not, you’re his only friend in the agency. Aren’t you, Derrick?”

“I’m no one’s friend. I’m in charge of gettin’ him back, and then I retire. Period.”

“Yeah. Right. You came out tonight to kill me.”

“I came to talk.”

“Bull. So tell me, Dwyer, what’s the point of having a plant in Reaper’s little gang if you don’t intend to bring him in? What other reason could you possibly have for wanting to keep tabs on him?”

“None.”

“You know I don’t believe you.”

“I know.”

“And you know I’ll find out.”

“Not from me, you won’t.”

Sighing, Gregor pulled the Jeep up to the towering arched wrought-iron gates of what had once been known as the Marquand Estate. His, now.

As Gregor waited for the aging gates to open, thanks to the electronics he’d repaired, Dwyer stared at them through the rain spattered windshield, then beyond the tall leafless trees that lined the drive to the castle-like mansion beyond them and the cliffs beyond the mansion.

“For the love of God, this is—”

“Yes. The former home of Eric Marquand. He abandoned it once the DPI learned of its existence, knowing he’d never know peace here again. It fell into government hands. The CIA lost interest in surveilling it but wouldn’t allow it to be sold for a long time. And then they did. I bought it for back taxes a few months ago. Thought it would be…I don’t know, nostalgic to have one of the truly ancient ones’ former homes. A place where vampires battled DPI agents. A place where Rhiannon and Roland de Courtemanche and Eric himself once walked. His laboratories are still in the basement, you know.”

“No.”

“No one would expect a new generation of the Undead to take up residence in a place the CIA knows all about. But since they’ve stopped paying it any attention, what place could be better?”

Dwyer said nothing. Gregor drove through the gates when they finally opened widely enough, then waited to see to it that they closed again before driving on over the bumpy, poorly tended driveway to the mansion itself. He loved the grandeur of the place. Three stories, all made of rough-hewn stone blocks, each one too large for three ordinary men to lift. The place was magnificent. More so with the modifications he’d been working on.

He stopped right in front, opened the hatch in the rear of the Jeep and gripped Derrick Dwyer by his bound wrists, tugging him out. Dwyer didn’t fight much. The lump on the side of his head, and the blood on his face and neck, told Gregor why. The man was hurting, possibly dizzy as well, and no doubt weak. He was also, Gregor thought, cagey, sharp, intelligent and probably biding his time and making an escape plan.

He dragged his captive up the stairs to the front door and flung it open.

He strode inside, tugging Dwyer behind him by the dangling end of the rope that bound his hands. The older man had no choice but to follow, feet dragging, stumbling often. Perhaps it was for real, or maybe it was an act designed to lull Gregor into complacency, into taking his weakness for granted and making a fatal mistake.

As they entered the hall, the young boy got up from his spot on the floor in front of the fireplace, his toy soldiers—the only playthings he was permitted—scattering out of formation as he rose.

He stood still, staring, wide brown eyes unblinking, thickly fringed and nearly void of any innocence they might once have possessed.

“Well?” Gregor demanded.

The boy swallowed visibly, his throat swelling as he did. “Hello, Father. Welcome back. Was your evening a good one?”

“That’s better. And yes, actually, my evening was quite a pleasant one. Get your ass to my office and fetch my keys. Can’t you see I’ve brought a prisoner that needs locking up?”

“Yes, sir!”

The boy spun on his heel and raced out of the room as fast as he could manage to move. Gregor chuckled softly under his breath, careful not to let Matthias hear it. Better to keep the child afraid of him. He would obey far more easily that way.

“You have a child?” Derrick’s voice was a bare whisper, and yet loud enough to convey the horror he clearly felt at the notion.

“Obviously.” Gregor tugged the rope and moved through the great room, onward down a hallway to a cellar door.

“But…where is his mother?”

“Dead. To me. To the rest of the world, too, if she ever dares come near Matthias again.” Then he smiled slowly, refocusing himself on the task at hand. “But that’s not your concern, is it? Your attention should be solely on deciding how much torture you intend to suffer before you tell me what I need to know.”

“I don’t know anythin’ that can help you.”

“Mmm, but you do. You know how to communicate with this Crisa. You know how to use her to keep tabs on Reaper. You know how to bring her in, I imagine. I want to know all that. And I want to know more. I want to know how you managed it. Does she work for you?”

“She doesn’t even know who I am. She’s an innocent, Gregor.”

“I really don’t care.” They’d moved down a flight of stairs into what had once been a basement laboratory. Much of the equipment was still in place. Scales and burners and bottles and jars, microscopes and other gadgets Gregor couldn’t begin to identify. He opened a door off one side of the lab. The room might have been an office once. An aging desk stood along one wall, and empty file cabinets lined another. There was a chair, its leather upholstery split in several spots. Other than that, the place was empty. But the room was windowless, and its door had a good lock. It was the perfect place to store a captive.

Gregor shoved his prisoner into the chair, then proceeded to go through the man’s pockets, tearing his clothes in the process. Eventually he located a set of keys and, smiling, pocketed them.

Dwyer’s eyes widened. “There’s nothin’ in my house that you can use!”

“No? Well, I tend to disagree, given what I so recently observed through your windows. But I’ll judge for myself once I’ve gone through the place. Tell me, are you expecting your wife home soon?”

“I—I don’t—We’re divorced.”

“Convenient.” He smiled slowly, then, unable to contain it, chuckled deep in his chest.

“What…what’s so damn funny?”

Gregor met the frustrated, frightened man’s eyes.

“I was just thinking how many people would kill to be in my position. My former employer becomes my captive. And I can do anything I want to him.”

“The CIA was good to you, Gregor. We never gave you any reason to—”

“The CIA used me. Just like you used Reaper. He was content to escape and move on. But I’m smarter than he is, Derrick. I’m turning the tables. I’m going to use you now, to get exactly what I want. And I’m going to enjoy the process.”

“You’re a bastard.”

“Yes, I know. Sadly, we’ve wasted too much time to allow me to go visit your home tonight. Tomorrow will have to be early enough. I’ll have one of the drones toss some food and water in to you to get you through the day. I want you alive and kicking for this, after all.”

He turned, and stepped to the door. “See you tonight, Derrick. I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to it.”

Then, stepping into the hall, he closed and locked the door, leaving the man to his thoughts, which would do, Gregor estimated, at least half his job for him.

The caravan of vehicles arrived at Topaz’s mansion-like home on Emerald Isle, North Carolina, in the dead of the night, which was, Reaper speculated, for the best. Not as many tourists out and about to get a gander at “Shirley,” the bright yellow, customized conversion van that Roxy insisted was nearly human. It would draw a lot of unnecessary attention.

Topaz’s home sat on a rise near the far end of the long, narrow island, surrounded by scrubby-looking bushes and trees. From the main road, no one could even see the ten-foot fence that bordered the place just within the boundary of flora.

The lead vehicle in their little vampiric parade was Jack’s Carrera, sleek and black and dangerous-looking, but not terribly out of place. Topaz rode with Jack, naturally. The two rarely seemed to be more than a foot apart these days. Jack used to be a hard-ass, like her, Briar thought. Now he’d gone soft. Fallen in love. Fallen for a fairy tale was more like it, in her considered opinion.

Roxy drove the canary-yellow van, which managed to keep up, in spite of its bulk. Ilyana sat in the passenger side, Reaper and Briar in the middle set of seats. In the rear seat, Mirabella rode alongside Crisa, and she’d been gently massaging the childlike vampiress’s neck for the last several miles. Bringing up the rear were Seth and Vixen, in the Shelby Mustang Seth had liberated from its former owner. He insisted it would have been presumed destroyed in the fire that had consumed the celebrity’s home, and anyway, it had been covered by insurance. Though Briar doubted any amount of money could compensate for a classic like that one.

Seth had potential, she thought. Or at least a backbone. And that was worth a lot.

As the gates swung open to admit them and the van trundled through, Mirabella caught her breath. “This is where my daughter lives?”

“Yeah,” Roxy said from the driver’s seat. “She’s done pretty well with that money you left her, hasn’t she?”

“She’s done extremely well,” Mirabella said. “This is stunning.”

“It is,” Reaper said, even as he frowned at Briar, probably due to the smirk of distaste crossing her face. She didn’t think much of the rich and famous. She’d grown up hard, homeless, on the streets. There probably weren’t too many like her who could think well of those who seemed to have it all, especially those who’d never had to work for it.

Still, she was aware that Topaz had suffered for her wealth. Not as much as Briar had suffered for her lack of it, though.

As they pulled to a stop near the doors, the gates closing slowly behind them, Briar muttered, “Why the hell does one person need all this? Where does she even get off having so much?”

Crisa piped up. “I think it’s pretty.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty, all right. Pretty freaking ridiculous.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Roxy said. “You can’t really judge a person by what they have. No more than you can judge someone for not having anything at all. It’s who they are that counts, don’t you think?”

“I wasn’t judging her. I don’t care enough to judge anyone. I just think it’s stupid for one person to take up so much space, that’s all.”

Roxy shut off the engine, opened her door and got out. Then she stretched the kinks out of her back and shoulders, as the others disembarked and headed for the front door.

Topaz hesitated near the front door, her key ring in her hand.

“What’s wrong?” Jack asked, searching her face, worry clouding his own.

Briar rolled her eyes. Here we go again with the sappy, emotional bullshit.

Topaz lowered her gaze. “I—I haven’t been happy in this place. Not for a long time. Walking in here…it feels like walking back into heartache and tears and—”

Jack pulled her gently into his arms. “No more of those for you, princess. Not if I have anything to say about it. And I kind of think I do.”

When he released her and she lifted her head again, there were tears on her cheeks, but she was smiling through them. “I’m being silly. I have everything I’ve ever wanted now. Right here, holding me.”

He smiled back at her, but there was regret in his eyes. Jack had been a bastard to her in the past, and Briar knew that now he wished he could undo the hurt he’d caused the woman he—gag—loved. He shouldn’t. He’d been being honest. He was who he was. At least, he used to be. Briar wasn’t sure who the hell he was anymore.

“Everything happens for a reason,” Roxy said. “You two wouldn’t be as good together now if you hadn’t been through what you have.”

“Maybe not,” Topaz whispered.

“Always the philosopher, aren’t you, Roxy?” Seth asked.

Roxy sent him a wink, and everyone smiled in a sickening, whimsical way that made Briar think vomiting might be in order.

“Are we going inside or what? Castle Kissy-face has been sitting empty long enough, and I’m craving a little me time.” She shot Topaz a look. “I’m assuming I get my own room.”

“A whole suite, if you want,” Topaz said. “The more space we put between you and the rest of us, the better.” She held Briar’s eyes as she said it, and there was a hint of humor in her eyes. “Grumpy bitch,” she added.

Before she could stop it, a smile split Briar’s face, and she wished someone would slap it off. She bit it into submission, but it was too late. They’d all seen. Damn.

“I don’t want you to be by yourself, Briar,” Crisa said. “I want to be with you.”

Briar closed her eyes and thought, Jeez, Topaz, I need a break from her.

I hear you, Topaz replied, speaking mentally to her alone. There’s a two-bedroom suite in the west wing. Would that work for you, do you think?

I don’t think I could pry her any farther from me than that with a crowbar. Do you?

Doubtful. I can’t figure out what the hell she sees in you, though.

Fuck you, Topaz.

You’re welcome.

She damn near smiled again, but she averted her face this time, just in case it showed in her eyes.

Topaz inserted the key and opened the great big, ornate, expensive doors. A vaulted foyer spread out before them like something out of a fairy tale, and they all trooped inside.

“You all want the grand tour now or later?” Topaz asked.

“I want my room and a stein of warm blood,” Briar said.

“Fine, we’ll do that. The rest of you, feel free to wander around. Pick out a bedroom, if you want. They’re all vampire-friendly.”

“How, with all these windows?” Vixen asked. She wore an excited look as her gaze took in one thing after another. The furniture, the chandelier, the fireplace, the paintings, the sculptures, the marble floor.

“They automatically darken when the sun comes up,” Topaz explained. “The tint is so dark it’s opaque. Perfect for our kind.”

“Every window in the place?” Vixen asked.

Topaz nodded, and Briar said, “Must have cost a bundle.” Then she sent Topaz a look. “My room?”

“This way. Come on, Crisa, you can come, too.” Crisa looked at Briar as if seeking permission. Briar nodded at her. “Yeah, come on. Whatever.”

The girl’s smile was bright, and the three of them moved through the foyer and started up the stairs.

But on the third step, Crisa screamed. It startled Briar so much that she damn near jumped out of her skin, but then, even as she turned to the nutcase, she felt it: a tearing, ripping pain deep inside her head. She grimaced against it. Crisa pressed her hands to her head, sobbing softly as she sank to her knees.

And then Reaper was there, right beside them, followed immediately by Roxy.

“Crisa? Crisa, what’s wrong?” Reaper demanded.

Briar held herself erect on the step just above them. “It’s the headache again,” she said, and she hoped her voice didn’t sound strained. “It’s hitting harder this time.”

“We’d best get her into a bed, Reaper,” Roxy said.

Reaper bent and scooped up the trembling, sobbing girl.

“This way,” Topaz called, trotting up the stairs more quickly now. Reaper caught up to her, while Briar and Roxy followed right behind.

Roxy put her hand on Briar’s arm. “You too, yes?”

“I’m fine.”

“The hell you are. You’re holding your jaw so tight, I’m surprised you haven’t broken a tooth.”

“If I did, it would grow back during the day sleep.”

“You’re in pain, Briar.” Roxy frowned, as they made their way up the stairs, more slowly than the trio ahead of them. “It’s not part of her…condition, then, is it?”

“What do you mean?” Briar asked.

“Whatever is happening to Crisa…is happening to you, too.”

Briar averted her eyes. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

“I think it is. And I think this bond between you two is more powerful than just what would come from sharing blood. I think it’s…deeper.”

“Oh, hell, what are we, sisters separated at birth, then?”

“You know what I’m saying, Briar. For every vampire there’s one of the Chosen with whom the natural bond is even more potent. I think Crisa is that one for you, even though she’s already one of us. I think she’s your…chosen. Chosen.”

Briar grimaced. “Insightful as all hell, Roxy, but otherwise, a useless piece of speculation.”

“Maybe it’ll be worth something later. For now, I’m going to do some Reiki on you, see if I can get this to ease up a bit.”

Briar shook her head. “Work on her first.”

They’d reached the top of the endless staircase and were heading down a hallway lined with doors now, but Roxy stopped and stared at Briar.

“What?” Briar snapped.

“You care about her. You do. You care about her!”

“Oh, Jeez, don’t go breaking out the violins there, Pollyanna. If I’m feeling her pain, then the best way to end it for me is to end it for her. I’m thinking about me. Number one. Always.”

“Oh,” Roxy said softly. She started walking again, but this time, she did so with one hand touching Briar’s upper arm. Not holding it, just touching it. “Thank you for clearing that up. I’d hate to go thinking you had a heart.”

“God forbid,” Briar told her, and she sidestepped enough to break physical contact with the woman. Then she hurried the rest of the way along the hall, ignoring her own pain, and ignoring, too, the high-gleam shine of the rich hardwood on the floor, which matched that of the stairs and the curving banister. She ignored the art on the walls, probably original, in the Renaissance style she might have chosen herself. She ignored the elaborate stands, and the vases and sculptures they bore, each one echoing some image in the nearest painting, like the sculpted raven on a stand in front of The Magic Circle, by Waterhouse.

She grudgingly acknowledged that she approved of the princess’s taste, then swept through an open door and into the lap of luxury. Not that the rest of the house was anything less than luxurious, but the idea that she would be staying right here sort of rattled Briar.

Deep carpeting lined the place; it was the color of French cream, as were the sheer curtains that hung in front of the tall, narrow windows. The room held an elegant love seat, a matching overstuffed chair and ottoman and an oak rocker. Every piece had forest-green accents: the throw pillows, the cushions lining the rocker, the tiebacks on the curtains, the throw rugs on the carpet. There was a gas fireplace, its wooden mantel sporting two oil lamps that looked like antiques, and a portrait hung on the wall above.

It was of Topaz’s mother, the actress, Mirabella DuFrane. Though with her, no last name had been necessary. She’d been the stuff of legend before she’d vanished, leaving the world and her daughter to believe she’d been murdered. But she’d only become undead.

A soft, pain-filled moan drew Briar’s attention to the left, where another open door showed her a bedroom. Her body jerked her into reflexive motion without warning when she spotted Crisa in the bed, hands pressed to either side of her head, tears streaming down her face. Briar was crowding up to the bedside before she could stop herself, shoulder to shoulder with Reaper, who was leaning over the girl.

“I wish I knew what the hell to do for her,” he said, and he sounded apologetic. “It’s not like we can take her to a doctor.”

“Of course we can.”

Reaper frowned at her, and from across the bed, Topaz did the same. Roxy paid no attention. She was squeezing in between Topaz and the head of the bed, bending close and laying her hands gently over Crisa’s, on her temples.

“Well, come on,” Briar said. “Don’t tell me that out of all the vampires in the world there’s not one who was a doctor in life.”

Reaper held her gaze, and she sensed he hated like hell to burst her bubble. “None that I’ve heard of. The closest we have is the scientist Eric Marquand.”

“Then get him here,” she snapped.

Reaper’s eyes were probing hers, and she realized she was acting way too emotionally invested in the loon.

“You’re hurting, too, aren’t you?” Reaper asked.

She lowered her head quickly, hiding her eyes and whatever they might reveal from his probing gaze. “If I wasn’t, do you think I’d be demanding you bring vampire Einstein to me?”

He didn’t answer, so she glanced upward to see that he was waiting for her to meet his eyes. When she finally did, he said, “Yes, Briar. I’m starting to think maybe you would.”

“Then you’re deluding yourself, Reaper.”

“Am I?”

Crisa’s movements—and Briar’s own throbbing pain—stopped all at once, and her moaning stopped, too. Briar snapped her attention back to the girl, fearing, for one heart-jolting moment, that she’d died. But she hadn’t. She was lying there with her eyes wide open, staring at some invisible spot halfway between her and the ceiling.

Not giving a shit what sort of noble motives her bleeding-heart peers would attach to the act, Briar leaned closer but didn’t touch. “It’s better now, isn’t it?”

“I feel him. He’s calling to me now,” Crisa said.

Briar frowned at her, and Crisa’s eyes suddenly locked on to hers. Just as quickly, her small hand closed around Briar’s wrist and drew her down until she was sitting on the edge of the bed.

“He needs me.”

“Who does?”

“The boy. The little boy.” She frowned at Briar. “Don’t you see him?”

“I don’t—”

And then she stopped, because she did see him. Just slightly, and maybe it was her imagination, or maybe it was something else. Frowning, she tried to attune her senses to Crisa’s, and she shifted until her hand met the girl’s and clasped it, fingers interlacing, to help her solidify the mental link.

The vision didn’t solidify, though. It was just a hazy shape. Could have been a boy. Could have been a bulldog. She was damned if she knew.

Crisa sat up. “I have to go to him.”

“You’re in no condition to go anywhere right now,” Reaper told her.

She shot him a defiant look, then turned it into a pleading one and aimed it at Briar. “I have to.”

“Not alone, though, right?” Briar said. “You’re gonna want us to go, too. If this boy of yours needs you so bad, he must be in some kind of trouble, right?”

“I don’t know.”

Topaz patted the girl’s shoulder. “I think she’s right, Crisa. If this boy is in trouble, then we need to help him. But we need to make sure you’re okay first. You won’t be able to help him if you’re in debilitating pain.”

“It hurts,” she whispered. “But I have to go.” She brushed Roxy’s hands away from her head as if they were bits of cobweb stuck in her hair and swung her legs to the side.

“Crisa, you’re not going anywhere,” Briar said, and if she sounded impatient, she thought, all the better. Maybe the odd squad would stop thinking she’d turned soft. “Lie the fuck down. Now.”

Crisa didn’t even look at her, which shocked Briar to hell and gone. Instead, the cracker-factory dropped her feet to the floor, sliding her backside to the very edge of the mattress; then, bracing her hands on either side of her, she started to get up, edging between Reaper and Briar.

Briar turned to face her, clapped her hands onto Crisa’s shoulders and pushed until the girl’s ass hit the mattress again. “I said lie down,” Briar repeated. “You’re not well.”

“The headache’s gone.”

So what was the vague, unfocused look in her eyes? Briar wondered. And why wasn’t she feeling Crisa’s urge to run to the imaginary blur in her head, when she was feeling everything else the girl did?

“The headache will come back, and when it hits you, it hits me, too. I’d like to get it fixed, if you don’t mind, before you go taking off on me, okay?”

“You can’t tell me what to do!” Crisa shouted, clenching her fists and shaking them in frustration as she did.

That stunned Briar so much that she took a step backward in reaction and just stared, gaping, dumbfounded.

Reaper pressed his hand to her back as if in a show of support, right between her shoulder blades. And she resented it.

“Crisa,” Roxy interrupted, probably in an effort to defuse the situation. “Did you get these headaches before?”

“Before when?”

“Before you came to us. Before Reynold died.”

Crisa lowered her head, closed her eyes, but not before they welled with glistening tears. “No. Never. Rey-Rey would’ve known what to do. He would have made it better.”

“Did he ever have to make anything else better for you, Crisa?” Roxy pressed on. “Were you ever sick or in pain or—”

“Rey-Rey says vampires don’t get sick.”

“I see.”

“I cut myself once. I had a glass, and I was running. I fell and it cut my hand and it bled really bad. But Rey-Rey fixed it.”

“Yeah. But no headaches?”

Crisa shook her head. “No.”

“It’s too late to go anywhere tonight,” Topaz reasoned. “You know we can’t be out in the daylight.”

“I know.”

“So you should rest until dawn, and then the day sleep will restore you, and we can talk more about this boy at sundown.”

Crisa looked up sharply. “No talking.” Then she swung her head to the other side, staring intently at Briar. “I’ll go to him. I have to.”

“You don’t even know where he is,” Briar said. “Hell, you don’t even know who he is.”

“I’m going to him. I have to,” Crisa repeated.

Reaper’s hand slid from Briar’s back to her shoulder, and squeezed. Try not to agitate her.

Agitate her? Hell, I’m getting ready to smack her.

“You can’t stop me, Briar,” Crisa insisted.

“Why the fuck would I want to?” Briar asked. “Listen, you do whatever the hell you want, okay? Just don’t get yourself into trouble in the middle of nowhere and expect me to come running to the rescue, Crisa. I’m nobody’s hero.”

Crisa turned her face into the pillows and buried it there as Briar shook her head in frustration and stomped out of the room.

Topaz and Reaper followed. Roxy remained, her hands moving gently to Crisa again, one on the uppermost shoulder, the other cupping the nape of her neck.

Topaz pulled the bedroom door closed gently. “Your room is the one on the right. I didn’t think she should have the one with the balcony. Each one has its own bath. There’s a minifridge over there.” She pointed to what looked like a hardwood stand. Clearly it was a refrigerator, cleverly disguised to match the rest of the décor. “You can help yourself to sustenance.”

“Fine.”

“Briar, she’s sick. Something’s wrong. She’s not turning on you, not really.”

“As if I give a damn.”

“Well, just in case.” Topaz sighed. “Good night.”

“Whatever.”

Topaz left them. But Reaper remained.

It hadn’t taken quite as much torture as Gregor had expected. The beatings didn’t do the trick, but once he started skinning Derrick Dwyer alive, he talked plenty. In fact, it only took one small strip from his forearm to get him going. Shame, that.

According to Dwyer, the girl, Crisa, was a mentally tweaked vampiress with a chip in her brain. Some experimental thing that let Dwyer see through her eyes, hear through her ears, and to some extent control her by speaking to her inside her head. That part hadn’t been thoroughly tested yet.

There was more. Nothing that mattered, though. Something about it only being functional for a short period. Something about it deteriorating and killing the girl once it did, unless it was removed in time. Like he gave a shit.

All Gregor knew was that he had a way to track down Reaper, a way to watch him, to get an advantage over him. He wanted that bastard. He wanted his power, and he wanted to exact vengeance.

And as for Briar, oh, he was going to enjoy hurting her. She had betrayed him.

She would die slow.

But for right now, Gregor had to focus on the matter at hand. He’d left the agent hanging—quite literally, he thought with a smile—and told his son to take care of getting him down and into a bed. He’d had to hurry to get here, to Dwyer’s home and his computer, while enough of the night still remained.

And now, even as dawn approached, Gregor remained, riveted to the screen, watching and seeing it all just as Dwyer had described. He saw Reaper, his face above the girl, as he apparently carried her through a house. He saw the house, as well, through the girl’s eyes, though her vision seemed blurry. He saw the girl being placed in a bed and Reaper bending over her. And Briar was right beside him, damn her.

Seeing Briar’s wild hair and dark, dark eyes again was like feeling a blade twist in his chest. He didn’t like that feeling.

There were others there, too, and as he watched and listened, he learned their names. Roxy, a sexy redheaded mortal, and Topaz, a beautiful, classy brunette. He thought the redhead might be one of the Chosen, but he wasn’t sure.

And then, as he watched, the girl started ranting about needing to go, needing to go to him, to the boy. The boy. And then static filled the screen and a shape took its place, slowly taking form amid the snow.

He frowned and narrowed his eyes, leaning closer to the screen. It was…it was Matthias. Dammit! How was that possible?

Clearly he had more questions to ask of Derrick Dwyer. But they were going to have to wait until nightfall. The sun was tugging at his senses, dulling them. He was going to have to take refuge in Dwyer’s house for the day. But he had one more task to accomplish before he surrendered to the power of the day sleep.

He had drones in place in various locations around the country, ready to obey his commands, some of them to the west, where there were still a few hours of darkness left. He phoned them now, to set his plan in motion.

Briar ignored Reaper’s presence and went to the fridge, opened it and removed a plastic bag with the Red Cross logo on its face. The fridge had two doors, a lower one that was larger and an upper one that was smaller. It looked just like a full-sized model with the freezer on the top, only about a quarter of the size. But when she opened the top door she was surprised to find a microwave instead of a freezer.

“Damn, where do people even find shit like this?” She tossed the bag in and hit the 30-second button. Then she looked around for glasses.

Reaper walked over from the other side of the room, a wineglass in each hand. “They were in the cabinet over there,” he said. “Here.”

“Two? I don’t remember inviting you to join me.”

“I don’t remember offering to leave.”

She pursed her lips, but opened the microwave when it beeped and removed the bag. Then she filled the two glasses. There was some blood left in the bag, so she downed hers quickly, then refilled her glass, which she set on a table near the bedroom door before knocking softly. “There’s a drink out here for her, Roxy, when you’re ready.”

“Thanks, Briar,” Roxy called.

Nodding, Briar turned, crossed the room and entered the bedroom she would be calling her own for as long as she was here. As she did, it crossed her mind that maybe it shouldn’t be for very long. It might be better all around if she just left.

She stood just inside the doorway, examining the bedroom. The same color scheme as the room in between: cream and pine. French doors, sheer curtains, a balcony beyond with wrought-iron patio furniture, all curlicue vines and leaves. The bed was huge and soft-looking. Two doors set side by side must lead to a closet and a bathroom.

The place was incredible.

Too bad she couldn’t stay long.

“You going to be all right?” Reaper asked.

“Yeah. I always am.” She waited for him to say good-night and get the hell out. He didn’t, though.

Finally she turned and faced him. “You hanging around for a reason?”

“Yeah.”

He held her eyes. And he didn’t need to elaborate from there, because she felt it. A slowly building flame of desire flickering inside him. He’d been keeping it banked ever since the first and only time they’d had mind-blowing sex in a car on a city street. She’d done it to distract him and delay him, on Gregor’s orders.

But that didn’t mean she hadn’t enjoyed it. And that had shocked her. She’d never had an orgasm with a man before that night.

“I could stay,” he said. “If you want me to.”