Along Came a Spider (34 page)

My stomach lurched as the Range Rover pitched over, slamming into the ground, the impact shattering my window, the shards of glass cutting my arms as I instinctively tried to shield my face. Pain tore through my shoulder as the joint came apart. I screamed, curling into myself as we rolled over again, the SUV careening toward the trees. On the second roll, we slammed into a massive tree trunk, sending a fresh wave of pain crashing over me.

For a moment, I just lay there, shuddering and gasping for breath. I blinked rapidly to clear my vision, only to realize there was blood dripping into my eyes. I managed to lift one of my hands to wipe it away and only then discovered we were lying on our side. I carefully turned my head, hoping to God my neck wasn’t broken, and saw Nicky hanging from his seat, the seat belt keeping him from dropping down on top of me. There was a massive gash on his forehead and it was then I realized it wasn’t my blood but his that had been dripping into my eyes.

“Nicky?” I called urgently. “Nicky, honey—can you hear me?”

When he didn’t respond, I used my good arm to unbuckle my seat belt, but when I tried to push up to get to him, pain in my hip jolted another scream from me, and I collapsed as my vision dimmed and my stomach lurched with nausea.

“Oh, God,” I moaned, tears choking my voice. I had to get it together, had to figure some way to get help. My eyes darted around, trying to see anything in the darkness. I could hear men talking, their voices barely above a whisper but still carrying to me on the breeze.

Fear clutched my heart, making my thoughts foggy and frantic. I couldn’t think; I couldn’t move. My skin began to crawl; the phantoms of spiders that had invaded my nightmares for so many years were suddenly there—thousands of them—crawling all over me, slipping under the edges of my sleeves, creeping into my cleavage, invading my ears, my nose, trying to pry open my lips, waiting for me to scream so they could choke me.

I flailed my good arm, tried to shake one leg, but more spiders came, breeding by the hundreds as I looked on in terror. I pressed my lips together against the scream building in my chest. I felt every single little arachnid leg as it brushed my skin, my scalp. And my brain began to tingle. An itch I couldn’t scratch built, sending me careening toward that dark place I’d sworn I’d never go again.

Insanity. Lunacy.

That’s what the doctors in Make Believe had called it. I closed my eyes, forcing myself to take several deep breaths and get my shit together. I wasn’t going there. I was never going there again. The fear had controlled me once, had pushed me into what Dracula had accurately called a dark prison. And I’d be damned if I was ever going back. Not now. Not when Nicky needed me.

Control the fear, Beatrice. . . .

The words were the same as those my father had uttered when pleading with me to come back to them, but the voice was not his.

I can keep the spiders away. . . . We are one. . . .

My eyes snapped open on a gasp. The spiders had gone. Vanished. Pushed away with strength of will—and something else. Something more.

I tried to wet my lips, but my tongue was dry. My throat burned. And a heat began to build within me, starting at the place in my neck where Dracula’s fangs had sunk into my flesh in my dream, and fanning out over every inch of me. And suddenly I felt renewed, revitalized.

As the voices came closer, I could hear footsteps crushing the underbrush as the men slowly advanced on the overturned SUV. I could smell the pungent odor of their fear. And my vision grew sharper, hyper–
focused, as if I was staring into the night with infrared goggles. These weren’t my enhanced abilities, I realized. It felt different—external. As if something else was working through me.

Time to go.

I shifted, the pain in my hip now just a dull throb, and managed to get to my feet enough to support Nicky. My dislocated shoulder protested, but I could already feel it healing and so ignored the searing pain when I undid Nicky’s seat belt and accepted his full weight as he dropped against me.

I glanced around, trying to figure out how the hell to drag both of us out of the SUV. There was no way Nicky’s door was going to open. That left the back door or maybe the hatch. My knees shook beneath me as I dragged Nicky into the backseat and tried to open the back door. To my amazement, when I shoved, the door flew open so hard the hinges bent backward, keeping the door from slamming shut
on us.

I stuck my head up out of the opening just enough to peer into the darkness. I could see the shadowy figures moving toward us, creeping closer, guns drawn. When I caught the gaze of one of them—Freddy the Ferret, that backstabbing, double-crossing little shit—he stumbled back a couple of feet.

“What the fuck?” he gasped.

I stood now, using the seat back to climb out of the opening and dragging Nicky with me. I had no idea where the unbelievable strength came from, didn’t even want to think about it at the moment. I just wanted to get us the hell out of there. Later I could mull over the implications of what was happening to me.

Nicky groaned, his eyes fluttering open as I hefted him up to lean out of the open door and over the side of the car. “You okay, doll?” he mumbled, his words slurred.

I glared out at the slowly advancing agents, a savage protectiveness coming over me. And a hunger like nothing I’d ever known. I licked my lips, anticipating the coppery taste of their blood on my tongue. “Never better.”

At that moment, the agents came to an abrupt halt, every single one of them looking at me with shocked, wide eyes. Except Ian Spalding. He was grinning.

“Well, well, well,” Ian drawled, strolling forward nonchalantly in spite of the semiautomatic pistol he had trained on my forehead. “That bastard did it.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I demanded, cradling Nicky in my arms as he slipped into unconsciousness again.

“I’ll explain it all later,” Ian smirked. “But, first, why don’t we get you out of here and see what we can do to help your boyfriend?”

As a handful of agents surged forward, I clutched Nicky tighter. “Don’t touch him!” I growled. Literally. Whoa. “Stay away! You’re the ones who did this to him, you sons of bitches!”

Ian edged forward, a little less confident now. “Let us help him, Trish,” he said, holstering his gun and raising his hands. “Come on—I know you Tales aren’t immortal. And he’s not looking good. Let us help.”

I glanced around, wondering what my chances were of getting through the agents to the road—a road that was rarely traveled. Nate Grimm hadn’t showed up, so Nicky wasn’t in any imminent danger, but Ian was right—Nicky was advancing swiftly toward Death’s door. “Fine,” I snapped. “But I swear to God, Ian, you do anything to him, I’ll rip your throat out. And I think you know I’m not bullshitting.”

Ian inclined his head. “Agreed.” He then motioned to his agents. A few of them came forward warily, holstering their weapons before carefully extricating Nicky from my protective grasp. As the men carried Nicky up the hill to their waiting vehicle, Ian came to me and held out his hand.

I glared at him, ignoring his offer of help. Unfortunately, whatever it was that had been sustaining me began to wane. I ground my teeth against the resurgence of pain, not about to let Ian see that I couldn’t make good on my threats.

“Stubborn as ever,” he drawled as my right leg gave out under me and I stumbled to my knees. I groaned as pain exploded in my hip. Ian grabbed my elbow to help me up, but I jerked away, somehow managing to push up to my feet on my own. Walking, however, was a totally different story. Each step brought a fresh onslaught of agony. Tears streamed down my cheeks, but I didn’t bother wiping them away. And when the ground sloped upward toward the road and I couldn’t walk any farther, I got down on my hands and knees and dragged myself through the mud and snow until I reached the road.

I have no idea how long it took me to finally hit pavement, but by the time I collapsed beside the road, all the cars—and Nicky—were gone. Only Ian’s vehicle and the totaled SUV that had rammed us remained. My stomach plummeted when I realized I was utterly and completely alone.

Shit.

“Where did they take Nicky?” I demanded, panting from the energy spent to get to the road.

“He’s safe,” Ian said with a shrug, shoving his hands into his pockets. He gave me a smug grin. “For now.”

Anger gave me a surge of adrenaline I desperately needed. And I lunged at him, my fingers curled into claws, ready to rip his still beating heart from his chest. But Ian’s kick to my ribs landed soundly before I could reach him and knocked me flat on my back.

As I lay there in the snow, gasping, Ian squatted down next to me, his grin having changed from smug to triumphant. “As long as you cooperate, your lover will be safe. But you fuck around with me, and I’ll have one of my agents put a bullet in Nicky’s brain.” He made a gun with his hand and put the tip of his index finger in the center of my forehead. “Right there. A single shot.” He put his finger to my temple. “Or maybe there.” His grin faded as he jabbed his finger against the center of my chest. “Or maybe one through the heart. That would be rather poetic, don’t you think?”

I merely glared at him, waiting to see what happened next.

“What? Nothing to say?” he taunted. When I remained silent, he grabbed my hair in his fist and jerked me into a sitting position. “Well, you’ll be talking enough soon. Trust me.”

Ian hauled me to my feet, ignoring my cries of protest and pain and doing little more than grunting when each of my punches with my good arm landed. Still grasping my hair, he opened the back door to his car and threw me into the backseat. I instantly flipped over and kicked, my boot nailing him squarely in the chest, but before I could scramble out the other side of the car, he was on top of me, pinning me down on my stomach. One of his hands pressed down on the back of my head, pushing my face into the leather seat. In the next instant I felt a sharp sting in the back of my neck.

Almost instantly my limbs went limp, and no matter how I struggled, my body wouldn’t respond. Ian was saying something—gloating triumphantly, no doubt—but the sound echoed strangely and the world began to spin, sending me spiraling into a black abyss.

Chapter Twenty-Five

I was cold. So cold. My fingertips stung with the beginnings of frostbite. I blinked, clearing away the blurry haze from whatever drug Ian had given me to knock me out, and after a moment, the room came into focus. I was lying on the concrete floor of some kind of interrogation room. Chains hung from the ceiling and there was a drain in the center of the room where the floor sloped. I shivered, but I wasn’t sure if it was because of the cold or from imagining what horrific acts might necessitate a drain in the floor.

I pushed up to my hands and knees and shook my head with a groan. My hip and shoulder had been popped back into joint, but they still ached from the trauma. I obviously hadn’t been there very long.

“Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty.”

I lifted my gaze to where Ian sat in a chair a few feet away, bundled in his coat and gloves, his legs crossed. “Wrong fairytale, you idiot.”

His lips twitched with mild amusement. “Sorry about that. You all pretty much look the same to me.”

“Where’s Nicky?” I demanded. “What the hell have you done to him?”

Ian lifted a shoulder and let it drop. “Nothing. Yet. He’s alive.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, my hatred and fury bringing much needed warmth to my extremities. “Prove it. I want to see him.”

“Of course,” Ian said, getting to his feet. “But first, you and I need to have a little chat.” He motioned to the chair he’d just vacated. “Would you care to have a seat?”

I shook my head, not trusting his sudden politeness and definitely not wanting to put my back to the two-way mirror hanging on the wall behind the chair or to the heavy steel door. I preferred to have as much as possible in my line of sight.

“No?” He shrugged and resumed his seat, crossing his legs again and clasping his hands in his lap. “So, how did we get to this point, Trish?”

“You’re a dick?” I suggested.

He inclined his head, letting the insult roll off. “I must offer you my apologies again. I should’ve handled things differently. Forgive my . . . enthusiasm.”

“Enthusiasm?” I repeated. “You can shove your enthusiasm up your ass.”

He tsked disapprovingly. “Now, now. Let’s not get belligerent. I merely want to have a friendly chat.”

“Bite me.”

“Oh, but someone else already has,” Ian drawled. At this he leaned forward, his forearms resting on his knees, his eyes widening with eagerness. “How’d he do it?”

I frowned at him. “How did who do what?”

“Dracula,” he said, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

My stomach dropped at warp speed. “What are you talking about?”

Ian chuckled, shaking his head. “You always were a bad liar, Trish, so don’t even try to deny Dracula has been stalking you. We’ve been aware of it for a while.”

No, shit, I thought, remembering the asshole who’d taken photographs of Nicky and me outside Happy Endings.