Blood Possession (41 page)

“No! Stop!” the man screamed, tossing his head back and forth in a futile attempt to avoid the laser. He fell on his side and began to vomit, choking on the refuse as it passed through his throat.

“Cry me a river,” Marquis snarled, and then he snatched the man by his shirt and tossed him onto his back, leaving him prone on the floor like a pagan sacrifice. Marquis straddled the human’s body and forced him to meet his heated gaze. He held his finger directly above a blood-soaked eye and made a circular motion, as if to say,
This comes out next,
and then he spat in his face. “I won’t ask again: Did you stake the other woman?”

The man choked out the word with unfathomable regret: “Yes.”

Marquis hung his head and released a long, slow, deep breath. In what appeared to be a herculean effort, he rocked back on his heels and briefly retreated from the confrontation; and then he reached up and rubbed the bridge of his nose as if in deep concentration.

Nathaniel had no doubt Marquis was struggling to contain an absolute explosion of emotion, and he would have placed a steadying hand on his brother’s shoulder, except he wasn’t at all sure he would get the hand back in its present condition. After sixty seconds or so had passed, Marquis cleared his throat and looked back at the waiting human.

His expression was as cold as stone.

His eyes were both hollow and impassive.

And his voice held a dark-velvet promise in its depths: “I am going to sever your head from your body—
with my teeth
—but first, you are going to answer three questions: Who are you? Why are you here? And why did you try to murder my wife?”

The man wet his pants.

“Talk,” Marquis snarled. His voice was laced with compulsion.

“Mm…muh…my…name is David…Reed. I’m the head of the Midwest vampire-hunting militia.” In a torrent of piteous words, David explained the organization, how they had come to learn about Dark Moon Vale through their regional Head Hunter—a government operative named Tristan Hart—and how they had hoped to find something in the clinic to help destroy the vampire species: perhaps a sedative made specifically for their race, tissue or blood samples that revealed information about their anatomy, a secret about vampire physiology that could be used against them in the future. He explained how they had been caught off guard by the women, and he assured Marquis that they had never intended to attack the females—or anyone else for that matter.

As if that mattered in the least…

After collecting all the information he needed—or wanted—Marquis bent ever-so-slowly over the man’s body and…smiled.

“Please…please, I’m begging you…for God’s sake…I—”

Marquis held his finger over the man’s lips to silence him. “You tried to kill my woman,” he whispered, and then he placed one hand on either side of the man’s shoulders. “Oh, and by the way, your so-called Head Hunter—the one who recruited you to help rid the pure, human race of monsters—was a Lycan.” He laughed, a deep, wicked sound that echoed through the room. “Tristan Hart isn’t a government operative any more than you are: He’s a
werewolf
, you fool—or at least he was before my brother killed him.” He paused. “Perhaps you will meet up in hell.”

Marquis locked eyes with the human, and then he released his fangs and bent his head oh-so-slowly to his neck. With a calm that was more frightening than any rage, he bit into his throat in one clean bite, his jaw enclosing both sides of the jugular at once. He breathed quietly and evenly, deeply inhaling the man’s scent; and then a deep, guttural growl rose from his very soul and his eyes flashed crimson-red—glazed over like no one was home.

Marquis Silivasi ripped the man’s larynx out in one horrible mouthful.

He spit out the torn flesh, licked his lips, and bit into him again—this time with a feral, unrestrained rage. With both palms braced flat against the floor, evenly spaced on either side of the man’s head, Marquis Silivasi tore out the human’s throat like a rabid animal—biting, tearing, spitting, and snarling—ravaging with such unbridled fury that even Nathaniel had to look away. When he turned back, Marquis was kneeling—silent and still—the base of the man’s spinal column clasped between his teeth like a bone in the jaws of a dog. And the human’s head was fully decapitated from his body.

As he’d promised, Marquis had done it all with his teeth.

He snapped the spine in half with his molars and spit out the remains on the man’s torso, and then he spun around, noiselessly, and leapt across the room, landing in a low, feral crouch in front of the petrified woman, who still sat tightly huddled in the corner.

He cocked his head to the side and smiled. “And to think they call you the fairer sex.” He reached out to stroke her cheek with a bloody finger. “You didn’t think we forgot you, did you?” He held out his hand in front of him, lifted the gory finger to his mouth, and slowly licked off the blood. “Time to face the music, human.” Eyeing her from head to toe with disdain, he grunted, snatched her by the front of her shirt, and roared, “Get up!” And then he plopped her into a chair, slid it across the floor with a kick, and laughed when Nathaniel halted the careening motion with his bent knee and pulled up a chair of his own to take a seat in front of her.

“Alas, we meet again,” Nathaniel drawled wickedly, waiting for Marquis and Braden to join him in front of the woman.

Braden Bratianu stifled a gasp and quickly shuffled over to Nathaniel’s side. “Hey…but…but…she’s a—”

Marquis turned to glare at Braden, his eyes flashing a stern warning. “But what?”

Braden shook his head and averted his eyes.

Marquis nodded and sighed. “You are right, son; she’s a woman. And unless we are directly threatened or in imminent defense of our females, we don’t
ever
hurt a woman.” He threw back his head and bellowed toward the ceiling: “Kristina!” The sound ricocheted off the walls like thunder—shaking the building for several seconds before it was replaced with an equally frightening silence.

The five-foot-six redhead materialized instantly in the outside hall.

Her sharp heels could be heard clicking against the tile floor as she promptly made her way to the supply room and opened the door. To her credit, her eyes swept the entire room in an instant, yet she didn’t react.

At least not in response to the woman and the decapitated body. “What—the—hell—was—that—
thing
—out—in—the—hall?” she asked, incredulous.

Nathaniel frowned. “What thing?” Had they overlooked another attacker? He started to move toward the door but was stopped short by her wild gestures and bulging, bright blue eyes. “That pile of feet…and knees…and an arm!”

“Oh that,” Nathaniel said. “Is he still alive, by the way?”

Kristina’s eyebrows creased in consternation, and her mouth dropped open. “Uh…that would be a no. He’s still got a machete in his hand, but…yeah, I’d say he’s…passed on.”

Marquis shrugged. “Nathaniel has always been the…creative one.”

“Yeah, well, remind me never to make him mad,” Kristina said, shaking her head with disbelief.

Marquis gestured toward the seated woman with a sweep of his hand. “This is why I called you.”

Kristina looked down at the terrified blonde in the chair, and then she paused—almost as if her mind was trying to process the details. With a sudden start, she strode across the room in four, long measured steps, as graceful as they were powerful, drew back her arm, and slapped the woman so hard that she flew out of the chair. As the blonde slammed into the nearest wall, clearly breaking a bone in her arm, Kristina shouted, “You bitch!”

The woman cried out in pain, and then, clutching her arm to her chest, she scrambled to turn around and face Kristina. Her words were scarcely audible beneath her heart-wrenching sobs. “Please…please…I didn’t do anything.”

Kristina closed the distance between them. “Didn’t do anything? Didn’t do anything! One of my sisters is in surgery right now, and the other one had to have a stake pulled out of her heart! What do you mean, you didn’t do anything?” Her fangs shot out of her mouth, and she lunged at the woman’s throat, literally flying through the air toward the floor.

Nathaniel caught her by the waist, pulled her away, and sat her down slowly in his chair. “Hold on, Kristina,” he whispered as he squatted in front of the woman. “Talk.
Now
.”

The woman opened her mouth, cleared her throat, and stuttered. She opened it again, this time swaying so hard that Nathaniel had to steady her shoulder to keep her from falling over. The moment he touched her, she began to throw up, heaving over and over while clutching her arm—trying desperately to talk the entire time. “I promise…I didn’t…didn’t do anything.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and stared at the floor, too afraid to look any of them in the eyes. “I didn’t come here to hurt your sisters, and I swear, I didn’t do anything to either one of them.”

Nathaniel leaned back on his heels and stared at her. “She’s telling the truth.” He leaned forward again. “Then why are you here?”

She lifted her head, met his gaze, and started to hyperventilate.

Nathaniel scrubbed a hand over his face. “Breathe,” he whispered.

She gulped air, furiously trying to take it in, but it only made matter worse.

Sighing, Nathaniel placed the palm of his hand over her lungs and slowed her breathing for her. “Just breathe,” he repeated.

The woman sat there for almost sixty seconds doing just that. When she finally caught her breath, she looked up at Kristina with pleading eyes. “I didn’t come for your sisters.” She turned to Marquis, then Nathaniel. “Or your wives. I just wanted…I just wanted to find Brooke! I swear that’s all. A…a…vampire…took my best friend—he kidnapped her—and I wanted her back.” She was sobbing uncontrollably now. “I found the vampire-hunting militia, and they said they could help me. I don’t know…I don’t know what I was thinking. I just want Brooke.” She looked up at Kristina before collapsing on the floor. “She’s like a sister to me, too. The only one I have. I just want Brooke.”

“Oh, gods,” Nathaniel said on an exhale, standing up.

Kristina took a step back, and Braden looked like a kid who had just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Marquis blanched. “How do you know all this—about Brooke?” He stared pointedly at Nathaniel.
Why is her memory intact, brother?

I don’t know,
Nathaniel answered. His psychic voice revealed his frustration. He called out telepathically to the warrior who had been with Napolean the night of his Blood Moon—the one who had also been charged with erasing the memories of any witnesses:
Ramsey!

The dangerous sentinel answered the summons immediately:
Nathaniel?

Nathaniel didn’t waste any time getting to the point:
The night Napolean claimed his destiny, did you not see to her friend—her coworker in the backseat? Did you erase—and replace—her memories?

Of course,
Ramsey answered, sounding slightly irritated.
Why?

Because she’s sitting right here in front of us in the basement, and she remembers everything.

Silence hovered in the air.

Finally,
Ramsey Olaru growled deep in his throat and swore in Romanian.
I’ll be right down.

No!
Marquis interjected.
Stay with Ciopori. We will let you know when we have more information. What is the woman’s name by the way?

Ramsey paused for a moment, and then he said,
Tiffany…Tiffany Matthews.

Nathaniel closed the communication and watched as Marquis brusquely helped a stunned Tiffany up from the floor and led her back to the chair. After righting it, he helped her sit down. “Tiffany,” he said in a low, soothing voice—well, about as soothing as Marquis could get—“how is it that you can remember what happened to Brooke? At any time, did you ever experience a…lapse in your memory?”

Tiffany looked up then, as surprised to hear her name as she was at the sudden gentle treatment. She choked back her tears and cleared her throat. “I…yes…I…that guy…the blond man with the chin-length hair, he erased my memory that night. I know because—”

“Because what?” Nathaniel asked, not waiting for her to finish.

“Because I saw it all in a dream.”

Marquis raised his eyebrows. “You saw it in a dream? What does this mean?”

Tiffany swallowed then, her eyes cautiously lighting with a faint spark of hope. “I have like…what you would call a gift…dreaming…dream weaving. I can see the future and the past—anything really—in my dreams. They come to me to give me information whenever I need it. I didn’t remember what happened to Brooke until I went to sleep on Friday night, and then I saw it all replay clearly in front of me: The vampire that took her, the one that tried to erase my memory…all of it.”

“How did you know we were vampires?” Marquis asked.

“My dream—”

“Told you,” Marquis supplied. He shook his head and walked away.

“Shiiiiit,” Braden said, whistling.

Nathaniel raised his eyebrows and regarded the youngster appreciatively. “Well said.”

Marquis crossed his arms in front of him. “Brother, have you ever heard of such a thing—humans dreaming with that much psychic accuracy?”

Nathaniel shook his head. “No, I have not. Wizards? Yes. But humans?” He sighed, and then he placed his hand gently on Tiffany’s arm and began to absorb her pain, drawing it slowly into his own body until her suffering diminished. “Is that better?” he asked.

The blonde looked up at Nathaniel with both apprehension and wonder in her eyes. She was clearly confused by all the sudden changes in behavior yet far too afraid to question the meaning of it. “Yes,” she whispered timidly. She appeared to be holding her breath.

Marquis cleared his throat. “Nathaniel, do you know if Kagen has another medic on call? Katia is still with Nachari; Kagen is with Jocelyn; and when he does finish, he will need medical attention himself.”

Nathaniel thought about it.

There were plenty of males studying Healing at the Romanian University, but the revived interest was new—something that had just cropped up over the past several centuries. Less than a handful of males had actually completed their schooling and returned to Dark Moon Vale to apprentice. He thought harder. “Navarro Dabronski,” he finally said. “He’s back on break to celebrate his parents’ anniversary. He’s a competent medic, at least as long as Kagen is present to supervise.”