Blood Shadows (13 page)

And she still had three days.

Caitlin used the toilet and washed her hands. She ran her fingers through her hair to tidy it as she checked her reflection in the mirror. She clutched the edge of the basin and stared into her eyes.

She wasn’t weak, she was just tired. Tired, drugged and overwrought. And Kane was using that opportunity to test her barriers, watch her reactions and assess her responses just as he had done in the interrogation room. It was what the great manipulators did. And master vampires were the greatest manipulators of all.

Common sense told her she needed to play along. There was always the risk that if she played too hard to get, he could give up on her and select another shadow reader. And if he had no use for her, he could do whatever he wanted to her. She needed to let him think he might stand a chance, at least long enough for her to persuade him to help her.

She ran her hands down over her negligee and turned back towards the bathroom door. She stepped tentatively over the threshold to see Kane leaning with his back to her against the bedpost, watching the TV. He didn’t just have a shirt on now but also his jacket.

Her first response was to worry about where he was going, and more so why. Worry that was quickly replaced by realisation that his absence would give her a much-needed opportunity to examine her prison more closely.

But as he turned to face her, cocked his head towards the bed, indicating for her to get back on it, she knew that little glimmer of hope was short lived.

Despite her instinct telling her to comply, her pride kept her rooted to the spot, even with the six-inch height difference suddenly seeming far more intimidating than when he’d had her pressed against the corridor wall.

‘Five seconds and counting,’ he said.

Her pulse raced. She glanced across at the cuffs still attached to the headboard, then back at him. ‘I’m not going to do anything.’

His eyes echoed unnerving sobriety. ‘Three, two—’

Reluctantly she conceded. She coiled back against the headboard and lifted her wrist. To limit the intimacy of his proximity, she looked away as he sat beside her, as he secured the cuff into the final notch around her slender wrist before easing back off the bed. She watched him tuck the key in his jeans pocket as he strolled away, reluctantly admiring the confidence of his posture, the broadness of his shoulders, the power behind that body as he disappeared through the door.

She listened to him slide a bolt across in two places – top and bottom. A key turned in two separate locks. This was the place he kept things contained. His very own prison. A prison with a bed – more proof that he had more than one way of getting information, or whatever else it was that he wanted.

There was the rumble of an engine and the faint sound of metal grating against metal, the echo dissipating into a large and hollow space beyond.

Then everything fell to silence again.

Caitlin yanked her wrist in annoyance in its binding and slumped back against the headboard. She tongued the bite on her lower lip, which already felt less painful. His sensual licks had been nothing more than preparing her for the feral, cruel bite to follow.

She reached across for the bottle of water he had left on the edge of the bedside table for her, rested it between her thighs and unscrewed the already loosened cap. The water was cool and refreshing as she took a small mouthful.

If that was how he was going to play it, she needed to toughen up.

And fast.

CHAPTER EIGHT

T
he old bell tinkled as Kane stepped inside the cluttered store. The room lingered with the aroma of incense sticks, cinnamon and cloves. He strolled past the familiar shelves and glass cabinets overstuffed with emblems, charms and miscellany – toys for those who liked to tamper with things they didn’t understand.

He stopped at the platformed counter, in front of the human goth girl sitting behind it. He surveyed her minor piercings and tattoos – an attempt to fit into the crowd she was hankering after. Working at the store no doubt helped towards the kudos she seemed to be desperately seeking. Her large brown eyes, chocolaty against the thick black kohl defining them, instantly met his. Despite looking like she was somewhere in her late teens, those eyes told him she was more likely approaching mid-twenties. She blushed through her foundation.

‘Is Tamara in?’ he asked.

A glimmer of disappointment flashed behind her eyes. ‘Is she expecting you?’

‘Tell her Kane’s here.’

Her eyes flared. Seemingly she recognised his name. She reached for the phone, pressing her lips together as it rang. ‘Kane to see you.’ Placing the phone back in its cradle, she shyly looked down at the talisman she was polishing. She rubbed it even harder before holding it up, closing one eye with feigned expertise to examine if it was a job well done.

‘Do you even know what that is?’ he asked.

She looked flustered, but shrugged in feigned nonchalance.

He rested both arms on the counter and he leaned forward a little. ‘You got a name?’

‘Bea,’ she said, the increase in her breathing subtle but noticeable.

‘Have you got a boyfriend, Bea?’

Her tongue darted out to swiftly lick her bottom lip, her eyes wide as she placed the talisman down next to a long line. She picked up another. ‘No.’ She glanced back across at him, struggling to suppress a smile. She was trying to be cool. It was almost cute.

‘Keep practising rubbing like that and you might get yourself one,’ he said, capturing and holding her gaze.

Tamara emerged through the bead curtain, her long velvet dress, the one she wore for the tourists, clinging to every curve. She’d always looked better in leather and lace, but he wasn’t going to tell her that. She smiled, her full rouged lips as tempting as they always were, her kohl-lined bright-blue eyes igniting the minute she saw him. She bent over the counter, her heavy breasts, just about contained by the low fabric, having little to help their cause. ‘Hey, handsome.’

He smiled. ‘I got your message.’

She stood up and cocked her head towards the beads.

He stepped around the side of the desk, took the two steps up, boots clumping against wood as he followed her through into the musty old room, out into the space that she reserved for her more private clientele.

The back room was dim, the thick scent of herbs and incense exacerbating the density of the large but cluttered room. Heavy drapes and tapestries dominated the walls, adding to the claustrophobia of the enclosure.

‘Where did you find the goth?’

Tamara smiled. ‘Where I always find them,’ she said, pouring liquid into two glasses.

‘Is she a feeder?’

‘Not that I know of. Not yet anyway. She won’t take much breaking in, though, from the way she was looking at you.’ She handed him the drink, her eyes glinting with mischief. ‘But what’s wrong with me? My witch blood not good enough for you tonight?’

He took a mouthful. ‘I’m after something purer. I need the sustenance. No offence.’

‘Some taken.’ She rubbed the rim of her glass against her lips as she stepped up to him. ‘Then maybe something else?’ She ran her hand down his chest, nails scraping against the cotton of his shirt before unfastening two of the buttons, sliding her hand inside before lifting her thick, false eyelashes to meet his gaze. ‘It’s been a while. How about you remind me what I’m missing?’

‘As if I’d be that cruel.’

She laughed seductively. ‘You know that’s how I like you.’ She opened his shirt a little, her eyes flaring in admiration. ‘Surely you’re not so short of time you can’t spare me fifteen minutes to work some of that magic of yours? Especially not after what I’ve managed to do.’

‘You have got it then?’

‘Of course. After moving heaven and earth and pulling in more than a few favours these past few months.’ She searched his gaze. ‘You really do owe me big time for this,’ she said, slipping her hand down to his behind.

He caught her hand and pulled her closer. ‘How about you show it to me first,’ he said, his lips hovering tauntingly over hers.

She smiled, her eyes flashing with arousal, before she stepped away from him.

He knocked back the rest of his drink as he glanced around the room. He stepped up to the round table to lift the crystal ball, tossing it in his hand before placing it back on the stand with an exhale of amusement.

Tamara was back within a few minutes, a cloth-wrapped object clutched in her hands. She knelt at the low coffee table and placed the item in the centre. Kane lowered to his knees opposite her as she carefully unwrapped the cloth. She met his gaze, the excitement sparkling in hers as she slid the hand-sized book towards him. It looked like something that had been shoved to the back of a shelf in a junk shop. Its dull leather cover was smudged and worn, the platinum lock that bound it buckled and tarnished.

But he knew better than anyone that appearances could be deceptive. ‘It certainly doesn’t look much.’

‘That’s the whole point. Nothing with that much power ever does.’

He held it up to examine it and thumbed the lock.

‘You don’t unlock it until the time,’ she said, sliding him the tiny key. ‘And once it’s closed, you don’t open it again. Read anything contained within and it will tarnish the soul, preventing any return to its host. If you want it returned.’ She looked at him hesitantly. ‘That’s serious stuff there.’

He wrapped it back in the cloth.

‘So whose soul is it for?’ she asked. ‘More to the point, what did they do to deserve this?’

‘That’s two too many questions, Tam,’ he said, standing.

‘You can’t blame a woman for being curious.’ Tamara mirrored him expectantly. ‘You do know you need things to extract the soul. Things I can’t get you.’

‘All under control,’ he said, taking the money from his coat and handing her the wad of notes.

She took it, but didn’t check it. She licked her lower lip and met his gaze. ‘So how about a thank you?’

‘Thank you.’ He kissed her lightly on the lips before clipping her chin with his thumb as he stepped past her, back towards the storefront.

‘That’s it? Where you going?’

‘I told you. I’m hungry.’

‘But you said…’

‘I said what?’

She folded her arms. ‘You’re a bastard, Kane Malloy, you know that?’

He smiled as he turned to face her. ‘I thought you said you liked me cruel.’

She shook her head, pressed her lips together, but couldn’t help but smile back. ‘I’ll have you next time.’

‘Whatever keeps those hopes alive, Tam.’

He stepped back through the beads and glanced across at Bea tapping her pen against a pile of paper. She sat upright as he descended the steps, her eyes sparkling with ready compliance.

Easy pickings. As easy as it came. And way too desperate.

Bastard, yes. But not that much of a bastard.

She was too fragile for sex with any vampire, let alone him. Too needy. Too vulnerable. Too susceptible. She had vampire victim stamped all over her. It was only a matter of time before she was found in some alley or in one of the many derelict houses somewhere, her delicate, non-consenting flesh ravaged by fervent bites.

He fought the images that played in front of his mind like disassociated pieces of film – Arana’s torn and defiled delicate body lying limp and bloodied on the cold concrete of the abandoned warehouse floor. His throat tightened along with his chest.

And this girl – itching to be a conquest. Clueless of consequence. Clueless of what lay behind the eyes she was staring into.

Her ignorance plunged deep into him and twisted a little, the barbs catching, preventing him from walking away. And that pulse beneath her pale flesh was already far too rapid to ignore.

He was probably about to do her the biggest favour of her young life.

He crossed the room to the nearest glass chest and relaxed back against it, his arms casually braced on the cold surface. He looked directly across at her in the silence.

Her eyes flared, part in arousal, part in shock. Clearly she got the hint. She glanced anxiously over her shoulder towards Tamara’s room then returned her full attention to him.

He offered her a hint of a smile to reassure her she’d read the situation right.

She pushed back her chair and stood with an edge of wariness that would be her saving grace. Arrogance on top of ignorance was something he’d never been able to tolerate, and his bite technique had demonstrated that to plenty of first-time donors.

She came to a standstill a foot away from him, clearly having got to him sooner than she’d intended, from the awkwardness of her stance. She smiled. Didn’t seem to know what to do with her hands. Resolved to rest them on her slender hips.

He let her stand there as the seconds ticked by, keeping her in the painful position of not knowing whether to make the first move.

‘I’ve heard of you,’ she said.

‘Have you now?’

She nodded. ‘You and a vampire called Caleb. Do you know him?’

‘Of him.’