Books by Maggie Shayne (88 page)

Roland caught his shoulders and held him easily.
 
"What do you think you're doing?"

"That bastard almost killed me!
 
When I get my hands on him, I--"

"You will watch your language, Jamison, and you will stay quiet and do as I tell you.
 
You can't instigate a physical altercation with a grown man."

"I'm a lot bigger than I was two years ago," Jamey said, his voice dangerously low.
 
"And you know he has it coming.
 
I owe him."
 
His milk-chocolate-colored eyes glowed with absolute fierceness.

Roland felt a shudder run up his spine.
 
God, but Jamison was familiar.
 
His rage, his anger--Roland had known all of it, at that age.
 
It had nearly destroyed him.
 
It had destroyed others.
 
Far too many others.

"That he does, Jamison.
 
But--"

Jamey's struggles suddenly ceased.
 
"Who is
that?
"
 
His eyes widened, and Roland followed his gaze to see Rhiannon, playfully tousling Curt Rogers's hair.

Roland felt anger prickle his nape.

"A friend of mine.
 
Her name's Rhiannon and I believe she thinks she's distracting Rogers so you can slip into the castle unnoticed."
 

Jamey swallowed.
 
"She's gorgeous."

Roland just stared at her for an elongated moment.
 
The moonlight played upon the satin skin of her shoulders like a caress.
 
"Yes," he said softly.
 
Then he shook himself.
 
"Yes, and apparently Rogers thinks so, too."

Rogers's hand settled on one of Rhiannon's naked shoulders, and proceeded to stroke a slow path down her arm.
 
Roland felt the fury leap to life in his veins in a way it seldom had.
 
For just an instant, his palms itched to clutch the chilled hilt of a broadsword.
 
Then he reminded himself he no longer needed one.

"Come, Jamey, before she decides to--"
 
He stopped himself before he finished the comment.

Jamey looked up at him, then glanced toward Rhiannon again, a sudden understanding lighting his eyes.
 
He said nothing, only nodded, and followed Roland into the woods and up to the tall stone wall.
 
He put an arm around Roland's shoulders.
 
Roland did likewise, then leapt, easily clearing the wall and landing with a thud on the opposite side.
 
Jamey hit the ground and tumbled forward.
 
He shook his head sheepishly, got to his feet and brushed the dust from his jeans.
 
"One of these days, I'll get the hang of that."

Roland heard Rhiannon's deep laughter filling the night air.

"Is she... like you?"
 
Jamey had never used the word vampire, but Roland thought he knew.
 
The boy was too insightful not to make his own assumptions, and his assumptions were usually right.
 
Roland looked at him, and simply nodded.

"She shouldn't be out there with Curt Rogers," Jamey said.

"You're right about that.
 
Go on inside, and wait for me in the great hall."
 
Roland spoke while gazing toward the portcullis.
 
When Jamey didn't reply or move to obey, Roland sent him a sharp glance.

Jamey shook his head.
 
"No.
 
I'm not a little kid anymore and I'm tired of other people fighting my battles for me."

Roland very nearly barked at him, then closed his eyes and gave his head a shake.
 
For an instant, he could have sworn he was looking at the image of himself, arguing with his father on the day before he'd left home for good.
 
Fourteen.
 
Yes, he'd been just that.
 
And a mere two years later...

He blocked out the memory of that bloody battlefield.

 
"There is no battle to be fought," he said calmly.
 
"Please, just go inside so I can fetch Rhiannon.
 
God knows what kind of trouble she'll get into on her own."

Jamey kicked at a stray pebble with undue force, and shoved a hand through his hair.

"Why can't he just leave us alone?"

"Because he's still breathing."
 
Rhiannon's voice startled Jamey.
 
He jerked his head up in surprise.
 
Roland only turned slowly and watched her approach.
 
He'd heard her land when she'd vaulted the wall.

Apparently someone else had, too.
 
A tall, beefy form lumbered forward from the shadows, placing himself directly between Rhiannon and Jamey.
 
She stopped, her brows lifting.

"It's all right, Frederick.
 
She's a friend."

Rhiannon's imperious gaze clashed with Frederick's untrusting one.
 
Rhiannon took another step forward.
 
"Don't you remember me, Freddy?"

He frowned, and tilted his head to one side.
 
Then he nodded, smiling.

"Rhia... Rhian--"

"Rhiannon," she supplied.

Frederick frowned, obviously remembering a slightly different version of her ever-changing name.
 
Roland stepped forward, closing the gap between them, with Jamey at his side.
 
He hoped the relief he felt at seeing her sound and without injury didn't show on his face.

"What have you done with Rogers?"

Rhiannon ignored Roland's question, and let her dark gaze linger on Jamey, who stared at her in turn as if she were made of chocolate.

"Hello, Jamison.
 
I've heard a lot about you."
 
She lifted her hand as she spoke, and Jamey took it at once, then looked down at it as if he wasn't sure what to do.

"Nice to, urn, meet you."
 
He let her hand go, after giving it a brief squeeze.

"Rhiannon..."

She met Roland's eyes.
 
"Are you afraid I've killed him?
 
Wouldn't we all be far better off, if I had?"

"I know we would," Jamey said softly.

Roland shook his head.
 
"Killing is never justified, Jamison.
 
It never makes anything better.
 
It can destroy the killer just as surely as it does the victim.
 
More so.
 
At least the victim still has claim to his soul.
 
The killer's is eaten away slowly."

Rhiannon rolled her eyes, and Jamey came close to smiling at her.
 
She noticed, and bestowed upon him her devastating half smile, before turning back to Roland.
 
"Well, if you're too kindhearted to kill the man, what do you suggest?
 
He's obviously discovered Jamey's whereabouts.
 
We can't simply sit here and wait for him to come and take the boy."

"I'm no boy," Jamey said.

"I think Jamison should go to the States for a while, spend some time with Eric and Tamara.
 
It will be safer."
 
Roland glanced at the boy to see what he thought of the idea.

Jamey widened his stance and lifted his chin.
 
"I'm not running away from him."

Rhiannon's warm gaze bathed Jamey with approval.
 
He felt it, and stood a little taller.
 
Roland was beginning to feel outnumbered.
 
"What have you done with Rogers?" he asked again.

Her gaze dropped before his.
 
"I tired of his sloppy advances.
 
The fool tried to put his tongue into my ear."

Jamey chuckled hard, shaking his head, so his longish black curls moved with his laughter.
 
Rhiannon smiled at him, while Roland scowled at her.

"Rhiannon, you have not answered the question."

She shrugged delicately.
 
"Monsieur Rogers is having a nap.
 
I think he's been overworking himself of late."

"Rhiannon..."
 
Roland's voice held a warning, but it seemed she was too busy exchanging secretive glances with Jamey, to take heed.

"Oh, Roland, I merely tapped him on the head.
 
Honestly, he won't even bear a scar."

"Wonderful!"
 
Roland threw his hands in the air.
 
"Now he'll know you're in league with us.
 
He'll hound your steps in search of retribution just as he does mine."
 
It infuriated him that she constantly did things to put herself at risk.
 
Then he realized how his concern for her would sound to her ears.
 
If she knew of his true feelings, she would never let up on her attempts at seduction.
 
And he would only hurt her in the end.

"And you've conveniently left him lying at the front gate, blocking our exit," Roland added, to give more severity to his complaints.

Rhiannon caught Jamey's eye and winked.

"All right, little bird, out with it.
 
You haven't left him lying at the front gate, have you?"

"Well of course I haven't.
 
I'm not an idiot."
 
She placed a hand on Jamey's shoulder.
 
"Come now, and pack yourself a bag or two.
 
That lovely Cadillac is just sitting out there, all warmed up and ready to go."

 
"Go where?"

"My place.
 
I have a little house just beyond the village.
 
Rogers won't bother you there."

"No, Rhiannon.
 
Jamey will be far safer here, with Frederick and I to watch over him."

She studied him for a long moment, and seemed deep in thought.
 
"All right, then.
 
I'll be back soon."

"Rhiannon, where are you--"
  
Before Roland could finish the question, she was gone.
 
He heard the sound of Curtis Rogers's car roaring to life a second later.
 
Then it squealed away into the night.

She took the fine car.
 
Not that she couldn't move much faster on her own.
 
She drove for a long time, speeding past the tiny village of L'Ombre and over its twisting roads, taking sharp curves at excessive rates of speed, and laughing as she did so until gradually, the pavements broadened and traffic increased.

When she finally came to a grinding halt at the airport at Paris, she removed the keys and walked to the rear to open the trunk.

Rogers moaned, holding his head in two hands as he sat up.
 
His narrow, angry eyes raked her but he didn't attempt to move.
 

"You carry a syringe in your breast pocket," she said softly.
 
"Take it out."

He straightened, one hand slipping beneath his jacket toward the pocket.
 
She watched him, and when that hand tensed, hers shot forward entrapping it at the wrist before he'd had the chance to move it.
 
He probably hadn't even seen her movement.

"Now, I'll stand for none of that.
 
Roland tells me this drug of yours actually works."
 
She pulled his hand from beneath the jacket, his resistance so puny in comparison to her strength that it was almost laughable.
 
When the syringe was in the open, she took it with her free hand.
 
"Perfectly awful, this little needle.
 
Still, I suppose it's better than St. Claire's former methods.
 
Draining our blood until we become too weak to fight him, leaving him free to perform his sadistic little experiments."

Curtis looked up suddenly, still rubbing the wrist she'd just released.
 
"You're the one, aren't you?"

"Which one would that be, darling?
 
Certainly not one of the two fledglings he held.
 
The ones from whom he drained a bit too much blood?
 
The ones he murdered?
 
No, I'm not one of those.
 
Not at all, as you can see."

"You're...
 
Rhiannon.
 
You escaped.
 
You killed one of the finest scientists DPI has ever--"

She waved a hand.
 
"Scientist?
 
I say he was a twisted little pervert.
 
He enjoyed the pain he inflicted."
 
She tilted her head to one side and fought not to let her face reveal what the memory of that pain did to her insides.
 
She'd been tortured to the point of near madness.
 
To an immortal as old as she, pain was magnified incredibly.
 
It was felt thousands of times more keenly than by a human, hundreds of times more keenly than by younger vampires.

"Then again, that night I must say I understood.
 
I did enjoy what I did to him."
 
She kept her voice cold, her tone without inflection.
 
"Tell me now, Curtis Rogers, has this drug been tested on human subjects?
 
What, I wonder, would be the effect should I inject it into you, for example?"

His face lost all color and she felt his rush of fear.
 
"The drug has absolutely no noticeable effect on human beings."

She tilted her head back and laughed, the sound bubbling up from deep in her throat.
 
"Oh, how you amuse me.
 
You know I can read your thoughts.
 
You're far too frightened right now to mask them, and yet you lie determinedly.
 
The drug would kill you, would it not?"

He shook his head in denial.

Rhiannon held the needle skyward and depressed the plunger, sending a small spurt of silvery liquid into the air.
 
Curtis lunged, landing on his feet on the concrete of the parking lot and immediately ready to flee.
 
Rhiannon closed her hand over his nape and squeezed.

"It's no use, you know.
 
I'm as strong as twenty grown men, and you with all your research of my kind, are aware of it.
 
I'm older and more powerful than any of us you've encountered.
 
I could kill you now without breaking a sweat, Rogers, my pet."

Still holding his nape in an unshakable grip, she dragged one nail lightly over the short hairs there.
 
"How do you want it, I wonder?
 
Would you like me to simply snap this neck of yours?
 
It would be the quickest, the most merciful way.
 
Or I could, indeed, inject you with your own creation.
 
Any drug powerful enough to tranquilize a vampire would probably kill an elephant in its tracks, to say nothing of a puny mortal such as yourself."

She turned him to face her and she saw his fear.
 
She could feel it, and she could smell it.
 
She shook her head slowly.
 
"No, I think those methods are not nearly poetic enough to suit me, Curtis, dear."
 
She depressed the plunger farther, squirting the contents of the syringe down the front of his shirt, splattering his jacket.
 
She tossed the empty needle to the floor.
 
"I think, perhaps, for you--" she gripped his necktie and jerked him nearer "--the old-fashioned methods are the best."

"No," he whispered.

"For God's sake, no!"

She went so far as to actually rake her teeth across the tight skin of his throat, even drawing a bit of blood, which tasted so delightfully wonderful she nearly forgot to behave herself.
 
But then she took a firm grip on her thirst, and she lifted her head from his throat.

"Oh,
mon cher
, you are delicious.
 
But Roland has warned me I mustn't kill you.
 
Only delay you until their flight--"
 
She bit her lips, as if she'd let some important bit of secrecy slip through them.
 
"No matter.
 
They are far from your reach now."
 
She released her hold on him and he staggered backward.
 
One hand lifted, palm pressing to his throat.
 
When he saw the blood it came away with, he nearly fainted, such was his distress.
 
She could have seen it even with mortal eyes, but in her vampiric state, she felt and sensed his every thought.
 

"Bother the boy again,
monsieur
, and I will delight in finishing you.
 
And I assure you, despite your protests to the contrary, you shall delight in it, too.
 
Right unto the moment of your death."

His eyes shifted frantically right and left as he sought assistance.
 
None was to he had.
 
"You'll pay for this," he shouted when he felt safer, farther from her.
 
He edged toward an approaching vehicle.
 
I'll make sure you pay.
 
All of you."

"Yes, I know you will try.
 
One final word, my dear, and then I must go.
 
The taste of you on my lips has left me with a powerful appetite."

"You're an animal!"

She smiled slowly.
 
"Quite right.
 
A predator, to be precise.
 
And if you go near Roland again, you will become my prey.
 
Believe me, if it is Roland I avenge, your experience will not be a pleasant one.
 
I will hurt you, Curtis Rogers.
 
I will make you writhe!"

With a single burst of speed, she left him there, knowing to his human eyes, it must have seemed she'd simply vanished.
 
He wouldn't go to the castle.
 
Not right away, at least.
 
She thought she'd convinced him that Roland and the boy had boarded a jet bound for parts unknown.
 
He'd fallen so easily.
 
He would search elsewhere first.
 
They'd be safe during the approaching dawn.
 
Yet, there were still precautions to be taken.
 
Rhiannon sped toward the small rental house outside L'Ombre, to accomplish these, and of course, to fetch her cat.

*
   
*
   
*
   
*
   
*

Roland had no idea where she'd gone, or when she'd return.
 
That was the thing about her.
 
Flighty.
 
Volatile.
 
Unstoppable.
 
Damn near irresistible.
 
He groaned under his breath.
 
He couldn't forget his desire even in his anger.

When she'd looked at Jamey earlier, Roland could have sworn he'd seen the stirrings of genuine affection.
 
Of course, she would have 'to feel something for the boy.
 
He was one of The Chosen.
 
A human with the same two rare traits all vampires had as humans, the single combination that allowed them to be transformed.
 
The line of descent, including, but surpassing, Prince Vlad the Impaler--yes, despite all of Eric Marquand's theories, it went back farther than that.
 
And the blood antigen known as belladonna.
 
A human with these traits, though he may never be aware of it, becomes the ward of the undead.
 
Vampires watch over such ones, especially the children.
 
They cannot do otherwise.
 
And all preternatural beings can sense the presence of such ones, or the hint of a threat to them.
 
Yet rarely are these Chosen ones transformed, or even contacted.
 
Mostly, they simply go through their lives never knowing of their psychic link to a society they would believe a myth.

The situation with Jamey was unique.
 
In order to protect him, Roland had been left with little choice but to arrange things as they now stood.
 
DPI knew of Jamey's traits.
 
They knew of his connection, not to one, but to three--now four--vampires.
 
They placed a great value on the boy, his worth to them greater than would be his weight in gold.
 
They would stop at nothing to possess him, to hold him in one of their diabolical laboratories, to run countless, torturous experiments upon his fragile young body while they awaited the inevitable arrival of his protectors.

And with all of this on the line, Rhiannon had played another of her vanishing acts.

But he knew better than that, didn't he?
 
Unpredictable, she was, but not disloyal.
 
Her carelessness only applied to matters of her own safety.
 
Not to that of others.
 
He wanted to be angry with her, but instead, found himself worried.
 
She was gone, yes, but where was Rogers?
 
With her?
 
She'd been captured by a manlike him once.
 
Would she be reckless enough to end up in their hands again?

As soon as Jamey was safely installed in his modernized apartment in the east wing with Frederick at his side, Roland made the decision to search for her.
 
She'd resent it, no doubt.
 
She liked to do as she pleased without interference.
 
But he felt she might be at risk, and he couldn't ignore that possibility.

Before he made it to the door, he sensed her presence.
 
He realized a moment later that he'd felt an overwhelming sense of relief along with it.
 
But that was ridiculous.
 
He hadn't been
that
worried about her.

She entered the great hall through the tall, arching door of ancient hardwood, which was banded with black iron straps.
 
At her side lumbered a panther, sleek and black as the velvet gown she still wore.
 
The beast's green eyes glittered like emeralds, and as it gazed steadily at Roland, it stilled utterly, and emitted a deep-throated growl.

"What in God's name is that?"

"My cat.
 
Her name is Pandora, and I would appreciate it if you would treat her with the respect she deserves."

"Rhiannon, for God's sake--" Roland took a single step forward, and froze when the cat crouched, snarling, teeth bared, about to spring.

"Pandora, hush!"
 
At her stern command the animal relaxed, straightening rather lazily, still watching Roland's every move.

"Roland is a friend," Rhiannon said softly, stroking the cat's big head with her long, dagger-tipped fingers.

"Come, Roland, stroke her head, so she'll know you mean no harm."

Roland swore under his breath, but knew Rhiannon adored the beast, simply by the light in her eyes.
 
He would indulge her, this once.
 
It wasn't as if the cat could harm him.
 
He moved nearer the animal, and stretched out one hand.
 

In a lightning-fast move, Pandora batted his hand away with claws extended, and a short angry snarl.

"Pandora!"
 
Rhiannon smacked the cat on the nose, and reached out, gripping Roland's hand and frowning at the single scratch the cat had managed to inflict.
 
A tiny, narrow path of beaded red droplets.

"I'm sorry, Roland.
 
She is so protective of me, you see, and you did raise your voice."
 
Then she lifted his hand, brought it to her lips, and, very catlike, herself, ran her damp tongue over the mark, from knuckles to wrist.
 
She closed her eyes at the erotic impact of the act.
 
Roland knew, because it rocked him, too.