Caleb (37 page)

“Go
through and find out.”

“Why
do we have to play these little games?”

“Because
it amuses me.”

“And
by all means the great Vincent, the most superior person in the world, must be
amused.”

He
inclined his head. “Yes.”

“I am
so not impressed.”

Her
sarcasm just rolled off his confidence. And why shouldn’t it? He knew he had
the upper hand. He knew she would do anything, agree to anything, to see Caleb.
The only positive was that he thought the reason she wanted to see Caleb was
the horrible wrenching pain in her gut.

The
reality was she had a plan. Not the best plan, but a good one. She just needed
to find Caleb alive to set it in motion, while keeping the whole concept of a
plan under Vincent’s mental radar. Not so easy, since, not only was he a
bastard, he was a nosy one. She accepted Vincent’s invitation to go ahead of
him. When she got within ten feet of the door, she felt it—a slow steady seep
of energy through the portal. There was a restless edge to the energy. An
intensity she recognized. Caleb. He had to be crazy with worry, wondering what
had happened to her.

The
locks turned with an impressive series of clicks and clunks. That, more than
anything else, stated how dangerous they considered Caleb. Which might put a
damper on her plan, except—she looked down at her unfettered hands—they still
didn’t see
her
as a threat. The element of surprise was going to have to
be the edge she needed.

The
door took its own sweet time sliding open. She tapped her toe, a scream of
impatience echoing in her head. Adrenaline surged. When the door finally opened
far enough, she practically leapt into the room.

Caleb
was on a table in the center of the room. His big body strapped down with bands
that shimmered on his wrists and ankles. There was no reaction to her entry
into the room. No stirring of his fingers. No twitch of his toes. No increase
in the energy. She stepped closer, the hunger clamoring at the knowledge that
he was there.

She
knew he wasn’t dead, which meant something else, something more substantial
than the steel, bound him. The farther she moved into the room, the more the
flicker of the lights bothered her. The normal white light of the previous room
faded, leaving her with the disorienting rhythm of this one. She reached for
Caleb with her mind. She hit that same wall of buzzing sound. Instead of
pulling away, she probed, using her eyes and her senses. Gradually a pattern
emerged. The buzzing vibrated in tandem with the flicker of the light.
Interesting.

She
stepped up beside Caleb and touched the table. Her hand trembled. “Hi, sugar.”

He
didn’t say a word. She looked over her shoulder at Vincent. “What did you do to
him?”

“He’s
merely being contained.”

“Contained?”

“Yes.”

She
touched the edge of his sleeve with her pinkie. She bet he’d kicked some major
ass before they’d brought him here. “Scary when he’s in a snit, isn’t he?”

“He’s
strong.”

There
was an element of confusion in the statement, as if Vincent didn’t understand
how that could be. That was interesting. She had known Caleb was strong, but
without a benchmark to use as a guide, she had just assumed he was normal for a
vampire. But to Vincent, he was an unexpected threat. A very powerful, very
young—she glanced at his face—very handsome threat. Every sophisticated, aging
man’s nightmare.

She
took a breath. Caleb’s scent invaded her senses, worming down to the burning
pain, fanning the flames, driving them higher. She fell to her knees and
gripped the edge of the table as agony buried everything else, panting as
muscles wrenched in spasms. Vincent made no effort to help her. She cut him a
glare.

“Apparently,”
she gasped, “chivalry went out the window with the new superiority.”

She
caught what might have been a surge of energy from Caleb. She strained, but it
was gone as fast as she reached for it. Vincent, however, was giving off
big-time energy. Nervous, anticipatory energy. He expected something to happen.
But what? Just her feeding couldn’t be the answer. What was he hoping to gain
from getting her down here? She grabbed the edge of the table—the cold metal
chilled her fingers to the bone. How had Caleb endured being imprisoned in this
cold place?

It
took everything she had to pull herself up, fighting the hunger, her weakness,
and her weariness. Vincent laughed when she slipped. The bastard. He could laugh
now, all he wanted, but one of these days he was going to be the one to suffer.
And she was going to be the one to make it happen. She shifted her elbow onto
the table and hauled herself up. Her fingers brushed the roughness of cotton.
She grabbed hold. The thick, solid muscle of Caleb’s arm felt alien and cold.
So cold. She leaned over him, bracing her weight on his chest.

He
was cold all over. Her Caleb who was always so warm. Who kept himself warmer
than he would like because she had a tendency to chill, was colder than she’d
ever dreamed of being. She glared at Vincent. “You are so going to pay for
this.”

“I’d
probably be more impressed if either of you could stand upright on your own
right now.”

He
probably would. She pushed up with her hands, bracing her elbows. She didn’t
know how she was going to do this. She had so little strength left. And the
pain? Oh my God! The pain was absolutely unbearable this close to what she
wanted. Allie opened her palm over Caleb’s biceps. Even relaxed they were firm,
the curve pressing into her hand, shaping her grip. He lay beneath her touch,
unmoving. This was so wrong. She shifted her weight to her left hand. She
touched his shoulder, too afraid of touching his cheek, afraid the lack of
response would break her heart. Allie glared at Vincent. “I can’t feed from him
like this.”

Vincent
merely raised his eyebrows as if she were a recalcitrant child. “Yes, you can.”

She
took a breath as another spike of pain drove the air from her lungs. It took a
moment to recover before she could continue. “Let me put it this way, I refuse
to feed from him like his.”

“I
hardly think you’re in a position to refuse anything.”

“I
don’t see it that way.”

“And
I’m supposed to care about that?”

“If you
want me to live past the next hour, yeah.”

Vincent
didn’t move, just stared at her. She ignored him. He’d give in. He had to. He
wanted her too badly to argue, and she wanted Caleb back too badly to give in.
Allie slid her hand over Caleb’s shoulder to the strong column of his neck, up
to his chin. The rasp of his beard touched her fingertips, evoking memories of
other times it’d touched her skin. It had been different then, the touch backed
by the laughter and the heat of his desire. Neither of which was evident now.
She pulled herself up and touched her mouth to his.

“I’m
sorry,” she whispered.

No
response. Not even a flicker of an eyelash.

She
traced the slight crease at the side of his face, the place where his smile
would form if he could move and see her fussing over him. “Have you let him
feed?”

“Not
hardly.”

She
glanced at Vincent from the corner of her eye. “Then we have a problem.” The
table creaked as she shifted her weight back. “He won’t have enough blood to
replenish me.”

“Then
suck him dry.”

She
shook her head. “I won’t do that.”

“Think
about how he stole your life. Took you away from your family, killed you,
imprisoned you.” His smile cut deep. “That should help.”

So
one would assume. The only thing that wounded was the mention of her family,
but she hadn’t given up on finding a way to make that work. She just needed
more time. “I won’t feed from him like this.”

“I
could make you.”

She
braced her hand over Caleb’s restraint. “No. You can’t.”

The
energy coming off it was familiar. Had a familiar pattern. And it, too,
flickered with the same rhythm as the lights. Another clue, but to what? She
closed her eyes, concentrating.

“You
are incredibly stubborn.”

“So
I’ve been told.” Her arm quivered with the effort of supporting herself.

“Would
you really die rather than feed from him in his current state?”

“You
really don’t know me too well, do you?”

“You
haven’t provided me with much of an opportunity.”

“Well,
you’ve had clues.” She brushed her bangs out of her eyes with her shoulder. “I
do what I want, when I want, and how I want. And I’m not real inclined to
settle for anything less.”

“And
you like your food moving?”

A
glance over her shoulder showed Vincent staring at her with something almost
approaching respect. “I like it at least conscious.”

“You
know, I really shouldn’t humor you, but I find that we’re so much alike, it’s
difficult not to indulge your moods.”

She
blinked. “Thank you.”

When
the pain hit this time, the room wove out of focus. She dug her nails into the
band and the table. The band throbbed and glowed, responding rather than
resisting. “I’m about to pass out.”

Vincent
cast her an enigmatic glance before walking over to the table. He slid between
her and Caleb and opened a drawer. Inside were an assortment of tools. They all
looked like instruments of torture to her. Vincent grabbed up a syringe loaded
with a greenish mixture.

“What’s
that?”

“What
you wanted.”

He
pressed the plunger, ejecting a bit of the suspicious-looking stuff.

“Step
aside.”

She
stayed put. “What’s in it?”

In
answer, he shoved her back and plunged the needle down into Caleb’s biceps. His
thrill of excitement at the vicious act reached out to her. The hardest thing
she’d ever done was to keep her voice calm and steady in the wake of the
violence.

“How
long before it takes effect?”

“Not
long.”

She
wanted Caleb now. She reached for him with her mind.

“I’m
not going to allow you to talk to him mentally.”

She
shrugged. “It was worth a try.”

And
worth the tiny bit of feedback on the trail she was building into the back door
to his brain.

“As
much as I appreciate the power you’re going to bring me”—he put the syringe
back in the drawer—“I never really appreciated how much enjoyment you’re also
going to provide.”

The
path to his mind snapped shut with the same quiet efficiency as the drawer.

A
chill that had nothing to do with her hunger shot down her spine. She closed
her mind, counted to five, and elbowed him out of her way. “There’s a proverb
about not counting your chickens until they’re hatched.”

She
took her place at Caleb’s side, breathing as if she’d just run five miles
rather than merely moved two feet.

Vincent’s
stare was as heavy as a touch, loaded with nuances she didn’t comprehend. “All
my chickens are present and accounted for.”

The
color was returning to Caleb’s face. Normal tension began to return to his
muscles. “Then, I guess that makes today your day.”

Caleb’s
fingers twitched and his eyes flicked behind his lids. “Caleb? Can you hear
me?”

“He
can hear you.”

She
wanted to scream at Vincent, tell him to shut up. She wanted to simply lose it.
She wasn’t hero material. She wasn’t cut out for this. Touching Caleb’s cheek
with shaking fingers, she breathed a sigh of relief. He was alive and he was
coming back to her. That’s all she needed.

Caleb’s
eyes opened.

“See
how easy things can go when you cooperate?” Vincent asked.

“Yes.”

Her
hand on Caleb’s shoulder served as a warning. She slipped her other hand down
to the manacle on his wrist. Nothing was more welcome than the touch of his
gaze to hers.

“Are
you okay?” His drawl was hoarse, slower than normal.

“I’m
fine.”

His
green eyes dropped to her mouth where she knew the cut on her lip was evident.
His eyes narrowed. The swirls flared to brilliant light. Every muscle in his
body snapped rigid. The table vibrated with the tension. “I’ll kill the son of
a bitch.”

“I
kind of get the feeling there’s a whole long line of people ahead of you
wanting to do that very thing.”

And
her name topped the list.

Caleb
didn’t look at her, just at Vincent. “The others will have to wait their turn.”

Allie
slid her hand down his wrist until she could tuck it against his palm. His
fingers immediately curled around hers. His gaze slid from her lip down her
body and then over to Vincent.

“Are
you sure you’re okay?”

“He
didn’t rape me if that’s what you’re asking.” She cut a glare at Vincent who
had the gall to be amused by the private moment he was witnessing. “He doesn’t
have the stomach for it.”