IM02 - Hunters & Prey (27 page)

I bit my tongue and spread my blood and saliva across the wound to close it. Then, with all the willpower I could muster, I tore myself away from his neck, even though the monster inside of me screamed for more. I’d drunk enough to clear the dizziness in my head and calm the sting of my wounds; that was sufficient for now. I needed to move on.

The soldier appeared dizzy; his head lolled to the side as his eyes glazed over and started rolling backward into his head. Limp in my arms, his body threatened to collapse. I supported his weight, allowing him to slide down the wall gently.

He made a few incoherent noises before finding his voice. “You . . . didn’t . . . kill me,” he rasped.

Now that I’d regained more of my strength, I let him feel the full intensity of my mental influence. Locking on to his squinting eyes, I delved deeply into his mind to make sure my message stuck with him. “No. But if you try to hunt me, or any other vampire again, I will.”

His eyes closed and he slumped over. I listened to make sure his heart still beat. It was faint, but I could still hear the whispering thump. He’d live, and hopefully, if he was smart enough, he’d heed my message and leave the Acta Sanctorum.

I winced, testing my injured shoulder. The fabric of my shredded shirt stuck to the inside of the wound as it tried to close on itself. If I left it, it would fester until the fabric worked its way out. Not something I wanted to suffer through.

I ripped away the fabric, cringing as it briefly reopened the wound. I panted, biting back a cry as the sting ran through my body like a lightning strike. I took the unconscious soldier’s jacket to cover me and hoped the wound would be healed by the time I made it to Quentin. Even if it weren’t, the jacket would conceal the injury. I needed to at least appear healthy.

Sliding the gun into the waistband of my pants, I took off again, trying to find the right path to Quentin.

I ran through the corridors, smelling, listening, looking, hoping for any sign to tell me where to go. Fallon’s scent was everywhere. He must have taken her all over these halls.

A set of double doors with glass windows caught my attention. Behind them appeared to be a stair case.

Ripping open the doors, I caught Quentin’s scent, then Fallon’s, and Santino’s. Fear raced through me, sending terrible images of what could be happening flashing through my mind.
Oh, God!
I hope Fallon is all right.

I launched myself up the stairs two at a time, practically flying up to the next floor.

The double doors at the top of the steps had windows, allowing me to see the large room on the other side. I peered through the corner of the glass windows, hoping not to be spotted. Fallon was tethered to the wall, her neck collared with a large steel ring, her arms bound in chains hanging from the ceiling.

She was not the only one chained in this fashion; there were others. A pair of human soldiers were secured against the back wall, and Santino too hung from a set of shackles, next to Fallon. His head tilted upwards as if he were acknowledging my presence, but he did not meet my gaze.

My heart sped as realization struck me. Our plan had failed before it had even begun. Quentin must have known Santino was a traitor and had used him as the bait to bring in my entire clan.

Before I could think of what to do, Quentin’s face appeared in the window. He laughed, a cold sound that sent a shiver of fear down to the churning pit of my stomach. “You can come in. I’ve been expecting you.” He jerked open the door, grabbed my shirt, and yanked me inside.

Caught off guard, I stumbled under his grip and crashed hard on my hands and knees. My weakened arm buckled underneath me and tumbled further to the ground.

“Pathetic,” Quentin scoffed.

I groaned as I pushed myself back up, using my better arm to support most of my weight. “You’re too cocky, Quentin.” I remembered something Lysander had told me:
Beware hubris, for Nemesis is always close behind.
He’d always used it to reprimand me for getting too cocky. I hoped his words were true. Quentin deserved retribution.

“I have every right to be,” he teased. “I’m about to finally rid this city of its monsters and bring about the newest warrior of our organization.”

I wobbled as I got to my feet. “You will fail.”

“And who will stop me? You?” Laughter bubbled up from his chest. “Santino, perhaps?” He bent down and picked up my fallen gun and emptied the clip into Santino’s chest. “I doubt it.”

I gasped, eyes wide in shock.

Santino groaned; his body shook with each bullet’s impact. Blood poured from his chest, and he sank down to his knees. He hung limply from the chains, the only thing preventing him from resting completely on the floor.

“Not a very fearsome warrior now, is he?” Quentin scoffed. He walked over and kicked Santino in the ribs. “I’m sick of you always lying down on the job. Your usefulness has come to an end.” He let out a maniacal laugh that grated on my nerves.

Fallon whimpered, but a gag filled her mouth preventing her from speaking. Beads of sweat dripped down her face. Her heart raced so loudly I could hear it thundering like a drum roll.

I tried to make a move toward Fallon, but Quentin inserted himself between us. He reached for another gun holstered against his chest. “I don’t think so,” he said, pulling it and aiming at Fallon. “I’m not stupid. I know this gun won’t kill you or that lump right here.” He kicked Santino’s motionless body again. “But it will kill your precious human. Let’s have a chat, you and I.” He motioned with the gun, pointing to a medical table in the center of the room. “I’m going to need some more of your blood.”

I gulped back a knot forming in my throat. “Why me? You have plenty right there.” I glanced back at Santino’s limp figure, desperately hoping he would get up. My heart pounded against my chest.

“Not all vampire blood is good for my experimentation, but yours has been especially helpful. You’re weaker than the others... and so easy to manipulate.” He chuckled. “Your young blood doesn’t react as quickly on my soldiers, allowing me to stay in control of them longer. I’m going to use you and farm every last drop of your weak blood.”

Anger ripped through me, temporarily replacing fear. “I’m not so weak.”

“Oh, but you are; weak and easy to manipulate.” He patted the gun in his hand. “Twice now I’ve gotten you to walk willingly into my lair. Your stupid affection for this human girl has been quite helpful to me. Not only have you provided me with blood, but you have brought me an entire nest of vampires to dispose of. I should thank you.”

My thoughts turned to Lysander and the rest of the clan. Surely they would have finished with the mob downstairs. I hoped they would find us soon. I just needed to hold Quentin off for a little longer.

Fallon moaned and struggled against her chains. I noticed the other two men chained to the wall were fighting against their chains too. Gags in their mouths prevented me from understanding their moans and wails. It wouldn’t take a genius to know they realized what Quentin planned to do with them. No way were they willing participants.

“You won’t be getting any more of my blood, Quentin.”

Quentin lifted the gun again, pointed it at Fallon. “Won’t I?” He shot her once in the arm.

A loud muffled scream came from her. Blood oozed from the wound, staining her shirt as it ran down her arm.

A low rumbling, feral sound tore from my throat. Anger ripped through me. I lifted my hand to strike at him just as he turned. He looked me straight in the eyes, and I froze. He still had the gun pointed at Fallon, and his finger was ready to squeeze the trigger. I worried I wouldn’t be quick enough, and he might get off another shot and hit her in the chest.

“Do we have an understanding?” he asked.

I filled my mind with anger, hatred, and pictures of the various ways I could kill and dismember Quentin. I sent those feelings and images to him, willing him to feel fear.

No echo of these feelings showed in his cold eyes. He remained calm and unaffected by my efforts.

Fear me, human.

His mind responded back as Lysander had done on so many occasions. I heard his voice as a whisper in my head. He simply said,
No.

I knew now what Santino meant by Quentin being special. He was as unaffected by my mental control as he had been by Santino’s, a man of much stronger power.

“Glad you understand me.” That haughty smile crossed his face again. I longed to remove it and extinguish the light from his eyes, but didn’t know how to do it without sacrificing Fallon in the process.

The smell of her blood wafted to my nose. I looked to her pale face. Fear was etched across her features.

What would Lysander do? What would the Peregrinus do? They would certainly sacrifice Fallon for the good of all others. I knew I should attack him. He was human after all. One well-placed bite, and he would bleed to death. I could end his reign of terror and maybe even send a crushing blow to the Acta Sanctorum with one strike.

For all the reasons I should have lunged at him, I couldn’t force my muscles to move. I couldn’t kill my friend. Maybe he was right—I was weak and easily manipulated.

“I think we might come to an agreement,” Quentin said, no doubt reading my mind. “I’ll let your little friend go”—his eyes narrowed as he focused on me—“after you give me your blood and the locations of all the vampire safe homes in this city.”

“You know I won’t do that,” I snapped at him.

Without a word, he pointed the gun and shot Fallon a second time. “I don’t really think you have an option.”

The sound of Fallon’s muted cries wrenched my heart. Tears poured from the corners of her eyes. She strained against her chains again. A second stream of blood ran down her body, soaking her shirt.

I wished I hadn’t left the others downstairs. Something was wrong. They should have been able to finish off the remaining zombie creatures by now. Each of them was stronger than I was, and they’d only had one to deal with each by the time I’d left.

Why aren’t they here to help me?

Quentin laughed—a loud, insane, maniacal laugh. “Your friends are no doubt dead. You think I would be so foolish as to send my best fighters in first? Once the new recruits softened them, I sent in my finest soldiers. Your blood went pretty far. I was able to convert fifty men from that one pint.”

My heart ached, ripping itself to pieces as I stood there. My lungs refused to take in air.
Lysander! No!

I’d unwisely assumed that Quentin’s mob would be easily defeated. I thought the others would be able to take care of them while I went after my friend.

I shouldn’t have left them like that.

An image of Lysander filled my head; bloody and beaten, muscles and flesh shredded on the floor, he lay as if dead.

“Your friends downstairs cannot help you. But you can help this one last friend of yours. She will need medical attention soon or she will die. She is losing quite a bit of blood. Can you smell it?”

Yes, I could smell it. I had to breathe through my mouth to avoid temptation. Friend or not, I still needed blood in my weakened state, but I wasn’t about to let that cloud my judgment.

Lowering my head, I stared at the floor. My heart thumped painfully hard in my chest. Crimson tears welled into my eyes, blurring my vision and casting an ominous red filter to the room.

Emptying my thoughts, I tried to reach out with my mind. I tried to sense the presence of anyone or anything nearby. They had to be alive. There was no way they were dead.

Between the tempting smells of blood and my anxiety, I couldn’t clear my mind enough to sense anything other than the beating hearts of the humans all around me.

A small twitch caught my attention. Santino. His arm struggled against the shackles, yet the rest of his body lay motionless. I knew he had lost quite a lot of blood, and I was surprised he still fought the paralysis.

With age comes great strength.
I remembered the words I had heard Rozaline speak a long time ago. I always knew ancients held a lot of strength, but to see Santino, bled out and shackled like this, and still fighting, said a lot to me about the limitlessness of that strength.

“Get up, Santino. You can do it,” I cheered, filling my mind with an image of Santino rising to his feet. I sent the image to Quentin, knowing he would already be eavesdropping on my mind. I imagined Santino towering over him, straining the shackles at his wrists to the breaking point, his teeth bared and ready for the kill as his eyes zeroed in on Quentin’s neck. “Kill him, Santino,” I shouted.

Quentin’s face contorted with confusion.

Santino moved his arm again, more of a flopping motion than an actual movement, but it was enough to make noise. The links of his chains clanged together as they collided, adding to the believability of my ruse.

Again, I sent the mental image of Santino, bloodthirsty and filled with rage, rising up to his full height behind Quentin.

The distraction was enough.
Curiosity killed the cat.
It’s an old saying and such a true one.