Mistwalker (6 page)

She could sense him trying to open up so she would do the same but couldn’t remember the last time she truly let down her guard. Should she start now, or not, and live with the consequences of another person falling victim to the same spell?

Had it all been an enchantment? How had the timbre of Juliun’s voice almost managed to blind all reason from her mind and nearly hypnotise her? She couldn’t tell them about the black mist. What had the other victims described?

Tell the truth or lie?

She squeezed her eyes shut, and then opened them. “What kind of hallucinations?”

Officer Mitchell leaned back in his chair and smiled. “One victim reported the perpetrators moved exceedingly fast.” He looked down at his fingers and glanced up again. “Another noticed her thoughts were clouded during the attack, so much as to have her believe the experience pleasurable. She still believes there was no attack.”

Simone nodded. “That sounds about right.”

“Why weren’t you so easily persuaded, Simone?” Officer Perry leafed through her file. “Since you managed to stop and escape both of them, there must have been something that didn’t work for you. Perhaps you could help us with that?”

Her toes were too pallid, dangling over the edge of the bed, almost grey, and she stargazed at them as the memories flooded in. “I don’t know.” She rubbed her forehead, then closed her eyes at the sharp flare of disappointment in her chest at missing her meeting with Marcus, and the information he could have given her about her mother’s murder twenty years ago. Simone might never get the chance to see him again, and that black despair seeped right into her bones. “It was painful.”

Her gaze shifted past the open blinds to the starless night sky. Maybe it was the thick hospital windows that gave the appearance of no celestial light outside.

“And so incredibly powerful.
Complete persuasion. Like nothing I’ve ever experienced. It is difficult to describe,” she whispered.

Both officers looked at each other, then at her as if they expected
her to expand upon that statement.

She laughed, but the sound lacked humour. She looked to the ceiling, trying to capture the precise words for being under such mind and body control, but a strange tiredness pulled at her. Which was weird considering the nurses told her she’d slept straight through the afternoon.

“I’m sorry,” she said and wilted toward the pillows. “It was black. I can’t describe it better. I’m tired.”

Officer Perry scribbled in a notepad, his face blank. “Are you sure your drinks weren’t spiked, and you didn’t consume any recreational drugs before you left for the evening?”

“We had nothing like that. What does my blood report say?”

The police officer rubbed a hand over his brow, sweeping his fingers down to the back of his neck. “Everything’s all clear, but we wanted to check with you.” He paused. “Did you see the perpetrators use any suspicious devices, drugs, or anything else?”

“No.”

“The previous attacks were random, out of the blue, but with what you’re suggesting it could mean an organised gang targeting tourists during the festival. Could you remember their faces in a line up?”

“Y…yes,” she stuttered and clenched her fists. Hopefully, she wouldn’t have to do any such thing. Maybe counting the squares in the hospital ceiling would calm her heartbeat? Would ear plugs work against the control of Juliun’s voice? What about the black mist? She wished she could identify their faces with a sketcher in the police department. She didn’t want to get any closer to the man who’d invaded her dreams since her attack.

“The registrar says if you’re fine then you’ll be released tomorrow morning at ten o’clock. We’ll send out a patrol car to pick you up. We’ll need you at the station for a positive ID sketch of the attackers,” Officer Mitchell said. “You will be escorted home safely. Thank you for providing their names, at least.”

“I’m sorry I can’t help you more.”

The officers rose, and at once, they stretched and arched their backs. “Don’t worry. We’ll find them, Miss Woods. A guard will be placed at the front of your door for security. If you remember anything else, don’t hesitate to contact us.” They left a card on the
side table, swished aside the curtain, and then exited the room. The door banged shut behind them.

Simone reached for the pills on the table.

Yes, she’d told the police her attackers’ names, but she’d kept silent about her dreams, of seeing Juliun’s exotic face before she fell into a drugged sleep.

His long dark hair, gleaming sharp teeth and compelling voice.
Those grey eyes. Twin stars in a face. She’d figured he would hurt her in her dreams, but the black mist solidified, and he always held out his hand to her, beckoning her closer.
     Her heart thumped in memory of how even in her dreams she struggled to resist.

Chapter
Seven

Carlo Ginati smiled as he swept through the numerous stone archways that led to a vast armoury room hidden beneath the streets of historic London houses. Various weapons glinted against the black-slate walls, and an agonised scream echoed through the tunnel, as though it wanted nothing but escape. He continued down the passageway, following the wail into the underground arena where round ceiling lights illuminated fighters in a heated battle.

Blood trailed to the edge of the mat and disappeared through an open doorway. Obviously, one of the guards dragged the loser of the previous fight to the feeding rooms.

The two combatants on the floor were in the final stage of the Drachyn assassin training and skilled in the art of killing. They had to be to get this far. After months of entrants and fights, the contestants still lined up for the money and prestige.
Fools.

Master sat on a golden throne at the back of the arena. His dark blue robe puddled around his feet, and the lights revealed his pale, perfect profile much to the delight of all the females present.

They had no clue as to what lay beneath the façade.

*
Master, I have news,*
Carlo said, telepathically.

Master turned his head, and his smooth skin shifted across his cheekbones, then tightened again; a deep glow firing in his black eyes.

Interrupting Master mid-feed was a dangerous endeavour.

*Pray this interruption is worth my time.*

Carlo bowed and glided past the blood-thirsty audience, their rapt gazes fixed upon the contenders.

The fighters’ muscles flexed beneath the eerie light, and the sharp clang of steel against steel rang in the air. Swords clashed again, heavy shields defending vicious blows. The keen sense of fresh blood about to be spilled beset Carlo, and a shiver raced down his spine, his fangs descending from the thirst.

A little ditty from his childhood filled his mind. It came in the voice of his mother:

Thirst, thirst, do your worst,

For here I am, hungry again,

I came to eat, need to drink,

Think fast; be steady on your feet.

Master travelled through a guarded doorway, leading into a soundproof feeding chamber. Two women looked up with dazed expressions; their shoulder straps flopped down around their curved waists. Bright red blood streaked their lovely naked breasts and dribbled from their nipples. The male vampires glanced up, stiff and growling; ready to defend their dinner until they saw Master. Then the only sounds were the women’s moans and the slow drip of blood on stone.

The surface was so much easier to clean than carpet. Carlo remembered Lorena’s frenzied feeding in their bedroom the night before. How much he’d left unsaid. They’d kidnapped three drunks from a club. White shag rugs, a burning fire, skin on skin. So much blood. Even now, their night together burned in his mind. He would prove his purpose to her once and for all. Tonight. He would do it tonight. He smiled again.

“
You stay.” Master pointed a bony finger at one of the women—the brunette. “Everyone else but Carlo must leave.”

She stopped near the door. “Yes,
” she moaned, and her hair rippled lustrously over her shoulders, her blue eyes sparkling. “Please…”

The disgruntled males exited the room with the remaining half-naked female. Eight to one hardly seemed fair, but the door closed behind them, and Carlo let them go. He swerved his gaze to the wall, studied the shades of grey that made up the rough bricks.

The remaining woman groaned, and he breathed out slowly, eyes closed. Would Master leave this one with the ability to be reused? Or would she be tossed into the pit?
What was the darkness like?

“Carlo.”

“Master?” Carlo turned his attention back at once and stepped around the woman.

She stumbled; her blue eyes empty and flat. The once flushed cheeks had slackened, no arousal there, only greyish skin, and she ambled with a grotesque, animal walk toward the door.

Eventually, Master took it all. Sometimes, all at once.

Carlo knocked on the door with a tremble in his hand, and a guard yanked the woman through, and then shut the door behind him.

Master’s black eyes gleamed with latent satisfaction, and he sat in one of the two ornate chairs that lined the back wall. “You know some don’t call me Master at all. In their last moments, they know me exactly for who I am.”

The woman had probably signed up expecting the incredible sexual rush one experienced from participating in feeding. Now, she wouldn’t even remember her own name, but Carlo couldn’t dwell on that.

“The Prince has bitten someone,” he said, urgently.

Master’s eyes widened, and his fingers curled on the armrests. “Quieter. Say that again, Carlo.”

*Juliun Cel Batrin has transferred the mist.*

Master’s black eyes narrowed. “How did you come upon this information?”

*An eyewitness.*
Carlo paced.
*We found him wandering the streets while on the hunt for recruits. He’d been held captive, and the Prince saved him. Kristoff searched his memories. There was an altercation in the streets during the festival when the Prince tried to get blood from the tourists.*

The shine in Master’s eyes spread like black oil, and his teeth flashed in a wide smile. Although he had no fangs, the sight sent chills down Carlo’s spine.

*Whom did he bite?*

*A mortal woman.*
Even now the words came slowly because Carlo couldn’t believe the Prince’s grave error of judgement. A mistake which now opened up the monarchy for direct attack.

*The question is why. Why would he do that after centuries of being so careful? What are we missing here?”
Master shifted in his seat.
“A mortal woman? Even if this witness’s memories are false, the notion is too good not to investigate. All that power…*

Carlo’s fingers numbed, and tiredness settled over him. His mind grew foggy. “Master…”
*Please, don’t take from me. I have more information.*

The pull withdrew inside of Carlo, and he breathed out again.

*Forgive me, Carlo. Sometimes it is hard to control my thirst.*
The smooth symmetrical lines of Master’s face were once again plastic perfection. Handsome for the last seven hundred years, but not real.
*You know it is not like your own. The stronger it becomes, the more it wants. But if this is how you say, you shall be rewarded immeasurably for your haste and discretion in the matter. Where is this vampire?*

*The dungeons. I doubt he will last long.*

*Then there is no time to waste. The competition will wait. This night could turn out to be interesting after all.*

Elation filled Carlo as he led the way.
Lorena.
How he longed to see her again. He could almost feel her proud hand sliding along his shoulders, cupping his neck as she leaned in for a soul-stirring kiss.

He avoided the brunette sitting in the corner outside the room. She stargazed at nothing. The guards stood to attention and nodded stiffly before opening another door that led down to a flight of stairs.

The air tasted foul—musky, of dried sweat and fear. Cold water dripped from the bricked-in ceiling and low moans echoed all around him. Finally, they came across the cell.

He thought of the brunette and figured the prisoners in the dungeon should count themselves as fortunate. They got to die as themselves.

Master pointed to a naked male who lay in a foetal position. “This is the prisoner?”

“Yes,” Carlo said. “He cannot talk. The only way to see is through his memories.”

Master clenched the steel rails and leaned his face between the bars. “Boy, I will speak with you. Come here.”

The sick vampire huddled further down into his body, his head between his naked knees, and thin back against the wet wall. Kristoff had stripped and beaten the prisoner to further break his resistance, but he still fought Master’s demand.

He would find no comfort in the bare floor.
Nor, from the other cries he could hear all around in the dank cell. In fact, all routes led straight to hell.