Phoenix Broken (37 page)

Minutes later, Scott came around the corner of North to see Des being tossed into a dark sedan by a laughing vamp. Scott slowed with a curse, watching the door shut and sedan slide into traffic while onlookers yelled and held up cell phones. Mags' Dodge lay crumpled, glass sparkling over the sidewalk. He went by it at a crawl, trying to think. It was Psych Out in that dart. The roots in the alley had been a dead giveaway. Now his stomach was rolling and he'd started to sweat; cold, clammy sweat that slicked his arms and the back of his neck.

He had to follow them. With his power neutralized, no way to communicate with anyone at Phoenix, and feeling sicker by the minute, Scott had no fucking idea what he was going to do, but he had to keep them in sight.

How long would his powers be gone?

Good fucking question.

The suppression drug they’d used in training was supposed to be far weaker than the street version, and Scott and Gordy had always had the most trouble shaking its effects—generally two to three hours before they came out of it. Mags could clear hers in less than an hour, Jules and Kelsey split the difference on those times. Scott figured he could expect to be out of commission for most of the night. Assuming he lived that long. Assuming any of them did.

He couldn't think of Des in that car. Was Cross with her? If he wasn't, Scott knew that vamp was bound to be at their destination. The rolling in his guts had turned to ice. His jaw clenched. It wouldn't end like this. It couldn't.

His mind raced, trying to find a way out of this trap as he followed the car out of the city, the black night swallowing all.

Scott followed the headlights of the other vehicle with his eyes. He’d stopped just past the road where the car carrying Des, and presumably Mags, had pulled off. It was obvious where they were going. He’d seen the signs for the last mile. The marina. Lake Michigan.
Shit.

Scott slipped into the trees. They were ominously quiet in his head, a part of him, and the most powerful part, completely cut off. He'd loaded up as soon as he'd stopped; he had his Sig, and a Kabar on his belt now, along the shotgun he'd also pulled from the trunk, and his skills, which were considerable. The shotgun was loaded with fine, extremely pure lead shot. While it couldn’t kill vamps, it would incapacitate them for several minutes. Too bad their quicksilver prototype was nowhere near a go. The Society had beaten them there. Remembering the effect on Docie May, Scott shuddered but wished fervently he'd something as deadly to use on Cross.

He also had two flashbangs stuffed in his jacket pockets that might be of service. Even vampires could be knocked unconscious, though they recovered far faster than humans.

Of course, it was possible he wouldn't fight at all—likely even.

With each step, Scott tried to convince himself of this. He may have to let them go. If the odds weren't in his favor, he'd note their position and leave to get the others. He was effectively stripped of his powers, a mere human facing immortals and to save the women, he'd need help.

A tall figure stepped from the trees directly in front of him. Scott went into a crouch, swinging the shotgun around instantly.

“I wouldna,
para,
unless ye want to bring the vampires down on us.” The faint lilt of the quiet voice and the sharp profile clicked at once.

Scott straightened slowly. “You’re him. The Dullahan.”

A shrug. “My target is in there.”

“She’s not a target, godamnit. She’s a woman.
My
woman.”

As he said the words the truth of them had his heart contracting so tightly he could scarcely breathe. No matter how hard he’d fought it, Des was inside him now.

The Dullahan’s cool blue eyes flicked over him. “Tha' is your pain to bear, and of no concern to me. I strike when they board. Leave. Or die.” 

“You’ll find it harder to kill me than you think.” Scott dropped the shotgun, reaching for the knife at his belt as he lunged.

“No, I really won’t.” the man seemed to drift effortlessly out of Scott’s reach. As if his feet didn’t quite touch the ground. ”Ye’ve been neutralized,
para,
I can smell the drug on ye. And even with yer gift, ye'd be hard-pressed to stand against such as me.”

With wraith-like speed the man circled him, tagging Scott twice in the kidneys, staggering, brutal blows that nearly brought him to his knees.

“What are you?” he breathed, staring at the man in shock as he turned. The Dullahan smiled, the emptiest smile Scott had ever seen.

“Cursed.”

Yanked from the warmth of the car, into freezing night, Des couldn't stifle her gasp. The ride had both seemed to take an eternity—and not nearly long enough.

To her right was a grey featureless expanse that seemed to go on endlessly. A lake, its edges crusted over with ice. She could hear the sluggish lap of water against wood. Before she could take in much more, she was shoved inside a building looming suddenly out of the night.

Warmth surrounded her once more, but it couldn't touch the chill inside her. There were more men in here. No females, and every one a vamp. Her heart sank.

Then the door opened again. Two shifters walked in, both unkempt, with a wild air. Their auras were unmistakable, a seething mass of grey-green. The nearest one's eyes flickered over her, then away. But not before she caught the heat in his gaze. Swallowing her fear, Des tried to think as the shifter addressed the knot of vampires by the window. Cross had pushed Mags down into a chair, another vampire was pulling zip ties from his pocket, securing her wrists.

"It's clear outside, we smelled nothing other than a few cars passing by. The boat is coming in, we called it as soon as we saw you." Cross nodded absently, then his eyes fell on Desdemona again, narrowing dangerously.

"I think it's time we found out who you are." Something oily and dark crept from the vampire, reaching for her mind. Recoiling, Des stumbled back, into the shifter that had been staring at her.

Quick as thought, her power leapt into him, stroking his desire for her, coaxing it into a roaring fire. He growled, putting his hand on her shoulder as Cross approached. “Don’t touch her!”

Daimen only had time to furrow his brows before the man leaped. There was a violent scuffle, both men fell to the floor.

It was over almost before it began.

Cross got to his feet, holding the disembodied head of the man she used her power on. Gore and blood dripped thickly to the floor. Cross tossed the head at one of his henchman, who caught it, looking amused before he opened the door and threw it outside. A couple of other vamps grabbed the body and shoved it out as well. The other shifter looked on, his expression carefully blank. He eased past the vampires like a skittish dog. "I'll just go finish patrolling."

"You do that." Daimen's smile was hard. "And mind you don't get any ideas about running off, you hear?" With a shaky nod, the shifter vanished through door and into the night.  

Smoothing his hair and licking a bit of blood off his fingers, Daimen turned back to Des. She fought the urge to cringe, raising her head and meeting his gaze.

“One shifter, against me? What were you thinking, little one? And just what in tarnation
are
you? How did you…” his eyes narrowed, bright slits in that handsome face. She reined her power back, even as it reached for him. Cross was a vampire and immune, but survival had her instincts kicking in, her demon desperate to protect her.

Daimen mentally batted away the blast as if she were a naughty kitten. He snapped his fingers delightedly.

“Demon!
You’re a demon, aren’t you? A little succubus if I’m not mistaken. Interesting.”  He came closer and reached down to caress her hair. He sniffed. Des held very still, resisting the urge to flinch away. "But human, too.
A half breed."
His eyes gleamed with an eerie golden glow. "What would your name be,
cher
?"

Instead of answering, she lifted her chin. "Have you heard of Guido Calimente?"

Daimen lifted his eyebrows. “I have. Are you his?" Something avid in his expression disturbed her, but she shrugged it off.

"Not in the way you mean, but he will be very upset if you hurt me, or my friend."

"Nice try, sweetling, but her you cannot save. As for you... Does Calimente know the company you keep?”

The sharp trill of a phone interrupted him. Daimen looked up and the taller of the vamps, a big guy with long black hair and a scar through one eye handed it over after listening for a second.

“Preshea wants to talk.”

“Of course she does.” Daimen smiled eagerly as he lifted the cell to his ear.

“Tell me you have Davidson trussed up like a turkey, darling. I don’t care about any—”

Abruptly, he dropped Des’ hair and whirled away, cursing.

Davidson?
Scott?
Her heart started to pound as her gaze sought Mags'. Those blue eyes were full of quiet warning.

“Fuck!” Cross held the phone away from him for a long moment, his face a mask of fury. “But
how
did he get away? You had an arsenal of Psych Out and five of my
best
, Preshea—"

Relief hit Des in such a hard, slow wave, she swayed, closing her eyes.

When she opened them, the vampire was right in her face. She yelped and jerked back against the wall. There was a curious hunger in his expression. His power reached for her again, then recoiled away. Daimen lifted a hand to his temple, frowning, but continued to stare at her until a squawk from the phone made him blink.

“It appears we scooped up an interesting item with the
para.
I have a feeling she may be valuable. In more ways than one. You should call our new friend Calimente and let him know. On second thought, hold off, Preshea. It’ll do the demons good to hear a firsthand account of how we deal with our enemies.”

There was more squawking from the phone, but he pressed the button to end the call and held out his hand without taking his eyes from Des. The scarred vamp stepped forward and took the phone. There was silence in the boat room. Des could hear the slapping of the water against the sides of the dock. The whole building swayed as she tried to process what the vampire had said. It wouldn't compute.
Our friend?
What did he mean by that? It had to be part of the Convenīre deal Guido had been going to tell Scott about. That was all.

When Daimen spoke again, his voice was soft and his words sent every thought of Guido right out of her head.

“So tell me, sweetling. Just how are you and Davidson acquainted?”

“We’re not.” Des swallowed when Daimen shook his head slowly, warningly.

“Not really,” she amended. “Mags works with him is all, and she’s my roommate. I just know how strong he is—and the other
paras
at Phoenix." Her lips thinned. "They'll be coming after you now. And they'll rip you apart for taking her."

His eyes shone; green like Scott's, but so very different. Pale as glass and cold as ice. The vampire chuckled. “They haven’t had much luck with that so far. And with that nigger on his way to DC and a big ol' lake to float around in, we should've plenty of uninterrupted time to get acquainted.”

The vampire tilted his head, regarding her through that curtain of almost white hair.

“You're lying about Davidson. Badly, I might add.” He smiled when she stiffened, “and I find that
oh so interesting
.” He jerked his head at the man behind her, the stocky one with all the tattoos. “Hold her.”

"I can't get fully into your head—you're a little too demon for that. Chaos protects you. But I saw your eyes when I said he got away. And I felt your relief.
Such a strong reaction.
Could it be …love
,
demon?"

"You're insane. I told you we barely know each other."

"This is getting tiresome, but I have an idea to move things along." Daimen returned to Mags' side, pulling a knife from his pocket. He slashed through the zip ties on one wrist. To Des' shock, the vampire pressed the blade into the telepath's hand, bending down to brush that long dark fall of hair from her face. He whispered something too low for Des to hear, his full lips brushing the telepath's ear.

Mags' small, finely-boned hand tightened around the hilt. Her eyes blank, the
para
drove the six-inch long blade straight into her thigh. Des opened her mouth, but her throat was too tight with horror to scream.

“There’s an artery in there somewhere. Shall we see if she can find it?” Daimen's voice was disturbingly reasonable as Mags shoved the knife in deeper, her lips quivering, the hilt now flush against the widening stain on her jeans.

“No! Stop, please!” Des fell to her hands and knees.

The tattooed vamp released her at a nod from Daimen. Des scooted forward to where Mags slumped in her chair, the knife still buried in her thigh. Blood trickled slowly down her fingers. Des grabbed the telepath's limp hand, her own shaking.

"Talk, half breed, or we play some more."

“Yes,
yes.
I do know Scott. And you’re right, I care about him. But he doesn’t feel the same about me. I swear it! It’s just sex to him, that’s all. He doesn’t care about anyone since you murdered his wife.” Des reached for Mags’ leg, putting her other hand on the woman’s thigh, trying to judge how fast her friend was losing blood.

Daimen stepped forward again. Des jerked her head up, blocking her friend with her body, knowing it would do no good.

“She’s telling the truth.” Mags’ voice was raw. She didn’t look at Daimen, only at her own blood splattering to the old wooden floor drop by drop. “Scott’s turned into a real prick since you killed Fannie. He hates the whole goddamn world. He doesn’t care about her.” She turned her head to Des, her blue eyes glazed with pain. “He’s just using her…and everyone knows it.”

Daimen looked from Mags to Des and back again. His expression was cool, considering. Des got to her knees again, pleading. “We gave you the truth, now let me bandage her up. I'm sure you don't want her to bleed out just yet."

The vampire's eyes sparked with amusement as he tore the knife from Mag's leg, raising it to his lips to run his tongue along the blade. "Indeed not, little demon. That will be my pleasure.
Eventually."

“My employer ordered a close kill, or yer woman woulda been dead already.” The Dullahan taunted Scott as they circled each other. Scott's breath wheezed in his lungs, echoing the trees branches creaking in the wind.  He was battered, cold and bloody. Without his powers, this man, creature—whatever the hell the Dullahan was—was proving unstoppable. The assassin was only toying with him now.