Sire (28 page)

Two of Angelica's guards rushed in from the sides. Werewolves, not vampires, and not even in animal form. Michael turned toward his left, thrusting with his right-hand blade and stabbing the guard in the throat, and holding the left-hand blade along his back, blocking the other guard's wild slash.

The first guard fell to the ground, gurgling and sputtering. Michael turned in place. The second guard was already attacking again, holding his blade over his head with both hands, like a sledge hammer.

Michael's own blade arced through the air, severing both of the guard's arms. Michael stepped to the side, and the werewolf fell onto the floor. He rolled over, his eyes wide and uncomprehending, and tried to get back to his feet, but he didn't have any hands to push with.

And a second later, he didn't have a head, either.

"We're running out of werewolves," Angelica said. "I'm going to have to see if anyone knows how to make zombies or golems or something."

"Let her go," Michael said. He had intended his voice to be booming, authoritative, but it came out as a venomous hiss.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, lover. I made you a promise about this little girl." Ice ran down his spine, but he tried to keep his fear hidden. "And you didn't just cheat on me," Angelica continued, "you murdered my Scion."

Michael stepped forward. He was half way to the throne now. "We'll leave the city," he said. "We'll leave the country, if that's what you want. But I swear to God, if you hurt Caitlin, I will rip your dead heart out."

Angelica smiled at him. "Oh, Michael. I don't want you to
leave.
I even know how you can make this all up to me."

He moved forward again, and looked at Angelica with narrow eyes. "I'm listening."

"You can kill this little tramp for me."

He didn't growl intentionally. It just kind of happened. The sword, though, that was intentional.

It was out of his hand in a fraction of a second, slicing through the air like silver lightning, aimed straight at Angelica's heart. It wouldn't kill her even if it hit true, but it would paralyze her, and give Michael the time he needed to take her down for good.

Angelica had other ideas, though. She barely even moved, just stretched out a hand that moved too fast for even Michael to see, and snatched the sword out of the air.

She flipped it around to hold it correctly. "Nice," she said, and made a couple of experimental slashes with it. "Good balance. You'll want to clean all of the wolf blood off it, though. That stuff'll stain the hell out of silver."

Michael yelled and charged her, his second sword leading the way. She didn't even look at him. He was up the stairs in an instant, and his blade thrust forward ...

 
...And embedded itself into the fabric backing Angelica's throne. Angelica herself was just
gone.

"Lover? I'm back here."

He turned around. Angelica was standing behind Michael, his own sword leveled at him. He slashed it aside, and they began to duel.

Michael had never been fantastic with a sword. And all of those movies where the hero becomes Zorro in a single montage? Lies. He'd only been practicing for about eight months, starting soon after he became a vampire. He was stronger and faster than most of the things he had fought, and his blade burned them at the touch, so he tended to come out on top of a lot of his fights, but he wasn't particularly
skilled.

But Angelica was ancient. Saying that she was older than him didn't even begin to cover it. She'd had hundreds of years to grow more powerful. Even if she had never touched a blade before in her life—and Michael knew for a fact that she had—he would have been outclassed.

She wasn't fighting him. She was playing with him. He would lunge in and stab, or dance to the side and slash, but her body would be gone long before his blade arrived. Fencing was a game of seconds, but she moved in fractions.

And every time he tried to hit her, she responded with a stroke of her own. A thrust to his shoulder, a slash across his chest, a puncture through his calf. Each injury sent fire racing through his body as his own weapon poisoned him, and sapped a little more of his strength.

The only thing that kept him going was Caitlin, still kneeling before Angelica's throne.

But no matter what the movies tell you, love doesn't conquer a damn thing. He never had a chance against Angelica, and when she finally slapped the sword out of his hand, it was almost a relief.

Getting stabbed through the heart with a silver blade, though, that was a lot less relieving.

"Caitlin, come here," Angelica said. Michael could see her trying to resist, but Caitlin stood and walked down the throne's steps. Her movements were mechanical, like she was being controlled by strings. Which she kind of was.

Angelica stood behind Michael and, when she was sure she had a solid grip on him, yanked the sword out. He gasped, and nearly fell, but she held him in place.

"Michael," she said. Her voice had that ringing authority of a Sire commanding a Scion. "Kill her."

"Go to hell," he said. He wanted to spit the words out, but it was more of a sputter.

She yanked his hair and turned his head around. She locked eyes with him, and he could feel her burrowing into his mind. "Kill her," she said.

"Never."

She pushed further into his brain. "Kill her." The idea echoed inside of him, and it started to sound reasonable. It started to sound acceptable. It started to sound like it was his own idea. Like it was something that he should do. Like it was something he
had
to do.

She released his head, and he looked back at Caitlin. Young, delicious Caitlin. He imagined the salt of her tears, her skin, her blood. Her heart was pounding, ready to pump sweet ambrosia into his fanged mouth. It would be so simple, so easy. So right.

"No!" He shook his head, driving Angelica out of it. He didn't care how old, how powerful she was, that bitch wasn't going to win.

Angelica stared at them for a moment. "Interesting," she said. "He must really love you, to be able to resist my influence."

She dropped Michael on the ground, and stepped over him. She ran her fingers through Caitlin's hair, pulling it back behind her ear. Caitlin whimpered.

"But that's okay," Angelica said. "I have a plan."

Chapter Twenty One

He was alive. Michael was still alive. Or undead. Whatever the right word was.

But he didn't look good. Blood was leaking from a dozen cuts and slashes, none of which looked like they were healing. Smoke rose from his chest, where Angelica had driven the sword. And the silver was poisoning him. His veins were becoming black streaks, radiating out from the puncture.

Caitlin was really tired of seeing him like this.

Angelica looked almost sad as she stared at him. But she shook her head and steeled her eyes, and then grabbed Michael by the hair and lifted him off the ground.

"Don't!" Caitlin yelled.

Angelica gave her a cruel smile. "Don't worry about Michael, child. He's resilient. I'd be much more concerned with your own situation. Evan?"

Evan lifted his head. "Yes, Angelica?"

"Take Caitlin up to the guest room. Make sure she she's secure. And if she resists you ... hurt her. Be creative."

Evan looked at Caitlin miserably. "Yes, Angelica." Caitlin could hear the pain in his voice. Not that that was going to help her.

He took hold of her wrist, and Caitlin yanked it away, purely on instinct. Pure, rabid hatred filled his eyes, and he took both of her wrists in a crushing grip. She tried to wriggle free, but his hands were locked as tight as a vice. Tears welled up, and she sank to her knees. "You're hurting me," she said.

"I know." His voice caught in his throat.

Angelica laughed. "You should do what he says, Caitlin. Evan?"

Evan pulled her to her feet and led her out of the throne room, leading her along by the wrist. His hand was still clamped over hers, cutting off the circulation.

Caitlin was led out into the mansion itself. It looked a lot like Michael's, just bigger and fancier. A handful of people—actually, they were probably vampires—were sitting or standing around, but they didn't look at her with anything more than curious boredom.

"You don't have to do this," She said to Evan. Her voice cracked a little.

"Yes, I do," he said. His jaw was clenched. "I have to do whatever Angelica asks. So please don't make this any harder than it has to be."

"Do you know what she's going to do to me?"

"I know it'll be worse if you fight."

He led her up a big, winding double staircase, then down a hallway. He opened the last door and pushed her inside. Caitlin tried to push the door back open with her shoulder, but he slammed it closed. The lock clicked, and she was all alone.

Blood flowed back into her arm, and it lit up with pain. Bruises were already forming.

The room was almost an entire apartment. It had a full bath, with an old-fashioned tub that stood on feet, and towels as thick as a down comforter. The bed was enormous, and covered in dozens of pillows. There was a shelf full of books, and a television. A wardrobe sat in the corner, and Caitlin could see some sort of fancy nightclothes hanging inside.

The windows were covered with thick, iron bars. The bars were even on the outside of the window, so she couldn't chip away at them. Not that she had anything to chip with, but still. She wondered what kind of prisoners Angelica kept, and how often she kept them.

She probably should have been panicking, or furious, or ... something. But instead, she was just numb. It was all too much. She had been kidnapped too many times, seen her friends in danger too many times, seen Michael hurt too many times. She had seen too many people die.

She didn't have anything left, so she lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Soon after, she fell asleep.

***

Caitlin woke to find that breakfast had been laid out for her. She was reluctant to accept anything from Angelica, but her stomach complained loudly, and she sat down to eat. Someone had brought her a complete meal: toast, scrambled eggs, grapefruit, juice and milk. She wondered at the fact that the vampires had a kitchen—and seemed to be really good cooks—but then she figured Angelica probably kept a whole host of ordinary humans under her thrall. They would all have to eat.

She slipped one of the knives under her pillow, just in case.

Caitlin felt grimy, and she didn't exactly have anything better to do, so she took a quick bath, wrapped herself in a robe she found in the dresser, then washed her clothes in the sink.

She didn't do much of anything that first day. It just seemed out of place to watch soap operas while she waited for a monster to decide that it was time to eat her. Someone brought her lunch around noon, a zombie-looking guy that must have been in Angelica's thrall. He refused to speak to Caitlin, or even look at her. He brought her dinner when night fell, too, but otherwise she was left alone to stare at the walls.

Caitlin started to go a little stir crazy on the second day, so she walked over to the bookcase and started browsing. Angelica had Bram Stoker's
Dracula
on the shelf, which Caitlin thought was hilarious.

She read a lot over the next couple of days. It's amazing how much you can read when that's all you have to do, all day, every day.

Aside from the guy that silently brought Caitlin her meals, she was left to herself. As far as she could tell, she was all alone in Angelica's mansion.

Angelica didn't appear until the third night.

"Comfortable?" she asked. "Is the food all right? I can't eat any more, so I never really know if my chef is worth the money I pay him."

"Why do you care?" Caitlin asked.

Angelica's eyebrows creased. "Because I'm paying for a service, and I want to get the best value I can."

Caitlin rolled her eyes. "No, why do you care if I'm comfortable?"

Angelica smiled. "For Michael, of course. I want to make sure you're keeping your strength up for him."

"Where is he?" Caitlin asked.

Angelica ignored her question, and started walking around the room."He's really never fed from you?" she asked. "Not even a sip?" She looked at Caitlin coyly. "Maybe a tiny little nibble, somewhere no one can see? It's all right, you can tell me. It'll be our secret, between girls."

"What? No. No, he's never fed off of me. He's never tasted human blood.."

She shook her head. "And that's the problem. He just doesn't know what he's missing. He doesn't know how ...
glorious
it is to let the monster free. Maybe ... maybe Liam was right. I've domesticated the vampires in this city. Turned them into pets." She looked up at Caitlin. "I never wanted Michael to be my pet. I wanted him to be my equal."

Angelica started pacing around the room. "You've had his blood. You know that it lets you get inside his head. Imagine making love to a man like that. Feeling everything he feels. Experiencing your love through his eyes. Feeling his passion. That's what it's like when vampires make love. Human sex can't even begin to compare.

"But do you know what I feel when I drink Michael's blood? Regret. Anger. Hatred. He hates me, Caitlin. He hates me for what I've built here, for what I let happen to Sarah. For changing him.
 

"And then there's you. He feels for you what I've always wanted him to feel for me. Lust and passion, sure, but there's more. I think he actually loves you.

"He has so much potential, Caitlin. He's so powerful. I don't keep werewolves around as cannon fodder. They're actually very good fighters. But Michael cuts through them like paper dolls. He's vicious, Caitlin. An animal." Her voice became wistful. "So fierce. And if he was drinking human blood? I don't know who could stop him.

"He hates himself," Angelica continued, her voice clear again, "and he hates me, and he hates our kind. I think he'd kill us all, if he could. And it's my fault. I never taught him how to be a vampire.

"He's been my favorite since the moment I laid eyes on him. Even before I turned him, I knew that he would be special. And I still think he can be. But you're in the way, Caitlin."