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Authors: Jess Haines

BOOK: Stalking the Others
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Chapter 28
Wesley moved like he’d been expecting the attack. His arm came up to block me, shoving the stake off course and making a play to seize my exposed throat.
If I’d been any slower, any less jittery, I might not have been capable of countering his grab to dance back just outside his reach. He was holding back, or I would have been against the wall or on the floor already. That blow to my arm felt like smacking into a steel cable, and I’d dropped the stake, but the belt stepped in and muted the pain until it was nothing more than a faint ache on the edge of my consciousness.
Though most of my concentration was on the fight at hand, dimly I was aware of the details of my surroundings. Mouse and Clarisse were both watching me with wide eyes. Thad and Sebastian had risen from their seats on the stairs. Christoph poked his head out of Mouse’s door, his mouth full of crumbs.
“Wha’ th’ fu—”
Clarisse got on tiptoe and slapped a hand over his mouth, her gaze locked on Wes and I as we darted and feinted in efforts to gain an advantage. “Oi, lovey, language.”
Wes moved in a blur. Again, without the belt’s help, I would have had no hope of escaping him—but I ducked under his grasping hands and swept a leg out to trip him, sending him stumbling into Sebastian. The two vampires went down in a tumble of flailing arms and legs.
I took advantage of the moment to run to the apartment I’d shared with Sara. I wouldn’t have time to do a thorough search, but maybe there was some clue left behind, something that might tell me what had happened to her or where she was now.
Clarisse’s voice followed me inside. “Looks like betting material, lads. Anyone up for a wager? Usual rules apply.”
If things hadn’t been so serious, I would have been rolling my eyes, particularly as I overheard Thad put fifty bucks on Wes.
The apartment looked the same as it had the day I’d left it. Same furniture, all in the same places as before. No, someone had picked the phone off the kitchen floor and put it back on the counter. My Rolodex was still there.
I went to Sara’s room first.
There was nothing to see. Her things were gone, and there was no sign she’d ever been here.
‘Don’t be a dolt. Use your other senses
.
What does your nose tell you?’
Irritated, I took a sniff—then realized the belt wasn’t saying this just to play the part of smart-ass sensei. Though I could vaguely detect the scent of her dogs, Roxie and Buster, clinging to the rug, and a whiff of her subtle jasmine-and-vanilla perfume, it was hard to say how long it had been since she’d last been here. More than a few days. The sheets had been washed since then. Somehow I could tell by how much the chemical tang of the laundry detergent had dissipated that it had been longer than a week.
My attention was so fixed on trying to figure out by smell what the hell had happened, I didn’t notice Wesley sneaking up behind me until he took me down in a flying tackle onto the bed.
We bounced a couple times on the mattress. I managed to roll before he got a good grip, landing with a jolt on my hands and knees on the floor on the other side.
“Come back here!” He moved to follow me, but I kicked him in the face when he leaned over the edge, reaching for me.
With a vicious snarl, his head snapped back, and he clutched at his jaw. I caught a glimpse of fang before I turned away. While he was distracted, I stumbled to my feet and made another run for it.
Clarisse smoothly stepped out of my way. The bookie vampiress, who had been watching from the bedroom door, held her hands up and gave me awry smile. “Just watching. Go on, now.”
“Damn it, Clarisse, you could help me here,” Wesley griped. She made no move to stop me as I fled past.
“Wouldn’t be fair odds if I interfered. You know the rules.”
Wes cursed, and I heard the slight thump of his feet hitting the ground. No doubt he was after me again.
‘
Of course he is
. Run.’
My hair was coming loose of the tight bun I’d put it in. I reached up to tear it free, the long red strands flaring out behind me as I dashed out of the apartment, past a gaping Christoph, Sebastian, and Thad, and straight for Mouse.
This night was not going as planned and required some reevaluation. I had to get out of here so I could think it through and see if I could dig up any leads on where Royce might have hidden Sara. If Mouse kept out of it like Clarisse so obviously was, I could slip out the front door and be gone in seconds.
She didn’t.
I yelped when she grabbed my arm as I passed, using my own momentum against me to spin me around and hurl me back the way I had come. Damn her for smiling at me while she did it, like this was all some stupid game. The men flattened against the walls so I wouldn’t plow into them as I flew by. Once I touched down, my boots left streaks on the hardwood, and I slid on my butt right into Wesley’s legs. He stared down at me with narrowed eyes, rubbing his jaw.
“Come on, Shia!” Christoph called. I was grateful until he added, “I’ve got twenty bucks riding on this thing. Get up!”
So much for moral support.
Wes wasn’t impressed, either. “You finished yet?”
“Not yet,” I huffed, going into another roll so I could crouch a few feet away from him. I started to reach for a stake, but he’d already closed the distance and grabbed my arms, not giving me a chance to draw a weapon. Christoph and Sebastian’s cheers were more distracting than helpful, and for a second I wished mightily they’d just shut the hell up.
I hooked one leg around Wes’s and yanked, then shoved when the unexpected move put him off-balance. Though I’d hoped he’d let me go, he clung tight, dragging me with him to the floor. We grappled, me panting for every breath, him grinning up at me like this was his idea of a good time.
“My kind of woman.”
The bastard had the gall to wink at me.
Even though I knew he was using the same tactic I’d used on Simon the other evening to make him vacate my couch, it still infuriated me beyond reason. With a hiss, I managed to slide one of my arms up Wes’s torso. I couldn’t quite reach far enough to claw his face, but I did dig my nails into his skin just above his shirt collar hard enough to draw blood. His chest vibrated with a rumble of laughter under my hand.
“Mr. Royce never mentioned you were so feisty. Two ways to do this, sugar. Either way, I’ll have a time of it.”
It surprised me when he pushed me up by my upper arms, lifting me off his chest. He only did it to fit a foot under my stomach and send me sailing over him to land in a painful sprawl on my back a few feet away.
Gasping for air, I watched upside down as he kipped to his feet. Though my back had started up an ominous ache, and my head was killing me, I rolled over onto my stomach and managed to get my feet under me. My sense of balance was MIA, so I scooted backwards until my back hit the wall behind me, and I got to one knee. The belt was too busy trying to handle the injuries and restore my balance to make any smart remarks.
Wes stalked closer, moving like the predator he was, not stopping until he was standing over me.
“Falling head over heels for me, baby?” I flipped him off with a scowl. He laughed again. “Come on, tell me you’ve had enough. You can take a breather on my couch while we wait for Mr. Royce.”
‘Don’t do it. You’re ready. Go!’
My response at the belt’s urging was to dart forward, using the tip of a stake to slash a line through Wes’s shirt and skin, sending him stumbling back. He regarded me with shock, his fingertips brushing over the dark streak of blood like he couldn’t believe I’d cut him. Even with the magical properties imbued in the silver, the shallow wound was already visibly closing. Freaky.
Still, it gave me the warm fuzzies to know I had the power to surprise him like that. And everyone else, too, apparently. No one else in the hall had said a word.
“Don’t get too torn up about it,” I said, winking at Wes. He gaped at me.
Then I took off for the stairwell.
Footsteps pounded behind me. Several of them. I imagined my audience was following on Wes’s heels as he pursued me.
I wondered why he wasn’t putting that supernatural speed of his to better use. As fast as I was with the belt, he was old enough to run rings around me while I hastened up the stairs.
I had my answer once I reached the third floor. Clarisse was leaning in the doorway leading to the roof. Not wanting to risk a repeat of the show with Mouse, I gestured frantically for her to move—Wes was hot on my heels.
“Get out of the way!”
She ignored my demand, that sly smile of hers widening until her fangs were showing. “Now, now,
ma mhuirnín.
‘Tisn’t a fair fight if ye run off ’afore the game is through.”
Cursing under my breath, I took the only other option open to me—I ran into Royce’s quarters, slamming the door open and rushing for the nearest window. They were locked tight, the shutters down. Fuck, that left me trapped in the building with not one but
two
ancient elders guarding the only ways out.
Clarisse re-stationed herself at the door after Wes stalked inside. She shut it behind her and folded her arms, assuming a bodyguard stance that would have been impressive on someone a little taller.
As for Wes, he slowed once he saw I had stopped running, and he padded toward me on light feet. Ready to cut me off if I tried to escape again.
“Come on, now. Stop playing these games. I don’t want to have to hurt you.” The bright, excited gleam to his eye spoke otherwise. “Mr. Royce won’t be happy if we destroy his artwork. Let’s just find a place to have a seat and wait, hmm?”
I darted to the closest window, scooting around some spotlighted statuary to throw my weight against the shutters in hopes of breaking them and escaping outside. The metal shuddered at the impact, but didn’t give.
Wes didn’t give me the opportunity to regain my balance. Before I knew it, my face was plastered against the cold metal, his fingers digging into the back of my neck.
“Last chance, sugar.”
I kicked backwards, landing a blow to his solar plexus. He fell back with a grunt, and I whirled with a follow-up kick that sent him in a sprawling slide to crash against a nearby chaise. Clarisse laughed, her lilting voice echoing in the enclosed space.
He was soon on his feet, and I was a few yards away, seeking a weak link in one of the shutters that I could slide my fingers into so I could tear the metal sheets off. He didn’t get too close to me yet, though he did follow in my footsteps, watching my futile attempts. Toying with me, I suppose. Letting me figure out for myself that there was no way out.
“Pretty spry,” he said. “Just remember, you’re the one who chose to do this the hard way.”
In the next few moments, I completely lost sight of him—he moved that fast—but he struck me a number of times, hard enough that I would have fallen if he hadn’t kept catching me and hitting me again. Most of the strikes were to my stomach, lower back, arms, and shoulders. Not a single one was hard enough to break any bones or do much more than bruise, but it was disorienting and painful. I knew I was jerking around like a marionette, but I couldn’t keep my balance, and couldn’t focus past the pain long enough to see where he was.
I’m not sure how long he kept it up. It felt like an eternity. He forced me in a circuit around the room at least twice, but it was too disorienting for me to tell much more beyond that. My body was turning into one giant bruise.
Once he stopped, it took me a few seconds to figure out that I was on my knees, and he was standing in front of me.
Gasping and clutching at my aching stomach, I glared up at him, too hurt to force out any harsh words. He had a cocky smile quirking one corner of his lips, his blue eyes glowing with an ember of red deep down in the irises.
I flinched back as he reached down, taking me by the arm. He hauled me to my feet and held on, maybe making sure I was steady. “I’m sure this has been more fun for me than it’s been for you. You’re going to sit your ass down and wait for Mr. Royce over there.” He pointed to the chaise I’d earlier kicked him into. “If you don’t, the beatings will continue until sense returns. Yes?”
Closing my eyes, I nodded. He gave me a little shove in the direction of the furniture.
I pretended to stumble. He fell for it, bending down to help me—and I landed another solid punch to his jaw, right where I’d kicked him earlier, sending him flying backwards.
Looking mightily bored by now, Clarisse was slumped against the door, still watching. There was no other way out of here. I whirled just in time to keep Wesley’s hands from closing on my arms again, skittering back out of his reach.
If I was going to escape, I’d have to fight my way past Clarisse.
Chapter 29
Getting to the door meant getting past Wesley first. I feinted left, then right, but he had been around for centuries before the belt. He knew what I was doing and didn’t fall for the trick. Instead, I found myself pressed against the wall, stars shining in my vision as my skull reverberated from the impact. He had my wrists firmly in his grip, his usual roguish smile nowhere in evidence.
“Are you ready to stop this foolishness?”
As soon as I got my bearings, I tugged against his hold, squirming against him in hopes that the belt might have augmented my strength enough to shove him away. The position was too awkward, and he was far too strong.
‘Stay still. I have an idea.’
Though I was uncomfortably aware of the contours of Wes’s body, I went limp, hanging my head and waiting for him to make the next move.
After a few moments of suspicious silence, he drew back, pulling me with him.
I took the opportunity to knee him in the crotch.
e gasped, a red tint infusing his eyes as he tightened his grasp on my wrists. Before I could follow up with another kick, I found myself on my knees, my arms wrested behind my back as he held me down. Damn it. That had been a stroke of brilliance on the belt’s part.
“Skreyja tik!
Fucking
meyla,”
he spat, shoving me down until I was flat on the floor, straddling my back. “That
hurt,
damn it! Don’t do that again.”
“Let me go!”
“Not on your life. You’re lucky Mr. Royce wants you alive.”
I lay still, panting, the belt going curiously quiescent around my waist. When pain flared up, putting stars back in my vision, I knew why. Shit—the sun had risen. Had we been fighting that long? I’d completely lost track of the time.
“Hey,” he said, shaking me out of my pained reverie. “Stop that twitching. What’s the matter with you, huh?”
“It hurts, you asshole,” I muttered, grimacing at the way my shoulder was wrenched when he tugged my arms up higher along my back. “Ow! I’ll stop, I’ll stop!”
“Well, well. Ms. Waynest has returned, hmm?”
I cringed at the sound of the vampire’s voice, cold and dispassionate as ever. I couldn’t keep the sheepish note out of my reply.
“Hi, Royce.”
He spoke again, closer this time, not bothering to step into my field of view. “Wesley, do you mind explaining this to me?”
Wesley didn’t mind. “She broke in while you were out, sir. Fought her way around the building looking for Sar—err, Ms. Halloway. She wouldn’t listen when I told her the girl wasn’t here.”
It’s not like Royce wouldn’t have known I was here. Not if he could “feel me” like he mentioned back at the park. The thought made me want to punch him, but even if I’d been free to do so, he’d probably laugh at my efforts. Without the belt supplementing my strength, I wasn’t going to be effective against him
or
Wesley until nightfall. Damn it.
“I see. Stand her up, if you would.”
Wesley lifted me to my feet as though I weighed no more than a feather. The pressure on my arms was unbearable, and I couldn’t bite back a pained wince. Once on my feet, I glared defiantly at Royce’s chin and tugged to get free, but Wesley wouldn’t let go. Clarisse must have left when Royce had arrived, because she wasn’t hovering in the doorway anymore.
As for Royce, he moved as though he had all the time in the world as he approached. All I could do was watch. His suit jacket, made of some sleek black material that probably cost more than my car, was left unbuttoned. His tie, made of the same dark material, was held in place by a ruby tie tack matching the red shirt underneath. The contrasting colors and that tiny, glittering gem kept catching my eye. I fought the urge to stare at the contours of his chest outlined in the creases of that tailored shirt as he leaned in to check if I had anything hidden at the small of my back or under my hair. His touch gave me the shivers, even if he was swift and impersonal about his inspection.
He never once looked into my face, his focus all for the weapons I was carrying. He checked the small container clipped to my belt for the extra ammo, but the bullets had fallen out somewhere along the way and all I was carrying in that container right now was pocket lint. I sucked in my breath when his hands slid over my stomach, only to work the clasps on my shoulder holster, loosening it. With a couple sharp jerks, yanking painfully against my straining shoulder muscles, he broke the straps and tossed the guns aside.
He followed that up with a few tugs to the belt. A sudden desperation had me crying out and wrenching to the side, kicking out to keep him from taking Isaac away from me. All that did was hurt my shoulder sockets and upper arms as Wes’s grip tightened. Royce didn’t even seem to notice the blows when I kicked him, and despite my struggles, he removed the belt within moments. A wave of despair and aching loss washed over me, tears stinging my eyes as it was taken away.
As for Royce, he barely paid the stakes a glance once they joined the guns on the floor. His hands briskly swept over the rest of my body, checking for any weapons hidden under my armor, too quick for me to be terribly indignant about it. I cursed under my breath when he found my last remaining weapon, the small knife tucked into my boot.
My heart was beating fast, too fast. Being pressed between the two men was eerily reminiscent of when Royce and Max had had me pinned between them, bargaining for my freedom.
“Give her to me.”
Wesley nudged me so hard I stumbled. Before I knew it, I was over Royce’s shoulder, my hair dangling in my face and his collarbone digging into my stomach. Off-balance and gasping for air, I flailed briefly, then clutched at his jacket, wrinkling the expensive suit. Then moved my hand when I realized I was grabbing his butt. Eek!
“Take those with you and put them somewhere safe.” There was a rustle of leather and jangle of metal as Royce toed my discarded weapons. “I don’t wish to be disturbed during the day. Field anything that requires immediate attention to Angus or Jessica.”
“Yes, sir,” Wesley said.
I gave a breathy yelp of protest as Royce turned around, with me still slung over his shoulder, and stomped toward his bedroom, leaving me to stare longingly after the weapons the other vampire was gathering from the floor. Royce soon cut off my view by kicking his bedroom door shut behind him. The only illumination came from tiny, twinkling lights in the ceiling. They bathed the room in gentle light, but made for deeper, more threatening shadows in the recesses. There were no windows or other means of escape, either, unless I could barricade myself in his (from my recollection, windowless) bathroom until he died for the day, or whatever it was vampires did when they weren’t stalking the night.
It was clear there was nowhere to run. The only way out was the way we’d just come in.
Before long I was back on my feet, nearly spilling to my knees at the wave of dizziness that washed over me. Royce barely paid any mind, his fingers quick and sure as they closed on the hem of my shirt. I gave him a bit of trouble once he pulled at it, yelping in fear and protest as he yanked the body armor up. He did it so swiftly that I didn’t have time to tense against it. He ignored my squirming and my muffled curses, though he laughed when my rapid retreat backward as my head and arms popped out ended with me sprawled on my ass on his futon. The hardwood floors might have provided a softer landing. Yeowch!
Blushing furiously, I covered my chest with both arms, mortified at this treatment. Thank God I’d thought to put on a sports bra under the armor, the stretchy fabric covering more than the lacy numbers I used to wear for Chaz’s benefit. It did nothing to hide the myriad scars on my stomach, though.
Still chuckling, he shucked off his own jacket, letting it pool on the floor behind him, and stepped out of his shoes.
“What the hell are you doing?”
He gave me a look I didn’t like at all. “Something I should have done a long time ago.”
I gasped and kicked at him when he knelt down in front of me, only to have one hand latch firmly around my ankle, the other working the laces to my boot.
“Royce, stop it!”
“Not yet.”
“Stop!”
He ignored my command, tugging off my shoe and dropping it with a heavy clunk to the side. Though I fought to pull out of his grasp, he made little work of divesting me of the other boot, then hooked his fingers in the waistband of my armored pants. My struggling only made it easier for him to tug those down. My underwear would’ve gone with them if I hadn’t made a grab for the elastic band at the last second. I took advantage of the few sparse seconds I was free of his hold to scramble back on the futon, intending to make a run for it.
Before I got very far, his hand shot out, circling my ankle again like a cold vise. He pulled me to him as he crept up on the sheets, the smooth, predatory way he moved reminding me of a panther.
Gone was any sense of stupid bravery and invincibility. In its place was nothing short of raw panic as the realization set in that, this time, he wasn’t stopping. This went far above and beyond any scare tactics he’d used with me before. I had no weapons, no armor, and no hope of escape. He’d dragged me into his
bedroom.
I was nearly naked
on his bed.
And he was well on his way to having me pinned beneath him.
That could only lead to one thing.
Though I knew it was useless, I cried out in terror, forgetting about modesty as I threw my hands up to shield my neck and face as he settled over me. For a moment, I had an irreverent thought that the least the bastard could have done was remove that freaking tie tack that was now digging into my stomach before putting his weight on me.
Though he was gentle about it, he ignored my tears and my breathless pleas for him to stop as he tugged my hands away from my throat.
“Don’t—” he ordered, gently taking my wrists and pulling my hands from their protective position to pin them over my head. “Don’t hide yourself from me.”
“Please,” I cried, tugging fruitlessly at his iron-clad grip. “Please, Royce, I don’t want to do this—”
“Hush. I’m not letting you out of my sight until I’m certain you won’t do something more to hurt yourself. Gods, just look at you ... You and I are going to have a long overdue talk.”
I quieted, but turned my face away, hating the blushes and bruising that I knew reddened every inch of my normally ghost-pale skin from hairline to navel. He was staring down at me, but had stilled, watching me as I fought not to have a breakdown, still squirming and tugging at his hold in hopes of getting free.
A deep sigh escaped him, and he released my wrists. I pressed my hands to his chest, pushing at him, but he didn’t give, remaining a stolid wall of cold marble trapping me beneath him. He leaned in, his cheek brushing against mine, satin-soft strands of coal black hair drifting across my skin as he whispered oh-so-sweetly in my ear.
“Your struggling makes it more tempting to bite you, not less. Relax.”
I withdrew my hands from his chest with a gasp, and satisfied myself with shivering uncontrollably as I clutched the bedding at my sides as though it could protect or hide me from this blood-drinking predator looming over me.
Though it was a marginal improvement when he withdrew from my ear, I flinched when his jaw brushed against mine. He kissed away the tears staining my cheeks, the touch of his tongue like the gentle flicker of an ice cube pressed to my skin. It only made the tears fall faster.
“Shiarra, I’ve told you before. I’ll never hurt you. I don’t give my word lightly; you know that. What are you so afraid of?”
“Please don’t bite me,” I whispered.
He paused, unmoving, not speaking. I didn’t dare open my eyes to look at him, to see what thoughts might be passing through those black eyes. It took a moment for him to reply, a thoughtful
“hmm”
that vibrated against my hypersensitive skin.
“Shiarra, look at me. No tricks, no games. On my honor.”
I was slow to comply, but he waited patiently until I was squinting up at him through tear-soaked lashes. I could see plainly he was now quite serious and thoughtful. His trademark smirk was nowhere in evidence, and I felt no sense of compulsion behind his words, despite the unwise eye contact we were making.
“Your tears are sweet, and under other circumstances, I might well have enjoyed them—but you and your partner are under my protection. Do you understand what that means? I’ve pledged to keep you safe. I won’t allow you to run off on your own again until I am assured you are no danger to yourself or others. And while I would like nothing more than to taste your warmth, sink inside you, and make you mine in every way you deny me, I’m not about to hurt you or claim you against your will. It would be a poor way to repay you for saving my life only to take yours from you.”
“Then let me go,” I screeched, squirming to escape him. “Let me go, Royce! Don’t do this to me!”
He held me fast, his hands suddenly holding my cheeks, though I hadn’t seen him move. Trapped, I stared helplessly up at him, rage and fear warring for dominance as he arched above me and stared down.

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