Taken by the Others (16 page)

Arnold

After Veronica Wright–former VP Acquisitions of The Circle, and my employer during a brief attempt to locate a dangerous artifact in the hands of Alec Royce–was murdered, I had to watch my ass a lot more closely than before. Arnold had advised wearing the hunter’s belt his coven had given me so I could protect myself against rogue vamps and Weres. Hopefully the belt would serve me as well against Max Carlyle and his band of merry men as it had against crazed sorcerer David Borowsky and his psychotic vamp of a girlfriend, Anastasia Alderov. Those cheering thoughts in mind, I snagged up the cordless phone on my desk.

“Hello?”

“Arnold, it’s Shia.”

“Holy crap! Are you okay? We came home as soon as we got your message.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Shaken up, but I’ll live. Listen, you and Sara should hide out somewhere for a bit. Maybe with Sara’s sister, Janine? Chaz is hurt, and I’m afraid whoever is behind it might go after you guys next.”

He quieted for a second. He must have been talking to Sara, since I heard some muffled noises in the background. Abruptly, her voice was on the line. “Shia? What happened, where are you?”

“I’m okay, don’t worry. I’m at home right now, but I’m leaving in a few minutes. My cell is gone, so you’re going to have to reach me via Chaz for the time being. I need to hide out for a bit. I told Arnold you two should as well. Chaz got hurt, so I get the feeling Royce or Max are going after my friends next.”

“Is he going to be okay?”

“I think so. Get this–the cops came to my place to investigate my kidnapping, right? Well, someone from Royce’s office told them to be prepared with silver shot.”

“What?!”

“Yeah. Watch your back.”

“Christ. Okay. Where are you going to hide out?”

I glanced at Devon thoughtfully before responding. “Not totally sure yet, but I’ll call you when I get there.”

After I hung up, I turned back to my computer and searched for one of the old messages from Royce. There was an e-mail in there with his company contact info, including a phone number. Scooting the rolling chair to the window, I peered between the blinds and checked the angle of the sun. Not too high in the sky, but not quite close to sunset either. Was it late enough in the day for Royce to be awake? He’d called me before when the sun was up. If worst came to worst, I’d leave a message.

“A.D. Royce Industries. How may I direct your call?” chirruped the saccharine voice of the receptionist.

“I’m calling for Mr. Royce. This is Shiarra Waynest.”

“Shiarra Waynest, gotcha. Hold for just one moment please.”

I waited for quite a bit longer than one moment, thinking about what I wanted to say. If the bastard was out to get Chaz, I’d pay him a daytime visit and introduce him to Mr. Sun. After a close approximation of eternity, that irritatingly cheerful voice came back on the line. “I’m very sorry, but Mr. Royce is unavailable. May I take a message?”

Crap. “Sure. Tell him I want to know if Max is still in the picture. I’m available for the next fifteen minutes or so at this number …” And I gave her my home phone, waiting for her to repeat it back to me. “Right.”

“Thanks for calling. Have a great day!”

“You, too.” After hanging up, I wondered why the heck a vampire had Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm answering the phones. Shouldn’t she be more, I don’t know, coolly professional or something? Maybe she was too new to be jaded yet. Or maybe I was just a grouchy cynic. Yeah, that sounded about right.

I turned away from the computer and tossed the cordless to Devon. “I’m taking a shower. If he calls back, ask him to hold on. I won’t be long.”

He set the phone on the table and took a seat, still watching Chaz like a hawk. Chaz was way too hurt and tired to be much of a threat to anyone, but Devon would never believe as much. Ah, paranoia–got to love it.

I grabbed some fresh clothes and ducked into the bathroom, looking forward to a hot shower. It took some effort to ignore how beat up I looked in the mirror once I shed my clothes. Working fast, I got the worst of the grime off my skin and washed my hair. For the first time, I was unnerved at how much it looked like blood when the long, wet strands lay plastered against my skin. That thought helped hurry me along.

Stepping out of the shower, I didn’t take any time to primp. All I did was wrap myself in a big towel and run a brush through the wet tangles, throwing in some hair gel to keep it from getting too out of line. My frizz was probably a hopeless cause anyway.

As much as I didn’t want to, I needed to take a look at the bites on my neck to see how bad the damage was. Nobody had given me a mirror at Jack’s before the bandages were put in place. I used the towel to wipe some of the condensation off the mirror, then gingerly tugged at the medical tape holding the gauze in place. A hiss escaped me at the pull on my sore, bruised skin.

The fang marks weren’t as bad as the bruising. In fact, they were just two pairs of dainty nicks, each one right over my jugular. I had to lean forward over the sink just to see them in my reflection.

I brushed my fingertips along the slight discoloration. I’d expected the hickeys from hell, and while there were definitely some marks, it wasn’t nearly as bad as I’d feared. From all the horror stories and bad movies of my youth, I’d expected to see two pairs of gigantic, scabby holes in my neck. These little marks wouldn’t even scar. Was this why no one had ever spotted vamp victims before the leeches announced themselves to the world?

Judging by the bites, it was hard to believe I’d even been fed on. There was some weakness from the blood loss, to be sure, even with the transfusion. If not for that, you might have overlooked that anything was wrong with me. The thing that bothered me most was that it felt good when they did it. The experience was made all the more frightening for that. Something so bad for you shouldn’t feel that good and make you want more.

I abruptly recalled the harsh memories of bloodstained youths straining against their handcuffs at the police station as they wept and screamed for their dead master. Their cries were so heart-wrenching, their despair so deep, their raw pain so obvious on their pallid faces, it had been enough to thoroughly frighten me. That anyone could feel so deeply for a monster who had to feed on you in order to survive had been sufficient repellant to keep me away from vamps entirely. Until that unfortunate little incident with the Dominari Focus, that is.

A chill swept over me as I suddenly understood how the people bound to vamps could feel such loss–like an addict would despair at having their fix taken away. I gripped the edge of the sink so hard my knuckles turned white. I leaned forward to stare into the reflection of my eyes as I tried to remember what made the vampires monsters. Dangerous. Why I had to destroy Max Carlyle.

Why I had to stay away from Royce at all costs.

Swiftly turning away, I tossed on jeans and yanked a light turtleneck over my head to hide the marks. I would not think about this anymore. Not now. I told myself that, over and over, avoiding the mirrors as I hurried to dress and get out of the unbearably claustrophobic bathroom.

When I padded out of the bedroom, Devon shook his head. Royce hadn’t called. Irritated and jittery, I sat across from the hunter.

“That’s not like him. Usually he gets back to me right away.”

Devon nudged one of the mugs left by the officers to one side. “Maybe he’s ticked that you brushed him off last night.”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” I leaned back, fingers drumming on the tabletop. “He wanted to talk to me back in the woods. Remember? Said he’d be in touch.”

“Yeah, I remember.”

I got up again, pacing briefly, and stopped to pick up the shredded remains of Chaz’s clothes on the floor. His keys, wallet, and cell phone were in the pockets of his jeans, so I brought them to my duffel and tossed them inside before throwing out the remains of his ruined clothes.

“We can’t leave Chaz here. He has to come with us.”

“What!” Devon was so alarmed, you’d think I’d told him they were going to have to bunk together. “No, he can’t come with us! There’s no way I can take him back to Jack’s. The other hunters would kill him.”

I laughed, collecting a few of the empty mugs and bringing them to the kitchen. “I didn’t tell you to take him to Jack’s place. I just said he has to come with us.”

Chaz moved when I nudged him with my foot, inching over to lie on the carpet instead of the kitchen tile. Devon surreptitiously scooted his chair back when the big Were moved closer. I ignored them both and dumped the mugs into the sink, then started digging around in the drawers.

“I’m taking you back when we’re done here,” he said, scowling. “The last thing I need is Jack riding my ass for not following orders again.”

Again? Hmm, wonder what he did the first time around.

“Don’t worry, I’ll go back with you. I just can’t leave him here like this.” My extra set of keys was in the back of the drawer, hidden under a pile of expired coupons. “Can you pull the car up to the front? I don’t want to take him too far like this.”

He eyed Chaz dubiously. Chaz flattened his ears, but otherwise didn’t move. Muttering a low curse, the hunter rose to his feet.

“Come down in about ten minutes. I’ll put the seats down so he can fit.”

“Great, thanks.”

Devon headed into the hall. I knelt next to Chaz to check his shoulder. After removing the towel that had been acting as a compress, I could see the bleeding had stopped. He made a grumbling noise when I tossed the towel onto the counter.

“Oh, hush, you. It’s looking better already. We’ll have to drop you off somewhere on the way. I can’t take you to a White Hat haven.”

His head immediately lifted, hackles rising and a deep, threatening growl rumbling in his throat. I backed up, raising my hands. “Whoa, whoa, I get it. We’ll talk about it more in the car.”

He gradually settled back with another low rumble. Yeesh. Touchy Were.

The phone rang. I made a little growl of my own and rushed to the table. Took the vamp long enough.

“Royce?”

“No, actually,” came an unfamiliar voice. “This is John, his assistant. He’s in a meeting, but I know he’s been looking for a way to get in touch with you.”

Oh. Great. So he has a lackey get back to me now? “Uhm. Look, I’m going to be out on the road in a sec. I really need to talk to him now. My cell phone is gone, so I won’t have a way of reaching him after I go.”

“I see. Can I arrange a meeting? He’s got a slot available at ten tonight.”

Crud. Considering he was under suspicion for planning the murder of my boyfriend and had evil designs on my body, meeting with Royce didn’t sound like the greatest idea. “I don’t have my car, so I can’t commit to meeting him someplace. I’ll call back later when I can get to another phone.”

I didn’t wait for a response and hung up on him. Rude, I know, but I was in a hurry. I grabbed a Post-it and went back to my e-mail, jotting down the numbers for Royce’s office and for Arnold’s cell before shoving the paper in my jeans pocket.

Scooping up my duffel, I gestured for Chaz to follow and headed out the door. It took him two tries to get up; he hadn’t thought to favor the injured limb at first. He slid past me on all fours, not moving very fast, keeping the weight off one leg. I used my extra keys to lock the door behind us, swearing at the way it stuck in the busted frame. My eyes narrowed as I watched Chaz limp painfully down the hall toward the stairwell.

If Royce was the one behind Chaz’s injuries, he was going to pay for it. Big time.

Chapter 18

The reporters surprised the hell out of me once we got outside. I’d done my best to put them out of my mind. I would’ve thought they’d have left by now. Instead, a bunch of them surrounded us, keeping a respectful distance, asking their questions from a few yards off. The few other mingling onlookers hightailed it, disappearing back into their homes at the sight of Chaz.

“Ms. Waynest! Ms. Waynest, who is this?”

“How’d the Were get hurt? Does it have anything to do with the police here earlier?”

“What’s your connection? Are you a member of his pack?”

I hunched my shoulders and ducked my head, hurrying to Devon’s car idling at the curb. The reporters followed, a worrying flock of sound in the background. Chaz snapped at a photographer sidling in to take a close-up, making the poor guy shriek and stumble back. And no, of course, he didn’t bite the cameraman. As I mentioned to the cops earlier, he was furry, not stupid. His actions were calculated. The bared teeth and silent, vicious snarl were a sufficient deterrent to keep everyone else out of our path. It didn’t stop the hurled questions, but the rest of the reporters took the hint and gave us more breathing room.

Devon, waiting in the driver’s seat, watched us with interest. I slung my duffel into the front seat, then rushed to open up the back of the jeep. Even with the back seats down, it was a tight fit for a Were. Judging from the pained noises Chaz made as he climbed inside, it wasn’t particularly comfy either. Devon twisted around at the sound of ripping fabric.

“For God’s sake, can you not destroy my car while you’re in here? I’m trying to do you a favor.”

Chaz huffed and loosened his grip. I shook my head and shoved his tail in so I could close the door. Some of the reporters dashed to their cars and news vans parked on the street, obviously intending to follow us. A few hung around taking pictures. It was all I could do not to flip them off. As the stragglers sprinted to their cars, I made do with slumping in the seat, staring at the horizon turning the deep orange hue of sunset. There was very little daylight left.