The Last True Vampire (33 page)

She bit again, this time tearing the delicate flesh of his lower lip. His tongue flicked out at the wound and it healed instantly. Pulling away, he locked his gaze with hers. “You’re full of fire tonight.”

“I’m full of rage,” she seethed. “And that bastard Mikhail is going to pay for what he’s done to you.” Ronan guided the weight of his cock to her slick entrance and slid home. Siobhan cried out as she thrust her hips up to meet him. “I’m going to punish you for what you’ve done. You’ll beg me for mercy by the time I’m through.”

He dragged his fangs up the slim column of her throat and Siobhan shuddered. “Punish me?” He pulled out to the hood of his cock and plunged in again, deep and hard. Her legs came around to encircle his waist, her heels digging into his ass. He rocked his hips, stroking along the tight channel of her sex, and she let out a low moan. “Maybe I’ll let you try. Just to show you what you’re up against now.”

“Harder,” she commanded.

He pulled out and entered her with slow, shallow thrusts instead. She gritted her teeth, a growl of frustration vibrating in her throat. “I’m going to give you to my attendants as a plaything.” She ground her hips into his in an effort to deepen his penetration, but he held her down on the mattress. “I’m going to let them use you. Bind you and fuck
you
without mercy. They’ll show you such pleasure that you’ll hate yourself, begging for more while you kneel at my feet in thanks.”

He let out a low chuckle. “It’ll be you that’s begging before I’m done with you, Siobhan.”

His bloodlust mounted as his gaze fixed on the pulsing vein at her throat. He wound his fist into the length of her raven hair and forced her head to the side, giving him unhindered access to her vein. With a roar he sank his fangs deep into her throat, and as he did her pussy clenched around his cock. “You’re a bastard, Ronan!” she called out as she came. Her body twitched with each deep pulse, and as Ronan fed his own release came crashing over him in a violent wave. Siobhan clutched on to him, her long nails drawing blood as they dug into his back. “And if you think I’ll ever release you of your troth because you’ve been turned, you’re nothing more than a fool.”

*   *   *

“Claire, wake up, please! You have to stay awake!”

She was slipping. Whatever those bastards had drugged her with was taking her down for the count. Weak, barely holding on to consciousness, she lay on a hard, cold surface, her wrists and ankles bound. She fought against the restraints, yanking as she tried to reach the cords with her mouth. A frustrated groan worked its way up her throat as another wave of bone-deep exhaustion seized her. If she was going to be of any use at all to Vanessa, she needed to shake off whatever fog still clung to her brain and get it together. God, she needed Mikhail. There was no way she’d get out of this mess without him. Claire had no idea how the tether between them worked, but she had to at least try to reach out to him.

Vanessa wept silently and it enraged Claire to think that someone so young had to endure so much. She’d taken care of herself for so long, and now she was little more than a captive, caught up in something she had no knowledge or control over. And Carlene. Was she even still alive? If the slayers had managed to kill her mother, Vanessa would be even more on her own now than she had been.

What would happen to her if they made it out of this? Who would take care of Vanessa? The thought of her being thrown into the foster-care system made Claire sick.
Concentrate, damn it. Focus on what you can affect right now and don’t worry about the future
. Odds were, her worry for Vanessa was pointless. If the slayers had it their way, Claire and Vanessa would both be dead before sunrise anyway.

Claire focused on her surroundings. The basement was large, with too many dark corners. A single light illuminated the space, casting shadows that seemed to shift and re-form in a sinister dance. Claire blinked as she tried to banish the fatigue that weighted her lids. One of the shadows grew larger as it drew close. The soft layers of darkness became sharper, denser, and a man emerged. Dark, deadly black eyes and even blacker soul. If Claire had been a more faithful woman, she would have sworn that the devil himself stood beside them.

Vanessa whimpered at the sight of him, a sound that caused a superior smile to spread across the slayer’s face.
Sick bastard, getting off on scaring a kid
. Claire tried her best to soothe Vanessa. “It’s okay, Vanessa. You’re going to be okay, honey.”

“Of course,” the slayer purred. “I would never murder an innocent child.”

Claire glared her hatred at her captor. Several dark forms moved from the shadows to join him.
Jesus.
There was an army’s worth of them. Claire swallowed down the fear that choked her. “If that’s true, then I want your word,” she said through the thickness in her throat. “Don’t hurt her.”

“And you have it.” The slayer’s eyes were no longer black but a shade of deep forest green. If she’d passed him on the street Claire might have thought him attractive with his strong jaw, sharp cheekbones, and full lips. He raked his hand through his sandy blond hair, pushing it back from his forehead, and his brows drew sharply down. “I honor my word, Claire. Besides, she’s important. It is Fate’s decree that she should live.”

Claire cast a furtive glance Vanessa’s way. What did these so-called guardians of Fate know about her? “What are you going to do with her, then?” She doubted they’d just let Vanessa go. Not after what she’d been a witness to.

“That’s not up to me.” The slayer leveled his gaze on Claire. Not cold or even murderous. But, rather, curious. “I have to admit, you’re not what I expected, Claire.”

What in the hell was that supposed to mean?

“Mikhail’s coming, you know.” A good hustler could talk her way out of any situation, and Claire was more than ready to put a healthy dose of fear into her captor. “And he won’t show you an ounce of mercy for what you’ve done.” She brought her head up from the table she was tied to and leveled her gaze on the slayer. She kept her tone mild and sweet. “I won’t even flinch when he rips your throat out. And if you touch one hair on that girl’s head, I’m going to help him make you suffer.”

She was answered with cold, emotionless laughter that chilled the blood in her veins. “It’s too bad I have to kill you.” He exchanged a quiet word with one of his comrades as one by one they filed out of the basement. “I think I could like you.”

“You still could, you know.” Claire projected the trustworthy vibe that had helped her to become a master at her craft. “Why not let us go and leave us alone to make our own fate?”

His gaze hardened at her words, the forest green of his eyes going deathly black. “If only.” It was obvious that the slayer didn’t harbor the tiniest bit of remorse over his actions. “But even if the gods themselves stood before me and commanded me to let you go, it wouldn’t happen.”

“Gregor, what do you want done with the girl?” one of his cronies interrupted, and the slayer pinned Vanessa with a contemplative stare.

“She’s in Fate’s hands now.” His cryptic response seemed to be adequate enough for the muscle he’d brought along. “Take her upstairs and lock her in one of the rooms.” He cast his attention back to Claire. “You see, Claire, I’m not a complete monster.”

“Wh-what?” Vanessa finally looked up from her stupor and fixed Claire with wide, panicked eyes. “No! You can’t take me! Don’t let them take me, Claire!”

Claire’s chest ached as her heart seemed to shatter into myriad pieces. She’d tried so hard to help take care of Vanessa. To shelter her. Provide for her when no one else would. And in the long run, none of it meant a goddamned thing.

Before Claire could respond Gregor ripped Vanessa from her spot on the floor. She thrashed and fought against his hold, screaming and kicking as he set her forcefully down on her feet. He brought the barrel of a monster handgun to her face and Vanessa went still. “Fate has decided to spare you, little girl. Don’t make me regret saving your life.”

Vanessa glared at him, her little lips drawn in a defiant pucker.

“You will go with Alec, and if you make so much as a peep I’ll come upstairs and put a bullet in your head.”

Gregor spoke to her in a soft, lilting tone that sent a shiver down Claire’s spine. Vanessa’s eyes slid to the right and Claire nodded her head, giving her permission to agree to the slayer’s demand.

“I understand,” she replied through a fresh bout of tears.

“Good.” He gave her a fatherly peck to the top of her head and Claire’s rage boiled anew. How dare that piece of shit treat Vanessa with any sort of kindness after what he’d put her through!

“It’s going to be okay, Vanessa!” Claire called out as the girl was handed over to Alec, who cradled her in his arms as he packed her up the narrow staircase. “I promise!”

Gregor followed his friend up the stairs and turned when he reached the top. “Now, you be a good girl and stay put.” The bastard had the nerve to snicker. “And try not to wear yourself out.” He opened the door, letting in a swath of light. “Enjoy your moment of peace, Claire. It’s the last bit of it you’re going to get.” He closed the door behind him, leaving Claire once again in relative darkness.

“You bastard!”

Her voice echoed off the basement walls and ended with a silent finality that chilled her to her marrow.

With an effort that left her breathless she tried to remember the feeling of all of those dhampirs drawing on her energy, and when she found it, like a reverse vacuum, she tried to take back everything she’d given. A burst of strength and vitality rushed through her, the high so intense she thought she might pass out, but instead she projected that energy at Mikhail, willing him to take every bit of it. The draw left her shaking and panting for breath, her surroundings blurring in and out of focus.

Please, please find us, Mikhail
.

CHAPTER

26

Thank gods he’d given Claire his blood.

Relief swamped him, though short-lived. Mikhail went to his knees as he was overtaken with a rush of energy so intense that it robbed him of his senses. He was formless, a soul without a body floating in the dark abyss. Foreboding crested over him as though some unknown force had reached out to him. Imploring.

Claire.

Her pain was his, her fear and panic choking the air from him. The connection that arced between them burned white-hot once again and Mikhail’s jaw clamped down, his fangs puncturing his bottom lip.
Pain.
So much pain it made his stomach heave. And he knew that what he felt was a mere shadow of the pain that seized Claire in its grip.

The sun would rise soon enough. He couldn’t waste another second. He kept to the back alleys, stealthy, a shadow gliding through darkness. His blood in her veins called to him, guiding him through the city and beyond, the houses growing larger, the landscape more rural. His gaze narrowed on an inconspicuous ranch-style house tucked deep in a cul-de-sac. The houses flanking it were still under construction, with no neighbors to bother with.

Mikhail’s hands shook with unrestrained rage as he dug his phone from his pocket. Unwilling to alert anyone to his presence, he fired off a quick text message to Jenner with the address and an order to find Ronan and meet him there as soon as possible. Without knowing how many slayers occupied the nearly finished house, it had been best to err on the side of caution and call for backup. That didn’t mean he was going to sit around and wait for them to show up, however.

Like a wraith, he slipped through the temporary front door, nothing more than a sheet of chipboard with a cheap knob affixed to it. Claire’s heart beat wildly in her chest; the sound carried to his ears through the walls. Panic and fear soured the air and Mikhail’s lip curled. Whoever deigned to hurt his mate was about to meet a brutal and bloody end.

A small group of slayers stood on the other side of the door. An animal scent clung to them, musky and earthy. So potent that it sickened him. The Collective flooded his mind, memories of the eradication of his kind drowning him in anger and sorrow until the present was nothing but a reflection of his past.

He was stronger than this. Stronger than these memories of vampires long dead. All because of Claire.

Mikhail’s warrior’s instinct kicked in with a ferocity that left his enemies laboring to gain the upper hand as he attacked. Four berserkers against a single vampire. Mikhail funneled every ounce of his hatred and sorrow into his actions as he kicked, hacked at limbs, and stabbed. He buried his dagger to the hilt in one slayer’s chest. He went down, disabled but not dead. Another fell from his own folly as he ventured too close to Mikhail’s face. He sank his fangs into the berserker’s throat and tore out his jugular with a jerk of his head. Two enemies down. Two to go.

The world careened around him in a riot of color as he spun, parrying a sword thrust with the short dagger as he landed a solid kick to his attacker’s gut. With his left hand he snatched a slayer by the shirt collar and flung the slayer on top of the dining-room table. It splintered into myriad bits of wood and laminate. Mikhail brought down his dagger, severing the slayer’s head with a single forceful cut.

Another attacked, the whites of his eyes completely swallowed with endless black. The berserker’s inner beast had the slayer completely in its grasp and he fought with mindless ferocity, hacking away with a short sword while he tried to corner Mikhail at the far end of the kitchen. Mikhail reached out and grabbed the berserker’s head and gave it a hard turn. The bones cracked under the pressure and the slayer slumped to the floor. With the head still intact, the body would soon regenerate, but Mikhail’s grab bought him enough breathing room to prepare for the coming onslaught. He followed the sound of Claire’s heartbeat, throwing open a door near the kitchen that led to the cold basement below.

“You’re certainly a hard male to kill, Aristov.”

He stared into the eyes of his worst nightmare. The beast that had haunted even his waking hours for the past two centuries. As though taunting him, the scar on his chest sent a pang of renewed pain through him, so intense he could’ve sworn it penetrated the muscles of his beating heart.