The Strip (20 page)

Hatred fueled her fury, bringing strength to replace the withdrawing numbness in her limbs. She brought her right arm up and roughly shoved at him, managing to dislodge whatever it was he’d held to her lips. She tried to sit up then, opening her eyes.

And he was on her, growling in her ear, his fingers wrapped tightly around her throat, pinning her to the couch by her neck.

She tried to gasp, but the air got caught beneath his squeezing grip. Instead, she stared up at the most evil man in the world and, with all of her spirit and all of her soul, she wished him dead.

Whatever she had swallowed was working some kind of magic on her.

The liquid was healing her; she could feel the marks on her back closing. She could feel the ache in her muscles and joints begin to ebb away. Along with this no-doubt ill-gotten reprieve came an influx of strength. It was an unexpected boon accompanying the already unexpected healing and the new, memento-like throb that his touch and the angry mark on her arm sent through her form.

Charlie’s gaze narrowed as this new-found strength coursed through her straining muscles and she found the will to glare up at her captor. It was a challenge. A promise. In the space between his mind and hers, she threw a mental pledge at him and she knew that he could read it in her eyes.

One day, she was going to kill him.

His snarl turned to a nasty smile, flashing sharp white fangs that glistened threateningly above her. “I see you’re feeling better, Charlie.” His smile broadened. “That’s good. But
never
pull away from me, pet. You’re mine. You will learn to obey me. Surrender always comes – sooner or later.”

He punctuated his words with an appropriate tightening of his grip on her throat and she found her hands on his chest, trying to push him off of her. He was so heavy. Un-budge-able. She tried to think fast, but her thoughts were becoming fuzzy. Strained.

He was cutting off too much air.

And what could she really hope to accomplish by defying him anyway? Where would she go? Even if she beat him, what would the warlock do? And the other man?

He must have felt her body yield a little beneath him, because he let up on her throat. Her mind immediately began to clear. “That’s better, sweetheart.”

And that did it. She would not submit to him. She would not lay there beneath him and let him win. He’d taken everything from her. If there was anything she had left in the world, it was her own mind. Her own will. What there was of it, she was going to use.

“Get off of me, you asshole.” With that, she raised her left leg, bringing her knee up with such force that she surprised herself. His body was positioned so that she could not get him where she wanted to hurt him most. But if she went fast enough, she could get him in the kidney. Kidney shots were always a good second.

Her speed was lightning-fast and her aim was impeccable. It should be. He’d taught her how to do it himself. He noticed the move a fraction of a second too late and could not maneuver a block in time. Her knee connected and he momentarily doubled over, his grip going instantly slack.

She used the advantage to drive her hands forward once more, shoving him roughly off of her. He went flying back, but landed on his feet, and as she came up off of the couch, Gabriel straightened, seemingly affected much less than she had hoped.

She’d hurt him, but he was tougher than most men. Pain didn’t have as much of an effect on him as it did others. It was part of what made him who he was.

They stood that way, facing one another, the air between them crackling with hateful energy, and his cobalt gaze smoldered, swimming with unearthly, unspoken promises.

Charlie glared right back. Her body was healed; she could sense that now. She felt strong. Furious.
Crazy
. She wanted to kill him right then and there or die trying. She had nothing to lose.

As if he could sense her defiance, his head raised ever so slightly and his gaze narrowed. He studied her carefully for several silent moments and then took a deep breath, in and out through his nose. “Get her cleaned up and dressed,” he ordered, calmly. “Have her ready to go in twenty minutes.”

The handsome gentleman with the gray hair came forward then, and Charlie whirled on him. “Stay the fuck away from me!” she yelled at him, her body shaking with the rage she felt. If she had to kill him too, so be it. Blanket or not.

“Be nice to Ulrich, Charlie. Or I swear I will have Jessie Graves taken out into the desert and buried to his neck for the scorpions to find.”

Gabriel’s threat was softly spoken, calmly delivered, and caught Charlie utterly by surprise. Her ice-blue gaze flashed to him once more. He didn’t even smile. He just continued to watch her – daring her to not believe him.

Charlie didn’t really have to wonder how he knew about Jessie. Phelan was a very powerful man. He probably knew everything. He had killed her parents. He’d been watching her for fifteen years.

In the end, Charlie realized she’d been wrong. She had something left to lose after all. And she couldn’t risk it. She took a deep breath, just as Gabriel had done, and her gaze skirted to the floor.

Malcolm stopped in the shadows of a neighboring alley and watched as two vans stopped by the back entrance to The August and a dozen giant werewolves climbed out of the vehicles.

The Council.

They were accompanied by a woman. Malcolm could smell the magic on her. A witch. Lily had been right. They were involved now. The witch must be very powerful; she must have taken the territory spell down from a distance.

Malcolm ran a hand through his hair.

“Cole!”

Malcolm turned around to see James Valentine striding down the alley toward him. His expression was very, very grim. His silver eyes were glowing. He looked a tad frightening, and the waves of power rolling off of him were tinged with the sharp electric vibration of fear.

“Lily just called. The August is going down. We have to get everyone out.”

Malcolm blinked. “What?” He hadn’t given Caige or Scrubs the go-ahead on blowing anything up. What the hell was Valentine talking about?

“You heard me, Cole. Everyone out.
Now
.” Valentine brushed past him and headed toward the hotel, running straight for the female that Malcolm had pegged for a witch.

Malcolm watched him go, his head spinning. Valentine had sent Lily back as soon as she’d told Malcolm about the territory spell being down. This time, she hadn’t argued.

If she’d called Valentine with this news, then it must have been another vision. She was taking them in rather rapidly today.

Cole shook himself and forced his mind to think fast. Jake was beside him, and the rest of his pack, except for Lucas Caige, were further down the alley – waiting.

He turned to Jake. “I have to go in and find Charlie. You take six men and help Valentine clear the hotel. Check the pools.” Children always went swimming with sitters while their parents were out enjoying a break. “Get the kids out. Keep in touch and let me know when you’re in the clear.”

Jake nodded and waved a few men over. They were gone within seconds. The rest of Malcolm’s pack gathered just behind him, awaiting his next command.

“Cole!” Again, Valentine was calling him, this time from where he stood beside the witch. Malcolm joined him without prelude.

“Dannai says that Claire is in the basement. The Council’s enforcers have already gone in ahead of us. They should be making it in right about now.”

Malcolm glanced from Valentine to the woman beside him. She was a starkly attractive young woman, possibly in her late twenties to early thirties. Her hair reminded Cole of a raven’s wings and fell in thick waves to the middle of her back. Her complexion was smooth and clear and just dark enough that it was a good bet one of her parents had been black, and she had the unexpected eye color to prove it. It seemed to be a speckled amalgamation of blue, green, gray, and brown.

“Not many,” she said. She had a beautiful voice; deep and rich, but a touch shy. “There’s a show going on down the street. Big opening thing; most people are there this morning.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Maybe about fifty… mostly on the first few floors. Majority are in the casino.”

Malcolm nodded and turned to his men. “Clear out the bottom floors and then get out.”

Adam Trenayne, a younger but very hard-hitting member of Cole’s pack, stepped forward. “I want to go with you. You can handle Phelan, but not his entire pack.”

Cole eyed him. Trenayne knew that Malcolm was going down to the basement to retrieve Charlie and that Gabriel Phelan would probably be there as well – along with most, if not all of his wolves. Adam was never one to shy away from a fight; the slimmer the odds, the better.

Malcolm nodded, accepting the offer. “Valentine,” he then turned to the guardian werewolf, shooting him a meaningful glance.

James Valentine nodded; he would join him as well.

“You can control human minds, Cole,” Dannai suddenly said, pulling his attention back to the witch. She gazed at him steadily. “At least to some extent. I can help you expand your reach – you can make the humans in the building want to leave immediately. No werewolf interference required.”

Cole blinked.
Shit
. “You can do that?”

She nodded again, all confidence.

She was good. And she knew too much about him. For a human, she was very, very much within the werewolf community’s circle. She was important enough to be working directly for The Council. It made Cole wonder.

“Fine. Do it,” he told her. He waited as she came forward and placed her hand, palm-down, on his chest. Electricity seemed to buzz through her hand and onto his skin, spreading and sinking until his entire mid-section was encompassed in a cocoon of rather brawny legerdemain.

“Go,” she ordered, closing her eyes.

Malcolm closed his eyes as well and reached out with his power, spreading it around himself like invisible feelers, until he sensed that it had gone much further than it normally would have gone. The witch was assisting his coils of influence, making them thicker, longer and stronger.

He found a human mind and dove in deep, causing the human to throw down his cards and fold, pushing away from the table at which he sat. Others followed suit. Within a few minutes, slot machines found themselves abandoned and Craps tables were empty. Bouncers began to head toward the exits, wondering what was happening.

None of the burly guards were werewolves. They were unsuspecting humans, hired to protect an enterprise that was about to be blown to smithereens. Cole attacked their minds, scrambling their thoughts until all they knew was that they wanted to go outside and take a walk… just like everyone else.

How much time do we have?
Cole asked, knowing instinctively that the witch who was now touching him would be able to hear his thoughts.

Minutes… I don’t know. St. Claire is the seer, not me.

He opened his eyes and she removed her hand, stepping back. “I’m going in,” he announced as he turned to Adam and James. They nodded, in unison, falling in behind him as he raced through the entrance to the back stairwell of The August.

Cole’s werewolf hearing immediately caught the sounds of struggle somewhere below, deep underground.

He could smell blood and would be willing to bet that the other two men with him could as well. They sped down the steel and concrete stairwell until they came to a set of double doors that had already been torn off of their hinges.

Malcolm followed the sounds ahead, sprinting down a long dark tunnel to another set of doors. These too had been ripped open. Beyond was a final hallway, this one lined with sconces that held torches now extinguished and smoking in their brackets.

The stench of more blood assaulted his senses. But, this time there was a delicate ribbon of scent attached to it that Malcolm instantly recognized. It was
Charlie’s
blood.

With a roar of rage, Cole flashed into wolf form and drove into the fray beyond the last, arched doorway.

Immediately, another wolf met him in combat, going for his throat. He easily knocked the silver wolf aside, slamming the other animal’s body against the stone wall. Then he looked around, his vision having shifted into perfect night sight so that the forms in the chaos of the large room were easily discernable.

Charlie was not among them.

And, though he still had no idea what the other alpha werewolf looked like, Cole was certain that Gabriel Phelan was not in the area, either. The entire room had been outfitted as a dungeon, complete with racks and restraints and a large variety of torture implements lining the walls. The vast, dark space reeked of black magic. There was either a warlock currently in the room – or there had been recently.

As Malcolm pondered this, he caught the slender waft of Charlie’s blood once more and whipped around to follow it.

He bounded forward and was caught, mid-flight, by another body crashing side-long into his. The two fur-covered forms went sailing at a right angle and hit the ground rolling, their blurred bodies an entangled flurry of black and gray.

Malcolm wasted no time in gaining the upper hand; his strength was greater, and his need more desperate. His claws found purchase in the other wolf’s belly and his fangs found the other wolf’s neck.

He bit deep and pulled back, ripping his attacker’s throat out. He didn’t wait to watch the man flash back into human form. Instead, he bounded away and sniffed the air, locking once more onto the scent of Charlie’s suffering.