The Wolf Within (17 page)

Then I peeled the bandage free. I wanted to know what lay beneath. Whether I’d be scarred by what he’d done to me. Jase had told me once that if a vamp licked the wounds clean, they usually healed fine. There was some sort of healing agent in their saliva.

I had no idea if Tate had done that for me—and quite frankly the thought that he might have made me feel queasy enough that I had to rest my head against the mirror and breathe deeply for a few minutes before I straightened again.

To my surprise, my throat was relatively untouched. I’d expected much more damage. It hurt like a son of a bitch and looked red and sore, but apart from the bruising around the three sets of fang marks, I was mostly intact.

So far
, my brain added.
Until tonight
.

The thought of going through it again sent another rush of nausea through me and I sank to my knees. So I wasn’t a hero. I didn’t like pain. But there was no alternative.

No acceptable alternative at least. I could ask Tate to thrall me but then I’d be in his power completely. And I’d rather suffer pain than have him rummaging through my mind.

Anything was better than that.

***

Turns out the second time hurt more than the first. I don’t know whether Tate did it deliberately but by the time he’d stripped me of the red dress he’d sent for me to wear, chained me to the bed and lain beside me, I was beyond caring.

There was no pretending I wasn’t terrified. I started shaking uncontrollably before he even touched me. He liked that. Liked the terror. He bit me slowly, pressing those fangs through my skin with a delicate touch that somehow made the pain even worse. Chains or no chains, I tried desperately to get away. Which only served to bruise my wrists and amuse Tate.

He pulled back from me. “If you ask nicely, I’ll thrall you. You’d like it much better that way.” His hand rested on my bare stomach and my muscles tensed beneath the touch. I had no idea if feeding was all he had in mind if he didn’t thrall me but I was pretty sure he’d do other things to me just to prove he could if he did.

“Go to hell,” I spat, twisting away from him despite the protests of my shoulders and wrists as the metal cuffs bit.

“Now, is that any way to speak to me?” he said calmly. He swung one of his legs over mine and pressed them down so I couldn’t move. “I was trying to be nice.”

“You—” I stopped as something flared in his eyes. Provoking him wouldn’t help me. And it might just make things worse. I rested my head back down on the pillow tilting it back. “Just do it.”

He laughed. “Maybe you’re getting a taste for it, after all.” Then he resumed his agonizing assault.

This time I didn’t faint. Whether he took less or whether it was less of a shock because I’d been through it once already, I don’t know. I certainly didn’t walk out of there under my own power though; Tate called Kyra and Rio in to carry me back to my cell.

I felt like I’d won a small victory. That I’d been stronger.

“Just remember, Ashley,” Tate called just as we reached the door. “Third time’s the charm.”

***

Third time, then what, I wondered the next morning after Smith had injected me again and I’d gobbled down a breakfast big enough for three people. Apparently blood loss makes you hungry.

I wracked my brain trying to remember what I knew about vampires. There was nothing I could think of that made three a special number.

Maybe the Old Ones fed three times before turning a victim or something but it wasn’t necessary. Technically, it only took one feeding and then the victim drinking the vamp’s blood afterwards. That’s how Jase had done it. That’s how most people who chose to turn did it.

But I was vaccinated. If Tate wanted to try and turn me, he had to know he was running a risk that it wouldn’t work.

So it had to be something else. Something that made the risk of holding me so long—of taking me at all—worthwhile. After all, they had to figure that Dan and the FBI were trying to trace me. I’d be writing a very nasty letter to my local congressman about the efficiency of the Taskforce and the FBI in general if I ever made it out of here. I had been here at least four days. Where on earth had Tate taken me that they couldn’t find me in four days? Unless he’d had a plane. . . .

That thought sent chills through me. No planes. I wasn’t going to think about planes. I was going to believe I was still in the US at worst and still in Washington at best. If Tate was indeed playing some long drawn out scenario then I couldn’t imagine he’d want the second act to take place too far away from the first. It lessened the impact.

And he was big on impact. The whole way he staged each of our interactions had made that clear. Everything was about power and fear. His power and the fear he inflicted on others. So why risk losing me if the FBI discovered where he was?

The only thing I could come up with was that it had to have something to do with whatever they were shooting me full of. Though I couldn’t imagine what that might be.

But I was going to ask before it was too late. Tonight. The third time. I didn’t know what happened after that but on the off chance I’d still be alive, I wanted to know what the hell was going on.

***

Tate was all solicitousness when Kyra delivered me to his room that evening. Two elegant chairs and a table covered in white linen were set up by the end of the bed. He ushered me to a seat then took the other chair.

“What’s this?” I surveyed the food arrayed on the table with suspicion. I’d already eaten dinner when Smith had arrived to give me yet another injection.

“I thought you might be hungry.”

Yes, because waiting for a vampire to suck my blood was guaranteed to give me an appetite. “I already ate.” His expression darkened and I knew I was once again skirting shaky ground. I swallowed, trying to summon a semblance of enthusiasm. “But I would like some wine.”

Anything that took the edge off had to be good. But not too much. I needed to be able to think. Tate lifted the decanter of wine and poured. It was some heavy red that that looked almost black in the light of the candles. I sipped it slowly. Despite my meal, the alcohol hit my stomach like a firework exploding, spreading waves of warmth through my body. Okay, so blood loss and alcohol didn’t mix well.

I put the glass down. “May I ask a question?”

Tate nodded, looking almost relaxed. Something had put him in a good mood tonight. I didn’t want to speculate about what.

“What did you mean last night when you said the third time was the charm?”

He shrugged, playing with his own glass. “You will find out soon enough.”

My jaw clenched in frustration. “Then why not tell me now?”

“Because I don’t choose to.”

Well, that was plain enough. I didn’t know how to wheedle a serial killer into telling me what I wanted to know so I just picked up my glass again. “Will you tell me why you’ve chosen me?”

He blinked. “I told you. Round two.”

Which told me nothing. Round one was Caldwell, I got that. But I had no idea why he’d come back. Or why round one had been Caldwell in the first place. “What—”

“Enough questions.” His voice was sharp. “Unless,” he added, straightening in his chair, “you wish to make another bargain with me?”

My spine prickled. A bargain? In exchange for information? That couldn’t be good. But I couldn’t just let the offer slide. If I got out of this, any information could be vital. “What sort of bargain?”

He considered this. The white silk of his shirt gleamed as the candles flickered. I hoped the white wasn’t significant, he’d worn black almost every time I’d seen him. “There is information you want. The question then becomes what are you prepared to give in exchange?”

The wine suddenly soured on my tongue. “What did you have in mind?”

“Your aunt—”

I jerked in denial and my hand hit the wine glass. The liquid spread across the tablecloth looking very much like blood. “No! You don’t
touch
her.”

“Then what do you have that I want?”

The question really was, what did I have that I was willing to give him? My eyes flicked to the whipping post. Could I? Bile rose and I turned away, looking down at my lap. No. I couldn’t imagine a lash cutting into my flesh, my back looking like Pavel’s.
No
.

“There is one other thing,” Tate said.

I lifted my head. “Yes?”

“You could let me thrall you. Let me show you what the gift should be like.”

My hands clenched as a picture of Pavel’s face, battered and worshipful, rose in my mind. To let Tate take my mind, to let him take me over . . . to force me to
enjoy
what he did to me.

It felt like he was asking for my soul. Maybe he was.

No pain
, an insidious part of my mind whispered.

No. It wasn’t worth it. Knowing my fate was worth giving up the only real freedom I had left. I straightened my spine. “I—”

“I would release you, once it’s over.”

“Release me?” Thralled was thralled as far as I knew.

“Take away the bond.”

“You can do that?”

“Some of us can, yes.”

Huh. That was something the vamps hadn’t bandied about. I wondered why. “And you would have no control over me once I was released?” My resolve was weakening. I knew Tate was up to something. But if I could find out any information at all, it might save someone. Bug maybe. Or even me.

No pain
, my mind whispered again.

No such thing as a free lunch
, another part of me retorted. Why did Tate want to do this? He got off on pain. So offering to make me suffer less made no sense. There had to be something in it for him.

Something I was missing.

But as much as I twisted and turned it in my head, I couldn’t see what that might be, not if he was telling the truth about being able to break the thrall.

“If you agree, I will let your aunt go. As soon as we’re done.”

Careful when you’re dealing with the devil
. Now I was really suspicious. If something looked too good to be true, it probably was. A terrible thought occurred to me. “How do I know she’s still alive?”

Tate pushed his chair back then walked across to the wall that wasn’t decorated with chains. He made a gesture and a panel slid back, revealing three screens.

“Surveillance,” he said briskly. “Room seven.”

I watched the bank of screens carefully as the center one brightened. Bug sat on the bed in another identical room. Maybe the same one as before, I couldn’t tell. She was frowning. In fact, she looked royally pissed. But she was alive. And unhurt as far as I could tell.

Of course, it could be a recording but it was as close to proof as I was going to get. I drank in the sight of her, thought about her walking free out of this nightmare.

And knew I had no choice.

“Do we have a deal?” Tate asked as he darkened the picture with another gesture.

I nodded, wondering if I was about to make the biggest mistake of my life—a potentially fatal mistake. “Yes.”

A strange expression crossed his face. Something not quite greed, not quite lust. Something closer to fulfillment, perhaps. He walked back to me and held out a hand. I took it, holding onto those cold fingers as he drew me over to the bed.

“Now,” Tate said when we were finally standing face to face, so close I could see the pulse in his throat. “Give me your eyes.”

Chapter Thirteen

It was like falling. Like diving into a deep dark chasm.

Weightless. Seductive.

Tate took me over, took me into his control and it was intoxicating. Better than any wine. Better than any drug.

“Ashley?” he said softly.

It was the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard. If I could’ve crawled inside that voice and curled up there for the rest of my life, I would have.

“Yes?” I swayed toward him, breathing in his scent. It didn’t smell like death any more, it smelled like a promise, like an invitation. More alluring than Dan even. . . . I felt my forehead crinkle in a small frown. Better than Dan? That couldn’t be right. For a moment I hesitated but then Tate spoke again and I didn’t have any desire to worry about the wrongness.

“Ashley, come lie down.”

I obeyed silently. Doing what he asked felt oh so right and I smiled with the pleasure of it.

Tate coaxed me out of my clothes. I was happy to oblige. Anything he wanted.
Anything
. Drunk on the nearness of him, I put my hand down between his legs to find him hard and aroused.

I wanted that hardness. Wanted
him
.

He grasped my wrist. “Not that way.”

I pouted. “Why not?”

“There’s something better.” He flicked a thumb over my nipple as he pressed his face into my neck. “Don’t you want me to show you?”

Better than what I was already feeling? It was hard to conceive. Just his brief touch had ignited my skin, bringing me so close to the brink of orgasm that small tremors throbbed between my legs. I arched my hips, impatient. “Show me.”

He laughed softly then moved himself closer beside me, rubbed a finger over my lower lip. “Do you make the gift freely?”

I nodded, eagerness surging through me.

“Do you give yourself to me?” he asked.

I nodded again.

“Then I claim you,” he said hoarsely and he bit me. Not my throat but my breast, mouth closing around my nipple, teeth piercing my skin above and below.

I came, screaming with pleasure stronger than anything I’d ever felt before. Mind blowing waves of sensation, almost too strong to bear. I felt myself slide toward the edge of unconsciousness as he suckled me then buried his fangs deeper.

My mind cleared a little as he moved and I learned the truth about thrall.

That it didn’t take you over completely, at least not when what was being done to you was something you’d never do willingly.

There was a small part of me that was free of Tate. Not enough to move or protest but enough to be aware of what he was doing, of how I was responding to the touch of the thing who had killed my family. That part of me was screaming.