Page 9
Screams carried into the drawing room of an opulent Berkshires estate, the howls of anguish emanating down from a windowed attic room on the third floor of the manor house. The chamber boasted a wraparound wall of windows with unobstructed views of the wooded valley below.
No doubt the scenery was breathtaking, bathed in the day's last searing rays of sunlight.
The vampire being held upstairs by Minion guards certainly sounded impressed. He'd been treated to a front row seat of the UV spectacle for the past twenty-seven minutes and counting. More screams poured down the central staircase, agony giving way to the weariness of sobs.
With a bored sigh, Marek rose from a fine Louis XVI wing chair and crossed the room to the double doors of his dimly lit private suite. Other than the attic interrogation room, the rest of the mansion's windows were shaded for the day by sun-blocking electronic blinds.
Marek moved freely into the hall outside and summoned one of his Minion attendants who waited to serve him. At Marek's nod, the human dashed up the staircase to instruct the others that their Master was on the way and to ensure the windows were covered for his arrival.
It took only a moment for the captive vampire's bleating to dry up. Marek climbed the wide marble steps, up and around to the second floor, then up and around again, to the smaller flight of stairs that rose to the attic. As he progressed, fury kindled to life in him again.
This was only one of several frustratingly exhaustive interrogations of the vampire in his custody the past couple of weeks. Torture was amusing, but rarely effective.
There was little amusing about the day's developments back in Boston. The Minion courier dispatched to obtain an important overnight delivery for him had instead turned up at the city morgue--a John Doe stabbing victim, according to Marek's contact in the coroner's office. As he was killed in broad daylight, that ruled out the Order or any other Breed intervention, but Marek still had his suspicions.
And he was very interested to learn that the package he'd been expecting had gone missing from the FedEx store that very day. The loss was serious, but he intended to reclaim it. When he did, he would take great pleasure in personally questioning the thief who had it.
Up ahead, at the top of the attic stairwell, one of the Minions on guard opened the door to permit Marek entry into the now-darkened room. The vampire was naked, strapped to a chair by chain links and steel shackles at each ankle and wrist. His skin was smoking from head-to-toe burns, emitting the sickly sweet odors of sweat and badly seared flesh.
Enjoy the view? Marek asked as he strolled in and looked on the male with revulsion. A pity it's still winter. I understand the colors up here are amazing in the fall.
The vampire's head was dropped low on his chest, and when he tried to speak, the sound was nothing more than a sputtered rasp in the back of his throat.
Are you ready to tell me what I need to know?
A pitiful moan slipped past the male's blistered, swollen lips. Marek crouched down before his captive, offended by both the stench and sight of him. No one would know that you broke. I can give you that, if you cooperate with me now. I can send you away to heal, ensure your protection. That's easily within my power. Do you understand?
The vampire whimpered, and Marek sensed a possible teetering of conviction in the pained sound. He had no intention of making good on the lies he fed his captive. They were merely tools meant to bend him where torture and suffering had not.
Speak it, and be free of this, he coaxed, his tone quiet and unhurried despite the urgent greed swimming in him to have the answer. Tell me where he is.
There was an audible click of the prisoner's throat as he attempted to swallow, a vague tremor in his head as he struggled to lift it from its slump on his ravaged chest. Marek waited, eager with hope and uncaring that the Minions standing around him could probably feel that hope vibrating off him.
Tell me now. You don't need to carry this burden any longer.
A hiss began to leak from between the vampire's lips, a drawn-out, rattling exhalation. A shudder overtook him, but he gathered himself and tried again, expelling the start of his confession at last.
Marek felt his eyes widen in anticipation, his own breath ceasing as he waited for the words that would begin his destiny.
Ffff. . . One eye peeled open just a crack behind the vampire's seared lids. The iris was bright amber from the prolonged suffering, the pupil a thin slit of black that found Marek's own gaze and burned into him with hatred. The captive drew in a breath, then spat it out on a low growl. "Fff. . . fuck. . . you. "
With an utter calm that belied the storm of rage that swept instantly to life inside him, Marek rose and began a deliberate stroll toward the attic stairs.
Open the blinds, he instructed the Minion guards. Leave this worthless offal to the sun. If he doesn't perish by the time it sets, let him bake up here with the dawn.
Marek quit the room, not so much as flinching when the first terrorized screams cranked up again in his wake.
Chapter Nine
As the last few minutes of day passed into dusk, Tegan gathered up the book and his weapons, then reached for his dark coat. Elise had spent the past hour or more--since the moment she'd handed the FedEx package over to him--watching him pore intensely over every page of the text while she worked up the nerve to ask him again about helping her become more involved in the war against the Rogues. Now, as he shrugged into the black leather trench coat, she sensed it was her final chance.
Tegan. . . I hope the book proves useful.
It will. Striking green eyes flicked to her, but she could see that his mind was churning on the new information in his hands. He blinked and it was as if he had dismissed her entirely now, was itching to get away from her. You have the Order's gratitude for this.
What about yours?
Mine? When he paused, scowling, Elise said, It's not so much to ask, is it? You're the only one who can help me deal with this. . . flaw of mine. Teach me how to mute it, how not to feel. I can be an asset to you and to the Order. I want to help.
His answering look scathed her with its sharp edge. I work alone. And you don't know what you're asking for. Besides, we've already covered this ground.
I can learn. I want to learn. Please, Tegan. I need to learn.
And you think I'm the one to help you?
I think you're my only hope.
He scoffed at that, shaking his head. When he moved away from her, Elise marched toward him, undaunted, as if she could physically keep him from leaving. She caught herself a mere hairbreadth from contact, and let her hand fall to her side. Don't you think I'd go to someone else--anyone else--if I could?
He was silent for a moment, considering, she hoped. But then he exhaled a curse and reached for the door. I gave you my answer.
And I gave you that journal. That's worth something, isn't it?
He barked out a cutting laugh and whirled back on her. You seem to think we're negotiating here. We are not.
If that book contains insight into current dealings with the Rogues, I'm sure the Darkhavens would be just as interested in it as you are. All it would take is a single call to any of my husband's Enforcement Agency connections and I could have the Order's compound swamped with agents within the hour.
It was true. Quentin's rank within the Agency had been at the highest level, and as his widow, Elise's own political status was considerable. She personally knew a great deal of influential Darkhaven inpiduals. Quentin's name alone would open ten times as many doors if she felt the need to use it.
Tegan didn't need her to explain that fact. Anger flared in his normally icy gaze, the first hint of emotion she'd seen in him.
Now you're threatening me. His brittle chuckle put a knot of fear in her throat. Female, I give you fair warning: you are playing with fire.
Elise's skin went tight with anxiety, but she couldn't back down.
For too long, she had been kept in a neat little box, coddled and protected. And if it meant stoking the temper of a warrior--even a lethal Gen One like Tegan--in order to help her break out of that box, then she would simply have to brave it and pray she would come out the other side in one piece.
Whether you approve or not, I am part of this war. I didn't go looking for it; the Rogues brought it to my door when Camden died. All I'm asking is that you show me how to be more effective. I should think the Order would welcome any allies they can get.
This isn't about the Order and you know it. This is about revenge, an eye for an eye. Your emotions have been on a hard boil ever since you watched your Rogue son get smoked in front of your eyes.
Tegan's harsh words cut into her like glass, the reality of what he said like acid poured into the wounds.
It's about justice, she told him sharply. I need to make this right! Damn it, Tegan, do I have to beg you?
She shouldn't have touched him. She'd been so desperate to make her point that before she could stop herself, she had reached out and put her hand on his arm. Tegan's hard muscles flexed beneath her fingertips, going as tense as the expression on his unreadable face.
He didn't snatch his arm away from her touch, but his cold green eyes flicked past her to the stereo that was playing in the background. It went silent on his mental command. In the resulting quiet, the dark stirrings of Elise's psychic talent began to wake.
Voices swelled in her mind, and from the piercing glint of Tegan's gaze, which fixed on her now in stony, watchful purpose, she knew that he was reading every nuance of her distress. He was absorbing it, she realized, feeling him siphon in her reaction through the point where their skin touched.
Elise fought the awful storm that battered her mind, but the voices were growing louder. She nearly staggered from the obscenity and corruption that filled her head.
Tegan merely watched her as he might study an insect under glass.
Damn him, but he was enjoying this, driving home his point with each passing second of emotional assault that she tried to endure. As their eyes locked, Elise began to understand that he was somehow controlling the painful barrage that was beating at her skull. He was amplifying the input in much the same way that he was able to mute the music and television.
My God, she gasped. You are so cruel.
He didn't even try to deny it. Expressionless, maddeningly stoic, he broke contact with her and stood in silent contemplation as she backed away from him, more wounded than she cared to let him see.
Lesson number one, he murmured coldly. Don't count on me for anything. I will only let you down. He was a prick and a bastard, but it would have been less than honest of him to let Elise think any differently. Leaving her looking at him from across the small apartment, her gaze stung and despising, Tegan headed out into the hallway to make his escape.
Maybe he should feel guilty for treating her so roughly but he frankly didn't need the hassle. And she was far better off looking to someone else for whatever she needed. He hoped to hell she would.
With the book held against him under his coat, Tegan's pace was brisk as he walked out into the dark night. Curiosity made him cut along a side street, then up onto the one that would take him past the FedEx store. Elise's description of the Minion and all that had transpired there had been informative, but part of him wondered if he'd find out anything more if he went by and questioned the clerk himself.
Not a hundred feet from the place, he realized he wasn't the only one interested in checking things out, and he'd gotten there too late.
Tegan smelled fresh spilled blood. A lot of it. The store was dark inside, but Tegan could see the motionless body of a clerk lying behind the counter. The Rogues had already been there. On a closed-circuit monitor in the corner, a single frame from a video feed was frozen onscreen. It was a blurry but recognizable shot of Elise, caught in mid-motion, the package in her hands.
Damn it.
And right about now, the Rogues who'd been there were no doubt scouring the area looking for her.
Tegan turned around and hauled ass back to her apartment building, using all the preternatural speed at his disposal. He banged on her door, cursing the blare of music likely drowning him out.
Elise! Open the door.
He was just about to throw the locks and barge inside when he heard her on the other side. She opened the door only a crack, glaring at him. Before she could tell him to fuck off like he deserved, he pushed her back inside with the bulk of his body and slammed the door shut.
Get your coat and boots. Now.
What?
Do it!
She flinched at his barked command, but she held her ground. If you think I'm going to let you send me back--
Rogues, Elise. He saw no reason to pretty the situation up for her. They just killed the clerk at the FedEx store. Now they're looking for you. We don't have much time. Get your things.
She blanched white at the news, but blinked at him like she didn't quite trust him--which made good sense, since he'd given her no reason to think she could. Especially after what he did to her not a few minutes ago.
I have to get you out of here, he told her when she hesitated another second. Now.
She nodded, grave acceptance in the pale amethyst of her eyes. Okay.
It took her no time to grab a wool coat and shove her feet into a pair of boots. On her way to the door with him, she suddenly doubled back. Wait. I'm going to need a weapon.
Tegan took two strides in and caught her by the wrist. I'll protect you. Come on.
They hurried out of the apartment--only to find a Rogue peering through the glass of the building entrance, its feral eyes glowing amber as it locked on to them in the narrow hallway. It curled back bloodstained lips and snarled something over its thick shoulder, no doubt calling in reinforcements from the street.
Oh, my God, Elise gasped. Tegan--
Get back inside. He pushed the book he was carrying into her hands and shoved her back toward her apartment. Stay in there until I come for you. Bolt the door.