I burned. Everywhere.
My arteries were on fire. It felt like I was being consumed from the inside, cell by smoldering cell.
And I ached like a mofo: my head, my stomach, my joints. Even my fingers and toes hurt. Merely moving my head made me want to throw up.
So I didn’t move.
I lay where I was, even when my muscles cramped. I was so damn hot, my mouth dry as a crypt, but drinking—swallowing—would take energy I didn’t have.
I was dying, and I didn’t care. It seemed…interesting, that’s all. At least on the other side, I wouldn’t hurt anymore.
Something moved.
No, someone. A woman.
I peered up at her, but something had happened to my eyes. I opened them wide, but everything was ghostly gray shadows.
“Mom?”
She didn’t answer me. Agitation squeezed my lungs. Why didn’t she answer me?
Sadness and yearning twisted in my chest. If I hadn’t been lying down, I’d have doubled over. It had been weeks since I’d seen my mom. If I could just hug her one more time, tell her how much she meant to me.
“Love you,” I said. But I was pretty sure my lips didn’t move.
Still, I’d realized something; I did care if I lived or died. There was something I had to do first. I couldn’t die, not yet. Gabriel and Rafe were in danger. If I died, they’d be next—and my mom’s heart would be broken.
I had to stay alive. Had to fight this poison. Had to get well.
I started clawing my way back toward consciousness, but I never made it. Blackness dropped like a boulder onto my brain, slamming me into an endless cavern of midnight.
I was out for a minute. Or maybe a day.
Time had no meaning in the midnight cavern.
The taste of blood dragged me back to consciousness. The salty, life-giving liquid touched my tongue. I instinctively swallowed.
It hurt, to swallow. But the vampire beast said, More.
The craving rose up in me. This is what I wanted, no, needed.
Fresh blood.
I sucked hard. This time, swallowing didn’t hurt so much, and my shrunken stomach didn’t reject the blood like it had the burger and wine. It soaked it up.
The terrible burning eased. Not much, but enough that light entered the darkness.
When I’d drunk my fill, I pried open my eyelids. Reaper’s face swam into view, mouth pressed into a grim line.
I was so relieved I could see again, I didn’t wonder who’d fed me, although I knew it couldn’t be her.
I moistened dry lips. “What happened?” The two words were weak. They rustled in my ears like dead leaves.
I’d promised to do something. Something important. Something having to do with Rafe and Gabriel—but what?
“Never mind.” She smoothed her hand over my eyes, closing them. “Sleep.”
I obeyed.
Another day passed, maybe two. Twice more, I woke to drink from the vein pressed to my mouth, then fell back asleep. My fever spiked and receded, then spiked again. I shivered so hard my teeth chattered.
Then finally, the fever broke. I woke up to find I’d sweated through my T-shirt, and mercifully, my head was clear.
My eyes were gummy with sleep. I blinked and wiped them.
Reaper kneeled to my left, staring down at me like an avenging warrior, eyes gleaming, platinum hair bright in the perpetual dusk of our underground hiding place. No, not a warrior. And definitely not a fairy-like creature.
She was a warrior goddess, a woman who’d stride into battle, sword blazing. A slayer. How had I not seen that before?
Silver glinted. Her switchblade was out, the sharp edge bloody.
I almost felt my chest for a hole.
But the blood wasn’t mine, it was hers. My gaze went to the line she’d cut on her wrist. She hadn’t staked me, she’d fed me. With her own blood.
I stared at her, open-mouthed. “You saved my life,” I said in a scratchy voice.
Her lips pulled sideways. “Don’t thank me. I didn’t do it for you—I did it for me. I need you.”
I nodded because it hurt to speak. Frankly, I didn’t give a flying fuck why she’d fed me. She had, and that’s what counted.
The blood craving dug sharp talons into my belly. Healing from silver poisoning takes tremendous energy.
I turned my gaze to her bloody wrist. “More.” I grabbed her arm and brought it to my mouth without asking.
She went taut. Tension shrieked through her like an off-key violin string.
I sucked harder, afraid she’d shake me off. But she let me drink.
I took another few mouthfuls, then licked her wrist, sealing the punctures my fangs had made. Her skin tasted salty from the blood, and delicately feminine.
She shuddered, and I looked up at her.
Our eyes met and something arced between us. Something hot, sexual. Dark.
It shouldn’t have been possible—not in my battered, dehydrated state—but my dick stirred.
Holding her gaze, I touched my tongue to one of the marks I’d made and licked a line across the tendons of her wrist to the other mark.
Her pupils darkened and expanded until the gray was a bright, thin band around a pool of blackness. Her throat worked, her swallow audible in the small space.
I inhaled, taking her fresh-grass scent into my lungs.
Her lips parted. In the dusky light, they were a soft rose.
I curved my hand around her nape and drew her down to me.
Slowly, so she could escape if she chose.
So she couldn’t tell herself she didn’t want this as much as I did.
When her mouth was an inch from mine, I paused.
Our gazes were still locked. Our breath mingled. Hers was short and choppy, aroused.
I brought her the last inch to me. So fucking hot for her, but knowing I wouldn’t be able to take anything but this kiss.
I licked the seam of her lips. “Kiss me.”
She made a low, needy sound and put her hands on either side of my head. Her mouth opened and she sucked my tongue inside.
I brought my other hand up and ran it down her side, taking in the shape of her body. The indented waist, the slope of her hip.
And then we were kissing. Deep, hungry kisses; a string of them that went on and on. She tasted like blood-wine and woman. I wanted her with everything I had.
We broke the kiss at the same time, but neither of us lifted our head. I kissed her cheek, nuzzled her behind the ear. Inwardly cursing that we couldn’t finish this now.
But we would.
“Tell me your name,” I said against her neck. “Not Reaper. Your real name.”
She pulled back and blinked at me like Sleeping Beauty waking from a spell.
“Tell me.” It was a demand now.
Her eyes widened. “Fuck.” She jerked out of my grip and jumped up.
I rolled onto my side so I could see her. The room spun around me. My stomach churned. I tightened my jaw and focused on breathing.
When the dizzy spell had passed, I propped my head on a hand and studied her. She had an open bottle of blood-wine in her hand. Her chest jerked with agitated breaths.
Up until now, the woman had been mostly stone-faced in our interactions. Cold, professional. But kiss her and she got all kinds of upset.
Interesting.
I must’ve moved my lips because her mouth bent down. “What? What’s so fucking interesting?”
I moved my free shoulder. “Nothing.”
Pale eyes bored into me, but she let it drop. She took a long drink of wine and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
“I’m going out. I have to take care of a few things. I want you to rest. You’re safe here.”
“Where’s here?” I didn’t remember much after the Metro except walking through tombstones, which didn’t make much sense. All I knew was that she’d brought me to some kind of underground bunker.
Now I took in the bunker’s rough stone walls and packed dirt floor. The only light came from a small shaft in the ceiling, although a niche in the wall held an unlit camping lantern. Beneath the lantern was a narrow wood table with Reaper’s wig and some basic supplies. The only other furniture—if you could call it that—was the sleeping bag.
“Père Lachaise Cemetery,” Reaper said. “Under the tomb of the Guilbert family.”
A corner of my mouth twitched. I shouldn’t have had the energy to be amused, but I was. “Your lair is in a cemetery?”
“Yeah.” Her glare dared me to say more.
So I did.
“Do you sleep with your arms folded over your chest, too? And where’s the coffin?” I made a show of looking around.
Her mouth thinned. Then it lifted at the corners, and her eyes crinkled at the edges. “Okay, I guess it is kind of stereotypical.”
Damn. The woman’s grin was lethal.
I pushed up on both my forearms and stared at her. It was like all the light in the room had been drawn to her face, making it glow. But not a supernatural glow. A happy, sunshiny glow that was like a punch to the heart.
“But hey, it works,” she added. “No one knows about my bolt-hole. And whoever the Guilbert family was, the last of the line died over sixty years ago. The graves are on the other side of the wall.” She tapped the stones with her palm. “I did my best not to disturb them.”
“Works.”
“Yep.” She held out the bottle. “Want some wine?”
“No, thanks. I’m good.”
Propping myself on my forearms hadn’t made me dizzy, so I decided to sit up. It wasn’t easy, but I managed it. I took an experimental look around and was pleased when my head didn’t spin. But I felt weak as a kitten. A newborn, eyes-barely-open kitten.
“Okay.” Reaper put the bottle back on the table and smoothed down her T-shirt. It was gray with a picture of a brooding Johnny Cash and the words Outlaw Country beneath. “If you feel up to eating, help yourself to anything you want.”
She shoved her phone and wallet into her pants pockets and tucked a mesh shopping bag into the right front pocket along with the switchblade-size bulge. She grabbed the backpack and headed for the ladder.
My hands shook. I gripped my thighs to hide the trembling. “Wait. When will you be back?”
I hated that my voice had a wobble in it, but right now Reaper was my lifeline. I felt better, yes, but I wasn’t going anywhere for a while. Hell, I probably couldn’t leave even if I wanted to. Not without her help.
“A couple of hours. Maybe more.” She started up the ladder, lithe as a panther.
“Where are you going?” This time it came out as a demand. I was weak and sick and angry at myself for being vulnerable.
“For supplies.” She set her hands on the stone slab above the ladder. It had to be heavy, even for a dhampir, but she lifted and slid it aside with impressive ease. She swung her legs out and turned to look down at me. “Go to sleep, Zaquiel. You need to heal. We’ve already lost too much time.”
“Why? What day is it?”
“July 26. Friday afternoon.” The slab dropped back in place and I was alone in the bolt-hole.
July what—? My mouth went slack. Panicky fingers scrabbled at my spine.
I’d been here three nights?
That’s when things came back to me with a rush. Gabriel and Rafael were in danger from someone—Moreau and Victorine, Slayers, Inc., maybe even my father. Moreau had let me go, but only to stake my father.
I had to get to New York, had to save them.
I tried to stand but couldn’t. My whole body shook, and my legs felt like wet noodles. I couldn’t walk, so I crawled. When I reached the ladder, I dragged myself up the rungs, one by one.
I was halfway up when I lost my grip and slid down a rung. I shoved my arm through the space between two rungs and hung on, breathing hard. The room swooped around me, and my heartbeat boomed in my ears like I’d climbed a fucking cliff instead of the first four rungs of a ladder.
I gritted my teeth and started up again. First the rung I’d slipped on, then the next and the next. I think I knew it was hopeless—I’d never be able to lift the heavy slab—but I had to try.
I reached the top. I braced my feet on the ladder’s rungs and used both my hands to push against the slab. It barely budged. I strained against the rough stone, heart pounding, sweat running down my face.
But I was too weak.
I lost it then, beating on the slab with my fists.
I no longer saw the slab, I saw the faces of the S.O.B.s who’d attacked and tortured me.
I was punching Étan’s face. The faces of the guards who’d fastened me to a wall with no food or blood or sleep. And most of all, Philippe Moreau’s sly rat-face.
The one face I didn’t want to pound to a bloody pulp was Reaper’s. Maybe that was because I had a bad case of Stockholm syndrome, but I didn’t think so. It was because in her own stony-faced way, she was the only straight shooter in the group. Yeah, she might still stake me, but she wouldn’t torture me first. She’d clearly been appalled at how Moreau and his lair had treated me.
The metallic scent of my own blood brought me to my senses. I stopped battering at the slab. I stared at my bloody knuckles, then slumped over the ladder’s top rung, chest jerking.
“Don’t get mad. Get even.” That was my brother Gabriel talking.
“Fuck off,” I told the empty room.
But just like that, I was eleven again at a gathering of local covens with my family. A couple of vampire spawn had pretended to be my friends, but as soon as they had me alone, they’d turned on me and laid into me with their fists. One of them broke my nose.
My big brother had appeared and dragged them off me. He’d pushed my broken nose back into place and stopped me from running to my father.
“He won’t help. He’ll just tell you to toughen up.”
“Yeah. Bastard.” I spat out the word, then shot a guilty look around in case an adult had heard.
“He only wants what’s best for us.” At thirteen, Gabriel had already been a leader; calm, controlled and fucking logical. Sometimes Rafe and I played tricks on him just to see if we could get him to break, but we both looked up to him. I’d have done anything to win Gabriel’s approval.
I fisted my hands. “He thinks I’m too soft, and you know it.”
“I also know he’s wrong.”
Nine-year-old Rafe ran up. “Ew, Zaq. What happened to your nose?”
Gabriel tugged at Rafe’s curly brown hair. Rafe was the pretty one; it was his curse, whereas mine was a soft heart—at least, it was a curse according to my father and his lieutenant Tomas.
“None of your business,” said Gabriel.
Rafe set his mouth and folded thin arms over his chest. “Mom’s going to be pissed off at you for fighting.”
I growled. “Let her be mad.” I started after the spawn.
Gabriel grabbed my arm, pulling me to a halt.
My brain went dark. It was too much after the beating those bastards had given me. I bared my fangs at Gabriel. “Let. Me. Go.”
His good-looking face was serious, his eyes cold beneath his peaked black brows. “Cool down, you ass.”
“Fuck you.” I tried to jerk my arm away, but he held on.
“You want revenge?”
My breath scraped in. I gave a short nod.
“Then don’t get mad. Get even.”
We stared at each other. I looked after the spawn, then back at my brother. His face wore that look, the one that meant he had a plan.
My chest heaved. But I bit. “How?”
“I’ll help!” Rafe bounced on his heels like an eager puppy.
Gabriel considered him, then nodded. “All right. You can be the lookout.”
And we’d gotten even—in a devious, very-Gabriel way. Those spawn had woken the next evening with mice crawling on them. Actually, more than crawling. The mice had been nibbling on them because we’d sprinkled sugar on the two boys while they were sleeping. Trust my brother to know mice have a sweet tooth.
The spawn’s shrieking had woken everyone. They darted out of the room they were sharing, tearing off their clothes, slapping at their bodies, shaking mice out of their pants.
Gabriel, Rafe, and I had come out of our own rooms and laughed with the other kids.
Gabriel grinned at me out of the side of his mouth. “Guess they forgot dhampirs don’t have to sleep all day.”
Now I shook my head, blew out a breath and climbed down the ladder.
I crawled back to the sleeping bag and collapsed on top of it. I let myself lie there for fifteen minutes or so, then made myself get up again, knowing that I needed to eat if I wanted to get better. I vaguely recalled a burger, but Reaper must have finished it herself or tossed it. Probably a good thing, if three days had passed.
I stood up and shuffled to the table, because I was damned if I’d crawl again. I ripped off a small chunk of bread, cut myself a piece of cheese and made my way back to the sleeping bag. I took a cautious bite, washing it down with the wine that Reaper had left near the bag. When that stayed down, I tried another bite. That stayed down, too, and I kept going until I’d finished the small meal.
I lay down on the sleeping bag. Above me the cemetery was quiet except for the rustle of wind in the trees and a pigeon’s mournful coo. Reaper had found an out-of-the-way corner, because I’d been to Lachaise once with my family. It might be a graveyard, but it was also a popular tourist attraction, with thousands of visitors each day.
I rubbed my forehead. The light from the hole in the ceiling had darkened. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the air had that heavy feel it gets when a storm is on the way.
Friday afternoon.
And Moreau had released me on Tuesday.
I’d wasted too much time already, but Reaper had been right to bring me here. I’d been too sick to travel.
I stared down at my hands. They still shook.
I felt frail. Helpless. Ashamed at my loss of control. But it had served its purpose.
I was furious at Moreau and Étan and Slayers, Inc. and whoever else was behind this, and that was good. I could ride that anger, use its strength. But I couldn’t let it control me. That would be suicide, and it wouldn’t help my brothers, either.
So for now, I’d focus on getting well enough to travel. Do whatever it took to unravel this mess and save Gabriel and Rafe.
And then I’d get even. Because the people behind this were going down. Starting with Philippe Moreau.
Everyone except for Reaper. Her, I was going to keep.