Broken Heart 09 Only Lycans Need Apply (11 page)

Drake

L
eaving a werewolf for dead without checking to make sure you had killed him was a sign of arrogance—or stupidity. It didn’t hurt that my parents were immortals, which meant I was not just a werewolf. I was a demigod. It was nearly impossible to kill me. But most of parakind didn’t know the royal triplets had immortal blood.

Waking up in the sewer did not improve my mood.

If the vampire I’d tracked hadn’t been joined by three other friends, I would not have been taken. The number of vampires attacking and one lucky fucking punch had been enough to drop me.

I suppose I should have been grateful that the bastards didn’t try to eat me. Vampires who lived outside of Queen Patsy’s rule or who refused friendship with the Consortium had no compunction about feasting on other paranormals.

Apparently they just didn’t have the time to enjoy werewolf blood.

The stench was awful. I suppose I also should have been grateful I had landed on the wide concrete slab next to the brackish river of human waste instead of actually in the sewer water.

I sat up, cursing my throbbing head and my still healing body.

I knew Moira was in trouble. Or would be. I didn’t know how much time had been lost. I felt my pockets and realized the vampires had relieved me of my wallet and my cell phone. Damn it. I was still playing
Bejeweled
and had just gotten my playlists organized.

As I got to my feet, I felt a sharp pain rip through my side. I looked down at my ragged T-shirt and saw that a slash of bloody skin was still knitting together.

Oh, great. I’d been stabbed.

And I really liked this shirt.

A few feet above me, I saw the manhole cover. I eyed the ladder leading up to it, took a deep breath, and went for it. Moving up the rungs hurt like a bitch, but I knew from experience that I would heal and the pain would recede.

But I couldn’t run around the human world looking like I’d just been killed and tossed into the sewer. I was near the academic parking lot, and I noted that Moira’s red Mercedes was gone. So, she had gotten away while I got my ass handed to me. Good.

I needed to change clothes and get to a phone.

It was time to call in the paranormal cavalry.

Moira

I
woke up to a throbbing headache, an aching jaw, and a numb ass.

It took me a minute to realize I was tied to a very uncomfortable chair. My arms were pinned behind the plastic contraption, my wrists chafed by thick rope.

How long had I been out?

And where the hell was I?

My jaw hurt.
A lot.
Pain zigzagged across my cheek and down my neck. Jeez. Even my eyelashes hurt. An electric lantern emitted a creepy green glow from a nearby table. The light didn’t do much to dispel the darkness around me, but the room felt large. I could practically taste the dust that indicated years of disuse, and smell the staleness of the air. The atmosphere reminded me of how it felt to enter a newly discovered tomb that had lain unopened for millennia.

Not a good analogy.

“So much for getting rescued,” said a familiar voice.

I looked to my left. Dove was about three feet away, also tied to a chair. Relief flooded through me. Despite her apparent bravado, I saw the terror lurking in her gaze. She wore a corset and those horrible shoes. Her hair was ratty, and a bruise shadowed her jaw. It seemed Karn and his minions liked to hit women. Assholes.

On the upside, Dove was alive.

“I’m here, aren’t I? Happy rescue!” I pulled against the ropes, but realized very quickly that wiggling free was not an option. I stopped struggling, deciding it was wiser to conserve my energy. I glanced at Dove. “I’m ready to reconsider your theory about vampires.”

“It only took meeting one to change your mind.” She blew out a breath. “Any ideas about getting out of here?”

“Not really,” I said. Why had we been kidnapped? What did Karn want with us? Panic started to edge through the pain. My jaw throbbed endlessly. Oh, what I wouldn’t give for some ibuprofen and a tequila shooter. “Do you know where ‘here’ is?”

“I think we might still be on the college grounds,” she said. “They snatched me outside the dorm rooms and tossed me into the trunk of a car. I was screaming at the top of my lungs, and Scarface hit me. I blacked out.” She paused, then continued. “I managed to get my wrists free and when he opened the trunk, I went right for his undead eyes. So he popped me again.

“When I came to they were carrying me toward the building. It’s the same brickwork as all the campus buildings, but I didn’t recognize the location. I heard them say there wasn’t any electricity . . . and it smells like a tomb in here.”

Dove had reached the same conclusions I had. If we were still on campus . . . oh, crap. There was only one building at the college that was never used, had no reason to be hooked up to the power grid, and would have the dust of the ages in it.

“Shit.” My eyes were starting to adjust to the darkness. “We’re in Building A.”

Dove’s eyes went wide. She looked around, as though she might see the rumored ghost. “Some teacher was killed here, right? And people hear her screams.” She frowned.

“I’ve heard her screams,” I said softly.

“You heard . . .” Dove trailed off and stared at me. “You believe in ghosts?”

“Maybe. I’ve recently had to adjust my skepticism scale.”

“When did you hear these screams?”

Almost thirty years ago. I was five at the time . . . only I think I was the one screaming. I shrugged. “I avoid this building like it’s stacked with plague-filled mummies.”

“What’s going on, Moira? What do you know about this ghost?”

“Not the ghost,” I said. “The woman who was killed. The teacher.” I blew out a breath, and felt chills zip down my spine. “Regina Noreen Jameson.” I looked at Dove. “My mother.”

“Your
mother
?” Dove’s mouth dropped open. “What about the whole story about your mom dying in a car accident?”

“My grandfather used his influence and money to cover up the situation, okay? It was 1978. There wasn’t
CSI
or DNA or even
TMZ
. The college was even smaller then, and only my grandparents and the groundskeeper who found us knew what happened.”

“Us? You were there when your mom was killed?”

A red wave of anguish and fury washed over me, momentarily robbing me of speech and sight. The meds were doing their work, obviously. Because I was still coherent and could control those waves of twisted emotion. But damn! Leave it to Dove to catch such a small slip of the tongue. Amid our current drama, being snatched, tied up, and left to mull about our fates . . . it hardly seemed the place and time to let my past suffocate me. Still. A familiar ache clutched my chest and made my lungs squeeze. I had been five, old enough to remember her. That she liked blue and strawberries and laughing. She smelled liked roses. She liked to sing, even though she was horrible at it. And getting a hug from her was like being wrapped in cashmere.

“What happened, Moira?”

“Yes,” said the smarmy voice of Karn. “Do tell.”

“Fuck you,” I said.

“Such language from a lady.” His minions had followed him into the room. They stayed behind him, on either side, forming a triangle of vampiric evil. “Do you miss your mummy, Dr. Jameson?”

“Are you going to miss your balls?” I asked. “Because I have every intention of removing them.”

“You’re delightful,” he said in a tone that suggested I was the exact opposite. His gaze flickered over Dove. “I really don’t see the point to having you around anymore.”

“Don’t touch her,” I said in a low voice. “If you hope to get even an ounce of cooperation from me, you’ll leave her alone.”

Karn’s gaze swung toward me, and he studied me for a long, quiet moment. “I believe you, Dr. Jameson. Your stubbornness is well known. And I also believe that if I killed your darling Dove, you’d find a way to escape, or die, rather than help me.” He cocked his head, his gaze filled with the same kind of excited fascination a scientist might have for a particularly successful experiment. “If you give me any trouble, I will hurt her. And I know a lot about pain. I spent a lifetime mastering the art of torture.”

Fear pulsed within me, so much so that it nearly negated the pain. Sweat dripped down my temples and slicked my throat. “When this whole thing is over, and you have whatever it is . . . then what?”

“I’ll let you go.”

“Liar,” said Miss I Have No Decorum.

“We’re vampires,” he said, flashing his fangs at us. “We can make you forget you ever saw us. There’s no reason to kill you.”

“If you have glamour,” said Dove, staring daggers at Karn because, apparently, she didn’t enjoy breathing. “Why aren’t you using it? You could
make
us help you.”

“You know everything about vampires, do you?” he asked. He looked like he might be reconsidering his decision to let Dove live. “Glamour is overrated. It’s better to gain cooperation the old-fashioned way.”

Something about his tone set off my bullshit radar. No one did things the hard way unless they had to . . . so why didn’t Karn use glamour? Wouldn’t you use a valuable tool such as the ability to make people do as you wished? I was an archaeologist. If I had a tool that could help me uncover the historical treasures on a site faster, without any harm to the location or the objects . . . why would I get out the brushes and tweezers?

Dove opened her mouth again, probably to comment on Karn’s IQ or perhaps just say something snarky about his fangs—and I hissed, “Shut up!”

She pressed her lips together, and her eyebrows dipped into one of her patented frowns, but the girl stopped talking.

Karn offered me one of his thin-bladed smiles. “I don’t know how you put up with her.”

I said nothing, offering only a half shrug. He didn’t seem to care that I didn’t want to engage with him. He was the coldest man I’d ever met. Were all vampires like him?

“We only have a few hours before dawn,” said Mr. English Vampire.

“I only need a few minutes. But you are correct. Getting off the campus is wise,” said Karn. “If that bitch mermaid alerted anyone to our presence, we may have to deal with unwanted visitors.”

“Mermaid?” asked Dove.

“Oh, yeah,” I said. “Doriana is apparently a creature of the sea.”

Dove stared at me to gauge my seriousness, and then she nodded. “That actually explains a lot.”

“You two do natter on,” said Karn. “Gag them, and then make sure their bonds are secure.”

A god-awful shriek filled the room. The sound was so sudden, so horrific, we were all startled by it . . . even the vampires. My skin prickled with unease, and even stoic Dove looked unnerved.

The vampires’ expressions turned wary, and they spread out, apparently looking around for the source of the tortured wails. I couldn’t see well beyond the creepy green glow of the electric lantern, but I wondered how well vampires could see. One of their supposed powers was excellent vision
. The better to hunt you with, my pretty.

The screams were loud and endless.

As one faded, another would rise.

The shrieks made my skin crawl. I didn’t have the luxury of putting my hands over my ears, and I could see that Dove might have been wishing for the same ability. Instead, we endured the tormented cries because we had no choice.

The temperature plummeted. Jeez! It felt like someone had turned the air-conditioning to an Arctic setting. I could see little clouds form as I puffed out panicked breaths. I glanced at Dove; she looked like she was struggling to maintain her composure.

I swallowed the knot in my throat. I could no longer dismiss the idea of ghosts as ludicrous. I’d met three vampires and a mermaid tonight. And hey, what was a visit from the spirit world on top of that three-layer hell cake? Still . . . I couldn’t fathom the idea of hearing—much less seeing—the ethereal form of my murdered mother.

A memory flickered. It was so rare for me to think about those times, about what had happened. My grandfather had been the buoy in a raging, bloody sea. I remembered him, and all that he did for me, but before that . . . it was a dull gray area. The color bled away and all that remained was the dark.

And yet, I remembered her. Snippets, really. Just enough to remember the shadows of grief, and just enough to miss her. Only her. I had never known my father.

I didn’t want to remember now. I’d spent nearly three decades not thinking about my mother.

But the memory was insistent, and it unfurled like a sail propelled by the wind. I could not stop it. Dodge it. Brush it away. I had to ride it out, all the way. And damn it all, I could only watch . . .

•   •   •

I’m lying in a bed, cowering under a thick comforter. The lights are on in the room, because the darkness scares me. I am in my grandparents’ bedroom. I do not feel safe. I will never feel safe again.

My gaze is riveted on the open door, on the shadows on the wall that echo the people standing in the hallway.

Two shadows.

Grandfather. And the nice man with eyes like shiny nickels.