Coldstorm (Heart of a Vampire, Book 7) (31 page)

Her aura throbbed with dark intents. Vampiric red had dulled and faded as it twined tightly with a spiraling, barbed madness. In the center, where the girl's soul should reside, lay a glistening knot of pulsing black.

The mistress of the Rogues.

Liza Báthory, supposedly the hidden child of the Countess and one of her vampire lovers.

While it was hard to think such a thing could be kept secret after so many centuries, the idea wasn't entirely unbelievable.

"Hello. Pretty new pet." The girl's soft musical voice rang with childish laughter.

The spell prevented Anca from speaking. Probably for the best at the moment, with the rage building inside of her. Anything that came out of her mouth right now would be uncontrolled. And most likely get her, others, in trouble.

So she studied the room, horror crimping her heart.

The only pinpoint of relief in it all was not seeing Robby on display.

The Rogues, if they'd hurt the boy, would have gladly strung him up for display along with the others. Behind the throne, more bruised, beaten and tortured people dangled against the wall, wrists chained above their heads, spotlighted like guests of honor. Or the crazed child's broken toys.

A clan vampire sat in front of one of the only females chained in the room.

Anca's gaze zeroed in on the sitting guard, Leo. The woman chained behind him could almost pass for his twin, with her corn-blonde hair and light colored eyes.

Luci hung naked except for a narrow strip of cloth around her groin and hips.

And on every inch of her skin, from neck to waist, shoulder to wrist, and thigh to ankle, bites—vampire and other creatures—violently marked her flesh.

Leo stared at Anca with a blank gaze. Under the spell of the siren song? Or perhaps the glassiness in his eyes was shock at seeing his sister in this state.

The two other prisoners behind the throne were males of varying ages and stages of torture.

The man to the far right opened his eyes. Stared straight at Anca.

She almost gasped, almost felt her eyes widen, but held her reaction behind the comfortable familiarity of neutrality.

The man, with his black hair and pale features that shouted Celt, was familiar.

Tobias Brighton. Another Judge for the Magic Council.

Brighton had disappeared from an assignment about two months ago.

A few things clicked in place.

Because he'd disappeared near the Greek isles. Right around where the Rogues could have found themselves a siren or two.

The child giggled lightly. "Do you recognize one of my prizes? The two of you will be a matching set." She sing-songed under her breath with a sweet musical lilt, "Judges for pets, Judges for pets. A matching pair of Judges for pets."

Anca clawed for any idea of how she could break the spell clamped tight around her. There had to be a way to get free. To take this Rogue and her people down.

The girl smiled. Her attempt at projecting innocence fell flat alongside her maddened eyes and the thick red lipstick smeared over her mouth and chin like blood. A wash of angry hate filled her soulless gaze. "I get ahead of myself." She slid off the too-big-for-her throne. Light on her feet, the girl gave a regal curtsy. "Let us properly introduce ourselves, shall we? I am Lady Eliza Báthory. Daughter to the legendary Countess herself."

Legendary murdering nutcase.

Like mother like daughter?

With dainty steps, the girl skipped from her throne to the back wall, stopping beside Luci. Eliza slid a finger along some of the wounds across the woman's stomach.

Luci shivered, moaning pitifully as she tried to pull away from the touch.

The girl spun, hands on her hips, looking at Anca with a syrupy sweet smile. "And who are you?" Eliza waved a hand.

The tightness around Anca's head disappeared.

Finally able to willingly move—at least part of her own damn body—she turned her head side to side, licked her lips. With a smile just as saccharine as the child's, Anca replied, "Amazing you don't already know."

The girl raised a small delicate brow. "Oh? I do, I do. But I want to see how my new pet acts. Do you speak the truth or tell lies?" She pointed at one of the people dangling from the walls behind Anca. "He was a liar liar pants on fire." The girl giggled, then added, "Now he doesn't have a tongue. It was yummy."

With at least part of herself once more under her control, Anca tore at the edges of magic. This time, perhaps because the spell was less complete, she felt a tiny, almost imperceptible give.

The earth spirits clinging to her flickered a little brighter.

To buy some time, Anca asked, "How could you not only capture, but hold and control more than one siren?"

The thick, dark red surrounding Eliza's irises darkened with glee. "You've never met
anyone
as strong as me." The tangled knot of slimy black in the center of her aura pulsated excitedly.

"I doubt that."

With a sneer, the girl stomped to her throne and threw herself across the seat. "Tell me your name."

"How are you controlling more than one siren?" Anca shoved harder at the spell, trying anything, everything she could think of, no matter how useless or desperate it might seem.

She had to get free.

People were depending on her for help. Depending on her strength.

The same strength caught and trapped and unresponsive right now.

Eliza's eyes flashed ruby. Her fangs lengthened. "I am the one who asks questions here. Tell me your name."

Anca remained silent.

The edges of the spell tightened once more, stealing the little control she'd managed to find. Again, her body locked tight. She could no longer speak, move, not willingly.

As if changing expressions as easily as her clothes, Eliza's childishness disappeared, replaced by the heavy weight of age.

And perhaps some not-quite-completely-insane cunning as well. Her lips twitched, like any second she'd start mumbling, but no sounds rose. Then she blinked and grinned, a hungry predator with an idea.

She sat up. Snapped her fingers.

To the right, from a door hidden behind the wall of curtains, strode a tall, wide man. Muscle piled on muscle, it was any wonder he could move at all.

Vampire, like the girl.

Unbelievably strong.

The half-breed lieutenant.

But what the hell was his other half?

Even in person, his crimson-flecked aura refused to tell her. By his looks, perhaps it was troll or giant.

If so, Anca was in even more trouble than she'd counted on.

Because both of those kind of Arcaine were resistant to earth magics like hers.

Which meant she was facing a Master and lieutenant, both able to defend themselves against Anca's strongest powers. Assuming she could even connect to her Romani magic after she figured out how to get free.

"Oliver," Eliza said softly. "Show the new pet what happens to those who don't follow orders."

The way the man looked at the child gave Anca the chills. It was creepy to say the least, even knowing Eliza wasn't the young girl she appeared.

With hulking steps, Oliver strode to the Judge shackled behind the throne.

Before Anca could do anything, the siren spell locked her gaze wide open and unblinking.

Oliver grabbed the Judge by the neck, and without any apparent effort, lifted Brighton to dangle a few feet off the ground. The giant vampire drew his free hand back, then plowed his fist in the Judge's stomach, ripping through skin and guts.

Brighton's strangled cries of agony echoed through the room.

Oliver swiveled his head and stared at Anca with a promise that it would soon be her.

He jerked out a handful of Brighton's flesh and threw it on the ground. Grinning at her, the giant opened his paw-like hand and let the Judge fall.

With excruciating screams, Brighton's feet hit the floor. The spreading pool of his own slick blood. Slid out from under him.

His shoulders popped. His screams turned excruciating.

Brighton dangled from the chains, arms at awkward, out of joint angles, slumped over, but unable to find relief in unconsciousness.

E
liza Báthory stared at the blood with growing hunger, all traces of youth and innocence long fled. "Shall I tell Oliver it should be your turn?" With another wave of the girl's hand, the spell unlocked from Anca's head and voice once more.

This time, Anca caught a deeper, more thorough feel for the magic. She dipped her chin, as if considering an answer to the child's question.

Instead, she stole time to take the small glimpse into her every sense, examining the spell closely.

Siren.

Vampire.

Sorceress.

And a darker magic, one Anca shied away from. She didn't need to examine evil to know it for what it was.

But the rest...

Something was off with the siren's spell.

She struggled to pinpoint it.

Eliza cleared her throat. "I have limited patience, and you've used about all you're going to get."

"I'll pass on taking a turn with your brute. What kind of damned creature is he, anyway?"

Oliver shot her a glare, but Anca kept her attention on Eliza.

The girl giggled absently. "Oh, you don't need to worry about that. We have more important things to discuss."

"Like?"

What was off about the siren magic?

Anca had a feeling she was missing something. A key piece of information she should be understanding. Critical information she needed. She had to buy time to figure it out. If that meant getting smacked around a bit, so be it. She doubted the girl would go too far.

At least, not quite yet.

Unless she lost her temper...

Anca quit thinking about it and focused once again on the spell.

Eliza's smile eased. The hint of predator remained. "We'll start with something easy. For now. Tell me your name."

Drawing out the silence as long as she dared, Anca gave the girl only a miniscule part of her attention.

She would figure this magic out, before it damn well killed her.

***

M
att battled against the never-ending blank whiteness in his head. He raged against the sweet song blocking out everything around him. Anca, where was she?

At the thought of her, the haziness in his mind broke a little. Thoughts came, random, slowly growing clearer.

His gut twisted sourly.

He'd been caught.

His entire being taken over by another.

Was this what it would have been like for Moss Creek if the siren hadn't been killed? The idea made him shudder.

But the siren was dead.

What other magic could take over one's complete will so easily?

And where was Anca?

The only sounds he heard were his own muted bootsteps.

He fought the seducing—controlling—song of magic.

It felt useless.

How could one such as him, so mundane, ever fight something so powerful?

Whispers rose in his mind, echoing the hopeless thoughts. The song grew louder, its heady beat faster.

He raged against it.

He refused to give up.

Anca. And Robby. Leo and his sister. His clan, his King, on their way.

Matt's vision faded from the cold white, allowing in a pinprick of dark gray rock. A second later, the white crept back over his entire being.

Inside him, came a pulsing beat. One accompanied by the whisper of cherry blossoms, the taste of wild heat. Something clicked.

This time, instead of fighting, he fell back on years, centuries, of different training. Muscle by muscle he relaxed his body. Not his thoughts, or the lingering memory of Anca. Those he clutched tight.

He found his center. The voices of his many teachers, the monks he'd studied with, filled him with strength. Thoughts of Anca spurred him on. His blood warmed, his nerves snapped with fiery fury, with power and conviction. If only for her, he would beat this damned thing.

Matt had to admit he couldn't force his way out of this magical spell.

But perhaps, just perhaps, he could use other skills to get free.

Allowing himself to fall into the pushing memory of being with Anca, of the way it felt in her embrace, the way it had felt when that strange, unignorable, connection between them had opened wide. Sinking into the memories of Anca, Matt slipped toward a meditative state.

Fear of failure, of the lives resting on him, nearly overwhelmed him.

But above the song still buzzing around his head, he heard a different voice.

Anca's voice.

And suddenly, the song cut off.

Silence rushed through him.

His vision cleared.

His mind, his body, were his own again.

In front of him, the tunnel opened up into a wide dungeon area, with bars blocking a row of cells.

And right inside, three large men stood near a table—two vampires and a wolf by the stench, the snapping red and blue eyes. Matt's arrival had pulled them from a poker game.

They didn't approach, and Matt realized they assumed he was still being controlled by the siren. So he gave them what he figured they'd expect and continued walking toward them.

From the second cell in the room, a pale white face stared at Matt in horror.

Robby.

Safe.

Shoulders slumping, the kid shook his head. "Not you too. How'd they get someone strong as you?" Despair filled his voice, mixing with a dawning hopelessness.

Matt forced himself to ignore the boy.

Harder to ignore was the wolf guard, laughing at the kid. "We told you rescue was impossible. No one can save you from our Mistress."

Abruptly, Robby fell to his ass, on the ground, and buried his face in his hands, his entire body shaking.

The taller vampire crossed to the wall on the right, opening an electric panel of switches. "Since this new prisoner is your friend and all, we'll let him join you."

The guard flipped one of the switches. With a low hum and a pop of magic, the bars in front of the kid slowly rose into the ceiling.

Robby didn't move.

None of the guards appeared concerned either of them might run.