Hunted, The Complete Edition: A Full-length Steamy Vampire Romance (New England Nightwalkers) (16 page)

"I'm not saying for good, Zara. I'm in the process of working on a way for me to break away from them mentally and have no connection with my maker. That way I can help you hide. You can start fresh. Have a whole new life where you're not constantly looking over your shoulder." He wasn't the sort of man to plead, but she could sense the quiet desperation in him. "Until that happens, you'll never be safe. But once we get you settled in, I swear, I'll leave and never darken your door again if that’s what you want."

Why the thought made her feel so cold inside, she refused to think about. Instead, she focused on the rest of it.

"So you're saying I can never go home again? What about my house? And my job and my friends?"

Okay, so maybe her house wasn't a mansion like his. And maybe she only had one real friend. And her job wasn't something glamorous or miraculous, but it was still hers. She wasn't giving it all up without a fight.

And she wasn’t leaving Cape Cod until she’d found a way to make Ezekiel pay for what he’d done to her father.

In her heart of hearts, though, she knew, whether she stayed or went, nothing in her life would ever be the same. The fact was, she knew things now that she could never un-know. She couldn't go back to normal ever again, even if Gabriel did manage to keep his word and relocate her safely.

Two days ago, she'd been able to sleep undisturbed because she thought she knew the world around her. Now, everything had changed. Like a flashlight had been shined down on the darkness that was her closet, and she had seen all the things that went bump in the night.

"How many?" she asked softly.

"How many what?" he asked, wrinkling his brow.

"Of your kind." She practically spat the words, but he answered softly anyway.

"Tens of thousands. Dozens here in the Cape, hundreds more in this state."

Her head spun as she reeled with that truth bomb.

Holy shit.

Had her father suspected that? And if so, why had he even bothered trying to hunt them? Seemed an impossible task.

"So tell me how it works. Are the old tales and horror movies right? Can you only go out at night? Do you turn into bats when no one is looking?"

A sad little half-smile tugged at his lips before it faded. "No bats. And we are averse to sunlight. That said, we've evolved and certain vaccines of sorts have helped us with a lot of the things we struggled with in the past. Cloudy days are bearable. A human can be turned only when he or she is bitten by a nightwalker who then also excretes a venom of sorts into the human’s system during that bite. And yes,” he said with a grim nod, “we drink blood to survive."

"What happens if you don't?" she asked, holding his gaze with her own, willing him to tell the truth.

"If we don't, we die. It's that simple."

Which was why he looked so terrible. She would bet her last dollar on it. He was starving.

"Why have you stopped feeding? Surely if you need blood there is no shortage of it in bags at the local blood bank. And if that's not your taste, I bet there are millions of women obsessed with the supernatural who would love to provide that service for you."

Not to mention that he really didn't have to ask. She had first hand knowledge of exactly how powerful his magic was. If he wanted it, he could take it.

"Abstaining and allowing my powers to weaken gives us a measure of protection from Ezekiel’s mental reach. The weaker I am, the weaker my signal becomes and the harder it will be for them to find us."

She let his words sink in and wondered if that was the whole truth of it or if this was another lie. A trick to get information, or to convince her of his feelings for her so she would let her guard down.

She could never trust him. And worse, she couldn’t even trust herself anymore. Her mind was weak. Nothing more than a toy for their kind to play with.

A throbbing headache settled between her eyes and she pressed her fingers to her temples.

“Can you go? I need some time to think. Please… just go,” she whispered, tears clogging her throat.

The long silence was broken by the opening and closing of the door.

As the lock tumbled into place, she buried her face in her pillow and began to weep in earnest.

G
abriel stood
outside the door as he pocketed the key, hating himself with every motion.

She was right.

He'd locked her up like an animal when it was him that should be behind lock and key. God, even now, as determined as he was to go through with this change, his mouth still watered at the scent of her. His gums still ached with the need to sink his teeth in and taste her. And until that need passed, he was more of a threat than a help to her. It was all he could do not to pounce on her when they were in the same proximity.

As he headed down the stairs, he tugged the burner phone he'd bought out of his pocket. He punched out his home number and waited for his voicemail to pick up, not surprised in the least when Irena’s icy voice sounded over the line.

"You'd better have a good excuse, Gabriel, or heads are going to fucking roll. Call me back. I can't make any more excuses for you."

Gabriel considered that request and dismissed it out of hand. He deleted her message and moved to the next one.

“Look, asshole. I don't know what you're thinking, or if you're thinking at all, but you can still stop this. Come back. Come back and turn her over, and we’ll tell him that you were doing your diligence. That you took her somewhere to make her talk. Make up an excuse about your phone. There is still time. I care about you and I don't want to see your affection for this woman be your downfall. You don't realize it, but you're backing the wrong horse here. She's not your friend. And the second Ezekiel realizes what we both know...that her father was responsible for Melissande's murder? There will be no place in the world far enough. No speed you run fast enough. She's a dead duck, Gabriel. Wipe her from your mind and save yourself. Text me when you get this and I will help you. I swear it.”

Gabriel let his thumb hover over the delete button for a long moment before he pressed it. Not that he was considering her offer, but he couldn’t deny that Irena's concern touched him. He hadn't known she would be willing to go to bat for him like that. Especially in light of her own love for Melissande and despair over her death.

But the die had been cast. The decision made.

A knock at the door had his head jerking up in surprise. He sniffed the air as his fangs broke through his gums, preparing for battle. A moment later, though, he relaxed. He could smell the good doctor's expensive cologne through the door.

He stalked across the room and swung it open.

The golden-eyed man took a step back and looked him up and down before shaking his head with a laugh. "You, my friend, look like total dog shit."

He shoved past Gabriel with one wide shoulder and stepped into the cabin, setting down the big, leather bag he carried with him. Then he yanked off his sopping wet coat and dropped it on the ground before facing Gabriel.

"Is there a reason we had to do this in a shithole?" he asked, glancing around to take in the sparse, early American furniture. "All part of your new martyr complex?"

Gabriel let that pass and closed the door, bending to pick up the man's coat and tossing it over the back of a nearby chair before joining him in the living room.

"It's deep in the woods. It runs on a generator, and my nearest neighbor is ten miles away. I thought it prudent to be off the grid, and the harder we are to locate, the better."

Fenton dipped his head in acknowledgement, his rogue's smile in full effect.

"Right, well, no matter to me. So long as I'm getting paid, we can do this in a dungeon for all I care." He clapped his hands together and looked up at Gabriel expectantly. "Did you plan to wine and dine me first, or are we going in dry?"

Gabriel often enjoyed the company of the charismatic Brit, recognizing the likeability of the man that was so at odds with his own personality, but today he had no patience for it.

"No dinner. We can eat later. Let's get the show on the road."

Gabriel led the way to the cellar stairs and motioned for Fenton to follow. When they reached the bottom of the steps, Fenton let out a low whistle.

"Well, you're thorough, I'll give you that much."

Gabriel glanced around the room with a dispassionate eye, and let out a satisfied grunt.

He'd hired a discreet company who had worked with the government in the past on soundproofing torture chambers in black locations. For the right price, they'd managed to get in and out in four days and make the cellar room nearly soundproof. Even better, they'd asked no questions and kept no paper records. As an added security measure, Gabriel had veiled his appearance and the address in their minds, further protecting himself and Zara in the event that they were less covert than advertised.

They’d done their part and all he'd had to do was supply the chair and straps after the fact. Fenton carried everything else he needed in his trusty old satchel.

Gabriel approached the chair, choking back his instinctive revulsion. Strange that the pain was almost welcome. A penance for his many sins. He thought of Zara in those worst moments, and then of his own mother when it got to be unbearable. Both stark reminders that the agony was far less than he deserved. No, it was the thought of being trapped that made him ill. It was an illusion, of course. The straps were strong. Strong enough to hold most nightwalkers, even, but he knew his own strength and if he truly wanted to escape them, he could.

But he wouldn't.

Because Dr. Fenton's ministrations were his only chance to be free. To break the bond between he and his maker that he could still feel tugging dimly at him, even from this distance. A bond that needed to be broken ASAP.

He lowered himself into the chair and nodded.

"Ready."

Fenton, dressed as always in a dapper suit, tugged off his jacket and took a moment to roll up his crisp, white cotton sleeves.

"Again, I have to warn you that this could backfire and kill you. And, if it does, I will still assess my fees from your estate. Never let it be said that Phineas Fenton wasn't honest and upfront."

Fenton raised his brows expectantly but Gabriel only shook his head in response.

“I won’t change my mind.”

Fenton shrugged and let out a short laugh. "You really are a stubborn bastard, aren't you?" He turned and plucked a handful of syringes and vials from his bag and laid them on the metal tray table in front of Gabriel. "Close your eyes and go to your happy place, my friend. Because it's about to get ugly."

Gabriel let his eyes drift shut, but there would be no escaping to any happy place. Fenton clicked the manacles in place over Gabriel's wrists. A moment later, Gabriel felt the first of many needles penetrate his skin.

"Brace yourself, friend. This is ten times as potent as the last batch, and it's going to burn like hellfire."

Gabriel tensed, at the ready, but when the pain came, it was white-hot and so intense, it stole his very thoughts. Blistering agony rippled through him, traveling as the serum Fenton injected wound through the veins in his body. Sharp stabbing pain in his forearm, then his shoulders and around. When it finally hit his heart, he let out a roar that shook the very rafters.

And then he knew no more.

* * *

Z
ara gasped
, releasing her hold on the chain around her ankle. The bellow of agony that sounded in her head was so clear, it could've been in the next room, but it wasn't. In fact, she wasn’t sure she’d heard anything at all. And still, it was no less real.

She strained, but the silence around her was only broken by the crackle of the fire. Then, a moment later, there it was again. A primal scream of male agony…that seemed to only be in her head.

Had she finally truly lost her mind? Had the toll of the past six months finally caught up with her and caused a psychological break?

But she'd barely had the thought when the truth hit her like a two-by-four right between the eyes.

It was Gabriel. She knew it as sure as she knew her own name. And while she wasn't
hearing
the sounds of his screaming, she was definitely sensing something he was feeling somewhere deep in her subconscious.

She shoved back the instinctive rush of horror at the pain he must be suffering and focused instead on why she was sensing it. Had his mesmerizing her last night somehow fused them together?

A shiver ran through her as she tried to school her thoughts.

Don't think about his pain. Only think about how to get away.

But she'd only just started trying to work the metal shackle over her already bloody ankle again when another roar sounded in her head. This one, so stark, she slammed her hands over her ears to quell the sound. It disappeared as quickly as it had come, but the effects of it lingered long after as hot tears dripped down her face.

This isn't your fault,
she reminded herself briskly.

She was a captive here. She was the one who had been tricked and lied to.

But the image of Gabriel's face floated through her mind and her whole body had begun to shake. Why was she letting him get into her heart again? This could all be just another trick to gain her sympathy. A ploy like this would be nothing to him.

So then why isn't he just taking over your mind and making you obey him if that's what he wants?

She jerked back with a start when the door swung open and slammed against the wall.

"And here she is, the Cape's own Helen of Troy."

The man was large enough to block most of the doorway with his muscular frame, but there, the resemblance to Gabriel stopped. His hair was golden and his eyes looked as if they'd been painted by some long-dead Italian master to match. But the smile stretching his firm lips didn't meet those fathomless eyes.

"I have to admit, I expected more," he said, flicking his gaze over her form with a shrug. He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him, the move sending a trickle of dread down her spine. His gaze locked on her ankle and his smile grew tight.

"Not that you aren't appealing. Your blood smells like nectar and you're certainly lovely. I recall seeing Marilyn Monroe at a smoky club in New York City right before Kennedy was elected. You have her vibe." His lips twisted into a grimace as he crossed the room toward her. "But not worth what he's putting himself through, I can tell you that much. Then again, what woman is, really?" he asked with a laugh.

Her hands were shaking but she refused to give him the satisfaction of cowering as he took hold of her bare foot.

"Skin is soft, which is nice." He trailed a finger over the blood dripping from her heel and his hooded gaze went dark. When he looked at her again, his incisors were elongated into sharp little daggers.

She let out a sharp gasp and tried frantically to pull away, to no avail. She'd known what he was from the second he’d entered the room, but seeing it before her very eyes for the first time was a whole other ball of wax. She struggled to regain her composure, knowing that one wrong move could be the end of her.

"Gabriel will kill you if you hurt me," she hissed, desperately. "He won't like another man to touch me, I promise you that."

The man cocked his head and studied her carefully before setting her foot down and producing a key from his gray suit-jacket pocket.

"Strange. He claims you hate him and don't trust him, but you know that he would protect you."

He took her ankle gently in his cool grasp and slid the key into the lock, turning it until the shackle fell to the bed. The second it did, she hurled herself off the opposite side of the bed, fight or flight instinct taking over common sense, which told her she had zero chance of getting away from this man.

She hadn't even made it three feet toward the door before he yanked her back and held her against him, immobile.

"Don't get me wrong, lass. If it were up to me, I'd let you go. You'd get picked off by The Protectorate in an hour or less. Problems solved. There are plenty more fish in the sea that are far less prickly." His sigh ruffled her hair and she flinched. "But I'm on strict orders to bring you down for dinner unharmed, and, fortunately for your pretty neck, I only get paid if I obey orders. So come on then. Make it easy on us both and walk down of your own accord, all right? I'd hate to get my jacket all bloody. I just got it from Brooks Brothers, and it cost me a fortune."

She swallowed the lump lodged in her throat and tried to think of something...anything she could do that would surprise him enough to buy her a little time, but it was an exercise in futility. Unless she could catch them unawares, she was a sitting duck. She'd have to wait until they decided to inform her of her fate.

The golden-haired vampire led her down a set of narrow steps that led onto the first floor of the cabin. The stairs cut through the center of the cabin, with a living room on Zara’s right and a dining room on the left.

“I’m Phineas Fenton, though my friends call me Fenton. You can call me Dr. Fenton.” He motioned for her to enter the dining room and he pointed to the table. On the table were two big plastic bags from a restaurant. Firorios was written on the side in elegant script. Beyond, toward the back of the cabin, Zara heard the sound of a shower.