When Passion Lies: A Shadow Keepers Novel (31 page)

Slowly, she turned the key. Slowly, she lifted the trunk.

She saw a blanket, and she peeled it back. She saw Naomi’s hair first, and she said a soft word, intent on soothing.

The word died on her lips, though, as she pulled the blanket the rest of the way. Because the girl in the trunk was dead, her head having been sliced from her body, a silver dagger jammed through her heart.

Caris whipped around, not wanting to see. Not wanting to know that they’d failed this poor girl.

As she did, her phone started ringing. She reached for it, but at the same time she heard the distinctive
thwap, thwap
of a tranquilizer gun.

She hit the ground, her eyes looking toward Jeph and Carr. They were on the ground, both sprawled out. Either tranqed or dead.

Tiberius. Oh, God. What was happening with Tiberius?

Lihter’s plan had to have been a trap, too.

She needed to warn him, but she had to get out of there first. She couldn’t go out into the sun, but she could hide in the building, and they’d have one hell of a time finding her as mist.

Except it didn’t work.

She couldn’t transform.

And as she turned her head, trying to figure out why,
she realized that all three of the cars beside her were painted the same odd blue color.

The cars had been redone in hematite, and its proximity was messing with her abilities.

It was clever, she had to admit.

But that was the last thing she thought. Because the next tranq dart got her, and she fell face-first against the asphalt.

“What the hell do you mean, she’s gone?” Tiberius yelled into the phone. He’d ordered a Division 12 team to the parking garage right away, and now it was overflowing with jinns and para-daemons and other creatures that had no problem working during the daylight hours.

Tiberius himself was still in the plane, and the fact that he was so goddamned impotent at the moment was driving him crazy. He finished listening to the useless spiel about how the PEC was doing everything it could. Then he slammed the phone shut and turned to Luke.

“They got her.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“The girl was in the trunk. She was dead.”

Luke nodded. “I gathered that much from your side of the conversation. Tiberius, we’ll get her back. And the good news is that we don’t have to worry about the larger threat. We can focus all our resources on Caris.”

“The larger threat?”

“The hybrid,” Luke clarified. “She’s dead. Lihter’s biological weapon is no more.”

Tiberius closed his eyes. Because he was going to have
to do now what he probably should have done before. “The threat isn’t over, Luke. In fact I’m guessing the threat is worse than ever.”

Luke eyed him through narrowed lids. “What do you mean?”

“Caris is a hybrid. Reinholt changed her almost twenty years ago. I banished her, and she went to live with Gunnolf. Hide in plain sight, like they say.”

“Oh.” His friend nodded slowly, diplomatically. “Well, that explains a lot of things. And you’re right. We need to find her. And soon. The full moon rises tonight at ten, and if we can’t find Caris by then I think it’s a fair guess that the Black Plague is going to spread through Europe again.”

“It won’t,” Tiberius said. “We’re going to stop it.”

They had to. Because stopping it meant saving Caris, and there was no way Tiberius was going to fail to do that.

“I’m all for stopping it,” Luke said. “But we’ve been searching for Lihter for days. The guy hasn’t left a trace.”

“He has now,” Tiberius said. “He has Caris.”

Luke’s brow furrowed, and then he smiled with understanding. “Blood. You had her drink your blood.”

“I did indeed,” Tiberius said. And then he closed his eyes, leaned back, and tried to feel Caris burning inside him.

The metal door burst open, ushering in a shaft of moonlight that rent the darkness of the cell and illuminated Caris, still bound to the wall. She turned her head to the side, the brightness painful after the prolonged darkness
.

She forced herself to look. A creature stood there, his hulking form silhouetted against the rising orb of the full moon. Werewolf
.

It happened in an instant—the recognition of what was in the doorway, and then the realization that it was no longer at the door, but at her side, claws ripping through her clothes, teeth sinking into the flesh at her shoulder. In her mind, she fought. Raged against the beast and ripped it apart with her bare hands. In reality, she was trapped—chained to a wall, her body so weak from lack of blood and the infusion of hematite that even the daemon howling within seemed weak and sluggish
.

The smell of her own blood washed over her, and as her vision faded, she saw it stain the floor. Saw it sink into the stone. Gone. Empty
.

She’d been drained to nothing more than a shell. Not dead, though. She’d died a long time ago. Now, like this, she would welcome true death, but her vampire nature clung to existence, and so she hung there, flesh hanging off bone, body hanging from the stone wall. A corpse, emaciated and raw and alone
.

Once again time had no meaning. She floated, her mind her only refuge. Hours, days, years. Perhaps only minutes. She had no concept, no marker by which she could measure time. It meant even less than it had when she’d walked the earth as an immortal. It simply was, unlike her, who was not
.

And then the blood came. Sweet and warm and metallic, it dripped over her lips, then down her throat, and from somewhere in the vast tunnels and caverns of her mind, the being that was Caris tasted it. Absorbed it. Became it
.

Blood
.

More came. Not all at once, but in fits and starts. Enough, though, that she slowly came back to herself. The earth began to turn again for her, and time began to have meaning. The wait between blood visits was painfully interminable. But then he would come—the one who had ripped her apart. The one who was now saving her. He would come and he would tilt the smallest of vials into her mouth
.

Sweet, sweet blood
.

One day, she realized that she could speak. “Why?” she asked, the blood still lingering on her lips. The word came out as a croak, but she could tell he understood her. She still wasn’t able to open her eyes, but she could hear him. Sense him. And he hadn’t left. He was standing in front of her. Standing and breathing
.

“Do you know what happens when a vampire is bitten by a werewolf?”

Obviously she knew. If the vampire was weak, the werewolf ripped her to shreds and left her a shriveled corpse on the ground. If the vampire was strong, she
ripped the fuckwad’s head off and went about her merry way. Too bad her encounter had happened when she was weak
.

“No,” she said. “I’m not sure that I do.”

“Assuming the attack is during a full moon, the vampire becomes infected with the weren virus.”

She swallowed, thinking of herself. Thinking of Tiberius
.

She opened her eyes, squinting against the candlelight. “You’re saying I’m going to change.”

“The vampire will continue to live his—or her—life,” he said, continuing as if he hadn’t even heard her. “Days will pass. Weeks. And throughout all that time the earth rotates on its axis and moves in orbit around the sun.”

“I’m not interested in an astronomy lesson.”

“Another full moon comes—it is inevitable. And when it does, the vampire dies.”

He looked at her, and despite the mask he still wore, she saw his brow lift, as if he was silently daring her to be sarcastic now
.

She stayed silent
.

“The vampire’s basic nature stems from death, a werewolf’s from life. Perhaps you know the mythology? Two brothers, the fathers of our races, cursed by the third brother whom they murdered for his power? It’s more than a bedtime story, you know. Vampires and werewolves are cursed enemies, and their flesh shall not be joined. Try to mingle the two, and you’ve distorted nature itself. The natural result is annihilation.”

Her chest had constricted with his words. Whether they were true or not, she could hear in his voice that he believed them
.

“You did all this just so you could kill me? Why the hell didn’t you just drive a stake through my heart?”

His laugh was low and without humor. “Kill you? I did all this to save you. And not just you. I did it for love. Because I must get it right.”

“But—” She thought over everything he’d just said. Then realized there was only one possible explanation. “No,” she said, with a firm shake of her head. “You can’t do that. It’s impossible. Everything you’ve just told me proves it’s impossible.”

His masked face tilted up, his dark eyes meeting hers. “Soon, you’ll either be more than you were before, or you’ll be dead.”

He left then, his words still echoing in her cell
.

Hybrid. Dear God, he was trying to make her a hybrid.

She couldn’t survive that. There were no more hybrids
.

Were there?

She closed her eyes, forced herself to remain calm. Supposition didn’t matter. She’d know the truth soon enough. He’d promised that when the moon rose, she’d be either changed or dead. No matter what else she thought of him, about that, she was certain he spoke the truth
.

Daily, he brought her more blood
.

Daily, her strength grew
.

And daily, she feared the glowing orb of the moon ripening in the small window of her cell
.

Static crackled above her, and Caris realized it was coming from speakers embedded in the ceiling. After a moment,
the crackling stopped, and she heard an overly cheerful, sanctimonious voice. “Caris, Caris, such a pleasure.”

“If you want to be civilized,” she said, “you might consider unstrapping me.” She was bound all over. Arms, chest, waist. Really not good. The gurney itself was made of hematite, which prevented her from shifting into mist.