Secrets in the Shadows by Jenna Black
Not surprisingly, Gabriel came to a stop shortly after they’d left the room, in a narrow, unfurnished hallway. No breakables. He turned to Drake, those pouty lips stretched into a cruel smile.
“Am I allowed to fight back, or am I just supposed to take it?” Drake asked. He managed to sound completely unruffled. He wasn’t looking forward to whatever was to come, but he’d never seen much use in complaining about things he couldn’t control.
To his surprise, Gabriel laughed. The laughter washed every trace of cruelty from his face like a magical transformation. For just a moment, he was another person entirely, a handsome young man with a glint of good humor in his eyes. It faded quickly.
“I’m so used to dealing with idiots and ass-kissers,” he said, a hint of laughter still in his voice. “What a refreshing change.” The humor faded. “You can try to fight back if you want. I won’t hold it against you. How old are you? A hundred? Maybe a little more?”
How could he tell? It was impossible to guess a vampire’s age—or power—by his psychic footprint. Then again, maybe Eli had told Camille his age.
“About that,” Drake admitted. Instinct urged him to make a preemptive strike, but he wasn’t sure of the house rules. If he struck first, would Camille take that as an inappropriately hostile act and make good on her threats to reveal Eli’s secret?
Gabriel shook his head. “Then I wouldn’t bother fighting back if I were you. It’ll be over quicker if you just hold still.” Something ugly and eager gleamed in his eyes.
Drake might not be able to take the older vampire, but he’d be damned if he’d just “hold still.” Pride demanded he land a punch or two for the asshole to remember him by.
Gabriel flashed him a goading grin, then motioned for him to take a swing. At this point, he was happy to oblige.
What happened next was disorienting even for Drake, who’d battled his fair share of older, stronger vampires in Eli’s service. One moment, his fist was heading straight toward Gabriel’s jaw. The next, his fist was flying through empty air and a brutal jab connected with his kidney from behind.
He went down—as much from the force of his own swing as the blow he’d taken. Gabriel laughed again, but this was a cold, nasty laughter.
“I warned you to hold still. You won’t lay a finger on me, kid.”
That someone who looked to be little more than a teenager would call Drake “kid” was nearly unbearable. Never mind that Gabriel was probably at least twice his age!
Unfortunately, once Gabriel connected with that first blow, Drake was never able to recover. The older vampire moved so fast it was almost impossible to see him, and it was impossible to make contact. That didn’t stop Drake from trying, though he knew he was probably making things worse for himself.
Eventually, Gabriel’s surgical strikes sapped too much of Drake’s breath and strength, and he had no choice but to take whatever was dished out. Protecting his head as best he could, he gritted his teeth and rode it out until Gabriel finished making his point.
After the blows stopped coming, Drake took a minute to regain his breath before he sat up tentatively. Considering how long and hard Gabriel had beaten him, he was amazed that nothing seemed to be broken.
Gabriel offered him a hand up, and Drake reluctantly accepted. Gabriel hauled him to his feet, then kept hold of his hand, squeezing just short of hard enough to break bones.
“Just so we’re clear,” he said, “I pulled my punches tonight. If you fuck with me, if you fuck with my mother, or if your little friend does anything that pisses me off, I’ll show you what I’m really capable of. Got it?”
Drake nodded but didn’t trust himself to speak. He might say something he’d regret.
Gabriel smiled and turned his bone-crushing grip into a handshake. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you.”
Drake had to call on every ounce of his self-discipline not to take a futile, ill-advised swing at the condescending ass.
6
HANNAH CURSED JULES AT the top of her lungs, making a big show of struggling against the bonds. He’d used a couple of his fancy designer ties to bind her hands behind her back and tie her ankles together. When he used another to gag her, she tried to bite him, but he just grinned at her.
“It’s for your own good, Hannah,” he said, really proud of himself. “You’re right, I’m no match for Ian if he takes me unawares, but you’re even less so. I’m more than a hundred years old. If he kills me, I’ll still have lived more than my fair share of years.” His Gallic shrug suggested he could care less if he died. The expression in his eyes suggested he cared more than he wanted to admit.
He smoothed away a lock of hair that had gotten stuck in her mouth and was held in place by the gag. It was a surprisingly tender gesture.
“I’ll take the do-not-disturb sign off when I leave. If something happens to me, a maid will be by in the morning to untie you.”
She tried to force the words “fuck you” through the gag, but all that came out was a vague grunting noise. She was sure he caught the sentiment, however. He didn’t seem annoyed by it, or even amused. Instead, there was a hint of sadness on his face, and for just a moment, her heart ached for him. What kind of pain was eating away at his insides to make him throw his life away to try to get revenge?
Then she decided she couldn’t afford sympathy at the moment. She made a snarling noise and struggled against the bonds again, letting him see that she couldn’t possibly get her hands free when he’d tied them so thoroughly.
“Reste tranquille,” he said in a voice barely louder than a whisper. For once, she suspected his French was neither a curse nor an insult. Then he bent and pressed his lips to her forehead.
The touch of his lips stilled her struggles immediately. It was only the briefest of kisses, planted on a part of her body she didn’t consider an erogenous zone, but it electrified her all the same. Her skin tingled with it and her heart accelerated and she inhaled deeply the aftershave-and-man scent of him.
Then, with another sad little smile, he was gone, the door thunking closed behind him with what was meant to be finality.
Hannah shook off her moment of girlishness. There was no time to lose! Trying to relax all her muscles while hurrying wasn’t the easiest thing in the world, but she was determined. She’d studied martial arts since she was a little girl—a very useful pastime for a girl with three older brothers—and while she was kind of a jack of all trades, master of none, she was naturally limber. Besides, she might not have survived childhood with the Three Musketeers if she hadn’t learned to be an escape artist.
Rolling her shoulders to loosen them as much as possible, she slowly and painfully worked her bound hands downward. Once she got them down below her butt, she tucked her body in on itself, making the smallest possible bundle, until she could stick her feet through the circle of her arms.
Adrenaline surged, but getting her hands in front of her was only half the battle. Raising her hands to her mouth, she cursed Jules again for the damn gag, which made it hard for her teeth to get a hold. Then she cursed herself for flailing about so much and tightening the knots. Every minute she was delayed was another minute Jules had on her. Thank goodness she knew where he was going, or she’d never have any hope of catching up with him.
Desperation lent her speed, and Jules had been too nice to tie her very tightly anyway, so after what felt like forever and a day, she was finally able to pry the tie off her wrists. After that, it took mere seconds to strip away the gag and the tie at her ankles. Hoping like hell she wasn’t too late, she grabbed her gun and stuck it in the inner pocket of her coat. Then she bolted out the door and made for the parking deck at warp speed.
JULES STOPPED FREQUENTLY ON his walk to reach out with his senses, but his vamp-dar, as Hannah called it, wasn’t all that strong. He could be surrounded and not even know it, as long as the enemy kept more than a block away. But he’d known going into this that it was a long shot, and he was prepared to face the conseq
There was no reason to expect things to go badly tonight, though. This was merely a reconnaissance mission, not an attack. And though Ian might well be expecting him, Jules couldn’t believe his maker had nothing better to do than to sit in his house concentrating on sensing other vampires.
He’d asked the concierge at the hotel for a map of downtown, but of course the map was more concerned with tourist attractions than with places trespassing vampires could hide, so it hadn’t done him much good. As he approached the block where Ian’s house stood, though, he kept his eye out for unobtrusive hiding places and was gratified to see that like most cities, Baltimore had its share of dark, secluded alleys.
As he neared the house, he paused again, closing his eyes to block out all other senses as he reached out in search of vampires.
His eyes popped open as his pulse accelerated. He’d been looking for Ian, expecting to sense one vampire. Instead, his senses told him there were three vampires up ahead. What the hell was he walking into? He let out a stream of expletives in Québécois, his body trembling in fury. Taking on one Killer on his own had been a fool’s errand. Taking on three was just plain suicide. Eli was right—he was in over his head. He cursed some more, but it didn’t relieve his sense of impotent fury. He’d thrown everything that was good in his life away so he could have his revenge, and, damn it, he would have satisfaction!
But not tonight. No, tonight it was time for the strategic retreat. He’d accomplished what he’d come for, confirmed that vampires lived here. Now, it was wisest to make himself scarce before one of those three vampires sensed him. He took a couple of reluctant steps backward.
He was about to turn and make his escape when a pair of hands clamped down on the tops of his shoulders, fingers digging in deep. He wanted to whirl around and face whoever was behind him, but his limbs wouldn’t obey him. He couldn’t even turn his head.
Sweat beaded his brow despite the chilly winter air. It had to be glamour that held him motionless, and yet his senses insisted there was no vampire behind him.
A warm, moist puff of air tickled the side of his neck, and Jules felt the warmth of a body standing way too close for comfort.
“I’ve learned a few things since last we met, Jules,” a voice whispered practically in his ear.
His stomach clenched tight, his heart pounded, and for a moment Jules thought he was actually in danger of passing out, for he recognized that voice!
“You see,” Ian continued, his lips so close to Jules’s ear that he could almost feel them moving against his skin, “a master vampire can learn to mask his psychic footprint from his fledglings. I’ll bet you didn’t know that, did you, old friend?”
Blood pounded in his temples, but though he wanted to utter some kind of nonchalant reply, his tongue seemed glued to the roof of his mouth. Worst of all, that wasn’t a result of the glamour. Ian’s presence sapped every ounce of his strength and courage and he trembled deep inside. He loathed the sound of his maker’s voice, loathed the touch of his hands, loathed the invasion of his personal space.
“Let’s have a chat, shall we?” Ian said, his hands sliding away. Unfortunately, he then threw an arm around Jules’s shoulders, and there was nothing Jules could do to shrug it off or twist away.
Ian steered them toward one of the dark alleys Jules had spotted, his glamour forcing Jules to move with him. Why oh why hadn’t he listened to Eli? He’d known what a fool he was being, and he’d come anyway. Walked right into Ian’s goddamn trap.
With a monumental effort of will, Jules forced words from his throat. “How could you possibly find me so quickly?” He really hadn’t believed Ian would be so single-mindedly seeking him out, even though this was a trap.
“Like I said, I’ve learned some things in the last eight decades.” They’d reached the mouth of the alley now, and Ian continued on into the darkness, drawing Jules with him. “It’s amazing how much power a master has over his fledgling. As I’ve learned the hard way, many times.” The bitterness in his voice was almost comical to Jules’s ears. After what Ian had done to him, he deserved the worst that could happen! He hoped Ian’s maker tormented him daily.
“I can feel your presence without even trying. Hell, I pretty much own you. I would have come for you last night, but I was … detained.” Did Jules imagine it, or did Ian just shudder?
Ian finally removed his arm from around Jules’s shoulders, then gave him a hard shove so that his back was up against the brick wall of the alley. Ian’s glamour still held him immobilized, and he quailed inside. The sensation of helplessness nearly unmanned him, and he felt a sudden stirring of remorse for the times he’d used his own glamour to overcome and taunt Gray James. But then, it was no doubt his history with Ian that made the glamour such a violation.
“So,” Ian said, crossing his arms over his chest, “are you really alone? Tell me even you aren’t that stupid.”
Jules supposed he should tell Ian there was a troop of Guardians on their way to him as they spoke, but there didn’t seem to be much point in lying. Ian could obviously tell he was alone, seeing as the only other vampires in the vicinity were in Ian’s house. He decided to say nothing at all.
“Imbecile!” Ian said. He struck Jules across the face with the back of his hand, but the blow was an ineffectual one, barely hard enough to hurt. Ian never had been much good with his fists. When they’d been friends in college, Jules had more than once had to extract him from fights he couldn’t win. Fights Ian had started because he knew Jules would play the role of big brother and rescue him. Now, Jules wished he could go back in time and help Ian’s opponents beat the shit out of him.
“I’d hoped you’d give me at least a little challenge,” Ian complained. “Eighty years of waiting, and all the fun will be over in one short night.”
That Ian would want revenge on him had never occurred to Jules. Ian had already glutted himself on revenge for what he perceived as Jules’s sins—being stronger, being richer, being liked.
“I’m very sorry to disappoint you,” Jules said, mustering his sarcasm. “It just breaks my heart.”
Ian smiled and clucked his tongue. “Oh, you’re not sorry now, I know. But I’m going to make you sorry. Very, very sorry.”
So, his would not be a quick death. Jules was hardly surprised. As a vampire, Ian had shrugged off the constraints of polite society. His transformation had unleashed his sadism, a revolting appetite that Jules had been too naive to notice lurking below Ian’s formerly urbane manner.
Ian crowded into Jules’s space, putting his face within inches of Jules’s nose. His breath reeked of blood from a recent kill. “Say you’re sorry, my friend. Say it like you mean it and perhaps I’ll have a change of heart and kill you quickly.”
Jules couldn’t help the shiver of fear and revulsion that tore through his body as he read the intent in his maker’s eyes. The false apology would buy him nothing but humiliation. Better to suffer in silence.
For the first time ever, Jules cursed his immortality, which would allow Ian to commit terrible atrocities without killing him. But he should have known just what kind of atrocity Ian had in mind.
“I think I’m going to have a little fun with you before I start hurting you,” Ian said, his eyes glowing with decidedly unwholesome pleasure. “What do you think, old friend? Once more, for old time’s sake.”
The blood drained from Jules’s face as his heart clenched painfully in his chest. Sweat bathed his body and he fought futilely against Ian’s control. He was about to relive the nightmare he’d been fleeing for eighty years. Ian smiled in sadistic pleasure, savoring the fear and revulsion Jules couldn’t hide.
With dread pooling in his gut, Jules felt his maker’s glamour take a more intimate control of his body. He swallowed hard on a dry throat, fighting with all the will he could summon. But Ian’s glamour was far too strong, and there was no resisting it. Ian’s lips twisted into a cruel smile as Jules’s cock began to r
He closed his eyes, his mind yammering at him. It’s just glamour! he reminded himself, fighting the panic. Even if he really did have a thing for men, he certainly wouldn’t be aroused by Ian! His conscious mind knew this—though when Ian had first done this to him, Jules had been mortal, and didn’t even know what glamour was. He’d found himself doing things with Ian he’d never imagined doing with a man, and Ian’s glamour had made it seem like it was all Jules’s idea. No amount of logic could overcome the memory of how his body had betrayed him under Ian’s influence.
“My maker and her goddamn son have taught me a thing or two about degradation and humiliation in the years I’ve had to live under her thumb,” Ian said, planting a hand in the center of Jules’s chest. “I’m going to teach every one of them to you before you die.”
“I don’t think so.”
Jules’s eyes popped open and Ian gasped in surprise. Jules had to blink a time or two to clear his vision, assure himself that his eyes weren’t lying to him. But no, that really was Hannah, standing there in the alley right behind Ian, her gun less than an inch from the back of his head.
“You move, I shoot,” she said. “And I know it’ll take a second or two at least for your glamour to get to me without eye contact. I feel any hint you’re trying it, and I’ll shoot.”
Hannah now had Ian’s full concentration, allowing Jules to move his limbs. And, thank God, he instantly lost the erection Ian had forced on him.
“Shoot him, Hannah,” he said. “He’s at least as evil as the Banger, maybe even worse.”
He glanced over Ian’s shoulder at Hannah’s face and saw how pale her cheeks were. She’d shot the Banger in the heat of battle. Did she really have what it took to shoot a man in the back of his head in cold blood? Jules fervently hoped so.