Wanted (The Un #2)

17. Alena

SEVENTEEN

ALENA

Stone talons pierce the flesh of my arms and drag me high into the night sky.

“Raphael!” I scream as loud as I can as the ground becomes a dark blur beneath me.

Then I look between the two creatures holding me between them. My childhood nightmares coming true.

Gargoyles .

Two gargoyles, one on each arm, work in tandem to carry me away. Their stone wings slicing through the air and moving with a speed that should be impossible for their size.

I’m tempted to fight them. To bite at their arms. To squirm and wiggle my way out of their grasp.

But we’re so high, with so many trees below us, I don’t know if I’ll die if they drop me.

What if one of the trees impales me?

I try to reach out to Raphael through the bond, to ask him if I’ll die if I’m dropped from this high, but our connection is weak. Whether it’s the distance causing it or something else, all I get back from him is a faint touch of fear and burning rage.

“Raphael!” I scream again, wishing I’d spent more time questioning him about things instead of fucking him and drinking from him.

Can vampires fly?

Will someone rescue me?

What can kill me?

There’s so much I still don’t know, and now I don’t know what to do! How do I get myself out of this mess?

Being a damsel in distress yet again fucking sucks! I’m seriously getting sick of this shit!

I’m a vampire now!

Stuff like this shouldn’t happen.

I look at the gargoyles again, recognizing them. When I was little, I made a point of memorizing the face of every gargoyle perched on the Boston church. I memorized them in case something like this ever happened.

But they didn’t have evil, red glowing eyes back then. They never moved, either, but I swear I felt a presence inside them, watching me…

The Prophet.

Of course.

The fucking bane of my existence!

I don’t know whether to roar in rage or cry, so I do both. Tipping my head back, I unleash on the moon. Screaming and cursing everything.

My predicament.

My stupidity.

And most of all, the evil bastard that did this.

What does he even want with me? Payback?

A shudder courses through me and the gargoyles’s talons cut into my skin as I begin to slip.

I look down below me, at my dangling legs and the tops of the trees that seem miles away, and my dead heart jumps into my throat.

Both gargoyles tighten their grip, stopping me from slipping out of their grasp.

And, dammit, I’m grateful.

Because even if the fall doesn’t kill me, I’m pretty sure it will be the worst thing I’ve ever experienced.

My bones will shatter. All of them. My skull, no doubt, will crack open like an egg and my brain will spill out.

Will they be able to put my brain back in? Can drinking blood fix something like that?

With no jaw or throat, how would I even drink it?

With all the morbid thoughts running through my head, I don’t notice more gargoyles joining the two carrying me until they’re right beside us. Forming a protective formation.

If my body was still capable of it, I’d probably pee myself in fear.

Gargoyles. It just had to be gargoyles.

And there’s no way I can fight off all of them.

Peeking down again, I see houses beginning to appear between the trees as if they’re popping up from the ground. I spot a couple of pools and consider forcing the gargoyles to drop me into one.

But even if I could time it right, the water is probably too shallow to help me survive. I need these nightmares to carry me over a pond, lake, or river.

Unfortunately, no water appears. Only more signs of civilization. The roofs of the houses begin to squeeze closer together and the yards become smaller and smaller.

When I look up and off into the distance, I see tall buildings. Indicting we’re getting closer to a city.

I have no idea what city it is. It could be Timbuktu, for all I know.

I’m becoming so hysterical I’m tempted to laugh.

I know nothing! Absolutely nothing!

After spending half of my mortal life trapped beneath a church, I’m the dumbest vampire to ever exist!

As we fly over the city, we start to swoop lower, and my stomach flips. Occasionally, I spot the occasional human. Their heartbeats thumping behind their ribs.

But the streets are mostly empty.

The gargoyles make no sound as we swoop lower and lower, sweeping around buildings like the arc of a boomerang, and heading towards a structure that looks too much like my old church.

Nestled within a square of sleek, modern skyscrapers, and standing tall and proud, an old cathedral with stained glass windows beckons with a menacing aura.

“No!” I scream in horror.

I thought the gargoyles were my worst nightmare.

But stepping into a church again terrifies me even more.

Closer to the ground now, I start to fight the two monsters carrying me in my panic. I no longer care if I crack open like Humpty Dumpty. I refuse to ever enter such a horrible, despicable place again.

Kicking my legs and swinging my body from side to side, I jerk on my arms, not worrying about the stone talons slicing my flesh. Especially since I can’t feel it.

I actually manage to free myself, slipping from their grasp, and fall toward the ground.

But before I can touch pavement, two of the other gargoyles catch me, grabbing me by my wrists. My arms jerk hard and I’m pretty sure they want to come out of their sockets, if they already haven’t.

Then another pair grab me by the ankles.

Hauling me back up, the two gripping my ankles rise higher, flipping me upside down.

My dress falling into my face and my arms gripped even tighter, I can’t see shit as they pick up speed and fly me into the church through an opening.

What I can sense, though, is all the heartbeats, the reek of rotten blood, and several startled exclamations.

The gargoyles swooping low again, I feel my hair tugging on my scalp as it drags against a floor and down what must be a set of stone stairs…

Oh, hell no!

Shrieking and screeching like a banshee, I start to fight again. With four pairs of stone hands gripping me, though, it’s pointless. The only thing I manage to do is twist my torso from side to side before I’m unceremoniously dumped on a stone floor.

Every little hair on my body stands on end as if the very air is charged with static electricity.

And that’s while I’m still rolled up into a ball.

Getting my feet under me, I push my dress down and position myself into a defensive crouch. Angrily swiping the hair out of my face, I quickly look at what’s around me.

I’m definitely underground. All the walls surrounding me are made of stone…

Not this bullshit again.

The room is on the smaller side, and I don’t see any doors leading to any other rooms. Only the open door that the gargoyles must have carried me through. There’s an altar covered in a red cloth up against one of the walls and the symbol of the Order hangs above it.

Only two candles are lit on the altar, but I don’t need more light to see everything clearly. Between the two candles rests a wicked curved blade. The wooden handle of the blade is worn smooth where someone has probably gripped it over the years.

The blade doesn’t concern me, though. What concerns me is the smell of old blood. Blood that smells familiar, but I can’t quite place it. Glancing down, I spot a metal drain in the floor.

Great. Another bleeding room. Well, if they think they’re going to bleed me, they can think again.

The gargoyles finally land beside me. My quick examination of the room probably only taking a few seconds. Seeing no one else around, I straighten and try to take a step forward.

But I’m stopped by some invisible force in front of me.

Scowling in irritation, I try to take a step to the side, but I’m stopped again. No matter which direction I attempt to step, I’m stopped, as if I’m stuck in a bubble I can’t see.

Slamming my hands up against the invisible wall, I finally look up and notice a symbol painted in red on the stone ceiling. It resembles the strange symbol I saw on the Prophet’s true face. A circle with small markings, most of them lines and squiggles, painted inside it.

Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath out of habit, then try to reach out to Raphael.

Hopefully, he’s on his way. I can’t imagine him abandoning me. Not unless something happened to him…

“Raphael!” I shout through the bond. “I’m stuck under a church!”

When I get no response, I have to fight back the terror that wants me to fucking freak out.

He’s fine , I repeat to myself.

If something happened to him, I know I would have felt it.

He’s the other half of my soul. If he died or was injured, it would hurt, wouldn’t it?

But I don’t feel pain…

Freaking the fuck out now, I claw, punch, bite, and kick at the invisible walls.

I have to get out. I have to.

I need to find Raphael.

He could be hurt.

A frenzy taking over me, I’m mindless in my need to escape. To get back to my bonded.

Until my inner bitch snaps me out of it, Break the symbol, stupid.

Stopping my next punch at the last second, my eyes snap up to the ceiling.

Can I jump that high?

It’s worth a shot.

Bending my knees, I jump up and fall right back down to the ground. Landing on my butt after cracking my head against an invisible ceiling.

What the fuck? How did the gargoyles…

The gargoyles.

Resisting the urge to take another deep breath to steady myself, because this entire place reeks of blood, I reach over and grab the gargoyle to my left.

Standing beside me like a statue, the gargoyle doesn’t fight me when I pick its heavy ass up. All it does is open its freaky red eyes as I heft it in my arms.

Damn, it’s heavy. Like it weighs a literal ton. And I may be a vampire now with a lot more strength than I had as a human, but I’m not sure I can throw it up high enough.

I still have to try, though.

Gritting my fangs together, I bend my knees and summon every ounce of strength I have.

Then I throw the heavy fucker up as hard as I can.

It actually crashes into the ceiling but somehow doesn’t do any damage. Then the damn thing falls right back down.

I try to dart out of the way, but the invisible wall won’t let me. Pressing myself up against the wall, I sense the sharp tip of the gargoyle’s wing slicing down my back.

“Fuck!” I scream as loud as I can.

“Now…” The Prophet clicks his tongue in disapproval. “That’s no way for a young lady to speak.”

I whip toward the doorway and see him filling it with his voluminous robe. The same black ceremonial robe he wore during my Judging. The one with all the golden figure eights weaved along the seams.

Why didn’t I sense him? I wonder.

My inner bitch isn’t quite as snarky when she responds, It could be the symbol.

A growl slips out of me.

The Prophet tips his head back and laughs.

His laughter is the most disturbing sound I’ve heard him make, by far. Disturbing because it’s so human, without any of the usual creepiness attached to it. “You sound like a kitten.”

He glides toward me, and I instinctively take a step back and bare my fangs at him.

His hooded head inclines, but there’s still humor in his voice. “A feral kitten.”

Narrowing my eyes, I peer into the darkness beneath his hood, searching for his face. But the darkness must be made of magic or something because I can’t pierce it.

He begins to slowly circle around the invisible walls, like he’s circling around my cage, and I keep every one of my senses focused on him.

“What do you want? Why bring me here?” I ask.

No point in beating around the bush.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he asks back.

I growl again and clench my fists. If these walls weren’t between us, I’d tear out his throat. “No, it’s not fucking obvious!”

He chuckles. “Ah, I remember when I was first turned. Newborn vampires are so… volatile . You’re a slave to your emotions. And what strong emotions they are!”

My inner bitch warns , “He’s purposely riling you up.”

I shake my head hard, wishing she’d shut up.

Head cocking again, the Prophet stops circling to study me. I may not be able to see his face, but I can sense his eyes burning holes into me. “And you still haven’t given in to your true nature. You’re still fighting her.”

I suddenly throw myself at the invisible wall in front of him and slam my palms against it. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

He doesn’t move or jump back, as if he expected me to do what I did. “What was the question?’

Told you! my inner bitch exclaims.

But I’m not convinced she’s right this time.

Yes, he’s been purposely riling up, but the way he’s standing in place, reminds me of something…

Testing my theory, I look away from him and let my arms fall down to my sides. “Why did you bring me here? Why go to all this trouble?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him finally take a step back and his shake hooded head, as if trying to dislodge something from it.

Silence hangs between us, and I come to a second realization. I haven’t heard him moving around. His robes should be making quite a bit of noise, but they’re silent.

Above me, I can hear all the humans moving about and their hearts thumping like drums behind their ribs. Calling to me like an ancient tune that thrums in my blood.

Calling me to feast .

But I can’t hear the Prophet.

Did he create the bubble around me for this purpose? To keep me trapped in place and at his mercy? With no way to defend myself against him?

“To break your bond,” he finally answers.

I whip my head back toward him and focus all my attention on the darkness beneath his hood. “Why would you want to do that?”

He freezes again and I sense the weight of his unseen gaze on my face. “Because you should be mine.”

My inner bitch snorts. How cliché.

Shut up! I growl back at her when he gives his head another little shake, momentarily breaking the spell I’m putting him under.

I don’t know if he can hear her or if he’s only sensing her, but she’s fucking it all up.

Reaching up, purposely drawing attention back to my face, I brush some of my hair behind my ear. “Why should I be yours?”

He takes a step forward and his voice drops to a growl that vibrates through my bones. “Because I’m the one who has spent years cultivating you and crafting you into what you are.”

Cultivating and crafting me? Is he the reason I have these fucking powers?

I twist my own growl into a purr. “Is that why you kept me beneath the church?”

“Yes,” he purrs back, low and deep. “I wanted to keep you close so I could keep an eye on your progress.”

Instead of flashing my fangs in anger, I gently sink my fangs into my bottom lip. “How did you even know I would one day become a soulmarked?”

“I can sense soulmarks when they’re close to me. It’s one of my many gifts.” He takes another step forward. “I sensed you the moment you came into this world. You should have been brought to me immediately. But that father of yours preyed upon the softhearted priest’s kindness to claim you were clean. I wanted to kill them both for defying me, but I still needed their services.”

My breath quickens, and I have so many new questions I don’t even know where to start.

“Why didn’t you just take me? No one would have stopped you,” I exhale as he takes yet another step toward me.

“It would have undermined all the rules I had already laid in place. Order is crucial to the survival of what I’ve built. And I needed that priest. He was the only one my daughter could be trusted with. But once I learned that your mother was a threat to your life, I created a new rule. At the age of ten, conveniently the age you were at the time, all girls were to be Judged again. To catch any that may have slipped through the cracks.”

My head spins and I want to throw question after question at him, but I know I have to be careful. If the spell, or whatever the hell it is, I have him under breaks again, I might not get anything else out of him.

I’m dying to ask the name of his daughter, but it’s too risky.

So I ask, “What was the priest’s name?”

“Father McCall,” he growls, the resonance vibrating my bones. “The Betrayer. His death should have been more painful and…”

His voice trails off, and I get the feeling he’s slipping out of my grasp.

“Why me, though?” I ask quickly to bring his attention back. “You already have a daughter. Don’t you already have a soulmarked?”

The Prophet takes another step forward, right through the invisible wall, and grabs me. His fingers slip into my hair and yank my head back. “Why you? Because, in this form, you are beyond exquisite. You are the most beautiful creature to ever grace this earth. And I know you cannot feel or experience pain. Which means our eternity together will be filled with delights.”

His hood dips toward my face until my nose is nearly pressed against the layer of darkness shielding him. “Yes, I have a daughter, but I have no soulmarked and will never have one.”

Now that he’s inside the bubble with me, there’s this aura of… wickedness radiating off him.

Resisting the urge to rip myself out of his grasp, I slowly lick my lips to hide my nerves. “How do you know? Have you looked into your own future?”

He laughs right in my face and the evil aura grows. “I don’t have a soul.”

I tremble as the aura washes over me, pouring down my throat and covering me from head to toe.

The darkness he wears as a mask fades away and he grins at me, showing his double set of fangs. “I sense your bonded approaching with his brood. Is there anything else you would like to know before I destroy them?”

This entire time I thought I was the one playing him, but he was the one really playing me. Dammit.

I could have told you that if you would have let me speak, my inner bitch snarks.

If you’re so fucking smart, then what should I do now? I snap back.

My inner bitch laughs. Ask him another question, if you can.

Is she trying to get me killed?

No, dumbass. Your survival is crucial to my survival.

“So…” I croak before trying to clear my throat. That damn aura of his is choking me somehow. “If you don’t have a soulmarked and will never have one, how do you have a daughter?”

The Prophet’s dark holes for eyes stare into mine for a few moments, as if he’s considering whether or not to answer, before he says, “Over the centuries, I have slaked my needs on human women from time to time. Never was a child conceived. Had I known it was possible… Had I known she would be a…”

My throat is so tight now it takes all my strength to get two words out.

“A what?” I wheeze at him.

His upper lip pulls back in a snarl. “Soulmarked.”

I want to ask her name now, but my throat refuses to cooperate.

The symbol on the Prophet’s forehead suddenly lights up, glowing bright red, and he smiles. “Come. It’s time to squash these annoying pests once and for all. I will answer more of your questions later. And you will answer mine.”

Using my hair as his handle, the Prophet drags me with him out of the room and up the stone stairs.

I feel the tugging on my scalp, but it doesn’t hurt.

However, it brings up some awful memories. Memories of my mother doing the same thing when I was younger.

And I wonder if that’s exactly why he’s doing it.

Don’t! my inner bitch warns a second before I act on the desire to tear myself free.

Hesitating, I snarl at her, Why not? Why should I let him drag me around? Shouldn’t I fight back?

Because something is off, my inner bitch says, sounding nervous for the first time . You should play possum for now.

Gritting my teeth together and trying to swallow down the huge lump filling my throat, I do as she says.

The Prophet pauses at the top of the stairs and turns his head to look at me. I peer back at him curiously, wondering why he stopped.

Slowly, almost gently, he slides his fingers out of my hair.

Can I attack him now? I ask my inner bitch.

No , she growls.

Taking a step back, the Prophet’s black scrutiny roams slowly down my body.

When he looks into your eyes, act as if you’re falling under his spell , my inner bitch snaps.

What?!

She screams inside my head , Act as if he’s Raphael!

The Prophet’s gaze begins to roam back up, and I do my best to soften my eyes when his black pits reach my face.

He peers at me for what feels like an eternity, and the only way I can keep my gaze soft is by blocking out his ugly white face and replacing it with Raphael’s.

“That’s better. Much better,” he purrs, then offers me his hand.

Take it and smile , my inner bitch instructs.

I grit out, Why am I doing this again?

Because he’s trying to do something to you that’s not working , she explains. And we don’t want him to know it.

Smiling, I place my hand in his.

Pretending it’s Raphael’s, I gently squeeze my fingers around his palm before his fingers squeeze around mine.

My very being wants to scream at the wrongness of it all. He is not my bonded. He is not my fated.

Not the other half of my soul.

He doesn’t complete me.

All he does is empty me out…

But my inner bitch keeps chanting, Smile. You love him!

The shield of darkness slowly fades back into existence, hiding his face a second before he tugs me along.

Leading me into the bright cathedral, his pressure on my hand keeps me right beside him.

The cathedral falls into silence.

Except for the dozens of living heartbeats pounding against my ears as the Prophet guides me to the pulpit.

“Brothers and Sisters!” the Prophet sings as if he is matching the tempo of a hymn.

A hymn I cannot hear.

I told you something was wrong , my inner bitch says.

Turning me with him to face the crowd, the Prophet lifts our joined hands in the air. “Rejoice! For our Mother Superior has been returned to us!”

I stare out at the sea of human faces and remember the last time I stood before so many people. Their faces bright with rage and spittle flying out of their mouths as they hurled insults and shoes at me.

My smile stretches as I think to myself, I’m going to rip all your throats out.

Not if the boys get to them first. My inner bitch laughs.

Some of the humans lift their arms in the air, as if reaching for the heavens. Some fall to their knees. Some pump their fists. And some simply stand with broad smiles.

But all call out as the Prophet ordered them, rejoicing my return.

Fools.

Look at their eyes , my inner bitch urges.

Peering at the closest human, a man dressed for battle with two long blades strapped to his back, I notice the strange gleam of his eyes.

It’s almost as if he’s been—

Glamoured , my inner bitch finishes for me.

My eyes dance across all the humans. All are dressed for battle. And all have the same strange maniacal gleam in their eyes.

If they’re all hunters and being fed blood, how are they glamoured?

Because the Prophet is more than a vampire, my inner bitch answers.

The Prophet lowers our joined hands, and his voice bounces off the beams and walls as he says, “But our work isn’t done! The beasts approach! They come to defile this holy sanctuary again! To spit in the face of our God, Almighty!”

I watch all the faces that were beaming with joy transform into fury. A fury that hits too close to home.

Their angry voices begin to call out in a battle chant. “Death to all beasts! And death to their whores!”

My hand tightens in reflex around the Prophet’s. Not in fear, but in anger.

His squeezes mine back reassuringly.

Ooohhh… you really have him fooled , my inner bitch drawls out before she giggles.

Can I bite him now? I ask.

Before she can respond, the Prophet is using one finger to tip my chin up to look at him. “This must be hard for you.”

I let my eyes fill with sadness and try to speak, but nothing comes out.

My throat is completely blocked.

The Prophet says quietly, “It will be even harder when you watch your bonded and all his brethren die. For you, I’ll make their deaths long and terrible. Old vampires can last years impaled on spikes, if you don’t remove their heads. I’ll show you my collection one day.”

The Prophet tugs on my hand and I’m tempted to dig in my heels.

To spit in his face.

To tear off his head.

Follow him , my inner bitch snarls.

“Brothers and Sisters! It’s time to prepare for battle! Ready your arms!” a new voice booms out behind us.

A voice I’d recognize anywhere.

Casting a glance over my shoulder as the Prophet leads me behind the altar table, I see Father Dominic stepping behind the pulpit.

Knock over that candle! my inner bitch screams at me.

Swiping out my free arm, I knock over every candle and holy decoration in my path.

One candle tumbles off the edge of the altar and lands on the robe pooling around the Prophet’s feet.

The Prophet releases a roar as the bottom of his robe catches on fire.

Now you can bite him! my inner bitch squeals with glee.

Yanking my hand out of his grasp, I jump on the Prophet’s back and sink my teeth in his neck.

The Prophet’s body jerks and twitches beneath me as I focus all my hatred for him into my bite.

I don’t gift him the bliss I’ve given others.

He doesn’t deserve it.

I give him a pleasure so excruciating it’s beyond agonizing.

Roaring in misery, he tries to buck me off his back.

Wrapping my legs tight around his waist, I suck and suck on his neck with every bit of fury and rage boiling in my veins.

My throat magically blocked off, I don’t have to worry about swallowing his blood. It just flows out of my mouth, soaking my front and his back.

Wave after wave of violent, savage pleasure racks through him. Causing him to struggle to stomp out the flames licking up his legs.

I think I deserve a better name now , my inner voice says. I’m tired of being called bitch.

Name? I repeat as my mouth continues to suck hard.

I’ll be damned if this fucker gets any gratification out of this.

Yes, a name, my inner bitch says like I’m dumb. And it should be badass, considering I just saved your ass.

Is that so? I laugh as the Prophet begins to sink to his knees, right into the ring of fire.

Yes! my inner bitch insists.

I bury my fangs deeper into the Prophet’s neck and ignore the flames that are licking at my thighs. How about Fredricka?

You’re the bitch! Fredricka screams.