Chapter Eighteen
Eighteen
It had only been an hour. It had felt three times as long.
No matter how hard she looked, she couldn’t see any signs of Antoine’s box, or the bright orange lift bags. Had they retrieved him already? Had a bag failed, only for his prison to carry him back down to the depths? Or was there simply too much ocean to search, and too little a field of view?
“You still with me, Brent?”
“Yeah, I’m about fifty feet beneath you.” He didn’t sound happy.
“Have they got him?”
A pause. “Yeah, they’ve got him.”
Thank God for that. “Gabe answering you now?”
“When he wants to,” Brent replied, his tone flat.
“Can you let them know we’re here?”
“They know.”
“Good. I’m so ready to get out.” And never to get back in.
It still took too long. They had to bob like corks in the waves while Gabe’s thralls lowered a dinghy, guided them close enough to hook on the crane cable, then hoist them out.
Every minute gnawed at Cally’s impatience, and her HUD read 10:09 when she finally touched back down on the trawler’s deck.
“Get me out of this thing, Ryan!” she yelled as soon as she saw him.
“God damn it, Cally,” Brent winced over the radio.
A twinge of guilt, but she was done. The thralls couldn’t open her hatch fast enough, and she scrambled out like a cat escaping a bathtub.
Zoey watched from nearby.
“How’s Antoine?” Cally asked, as she leaned heavily on Amir’s shoulder and pulled her legs free.
“No word.”
“And Noah?”
“He’s still out.”
Gabe’s yacht waited at anchor a hundred feet away; sleek, white, and twice the length of the fishing trawler, but multiple decks made it look much larger. A sharp prow designed to cut through the water, tinted windows, and something that could be a helicopter pad at the back.
“Get me over there, Ryan.”
“We all go together. Gabe’s orders.”
Shit. More waiting. “What about the trawler?”
“Abandoning it, and the suits too.”
Cally wouldn’t be sorry to see them go, but it made sense. Another interminable delay as they pulled Brent’s suit from the water, and swung it onto the deck. She leaned on the rail and glared at the yacht. After a while, Zoey appeared at her side.
“Thank you for getting him back.”
Cally blinked in surprise. “Thank you?”
Zoey looked uncomfortable, and didn’t meet her eyes. “I’m bonded to him too, you know.”
“Yeah, but…” Zoey always seemed aloof, especially in comparison to Noah, and she didn’t have to show her gratitude. Maybe Noah was right; maybe Antoine’s thralls did all love him. Cally swallowed her skepticism, and settled for a simple, “You’re welcome.”
Ryan walked up. “You ready?”
Cally turned to see Brent out of his suit, and the dinghy held to the side of the trawler. One of Gabe’s thralls had the wheel, while Amir oversaw the lowering of Noah’s unconscious form as the two boats jostled in the waves.
“More than ready. Let’s go.” Cally headed for the dinghy, climbing down the ladder as the trawler pitched.
But holding on to the rungs was easier than she expected, courtesy of her increased strength.
Ryan returned to the cabin, only to emerge a moment later with a gas can, and began dousing the interiors of both exosuits.
She called up to Zoey. “What’s he doing? ”
“What’s it look like? You want them to find your DNA in there?”
A million bucks of hardware. But then, that’s what insurance was for.
Cally let it drop and resumed climbing, stepping into the crowded dinghy. Zoey followed, and a moment later Ryan appeared, sliding down the ladder like he’d done it a hundred times.
“Get going, Lewis,” he said to the thrall at the wheel, then pulled out a flare and struck it alight.
The dinghy’s engine roared as they pulled away from the trawler, and Ryan threw the flare. It arced out over the water and landed on the deck. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the flames caught, running pitifully across the wet wood.
“Should’ve used more gas,” Amir said.
“There wasn’t any,” Ryan replied.
But the fire had reached the exosuits, and it soon became apparent where Ryan had been generous. They both went up with a whoosh that Cally could hear over the waves, the flames rising high and sending thick black smoke into the morning sky.
“That’s going to help the Coast Guard with their enquiries,” she muttered.
“We’ll be gone before they get here.”
“And Gabe’s yacht?” Cally turned to regard the looming white ship, barely moving in the waves as it rested at anchor. “It doesn’t exactly blend in and look innocent.”
“It also doesn’t scream illegal immigrants, and that’s all the Coast Guard seem to care about.” Ryan shrugged. “Gabe has political pull. Even if they want to stop him, they won’t.”
They were already halfway between the two boats, and conversation died away as they drew closer. Maybe the others were in awe of its sleek lines, but Cally could only think of Antoine, somewhere aboard.
They’d got him back. Somehow, they’d done it—despite him being dropped to the depths of the ocean, Alvin’s disappearance, and the abrupt change in their plans. They’d done what they set out to do, and Antoine had returned to her.
But Cally bit at her lip, anxiety tight in her chest. He was still feral, mindless and borderline insane. How did anyone come back from that?
She’d been too scared to ask. Now she had to face the reality.
The dinghy bumped up against the yacht, and Cally didn’t wait to be invited. She was up on her feet and leaping for the ladder, ignoring Ryan’s yell to be careful. The rungs were wet and her hand slipped, but she clung on with sheer grit, and climbed.
“Gabe still awake?” she asked the thrall at the top of the ladder.
“Yeah.”
Shit. That meant Antoine would be too. “Where is he?”
“In the dive room.”
“Take me there.”
The thrall hesitated, eyeing the ladder like he had responsibilities, then nodded. Cally followed, her jaw clenched. Yes, she was ordering thralls around like they were hers, but that could wait. She needed to get to Antoine. To Gabe. Before he did something dumb.
The thrall led her down through two decks, with narrow corridors, low ceilings, and white walls.
Not the teak decking and glossy wood paneling she’d expected, but this was the technical space, industrial and utilitarian.
As they walked, the ship’s engines fired up, and the deck vibrated beneath her feet.
Yet there was little of the pitch and yaw she’d experienced on the trawler; Gabe’s boat glided through the water.
He waited outside a bulkhead door, radiating disapproval, dressed as usual in perfectly pressed chinos and a silk shirt. “You don’t need to see this, Cally.”
“See what? What have you done?” She pushed past him, reaching for the door’s long handle.
“Don’t open that,” he said urgently, and her hand hesitated at his tone.
Cally gave him a look, then peered through the viewport in the bulkhead door. The room beyond was utilitarian and sparse. Fluorescent strips buzzed stark light across racks for dive tanks and wetsuits, most of them empty. And illuminated the carnage within.
She gasped, a hand covering her mouth, then turned away. “You goddamn idiot, Gabe. I told you that wouldn’t work.”
He stubbornly crossed his arms, his shirt stretching taut over his biceps. “I’ve seen feral vampires before. Have you?”
“Antoine isn’t a normal vampire, damn it. He’s…” Bonded to me, and me alone. She sighed. “I need to get in there. I’m the only one who can feed him.”
Gabe blinked in surprise. “In there? Hell no. He’ll rip you apart.”
“Like that poor bastard you threw in there with him?”
Gabe had the decency to look uncomfortable.
“Dammit, Gabe. Why did you have to let him out? I could’ve fed him while he was…” Cally shook her head. “So what now? You must know you can’t keep throwing him chattel.” She poured all her disdain into the word. “What choice do we have but to open this door and let me in?”
“That’s still not going to happen. Bonded or not, Antoine will kill you. He’s not in control, he doesn’t know who he is.”
Cally huffed in frustration. “Do you still have tranq darts left?”
“Yeah, we have a few. But he’ll be on us as soon as we open the door.”
She bit at her lip. “He’ll sleep soon, right?”
Gabe tilted his head to one side, considering. “Feral, he’s both more resistant to the sun, and less able to consciously fight it. So yeah, an hour, maybe two, and he’ll be out. But he’ll wake as soon as he scents blood.”
“So we wait until he’s asleep, open the door, shoot him full of tranq darts, and close it again. Wait for them to do their thing, then I go in and feed him.”
“How?”
“I’ll figure it out. Open a vein and drip it into his mouth?” Antoine’s always refused to feed from my wrist.
Gabe nodded slowly. “I suppose that could work.”
“That’s what we’ll do, then.” Cally leveled him with a look. “You got any more chattel on board?”
“No. I only brought one.” He pressed his lips together. “It’s usually enough.”
“I wish you’d waited. I told you to wait.”
His chin came up, his eyes hardening. “I’m not in the habit of taking orders from—” He paused, then sighed. “Fine. I was wrong, you were right. I’m sorry.”
“What’s done is done, I suppose.” And someone lost their life for it. “Get me Ryan, would you? I’ll sort this out with him.”
Gabe frowned, a hint of hurt in his eyes. “You don’t want me here?”
“I figured you’d be asleep.”
“I’m not feral. I can stay awake for this.”
It was clear he wanted to help, to make it better.
“Fine. Let’s get the tranqs.”