Chapter 11
Chapter eleven
Damien
“Lower all privacy shields, James,” I said, shifting to place more of my body between Luna and our pursuers.
As the shields retracted with a pneumatic hiss, I turned to peer out the back window. Two vehicles, professional drivers, reinforced chassis, coordinated approach. This was no random attack. I figured we had about forty-seven seconds before they caught up with us, give or take.
Luna twisted in her seat to assess the threat, seemingly unfazed. “I’d almost be disappointed if we weren’t being followed.”
I forced my gaze away from the expanse of skin revealed by her movement, and she adjusted her dress where it had ridden up her thighs. My long existence had taught me focus during crisis, yet Luna Rookwood continued to be an exceptional distraction.
“Evasive protocol?” James asked.
“Yes.”
The car lurched sideways without warning, throwing Luna against my chest. I secured her instinctively, my arm encircling her waist as we careened down a narrow side street lined with historic architecture.
Her scent engulfed me—wild honey, lemongrass, and beneath it all, the distinctive, tantalizing notes of her blood.
“Sorry,” she muttered, pushing herself upright while avoiding my gaze. “Is it Marcel?”
“Mercenaries, most likely.” I reached beneath the seat for the weapons case I’d brought from home.
After reading my thumbprint, the case opened, revealing a specialized arsenal.
I selected a handgun designed for accuracy in confined spaces and checked it. “Can you shoot?”
Luna hiked her dress up her thighs, exposing not only the weapons strapped to her legs but also the absence of underwear she’d mentioned earlier.
Despite everything, the rest of the world faded. I couldn’t help but stare. All my self-control, undone by one rebellious lack of cotton. Everything on display with, as Luna would say, “Zero fucks given.” I didn’t even think she noticed.
She unstrapped her gun and adjusted her dress. “Seriously? Can I shoot? A tomb raider who doesn’t know how to shoot—“
“Is a dead tomb raider,” I finished for her, tearing my attention behind us once again.
“Now you’re catching on.”
One black SUV accelerated, and I detected the distinctive metallic sounds of a weapon being prepared. The window lowered to reveal a tactical rifle—military grade, modified for supernatural targets based on the distinctive ammunition feed.
“Down!” I threw myself over Luna as the rear window shattered, glass fragments cascading around us like crystalline rainfall.
My body absorbed the impact of several specialized bullets specifically meant for supernaturals. But they were only a minor inconvenience for vampires, suggesting our attackers remained unaware of my exact nature. A tactical error. Also a sign that this wasn’t Marcel.
When I looked down, Luna’s face hovered inches from mine, her eyes wide but devoid of the terror most humans would display. Instead, I detected only curiosity and concern.
“Are you hurt?” I allowed myself to touch her face briefly.
“I’m fine,” she replied, her breath shockingly warm against my skin. A small frown formed between her brows as she reached up toward my temple. “You’re bleeding.”
“It’s nothing.” The wound was already closing, my vampire physiology repairing the damage.
I pulled away to return targeted fire through the shattered window, each shot calculated to disable rather than eliminate. I wanted them alive long enough to interrogate them. Only they swerved and evaded most of my shots to their tires.
“James, take the tunnel route,” I ordered, reloading.
As our vehicle careened toward what appeared to be a solid wall, Luna gave a sharp intake of breath.
But then a concealed entrance slid open with barely sufficient clearance, a system Elliot and the rest of the Vampire Council had helped design in the aftermath of the 1927 vampire-shifter conflicts.
The SUV attempted to follow, its excessive width causing it to become wedged in the entrance.
The sound of grinding metal confirmed at least one threat neutralized.
“What is this place?” Luna asked as we navigated the labyrinthine passages beneath the city.
“It’s a private network,” I explained, evaluating potential threats ahead and behind. “Supernatural emergency routes beneath the city. They date back to the 1920s when vampires decided covert movement might be necessary.”
An unexpected power fluctuation plunged the tunnel into darkness. My enhanced vision adjusted instantly, but Luna tensed beside me.
“Power outage,” James said. “I’m switching to auxiliary systems.”
A silver sedan’s headlights appeared behind us, its sleek form designed for this type of pursuit—narrower chassis, reinforced front end, specialized tires. This vehicle had been prepared specifically for the tunnels. Now they were catching on.
“On my mark, execute pattern sigma,” I instructed James, while reaching for Luna’s hand in the darkness. “Brace yourself.”
She nodded, her grip tightening on both my hand and her weapon, the set of her jaw determined.
“Now!” I commanded.
In a wider part of the tunnel, our car executed a perfect 180-degree rotation, disorienting our pursuer. I exited the vehicle at full vampire speed, a blur of movement that would appear as nothing more than shadow to human perception.
I removed the driver’s door with a single focused application of force, the metallic shriek echoing through the confined space.
I threw the driver—human, male, military training evident in his physique and reactions—against the wall.
He rose again, unexpectedly resilient, suggesting enhanced strength.
Possibly blood-doping with supernatural elements.
I registered a single shot behind me that incapacitated the passenger without fatal damage. Efficient. Tactical. Gorgeous. And Luna had maintained her position of cover while executing the shot.
After neutralizing the enhanced driver with a strike to his neurovascular cluster, I moved to interrogate the remaining conscious assailant. I lifted him by his throat, moderating my strength to allow his speech while ensuring compliance.
“Did Marcel send you?” I demanded, allowing my vampire nature to surface visibly.
The man struggled against my grip. “No…not Marcel.”
Luna approached, her weapon still raised. “Marcel needs us alive to follow us. We saw the map. He didn’t. He wouldn’t try to take us out now.”
The distant echoes of additional vehicles reverberating through the tunnel system sounded. This was merely the first wave.
“Doesn’t matter now,” she said, placing her hand on my arm. “We need to go.”
The unexpected gentle touch cut through the predatory focus that had overtaken me. I rendered the man unconscious with precise pressure to the carotid artery and released him.
He’d be fine.
“Back in the car,” I said.
We navigated the remainder of the tunnel system using alternate routes I’d memorized during their construction and emerged near an abandoned industrial complex miles from our entry point.
Throughout the journey, Luna kept her gaze on me and my wounds, as though cataloging the visible evidence of supernatural abilities she’d witnessed.
“Super strength, enhanced speed, bulletproof,” she said. “Any other abilities I should know about before our jungle adventure tomorrow?”
“Enhanced senses. I can hear your heartbeat, smell your blood beneath your skin.” I omitted the fact that her particular blood called to me more powerfully than any I’d encountered in decades. “Regeneration, as you’ve noticed. Resistance to most toxins and diseases.”
“And weaknesses?” She leaned forward to examine the already-healed laceration on my temple, her fingers hovering close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from her skin.
“Sustained sunlight weakens me, though I can withstand it for longer than most. Sacred wood, like certain species grown on consecrated ground, can cause permanent damage.” I found my gaze drawn to the pulse point at her throat, where her blood moved with a hypnotic rhythm, before forcing my attention elsewhere.
“Like most vampires my age, I require blood weekly to maintain full strength.”
Her heartbeat accelerated at the mention of blood, though she only nodded. The scent of her increased with her elevated pulse, testing the limits of my control in the confined space.
“Are you hurt anywhere else?” she asked.
“Nothing that won’t heal.” Though the slightest movement sent an uncomfortable reminder of the glass shards still embedded in my back from when I’d shielded her from the window’s explosion.
“Let me see.” Before I could object, she moved closer, her hand applying gentle pressure to turn me sideways.
She gasped. “You have glass in your back, you dummy. You should have said so.”
She removed a large fragment, the sensation more uncomfortable than painful. My muscles tensed involuntarily at her touch.
“It would have been worse for you,” I said simply.
“Yeah, but then I would’ve been bleeding, and you could’ve stuck your straw in me like a Capri Sun.”
I turned to look at her, disarmed by the unexpected comment. A flush crept up her neck to her ears, a physiological response I found compelling.
“Um, never mind. That was… I… Anyway.“ She removed the final fragment and patted my back awkwardly.
When she began to withdraw, I captured her hand. “Luna.”
Her pulse jumped at the sound of her name, the reaction stirring something primal in me. Something dangerous, yet I couldn’t bring myself to release her.
“Tomorrow will be risky.” The imminent perils we faced, from the Darién Gap’s natural and supernatural hazards, to Marcel, to whoever had hired Atlas Security to watch Luna, and to whoever had orchestrated tonight’s attack, seemed secondary to an entirely different concern: her safety. “All of it will be.”
“Then let’s not fail.” She extended her hand with deliberate formality, the gesture touchingly human in its simplicity. “Deal?”
I hesitated, recognizing the significance in this moment that transcended the fake part of our arrangement. This part was very real, especially because one of us was sans underwear and the other couldn’t stop thinking about that fact.
I took her hand. “Deal.”