Chapter 49
Serenity
I love you too, Seb. I glowered up at Conrad, staring defiantly at the tire iron gripped in his hand. I wouldn’t cower to him this time, and I wouldn’t let my terror trickle into Seb’s head. I’ll love you forever. That’s why you can’t go. You have to hold on.
The iron whacked across my knees, and I buckled onto cold, leaf-sodden asphalt, white hot agony fuzzing my vision. Sickening waves of pain roiled into my stomach as he picked me up, bundling me into his car trunk and slamming it shut.
I screamed, hammering the trunk’s ceiling with hands and feet. When that failed, I tried to pick the lock with my hairpin in the pitch black. I had about as much success as anyone would expect.
Seb? Seb, answer me. I’m in a car. It was black, I think. We haven’t taken any turns yet. That was odd, now that I thought about it. Seb?
Cold silence.
Fear curdled in my gut and tears stung my eyes. No. No, he couldn’t be…
But there’d been so much blood.
My sob was more an outraged scream that made the tiny space even more stifling.
Had the other guys found Seb? Had they gotten him help? They had to!
I tried to steady my breathing, swiping at hot tears. Bryce would find Seb. He’d stay levelheaded. And Hunter and Dagger, they’d follow my trail. They’d run until their jaguar paws bled to find me. It would all be okay…
If they could catch up.
Just how fast were we going? The engine roared, pushing what felt like three hundred miles an hour.
No stopping for red lights. No weaving in all the crisscrossed traffic mayhem of New Omaha.
I heard the whistle of objects zipping by at unnatural speeds, and what felt like heavy wind buffeted the sides of the car.
It felt like flying. No doubt that bastard Winterborn had given Conrad another magical gift.
The car soon grumbled to a halt. The trunk clunked open, and a powerful flashlight blinded me. Two pairs of rough hands dragged me from the trunk, banging my head off its open flap as they heaved.
“Be careful, you dickheads. Any injuries to her will be paid back to you tenfold!”
I struggled, spat and screamed, but it was no use.
Trying to push and pull against their grip was wasting valuable energy, so I decided to stop, breathe, and take in as many details as I could.
I was being hauled through a small cemetery.
It was too dark to read the tombstones, but they stood as stark reminders of the danger I was in now.
I searched for yellow eyes in the distance, hope flickering deep in my chest. Nothing.
But I kept that spark alive. They’d come for me.
And God, if they found me in time, I’d never think about leaving New Nebraska again.
We could stay in Hunter’s loft, happy together, for the rest of my life.
This place was their home, their safe haven, and they were mine.
My captors led me through a creaking wooden door studded in iron, which Conrad locked and triple bolted behind him. Then we squeezed down four flights of circular stone steps, to a space about the same size as a high school gym, except the blood-toned cloth and bone décor screamed vampire court.
Dank and musty, it had no windows but flickering rows of mismatched candles crowded the room’s edges, weeping wax tears onto brass plates.
On the walls hung tapestries depicting gruesome conflicts and massacres of all kinds, many of them splattered with what looked like arterial blood. I gulped, my throat dry as sandpaper.
They paraded me past red and black-draped dining tables to a sculpted stone throne at the far end of the court—a macabre symbol of power positioned atop four steep steps.
The pale binding of its leatherbound headrest didn’t look like it was from an animal.
Neither did the skulls encrusted into the end of each armrest. The skulls’ hollow stares and eternal smiles seemed to follow me as I was shoved down before the throne.
Conrad climbed the steps and sat petting the skulls, staring at me in unnerving silence.
I was on my knees, held down by at least three bulky vamp goons, but my mouth wasn’t bound. And I couldn’t take his eyes roving me any longer. “Well say something then!”
He yawned, examining the parts where his transparent blue armor had been smashed, before the whole shield wisped away in an implosion of thick smoke that smelt like burning car tires.
He stroked the skull under his left hand, speaking wistfully.
“This was a dear brother of mine. He saved my life more than once.” He tapped the opposite skull.
“And this was my former coven leader. Someone who hated me with a ferocity even equal to that giant cat lover of yours.”
The pressure from his men bearing down on my shoulders was starting to ache. “I don’t give a shit.”
Conrad tutted and wagged his finger. “Well, you should. You see, one was a brother I idolized, looked up to in every way, the other a slimy old shit I took joy in murdering. But ultimately, they both make equally useful decorations. Once the skin and other bits have withered away, been scooped out, of course.”
“What the hell’s your point?”
Baring his fangs, he lurched forward on his throne, his glare fierce. “My fucking point, little human, is that we’re all skeletons waiting to happen. No matter how highly we might feel about ourselves. Like that politician—asshole Andino—I offed tonight.”
Conrad had killed our governor?
“And once we’re merely bone, all we’re good for is decoration.”
I’d heard the ravings of his diary. “And you really think by using me you can avoid it happening to you?”
He threw a casual hand. “Who can say?” A smug smile curled his mouth. “What I do know is, using your blood and Winterborn’s Fae magic, I can live longer and become more powerful than anyone in history.” He fixed his stare on mine. “As long as that little heart keeps pumping.”
“It won’t be pumping for long if you keep hitting me with metal bars.”
“The pain will stop once you’ve been properly trained,” he said, low and cold. “Struggle, and you’ll be punished. One way or another.”
“I won’t stop struggling,” I snarled. “I’ll fight and fight, until one of us is dead, and then what happens to your plans for immortality?”
Conrad’s gaze narrowed, nostrils flaring, but he kept his brewing outburst inside, pondering me.
I pushed further, stalling for time, looking for a way to make him call off his goons. “When you want to protect an asset, you put it somewhere nice and safe. You treat it with care.”
He cocked his head at me. “You make a fair point. I’ll agree to let you sit and talk with me unrestrained, if you agree to act civilized.” His fingers curled inside the eye sockets of the old coven leader’s skull as he grasped it hard. “And of course, do as I say.”
Jackpot. “I’ll be civilized,” I said through tight jaws, the strain of the vampires’ hold beginning to lance like fire through my neck and shoulders. A gasp of relief slipped out when they released, letting me straighten.
I massaged my muscles, listening for the creak of the hall’s large doors as the henchmen closed it behind them.
Conrad pointed to the nearest chair beneath his throne. “Sit. Let’s have a chat, shall we?”
His croaking rattlesnake rasp pooled nausea in my guts, but I had plenty of practice shoving down the heinous memories of his teeth at my neck, so I kept my chin up and played the game the best I could.
I sat with head down, demure and quiet, looking as small as I could make myself as I secretly scoured my surroundings for a good makeshift weapon.
“You must be thirsty. A drink?” he asked, climbing down from the throne and brushing his palm across a nearby table laden in liquor bottles and blood cocktails.
I needed water—my mouth and throat were so dry I was struggling to swallow—but I appeased him, figuring it might steady my hand and my nerves if I got a chance to either fatally strike Conrad or escape.
“A very large vodka with plenty of ice, please.”
Conrad sniggered as he clinked a bottle of vodka free from the glass huddle, cracking open the top. “Picked up some naughty habits, have you?” He poured a large measure into a jewel-encrusted metal chalice and plopped in one snowball-sized ice cube.
He swirled the chalice’s contents in his hand, staying beside the table. “I’ll say this only once. Try to escape, and I’ll have the coven surgeon amputate your feet. Try to whack me over the head when my back’s turned, it’ll be your hands. Talk too much shit and it’s your tongue. See the pattern?”
I gulped. If anyone was psychotic enough to cut off somebody’s body parts to make a point, it was Conrad. I decided to shift my strategy a little. He was a slave to his ego. Appeal to that vanity, and he’d be narcissistic enough to believe it.
I bowed my head. “I understand. I won’t resist.”
“Good girl,” he sneered as he handed me the heavy, steel chalice.
I guzzled one big mouthful of the cool vodka but pretended to take a few more gulps. Let him expect me to get sloppy.
The liquor traveled a fiery trail down my throat, but when it hit my stomach, it erupted into an intense blaze that spread with wildfire speed out through my limbs, taking me aback.
The sensation reminded me of the night I’d spent with Bryce, his body over mine, our skin flushed with a uniquely volcanic passion.
I took another experimental sip, senses hyperaware, and saw every candle flare up at once, burning brighter as the heat spread again through to my fingertips and toes. Parched, I licked at the giant ice cube, watching carefully as the flames simmered down again. Interesting.
When I next glanced up at Conrad, I caught him enraptured, a sickening lust in his face as he watched my tongue circle the ice. My skin scrawled, but I kept going, never breaking his stare.
“You’ve learned several new things since we last met, haven’t you?”