Chapter 11
Cassi
This was a shitty idea. Really, really shitty and stupid to boot.
This got her no closer to finding her mother.
It got her no closer to anywhere. She wasn't being followed, there was no cavalry meant to throw themselves into the fray once she was caught by the Vampyren who now rode on her tail like a comet's tail, so close she thought she could smell him.
This wouldn't get her to the tanks where her mother was held, it would get her thrown into the tanks or, far more likely, into a breeding pit.
If she was of use to them, she'd be bred with the vamps to produce more of them.
If she wasn't, she'd be thrown in with random males to produce offspring for food.
If she didn't conceive she might find her mother by joining her in the tank farms.
Find a Vampyren, send back info via the communications devices buried in her flesh, GPS and the kind of listening that personal assistance AIs were famous for insisting they didn't have.
She was supposed to let him catch her. But without a doubt, no Vampyren would be stupid enough to not understand this circuitous nowhere route she was taking and was going nowhere. He'd expect a trap. She had to make it look good.
Cassi stepped on the gas the way she'd never been able to when there was constantly traffic choking the streets. Now it was rubble and it was still a lot more clear than it had been.
For just a second, it was almost fun, this race.
Then he had her.
For a brief spell she thought she'd gotten away. The street opened up in front of her, one of the long main streets that cut through Los Angeles and she thought she might be able to beat him. She didn't necessarily have a better bike. She was just lighter on it.
The Vampyren male chasing her was as enormous as they all were. Easily seven feet tall, they were all muscled, all dark skinned, with gold eyes and they were, uniformly, beautiful.
It might be part of what most humans hated about them. They didn't have the power to mesmerize like the vampires from the movies. Instead, they terrified, with their brutality and size and –
Penchant for drinking blood.
That's when the mission kicked in – get herself captured. There were mikes right in her skin, nothing they'd find even if they were trying, even if they cared. Humans didn't know where the Vampyren were taking their captives.
She didn't know where her mother was being held, for example. But this no longer felt like a good way to find out.
She was scared to death. Running was automatic. She leaned into the bike, took a corner so sharply she should have spilled, but she righted herself and kept riding and there was no way he'd think this a trap.
It no longer was. Never had been. Except for her.
She went around another corner.
He was right there in front of her. Straddling the bike. Weapon at the ready.
She could try to run, but that gun would take her between the shoulder blades and set her alight. She could already feel it, the way her skin prickled, all her instincts that told her to run now told her to still.
"Take your hands off the bike."
She glared at him, tempted to take both hands up in a double bird salute.
And something stirred in memory. A familiar voice? Or the way he held himself. She'd seen him before.
A somewhat hysterical giggle tried to break free. She thought maybe she'd flipped him off before.
That would be typical, wouldn't it?
"Put your hands behind your head."
She wanted to complain that the bike would overbalance and fall if she did, but it wouldn't. It was her bike, a perfect fit. And he didn't care if she fell. There was that.
Then her hands were on the back of her neck and the Vampyren was stalking toward her, only one of them and that made her wonder if there was a shortage, which made it sound like something someone might stock up on – Almost out of vamps, need to stock up – and so she was almost laughing to herself by the time he reached her.
She braced herself for the slap that would knock the smile off her face and the laughter out of her system, but as he got close she was distracted by his beauty.
The gold eyes on him were slightly tarnished, a little brown around the edges, and his lashes were long.
He had high cheekbones, like one of the superhero actors, the one who played the ocean guy, she'd never kept up with those movies, but he was so tall, so strong, so incredibly in shape. A man a girl could feel safe with.
If only he was really a man.
If only he wasn't the one she needed to feel safe from.
"What are you doing out here?" His voice was gruff but not horribly unkind and again she wondered why he was alone.
Then she looked up and found him observing her and she was lost. Her brain tumbled over and gave up.
Her heart beat double and then just too fast. She couldn't swallow and her mouth filled with saliva, like she wanted to lick him from head to foot, to submit to his dominance, to reach for him, to spread her legs, to draw him into her, to–
Gods. That was their danger and if that wasn't mesmerizing, she didn't know what was. He was deadly, utterly a stone cold killer. It was like finding a great white shark was something she wanted to touch. Finding herself wanting it.
Finding her brain had abandoned her.
And in that instant the idea of being controlled, even intentionally, made her so furious she pulled herself back.
"What, you don't think it's a beautiful night for a ride?"
She thought he might hit her then. The brutality of the invaders seemed to be the constant. But she saw his mouth twitch, just a little, at her comment.
That's interesting, she thought.
Then he was behind her, taking her arms down, fastening them behind her back with zip ties like he was any beleaguered cop who had already used up his allotment of handcuffs and still had more rabble among the rubble to deal with.
She found herself arching her back, thrusting out her boobs, licking her lips the whole time he was manhandling her – vamp-handling?
She told herself to stop.
She told herself this could be the end of her life.
She found herself thinking, Touch me and tried to despise herself for it.
And couldn't.