Chapter 33
Cain
Nyx hadn’t lied about how fast she could pull a glamour. From one stride to the next, she morphed from a sexy, long-legged redhead into a lean-hipped man, taking on the look and gait of Jérémie like she’d been born in his skin.
From the shadows, I watched as she pulled up a square of grass under a pine, revealing a heavy iron trap door concealed in the soil. Her fingers flew over the keypad, ten digits in rapid succession, and the door opened on well-oiled hinges.
The rest of us left the shadows one by one as planned—Brien first, then the others, with me bringing up the rear. Nyx waited until we all made it through the trap door, her body angled so that the only person visible on camera was her, then followed.
By the time I dropped into the tunnel, the other five had melted into the gloom.
I did the same. Nyx believed Perla was being kept on a level below the main lair, a level accessible by only one staircase near the lair’s great room.
Nyx set off into a narrow passage, the rest of us following in the shadows, heading for the great room.
Twice, she was forced to enter the shadows herself when other vampires crossed our path.
I watched her closely. Glamouring yourself while dipping in and out of shadows was a brutal drain.
If her energy faltered, she was screwed—we all were.
But she had to keep it up. If any of the QCS vampires had recently seen Jérémie elsewhere in the lair, the whole plan could collapse.
Several twists and turns later, we reached the great room, a huge, vaulted chamber that could’ve been ripped straight from a German castle.
Nazaire was a wealthy sonuvabitch, and his lair had been built to both impress and intimidate.
Thick oak arches ribbed the ceiling like exposed bone.
A hulking iron beast of a chandelier hung in the center, its squat red candles throwing blood-tinged shadows across the floor, and faded tapestries covered the stone walls.
A long black table stood at one end of the chamber, and at the other, a fire smoldered in a hearth big enough to roast a pig in.
In between were a handful of couches and armchairs in rich velvets and silks.
Fortunately, only a few members of the lair were present, and they barely glanced up as Nyx headed to the kitchen, still in the form of Jérémie.
In the kitchen, Nyx slapped together a sandwich and tucked it into a cloth bag along with a water bottle.
The next stop was a wooden door etched with a bat, wings spread wide.
Nyx rapped on the smooth wood and it creaked open.
A woman in a QCS uniform stood framed in the doorway, one hand on the dagger at her belt.
Nyx opened the bag, showing her the sandwich and bottle. “Food for the prisoner,” she said in French.
The guard nodded and waved her inside, and I slipped in after them. Brien and Twilight were with me, also in the shadows. Per the plan, Talon would stay at the top of the stairs and James and Adrian would wait by the door at the opposite side of the great room.
We stood on a landing, a staircase descending into darkness below. Leaving the door open, the guard unhooked a kerosene torch from the wall, its flame casting jagged shadows on the limestone walls. She motioned Nyx to follow her. I trailed after.
At the bottom, three tunnels branched out like veins.
The guard veered left, stopping at a door built to hold a vampire—two-inch-thick wood reinforced with wide silver bands, crossed in an X.
She slid the torch into a bracket and drew an ornate brass key from her pocket.
The door unlocked with a rusty groan and she pushed it wide.
Perla sat slumped against a stone wall, arms wrapped around her legs, still in the same torn navy dress. She looked like she hadn’t moved since the photo had been taken. She was barefoot, her right foot swollen, the wounds on her throat crusted with blood.
Her eyes lifted to the guard. She moaned and recoiled, pressing herself against the rough stone like she hoped it would swallow her.
“S’il te plait,” she said in a cracked voice. “No more.”
Something in me clenched. Whatever softness I’d been born with had been beaten out of me before I turned ten. But to brutalize a woman just for befriending Nyx? A woman who’d served Nazaire loyally for years?
This wasn’t discipline. It wasn’t even punishment. It was the kind of cruelty a sadist used to remind everyone who held the leash.
“A meal,” the guard informed Perla in clipped French. “You get ten minutes. So eat fast.”
Perla’s gaze went to the bag in Nyx’s hand. She moistened her lips, then snatched it, her movements jerky and uncoordinated. She unscrewed the water bottle with trembling fingers and gulped some down before tearing into the sandwich.
The guard turned toward the door. That was my cue.
I stepped from the shadows, silver dagger ready, and locked an arm around her neck. She bucked, trying to throw me off, her chest moving in panicked bursts. Her hand went to the weapon at her belt.
She never got it free.
I drove my blade deep into her sternum. Blood sprayed, slicking my arm.
She gasped, fingers plucking at the carved ebony handle. She must’ve realized it was hopeless because she strained to look at me over her shoulder.
When she caught my eye, she bared her fangs. “May the Black Goddess…chain your soul and cast it…straight to Hades.”
That pulled a smile from me. “I never figured I’d go to heaven,” I returned—and gave a last twist of the blade.
Her low scream tore through the cell. The magical fire sparked to life, dark and hungry. I wrenched the dagger free, wiped it on her sleeve, and shoved her away.
She staggered to the wall and collapsed next to the door, ending up seated on the stone floor, legs splayed, head flopping to the side, smoke pouring from her mouth like a doll out of a low-budget horror movie. The air thickened with the acrid stench of burning flesh.
In the hall, Brien and Twilight had already stepped into the physical world. Twilight leaned into the cell, taking in the scene with a professional eye.
“Nice work,” she told me, giving the guard’s twitching body a quick once-over.
I grunted acknowledgment and turned back to Perla. She struggled to her feet, the half-eaten sandwich in her hand, careful not to put weight on her injured foot.
Her gaze darted from me to Nyx-as-Jérémie. “What do you want?” she rasped.
Nyx dropped her glamour and crossed to her, hands outstretched. “C’est moi, ma chum.”
I shot forward and caught her arm. “What are you doing?” I growled in her ear. “He could have a camera in the cell.”
“Let him see me,” she returned, gaze on her friend.
“Nyx?” the other woman mouthed. Then her face crumpled. “You came.” She leaned into Nyx, dragging in a shaking breath. “He said you would, but I wasn’t sure. Oh, ma belle, you shouldn’t have.”
“Fuck him,” Nyx said.
Perla startled at that—eyes wide, mouth parting like she couldn’t believe Nyx had said it out loud.
Nyx slid an arm around her waist, taking most of her weight. “Can you walk?”
For answer, Perla tried to put her injured foot on the stone floor and winced. “I’m sorry. My foot—he threw me into a wall and… I think it’s broken.”
She looked helplessly from her foot to the sandwich in her hand, as if she’d forgotten she was holding it. She tucked it into her pocket with a shaky breath. The water bottle she tipped back and drained, then let it fall to the floor.
I eyed Nyx, torn between wanting to smack her pretty ass for exposing herself this way, and getting out of here ASAP.
“Get back in the shadows. We can take it from here.”
“Can’t.” Her slim shoulder lifted in a rueful shrug. “I’m almost out of juice.”
My right hand clenched around the dagger’s handle. Yeah, I definitely wanted to spank her ass.
“Lean on me,” Nyx told Perla, and half-carried, half-walked her to the door.
I exhaled and went ahead to check that it was safe. Twilight and Brien had remained in the tunnel outside, watching for trouble.
As the two women exited the cell, Perla froze, her gaze pinging around the tunnel. “We have to be careful,” she said in an undertone. “He’s not going to let us leave.”
“We’ve got this,” Nyx assured her. “But we do have to hurry.”
“My foot…” Perla bit her lip, obviously in pain. “I don’t know if I can.”
“I’ll carry you.” I stepped forward.
Perla cringed, shoulders hunching, like she was expecting a blow.
“Easy,” Nyx murmured. “This is Cain. You can trust him. He’s from the Maritime Syndicate—they all are.”
The human blinked. “Cain? He is the one who—?”
“Oui,” said Nyx.
“Ah.” Perla’s bruised mouth curved. “A Maritime lieutenant,” she said like that explained something. She straightened back up. “Yes, please,” she told me.
I shoved my dagger into a hidden pocket in my tactical pants, gathered her into my arms and headed for the stairs, Nyx on my heels.
Above, Talon whisper-shouted, “Someone’s coming.” The door thudded shut.
My pulse kicked. I bolted up the stairs, Nyx right behind. Brien snatched up the torch, and he and Twilight followed. We hit the landing as someone banged on the other side of the door.
Talon held up three fingers. “Three men,” he told us. “That I saw, anyway.”
“James and Adrian?” asked Brien.
“Still in the great room. I saw these dudes dropping out of the shadows and threw the door shut. It locked automatically.”
Perla lifted her head from my shoulder. “I told you,” she said, her voice flat, stripped of hope. “He won’t let us go. He means to stake you all.”
“He’ll have to catch us first,” I told her.
Brien turned to Nyx. “Is there another way out?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“This is it,” Perla confirmed.
Twilight bounced once in her black Adidas, fangs shining in the murky light. “Then we make our stand.”
Brien’s eyes flared blue. “Damn right.”
On the other side of the door came the scrape of a key being inserted in the lock.