A Wicked Night (Creatures of Darkness 2): A Coraline Conwell Novel (16 page)

A dawning of relief crested. Would the dark-haired vampire’s claim be enough to save her from this man’s depravity?

His hand tightened around her ankle. Her composure snapped and she jerked her leg in an instinctual kick, hoping to dislodge him, but she only managed to disturb the inflamed skin under her bindings. Instead of letting go, he dug stubby fingers into her flesh; might have drawn blood if he hadn’t been inhibited by the blanket.

She swallowed a whimper as her leg muscles screamed under his grip.

“Keep your hands off, boys,” the doctor warned. “Unless you don’t mind having your throat ripped out by the master. Nikolai has taken special interest in this one.”

The man snatched his hand back as if she were poison incarnate. He took a slow drag of his cigar, then studied her with a mixture of curiosity and agitation. “Lucky for me Nikolai’s interests are short-lived.”

When his lips formed a cool smile, any bravado she had left fled into her stomach.

The familiar metal tip of the gun barrel slipped between the bars of the door’s tiny window, and the bastard behind it shot a tranq straight into Brayden’s thigh. Another lanced his right ab. He knew what to expect next: thickly veiled smog would engulf his brain, making it difficult to think; his muscles would weaken more than they already were; keeping his legs strong under his sagging body would take what was left of his concentration.

Only then would the men feel safe to enter and steal from him his essence.

Afterward, they would once more leave him alone, locked away, and ever weaker. Put him on a shelf for later. It would take several days to recover from the loss and regain a measure of strength. Unless they saw fit to feed him this time. It was long overdue.

The voices outside turned fuzzy, muted, with an unnatural echoing lag.

The sedative was taking hold.

“Give it a few more minutes,” one voice said from outside the cell.

“Is two darts enough?” another asked. The tone was stiff and authoritative. Not Bray’s usual visitor…again. Well, wasn’t he the popular boy?

“He hasn’t been fed in a while. Two should be enough,” the first man replied.

“This isn’t a normal procedure. Better do another one to be sure,” the second man insisted.

A third tranq found Bray’s gut.

Motherfuckers!
That one hurt.

His head lulled as his mind fought to understand why today was different. What have they planned for him now?

His vision split into two halves, both blurred and skewed and out of sync. When his knees turned soft, he locked them in place, making them into steel beams for his torso to rest upon. Otherwise he’d be hanging from his arms. A good way to dislocate a shoulder.

The jingle of keys sounded, then the click of the lock. A rusty squeak accompanied the opening door. Cautiously, the men entered. Two at first, their backs to him as they dragged in a large object. A third man pushed from the other end, maneuvering it past the threshold over the rough terrain.

Bray’s neck gave out and his head dropped forward, but he forced his eyes up, trying to make sense of the scene. He sickened with dizziness. His stomach wobbled and lurched, but it was too empty for anything other than to grind at the scent of fresh, living blood so close. Yet so out of reach.

He gave in to the nausea and closed his eyes, waiting for whatever would come.

A soft cry reached his ears, the lilting timbre out of place in this hellhole.

His head jerked up, his gaze zeroing in on the sound. And though the world rolled fiercely to the right, he’d caught a glimpse of the oddity.

A woman.

For a second he was captured by a set of golden-brown eyes as large as a harvest moon.

Despite her evident fright, she was beautiful to behold. Sun-kissed yellow hair, lush pink lips, perfect upturned nose, and her skin was flawless. At first glance, she reminded him of an angel.

He must be hallucinating.

She was lying in a gurney. Was she sick? A paying customer straight from her death bed to drink from the spring of life? She didn’t smell ill. No, she smelled tempting.

One of the men approached him, a glinting object in one hand. The other two men fumbled with the wide-eyed female.

“What are you doing?” she called out, setting Bray on edge. She didn’t sound like she wanted to be here any more than he did.

The men separated her from the gurney and dragged her toward him. She struggled weakly. As Bray squinted, trying to focus on the unusual drama before him, pain jetted up his arm.

The man to his right had sliced his bicep open!

Bray managed a rough growl, attempting to make eye contact with the bastard. Not that it would do any good. He was too doped up to compel anyone right now, but he wanted to convey a very clear message. One day, maybe not today, maybe not even a year from now, but one day, he would have that man’s jugular as a prize.

The man didn’t bother to take note of his foreboding demise.

The scent of the woman’s fragrance tugged at Bray’s nostrils, bringing his head around. Again the world rolled, this time to the left.

They lugged her closer and her struggles turned frantic. She was staring at the warm blood flowing down his arm—fixated—as they brought her closer still. She met his gaze for an instant.

Through his muddied mind, he deciphered a few emotions: horror, fear, and something else that looked like hunger.

Or maybe he had just imagined the last, the tranq clouding his mind, his own hunger playing tricks on him, gnawing at his insides.

Her scent was sweet, teasing, calling forth his fangs. If they allowed him to feed from this poor girl, he would. He would drink deep and savor every drop.

“No!” she cried just before a heavy hand on the back of her head shoved her face first into his wounded arm.

Interesting.

Through bleary vision, he watched her resist. But then, after her first real mouthful, she succumbed, drawing from him as he wanted to from her.

——

With cigar man’s hand planted firmly on the back of her head, Cora bit down hard on the restrained vampire’s wound, opening it wider and forcing more blood into her mouth. She figured if they were going to force her to do this, she might as well take as much as she could. The blood would sooth her aching muscles, heal the flayed flesh on her wrist and ankles caused by her bindings, and strengthen her body.

If she was lucky, the strength would come before the crippling lust. There was the smallest chance she could surprise these men and wrench herself from their hold. Maybe make it to that door where the keys still dangled in the lock, slam it shut, and lock them all inside…if she was lucky.

She swallowed a heaping gulp, willing herself not to gag. By now, after taking from Mace so many times, she was used to the silky sensation slipping down her throat. She was used to the warmth and taste: rich, salty, and metallic.

It was the concept that made her stomach roil with the threat of rejection. She was drinking the living blood of another being! It was unnatural. Disturbing. A violation.

Once, this vampire could have been every bit the creature of her nightmares, but that didn’t make him any less helpless now. Same as her.

She glanced up and was surprised to find the vampire’s gaze on her, his expression hooded, enthralled, even as he appeared vacant and confused. His mouth was slightly ajar, and his fangs were a sharp contrast against otherwise straight, white teeth. Unruly red-brown hair hung loose around his slack face.

He was heavily drugged. And yet, he seemed aware enough to dart angry glares at the three men in turn before returning to peer at her once more.

Something about that softened her, and she found herself drawn in by his eyes. They were the most marvelous shade of green.

She closed her eyes, not wanting to turn this perverse situation into something intimate.

All business, she took another long pull.

“That’ll do,” the doctor announced.

She resisted when two sets of arms tugged her away. Not enough time! She still felt weak.

Even so, when she lost the tug-of-war, she made her move.

She shoved her elbow into the cigar man’s gut. He grunted and hunched over, allowing her to rip away from his grasp. Then she twirled on the other two, sending the heel of her palm into the younger man’s nose. His head whipped back, and he let her go to cover his face.

Something pricked her left bicep. She swept her attention to the doctor just as he plunged down on the syringe in her arm. Yellow liquid disappeared under her skin. Horrified, she reared back and brought her palm around in a wide arch, slapping him hard across the face. Spittle flew in an arch as his neck wrenched to the right.

From behind, a battering ram of flab and muscle bashed into her, bowing her spine awkwardly and lifting her off the ground before slamming her down. Her head bounced off jagged rock and then spun in sickly swirls. It took her a frightening moment to realize she was unable to properly draw breath. Her lungs burned, fighting to expand.

As she managed to suck in agonizingly small gulps of air, her body was jerked off the ground. Then her front crashed into the wall next to the vampire. The severe treatment sent a cascade of sparkling white blasts across her vision.

Harsh fingers snagged her right arm in a crushing grip and then pitched her vulnerable wrist into the vampire’s gaping mouth.

No! No! No!

Fangs tore into her delicate flesh.

Oh goddess! They would be bonded!

If she had the air to fuel her outrage, her scream would have burned through their eardrums like wildfire. But she could only manage a straggled cry.

The vampire drew swigs of her blood with an unrelenting, desperate greed. Unwanted pleasure seeped through her arm, traveled along her shoulder, and cascaded down her body, the torrent unstoppable, inundating every cell.

She knew to expect the coming ecstasy, but it was a shock nonetheless.

She locked her jaw against the moan that was grinding through her battered lungs.

She would not allow herself to enjoy this travesty for a second.

——

Sweet, life-giving blood filled Bray’s mouth. It had been so long since he’d taken straight from a source. A mad-dog urgency ripped through him. Instinct, coupled with the drug swimming in his veins, broke down coherent thought and decimated any hope of control.

He tore into the presented flesh, capturing all the warm dark liquid that he could.

He should have wondered why he was being given such a treat. Should have been suspicious of the motives. But the door to comprehension had slammed shut, his body reduced to natural impulses. Logic no longer guided his actions, only the satisfaction of his baser needs being met after half a decade of deprivation.

He claimed a long pull and swallowed with relish. Then a second. A third. He couldn’t get enough, but too soon, his feast was trying to wrestle from his vice-clenched jaws. Flesh tore deeper as he refused to give up the meal. A harsh growl rumbled from deep within. A woman’s distant cry broke through the dull, gummy shell around his brain.

Any other time he would have dismissed his meal to help that woman who so clearly sounded distressed—he was a VEA agent, after all—but today he was far too hungry. Starving, in fact. Surely someone else would come to her aid.

Once more, his meal tugged and twisted as if to get away. That was rather unusual. Normally they begged to be consumed.

Finally, his prey tore free.

He tried lifting his head to ask what the problem was, but his neck hung limp as if his skull was weighed down. It must be truly late for him to be so tired. Typically blood so freshly imbibed invigorated him after a long night on the job.

Like always, he worked too hard.

He supposed he should get some shuteye before he met up with Trent tomorrow. Weren’t they scheduled for the morning shift?

After licking his lips clean, he surrendered to his body’s demand for sleep.

Bray’s dream came in fuzzy bursts of color, slowly melding into clumps of languorous motion, solidifying to form a solid yet blurry figure. Around that, dark jagged items rose from what looked like a roughened patch of earth. Then, as if someone were adjusting a lens, the shape of a woman came into focus. She was walking away from him through the bony husk of a dying forest. Blond hair swayed opposite generous hips. Her lope was swift, but there was something playful in it. Inviting.

He found himself willing her to turn and face him. He must know her. Why else was he following her through this treacherous land? He wasn’t the type to stalk from behind. Women came to
him
—with a sensual plea on their lips.

The figure halted, morphing oddly so that she was suddenly looking straight at him, the action instantaneous and unnerving. One second he had her back, the next, he was captured by deep, russet irises—the vision of autumn in the morning sun.

Full flirty lips came into view, the kind that women paid thousands for but could only be inherited biologically. A straight nose, long lashes, and delicate jaw completed an expression that held such gentle and unassuming strength that he knew the creature before him was nothing less than an angel.