Reyen passed him a glare. “Hardly.”
Maddox swallowed hard. The hours were ticking away and they were getting nothing done. Maybe Reyen was doing it on purpose. “So, what are you going to show me?” he demanded.
Reyen headed toward a large wooden crate pushed against the far wall. “If we’re goin’ in after Jesse, we’re going to need some heavy ammo,” he said crisply. A smile played at one corner of his mouth as he lifted the heavy lid.
Maddox looked inside. His brows flew upward even as his heart skipped a couple of beats. “Is that what I think it is?”
“That’s right,” Reyen said, rubbing his hands over his dangerous, and highly illegal, stash. “Dynamite. Along with a few hand grenades and other items that can come in useful when storming the Bastille.”
Maddox’s stomach rolled at the idea. A gun in his hand was one thing. Hard explosives were another thing entirely. That stuff could be unstable and unpredictable. Still, they had to do whatever it took to get Jesse back. If she died because of him . . .
“Where did you get this stuff?”
A shrug rolled off Reyen’s massive shoulders. He wasn’t the sort of man to easily give any incriminating answers. “I know people who know people,” he replied evasively. He patted the box. “It doesn’t hurt to be prepared. We knew this day was coming.”
Unfortunately, he had. And he’d closed his eyes to the threat, preferring to pretend the centuries weren’t unspooling toward the days of chaos.
The time of reckoning had arrived.
Moistening his lips, Maddox sucked in a heavy breath. He was exhausted from the night’s exertions. His head hurt. His chest hurt. Matter of fact, his entire body hurt. But crawling off to lick his wounds wasn’t an option. Staying focused was absolutely essential. No more mistakes. No more hesitation. Neither was acceptable at this point.
Though he was pretty sure of the answer, he had to ask the question. He didn’t have to guess what the outcome would be if they proceeded.
Maddox wasn’t afraid to die. His problem, it seemed, was with living. “You do know we probably won’t come out alive if we’re really going to do this.” It wasn’t a question but simply a statement of fact. No matter how big or strong they thought they were, the Telave were undead. Death meant nothing to vampires.
Fighting fire with fire made perfect sense. Fire baptized. Fire cleansed. Fire burned away the old so the new could rise again.
The Choctaw’s dark eyes narrowed into slits. A slow smile spread across his severe features. Apparently he understood the situation perfectly. “If it kills us all,” he drawled with the utmost calm, “the gods can sort us out.”
Chapter 18
T
he man was naked, sitting in a dark corner of a chamber lit only by the fire in a wide, deep hearth. Aside from that single amenity, there was nothing else in the cold stone room.
The vast chamber was under the main floors of the opulent mansion, deep enough underground that no one could hear the screams that probably issued from this evil place at one time or another. The stone beneath her white heels was dark with stains. Though the stains were dried and crusty, their musky scent filled her nostrils.
Jesse’s stomach clenched when she saw the man. She had a bad feeling about this—a very bad feeling. “You must be Razor.”
Dark fathomless eyes pinned her down. “I am.” A cruel smile twisted his lips as he stood up, revealing every inch of his big brawny body. “Since you will not take blood willingly, I am going to help you cross over.” His gaze never deviated from hers.
The flickering light from the fire caressed his pale skin, revealing the multitude of long thin scars marring his neck, arms, and chest. There didn’t seem to be a single inch of him that didn’t have some sort of disfigurement. As he padded toward her, a flash of metal glinted around his neck.
Jesse blanched. The object he wore looked like a golden razor blade.
He had a weapon. He had a victim.
She stared in shock as panic clawed its way up her spine. Her palms started to sweat.
Shit.
Razor smiled, hovering like a spider that waited to drop down from its web on a fly. Feeding on her fear and anticipation, he was going to suck the sanity right out of her.
Disoriented, she turned away, and then stumbled back, blindly seeking the exit. But the heavy door had been shut and locked. There was no way out. She stifled a groan. Her captor had her exactly where she wanted her—trapped and vulnerable.
If he’s going to take me down, I won’t go without a fight.
Jesse whirled. Thinking fast, she kicked off her heels, grabbing one up. She brandished the sharp spike. “Don’t come near me,” she warned, looking him squarely in the eye. She knew he would fight her every effort to stop him, but her anger and determination gave her the strength to defend herself.
Her assailant simply laughed. Crossing the void separating them, he grabbed for the hand wielding the shoe. “The harder you fight,” he said, “the more I will hurt you.”
Jesse dodged his bulk, striking out fiercely with her makeshift weapon. The edge of the heel snagged his upper arm, dragging a deep trench into his skin. Blood seeped from the narrow wound.
The naked man barely gave the damage a glance. “Soon enough you’ll taste me,” he said darkly.
Jesse took another swing with the sharp heel. “We’ll see about that,” she retorted.
This time Razor dodged her with surprising grace. Ducking, he came up under her arm and tackled her with a body-crushing blow. Expertly tripping her, he slammed her against the floor.
Knocked flat, Jesse couldn’t roll away fast enough to avoid the battering impact of his body coming down on top of her. Reacting on pure instinct, she attempted to knee him in the groin. “Let me go, you bastard!”
Her assailant easily straddled her, assuming the superior position. Thick fingers curled around her wrist, delivering a vicious twist.
Jesse howled. Her weapon dropped from her hand.
Razor’s hand shot out, catching her squarely on the cheek. The blow stunned her. Her face stung from the smack of flesh against flesh. “I think you know what I am going to do.” As he studied her, his sinister smile reflected the cruel glint in his eyes. The message was crystal clear. She was free to choose, submitting either easily or by force.
Jesse licked dry lips. “No,” she wavered. “Don’t—please.”
A chuckle slid from the back of his throat. Catching her other wrist, he pinned her arms above her head. At the same time, he forced one thick leg between her thighs. The pressure of his knee was right against her crotch.
The friction was uncomfortable, verging on painful. Jesse forced herself not to wince.
“Instead of resisting,” he said through an obscene leer, “you should embrace the darkness.” His heavy-lidded gaze smoldered with something almost akin to ecstasy.
Jesse vehemently shook her head. “I don’t want it,” she grated. “I don’t want to be a monster.”
Razor moved his leg, replacing it with his groping hand. Sliding it between her legs, he began to probe her. “I can make it good for you.” His deep voice turned husky. “Sensual. At the height of orgasm, you will want to drink.”
Jesse felt his fingers tugging at her lacy tights, ripping them away to make contact with her sex. Thick fingers attempted to stroke her softness. “No,” she moaned. “I won’t do it.”
“You have no choice. I will make you drink of me.” His mouth covered hers in a wet, sloppy kiss, his tongue slipping in like a snake.
Jesse twisted her head to one side. It was all she could do to keep from gagging and puking. Her gaze fell upon one of the pumps. The spiked heel lay nearby. If only she could get a hand free, she could reach it.
She began to form a plan. Whether it would succeed or not remained to be seen.
Jesse let herself go limp, as though losing all desire to fight. “Just do it,” she said, speaking in a tone laced with defeat. “Do whatever you have to and get it over with.”
Razor reared up. Surprise colored his features. He’d clearly been looking forward to forcing her. “You want me to . . . ?”
Rolling her eyes, Jesse heaved a bored breath. “Yeah. Let’s do it.” Though she fought to keep her voice even, inside she was a quivering mess. What if her plan failed? She’d be screwed for sure.
He arched an interested brow. “I can make it good for you.”
Jesse allowed a nod. “Then do it.” Her eyes traveled to the gash she’d inflicted in his arm. “Let me taste you.”
His mouth curved. “The scent of blood draws you.”
Her stomach twisted at the notion. “Yes,” she lied.
Razor slowly released her wrists. One big hand stroked down her cheek. “Embrace the darkness inside.”
His caress made Jesse’s skin crawl. She forced herself to swallow back the bile rising in her stomach. She needed to distract him—just for a moment.
Drawing a deep breath to steady her head, she met his gaze with determination. “I’ve wanted to—” A tremble shook her from head to foot. That, she wasn’t faking. Much to her surprise, Razor helped her sit up. Moving her hair off her damp forehead, he stroked her face. “It is easy to cross,” he said softly. “All you have to do is drink of me.”
Jesse exhaled the breath she hadn’t been aware she was holding. “I’ve been so afraid.”
Razor reached up, snapping the thin chain holding the blade around his neck. Turning the blade, he forced the sharp edge into his skin. With a quick downward jerk, he opened a deep slice over one dusky nipple. Warm red blood trickled down his pale skin.
“Don’t think about it,” he murmured, cupping her head with one big palm. “Just swallow.” He guided her mouth toward the slice.
Closing her eyes, Jesse felt her lips make contact with his warm skin. Though her mouth was closed, his blood seeped along the seam between her lips.
“A taste,” her demon whispered from the shadows deep inside her mind. “Give me a taste.”
Jesse shook with restrained need, a need so strong that it both consumed and unnerved her. Sensation took over. She simultaneously felt exquisite pleasure and unendurable revulsion at what she was about to do.
The demon within unexpectedly seized control. For a terrible instant, she was caught between her mind and the demon’s, as if they were temporarily merging together. Though she ordered the beast inside to let go, it suddenly wouldn’t obey. Unbound hunger was threatening to overtake her.
Without quite willing the movement, she opened her mouth. A warm, coppery sweet trickle rolled across her tongue.
“More,” Razor purred. “As much as you can.”
Something in his voice prodded the remnants of her sanity. Wrenching away from Razor’s chest, she blindly groped for, and found, the shoe she’d dropped. Gripping the silky thing as hard as she could, she swung it in an arc toward his head. The sharp spiked heel found its mark, penetrating his temple with sickening ease.
His face turning white as a sheet, Razor’s eyes went wide and blank. He looked puzzled. All he could do was stare.
Instantly scrambling backward, Jesse quickly assessed the damage she’d dealt. The heel of the shoe was embedded right in the side of his head.
Slowly regaining control of his limbs, Razor pawed at his head in an attempt to dislodge the sharp spike even as he sank to the floor. The bloodied thing fell away. He pitched forward as blood spurted like a geyser from the small hole. Seconds later, a gurgling death rattle echoed through the chamber.
Although he lay quiet and still, Jesse didn’t dare move. “Razor?” she said, wiping at her stained mouth with the back of her hand. “You still alive, asshole?”
He didn’t move.
For an indefinite time, she stared with dazed horror at his motionless form. Despite the fire burning in the nearby hearth, there seemed to be no warmth in the room.
Grabbing her remaining shoe, she hurried on hands and knees to his side. As she came closer, the scent of his sweat and blood scorched her nostrils. The smell was maddening.
Revulsion coiled tightly in her gut. Flashbacks of the last frantic moments of struggle dominated her mind. For some reason she was unable to move, unable to tear her gaze from Razor’s body.
Then, to Jesse’s deepening shock, he suddenly heaved himself up off the floor.
A strangled cry escaped her. Disbelief seared through her, curdling the acid in her stomach. He should be dead . . .
He wasn’t.
Roused out of his stupor, Razor, red-rimmed eyes gleaming, at first regarded her with profound bewilderment, but this swiftly turned to contempt. He lifted one hand to show he was still armed. “I don’t die that easily,” he gurgled, his gravelly voice chillingly eerie thanks to the chamber’s acoustics.
Jesse’s vision zoomed in on the blood coagulating on the razor he held. She fought to keep herself from gagging, although the response hammered at the back of her throat. But she knew one gag would trigger vomiting. Vomiting would trigger panic. Panic would trigger hysteria. “N-no,” she screamed. “I killed you.”
Razor’s face was grotesquely darkened and ravaged with hatred as he slashed his weapon at her.
Ducking instinctively, Jesse covered her face before the sharp edge penetrated her skin. A stinging pain shot down her forearm as a wide slice opened in her skin. Seconds later, she felt the warmth of her blood pour from the cut.
A curse tore past her lips. “Damn.” Apprehension pulsed through her veins. He’d gotten her good.
Covering the wound with her right palm to staunch the bleeding, Jesse skittered back, gaping in disbelief. Blood dripped through her fingers, leaving a crimson trail in her wake. Her senses started to spin.
Can’t lose it now.
Razor staggered to his feet. A thin trickle of blood oozed from the bullet-sized hole the heel had inflicted in his temple. His big body shuddered as he fought for control. “Bitch,” he muttered. “I’ll get you.”