Roaring Dawn: Macey Book 3 (The Gardella Vampire Hunters 10) (11 page)

“Not those like you, of Judas Iscariot’s breed,” replied Chas, still watching her carefully. Tension was rolling off her, practically lighting up the air. “I’ve never known it to happen to one of them.”

“So…are you going to pour me a drink or what?” she snapped.

“No, I don’t think—”

He was ready when she lunged, throwing herself across the counter toward him with her fangs bared and eyes blazing red, and he dodged out of the way.

But the stake he’d set on the counter—carelessly,
foolishly
—she kicked off as she somersaulted herself over and onto her feet. The weapon rolled to the floor on the opposite side, utterly out of his reach, as he grabbed her by the front of the dress and yanked her the rest of the way over the counter.

Her lithe, strong body was wild and furious, kicking, scratching, grappling. The force of their battle sent them tumbling to the floor in the narrow space behind the counter.

Chas was handicapped, for he still gripped the bottle, protecting it from smashing as he avoided her thrusting fangs while trying to roll out from beneath her in the restricted space. Plus, he’d had more than his share of whiskey, and that made him a little sluggish.

Glasses and bottles crashed down on them, heavy and unyielding, and Flora helped them by grabbing them off the shelves and throwing them down onto him. One round edge smashed into his temple, sending black spots into his eyes and slicing his skin. Chas roared in pain and fury, twisting and bucking up with a powerful movement. He heaved her off, still holding the precious bottle in one hand, and sent her slamming into the underside of the counter.

But it wasn’t the bottle she was after, he realized too late, but the
stopper
.

For when he lifted her by the front of the dress with one strong hand, she grabbed for the onyx stopper, popping it from the inside of the bottle just as he flung her over the counter and out into the room.

She landed on the ground, somersaulting quickly to her feet, and bolted toward the door. But Chas had realized his mistake, and he vaulted over the counter just in time to leap onto her. They crashed to the floor again, this time rolling into and beneath a table and its upended chairs.

“What…is…it,” he demanded, grabbing her wrist and squeezing hard, trying to get her to drop the stopper.

She bared her fangs and hissed at him, dragging her sharp nails down over his neck and throat, all the while kicking and writhing like a wild person. His blood flew about like sweat, and her eyes blazed hotter with fury and bloodlust.

He had no stake within reach, and he couldn’t release her arm with the stopper, so he concentrated on smashing her head to the floor and rolling around, slamming into the wall and table legs, trying to knock her out of breath.

Then all at once, she went limp and lay beneath him, heaving, her face turned away as if waiting for…something. Some blow, some…something…

“What
is
it?” he demanded again, holding her wrist so tightly he felt her bones move beneath his fingers.

“How did you get it?” she replied, still turned away, still panting beneath him. “It’s supposed to be in the enchanted pool—”

“Tell me what it—
Arghh!
” His words were cut off as she lunged up, grabbing one arm and pulling him down as she slammed her fangs into his throat.

Chas arched, tight as a bowstring, unable to fight the flood of pain and pleasure his body craved. He didn’t release her wrist, but by now he felt the warm, pulsing release of blood flowing from his wounds, the soft, angular body of a female beneath him, the strong hand that had him by the arm, holding him in place, the two powerful thighs that wrapped around his waist and locked at the ankles behind him.

It was the same effect as if an opium eater or laudanum addict had given up the habit, the pleasure…and then suddenly, it was thrust upon him or her once again—unexpectedly, and unwillingly.

The red haze of lust washed over him in wave after wave even as he fought it back—fought it with every ounce of his strength and mental capacity. But she was touching him in places she had no business touching him, writhing and rolling beneath him, sucking and dragging the hot lifeblood from his veins, grinding and arching up against his crotch as she fed.

Chas focused on one thing: the wrist he gripped in his hand. He couldn’t let it go, no matter what. He struggled to train every bit of his consciousness, every particle of his mind on not releasing her hand, on blocking away the hot lick of pleasure, the smell of his blood mingling with the scent of musk and sex, the press of her body against him, the sound of her feeding: the utilitarian
kuh-hn…kuh-hn…

She pulled away from his pounding veins, and he felt his blood pumping free as she tried a new assault: swooping up to cover his mouth with hers. The taste and scent of his own blood on her lips, a mouth that raped his, a tongue that plunged and stroked, was enough to set him free.

With a roar, he gave a great twist, then smashed her hand sharply to the ground and saw the brief glint of the pyramid as it tumbled out of her fingers into the shadows—free for the taking, but lost in the darkness.

As she cried out in pain, pulling away from his mouth, Chas slammed his forehead down into Flora’s face and yanked her hand from where she’d been groping him.

Now her cry was that of fury, and she was scratching and kicking in a frenzy. They rolled around, smashing into chairs and tables—none of which conveniently shattered so he’d have a weapon.

Suddenly, as he twisted away while lifting her over him to throw her to the floor, he felt a sharp, hard pain beneath him. The pyramid.

Chas grappled it into his hand as she snatched him by the hair and whipped his head into the floor.

“Fighting like…a…girl,” he managed to taunt, even as his head exploded with pain and flashing lights. Then, with a great heave, he flung her off to the side.

He bolted to his feet just as she rolled to hers, and they faced each other, panting. And then he held up the pyramid so it glinted evilly in the dim light.

“What is it?” he asked one more time.

She didn’t answer. Her eyes went lasciviously to the object in his hand, and then she grabbed a large table and threw it at him. He ducked successfully, but it was followed by chair after chair careening through the air as she made her way to the door, keeping him stumbling back and putting more space between them.

She whipped two final chairs at him in quick succession so they spun through the air like wild tops, then ducked through the door.

All at once, it was silent and still but for his panting breaths and the sounds of his blood dripping onto the floor.
Plop…plop…plop.

He had the black onyx stopper…but he didn’t know what the hell it was or why Flora had nearly gotten herself killed over it.

And then he looked around the pub, at the tumbled tables and chairs, the broken glasses and upended stools. The pool of blood on the floor.

Christ. Temple was going to kill him.

EIGHT

~ Of Thunderstorms and Dripping Frocks ~

A mere second after Chas
had that thought, he bolted for the pub door, dashing in Flora’s tracks…then immediately thought better of it. Still panting, and with blood streaming from his wounds, he spun around and vaulted one-handed over the top of the bar.

He took the precious time to shove the pyramid inside the safe, then dashed out of the pub. The onyx triangle was secure—for the time being.

But he had to find Flora and stop her before she brought the information to Iscariot.

Water splattered wide with every footstep as he emerged from the subterranean stairs and dashed down the street first one way, then the other. He paused, trying to sense the direction Flora had gone, but the vampiress had made her escape.

He felt nothing at the back of his neck, nothing to indicate her presence.

Damn.

He jogged around a block or two, up and down, cursing himself all the way. Bad enough that the information Sebastian Vioget had protected for who knew how long was now revealed, but just as infuriating and demoralizing was the reality that Chas had fought a single vampire and she’d
escaped
from him.

Christ Jesus, what was he coming to?

Chas walked the streets, combing them for any sign of Flora or any undead, for more than an hour, searching for something that would lead him in the right direction. But the vampire had enough of a start ahead of him, and he wasn’t certain which direction she’d gone.

At last, sick at heart and lightheaded, he leaned against a damp brick wall, heedless of the incessant drip from the building’s cornice that landed on his shoulder. It actually felt good, the cool dampness drooling over skin that was hot and sore from lust and vampire bites. He looked around one more time, hoping he’d find some way to redeem himself from such a blunder.

If it hadn’t been for his weakness when it came to lust and fangs, if Flora hadn’t mentioned Narcise in that way, bringing up his heartbreak and seducing him at the same time…if he hadn’t been more than half drunk and already tired and bone-weary…taken by surprise…

Damn
.

What the hell am I doing here?
he demanded again. He pushed the dripping hair from his face.
Why am I even here?

Not for the first time—and more likely not for the last—he glared in the direction of the heavens and demanded an answer.

Why am I still here?

All he got for an answer was rain on his face.

+ + +

“Could it really be Rekk’s Pyramid?” Macey asked.

She, Temple, and Chas were all gathered around the onyx bottle stopper, which had prompted Macey’s question.

Chas had returned to The Silver Chalice after exhausting his search for Flora just as Temple had returned—dripping wet and from the
outside
door, not from the depths of the apartments—from wherever she’d been since who knew when. But from the looks of her, she’d been gone overnight, for even Chas knew the frock she was wearing was for evening.

The proprietor took one look at the destruction in her establishment and said, “I sure as hell hope you’ve got an explanation for this.”

“I do. And it’s going to make you even less happy than a few broken bottles and splintered stools.” With a grim smile, he flipped one of the chairs upright and shoved it into place at its table. “I suggest you get Macey out here too.”

So Macey had been roused from her bed only hours after her own return, and Chas filled them in on his altercation with Flora.

“Rekk’s Pyramid?” Temple frowned, still looking at the onyx stone.

It would be more accurate to say she frowned
more
, because the irritation lines between her brows and the grim folds at the corners of her mouth hadn’t relaxed since she’d entered the pub and saw the destruction therein.

“When I saw Flora at the photography exhibit, I managed to get some information about it from her. I would have told you earlier,” Macey said, sliding a sidewise glance at the other woman, “but…well, we went our separate ways. You must have gotten home very late, despite the thunderstorms.” She cast her attention down over the same glittering frock Temple had been wearing when they left for the photography exhibit.

A definite flush colored Temple’s cheeks, and now the frown lines eased, turning into something more like a secret smile. “Oh, there was some thunderstormin’ all right, sister,” she muttered. “In a good way.”

Chas cleared his throat and raised his brows. “What else did Flora say last night?”

“She told me Iscariot wanted the Rings of Jubai so he could retrieve Rekk’s Pyramid, which was supposedly in the enchanted pool near Muntii Făgăraș…but apparently someone beat him to it.”

“Presumably Sebastian Vioget.”

“Presumably. I wonder how long he had it. And why he never bothered to tell anyone.” Temple’s frown lines were back, making a little W between her slender brows.

“The joke’s on Iscariot—and whoever else wants the rings. It’s just bad luck Flora happened to be here and see it, or he never would have known.”

“We might not have known either,” Macey said, picking up the object in question for a closer examination. She’d seen it numerous times previously, but never paid it much mind.

The pyramid itself shone black with blue highlights, and it fit easily in the center of her palm. As she held it there, she felt the slightest tremor of
something
emanating from it…very subtle, and perhaps even imagined. The sensation made her want to set the stone far, far away from herself.

Someone had created a setting for it from silver, like that of a gemstone for a ring. But instead of it being attached to a band, the “gem” sat atop a rubber-ringed silver stopper in the shape of a cone.

“If we had known, or if Flora wouldn’t have managed to escape, we could easily have fooled Iscariot by giving him the rings and sending him on a fool’s errand.” Temple had begun to pick up the shattered glass behind the counter.

“Sorry I didn’t take the chance to dust her,” Chas replied sarcastically, gesturing at his damp, bloody shirt and the fresh scars all over his neck and throat. He was still oozing thick, dark blood, and his hair, though finger-combed away from his face, gleamed with rain. “It wasn’t as if I’ve had multiple opportunities to do so.”

Macey bristled. “Your point is made, Chas. But I couldn’t exactly poke her with a stake in the middle of the Chicago Library. Someone would have noticed.” But when she took a better look and noticed how deep and rough his wounds were, her ire dissipated. Flora had really done a number on him. If he weren’t a Venator, he’d be lucky to still be alive.

“My question is…how did she even know it
is
Rekk’s Pyramid? Could be she’s wrong.” Temple was piling thick, curved pieces of glass on a towel spread over the bar.

“Could be. But the minute I brought the bottle out from the safe—”

“Which, by the by, what the hell do you mean snooping around back here?” Temple growled.

“Macey’s the one who found it,” Chas retorted. “She’s been sneaking that drink on the sly for week—”