Tempting Gray - Untouchables 02 (22 page)

“Grayson,” she whispered.

For a long while they lay there kissing each
other, touching each other, and whispering truths long kept secret. He made
love to her again, then again, until laughing, she rolled over with a great big
yawn. “Enough is enough,” she said.

He came up behind her, the insatiable vampire,
and pulled her close until their bodies aligned perfectly. Only then did he let
her sleep.

But she knew before she even closed her eyes
that things just changed once more. How would she be able to tell him no now?

Grayson drifted in the hazy fog of sleep. Back
and forth floating like a feather caught in the wind. His body was heavy and
then he ceased to be aware of anything.

The dream came in flashes of colors, bursts of
indescribable images blinking before him. Then an image settled over his vision
focusing in so his brain could interpret it.

A piano played. The sound wasn’t clear but
foggy and old sounding like it played from a phonograph in another room. Black
and white the image was. The dream, Grayson, a spectator, watched through his
bicolored lenses, stepped into a great big ballroom. Women wore ball gowns with
enough material to clothe a family of twelve. Men wore cravats and leather
boots that went up to the knee. Couples waltzed to the muted piano music in the
four-count waltz rhythm.

He watched from behind himself as he strolled
into the room and stopped. Then it hit him. He knew where he was. Castel
Glimmeric, hundreds of years ago. The night of his mating to Anita. His figure
moved through the crowd of dancers. When he stepped near them, the couple would
turn and stare, ceasing their movements altogether, becoming frozen as they
stared at him. Their unblinking eyes followed him past stopping dancers. A
shadow darted in front of him. He followed it with the curiosity of a hound.
Through the crowd it darted but the moment he set to go after the eerie shadow,
the dancers closed in on him. Their stomping steps rattled the floor. He took a
step back bumping into more bodies. All around them the dancers pushed closer
and closer, suffocating him, until he could not move without looking into their
faces.

And in the face before him, he stilled. He felt
as though he’d swallowed burning acid as it singed his throat. The face he
stared into was himself. The dancing Grayson wore a tuxedo, cravat, cummerbund,
and tall leather boots as all the other doll-like figures did. His throat closed
up. Something was terribly wrong. He knew it in his gut. The face he stared
into was haggard and old looking, eyes dead. They held the glossy, lifeless
look of death.

Still, the piano played in the distance keeping
the same song playing over and over. Grayson spun around and came face to face
with a woman. She wore one of the oversized ball gowns that required a hooped
skirt. It was intricate and spoke of wealth. Through the grayscale of his dream
he could see the white paint she wore, the tiny red lips she’d painted on, and
the dark hair which piled atop her head in luxurious bundles. The kind of
hairstyle that took hours to create.

The face he looked into was familiar.

Anita stared back at him. His gut clenched
violently. She looked so alive; yet, dead eyes stared back at him.

The shadow darted out of the corner of his
eyes. Suddenly the group closed in on him even more, reaching for him. Grayson
knew that he couldn’t let those hands touch him. The hands of himself, the
hands of his dead mate. It would kill him, they would make him into one of them
if he did. With his heart thundering in his ear, Grayson ducked and lunged his way
through the crowd. The shadow lingered at the edge of a hallway at the other
end of the room. The music suddenly turned loud. And like a switching being
thrown, the color turned on.

Everything was bright, the blues too golden and
shimmering. He blinked and turned his gaze away even as he heard the stomping
steps coming for him. He turned around and found a small army of dancing Grayson’s,
looking old, beat-up and sick, dancing toward him, staring at him. The women,
all with Anita’s face, came closer.

Turning, he ran for the shadow. Sweat dripped
down his temples.

Then the stomping grew loud and fast. They were
coming for him. A woman screeched. The terrible cry made the hair stand up on
his arms. They ran after him, screaming like wailing banshees. The men,
him
,
grabbed at him, jerking his arms back and wrenching his jacket from him in the
process. He had to make it across the dance floor. He just knew it. If he didn’t,
they’d kill him. That’s what they wanted. To suck his soul from him as theirs
had been.

He approached the hallway, his leather boots
slapping the floor in loud beats. Someone gripped his hair and yanked him back nearly
sending him crashing to the floor. He righted himself though, and darted away
before those cold, dead hands could grab him.

Finally, he reached the hallway. Pitch black
nothing stared back at him. He didn’t even know if it was a hallway. It looked
like one in that it looked like a path. Yet, nothing but black atmosphere hung
there. Where the shadow had disappeared to.

Grayson spun around. They were on him. The
wailing banshees, the dead Grayson’s. Pale hands with vivid blue veins,
wrinkled like an old person’s hands with discolored spots of sickness. They
reached for him and he pulled his head back at the last minute—and fell
backward into the hall.

The sensation of falling lasted for only
seconds. Grayson’s body undulated in the air, free-floating; tingles caressed his
skin from lightheadedness.

The image changed. That quickly. He was no
longer falling, no longer in the ballroom. The dancers didn’t try to grab him.
He was at the small lake where he and Anita had first consummated their mating.
A night he’d recently shared with only one other person—Arabella.

The scene was as real as if he stood there
right now. He could smell the grass and moist earth. The water rippled from the
breeze. The small pool of water rested in a secluded area by Castle Glimmeric.
Trees laden with heavy snow surrounded him. His breath formed clouds as he
breathed. But the water, he remembered, had been surprisingly warm when he and
Anita had gotten into it.

A rustling sound drew his attention. The sound
of someone walking toward him. He came to his full height and lifted his chin,
prepared to deal with whatever came his way.

His heart clenched so hard moisture threatened
to spill form his eyes. This was his and Anita’s spot. The first time they’d
made any kind of connection to one another and the first night they ever made
love.

He caught sight of a figure weaving in and out
through the trees. A woman with dark hair and a peasant’s dress. Already he
clenched his fists, preparing himself to meet his mate again. To face her for
the crimes he’d committed, to be finally punished for his sins.

The woman stepped into the clearing, stopped,
and smiled gently at him.

He shook his head but that didn’t change the
face any.

“Mama?”

Her smile lit up her face and something cracked
inside him.

“No, it can’t be.”

“Why can it not be?” she asked. Hot droplets
spilled down his face as he struggled to grab hold. She spoke in Turkish. Her
voice, that strong, sweet voice—he hadn’t heard it in so long.

“You are dead,” he said.

She nodded, still smiling. Like it wasn’t a bad
thing. “Come, let’s get our feet wet.” She walked to the edge of the lake and
sat on a rock at the side of it. She lifted the dirty bottom of her peasant’s
dress, the same kind she’d always worn. She’d owned four dresses and she was
always repairing the same ones over and over again. That’s how poor they’d been.
“Don’t be afraid.”

Afraid. Was he afraid? He didn’t know, but he
listened to her and joined her at the water. The water felt real around his
toes with just enough heat to enjoy.

“The moon is beautiful.”

He didn’t spare it a glance, too busy memorizing
her straight nose, her delicate eyebrows; everything was exactly as he
remembered. Yet, he also felt like he was seeing something new for the first
time.

“What are you doing here?”

“You’ve made me a very proud mama, Grayson, my
boy.”

Grayson, my boy.
Words she used to call
him every day. He swallowed over a lump in his throat.

“I’ve made too many mistakes. I’ve gotten
people hurt. Anita’s dead because of me. I’ve brought nothing but shame to you.”

She smiled gently, like she understood. “To
live is to suffer, my boy. With the suffering comes the possibility for endless
happiness though. You must forgive yourself.”

“No, I can’t.”

She stood and came to him, running a hand over
his hair as she used to do. And then she leaned down and whispered in his ear.

“You’re forgiven.”

His face crumpled. And for the first time in
his life he cried for the pain he’d caused, for the pain he’d endured, and he
wept for the loss of his two miscarried babies and Anita.

Gentle arms wrapped around him. “My sweet boy,”
his mother cooed. She began humming.

An undefinable amount of time slipped by while
his tears dried up. His mama finished singing then stood. He followed after her
but she held her hand up.

“You have to stay here. I love you, Grayson.
Reach and you will find happiness.”

Don’t go.

She shook her head as if she could hear his
inner thoughts. Then she smiled at him and walked back into the forest, weaving
in and out, until she disappeared.

He took a step forward thinking to go after
her, but the earth shook. He wobbled on his feet, nearly falling over as an
earthquake rocked the world.

His eyes flew open, shattering the dream.
Instantly alert for danger, he knew something was wrong.

The dream wasn’t shaking.
He
was shaking
because what sounded like a bomb just went off downstairs. Arabella awoke
screaming, jumping out of bed.

Grayson raced to throw some clothes on. “Get
dressed, lock the door behind me and bar yourself in.”

“What’s going on? I don’t understand!”

Screams came from down below. Grayson strapped
on his weapons, blades and his guns. “Vincent’s not waiting on me to come to
him.”

She gasped. “Is this my fault because I didn’t
track him?” She was beginning to hyperventilate. Grayson crossed to her and
cupped her face.

“Listen to me, Arabella. Put your clothes on,
grab the gun off my dresser. The safety is off and the bullets are silver.
Shoot to kill, got me?”

“I’m not staying here. I’m coming with you. Don’t
you dare leave me here!” Wide, frightened eyes stared up at him.

He gritted his teeth. “Be careful.” He kissed
her hard. “I love you, too.”

Then he left while she stood there stunned. By time
she got dressed and came after him, he’d be away ahead of her.

Grayson sprinted down the hall.

“Get down! Get down!” he heard Dom shouting. He’d
never heard his brother so frantic. A woman was screaming and the sound of gunfire
and groans sounded like a war zone.

Grayson came onto the staircase that lead down
to the front door and spotted the enemy—Vincent’s men. Armed with assault
rifles, blades, and bombs they wreaked havoc through the mansion. Grayson came
up behind the guard on the staircase. Unspotted, he quickly shot a bullet
through the vampire’s head. The body fell, unheard over the chaos.

He took two more down, three more as he made
his way toward the screaming, his heartbeat pounding violently; adrenaline surged
like molten lava in his veins. He felt indestructible—a dangerous combination,
for
them
.

Grayson made it to the bulk of the mess. One
corner of the house had been blown up. He peered into the room through a large chunk
of missing wall, keeping his back to it. Inside, he spotted Felicity screaming
and Dominic caught in a hand-to-hand combat with a Were. Grayson aimed and
fired. The Were dropped with a yelp, dead.

Dom spared him a glance before picking up
Felicity in his arms and carrying her. “We have to get out of here.”

“No! Beth was right there. She was standing
right there when it went off. We have to search for her!”

Oh, shit. She pointed at the part of the living
room that was now black, charred, and burning. Grayson kept his mouth shut. Dom’s
gaze said it all—he already knew it.

Beth was dead.

Rat, rat tat, rat!

At the sound of gunfire, Grayson ran toward the
commotion. A thump told him someone just fell to the floor. He ran into the den
and found his step-mother clutching her stomach as she dropped to her knees,
blood spitting from her lips.

Grayson aimed and fired. His bullet caught the
man and put him down. “Are you okay?” he asked.

A blade pierced his side. He turned and forced
the blade out, throwing it back at the man who’d attacked him. He stalked to
the beast—a Were, another one of Vincent’s men. Growling, he palmed his knife,
the blade kept sharp enough to slice through skin with the faintest of
pressure.

He grabbed the Were’s head by the hair and cut
his head clean off.

“I’m fine. Go help the others.”

Grayson took off once again. He came across Vas
and Lucas, both worried and angry. Diane shuffled into the room.

Vas said, “I cleared the south wing as far as I
know. We’ll have to do more sweeps to be sure.”

“I checked what’s left of the east side and the
basement,” Lucas said. “I took a few bites and scratches along the way but
nothing I can’t survive. Where is everyone else?”