Zane’s Redemption (5 page)

“So, can he fend off mind control?” Gabriel asked impatiently.

“Not fully and consistently, but I’ve seen moments in him, where I could feel his mind pushing against my power. He’s getting there.”

“In any case,” Samson interrupted, “we have no choice about putting a human on the dayshift. I’d rather have Oliver do this than any of the other human guards. I trust him. He won’t disappoint us.”

Gabriel nodded. “And Zane? Do you think this will work?”

Samson contemplated Gabriel’s words. The assignment sounded low-risk and low-stress. “How difficult can guarding a twenty-year old girl be?” He caught Amaury’s doubtful look. “What?”

“He’s gonna flip a lid when he hears that.” Then he grinned. “Can’t wait to see it.”

Thomas nudged him. “You’re such a troublemaker, Amaury.” Then he looked straight at Samson. “Let’s just hope it won’t backfire and blow up in our faces.”

“We’ll keep a tight leash on him,” Samson said.

From the corridor, voices drifted to them, mingled with the yapping of a dog. A moment later, the door opened without a knock and Delilah stormed in, a yellow Labrador puppy in her arms.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I just had to show you, Samson.” Her face glowed.

Behind her, Yvette and her mate Haven appeared. “Hi, guys.”

Yvette looked stunning as ever, and the fact that she had traded her spiky short haircut for long dark locks, made her look softer and more feminine. Haven, the bounty hunter she’d saved from an evil witch, was responsible for Yvette allowing her feminine side to emerge. After Yvette had turned him into a vampire to save his life, Haven had blood-bonded with her. Yet, so far, he hadn’t joined their ranks at Scanguards. Samson hoped that he would do so one day. An ex-bounty hunter would be a great asset.

“Hey Yvette, Haven,” Samson and his friends responded. “What’s going on?”

“Look what Yvette gave us for Isabelle! One of the puppies. She’ll have her own puppy to play with.” Delight shone in Delilah’s face, and Samson’s heart expanded. God, how he loved this woman. He’d never been happier in his entire life.

“Isabelle will love it.” He stroked his hand over the puppy’s soft head, and the dog licked him enthusiastically. Then he nodded toward Yvette and Haven. “Thank you, guys, that’s so thoughtful of you.”

Yvette smiled. “We have four more, so—” She looked into the round. “—if anybody wants one …”

Amaury’s face suddenly lit up. “Actually—” He winked at Samson who instantly caught on to his oldest friend’s thinking. “—I think we have another taker. Don’t you agree, Samson?”

Samson smirked. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

***

Zane set the two fifty-pound dumbbells on the ground before dropping down next to them. One arm behind his back, he pushed off the floor with the other and started counting. Push-up after punishing push-up, he performed until sweat dripped from his naked torso. His gym shorts were soaked, but he kept pushing himself. Forty-nine, fifty. He changed arms and started counting anew.

His body was on auto-pilot, his muscles tearing and repairing themselves as he continued his grueling workout. Tonight, he couldn’t stop. His usual two hours of extreme physical exertion weren’t enough, because the rage that still ran through his veins like acid demanded that he hurt somebody. And tonight this somebody was Zane.

By the time he counted to fifty, a pool of sweat had collected on the mat beneath him. Zane rose and reached for the jump rope that hung on the wall.

When he moved to San Francisco, the first thing he did was to equip his private gym even before he’d had a bed delivered. Sleeping wasn’t important to him. He rarely needed more than three to four hours a day, which left him with plenty of daylight hours during which he was confined inside.

And even during those three or four hours he slept, a part of him remained alert, always listening for danger, aware that just as he was hunting his enemy, the enemy could be hunting him. Because he was the only survivor left who could destroy the man who had escaped justice: Dr. Franz Müller. He’d memorized the name and face just as he’d committed the names and faces of Müller’s colleagues to memory: Andreas Schmidt, dead; Volker Brandt, dead; Mathias Arenberg, dead; and Erich Wolpers, dead.

Zane’s hands curled tightly around the handles of his jump rope as he remembered their last moments. Brandt had squealed like a pig when he’d found Zane standing over him with murder in his eyes. He’d made sure that his victim remembered who he was and why Zane had come after him before he’d killed him. Not that Brandt needed much of a reminder: Zane hadn’t changed a bit since Brandt had seen him last, and it only took seconds for him to recognize his erstwhile prisoner. He remembered how he’d enjoyed the fear that had emanated from Brandt. He could smell it even now, and the scent filled him with satisfaction. But the four men he’d executed had played minor roles in his torture compared to what Müller had done. Their leader, Müller, was still on the run.

Maybe it would be smart if Samson simply fired him. At least then, Zane wouldn’t be accountable to anybody and could devote every minute of the day and night to tracking down Müller. But as quickly as the thought came, Zane dismissed it.

Scanguards was his rock. He wasn’t suicidal enough to let go of the support they provided him with. Just as he wasn’t going to admit to any of them that he needed them to survive, the way he needed blood.

Zane hung the rope back in its place after counting one hundred jumps. He was about to lie down on the bench for more bench presses when a sound disturbed the silence in his basement.

He listened, remaining motionless and forcing himself to stop breathing. A few seconds passed before the sound repeated: footsteps sounded on the front stairs leading up to the entrance door.

Zane glanced at the clock on the wall. It was shortly past four in the morning and still dark outside. Snatching a towel from the rack on the wall, he hastily dried his upper body and headed for the stairs. His bare feet made no noise on the cold floor as he made his way to the main floor of his two-story house. He skipped the last step, knowing that it creaked, and planted his feet on the landing.

He peered through the darkness in the foyer. Not wanting to draw attention to the odd hours he was keeping, he was in the habit of never switching on lights unless he needed them. He was glad for it now since the darkness around him protected him.

The footsteps were gone. Had the person left, or was the unwelcome visitor still out there, planning to ambush him if he stepped outside to investigate?

Zane moved closer to the door and inhaled deeply, trying to pick up the scent of the person who’d walked up his stairs, but the door was too thick and too well insulated to allow his sensitive nose to pick up anything beyond the smell of his own sweat. Fuck, he needed a shower.

Not a sound came from the outside. Was he perhaps too much on the edge lately that he’d started hearing things? It wouldn’t surprise him. Hell, half the time he was in a world where the edges between reality and fantasy were blurred. Maybe he’d finally lost his grip.

Cursing himself for his stupid thoughts, he reached for the doorknob and turned it. There was only one way to figure out what was going on out there: confront whatever fucking bastard was trespassing on his property.

Zane jerked the door open and barreled down the five steps that led to the sidewalk. At the bottom, he pivoted, facing the house. The entire action had taken less than a second. His eyes assessed the situation instantly. No attacker was waiting for him. The area was empty. Only the faint smell of a vampire lingered.

He drew in another breath and took the scent into his lungs: Yvette. What the fuck had she wanted, and why hadn’t she rung the doorbell like any decent visitor? Annoyed that his workout routine had been interrupted, he stormed back up the stairs when another scent hit his nostrils.

His head veered to the left side of the door where a little niche housed a broom to sweep the stairs and driveway. Tonight, said broom wasn’t alone. To its left stood a small cage. From it came the scent that had drifted his way. Zane hunched down and looked inside when the caged animal let out a whining yelp. A dog, more precisely a puppy, was now yapping away at him, his nose pressed against the metal grid.

“Shut up! You’re gonna wake up the whole fucking neighborhood.”

But the dog kept on barking, clearly unaware who he was dealing with.

“Ah, shit!” Zane grabbed the handle on top of the cage and carried it inside the house, shutting the door behind him. As he flipped the switch to illuminate the foyer, he noticed a note card stuck to the side of the cage that had faced the wall before. He pried it off and read it.

‘My name is Zane, and I’m yours.’

He recognized the handwriting, too. That fucking bitch! She was offloading one of her puppies on him. She should have had her dog spayed if she didn’t want to deal with a litter. And the gall she had to even name one of the useless creatures after him! He was ready to take Yvette’s head off!

He would return this unwanted present as soon as he’d had a shower. She wouldn’t get away with this crap. No wonder she hadn’t rung the doorbell, because she knew that he would have tossed her down the stairs, cage in hand.

“That’s right,” he muttered.

The dog yelped, and his big brown eyes lifted and looked straight at him.

“What do you want?” he barked back.

The puppy’s paw nudged against the grid.

“No, I’m not letting you out of the cage. You’re gonna piss all over my house.” He gave the dog a stern look, making him understand that he meant it. He wouldn’t be manipulated like that.

Zane set the cage on the sideboard in the hallway and headed for the bathroom. The dog instantly yowled in the most miserable way he’d ever heard an animal cry.

“Ah, shit!” he cursed and turned back to the cage. He released the lock and opened the grid door. He reached for the dog and pulled him out, fully intent on setting him down on the floor so he could roam around. But when he felt the soft fur of the Labrador puppy beneath his fingers, Zane instinctively brought the animal to his chest and stroked his hand over its back. The dog turned his head and licked Zane’s hairless chest.

Some of his anger dissipated. He couldn’t really blame the dog for Yvette’s actions. “And don’t think I’m gonna keep you. It’s just for the day.” He glanced at the clock on the wall. “I won’t have enough time to get you to Yvette’s and back here before sunrise.” He could if he rushed, but he wasn’t in the mood right now.

The dog gave a soft woof as if he understood.

“And I’m not calling you Zane.” He’d call him Z, but only for today. Tomorrow night he’d return the dog to Yvette and be done with it.

As he walked into the kitchen to get the dog a bowl of water, his phone rang. He grabbed the receiver next to the fridge and answered it. “Yes?”

“I believe you’ve found your gift by now,” Samson said nonchalantly.

“I ain’t keeping him. You can tell Yvette. She’ll take that fucking dog back tomorrow or I’ll dropkick him down her street.”

The dog made puppy eyes at him, and Zane rubbed his thumb along his ear. Little Z probably had dirt for brains anyway and didn’t understand a single word he said, so why did he get the sense that he’d just hurt the dog’s feelings?

“He’s part of the package, so treat him nicely, and that’s an order.”

Zane grunted.

“And a file with details of your next assignment is in his cage. You’ll report tomorrow after sunset to relieve Oliver. Good luck.”

A click in the line confirmed that Samson had disconnected the call, giving Zane no chance to comment. He slammed the receiver down.

“Asshole!”

The dog yelped. “Not you!” Zane stroked his hand over the dog’s head and snout. Instantly, the dog rolled sideways in his arms, exposing his belly. Zane got the hint and rubbed his knuckles along the dog’s fur.

A few moments later, he reluctantly set the dog on the floor and retrieved the file from the cage.

As he read through the detailed instructions, rage instantly boiled over.

“You fucking jerks,” he cursed. “You want me to babysit?” They couldn’t have simply relegated him to a desk job to punish him? No, they had to turn him into Nanny McPhee to a volatile, spoiled, and probably suicidal girl who was seeking attention.

“Oh, I’ll show you, assholes!”

The dog tilted his head, giving him another dose of his puppy-eyed look. Zane crouched down to him and shelved his snout on his palm. “You’re probably gonna get hungry, aren’t you? So unless you like Mrs. Hernandez’ home-canned plums, I suppose we have to go shopping for dog food tonight.”

His neighbor, Mrs. Hernandez, had cornered him in the backyard a few times and palmed off some jars of plums from her garden on him. Instead of instantly tossing them in the trash, he’d stashed them in one of the many empty kitchen cabinets, not knowing what else to do with them. He wasn’t used to people giving him things.

Chapter Six

Portia folded her arms across her chest as she leaned back in the passenger seat of the black limousine her bodyguard Oliver was driving. Bodyguard, her ass! More like a jailor! Did her father really think she was stupid enough to believe that he’d hired this guard to protect her while he was gone on another long business trip? His claim that there was some crazy murderer on the loose who only a few nights ago had killed a young man in the Mission, rang hollow. As a hybrid, she was as strong as any vampire and could easily defend herself against any assailant. Even though she’d never trained in hand-to-hand combat, her instincts told her that she knew what to do if the situation demanded it.

Hell, she could take down the guy they’d assigned her as a bodyguard. She gave him another sideway’s glance. His tousled dark hair seemed to point into every possible direction, and any comb Oliver had tried had probably lost the battle against his unruly hair. His eyes were sharp and focused, and his body muscular. It was clear that he was in great shape and capable of fending off any attacker. Not even his fresh face could detract from that fact. If anything, his youthful looks—for he could be no older than twenty-five—most likely fooled any would-be assailant into thinking they’d have an easy target in him. At first, she’d been fooled too, but then she’d spoken to her friend Lauren.