grave exhaling thousand-year-old air.
His fangs retracted, mostly. His eyes glowed deep red beneath thick brows. He had a long, narrow nose and a wide, merciless mouth, and I wondered what he’d do if I tried to run. His hand clamped down on my shoulder and I jumped. He grinned, like we were having a great old time.
“What do you want?” I asked, anger riding fear and making me too loud, too confrontational. I stared at his Adam’s apple because it was safer than looking at his eyes, but I could still see those damn teeth. My gaze dropped to his hand. The elastic sleeve of his jacket pinched the skin in the middle of his meaty forearm.
“Someone wants to see you,” he said. My throat clicked when I swallowed. Richard Abel. Sending vamps this time instead of my own kind, and coming just ahead of daybreak. “Drive.”
I had to work to pull my right hand off the wheel, and first gear eluded me for a moment. I couldn’t blame it for hiding. My bag, containing my only weapons, was out of reach beneath his feet.
I didn’t feel any other vampires, which meant that his buddy was still embedded in the wall. It also meant that Soraya wasn’t just hiding, she wasn’t fucking there. Or if she was, she was allowing me to be taken. My stomach fell, and I had to fight to keep from sagging along with it.
That was fine. I didn’t need a cavalry. My tools were a shitty car that my companion’s presence would likely kill within a matter of miles, and my wits. The windshield wipers flubbed frantically. A pickup passed, lights streaked by the rain. The car, my wits, and what little information I’d gained about these streets.
“Where are we going?” I managed to modulate my tone, letting fear seep into it, which wasn’t difficult.
He grabbed my chin and yanked my head toward him. I kept the wheel straight. Damn vampires didn’t know you had to see to be able to drive.
“My name, little one, is Bren. Drive me to the Autopista Central and go north. Take the fastest route. No tricks. No attempt to gain attention. And no more questions.” Cold willpower sprayed through my eyes and into my head.
Bren let go and the glamour washed through me, strengthened by the addition of his name. I blinked and waved a hand over my face as the command burrowed in. I was too freaked to deflect it properly. Malcolm had gotten me once before, when I was hurt. I bit the inside of my lip. I wasn’t hurt, not yet, and I wasn’t about to obey as someone tried to make me drive myself to my death.
The glamour drifted away and my eyes cleared. I shifted mechanically, staring straight ahead, attempting to appear dull and submissive. His accent was foreign, clipped and precise, not quite German, almost Australian. He certainly wasn’t from here, and it occurred to me he might not be Richard’s flunky. The hatchet man knew I wasn’t susceptible to influence, which Bren clearly didn’t.
He settled in, peering around as I drove, like he was enjoying himself. He probably didn’t get to ride up front in cars a lot. He was bizarrely laid-back, fiddling with the dials and actually chuckling when the radio came on. No way he belonged to Richard Abel. That sucker was old-school. A lot of weasely theatrics, earnest intimidation and bone-deep sadism.
The city was too big, the networks too disjointed for me to even speculate on who could have sent vampires—and not baby ones either—after me. It didn’t matter, though. All that mattered was that I get away from them. From him. I took a left, let the car drift over the speed limit. The street was empty and the rain was letting up some. It still coated the road several inches deep. The Autopista Central was the north-south highway on the west side of Santiago. Livia was my only delivery close to the highway, and I didn’t think she’d stand up to another vampire if I ran to her for help. Thurston might, if she let him. He seemed like a decent guy. Mickey’s garage was on the way, sort of. If I
His fangs retracted, mostly. His eyes glowed deep red beneath thick brows. He had a long, narrow nose and a wide, merciless mouth, and I wondered what he’d do if I tried to run. His hand clamped down on my shoulder and I jumped. He grinned, like we were having a great old time.
“What do you want?” I asked, anger riding fear and making me too loud, too confrontational. I stared at his Adam’s apple because it was safer than looking at his eyes, but I could still see those damn teeth. My gaze dropped to his hand. The elastic sleeve of his jacket pinched the skin in the middle of his meaty forearm.
“Someone wants to see you,” he said. My throat clicked when I swallowed. Richard Abel. Sending vamps this time instead of my own kind, and coming just ahead of daybreak. “Drive.”
I had to work to pull my right hand off the wheel, and first gear eluded me for a moment. I couldn’t blame it for hiding. My bag, containing my only weapons, was out of reach beneath his feet.
I didn’t feel any other vampires, which meant that his buddy was still embedded in the wall. It also meant that Soraya wasn’t just hiding, she wasn’t fucking there. Or if she was, she was allowing me to be taken. My stomach fell, and I had to fight to keep from sagging along with it.
That was fine. I didn’t need a cavalry. My tools were a shitty car that my companion’s presence would likely kill within a matter of miles, and my wits. The windshield wipers flubbed frantically. A pickup passed, lights streaked by the rain. The car, my wits, and what little information I’d gained about these streets.
“Where are we going?” I managed to modulate my tone, letting fear seep into it, which wasn’t difficult.
He grabbed my chin and yanked my head toward him. I kept the wheel straight. Damn vampires didn’t know you had to see to be able to drive.
“My name, little one, is Bren. Drive me to the Autopista Central and go north. Take the fastest route. No tricks. No attempt to gain attention. And no more questions.” Cold willpower sprayed through my eyes and into my head.
Bren let go and the glamour washed through me, strengthened by the addition of his name. I blinked and waved a hand over my face as the command burrowed in. I was too freaked to deflect it properly. Malcolm had gotten me once before, when I was hurt. I bit the inside of my lip. I wasn’t hurt, not yet, and I wasn’t about to obey as someone tried to make me drive myself to my death.
The glamour drifted away and my eyes cleared. I shifted mechanically, staring straight ahead, attempting to appear dull and submissive. His accent was foreign, clipped and precise, not quite German, almost Australian. He certainly wasn’t from here, and it occurred to me he might not be Richard’s flunky. The hatchet man knew I wasn’t susceptible to influence, which Bren clearly didn’t.
He settled in, peering around as I drove, like he was enjoying himself. He probably didn’t get to ride up front in cars a lot. He was bizarrely laid-back, fiddling with the dials and actually chuckling when the radio came on. No way he belonged to Richard Abel. That sucker was old-school. A lot of weasely theatrics, earnest intimidation and bone-deep sadism.
The city was too big, the networks too disjointed for me to even speculate on who could have sent vampires—and not baby ones either—after me. It didn’t matter, though. All that mattered was that I get away from them. From him. I took a left, let the car drift over the speed limit. The street was empty and the rain was letting up some. It still coated the road several inches deep. The Autopista Central was the north-south highway on the west side of Santiago. Livia was my only delivery close to the highway, and I didn’t think she’d stand up to another vampire if I ran to her for help. Thurston might, if she let him. He seemed like a decent guy. Mickey’s garage was on the way, sort of. If I
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