Jess Haines - Enslaved By the Others

“Oh, I see now. You think your virtue is in danger of compromise, don’t you? Is that why you shy from my touch?”

“It occurred to me,” I muttered.

“Not to worry,” he said, his tone gone light with mirth as he strolled back to reseat himself in the chair he’d earlier vacated. “I’m afraid you’re not up to my standards, my sweet. In all practicality, you’re hardly malleable enough for the purpose, and you will be no good to me if I break that fragile spirit of yours.”

Thankful for the added distance between us, I peered at his features to see if I could detect any signs of a lie without opening myself up to being bespelled. I didn’t see any facial tics. That coupled with the inflection of his voice and his eyes remaining steady on rather than sliding away from or seeing through me made me fairly certain he was telling the truth. He might feed on or even hit me again, but he didn’t have pantsfeelings for me. Score one for the home team.

Marginal relief at having one of my most pressing worries put to rest eased some of the tension knotted between my shoulders. I was by no means in the clear yet, though, and the courage that I’d scraped up to grill him about his plans had deserted me.

There was nothing of interest in here but him, and considering he might try to pluck my eyeballs out if he caught me at it, staring at the guy wasn’t an option worth exploring. I picked at the remains of one of my broken nails, attention fixed on my hands, though I watched from the corner of my eyes as he plucked imaginary lint from his tailored slacks.

It was probably only a few minutes, but it felt like hours later when the door opened, several figures outlined in the frame.

Sara, pushed from behind, stumbled inside and fell to her knees. I was across the room like a shot, kneeling to wrap my arms around her and glare up at whoever had pushed her.

Fabian, master vampire of San Francisco and conqueror of Los Angeles, grinned down at us, his pet necromancer Gideon following in his wake. A pair of zombies brought up the rear. I didn’t recognize the first one, but a pang of loss and regret sliced through my heart when I saw that the other was Tiny.

The big man’s eyes were sunken and filmed over, his mouth slack and dark skin turned a mottled gray in death. His head lolled unsteadily, probably due to how Fabian had snapped his neck when he killed him.

Once both zombies were inside, Gideon kicked the door shut and leaned against it to survey the room. Tall, slender, and dapper in a dark green suit that would have looked ridiculous on someone else, he smirked and gave me a little finger wave when he noted my attention was on him.

Fabian strode over to take the seat I had vacated, folding his hands over one knee. Death and decay, chokingly thick, drowned out every other scent in the room. The pair of vampires watched with interest as I crushed Sara’s shaking frame against me, her fingers digging deep furrows in my skin as she gripped my arms. Neither of us dared speak, or even move, uncertain what the monsters had in store for us now.

The older vampire rose, sweeping his hands down his pants to clear off more imaginary dust. Sara and I both shrank back as he approached, though we were clinging to each other too tight to get very far. Once he was close enough, Max bent at the waist, reaching for Sara. That was enough to spur me to action.

Though he was undoubtedly faster and stronger than I was, and even though I had resolved not to give him a reason to hurt me, right then I didn’t care. Rage and fear and frustration drove me to my feet, my fist arcing up in a smooth swing that bloodied his lip and split my knuckles. He brought his arm up to block the next hit, his bloodstained smile enraging me further. Something was off about my vision and his reaction, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but getting him away from Sara.

Snarling, I did everything I could think of to drive him back. Fingers curled into claws, I swiped at his face, arms, and chest, kicking at his shins, throwing punches at his solar plexus—and he shrugged off every attack, eyes narrowed, moving at about the same speed I was as he parried or took each strike. What game was he playing?

In a moment of clarity, I recalled his swordfight with Mouse, then the later one with Royce when he had made his bid to take control of New York. During both fights, he had moved in such a blur that my eyes hadn’t been able to follow. He was barely moving a fraction of the speed I knew he was capable of, which meant this was some kind of test, not a fight. Like an adult dealing with a little kid’s tantrum, letting them wear themselves out before stepping in to end the theatrics.

That thought was enough to make me hesitate, which seemed impetus enough for him to move in and sweep my legs out from under me, sending me crashing on my back on the tile.

“I see,” Max said, Fabian nodding sagely as if agreeing with some brilliant observation as I lay there, gasping back my breath and clutching at the back of my head. Nothing manages to make you feel like the greenest rookie quite like being dropped on your ass.

Sara scooted over, taking one of my hands, though her gaze stayed focused on Max as if she was afraid he was about to make another grab for her.

“Yes, you were quite right,” Max continued. “I should have considered the option earlier. We’ll have to do something about that infection.”

“Yes, of course,” Fabian replied. “Gideon?”

The necromancer moved into my line of sight, coming to a halt beside me and Sara. Fabian waved airily in my direction, still beaming at Max as though they had just shared in some wonderful, terrible secret.

“See what you can do about that, hmm?”

Gideon nodded, then turned to me, considering. He rubbed his chin, then knelt down next to Sara. She edged away, clinging to my hand, which he was attempting to pry out of her grip.

“Don’t touch her!” My demand went ignored.

“Relax, Sara.” Gideon lightly touched her shoulder, and to my surprise, she did as he said. She didn’t let me go, but she did let Gideon reach for me without protest this time, which, come to think of it, didn’t seem like such a good idea.

Though it made the ache in my skull momentarily blinding, I yanked my hand away from both of them and rolled into a crouch, putting some distance between us.

“Spry little thing,” Fabian commented.

Max made a sound of irritation. Gideon pursed his lips, then held out his hand. The glint in the necromancer’s eyes spoke of some kind of plan—something he was trying to convey—but I wasn’t sure what the message was supposed to be.

“Come on, Copper-top. You want to stay that way forever?”

I glared at him, staying right where I was. “Like what?”

“An abomination. And I’m not just talking about your face.”

That prompted a deep growl—too deep—not right. The desire to rip him to shreds with my bare hands was so strong, I had to clench my fists to keep from springing at him. Sara gasped, but I didn’t spare her a glance just yet. All my attention and fury was focused on Gideon.

His taunting smirk didn’t help. He gestured at my hands. “Look for yourself. Does that seem normal to you? I’m not your nail technician, so ...”

Suspicious, I did—and couldn’t tear my gaze away. My nails had formed into thick, curved talons and the back of my hands were covered with a webwork of spidery black veins, easily seen under my pale skin. It was enough to shake me out of my building rage.

“What the hell is happening to me?”

“You are not quite vampire, nor quite werewolf,” Max said. “You’ve been infected by both, though it seems the vampire in you is more prominent. It is in your best interest to let the necromancer see to you, Shiarra. If not, you may die.”