Jess Haines - Enslaved By the Others

Words in a language I didn’t know spilled from the Other’s lips, singing me into a deep, dreamless sleep.

But before I went to that dark place, I could have sworn I heard the rustle of wings.

I woke up to the sound of screaming. I rolled, falling off the bed in my haste and landing painfully on my hands and knees.

A few other people were huddled back against the walls or hiding behind furniture. I peered over the edge of the bed, gaping at the sight of Max pressing the green-eyed woman against the wall. Her skin reddened wherever his bare skin touched her, and she was crying out in pain.

He pulled her wrist up to his lips, holding her fast as she writhed in agony. When his fangs broke through, some of her blood escaped in a thin, golden trickle down his chin, and a sick-sweet scent like overripe peaches wafted from her skin. Somehow, I knew the source was that weird liquid in her veins, though it didn’t smell anything like the normal copper-tainted human, vampire, or Were blood.

As he had with me, he took his time, though he had to know he was causing her an excruciating amount of pain. When he withdrew, he let his hands linger, his fingers leaving a trail of ugly red welts behind. As he loosened his grip, she slumped to her knees at his feet, panting and sobbing, eyes squeezed tightly shut as she cradled her bitten wrist against her chest, tucking the fist under her chin.

“The next time you disobey me, I will take you to my bed again. Understood?”

She nodded, her hair falling in a shining curtain to obscure her features—but not so much that I couldn’t see the mixed burning hatred and horror glittering in her gaze as her eyes opened to slits.

He turned to me, his eyes blazing red. I struggled to my feet as he approached, but dizziness and a touch of nausea would’ve sent me tumbling back on my ass if he hadn’t grabbed my wrist before I fell, yanking me against his chest.

I scrabbled for something—anything—to use to defend myself. He drew me to him as my fingers closed around the neck of a nearby table lamp. There wasn’t a lot I could do against his strength, but I did swing the lamp I’d grabbed at his head. The bulb shattered and the metal stand bent against the arm he threw up to block it. He wrenched the makeshift weapon out of my hand and tossed it aside, then pulled me closer.

I focused intently on his chin so I wouldn’t meet his eyes, panting as I struggled to get out of his grip. An odd scent, mixed vampire musk and the sickly sweet blood of the woman, had my eyes tearing up. Not enough for me to miss the light film of liquid gold at the corner of his lips, more of it staining his teeth—which I saw all too well when he snarled at me.

Pure, unadulterated terror shot through me, but his hand tangling in my hair and forcing my head back made it impossible for me to do anything about it. I squeezed my eyes shut before he could bespell me again.

“You are mine, ” he snapped, grip tightening to the point where I was straining to breathe. “You do not obey or answer to that creature or her dead, false god! Do you understand me?”

Not really.

I felt the distinct bite of claws against my scalp when I hesitated.

“Yes,” I gasped.

“You do not,” he said. “You say so out of fear, not understanding.”

Couldn’t argue with that, even if I had the breath for it.

He stiffened, then abruptly shifted his grip, loosening his hold on me so that he was supporting instead of asphyxiating me. The claws retracted, replaced by the gentle stroke of his fingertips. If I didn’t know any better, I’d have called his touch an attempt at being soothing. All he accomplished was creeping me the fuck out.

“Tell me, Shiarra, what was Alec Royce’s plan for you? Do you know?”

Unable to stop shivering, I shook my head. With our bodies crushed together like this, I was learning far more about the hard, muscled frame beneath the immaculate suit than I wanted to. Not to mention I was really, really hoping that his clear excitement pressed against my thigh didn’t have anything to do with me.

“Pity,” he said. “Who is his second now that John is gone?”

I shook my head again, too afraid to speak. His gentle stroking of my hair became a shade more forceful, hinting at his displeasure.

“I don’t know,” I said, stammering. Why was he asking me something he must already know? Considering how Max had turned Royce’s former second-in-command against him, I found it hard to believe he didn’t have other spies in place to tell him these things. Maybe confirming his suspicions? Testing the depths of my knowledge or just how willing I was to betray my lover? “He doesn’t talk to me about his business.”

“Little liar,” he breathed, whispering in my ear as he tangled his fingers in my hair again and drew my head back. “Someone had to take his place, and Rhathos does not let his new pets stray. You were there. You know something. Stop trying my patience and tell me.”

Panting, I clutched at his shoulders, trying to push him away as he leaned in. My voice broke on a scream as his fangs scraped over my jugular. I was dimly aware of other voices rising in terror, people rushing around us to hide in the other rooms.

“Please, I’m not lying! I don’t know, I don’t, I swear!”

He growled—a soft, dangerous sound I might not have heard if I hadn’t been pressed so close against him. I was glad I didn’t know anything about Royce’s business, because I knew I wasn’t strong enough to withstand whatever Max might do to drag information out of me. He was quiet save for that low rumbling, and with his fingers tightening on my hair, I was afraid that he was contemplating either snapping my neck or draining me dry.

“He must have fortified his defenses since I attacked. Who were the replacements for the guards who were killed?”

I wracked my brains for something to tell Max. I didn’t want to betray Royce, but I didn’t want to die for him, either. When Max’s fangs pricked my throat, threatening to puncture my skin, I stammered out a response.

“M-m-mouse is s-s-still there, and Angus, Clarisse, Wesley, Reece, and Ken. I don’t know the other vampires by name—”

“How many are there? Describe them.”

I did. He made the occasional thoughtful sound when I described the handful of other vampires I had met in Royce’s apartment building, but he didn’t interrupt. When I was done, he said nothing for a time. His grip on me gradually loosened, but he didn’t let me go. I stayed still and quiet, hoping against hope that he was losing interest in interrogating me and would leave me alone.

Instead, he blindsided me with a question I wasn’t expecting.

“The werewolves he keeps—do they have any relation to the pack you are allied with? The Sunstrikers? Who fought with him when I was in New York?”

He interpreted my astonishment as deliberate hesitation. The silky way he spoke told me better than words that I was in deep shit.

“Choose your words wisely, pet. Lie to me one more time, and I will bind you to me again, offers for you be damned. Taste my blood again and you’ll tell me everything, and worship me while you do it.”

Oh, fuck that noise. I squirmed desperately. For a crazy second, I wished I had the hunter’s belt with its stakes and the enhancements it might give me, even if it meant risking losing my body in the process to the dead mage whose spirit fueled the magic.

Max shook me until I subsided, then removed his hand from my hair long enough to run one of his nails over his throat. While I was busy gaping at the self-inflicted wound, he shifted his hand back behind my head to pull me closer. The slice was sluggishly dripping what looked like tar with gold flakes in it. I shrieked my response, shoving my arm up under his jaw to keep from being forced to drink. Cold liquid slid along and clung to my skin like an oil slick when my bare arm touched his neck. Eww.