Aden (Vampires in America #7)

Aden (Vampires in America #7) Page 37

Smoothing her T-shirt down and patting the gun for reassurance, she walked softly through the receptionist area and back to the hallway, where she paused. Sticking just her head through the doorway, she peeked down at the elevator and waited.

Nothing. Not even the earlier dinging she’d heard. That was good, right?

Feeling somewhat cowardly hanging back in the office, she ventured out into the corridor. Sticking close to the wall with the elevator on it, one hand running along the smooth surface, she approached the elevator cautiously. She could hear the hum of the car’s movement, the rumbling slide of the thick cables.

Standing there next to the elevator, she cursed herself for an idiot. She should have called Hamilton from the office. He was probably on speed dial, or if not, she had his number stored in her cell from the other morning.

She was just turning to head back for the office when the thunk of an arriving car froze her in her tracks. She backed away, staring, afraid to breathe as she watched the elevator doors slide almost soundlessly open.

Men poured out of the elevator, their faces and clothes bloodied, guns much bigger than hers already in their hands. She screamed, her hand going to the flat bulge of her gun, but it was too little, too late. One of them swung a closed fist, striking her hard enough that she spun around and slammed face-first into the wall just outside the elevator. She tasted blood in the back of her throat and felt her nose swelling shut from the force of the blow. Behind her, someone grabbed her by the hair and yanked, torqueing her neck as he pulled her back to her feet and held her upright. Someone else wrenched her hands behind her back and zipped a plastic tie around her wrists, jerking it so tight that the plastic band cut into her skin. She barely had a chance to cry out before a wet cloth was pressed against her mouth. Unable to breathe through her swollen nose, Sid sucked in a breath through her mouth and nearly choked on the sharp, acrid taste, fighting not to throw up. Primitive instinct had her drawing a second breath, and stars dotted the blackness behind her eyelids.

Her last thought was that they wanted her alive, and that was a good thing. But she couldn’t remember why.

Chapter Seventeen

ADEN WOKE TO a rare fury. His eyes opened, and he leapt from the bed, swallowing his howl of rage as he scanned the empty room, searching for whatever danger had his fangs splitting his gums, his fingers curling into claws. Nothing. The room was dark and silent. Searching farther, he sought out and found all four of his offspring, each just beginning to wake as the sun dropped deeper below the horizon.

He straightened from his defensive crouch, his heartbeat slowing to normal and his breathing evening out as the adrenaline drained away. He glanced over at the empty bed and thought of Sidonie. Reaching out again, he exerted his power in a search of the offices beyond the safety of his rooms, seeking the frail beat of her human heart.

She wasn’t there. Or she wasn’t alive.

Grabbing a pair of sweats on the fly, he ran for the door and input the release code, pulling the pants on as the shutters retracted slowly, as the bolts slid into the wall with the heavy thunk of solid steel. He didn’t wait, but ducked under the still-moving shutters as soon as the bolts were clear and the door could open.

The smell of blood hit him like a cudgel, knocking him back half a step before he raced down the hall and slammed through the security doors, following a scent he knew well. He’d taken Sidonie’s blood. It flowed through his veins, it pulsed in his heart. Her scent drew him not to the office as he expected but all the way to the end of the hallway, to the closed doors of the elevator and the smear of her blood on the wall.

The phone started ringing as he crouched down. Sidonie’s blood was in the carpet, too, and it wasn’t alone. There was other blood there. Human blood, and more than one person. But the scent was too faint to tell him who or even how many, as if they’d carried the blood on their clothes and lost only trace amounts when they struggled . . . with Sidonie.

He closed his eyes and tried to reconstruct what had happened, using only what his nose could tell him.

The phone stopped ringing. He heard an authoritative voice leaving a message, but didn’t bother to listen to the words. Nearly silent footsteps and the unique awareness of his offspring informed him that Bastien was awake and functioning and now stood in the office doorway, listening to the message.

That same awareness told him a moment later that his lieutenant had come into the hallway and was waiting.

“What is it, Bastien?” Aden asked quietly, as he dipped his fingers in Sidonie’s blood.

“That was the police, Sire. The caller didn’t say so, but the lobby doorman is dead. I heard someone else discussing it in the background. They’re interviewing tenants and are very unhappy that they cannot access our two penthouse floors.”

“Where’s Hamilton?” Kage asked, loping down the hall in time to hear Bastien’s statement.

That was the question, Aden thought to himself. Where was his daylight security chief, and why wasn’t he the one who’d called to report instead of the police?

“The invaders were here,” Aden said, standing and eyeing the blood smeared on his fingers. “They took Sidonie.”

He turned to face his people, all four of whom now stood in the hallway, watching him with identical expressions—puzzlement and anger, but no fear, he was proud to see. They had confidence in him, in his ability to protect them and to kill whoever had dared orchestrate this brazen attack. Vampires didn’t send minions to attack in daylight. It was one of their few taboos. And to do it during a territorial competition was unheard of.

“We need to check on Hamilton and the others,” he told them.

“And the police?” Bastien asked.

“For all they know, we haven’t risen yet. Let them wait. Let’s go.”

They took the stairs down the single flight to the floor where Aden’s daylight security people bunked when on duty. Travis went through the door first, shoving it open hard enough to crash into the wall and rushing through in a burst of vampire speed. The one thing that was certain was that the invaders had been human. If any had still been lurking, waiting to catch Aden and his people unawares, they would have been unable to track Travis’s movement.

But there was no one there. Aden knew that as soon as the door opened. The scent of blood had grown stronger with every step he took. And now, he was nearly blown back by the stench. It was more than blood. It was a smell he hadn’t experienced in more than a hundred years, the reek of a human battlefield—sweat and blood, and over it all the stink of bowels gutted or released in death.

“Spread out,” Aden ordered. “Save anyone you can, and don’t forget to wipe their memories after. Yell if you need me. And find Hamilton.”

He followed his own orders, going from man to man, rendering aid, slicing his wrist and dripping blood into their mouths to accelerate healing where possible. Closing their eyes and offering a word to whatever gods were listening when it was too late for anything else.

“My lord!” Kage called. “I’ve got Hamilton.”

Aden strode down the hallway to the control room, where video feeds showed him the lobby and every door in the building. Earl Hamilton lay on the floor against the far wall. Kage stood, making room for Aden at the injured man’s side. It was obvious that Hamilton had taken the brunt of the attackers’ rage. He’d been the only one with access to the sixth floor during daylight—the elevator and stairs having separate but equally complex codes—and the invaders had tortured him to get it. Every finger was broken, the joints swollen and bloodied where they’d used something like a hammer to do the breaking. Hamilton’s face was so badly beaten, he was barely recognizable, and they’d stabbed him multiple times, as if they’d tried to kill him once they had what they wanted.

“Earl,” Aden said, stroking a hand over the human’s forehead and using his power over human minds to ease the man’s agony. It took all of Aden’s considerable control to kneel there, sending waves of reassurance and calm, while a part of him kept imagining Sidonie’s pale skin and delicate bones, her lovely face. Kept imagining her at the mercy of men who were capable of this kind of brutality.

He wanted to rage to the heavens, to hunt down whoever had done this and to do to them a hundredfold what they’d done to Hamilton and the others. And he desperately wanted to find Sidonie and bring her back to safety.

But first he owed a debt to Earl Hamilton. Using his fangs, he sliced his wrist open and put it against Hamilton’s mouth, urging the man to drink his fill.

“My lord,” Bastien cautioned. “Let me give him my blood. If Silas is behind this, she may use the confusion to challenge—”

Aden gave him a cold look. “Every one of these men offered his life in my defense. If I can help them, my blood is theirs.”

“Of course, my lord.”

“See to the others, Bastien. No one else dies.”

“And those who are already dead?”

Aden closed his eyes against the unexpected pain. He’d employed guards for decades, but he’d always considered daylight security to be more for appearances than necessity. He’d trusted his electronic locks and his vault doors to keep him safe. He’d never considered the possibility that any of his daylight guards would need to die on his behalf.

“We treat them with honor. Call the funeral home, you know which one. And notify their families. We’ll cover all expenses—”

“Their employment contracts cover that, my lord, as well as compensation to the families.”

“For all the good it will do them,” Aden muttered.

“Forgive me, my lord, but you need to speak to the police.”

Aden gazed down at Hamilton. The healing benefits of Aden’s blood were already obvious. It would take days for the man to heal, but he was breathing more easily, and his color was improving. If Aden had been willing to give him even more blood, he would have healed in hours rather than days. But Bastien was right. Whoever had done this wasn’t finished. And if the perpetrator was Silas, she could be planning to challenge him while he was weak or distracted.