Angel's Pain (Wings in the Night #15)

Angel's Pain (Wings in the Night #15) Page 8

Seth and Vixen flew to Dallas, rented a car and went straight from the airport to the address mentioned in the news report. It was one of many dormitory buildings at a private college, and it was completely surrounded by yellow police tape.

Vixen touched Seth's arm, then met his eyes. "I don't think I can go in there."

"Yeah. The death energy is pretty overwhelming, isn't it?"

"It was brutal, what happened there." She closed her eyes and felt the panic, the pain, the fear, that had swept through the building such a short time ago. She felt the blows, saw the blood that even now stained the walls and floors. "They didn't die in the ecstasy of a vampire's embrace," she whispered. "They were brutalized, savaged. And yet..."

"And yet there were vampires here. But the energy is off." Seth dragged his gaze from the building, focusing on his beloved mate instead. "Stay here, out of sight. I'll go in, take a quick look around and come right back."

She shook her head. "I'll go with you."

"You don't have to."

"I want to." She slid her hand into his, and they exploded from the sheltering trees in a burst of vampiric speed, to keep from being seen by anyone who might be watching. And it was quite apparent to both of them that someone was. Even though it was the middle of the night, this place was a crime scene and probably the talk of the campus. The door burst open as if caught by a freak gust of wind, or at least that was how it would appear to human eyes, and then they were inside.

Seth pushed the door closed, and the two of them moved through the entry way, up the stairs and along the halls. None of the doors were closed tightly, much less locked. It was, Vixen thought, probably too much trouble for the investigators to have to unlock them every time they returned, and they were no doubt far from finished processing this crime scene.

"Three girls died in this one," she whispered, standing in the hallway outside the slightly open door, head down, eyes closed.

Seth peered inside, but she didn't have to look to know what he saw. Flashes she tried not to see snapped through her mind.

The blood spatter on the far wall. The thickened puddle of it that had dried on the floor. The stains on the bed.

"Two more there," she said, pointing. "There was more than one attacker. Not humans, but not vampires, either-or not exactly."

"I know exactly what they were," Seth said. "I've fought those bastards before." He met Vixen's eyes, his own filled with anger.

"Drones," Topaz said. "A half dozen of them, and maybe more ."

She and Jack were at the house in Oklahoma City where the mass murder had taken place. The scene had been cleaned up, but thirteen victims had been killed there, and the energy their passing had left behind was laced with panic, pain and horror.

"I don't get any sense of Gregor, though," Jack said, as they moved through the house. "I don't think he was even here."

Topaz turned to face him, staring into his eyes while seeking inwardly for an answer. "But we know he commands an army of them. Do you think these drones acted of their own accord?"

"I don't know what reason they'd have," Jack said. "Besides, they don't have brains enough to do anything of their own accord." He stepped over a broken vase. "They didn't drain the victims. There's blood everywhere. Like they were in a rage, but we both know those lummoxes don't feel enough to work up a good anger over anything. They only do what they're told to do."

"So Gregor told them to come here and kill those people." Topaz gazed around the room. There were still half-full glasses on the table, trays filled with finger foods, bowls of already stale chips and souring dip. The sound system on the far wall had a red light flashing on and off incessantly. Someone had apparently hit the pause button, instead of Stop.

She could look at the floor and see where and how each and every body had fallen. And she could have sensed that even without the bloodstains and chalk outlines that marked the spots.

"Why would Gregor send his drones out to commit apparently random mass murders?"

Her cell phone rang. Swearing and looking around quickly, as if in fear of being overheard, Topaz tugged it from her bag and flipped it open, then glanced at Jack. "It's Roxy. What's up, Rox?" she said into the phone.

"It's a diversion," Roxy said. "It has to be. Wait, I've got Seth on the other line. I'll bring him in." She clicked a button, activating her phone's three-way calling feature. "Listen to me. You're finding the same messes at both crime scenes. I can't sense things the way you can, but I don't think this was a vampire."

"It was the drones," Seth said.

"What we can't figure out is why," Vixen added.

"You can't?" Roxy asked. "Listen, think about it. Who commands an army of drones?" She answered her own question before either of them could get a word in. "Gregor does."

"But none of us are sensing Gregor's presence," Jack said. "I'd know if he'd been here."

"Maybe not. Maybe he's found some way to conceal his presence," Seth offered. "He has to be behind this. Lurking somewhere, pulling the strings."

"I agree," Roxy said. "Look, find shelter for the day. Ilyana and I will keep driving straight through-we'll head to Oklahoma City first, because it's closer. We should be there before the day's out. We'll pick up Jack and Topaz then head down to meet you and Vixen in Dallas. From there we'll plan our next move. All right?"

They all disconnected, and Topaz turned to Jack. "I don't have a good feeling about this," she said.

He slid his arms around her waist, pulled her close. "It'll be okay. Roxy's right, we need to find shelter before sunrise."

She nodded her agreement, but tipped her head up for his kiss before pulling from his arms and turning to look at their surroundings. "This house isn't exactly isolated," she said softly. "And we can't very well hole up in the basement, not with the police likely to return," she added with a look through a window at the yellow tape that surrounded the place.

"Wouldn't want to take shelter too close, anyway. Those lumbering bastards could be lurking."

"Wouldn't we sense them?"

"Not if Gregor the Great taught them to shield." Jack clasped her hand as they started back toward their rental car, and she caught him wrinkling his nose as he reached for the door of the ordinary-looking compact.

"Missing your Carrera?" she asked.

He met her eyes, smiled a little sheepishly. "I'm not a snob. But this is a major step down."

"You're not a snob," she agreed, as she opened her door and got in. "But you're such a guy."

In his mansion, Gregor sat at a horseshoe-shaped desk in what had once been Eric Marquand's basement laboratory, computers all around him. He'd taken all the equipment from Dwyer's office, the stuff he used to monitor Crisa, and set it up here, right beside his own systems.

But it wasn't Crisa he was focusing on just now as he watched the blips move along the screen. Two separate maps filled his monitor, each one with a tiny light blinking as it inched along the spiderweb of lines that represented roads. His subjects were on the move, in search of shelter. His drones had done well, surprisingly well, in planting the GPS tracking devices on the vehicles without being seen or sensed. When the members of Reaper's misfit gang stopped to rest, he would know exactly where they were.

And if all went as it should, they wouldn't be leaving any time soon.

The abduction of his only son hadn't interfered with the elaborate plan he'd spent endless hours concocting. He couldn't allow it to interfere. He would deal with Dwyer and bring Matthias back all in good time. But nothing would delay him in his quest to lure Reaper and Briar to him-alone-to receive their well-deserved punishment.

And it wouldn't be long.

Reaper watched as Briar came out of the hotel bathroom. She wore a hotel-issue white terry robe that came only to mid-thigh, and was towelling her riotous curls as she moved. It was dark and wild, her hair. And he thought, as he watched her move across the room, that she was dark and wild, as well.

She sat on the first bed she reached. He was standing near the window, which faced due north, out of reach of the sun's direct rays. There were three layers of protection, besides. Vertical blinds, sheer curtains and heavy damask draperies. They would be safe here.

"So?" she asked.

"So... what?"

She stopped rubbing her hair, tossed the damp towel onto the floor and leaned back against the headboard. "You going to tell me about Rebecca?"

He nodded slowly. "I've never talked to anyone about her, you know. But for some reason, I think I want to tell you." She lifted her brows, eyeing him in a way that suggested she thought that was strange but said only, "Why?"

"I think it's because I want to make sure you know just how dangerous I truly am, before this...this thing between us goes any further."

Rolling her eyes, she said, "There's no thing between us." Then she let her gaze slide down him and looked directly at his zipper. "Not yet, anyway."

"You do that a lot," he said.

"Do what?" She was looking him in the eye again.

"When the conversation veers toward anything deep, anything real, you shift it to something sexual."

"And sex isn't real? "

He said nothing. She sighed, reached over and grabbed a hairbrush from the nightstand. Then she folded her legs on the bed and began brushing her hair, not looking at him again as she spoke. "You're the one changing the subject, Reaper. Who was Rebecca?"

He drew a breath, because he hadn't lied when he'd said that she should be warned. Because despite her denials, there was something between them. And there was going to be a lot more, if he could ever break through the barriers she'd spent a lifetime building up. Maybe by telling her this story, he would make her more likely to share something about her own deepest pain with him.

Because he knew she was in pain. A lot of it. He'd never seen anyone in as much pain as Briar, or more in denial of it.

She sent him a look.

She was waiting. All right, then.

"Rebecca was my wife."

Her brush hovered in the air near her head. He thought it shook a little. Was her hand trembling in reaction to his revelation?

"I married her before I knew what the Agency had in mind for me. We both knew there would be months of separation as I went through my training. But neither of us knew that I wouldn't be the same person when I returned."

"What was she like?"

"She was...you'd call her soft, I think. She was sensitive, emotional, cried all the time. When she was happy, when she was sad, when she got nervous. There was a vulnerability about her."

"She was wearing a kick-me sign, huh?"

He glanced at her. "I guess you'd see it that way."

"If you're vulnerable, you're just asking to get hurt," she said. She finished brushing her hair and tossed the brush onto the nightstand, then took a pack of cigarettes from it and shook one free. "What did she look like?" Then she held up a hand.

"Wait, wait, let me guess."

"Okay, guess."

She lit her smoke, dropped her lighter, took a long drag and leaned back again, stretching her legs out on the bed. "Probably could have been a model. Tallish. Not too tall, though. Probably stick-thin. Small tits. But perky, I'll bet."

She took another puff. "Blond?"

Reaper stared at her. "That's very good."

"She probably never smoked, rarely drank, and when she did, one or two would do her in. And she considered swearing to be a sign of a lousy upbringing, a lack of class or intelligence or just bad manners."

Now he narrowed his eyes. "How are you getting all this?"

"Easy. Just imagining my polar opposite." Shaking her head, she said, "I hate women like that. Weak, needy, always playing the victim. She must have driven you crazy."

"I loved her."

"Sure you did. So then why'd you kill her?"

He averted his eyes, maybe a little too quickly. She'd hit him where it hurt.

"Let me guess. You said you came home from your training a different man from the one you'd been before. And from then on, every time you went out on a mission, went out to assassinate some dictator, killing for a living, you came back a little colder. A little harder. A little more distant."

He nodded. "I couldn't tell her what I did for the Agency. The lying, the hiding it from her, the constant fear she'd find out...it really drove a wedge between us."

"She would have left you if she'd known."

"I wish she had," he said.

"So she found out and couldn't handle it. Took a header off a roof somewhere or OD'd on tranquilizers. Some easy suicide like that, 'cause she wouldn't have been strong enough to do anything messy. And you've been blaming yourself for it ever since, right?"

He turned and looked her squarely in the eyes. "No."

Briar blew smoke rings, shrugged. "No? What do you know, I got one wrong. So how did she die?"

He held her eyes. She lowered the cigarette from her lips and stubbed it out in the ashtray on the nightstand, all without looking away.

"I was going to quit for her," he said. "I was going to walk away. But before I got the chance to tell her, she said my trigger word. I killed her with my bare hands."

He watched her reaction, the way her eyes widened in shock and disbelief. The way she blinked three times in quick succession. The way her face softened just the slightest bit.

"I raged until I passed out. When I came to, she was on the floor a few yards away. Her neck was broken."

"Shit," Briar whispered. "What did you do?"

"What I was trained to do when I got into trouble.

Called Dwyer-started to, anyway. He was there before I even got my ass up off the floor."

She lifted her brows in question.

"Derrick Dwyer was my supervisor at the Agency. Apparently Rebecca had called for help, but it was too late. By the time he got there, it was over." He paused, took a breath. "He brought in a team to clean up. They took her body away, removed every trace of evidence, yanked me out of circulation and told me not to speak to anyone or ask any questions. A week later, her family were notified that she'd been killed in a car accident. There were no questions, no investigation, no suspicion. I played the grieving widower until she was in the ground. And that was the end of it."

Briar swung her legs off the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress, leaning forward. "How was that the end of it?"

"Because it just was. That was it. Done. Over."

"You ever wonder why she said that trigger word, Reaper?"

He shook his head. "It was an accident. Probably came up in conversation."

"Uh-uh. It's not that kind of a word. I can't even remember the last time I had a conversation where that particular word came up. You might hear it on a TV show, or in a song. Definitely in a song. But not in casual small talk."

He sighed. "It doesn't matter. It happened. I can't undo it."

"Seth didn't think you would kill him. Remember back when Gregor had you over a barrel? When he was going to kill me unless you slit your wrists and let him watch you bleed out? And I said your trigger word, because I didn't see any other way out, and you went off on all of us?"

"Seth's young and idealistic. I'd have killed him."

"You didn't, though. You banged everyone around, but you didn't kill any of us."

"You're vampires. A vampire can take a lot more than a mortal female."

"Roxy's not a vampire. You didn't kill her, either."

"Somehow I think Roxy would be tougher to kill than any of us. Mortal or otherwise."

She was shaking her head slowly. "No, there's something wrong with this story. There's something off about the whole damn thing, I'm telling you." She frowned at him, as if looking for something in his face that she wasn't seeing. "You worked for the C-I fucking A. You're telling me this whole thing doesn't stink to you?"

He shrugged. "Dead is dead, Briar. The details don't matter all that much, and to be honest, I don't think I can talk about it anymore."

She was silent for a long moment, and then, with a sigh, she said, "Okay." Then she got off the bed. "Okay."

He looked up, drained from sharing his past with her, wondering if he'd managed to make even a chink in the armor she wore day and night. She had been right about one thing: Rebecca had been her polar opposite. In every possible way.

She moved closer to him now, lifted one hand, and tugged the sash that held her robe together and let it fall open. She let him take in what she had revealed. The inner swell of her breasts. The smooth skin of her belly. The dark triangle of curls between her legs.

She came to him where he sat in the chair, waiting. And then she straddled him and lowered herself onto his lap. Gripping a handful of his hair, she tipped his head back, covered his mouth with hers and kissed him. She tasted smoky and sexy and good.

He let his hands slide up underneath her robe to cup her bare ass, and squeezed. She lifted her head, and when she stared down into his eyes, hers were blazing.

"You ready for your reward, big guy? Hmm?"

He stared back at her, every bit as aroused as she was. He was hard, and he wanted nothing more than to take her right then and there. But instead, he shook his head.

"No."

Her eyes flared wider just briefly and she went still. "What the hell do you mean, 'no'?"

"I didn't tell you that so you'd screw me, Briar. I told you so you'd know. And I think maybe it's time for you to stop using sex as currency. You're not a street kid anymore, and you're not a whore."

"You don't want me?" she asked, her eyes narrow, angry.

"Not like this."

She shoved her hand between them, stroked the bulge in his jeans and said, "You're a liar."

He clasped her hand at the wrist and pushed it away. "You're right. I want you. And I'll have you. But when I do, it will be because you want it, too. Not because you're trading it for something. Okay?"

She got up and turned to move away, but he was still grasping her wrist, so she couldn't go far. So she faced him again, head swinging around. "What the hell are you trying to do, Reaper? What do you want from me? You want me to come to you all needy like your freaking dead wife or something? You want me to beg for it?"

"No. No, that's not what... I want you to want it. That's all."

"Wanting makes you weak. I don't want, much less need, anything or anyone. Ever."

He nodded, and released her hand as he got to his feet and headed for the bathroom to take a cold shower. Pausing at the door, he said. "Do you think I'm weak or needy, Briar?"

She lifted her head, met his eyes.

"I want to have sex with you," he said when she didn't answer. "No strings. No reason. No deal. Just sex, not because it's owed but for the sole purpose of mutual pleasure. When you want that, too, you let me know."

Without waiting for a reply, he went into the bathroom, closed the door behind him, leaned back against it and thumped his head into the wood three times, not caring if she heard.

Hell, why didn't he just screw her? He'd intended to. He didn't know what the hell had happened to change his mind.

Yes, he did. He knew. He didn't want to be just another trick. He wanted her to want him. The way he was pretty sure she had once wanted that bastard Gregor, though he couldn't imagine why.

He cranked on the tap and stepped into the cold spray of the shower, knowing he had to kill the man. And not because he'd been well paid to do so. Hell, at this point, he'd do it gratis.

Maybe that would finally get Gregor and the pain he'd inflicted out of Briar's system.

Roxy sat in the passenger seat, and looked out at the passing scenery. The sun had risen. Her vampiric friends would all be resting by now, as Mirabella was in one of the van's hidden beds concealed in the back. Ilyana sat behind the wheel, taking a turn with the driving. The console between them held two paper bags that Roxy had put there, holding snacks she'd grabbed at the last rest stop. She reached into the largest of them now and tugged out a foam box, then offered it to the blonde, who looked as if she would blow away in a strong wind.

"Breakfast sandwich?" Roxy asked.

Ilyana wrinkled her nose, but at least her eyes reacted. She emerged from her self-imposed cocoon long enough to meet Roxy's gaze. "I couldn't eat."

"You really should. You're too skinny as it is." As she said it, she placed the box that held the ham, egg and cheese croissant onto her lap, and reached into the second bag. "I got us a box-o-Joe from DD. Have a cup? Best coffee there is."

"That I'll take," Ilyana said. So Roxy got the card-

board coffee dispenser into position and poured two cups. It wasn't easy on this particular expanse of highway, which was ridiculously bumpy, but she managed it, then capped the box and tucked it back into its bag.

Her expression troubled, she sipped her coffee and watched Ilyana do the same.

"You wish we were already in Oklahoma City, don't you?" she asked Ilyana.

The other woman nodded, pushed one hand through her close-cropped platinum hair, and nodded again. "Yes, I do. Gregor's behind those murders. There's no doubt about it, is there?"

Roxy shrugged. "Maybe a little doubt."

Ilyana sighed.

"Okay, precious little. But realistically, what good is our being there going to do? We have four crime scenes, two of which have already been checked out by our... colleagues-and no hard evidence Gregor ever set foot in any of them. Clearly his drones were th-"

"If those lummoxes were there, Gregor was there," Ilyana snapped.

"Where? The murders took place in four different states, Ilyana."

She lowered her head all at once. "I know. I just-"

"You just want to be going after him, wherever he is. You want your son back."

Ilyana didn't confirm that. She didn't need to. Roxy had never had kids of her own, but she thought she had a pretty good idea what the blonde was feeling right now. Helpless. Furious. Desperate.

Ilyana was thumbing the silver charm she wore around her neck, rubbing it absently as she drove.

Roxy eyed the thing. She'd never seen Ilyana without it. "Is that a locket?"

Looking up sharply, Ilyana met her eyes, then nodded.

"Do you have his picture in there?"

"Yes." Ilyana adjusted her grasp, then flipped the locket face open and held it out toward Roxy.

Roxy leaned closer, took it in her fingertips and stared at the intelligent-beyond-their-years eyes of a young boy.

"That's my Matthias," Ilyana said. "He's ten, now. It was taken on his last birthday."

Roxy smiled as she eyed the boy, with his thick head of butterscotch hair in a bowl cut, and his big brown eyes, and the handful of freckles across the bridge of his nose.

"He's a looker, all right," she said. "You must miss him terribly."

Ilyana nodded. "His father can't take care of him the way lean. Gregor doesn't understand him. He never did."

"How is it that all three of you have the belladonna antigen?" Roxy asked. "It's an incredible coincidence, that."

"It's no coincidence at all. Gregor knew he was one of the Chosen; and he knew what it meant. He worked for the CIA-

they'd drafted him partly because of the antigen, after all. So he knew. He deliberately sought out a woman who had it, as well.

He pretended to fall in love with me, played a role, lied about everything until he got me pregnant. A child born to two parents with the antigen is almost certain to have it himself."

"But...why?" Roxy frowned as she gently closed the locket over young Matthias's face and released it. "Why would he want to raise a child with the antigen?"

"He saw Matthias as the beginning of his dynasty. Gregor worked out almost non-stop before the CIA made him over in their monster lab or whatever the hell they have over there. He wanted to be in peak condition when he was changed. I have no doubt he intends to see to it that Matthias is even better than he was. Young, strong, not even getting close to weakening yet."

She lowered her head. "He won't give Matt a chance to live out his mortal life before he makes him into one of them. And God only knows what he's doing to my son's mind in the meantime. He's so bright, so sensitive..."

"He's got intelligence in his eyes," Roxy said softly, wishing she could offer more than words in comfort.

"He's got more than that." Ilyana lowered her head. "He's special, my boy. And I'd much rather be in one of the four locations where he might be, even not knowing which one is right, than to be somewhere else where I know he isn't."

"Just hang on, Ilyana. We're on our way. And I promise you, the instant we get a lead on Gregor, we'll go after him. You and me. I promise."

Ilyana sighed. "I know."

"We might know something even before we get there. It'll be sundown by the time we get to Oklahoma City."

"That's true."

It was true. And it was just after dark by the time they found a diner and settled in to await contact from the others. They were still pacing and worrying when

Roxy's phone rang, and as she picked up, she heard Vixen's voice speaking very softly.

"We're completely surrounded," Vixen said. She sounded as if she were on the verge of tears. "There's no way out."