Darkness Devours (Dark Angels #3)

Darkness Devours (Dark Angels #3) Page 48

Which meant, like it or not, I was going to bed alone. I forced my feet into action and walked into the bedroom, where I stripped and climbed under the sheets. It wasn’t long before sleep caught me, but it was far from peaceful. Visions haunted me—blood and death and needle-sharp talons that sliced flesh to the bone.

It was only when arms wrapped around me and pulled me close to a heated body that somehow made me feel safer than I’d ever felt that the dreams dissipated and I was finally able to sleep.

I followed Azriel into the bowels of Dark Earth, carefully watching where I placed each foot. It was pissing down outside, and although the hidden entrance looked solid, water seeped underneath it, making the steps slick and treacherous. The last thing I really needed right now was to break a leg.

Mind you, if there had been the slightest chance that a broken bone or two could have saved me from the high council’s edict, I might have considered the option.

We reached the long corridor and walked down to the door. It opened to reveal an impatient-looking Marshall.

He glanced at his watch when he saw us, then all but spat, “What the hell time do you think this is?”

“It’s five to twelve,” I said, somehow keeping my voice even, though all I really wanted to do was hit him one and then spin on my heel and walk out. I was working for Hunter, not her fucking lackey. “And it’s the same time we normally arrive, so why the carrying on?”

“Hunter told you—”

“Nothing,” I snapped. “As usual.”

Of course, I had hung up on the bitch. Maybe she’d hung me out to dry information-wise because of it.

Or maybe she’d never intended to tell me, especially if this was another bloody test.

Marshall’s grunt didn’t sound pleased. “Well, the place is fucking packed tonight, which is why I wanted you here earlier. I wanted to get you into the side room before the main rush.”

“Would it matter? Everyone in the main bar will know I’m there. They’ll hear my heartbeat.”

“Yeah, but without really seeing you, they’ll just presume you’re one of the thralls entertaining a client. Now they’ll know otherwise.” He glanced at Azriel. “Hope your friend has come prepared to fight, because if things get nasty—and I suspect they will, given the wait we have for the feeding rooms—I won’t be able to control it. Not with the size crowd we have.”

I stared at him for a moment, then said, with a touch of exasperation in my voice, “You can cut the act. I know the council intends to test me.”

“They want you tested, yes,” he spat back. “But I’m not entirely sure they want a bloodbath in this facility—which is exactly what they might get by introducing fresh meat and inciting trouble at this hour of the evening.”

Dread rolled through me. “Fresh meat?”

He gave me a look that hovered between annoyance and concern. “We’re talking junkies here, remember? For most of them, any female in this club who isn’t a vampire has two purposes—to feed from or to provide sexual service. The thralls do the latter, the blood whores the former.”

And if this did all end up in a bloody fight, it would just make the whole situation worse. Fresh-flowing blood and hungry vampires were never a good mix. “Will you step in if things get bad?”

The look he gave me was answer enough. He’d been ordered not to.

“This way,” he all but growled, and turned, leading the way into the main room.

The doors closed silently behind us, and the darkness felt thicker, more oppressive, than before. I walked down the steps, my gaze sweeping the room, searching for the many vampires I could smell but not see. The stench of their hunger sharpened as we moved through them, until it seemed so thick that I could reach out and touch it. Fresh meat indeed.

I reached back and drew Amaya. She flared to life at my touch, her blade shadowed but dripping lilac rain across the floor. This time, her hissing was audible rather than just in my head. She was giving the nearby vamps a verbal warning not to come close—even though that’s exactly what she wanted. Her hunger and excitement ran like electricity through my mind, and I knew if I concentrated hard enough I’d understand exactly what she was saying—as I had when I’d been the Raziq’s prisoner. It might have been only one word, but it had been clear and it had helped me kill one of the bastards.

But I didn’t concentrate. To be honest, I wasn’t really ready to understand the language of my sword, and fear had a whole lot to do with it. I couldn’t escape the notion that understanding her might somehow make me more like her and less like me.

Which might seem silly in the cold light of day, but right now, with darkness and danger all around us and her hunger beating a drum inside my brain, making me itchy to react, it seemed a very real threat.

So I clenched her hilt tight and edged a little closer to Azriel as we trailed Marshall through the darkness. Sullen, hungry faces were briefly illuminated in the fire of Amaya’s brightness, then faded away, but the farther we moved into the room, the thicker and more dangerous the atmosphere became.

Azriel drew Valdis and swept her lightly from left to right. She hit nothing, but her blue fire lifted the darkness even further, and gave the gaunt figures that flirted briefly with the light a surreal glow.

A glow that spoke of hunger and need.

I shivered and hoped like hell the Rakshasa made an early appearance. I wasn’t sure if the swords would keep the vampires at bay once Marshall left us.

They will not, Azriel said, because that is not what the council wish. They aim to test or kill, and they would be happy with either outcome.

Since Hunter doesn’t want me dead, this test makes no sense. My gaze darted sideways as a shadow moved. A vampire bared his fangs at me, madness in his eyes. I raised Amaya and he withdrew, but there was a light in his eyes that suggested it wouldn’t be for long.

As you have noted, Hunter is not the council, even if she is one of the most powerful vampires in its ranks.

So why doesn’t she put that power to use and save me from idiotic situations like this? It doesn’t make sense.

Hunter plays for more than just your life. And remember, she is not constrained by human sensibilities.

But she was human once.

Near-immortality has a way of cleansing the soul of any semblance of humanity. It is rare for anyone—human or otherwise—to live for many centuries without time washing away all that they once were.

That’s not always the case, I said, thinking of Uncle Quinn, who was only a hundred or so years younger than Hunter.

As I said, it is rare.

We continued to walk through the room. By the time we swept into a narrow corridor, sweat beaded my forehead and ran down my spine. I flexed my fingers, but it didn’t do a whole lot to ease the tension thrumming through me. We may have made it out of the main room, but we were far from safe, and the ever-growing tide of hunger that trailed us only confirmed that.

The glow from the swords revealed a dozen doors leading off the corridor. Each one had a light above it, some red, some green. The sounds coming from inside the red-lit ones suggested there was some heavy-duty lovemaking going on—some solo but mostly partnered, if the scents were anything to go by.

And suddenly the reason for all the thralls we’d sensed earlier became obvious—they might have been here to provide sex, but they were also more able to withstand harsh punishment, and healed far faster than regular humans, thanks to their blood link to the vampire who had created them. Which wasn’t saying they couldn’t be killed—they weren’t immortal, just as vamps weren’t immortal—but short of cutting off their heads or gutting their internals, they were capable of surviving events that would have killed them in the pre-thrall era.

Marshall stopped at the second-to-last door on the right and opened it. As he did, the light above went from green to red. “I don’t recommend moving out of here without me.”

“It’s not like we’re going to be any safer inside than outside now, is it?” I commented grimly.

“No.” He stood to one side to let us pass. “Not given what the council desires. But I will do my best to limit the damage, both to my club and to my customers.”

Meaning we could go to hell in a handbasket for all he cared. Fabulous.

“However,” he continued, “this is the only door into this room, so if you remain here, you should be able to handle all but an insane rush.”

Which he’d all but implied might be in the cards. And the hunger so evident in the larger room certainly backed that up. “The council might not care either way, but I don’t think Hunter will be pleased if I end up dead, and I suggest you remember that.”

“I think I have more knowledge than you ever will on just what will and won’t please Hunter.” His voice was dry, but there was an undercurrent that spoke of anger. Resentment, even. Which was odd if he was her creation. “The viewing screen is to the right, and the control panel to your left. Ensure that the door is locked.”

“Like a lock is going to stop any of the vampires out there.”

He half shrugged. “No, but I would still recommend it.”

Though I couldn’t see the point, I locked the door as requested, then turned and looked around. The room was little more than a small white box, with no furniture other than the bed and the light screen. I walked across to the touch panel and slid a finger across the appropriate app. The TV came to life. The scene it revealed was one man viciously fucking another as he sucked the life from the poor fellow. The only sounds to be heard were the slapping of flesh against flesh and the occasional slurp.

I shivered and turned my back to the screen. I might have to listen, but I didn’t have to watch. Not the whole sick performance, anyway.

Azriel still stood near to the door, Valdis held by his side. She gleamed with an ugly blue-black fire.

I raised an eyebrow in silent query, and he said, “There is much unrest outside.”

I know. Fear sharpened within me. Amaya responded immediately, her noise adding to the ache in my still-tired brain. “When do you think they’ll attack?”