Roaring Midnight (Macey Gardella #1)

Roaring Midnight (Macey Gardella #1) Page 11

~ Wherein Our Heroine is Taken for a Ride ~

Macey landed in the backseat on her hands and knees, and before she could recover, another rough shove sent her sprawling face-first onto the floor amid several pairs of shoe-clad feet. The floor was gritty and spattered with oil, and a heavy, cloying scent filled the air.

She noticed one female and two male pairs of shoes just as the auto door closed. "Keep her down," someone growled.

A hand twisted a fistful of her hair and whipped her to the floor again. Pain streaked over her scalp, her knees were scraped and bruised, and she was out of breath, taken utterly by surprise. She hadn't managed missing- the man a squeak, let alone a scream. The vehicle started off with a gentle lurch, and she kept her head lowered for the moment, panting, as she looked around from her vantage point among her abductors' feet.

The back of her neck felt as if a block of ice was pressing there, which told her she was in the presence of more than one undead. And the backseat of this auto was unlike anything she had ever seen. It was roomy, and there were two bench seats, facing each other, like on a train. A covert look told her there was a third seat facing forward, where the driver sat. Surrounding her were three pairs of male shoes and one pair of Mary Janes. But something was wrong with the Mary Janes-and the feet they were on. Even in the dim light, she saw one high-heeled shoe dangling awkwardly from an unmoving foot, its strap catty-wonker and the button loose. The legs attached to the shoes sagged open.

A shiver streaked up Macey's spine, this one having nothing to do with the presence of an undead. She looked up the woman's body and saw the blood. Everywhere. It stained the front of her clothing, running in long rivulets from multiple wounds on her neck, shoulders, and wrists. She couldn't see if she was conscious, for the woman's head was tilted back into the shadows.

By now she recognized the dull, heavy smell in the air. Macey drew in a deep breath and realized the oil on the floor was not oil but blood. She closed her eyes, fighting back nausea and terror. This is not good.

And it wasn't Al Capone...unless he'd sent some vampires after her.

She was trapped in an auto with three undead. No one knew where she was. And her stake-the one stake she'd added to her pocketbook at the very last minute tonight-was in her pocketbook, which she'd dropped as she was shoved into the auto.

"Macey Gardella. Thank you for joining us."

The speaker wore the cleanest, newest, most fashionable pair of men's spats in the group. She lifted her face to look at him and her body went even colder. "You."

It was the lean, dangerous-looking man who'd visited the library several weeks ago, asking for Miss Gardella. His eyes glowed faintly red, but he said nothing more; merely smiled at her, showing a hint of fang. Then he looked across at his companions and gave a slight nod.

Before she could prepare herself, Macey was dragged up onto the opposite seat by the other two men. Four hands, large and rough, imprisoned her as she tried to twist free. She bucked and twisted with all her might, using the chunky heels of her Mary Janes like billy clubs.

But, strong as she was with her vis bulla, she was no match for the two undead in the small confines. Already shocked and out of sorts, not to mention aching from the violent blow to the head, she was murky and slow. Her heart pounded and she couldn't catch her breath as the two held her immobile, sprawled between them on the seat. One wrapped an arm around her head, holding it at an awkward angle as he gripped her left wrist.

The other grabbed her right arm, then slid his free hand up over her thigh a the United States government wh5N3nd along her hips, dragging up her skirt and baring her garters and the bottom of her knickers. Macey twisted sharply before he got to the juncture of her thighs and managed to free one foot, whipping it into her captor's cheek. He grunted when the heel slammed hard, then scraped along his cheek. This caused him to loosen his grip, giving her the opportunity to jam an elbow into the groin of her other captor. He cried out and backhanded her so hard her ears rang, and she tumbled to the floor again. Her knee landed on something sharp and with a start, she realized it was the clasp of her pocketbook. How did my bag get in here?

But she didn't have time to wonder, or even try to open it and fumble for the stake. They forced her back up onto the seat, this time holding her arms and legs even more tightly, stretching her at full length across the car so she had no ability to coil and buck.

Her chest heaving, internal organs turned to ice, Macey realized she was in serious trouble. Her one hope was to get the stake out of her bag. Which meant she had to get back on the floor again.

"Who are you?" she demanded, looking at the presumed leader. If she distracted them, got them talking, maybe she could take them by surprise and free herself. "What do you want?"

"Hold her." Something flashed in the leader's hand, and Macey stiffened when she discerned a knife blade.

She tried to wring herself free once more, but the four hands binding her were so strong and tight they might have been manacles.

The dagger gleamed in the bare streetlight that stole through the auto's window, and Macey realized the vehicle was no longer moving. They were going to kill her in this dark alley and dump her among the garbage. The man from the library reached for her, and with a sharp, swift movement, raked the knife straight down the front of her.

Her dress split and fresh air spilled over her torso as impersonal hands yanked the material away, uncovering her from breast to hip. Her head swam and her temple throbbed; something trickled from her eyes, and she realized it was a trail of tears.

Most of her breasts and belly were bare. Macey could see the growing stripe of blood all along her sternum to her stomach. And there, gleaming in the low light, was the silver vis bulla, settled in her navel.

"So you have taken the amulet." He looked up at her, his eyes burning red-pink, his fangs bared. "You are the Gardella." The tip of his tongue slipped out, caressing his thin lips. His eyes turned brighter.

"Did Capone send you?"

"Capone?" His eyes narrowed. "No, he did not. But I'm fascinated that you should think he might have done."

"Who are you, then? You know who I am, but you're too cowardly to tell me who you are." Macey forced every bit of strength and bravado into her voice she could. "And you need two goons plus yourself to capture me. What does that s savior who carries the deepest taintc somethingay about you?"

He laughed and reached toward her with the dagger again. She stiffened, preparing herself for pain. But he used the metal tip to flip the tiny silver cross as if it were a plaything. "Nicholas. Nicholas Iscariot at your service, Macey Gardella."

She tried to steady her breathing and calm her heartbeat to keep her torso from shuddering with every pulse and every breath. Iscariot continued to play with the knife, tracing it over the white, trembling skin of her belly, drawing an occasional line of blood, then returning to slide the blade's tip into the circle of the vis and jiggle it almost gently.

She tensed, waiting for him to slice it free, knowing the moment he did that, she'd lose what little strength she had left. Then it would be all over.

And no one knows where I am.

Fighting despair, knowing her only chance was to get her hands on the stake, Macey glanced at the woman who sagged next to Nicholas in the corner of the auto. She hadn't moved, and although she was mostly in shadow, Macey was certain she wasn't going to be moving any time ever again. She swallowed hard, knowing that was to be her fate unless she did something. Very soon.

"Oh, did I not introduce you?" Nicholas followed her attention to the victimized woman. He smiled coldly, and the knife moved away as he pulled on the bloodstained arm next to him. Macey caught sight of ribbons of flesh where the chin, neck, and shoulders had once been, mingled with the torn fabric of her clothing, dark and congealed and smelling of iron. The woman had not merely been fed on; she'd been destroyed. Mutilated. Bile rose in the back of her throat, and she swallowed hard.

Nicholas paused, his smile widening. "Ah, but wait...I believe you already are acquainted with this evening's entertainment, aren't you?"

The woman's head lolled forward, then back sharply as he yanked her upright, but not before Macey saw her face clearly in the low light.

She barely held back a scream. Chelle. It was Chelle.

"No," she breathed, hysteria rising from deep inside. She couldn't hold it back, it bubbled into her throat and threatened to explode in a horrified cry. "You didn't...you..." She choked and tears swam in her eyes. A band of horror wrapped around her chest, tightening, tightening, and she fought and twisted and bucked wildly against her captors.

"Now, now," Nicholas said, shoving Chelle back into the corner of the auto as if she were a rag doll. "Let's not overset ourselves. It could have been much worse, you know." Then he cocked his head to one side and smiled. His gaze burned like a glowing ruby as it skimmed along her bared skin, which appeared silvery white in the unsteady light. Macey could hear the deep, guttural breathing of the vampire nearest her head, and he gripped her wrists even tighter. She had no feeling in her hands and felt her bones grinding against each other. the curtains sly

The scent of blood was heavy in the air, and now some of it was hers. Her heart pounded harder and deeper. Like a death knell.

Nicholas adjusted her dress, pulling it apart enough that one breast was fully exposed and her undergarments fell away completely. As her heart pounded violently, visible in the vibration of her breast, reverberating through her limbs like a stampede, he used the knife tip to draw a light circle around her areola. A tiny bead of blood dripped down one side, merging into the first slice he'd made down her torso. It burned and stung, but she hardly noticed the pain. She feared it was nothing compared to what was to come.

"There was once a very powerful woman of my kind," her tormentor said conversationally, "who was fond of the combined ecstasy and pain she would experience from touching something so powerful" -he indicated the holy strength amulet by lifting it from her skin with the tip of the knife, pulling the upper lip of her navel taut- "while taking her pleasure. Feasting and feeding and whatnot. I've always wondered what that might be like. If I would enjoy it myself."

Then he lunged. His hand planted heavily on her belly, covering her vis bulla as he plunged his fangs roughly into the juncture of neck and shoulder. Macey jolted and screamed as he punctured her skin, felt the exploding release of blood surging from her veins.

His mouth was horrible: one lip hot and the other cold, each sensation revoltingly distinct. They fastened on her skin as he sucked deeply from her. The m-kuh, m-kuh, m-kuh sound of him drawing in and swallowing filled her ears in a horrible rhythm, like the heartbeat of death.

Macey could feel the life draining from her, her strength ebbing, the smell of her own blood, the fainter scent of burning flesh. His weight forced her into the seat, into the foulness of the other vampires who held her, his hand pressing, burning into her belly as the vis seared his palm.

The sound of shattering glass filled the air, and pieces rained down inside the auto. Everything turned to chaos, and in the midst of it Macey tumbled to the floor.

She landed on her pocketbook again, which shocked her into action, but by then a dark arm had jackknifed in and slammed into one of her captors. The vampire who'd held her feet burst into foul-smelling ash, and just as she grappled her stake out of the bag, that same strong hand grabbed her and she was plucked from the auto.

She caught a glimpse of Chas's face-dark, livid, and intense-as he yanked her past him and fairly tossed her to the ground. He dove back into the car, smooth and dark and powerful, extracting another figure. His new combatant fought with sharp punches and a head-butt. But Chas took the head-butt on his temple and flung the undead against the side of the auto. With one low, upward thrust, he held the vamp by the neck and rammed a stake up through shirt and vest, driving it into his heart. Just as the vampire poofed into nothing, the vehicle leapt forward, its door slamming closed from the sudden velocity. Chas jumped back as the tires squealed, and the auto blazed into the night.

By the time Chas turn to try and find , and 7Ved to her, Macey had pulled to her feet. Panting and trembling, she held her unused stake. Her knees wobbled and she wasn't certain she could even form the words to thank him.

"I..." She swallowed, realized her dress was literally hanging off her, and pulled the fragments closed.

"Good God." He whipped off his coat and wrapped it around her shoulders far more gently than she'd anticipated.

"Chelle. Oh my God, they have Chelle," she managed to choke. She swayed and grabbed at a tree, but nevertheless managed a few desperate, staggering steps after the auto.

Chas looked at her, his mouth curving down as he caught her arm to steady her-and pull her back from the chase. "There's nothing to be done now." He hesitated, then said, "Let's go. You need...hell, you need everything."

Chas had no choice but to take Macey back to his rooms. He didn't even consider bringing her to The Silver Chalice. Vioget certainly couldn't see her like this, half naked and with blood everywhere.

Hell, Chas shouldn't even see her like this-at least the half-naked part. At least, not yet. He smiled grimly to himself.

His small flat was conveniently situated on the top floor of a carriage house right next to St. Anselm's Church. What better place for a vampire hunter to live than in the shadow of a holy place?

Chas unlocked the door and Macey stumbled in, still clutching his coat around her shoulders. He had given it to her for modesty just as much as his own self-preservation. The flash of breast and belly, even covered with blood as they were, had been burned into his mind's eye.

This is probably not your best decision ever, Woodmore.

But when he closed the door and turned on a lamp, getting his first good look at her, whatever lewd thoughts he might have harbored disintegrated.

He'd seen worse. On the dead.

"I..." She swayed and allowed her knees to buckle. Fortunately, the sofa was behind her and she sank into it. And, by God, she was still holding her stake. Despite everything else, he had to give her kudos for that.

First things first. "Let me see what they did to you."

She peeled the coat away from the blood congealing on her neck and shoulders while keeping it modestly over the rest of her torso. Her glossy black hair was crusted with blood and wild with curls that made her look as if she'd just been well fucked. And the way the coat bared her slender white shoulders was more than a little tempting.

But Chas wasn't thinking about that-he was looking at the four to try and find , and 7Vugly gouges in her throat. Larger than a normal bite, they were angled and deep, already turning black and crusty around the edges. On anyone other than a Venator, those types of wounds would have been fatal-or worse. Fortunately, he'd arrived in time, or Nicholas Iscariot would have marked her for good.

But unfortunately, Nicholas had been the one vampire Chas hadn't had the chance to slay before the auto careened off down the street, narrowly missing his foot. Damn and blast.

"This is going to sting." He felt her brace herself, and he poured a generous helping of holy water in one fast deluge. It was best to get it over with quickly.

When the water hit her wounds, Macey arched and hissed sharply, biting her lip as she turned away to hide her face. Her breathing turned into panting, but there was nothing to be done to alleviate the pain until the blessed water did its work.

So Chas stood and set some water to warming over the stove, then located a cloth and one of his few shirts without bloodstains. His fury simmered well beneath the surface, where he intended to keep it-at least for a while longer. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

She looked up at him, those velvety brown eyes even larger than usual, and shook her head. "Not...like that." At least some life had come back into her expression.

Good. He gave her a bowl of warm water sprinkled with more holy essence. The small silver cross he kept for such purposes soaked in the bottom of it. She smiled her thanks, but wariness lingered in her eyes, and she still clutched the coat like a fur stole around her bare shoulders. The blood had been mostly washed away by the rush of holy water, and a bolt of heat roared through him as he noticed the curve of her collarbones. With her head of full, unruly hair baring a long, elegant neck and those full lips, she suddenly had him thinking all sorts of untenable thoughts.

Putting the cloth and shirt on the table next to her, he turned to give her privacy, himself a breather-and to find something for them to eat.

And drink.

He wondered if Macey would deign to sip a whiskey if he poured one for her, after her ordeal. She sure as hell earned it.

"I know you're a young Venator, but you did a very stupid thing. " He cracked an egg forcefully into a bowl. Then followed four more, and, after consideration, a fifth and sixth. He was damn hungry-he'd anticipated eating dinner before having to slay vampires.

"No, I didn't."

Her cool, steady response made him furious for a variety of reasons, and the anger he'd managed to contain beneath concern and efficiency burst forth harshly. "What the hell do you-"

"I did several-no, many stupid things in the last two days." She raised her voice even louder. Old St. Patrick's Churchpa blood

He couldn't argue with that. From evading him last night and trying the same again tonight-fortunately, unsuccessfully-to letting herself get dragged into a damn limousine by Nicholas Iscariot. What the hell had she been thinking?

Chas drew in a deep breath and gritted his teeth.

She'd turned away on the sofa, but the coat was gone and so were the remnants of her clothing. He could see the titillating shape of her white back, the curve of her shoulders and flare of her hips, and the delicate bumps of her spine and scapulae. From the rear, you'd never know she'd been assaulted by one of the most powerful vampires in the world...except for the single dark wound that showed just over the back of her shoulder. And unfortunately, he had a very good idea what the front of her looked like. Watching Wayren insert the vis bulla in the intimate area of her belly had only been the beginning.

"You're damn right." He added milk, salt, and pepper to the bowl. "I was being kind when I said a stupid thing." He whisked with more violence than necessary.

Chas actually heard her snort at that. So unladylike from such a feminine creature-who was, he reminded himself, a warrior in training. "Kind is not a word that comes to mind when I think of you."

He grinned in spite of himself. "You and everyone else, lulu." He poured the eggs into the pan he'd heated and slipped a couple of pieces of bread in the oven to toast. "I didn't realize you'd left the library yesterday until it was much too late-you made certain not to leave via your normal route, which I hadn't expected. Because why the hell would you avoid me when you knew we had work to do?" His jaw cracked as he ground his teeth.

"Because you commanded me to wear something that showed off my legs, you...you goon. I'm not your damn moll."

"You have excellent gams, and they're a good distraction-"

She made a furious sound and turned. Fortunately, she was buttoning up the shirt she'd just pulled on and there was nothing to see except a disappearing shadowy vee. "I have no desire to distract you-"

"Not me, lulu. The undead. Gangsters. A bouncer at a club or the doorman at a speakeasy. Whoever needed to be distracted." He bared his teeth at her in a knowing smile. She made an angry sound and flattened her lips into a hard line.

And just as quickly, the last bit of levity evaporated from his mood. Anger blazed through him when he was reminded of her folly, her brazen stupidity. "And then you made a point of trying to do it again tonight. Good God, Macey. I thought you had more sense than that. And I had a hell of a time tracking you down. You're damn lucky I had the skills and desire to do so." He hoped like hell she'd learned her lesson.

She rose from the sofa and came over, showing those shapely legst occurred to her sly and nothing else beneath his loose shirt. "You irritated me when you made the assumption I was going to be at your beck and call last night-or ever-and you made it even worse when you told me what to wear. As if I was nothing more than a showpiece to be on your arm."

"I told you to bring a stake." He plopped a spoonful of eggs onto a plate with more force than necessary.

"I did. Tonight, anyway."

What the hell did that mean? He made no effort to hide his anger. "You nearly got yourself marked, Macey. Your pride and stubbornness almost removed you from the picture completely. You're a damned Venator. There is no fucking room for pride or bruised feelings or willfulness." He shoved the plate with the smaller portion across the counter toward her. "Eat."

She glared up at him, her expression mutinous. "I worked hard all week. And for the last month! I wanted a night out with my friends last night, and tonight-well, yes, I should have been more prepared, I should have had my stake in a more handy place than the bottom of my pocketbook-and I've learned my lesson about that. I just wanted a break. A night out for some fun after three weeks of training. Is that too much to ask?"

He gave her a cold, flat smile. "Your only nights out now are going to be with me and a stake. You've got a job to do. We've got a job to do. And every night you stay home, every night you shirk that duty, Macey, someone else will die. Many someones. Do you understand that? We don't get fucking nights off. We don't have the luxury of sleeping in a comfortable bed, resting after a long day, or going dancing with friends...because when you're sleeping at night, or when you're flirting and giggling and gossiping, someone in this city is being mauled and torn apart and fed upon."

That shut her up.

She drew in a breath that shook visibly, turned her eyes downward, and let her fork clatter gently to the counter.

He took a bite of eggs, and they tasted like dust. Dammit to hell. He clenched his jaw and kept his mouth shut and chewed. Took another tasteless bite. There was no sense in sugarcoating the truth. She needed to know what she'd signed up for, that people relied on her, that her calling was a vocation.

"Look-"

"They took Chelle. My friend. I'm pretty certain she was...she's..." Macey shook her head and looked up at him. Ferocity mingled with grief and shame in her expressive eyes. "He knew she was my friend. It wasn't an accident. It wasn't random."

"Of course it wasn't. Haven't you been listening to anything we've told you? You're a Venator, and not just any Venator, but the daughter of Max Denton. Your lineage is not simply impressive, but stellar. The moment you savior who carries the deepest taintc something were identified as a Venator, you became the most dangerous person in the world to Nicholas and Count Alvisi. You're the heir to Il Gardella. They want you dead-or, worse, they want you under their control."

The wounds in Macey's neck still throbbed, but that discomfort was nothing compared to the awful, ugly sensation growing inside her.

What have I done?

"What did you mean I was almost marked by Nicholas Iscariot?" she asked, half curious, half wanting to change the subject. She needed to grieve for Chelle. She would grieve for her; she would cry and rage for her...but not here, not with Chas. Not now.

She glanced down at the meal he'd made. He had been amazingly kind and considerate-such a contrast to his normal self, and so surprising in light of his barely concealed anger with her. Oh, yes, she could see how livid he was.

"Like Lilith the Dark did to Max Pesaro." When she looked blankly at him, his expression turned to irritation. "You need to bone up on your history. Suffice to say, the few vampires closest to Lucifer are more powerful than that of the minions they control. Nicholas Iscariot, whom you met tonight, and Count Alvisi are two of the fewer than half a dozen of that inner circle of Lucifer's-and they're both in Chicago, for some damned reason. Probably because of you as much as Vioget, now that I think about it. They might want his rings, but they're also most certainly interested in you."

Macey blanched and her insides swished ominously, but Chas didn't seem to notice. He continued his history lecture. "Iscariot in particular is close to Luce because of his relation to Judas. If they should mark you-which is an intentional process that is reserved for only select victims-it happens when they're in the process of feeding on you. The way I understand it, there is a special something-some essence, some intoxicant-released from their saliva that seeps into your blood and, for lack of a better term, it hooks or connects you to them. You remain mortal, but tied to them irrevocably. Your wounds never fully heal-unlike normal vampire bites."

Macey felt lightheaded and reached to touch the four raised marks on her neck. "Am I marked?"

"I'm certain I interrupted in time. But Wayren will be able to tell for sure-and perhaps Vioget. But I warn you-don't allow him to see you like that."

"Like what?"

"Bloody." His unfriendly eyes pierced her. "He'd be on you in a moment. The blood, and the fact that you're the spitting image of your great-great-grandmother."

A deep, hot shiver caught her by surprise. He'd be on you in a moment. That golden, bronzy body, those elegant hands and sensual mouth-then she went cold. And nauseated. "You mean...he'd...feed on me?"

Chas gave a sharp, bitter laugh as if he'd followed her train of thought. "Yes. And then his soul would be lost forever."

Macey might still be missing large chunks of information about the undead, but this she understood. Or thought she did. "He's been a vampire for over a hundred years, and he's never fed?"

"Not on a mortal. He drinks of course, but with the stockyards here, there's an ample supply of fresh blood." Chas's expression focused pointedly on her. "Which is why it was so vital that you accepted your calling. He needs you-or believes he does-to save his soul. Or something of that nature. Vioget isn't known for sharing information."

"So because he's never fed on a mortal, his soul can still be saved."

"Or so we believe. Once an undead feeds on a person, violating their very life, the vampire is damned to belong to Lucifer for eternity."

All that wasn't in The Venators, at least as far as she'd read. Macey drew in a long, deep, ragged breath. What have I done? What am I going to do?

Chas pulled a dark bottle from beneath the sink. It was labeled "vinegar," but as soon as he opened it, she smelled spirits. Without commentary, he set two finger-high glasses on the counter between them and filled both-one nearly to the top and the other halfway.

"Take your pick."

Instead of reaching for either, Macey pulled her hand back. "I don't thinp.