Bloodlines (Demons of Oblivion) (9 page)

“Christ,” he muttered.

Yeah, that knocked you down a few pegs, didn’t it, honey?
I grabbed one of the metal stakes from the ground in one hand and seized him by the collar with the other.

His eyes flickered to the weapon. He was smooth, but not enough to disguise panic in his stare. “Aw, you’re not really going to—”

I lifted him off his feet and tossed him headfirst through one of the windows.

Glass shattered, a high-pitched tinkling. I leaned forward, glanced out. Midair, Jamie started to correct himself. Only two stories up, the simple fall wouldn’t keep him from following Nate, who
I
needed to kill now to get my money.

I didn’t wait for a clear shot; I launched the rod at him. It pierced his lower abdomen and slammed him into the ground, pinning him there, face up. Now
that
, combined with the bullets in his body, should keep him out of the way.

If not, I’d take his head off next time.

My heels crunched over broken glass and the nylon bag of probably-broken goodies on my back thumped against my spine. I wasn’t even going to
look
at my dress—no way was it in good shape and I just couldn’t face another ruined outfit. I winced as I walked, pressed my palm over the bullet wound in my gut. Shit, it stung.

I stopped in the hallway.
Where
would they have taken Nate? Mish didn’t give me any other info—just said he’d be at the party. Of course, she’d also left out the fact that she was
married to the guy
. If she’d given any other suggestions, I’d have trouble listening to them at this point.

So let’s pretend he’s still in the house...
These guys were rich. They’d have secure rooms, right? The blueprints mentioned one in the basement and that seemed a good place to begin the hunt. I started down the hall, the main staircase as my destination.

Something rumbled in the corridor ahead of me and a prickle walked up my spine. The floor trembled beneath my feet, pictures on the walls rattled. Slow, heavy steps pounded toward me.

Not good. So not good
.

Three eight-foot-tall figures appeared at the end of the hallway. Blood-red eyes, six-inch claws, cloven hooves, and faces generally only seen in nightmares and horror movies—a common depiction of a demon simply because they were probably the easiest ones to summon, and therefore most commonly seen by mortals. Ratorth-spawned demons.

Yeah, so maybe I’d find a different way downstairs.

Behind them stood the missing guards, guns drawn and pointed at me. So
that’s
where they went—to get reinforcements. Reinforcements of the demon variety. With an I.Q. not much higher than that of a vegetable, they were fairly easy to control, provided whoever summoned them could give them the right motivation...such as tearing limb from limb an intruder, like myself.

I
knew
this
was
too
easy
.

I turned, heels digging into the carpet, and bolted down the hall in the opposite direction of my new playmates. Behind me the demons snarled and stomped after me. Despite their wide, awkward frames, I knew damn well they’d catch up. It had happened
once
before. I didn’t talk about that story because it made me look bad.

At the end of the corridor, just outside O’Connor’s bedroom, waited a window with long, heavy curtains on either side. I grabbed one of the panels and dove through the glass.

It hurts way more than the movies make you think. I went shoulder first and the glass gave, turned my head to protect my lovely blue eyes, tightened my grip on the curtain.

Cool night air hit me, drying the sheen of sweat on my skin. Glass fell, dancing around me and glinting in the light from the house. As I sailed through the air, I flipped and twisted around so I was going feet first. The curtain rod snapped and the fabric caught on the window frame; it held but jerked my arms, pain shooting through my shoulders. I thrust my heels out, smashed one of the first floor windows, and swung into the lower room.

I landed in a crouch on the tiled floor. My body was on fire, from the bullet in my gut to the pulled muscles in my shoulders and the nicks from the glass. Super healing is all well and good but it still sucks to get hurt in the first place.

An indoor pool was before me, along with a few people from the party busy swimming. Or probably making out. They froze when they saw me, and I can’t say I blamed them. Cuts from the glass lined my arms, and blood soaked my stomach. At least I look good in red.

On the floor above me, the heavy tread of my pursuers continued. The demons gave a low, angry cry.

Right. Still had to get the fuck out of the house.

“I got kind of turned around,” I said to the bewildered swimmers. “I don’t suppose either of you can point me toward the garage.”

One woman stared at me for a moment, and then—hand shaking—gestured to her right.

“Thanks!” I wasted no time racing in the direction she indicated.

A side corridor outside of the pool area led to O’Connor’s expansive garage. There was a line of expensive cars, with one empty spot at the front. Something told me it was probably Nate’s and he and his bodyguards were long gone.

Damn.

Screams came from the main house. Great, so the goddamn demons were probably on a rampage looking for me. Time to make my escape. Hopefully they’d pause to eat some witchy houseguests.

A black motorcycle at the back of the garage caught my eye. Easier to hotwire than a car, and a lot harder to hit with a bullet. Perfect.

After a few minutes and a lot of patience, I had the wires stripped and crossed, and I got a spark. Next up, I just needed a garage remote, which I located hanging on the wall with the selection of car keys. Seconds later I burst outside and tore through the darkness, away from the estate.

About three miles down the road, I was certain no one followed me, so I slowed a bit to think. I knew should probably head home, get rid of the bullet lodged in my stomach, change, and then come up a plan. You know, smart stuff. Pretty and brilliant—that’s Zara Lain.

But I didn’t much care for the logical solution. Mishka had some serious s’plaining to do, and before I did anything else, I wanted to know what in the hell was going on.

Chapter Nine

Unwelcome

I brought the bike to a halt below the fire escape at Mishka’s apartment and emptied the bag of stolen items from O’Connor’s house into the saddle bags. I heard a few things crack, but I didn’t care anymore—anything breakable was already broken. I’d just salvage what I could and sell the pieces.

Two of Mishka’s windows shone with light. Bitch—I mean
witch
, of course—was awake. I would’ve gone up there regardless; nothing like being chased by a group of demons to put me in a bad mood. But awake meant I could skip the bewildered, “Why did you wake me up by beating my head against a wall, Zara?” questions and get straight to
her
answering
me
.

I leapt onto the second level of steps and snuck up the next two flights, metal stairs rattling under my feet. Mishka waited inside, sitting in the living room. After sending
me
to kill the guy who was apparently her husband, she was relaxing on the fucking couch—curled up, in fact, and wearing an oversized gray tracksuit, while watching the goddamn television.

I was far from pleased.

This time all her windows were shut. At least that was a problem I could easily solve. The healing cuts on my hand sliced open again, fresh blood falling over the dried, cracked stuff as I pulled my arm back and punched through the glass.

The window pane shattered and Mishka jumped up.

She took two steps back, voice raised as she eyed me with worry. “Good Goddess, what in Her name are you doing?”

“I thought I’d permanently solve your air conditioning problem.” I casually hopped over the frame. The broken glass crunched under my feet as I stalked toward her. I stopped three steps from where she stood.

“How did everything go?” she asked warily. “Are they dead?”

“Oh yeah, it was totally simple, but I decided to go with my own plan. I just slept with Nate, then killed him and later his father.”

Her lips twitched as I spoke, tightening as her eyes hardened, but she didn’t say a word.

“You know, the funniest thing happened, though,” I continued. “While we were in the throes of passion, he said, ‘Oh Zara, oh Zara...wow—Mishka never did
that
.’ Now who do you suppose he could have been talking about?”

Colour suffused her cheeks and her fingers clenched into fists as she glared at me. “They aren’t dead.”

“Oh, your daddy-in-law is. But it was so weird with Nate—he wasn’t surprised that I brutally murdered his father. In fact, he said he was expecting me.” I feigned laughter. “Wasn’t that just crazy of him?”

“Why the fucking hell didn’t you just kill him?”

“I don’t know—why the ‘fucking hell’ didn’t you just tell me he was your goddamn husband!”

“Because it’s none of your fucking business!”

My lips pursed, chin dipped as I lowered my voice to something dark and cold. “No, actually, it
is
my business. I’ve been shot repeatedly, chased by O’Connor’s Ratorth-spawned guards, beaten up a fellow vampire assassin after nearly banging him, had a filing cabinet thrown at me, and my new, thirteen thousand dollar dress is completely ruined.” Okay, so my dress was actually cheaper than that, but she didn’t need to know. “Now exactly what game are you playing, Mish?”

“Get out,” she whispered.

I closed the distance between us with another step. “Not until you start talking.”

“Get out!”

I grabbed her by the throat in response. Her eyes sparked, spitting green fire at me. I could tolerate a lot of things—I let shit roll off me all the time. I was old, had perspective. Didn’t let petty crap bug me for long.

But rage filled me fast. Every muscle in my body tingled, urging me to simply snap her neck. It would be easy. Quick and painless. Mish was my friend, and I didn’t have a lot of those. I had trusted her. But... But I looked at her now and had to wonder if I’d ever really known this girl. Married? A hit on her husband?

“Let me go and get out,” she growled.

Yeah, I’ll get right on that
. I tightened my grip.

In a situation like that, I completely expected her to give first. But her lips moved in an incantation before I could react. My fingers burned as if touched by a flame; instinctively I released her neck. A little fire spell to keep me from strangling her...understandable, I suppose.

Her lips parted again; she screamed a word that was foreign to me. An unseen force swept out away from her in all directions, blowing up the couch skirt, rattling pictures on the walls, and striking me hard in the chest. The energy threw me backward and knocked me straight out the smashed window.

My hand darted out as I fell and I managed to grab one of the railings; my shoulder gave a painful jerk as I stopped midair.

Fuck.

I hung for a moment. Thinking. I could go back up there and demand she tell me the truth, but I wouldn’t be getting any further with her tonight. I’d probably just end up killing her which, while fun, wouldn’t get me answers. And I’d need answers ’cause I’d have to find her husband, since presumably she still wanted him dead.

So. Home, bullet surgery, sleep, and then tomorrow would be Take Two. With a few more answers, hopefully.

I descended to the pavement and hopped on my bike.

What
isn’t
she
telling
me?
I thought as I rode down the darkened street.
Well,
duh,
Zara—she
isn’t
telling
you
she
has
a
husband
. But the question was
why
did she want him dead?

Not that I blamed her. When I awoke after being turned and found out mine was responsible for my death, I wanted him dead. So badly, in fact, that I killed him and his family. It wasn’t as brutal as it could have been if I’d had a few years of practice though it was still sort of fun.

But Mishka had put me in some serious harm tonight. I had gone in to do a job without all the facts. She believed that there might have been some half-demon guards, but certainly not
Ratorth-spawned
ones! Those bastards could be pretty nasty if they got their hands on their victim.

Had she simply said, “Zar, this is my husband and I want you to kill him,” I probably would have pressed for more information, but ultimately I would have just gone in there and done it. Instead, I was caught off guard, and—

Someone screamed.

I braked, blocked out the sound of the engine, and listened. A woman shrieked. It definitely came from Mishka’s apartment.

Double fuck.

I turned the motorcycle around and sped toward the building.

Chapter Ten

The Witch’s Demise

Mishka screamed again, her voice carrying over the rattling of the fire escape steps as I ran. I’d caused enough terror in my unlife to know something was seriously wrong when someone cried out like that.

“Who are—no, get out of my—”A crash. A yelp.

Goddamn it, even with my speed I wished I could move faster...

Last set of stairs—finally
.

A large, black booted foot hit me square in the chin, throwing me down a level. Cold metal bit my bare shoulders and upper back, and fresh pain tore through my gut where the bullet was lodged.

Christ, I was having a bad night.

I looked up to see who my new assailant was. Unfortunately, I couldn’t get a good look at him on account of the black ski mask covering his face.