Nightfall (33 page)

“Nothing yet?” She flinched as he repeated the process with
her other cheek before moving the knife lower. He traced her breast, making her
heart race. A
no
screamed out in her mind. With obscene grace, he dug
the blade into her flesh and opened up an arc over each breast.

“A bit more strength, and I could cut them off entirely.
You’d survive, but these lovely tits wouldn’t regenerate. How long would you
survive without your beauty, Selene? It’s one of our most powerful weapons,
isn’t it? Beg me not to do it. Ask my forgiveness. You know you owe me an
apology.”

Thank God for his short attention span. Not waiting for an
answer, he let the knife drop and scored a line across the top of her cunt.

I owe you nothing, you bastard.

“I could take your clit as well. Female castration. You’d
never find pleasure again. But if I ordered Mike and Claudio to fuck you
instead, make you come despite your revulsion for them, your forced pleasure
would be even more terrible to you.”

She’d want to die. If she had to, she’d beg as he’d asked.
He could do this. Take away everything, even dignity. She wasn’t so sure she
didn’t want to die anyway. The thought of the Region Master making a decision
in her favor seemed so far away. But Quinn…Quinn wasn’t far away.

Hold on for Quinn.

Laurent sighed. “Still no response. Let’s put a pin in that
idea and move on to your actual punishment.”

He nodded at the two men. “Bend her over that bar stool and
hold her in place. Claudio, the cat.”

She’d thought about skinning herself to avoid a permanent
mark from him. Laurent could literally skin her with the cat-o’-nine Claudia
gave him now, nine strands of thin plaited rope with pointed steel ends.

The flogger could be used for both pleasure and punishment.
Yet as a penance, in the hands of the right person, it caused untold pain,
which Laurent well knew. He’d often punished a recalcitrant lover in the back
room of the club with this one.

The two men holding her dragged her to the nearest stool and
forced her over it face down. Her toes barely brushed the floor, her knee still
on fire, and the open wounds on her breasts stung from the pressure. Two pairs
of hands tightened down on her, immobilizing her, increasing the helpless sense
of horrible inevitability.

She speared a fang through her lower lip, adding one more
rivulet of blood to those already on her face. Her cheeks were on fire, she
could hardly breathe through her nose and her head felt as if a concrete block
had smashed into it. Unable to focus her eyes, she simply closed them and
called up Quinn’s face. That would be her center, her anchor to help her
through this. That and not letting anything through to him. She was an island,
cut off from the whole world, Quinn merely a picture in her mind, not connected
to the man himself.

The first blow fell on one buttock, the tiny sharp points
biting into the skin. She jerked involuntarily but bit down hard again on her
damaged lip to keep from crying out. The next blow came, then more, a shower of
them in rapid succession, the steel tips like vicious teeth tearing into her
skin. The agony spread out from waist to thighs, a continuous blanket of pain
smothering her, trapping her. No escape.

Then he moved to the backs of her thighs. He was an expert
with the weapon, each steel tip biting into a new spot. When he went to her
back, he didn’t miss a single square inch, whipping her from neck to waist.

At some point, no one could resist such agony. When she
couldn’t hold back the screams, Laurent had one of the vampires force a dirty
bar rag into her mouth, cramming it in there such that it was in the back of
her throat, making her gag, gasp for breath she knew rationally she didn’t have
to take. Her lungs fought for it anyway, increasing the sense of panic.

Mike and Ernesto increased their grip, pushing her harder
into the leather of the stool. The blows came in a measured rhythm, not too
fast, not too slow, but timed to elicit maximum suffering. She was sure she was
a bloody mess by now but the searing heat that bloomed from every inch of her
skin was so intense she couldn’t care.

She tried to count the blows, focus on the numbers as a way
to get through it, but they came too fast and too viciously. She finally
managed to retreat into herself, blocking out the surroundings, Laurent, his
men and the vicious blows of the cat. She was so deep in her head, the
excruciating agony so unrelenting, she barely realized when the application of
the specially designed flogger had ceased.

“Let her go.”

She slid backward onto the floor and landed hard. Naked,
beaten and bloody. She heard the scrape of Laurent’s shoes, then a
foot—Laurent’s, she was sure—kicked her damaged knee again, following it up
with a kick in her ribs. She screamed against the cloth they hadn’t pulled
free. Her tongue and mouth were dried out, parched.

“This is only a taste of what you’ll be getting.” His voice
was laced with venom. “When the Region Masters send you back to me, I’ll chain
you in my penthouse, keep you on display like a freak show, until I’m sure my
entire territory has seen you and knows the price of betrayal. I’ll let you
starve for blood for a decade before I kill you.”

More sounds of shoes, four sets of feet moving away, followed
by the closing of the door.

He was gone. It was done.

Selene lay crumpled in a heap for a long time, not believing
it, expecting him to come back and start all over, one of his little mind games
to break her completely. But a clock was ticking in her mind, competing with
that, telling her she had to somehow find the strength to move. She wasn’t
going to die from this. She was going to heal. She just needed blood. Quinn
would eventually come home, when Laurent was well away from here.

Tears spilled over her bloody face from even the slightest
move. She moaned in agony as she made it to her hands and knees, her thigh
tightening to hold the one knee up as much as possible, like a dog limping.
Though one eye was swollen shut, she could make out where the scraps of her
clothing were and crawled to get them. Since she woke up next to them, she
realized the effort had made her black out. Panic gripped her until she saw the
clock on the wall and realized only twenty minutes had passed. She just hoped
in unconsciousness she hadn’t let anything get through to Quinn. Unless it was
blasted open by something like Laurent’s active torture session, opening her
mind was usually a voluntary act, like having to pull open a door. So it should
be okay.

Trying to push through the excruciating pain, she managed to
wrap the tattered dress around her. Gripping her ruined underwear, she worked
her way to her feet by grabbing onto the rail along the bar and maneuvering
around it. Behind the bar, she found a pencil and scribbled a note for Manuel
on a paper napkin. Her blood smeared it, making her curse, cry with
frustration. She hadn’t the strength to leave another note, so she hoped he’d
simply think it was a wine stain from the bar, even though she was usually
meticulously neat.

Manuel had keys. He’d open the door and take care of
business.

Quinn was going to lose it when he saw her, but she couldn’t
control that. She was at the end of what she could control. The most important
thing was Laurent was now out of his reach, and Quinn’s focus would have to be
on caring for her. She needed to feed from him if she were to heal properly and
in a timely manner. Every part of her wanted to reach out to him now. For
sustenance to heal but also for his arms, his strength, his comfort. Maybe she
was still more human woman than vampire after all. That wasn’t a good thing in
her world, but here by herself, she could allow herself the weakness of wanting
the man she loved to comfort her, to make the terrors gripping her inside calm.

Limping so badly she could barely walk, she maneuvered her
way to the old storeroom. She got the door pulled closed and locked behind her,
but the stairs were beyond her. She fell when she attempted the first one. She
woke at the base. Using her last ounce of strength, she pulled herself back
past the kegs and supplies to the small back room. Turning the lock on the
door, she fell onto the cot mattress and managed to get the blanket over her
shaking body, in too much agony to clean herself up.

She couldn’t reach out to him, she couldn’t. But eventually
he would come. She held on to that thought like the promise of salvation,
moaned with pain and prayed for oblivion. Eventually it came. When the
blackness enfolded her, she sank in to it.

Quinn stepped out of the shower, dried himself off and
picked up his razor for a quick shave. The trip had been very successful, the
bull all it was advertised to be. Dinner last night had been nice too, with old
friends from the rodeo circuit. He had no desire to go back to it, certainly
not with the present changes in his life. But he liked the gossip as well as
the next man. He only wished Selene could have been with him so he could show
her off. Let people know about the magic that had come into Quinn Pedraza’s
life. During dinner, he’d imagined her sitting next to him, that slim,
proprietary hand of hers sliding along his thigh as he kept his arm stretched
along the back of her chair. As he turned his head, nuzzled her hair… Christ,
he had it bad.

Tomorrow the bull would arrive at the ranch, so as soon as
he’d landed on his property, Quinn had radioed Johnny and they’d spent the
afternoon preparing for the delivery. The foreman knew exactly how much area to
fence off and how big a stall they needed when the brute was inside. The ranch
would be breeding a whole new strain of cattle from that big son-of-a-bitch.

A quick bite of dinner after that and he’d headed for the
shower, anxious to see Selene.

He studied himself as he shaved, noting the restlessness
that plagued him for so long had disappeared from his eyes. Buying the ranch
and the bar had only partially assuaged it. It had taken Selene, with her
ability to connect with him on so many levels, to help him understand who he
really was and feel comfortable in life. The crazy thing was how quick it had
happened, but she’d implied sometimes it could be that way for a human meant to
be a vampire’s servant.

He thought of Sam Red Elk, who’d said he’d find his life
intertwined with “the otherworld”. He’d guided Quinn out of the troubled, lost
teen he’d been in a loud, violent household, yes, but if the old man hadn’t
opened his mind to the impossible, would Quinn have been able to accept Selene
and what she was? He had no idea, but he figured he owed the old shaman, big
time. He was glad that the After Hours had been her chosen stop on the highway.

Last night before he dropped off to sleep, he’d tried
headtalking with her, but got no response. Twice. It made him a bit uneasy, but
the bar had been extremely busy. He assumed she was swamped with work and
couldn’t take the time to chat. Chat! What a word for it. During the day he
knew she was sleeping, but when he tried her again before he jumped into the
shower he still got no response. He halfway convinced himself she was punishing
him in fun for leaving her overnight. Making him all the more eager to see her.
He grinned at the thought. Could be a vampire thing, but that was definitely a
woman thing as well. And a Mistress thing. Anticipation coiled in him at the
thought.

Okay, he’d see her in person soon enough. That was better.

As he reached for the watch he’d placed on the counter his
gaze fell on that bite-shaped mark on his wrist, the brand of the third mark.
It was his talisman, his comfort icon. He touched it often during the day while
he worked, rubbing his thumb over it or brushing it with the tip of his
forefinger. Every contact reinforced his connection with his incredible
vampire. His Mistress.

How did I get so goddamn lucky?

When he looked at the watch he realized it was after seven
o’clock. Selene would have the bar open for the evening and everything humming
along with her usual efficiency. His plan had been to get there before she
opened and catch a few minutes alone with her, but getting ready for the new bull
had taken much longer than he expected. His cock reminded him how long it had
been since he’d seen her.

Oh yeah, a whole twenty-four hours. I’m getting to be a
greedy son of a bitch.

Maybe he’d put on those shiny briefs she insisted on
bringing back from Butch’s. Haul her upstairs and give her a surprise.

I can’t wait to see you.

He frowned when there was no answer forthcoming. Fun was
fun, but usually she’d respond to something like that. She liked it when he
reached out during the early opening hours. She’d said it was her way of
keeping tabs on him. Making sure he’d survived his work day and wasn’t
overdoing, spending all that energy she intended to drain throughout the night.
The grin the thought would normally inspire couldn’t quite make it to his lips.

Mistress? Where are you? I miss you.

Still no answer.

His gut twisted in a double knot. She would never block him
unless she thought his being with her would bring him into danger. Had that
sick fuck Laurent shown up while he was away and taken out his anger on her?
No, Dix had told him Butch would give her a heads-up before he called Laurent.
But suddenly Quinn wondered if something had happened, the timetable
accelerated. What would she do if that happened? She’d try to protect him.
Goddamn it. He was an idiot. What the hell had he been thinking? He’d been so
caught up in that fucking bull, pretending his life was like it always was,
predictable ups and downs, the only dangers out there those that came with
working a ranch…

He wiped his face quickly and had just grabbed the briefs
and his jeans when his cell phone rang. The readout said
After Hours.
He
stabbed the Talk button.

“Selene?”

“No, boss, it’s me.” Manuel’s voice. “I think you’d better
get down here.”

Quinn’s entire body froze, a terrible foreboding slicing
through him. “What’s up? Where’s Selene?” He could hear voices in the
background, the sounds of the early evening crowd.

“Uh, that’s it, boss. I was a little late getting here and
the place wasn’t even open yet. We had folks at the door pounding to get in.”

“Not open?”
Bad. Very bad.
“Where’s Selene?” Quinn’s
tone was sharper this time.

“She left me a note on a bar napkin that says she’s sick and
we should handle the business tonight. Maria’s here but I think I should call
Carol to come in too. That okay?”

Quinn squeezed the phone so hard he was afraid it might
crack.
Sick? Vampires don’t get sick. It’s that bastard. I just know it.

“It’s just not like her, boss. I thought I should call you.
We’re kind of worried.”

Not alone in that.
Quinn yanked his jeans on
one-handed over his bare skin and reached for a shirt. “You did the right
thing. Call Carol and put Maria behind the bar. I’m on my way.”

He shoved sockless feet into his boots, grabbed his keys and
wallet and was in his truck in less than two minutes.
Whatever’s happening,
I’m on the way, Mistress. It’s okay. I’m coming.

He hoped she was hearing the message. And that she was where
he suspected she’d go if she was in distress. If she wasn’t there, he wasn’t
sure where he’d look. He’d go out of his mind.

He broke every speed limit getting to After Hours, pulling
into the parking lot so fast his truck skidded sideways. Yanking out the keys,
he ran across the lot and went in through the back entrance. He half hoped to
see her in her office, but it was dark. He barreled toward the bar, barely
managing to check himself in time to get under control. If this was as bad as
he expected, Selene didn’t need a maniac tending to her. Or alerting the others
to what she was.

Carol spotted him as soon as he walked in and hurried over,
carrying a tray full of empties.

“I don’t know what’s up, Quinn, but I think something’s bad
wrong with Selene. She never misses a night.” She saw it in his face too, he
was sure. Still, he put a hand on her arm in reassurance.

“You guys keep the place running. I’ll go check on her. I’ll
take care of it.” He hoped to Christ he could.

She wouldn’t be in the upstairs apartment. She’d want the
darkest place she could find. The converted storeroom at the back of the
cellar.

The staff kept the cellar door locked except when pulling
out supplies, but he had his keys. As he slipped the key into the lock and
pushed it open, he concentrated, seeing if he could feel her in any way. She’d
said that was a servant’s skill that time would hone, until he’d be able to
feel her nearby or in his mind before she said a word. Maybe he didn’t have the
skill yet, but he didn’t feel her in any way. That worried him even more.

As he locked the door behind him, he noticed the bulb
mounted to the right of the stairs had been broken, shards of glass on the top
stair. The damn thing had always been in too low of a position, easy to hit
with an armload of boxes. As he descended, he was thankful for those third mark
senses that kept him from having to wait for his eyes to adjust to the
darkness. He could make out the outline of the shelving and kegs like they were
cast in pre-dawn light, a mostly dark-gray room.

He wasn’t grateful for the smell of blood those enhanced
senses brought him. At the bottom of the stairs, he found a small lump of
clothing. Lifting it in his hands, he discovered bloodstained fabric, torn
panties and bra. Her delicate, lacy things, worn to please him and please
herself. His gut twisted like a vise. Spattered blood lay beyond them with her
shoes, dropped along that chilling path. If such a blood trail was here, it
should have been upstairs too, but the aged wood floor had been stained by so
many spilled drinks and drunken brawls—before Selene came—it would have
blended.

Selene, fuck…

He moved swiftly along the wall, already pulling out the
right key. Thank God she hadn’t pulled a Mistress move and made him give up the
key to that little storeroom. He would have broken the damn door down
regardless if needed, used that third mark strength to splinter it in its
frame.

As he pushed open the door, he saw her immediately. Or
rather, he saw the lump beneath the covers and inhaled her scent with his
relieved breath. She was here. But that stale-blood scent was way too strong
here. Emanating from his Mistress, who was so clean all the time.

He forced himself not to lunge at her. Instead, he
approached the cot with soft footfalls and touched that lump, detecting her
body beneath the fabric.

Her weak moan sliced into his heart. She had a lamp by the
cot, and now he switched it on, seeing she had a scarf over it to keep it dim.
She’d placed it there only a few days ago, romantic lighting.

The memory stabbed his gut. It was the first time she’d let
him be with her here. Perhaps remembering the pleasure of sleeping with him at
Butch’s, she hadn’t sent him away at the end of the night or left him upstairs.
Instead, she’d brought him down here to make love once more, then sleep with
her past dawn. Quinn hadn’t risen until mid-morning to go back to the ranch, a
rare luxury he couldn’t resist. He’d brushed his lips over hers, stroked back
her hair. Young vampires slept hard, she’d told him, and he’d seen the proof of
it, because she barely stirred, but he’d felt a tendril of something inside her
mind reach out to him, like a dreamlike caress.

He swallowed hard. Kneeling beside the bed, he drew the
blanket back very gently. His stomach heaved at what he saw.

Fucking shit. That bastard.

Selene was on her side, facing the wall, and there wasn’t an
inch of her skin from nape to buttocks that wasn’t marked, covered with blood.
In the few spots where it had dripped away to the covers before it dried,
leaving some skin exposed, he saw a pattern of dots crusted with blood, as if
she’d been beaten with a dozen tiny knives. Pushing back the bile flooding his
throat, he put his mouth close to her ear.

“I’m here, Mistress. I’ll take care of you.”

And then I’ll kill that fucker.

As carefully as possible he lifted her, turned her over so
she was facing him on the other side, keeping pressure off her abused back. She
made a pitiful noise like a badly wounded animal, which told him she was still
out of it. His Mistress had far too much pride to make such a noise. He’d go to
the grave before ever telling her she’d made it.

The crusted blood was even thicker on her face, but not
thick enough to hide the long cuts from a knife. Her nose was swollen and
discharge from it had mingled with her blood. Forcing a calm he didn’t feel, he
managed to take inventory of her injuries, sickened by the moans she kept
trying to stifle.

Then she reached out a weak hand, showing him she was aware
of his presence. He took it in his large one, wrapping his fingers around it
the way he’d handle anything delicate, breakable and unspeakably precious.

“I’m here, Mistress,” he repeated. “I’m going to take care
of you.”

He’d never in his life had the genuine urge to take a man’s
life, but now it consumed him. He’d have to tamp it down until he saw to
Selene, but then—

No. Quinn, no. Just help me. That’s all I need.

The one eye was swollen shut, but the other focused on him,
pleading. She was afraid, and he’d never seen her show fear. It was fear for
him, damn it all.

It took every bit of discipline he had to lock away the
thoughts in his head and make his mind a blank except for her needs.

I
will
help you, Mistress.
He bowed his head
and rested his forehead on her hip.
I will help you. Tell me how.

Blood…I need your blood. And then…it would be nice to be
clean.

He wanted to weep or snarl. He wanted to get on the bed and
hold her in his lap, let her nurse at his throat like a baby until she drained
him dry, took every drop she needed, but he knew that would hurt her torn back.
So he drew his pocket knife, flipped it open and cut his wrist, holding the
artery under his thumb so every drop would belong to her. Then he set the knife
aside and brought his wrist to her mouth, cradling the back of her head. She
was so weak he had to shift his hold a bit, tease the corner of her mouth,
paint some of the blood on her lips, her tongue. She pressed her lips together,
tasting, and then they parted, seeking more.