Rebel Obsession (11 page)
“Hey, if you ever need a date again, look me up, okay?”
“Thanks, Jess, but I think this was a one-time thing.” Malek met her gaze.
She sighed. “Oh well. You take care.”
“You, too.”
She hurried to the front door as if she was regretting her decision not to stay and felt that the sooner she got out, the better, so she wouldn’t be reminded of how she could have slept in a comfortable bed for at least one day.
The door opened and closed, and a minute later, Malek heard the cab drive away.
Yes, last night had been a one-time thing. He couldn’t let himself fall prey to his weakness like that again. From now on, he would go back to using only his hand when he felt the need to get off. No more women for him.
Uh-huh. Yeah, sure.
Apostle’s entire body itched and tingled from the scorpion venom he’d been injected with over the past several weeks. And clothes weren’t doing it for him. They hung off his starved body and the fabric felt like sandpaper on his raw, sensitive skin. He didn’t know how much weight he’d lost, but it was a lot, and he had to keep hiking up his pants, which aggravated the latest scorpion stings to make him itch even more.
He had already adopted the human form Bishop had chosen for him, but not even his changeling powers could overcome being so weak and emaciated. He would have to do some serious eating before he resembled the man in the photograph.
Apostle followed Bishop from the room where he had been kept since arriving, through the main hall toward the back of the sprawling ranch-style home, through an elegantly arched doorway that led into the living room. Large picture windows and a pair of glass double doors overlooked a rocky decline down into a valley. Finally they made their way through the kitchen to a locked, metal door past the laundry room.
“I’ve made some changes since the last time you were here,” Bishop said, unlocking the door and pulling it open.
It had been years since Apostle had seen the laboratory and production facility built beneath Bishop’s home.
“Such as…?” Apostle wanted to know what he was in for, especially if he was expected to take Deacon’s place at the helm of the operation.
Bishop casually descended the stairs, puffing away on that goddamn cigarette of his like it was his lover.
“The experiments we’re conducting now required the construction of holding cells.”
“Holding cells?” Apostle’s brow wrinkled into an inquisitive frown.
“Yes.” Bishop kept a steady pace, his eyes straight ahead.
“Why do you need holding cells?” But Apostle was beginning to get the gist of what types of experiments Bishop and Deacon had been running here.
Based on the two pictures—a before and after?—of the man whose form Apostle had now adopted, and on what Bishop had said about using the vampires’ own kind against them, Apostle suspected his twin and Bishop had been working on some kind of biological experiment.
“Who do you keep in the holding cells?” Apostle stopped behind Bishop on the landing in front of another metal door.
“See for yourself.” Bishop pulled the door open and stepped aside.
Apostle walked into a giant beehive of activity. Drecks in both shifted and unshifted form worked at lab tables, wearing white coats, plastic gloves, and goggles. Some even wore masks.
Along both side walls were ten-by-ten rooms with steel-reinforced Plexiglas fronts, and inside each small cell was a vampire. Some paced, some slept, and still others screamed at the top of their lungs over and over again, their faces a display of agony.
“What are you doing to them?” Apostle walked toward the cells on the left.
“Some we are training. Others we are using for analysis and study.” Bishop stopped in front of one cell with a particularly large vampire inside. The tag on the door read
Maddox.
Maddox was a big fucker, with long, dark hair and dull, lifeless eyes. “And still others we are using for gene splicing.” Bishop’s lips quirked into a lusty grin as he stared at Maddox, who sat in the corner of his small cell, staring at nothing and everything, unmoving and unmoved.
“Who is he?” Apostle noticed how Bishop gazed at the naked male who seemed not to care—or even know—where he was.
“Our future.”
Apostle frowned, not understanding. Clearly, Bishop had special plans for this one.
“Where did he come from?”
Bishop took a deep, wistful breath and finally began walking down the row of cells again. “I bought him.”
Fucking hell, getting information out of Bishop was like trying to milk a bull. “From whom?”
“A pair of business associates.” Bishop hesitated to watch as a one of the lab assistants approached a cell with a syringe of cobalt.
The vampire inside, who had been one of the shriekers, quieted and perked up, shooting forward and staring at the syringe of blue liquid. The vampire licked his lips and pushed his arm through a small opening in the thick Plexiglas after the lab assistant unlocked and opened it.
“We usually pick up those who are buying from our dealers,” Bishop said quietly, standing aside so Apostle could watch. “We make junkies out of them. This one…” Bishop gestured toward the vampire inside the cell, “…is a mongrel. He’s almost ready for phase two of his…
training.”
Apostle had no idea what phase two was, or what Bishop meant by training, but he was sure he would find out soon enough. In the meantime, he watched as the mongrel was injected and fell into the characteristic convulsions associated with cobalt use. In a matter of seconds, the vampire had fallen to the floor, twitching uncontrollably, a smile on his face and sweat pouring out his body.
Whatever Bishop had planned for these vampires and mixed-bloods, it was big. That much was obvious.
Io was in and out of the bathroom in record time. Took him all of five minutes to shower, brush his teeth, and put on flannel pants and a T-shirt.
The idea of being away from Miriam, even if he was only in the next room, urged him to rush.
Had he heard her right a few minutes ago? Had she really said no male had ever touched her the way he had? And if so, what exactly did that mean? Was Miriam a virgin? On one hand, he couldn’t believe a female that exquisite had never taken a lover, but on the other, she had a point about her father. Most people, male and female alike, cowered at mention of King Bain. Her being a virgin made sense considering everything he already knew.
Maybe he was crazy for being so candid with Miriam. Maybe he
would
find himself at the receiving end of a knife to the heart for his cavalier behavior where she was concerned. But one day with her was worth it.
Io couldn’t explain what drove him. He only knew that he had to know Miriam better. He had to take this one opportunity to simply exist in her presence, if only for a day.
No female had ever drawn his attention like she did. Usually, he took what he wanted from those willing to give it then he never looked back. Oh, sure, he occasionally double-dipped and took the same women again as his whim dictated, but what he felt for Miriam was different. She was different. Miriam was at once strong-willed as well as innocent. Something in her eyes and body language told him that much. This made her infinitely more interesting than some girl he’d picked up at a bar with her legs already half open and her hand massaging his crotch.
Io opened the door to the bedroom and shut off the bathroom light, holding his hair dryer in his hand.
Miriam was sitting on the edge of the bed, running the comb through her hair.
“You ready?” he said.
She glanced down at the hair dryer and smiled. “You’re seriously going to dry my hair?”
Hadn’t he made that point perfectly clear only a few minutes earlier? “That was the plan.” He plugged the hair dryer in then stood beside her.
“You really have a death wish, don’t you?” She looked up at him through her lashes, her cheeks flushed. “If my father could see me now, he’d blow a circuit.”
“And that thrills you, doesn’t it?” Io took the comb from her hands and sat down beside her.
“What do you mean?” Miriam’s sapphire blue eyes pierced him as she glanced over her shoulder.
He chuckled. “Something tells me you don’t like following orders.”
“I follow orders just fine.” Her chin jutted out with coquettish flair.
“Whose? His or your own?” Io lifted one eyebrow as if challenging her.
Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t reply, her demeanor suddenly growing cold.
Ah, so there it was. Her trigger.
“Is that why you use?” Io said, speaking in measured syllables, his voice quiet as he ran the comb through the ends of her hair to loosen the tangles she had already started working on. “Or does your father typically allow cobalt use in the royal home?” He was wrecking the mood, but he needed to get her talking about her addiction, or at least thinking about it. He didn’t have much time with her, and if he was going to help her, he had to dig, and if that meant pissing her off, oh well.
Her scowl deepened and she huffed. “No, he doesn’t allow it.” She turned away, a mixture of shame and anger rolling off of her.
“There you have it then. You don’t follow orders.” He kept himself calm, feeling her emotions rise on a tidal wave.
This was what cobalt did. It burrowed in and fucked with the minds and emotions of those using it. Miriam would be like a roller coaster for the next couple of months as she went through withdrawal, her moods changing in a snap, even if she wasn’t showing other symptoms. And if he was allowed to help her through the worst of it, Io would likely trigger her to snap as often as he could just so she could learn how to identify what was happening and cope with it when she did.
She spun around and pointed at him, banging her hand against the comb, causing it to fly across the bed. “Look, no one orders me around.” Her eyes blazed with defensive anger even as she glanced sheepishly at the launched comb. “Least of all my father.” She jutted out her chin, bringing her gaze back to his.
Miriam was clearly someone who was fighting to find her own voice and to be heard. Io got that, but he needed her to see that there were better ways to go about making her voice heard than going off in search of her next high. He stood up and calmly walked around to the other side of the bed and retrieved the comb.
“I’m just saying, Miri, if the shoe fits—”
“Excuse me? If the shoe fits?” Now Miriam looked hurt as well as angry. “Didn’t you hear me? No one controls me, especially not my father.” She crossed her arms. “I can’t believe you’re saying this to me. I thought you were on my side. I thought you were different.”
Io knelt in front of her, his elbows on his knees. “I
am
on your side, Miri, but you have to take responsibility for your actions and own up to them. You use cobalt. You’re an addict. A junkie. And you use because, whether you admit it or not, your father made you. You let him dictate your life even in this, Miri.”
She looked away from him and tried to get up, but Io grabbed her hands and pulled her back down.
“You’re wrong,” she said, frowning.
“Am I?” His grip tightened on hers as she tried to pull away.
“I do what I want, when I want. My father has no control over me.”
“Really?” Io wasn’t buying that line of shit for a second. “Admit it, Miri. You’ve let your father control you. You’ve let him direct everything you do. Even your drug use.”
She refused to look at him. “Why are you doing this to me?”
“Because you need to see it, Miri.”
“There’s nothing to see.”
“Of course there is. Open your eyes.”
“I don’t want to open my eyes!” She turned her fury on him, unleashing her voice like it was a whip. “Damn it! There’s nothing wrong with me! Just dry my hair, for God’s sake. That’s all I wanted. Not this….” She inhaled sharply, her eyes darting around since she couldn’t free her hands. “This…third degree from you!”
Io released her hands, but before she could get away, he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her to the floor, pressing his mouth against her ear as she tried to push him away. “I don’t take orders, either, Miri. Not even from you, who I would die for.” The words had left him before his brain-to-mouth filter could engage, but in that moment, he knew he had never made a more honest statement. He would do anything for Miriam. Even die for her if he had to. Where was this profound devotion coming from? How had she gripped him so tightly in so short a time?
In an instant, she stopped struggling. “You would die for me?” Her voice sounded small and confused.
“In a heartbeat.” He ran his palm down her back, knowing in his heart he had found a female worth going to the ends of the Earth for. “And I
am
different. I’m different because I won’t close my eyes to what you’re doing. I’m different because, unlike your father, I want to help you find who you are. I’m different because I’m not afraid to touch you.” At this, he paused, his mind going back to earlier, before her shower, when she had been so close to opening her hand against his chest to fully touch him. “And damn it, I want you to touch me, too. Really
touch
me, Miriam. If you want to, touch me.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Without fear. If this is what you want, then please….” He trailed off, waiting, hoping, needing her to touch him.
“I don’t know how,” she whispered. Vulnerability didn’t seem to be a trait she liked to show, so for her to trust him enough to let him see her weakness meant everything to him.
“Why not?”
The two seemed to be balancing on the edge of a razor, both of them hardly breathing as they settled against one another on their knees, the quiet stretching between them even as they spoke. Io felt like Miriam was on the brink of a breakthrough, as if she was wrestling with admitting the truth to herself, let alone out loud to him.
“Tell me, Miri. Why is it you don’t know how to touch me?”
She trembled, her arms barely around him, her hands curled into protective fists. “Because….” She shivered again and Io smelled the telltale scent of tears.