Roaring Shadows: Macey Book 2 (The Gardella Vampire Hunters 8) (29 page)

“We can’t do with this, now, can we.” Iscariot’s brow furrowed, then relaxed as he turned to Grady. “Release the mortal.”

Macey felt a surge of hope as Grady’s bound wrists were unfastened from the hanging rope, but Iscariot was taking no chances in releasing him, for he instructed that they were to stay tied.

“Remove the cross.”

Macey didn’t know whether Grady had the strength to comply, or whether he even comprehended the instructions. But when he drew nearer, walking unsteadily and slowly, he lifted his face slightly. Their eyes met and she felt a rush of…something. It shocked her, burrowing deep inside. And she let out her breath because though there was pain, real, deep pain, in his sea-blue eyes—pain and horror—there was also lucidity and determination and strength.

Please let him be all right.

“Grady,” she whispered when he was close enough to hear. “Keep it. Use it.” She wanted to say something more…much more…but she dared not.

He gave a bare nod, then had to step around behind her to unclasp the necklace, for his hands were still bound at the wrists. For a moment, as he stood there behind her, tall and so very near, his fingers working slowly to unseat the cross’s hook, she closed her eyes and reveled in his presence…and then hated herself for wanting his comfort.
I’m sorry
.
I’m so sorry
.

She wished to sag backward, just enough to touch him, just enough that he could feel her and she could feel him.

The weight of the cross sagged lower as the chain loosened, then Grady came back around to face her as he gathered up the pendant. He said something, muttered something she couldn’t understand, and before he could repeat it or she could respond or tell him she was sorry, the vampires were back at her in full force, dragging her away from him.

She struggled. But she no longer had any weapon she could get to, nothing that would help except the small, delicate rosary she’d tucked deep inside her corset simply to have it with her.

Grady, go
, she thought fiercely.
Get out of here.
In the dark melee that was her world, she could no longer see him, but she sent the thoughts with every bit of her being.

“Now, where were we?” Iscariot approached again as she was once more forced into immobility. He yanked at her blouse so it bared one shoulder. The shirt hung open now, exposing her flimsy laced-up undergarment…and the stripe of a scar disappearing down behind it, along her sternum.

“I can see how incredibly pleased you—or at least your lovely body is—to see me,” said Iscariot, tracing a finger over the fresh blood. With rough hands, he tore open the top two inches of the corset, revealing more of the scar and a swell of breast. His fangs were long and ready, seeming to vibrate with need as he leaned closer. “Your blood—it knows me, doesn’t it?”

“What do you—
argh
.” Macey gasped as he plunged his fangs into her shoulder. She stifled a scream and twisted, trying in vain to free herself from the brutality. The pain was intense—dark and red and searing; somehow different from anything she’d experienced before.

Her veins leapt and blood surged and she sank into darkness, dark splotches of nothing, sagging and writhing in the grip of the creatures who held her.

When Iscariot withdrew, he was panting and his eyes were lit with an unholy emotion. A delicate trickle of blood oozed from the corner of his mouth. “If only I didn’t have other plans for you, my sweet…” His finger was unsteady as he reached up to wipe it away. Then he smeared the blood—Macey’s blood—over her parted lips. It was rich and hot, tasting of iron and life.

“But,” he said, turning away reluctantly, “I do have other plans for you. And now that the stage has been set, it’s time to get down to business.”

Macey tried to get her bearings, for now all was coming to a head. But her vision tilted and spun. Her legs no longer had the strength to support her body; the guards were doing all of the work to hold her upright. How could a single bite have affected her so violently?

Was he marking her this time?

“I have two tasks for you to accomplish, Macey Gardella,” said Iscariot, stepping upstage, away from her. “Please, if you will?” He gestured for her to follow him, and when her three vampire assailants released her, Macey complied on unsteady feet.

She looked around for Grady, but he was no longer in sight. With the spotlights flaring onto the stage, and no illumination out in the house, she could see nothing but vague silhouettes of undead…and their pairs of red or pink eyes. If Grady was out there, she couldn’t detect him.

Please, let him have left. Let him be gone.

A mechanized grinding attracted her attention, and Macey looked over to see the floor opening in front of her… No, it wasn’t the entire floor. It was the front third of the stage, folding down and in on itself in the manner of an accordion, leaving a large open hole.

The orchestra pit.

Iscariot came to stand next to her, and she saw he was holding a wooden stake. His eyes gleamed and he gestured for her to look down into the pit. She couldn’t see the entire space, for part of it was hidden beneath the stage. What she could see, however, appeared empty and shadowed.

“There are two things I want, Macey Gardella. Succeed in them, and I’ll set you and your friend free. I’ll never bother you again.”

An awful, cold dread settled over her, and she resisted taking the two steps forward that would give her more of a view inside the hole.

“What?” she managed to say.

“I want the Rings of Jubai,” he said, grasping her arm. “And I want Sebastian Vioget’s soul.”

He flung her into the pit.

TWENTY-SIX

~ Wherein Our Hero Plays the Role of a Buffet ~

Grady was no fool.

When the tall, redheaded gal had arrived at his house, knocking vehemently on the door—but wouldn’t step over the threshold even when he opened it and stepped back—he knew something was not right.

He recognized the redhead as Macey’s friend—he’d seen them together the first night he really got to talk to her, at the club called The Gyro. The night the vampires attacked.

“It’s Macey,” exclaimed the woman, whose name he couldn’t remember right away. She stood on the doorstep in pouring rain, beneath an umbrella. Her light blue eyes were wild and filled with concern, and he had a moment of appreciation for what were surely excellent acting skills. “She needs help. I don’t know where else to go. Or what to do. You’re her boyfriend, right? You can help!”

Grady played along with the lass, though the idea of him being Macey’s boyfriend was not only laughable but painful. No, it wasn’t he who was waking up next to her, smelling the sweet, musky scent of her skin, teasing her about which vampire literature she’d been reading, debating with her about pretty much everything, seeing her dark eyes glow with humor…

“What’s wrong? Where is she?” He pretended to be as naive as the gal—Flora was her name; that was it—thought he was. He started to ask her to come in and caught himself in time. She hadn’t put even a toe over the threshold and its embedded silver crosses the whole time they stood there talking. His suspicions grew.

“There’s no time,” she replied, dancing about impatiently—but still not allowing any part of her body to break the “plane” of the doorway. “Hurry! We have to leave now!”

“All right. Just give me one minute. Wait out there,” he added for good measure, just in case she thought he was inviting her inside.

Grady dashed up the stairs, his mind reeling. It only took him a few minutes to gather up what he needed, change his shoes, and then scrawl a quick note for his housekeeper to give to Uncle Linwood…just in case. He only hoped Linwood would be around to read it.

His latest contact with the hospital had given him no news—nothing had changed. But at last Grady would have the chance to do
something
other than wait around and worry.

When he came bounding back down the stairs, Flora hadn’t moved, but the freckles stood out in sharp relief on her white face. She was still standing in the downpour, dry beneath her umbrella. “Let’s go.”

“Where are we going?” he asked, steeling himself and stepping outside. He braced himself for attack, curling his fingers around the stake he’d slipped in his pocket just in case…but Flora only grabbed his arm and bullied him through the rain to a waiting vehicle.

Grady hesitated before climbing into the automobile—once he was in there, he would be completely at the mercy of the undead. But he hadn’t been reading, studying, preparing, and investigating for almost a year now for nothing—though the seeds had been planted long before.

A quick look through the windows told him there was only the driver inside, which gave him a modicum of relief when Flora gestured for him to climb in the back. At least he wasn’t sliding into a complete ambush.

Still, his fingers remained around the stake, and he was careful not to look directly into the eyes of either vampire. He settled into a seat in the corner, keeping a distance from Flora, and prepared himself for whatever was to come.

“Where are we going? Where is she?” Grady wasn’t certain whether Macey was actually at the location Flora was taking him, or whether he was the bait for the vampire hunter.

While upstairs, gathering up everything he thought he might need, Grady had considered all of his options. If Macey was wherever he was going, she obviously needed some sort of help. It was possible Flora really was trying to help her—though why she’d come for Grady, that was the question.

If Macey wasn’t there, and he was going to be the lure—so to speak—Grady figured it was better for him to be the bait rather than someone who had no idea what he or she was getting into.

He wished he had a way to contact that bloke Chas Woodmore, but other than the name of the dark, angry man—and the knowledge that it was he and not Grady who was the “boyfriend”—he knew nothing about the guy.

There’d been something mentioned once about a placed called The Silver Chalice, which Grady had put in his note to Linwood—but even that could be a dead end. And he’d never been able to find the place anyway.

So all he had with him were his wits and his two decades of experience escaping an infinite number of dangerous, impossible situations. If they didn’t serve him well, Grady thought grimly, he didn’t bloody deserve to be trying to help anyone.

“You ever hear of the Oriental Theatre? The new place?” Flora said. She was examining him with the interest of a cat with a mouse. Grady was too careful to look directly at her, so it was hard for him to tell whether her eyes were glowing red.

“Yes, as a matter of fact. My uncle was attacked there last night. Is that where we’re going?”

“Right the first time.” She smiled, and now her fangs showed. “You’re a good-looking guy, Mr. Grady. I can see why Macey’s sweet on you.”

He reared back a little in spite of himself, and she moved closer, attempting to enthrall him with her gaze. When she reached for him, he closed his eyes and curled his fingers into fists. He didn’t fight it as her fangs slid into his skin.

Grady wasn’t certain how much time had passed since he’d arrived at the Oriental Theatre. But now, he was in possession of Macey’s heavy silver cross, having just removed it from her trembling, abused body.

He’d taken his time with the task, fumbling purposely with the clasp at the back of her warm, slender neck in order to be close for a moment. He wanted to say something to her, but he didn’t know what. He wanted to tell her it would be all right, that
he
would be all right…but he couldn’t.

Because he didn’t have any idea how it would come true.

He was still stunned, remembering the battle she’d fought in vain: the beating and vicious feeding…the kicking and fighting and stabbing… He’d witnessed the melee with horror, sitting next to Flora in the wings of the stage until they’d hung him by the wrists from the catwalk.

The vampires had foolishly bound his hands with thick rope—one of the easiest bonds to loosen because of its rigidity and inflexibility—and left his legs unencumbered, though they had removed the stake from his pocket. But their examination hadn’t been thorough enough, and he still had several tricks up his sleeve—or in his heels, to be more specific.

Despite his preparations and expectations, Grady’d been more than a little unsteady when they arrived at the theater. Flora seemed enamored with him, and though she’d fed on him briefly in the auto and forced a few blood-tinged kisses from his mouth, he was aware how much more thorough and vicious she could have been. Linwood was an example of that, and now so was Macey.

Therefore, they must have other plans for him, and they surely involved Macey. When he emerged from the automobile, the continuing trickle of blood pumping from his throat had made him lightheaded and weak as he followed Flora though the rain, into the back door of the theater.

Once inside, things happened quickly and in a dizzying manner, and the next thing he knew, he was watching Macey fight her way through a horde of undead as he hung from his wrists in a spotlight.

He could have escaped from the fetters quite easily, but that would be tipping his hand too soon—and too overtly. He was right onstage in front of everyone. So Grady had more than one reason to be thankful when they unfastened him from the hanging rope and commanded him to remove the cross from Macey’s throat.

Apparently, the undead weren’t terribly concerned with him retaining the pendant—or maybe they were simply distracted by the threat of Macey—for when he was finished, he was able to stuff the powerful pendant into his pocket, and no one seemed to notice.

Wrists still bound, Grady casually moved out of the limelight, keeping an eye on the man who was clearly the leader of the vampires. Nicholas, Macey had called him. Grady admitted the creature was the most terrifying being he’d ever encountered.

It would be to his best interest to remain beneath the vampire’s notice—which didn’t seem to be difficult, for Nicholas had barely looked at him. All of his attention was on Macey.