Vampires! A Bundle of Bloodsuckers (28 page)

As tempting as it was to dismiss him because of his caricatured appearance, she knew it would be a mistake. Something crazy and dark gazed out of those cloudy eyes.

He sidled over to Tempest, lifted one side of the blanket covering her, and grabbed her breast.

“Hey, asshole! Let go!” She pushed at him.

An evil grin quirked his lips. “I look forward to finding out what The Assassin saw in you. Why he became so distracted around you.” He bent down, licked her nipple, then laughed as she flailed, attempting to get away. “Excellent! A wild bitch.” He cupped himself. “I can’t wait.”

“Should we cut his head off, Master?” A tall, skeletal vampire asked, pointing to Malveaux.

Quade studied Malveaux, his head tilting from side to side. “I suppose we should. Just to put him out of his misery. But, then again, his death is so much more hideous this way, and I do enjoy a horrible, lingering end for my enemies.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Tempest demanded.

Quade slid his gaze back to Tempest. “While the spear remains in his heart, he’ll be lightly conscious, suffering, until he dies of thirst. I hear going without blood for weeks is, to say the least, painful.” He paused, his wicked grin reappearing. “Why don’t we let you choose? What’ll it be, my dear? A quick decapitation or a slow, torturous drying out?”

Tempest shifted her eyes to Malveaux sprawled on the floor, his gorgeous face lifeless as a corpse. She didn’t know what the punk rocker was talking about. It was obvious Malveaux was dead. Nothing alive could be that color, but when it came to Malveaux, what did
alive
mean? She believed he was a vampire, but she didn’t understand how he could still be conscious while impaled.

Her chest contracted so tightly she could hardly breathe. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she had to press her lips together to forestall her chin’s quivering. She had a powerful sense of déjà vu, remembering the bad feelings she’d experienced less than twenty-four hours earlier when she’d thought Malveaux dead. Ever since he’d entered the bar, her life had been shit, but why was she so sad? Why did seeing him like that hurt so much?

One thing was certain. She fucking well wasn’t going to help the vampire assholes kill him.

“Why so quiet, little human?” Quade leveled his face close to hers. “Vampire got your tongue?” He noticed the tears gathering in her eyes. “What’s this? Tears? For your vampire captor? Is it possible you have feelings for the rotting carcass?”

He walked over and kicked Malveaux in the ribs. Tempest gasped, and struggled to break free of Frankenstein’s grasp, “You fucking asshole. Leave him alone.”

She managed to extricate an elbow and slammed it hard into the tender area at the base of the big monster’s throat. She didn’t know if the trick would work on vampires as it did on humans, but she was beyond logical thought.

Apparently, it did work the same because the big guy dropped her to the floor and clutched his neck, gagging.

She rose up from the blanket like a nude, avenging warrior goddess, her hands fisted and her eyes narrowed.

Quade barely had time to give her a surprised look before she leaped through the air, executing one of her favorite martial arts moves, and thrust her feet into the center of his chest, sending him flying backwards into the wall.

She figured he wouldn’t be hurt, but he’d be pissed. She was right.

The circus of the fanged surrounded her. Quade’s minions formed a growling, wild-eyed, canine-exposed circle, their hands grabbing at her. “Stop!” Quade commanded. “She’s mine.”

He seemed to will himself vertical, then brushed off his studded leather pants, and smiled.

In the split second he hesitated before sauntering to where Tempest stood, she clearly heard a whisper in her mind, “Offspring.” She froze, listening. “You must pull the spear from my chest. I will confuse them for a few seconds. That’s when you must act. I will come and find you.”

What? She stared down at Malveaux, then at Quade and his slaves. None of them gave any indication that they’d heard anything. She shifted her gaze back to Malveaux, and could’ve sworn she’d seen his eyelids flutter. Then everything went crazy.

All the vampire thralls swarmed toward Quade, arms out, hands grasping. Just like a scene in
Night of the Living Dead
. For the second time, the Master flashed a surprised expression as he backed up, attempting to evade his now-attacking troops.

Tempest eased over to Malveaux, knelt, and grabbed the spear lodged in his heart. “Fuck, Malveaux. I can’t just rip this thing out of your chest. You’ll bleed to death or something.” He gave an almost-imperceptible nod, and she heard, “You must. Quickly.”

Well, it was his funeral.

She wrapped her hands around the shaft and pulled. Nothing happened. The sucker was
in
there. She let go, shook her hands, then grabbed on again. This time she pushed with her legs as well as her arms, lifting herself as she felt the spear begin to give. As it loosened, it made horrible, flesh-tearing, organ-rending sounds.

“Yuck.” She stuck her tongue out. “That’s the grossest thing I’ve ever heard. For sure you’re dead now.”

She tugged one last time, and the wood came free.

“Get off me, you bloodsucking morons!” Quade bellowed. “I’ll rip your hearts out for this! Grab the girl!”

Just as she caught movement out of the corner of her eye and noticed the undead herd turning back in her direction, Malveaux’s body vanished, and a silvery mist floated out of the room. “I’ll find you,” she heard.

A scream that gave new meaning to the word “rage” sliced the air. The master wasn’t happy.

The spear was wrenched from her hand, and one of Quade’s lackeys lifted her off her feet once again. “I’ve got her, Master. Should I kill her?”

“No, you fool.” He snarled. “That will be my pleasure, when the time is right. You should be concerned about your own neck.” Quade leaned close, locked eyes with Tempest, and everything went dark.

* * *

As abruptly as it had been pulled from under Tempest’s metaphorical feet, the consciousness rug returned. Maybe it was because of the blood-curdling sounds slamming her ears from all directions. Or perhaps it was because Quade was in the process of cuffing her limbs to a wooden “X” fastened to the wall of a bona fide torture chamber. She was still naked. And cold.

The room was dim, the only illumination flickered from a single, weak light bulb swinging at the end of its electrical cord. She blinked to clear her vision and because she couldn’t believe her eyes.

Jesus. What the hell?

The floor was lined with bloody bodies. Wailing, crying, howling,
staked
bodies. It took a moment to focus before she recognized the vampires who’d fallen under the spell of Malveaux’s suggestion to attack Quade. That explained the smell in the room.

Holy shit. If that was the punishment he gave to his own team, she didn’t want to think about her likely fate.

Quade finished securing her to the wood and stood, smiling.

“How do you like my vampire exhibit, little human? I’ve pinned them like insects. They needed to be punished for turning against me. It doesn’t matter
why
they acted as they did. In the future, I suspect they’ll fight the compulsion more thoroughly. They won’t get another chance to fuck up.”

He turned to his screeching minions and chuckled. “Ah, music to my ears. Pain adds so many interesting layers to the vocal repertoire, don’t you agree? Young vampires are so tender.” He returned his icy gaze to Tempest, and then slid his finger across her breasts. “There are so many ways to cause misery. I have a special one in mind for you. The only question is whether I indulge myself before your boyfriend makes his futile attempt to retrieve you, or do I wait until the matter is disposed of?”

He sighed, caught her nipple between his thumb and first finger and twisted hard.

The pain caused her to gasp, eyes watering. She shifted her body back and forth in the few inches allowed by the restraints and tried to lower her shoulder to knock his hand away. No luck. It felt like he’d grabbed her nipple with pliers.

When her knees bailed and she sagged from the pain, he let go.

She heard a low growl, then he grabbed her, and sank his teeth into her neck. He sucked hard on the vein, his erection pressed against her stomach. After satisfying one of his needs, he lifted his head. “I’ve decided to pollute Malveaux’s supply, to take away his prize.” He tore open the front of his shirt, traced a line on his white flesh with his fingernail, and cut the skin over his heart. Trails of blood raced down his stomach. He caught her eyes, fisted a hand in her hair, and whispered, “Drink, little human, and become mine.”

It didn’t matter that she tried not to taste his blood or that she was screaming inside. He’d done some vampire shit to her, and she couldn’t stop herself. She sucked the blood from his skin, constantly fighting to turn her head. “Don’t fuck with me, gorgeous, or at least not yet.” He forced her face into his chest, and she swallowed the warm blood flowing from the wound.

“That’s better.” He released her. “You’re on your way now. Welcome aboard. I guess I should’ve waited until my guest of honor arrived, but I couldn’t resist giving you a taste of your future. You can just
hang
for a while, as the humans say, and I’ll go torture my devoted followers.” He laughed as he strutted toward the suffering vampires. The demonic cacophony surged as he approached them.

Her nipple radiated pain. Her neck hurt, but it took second place in the misery contest. Even though the room was cold, her body had broken out in sweat. Her breast was already starting to bruise. She’d never experienced anything that agonizing in her life. Not even the time on stage when she’d had too many beers, tried to jump on top of her stack of amplifiers, and landed on some people on the dance floor, dislocating her back. She’d thought that was the worst that could happen.

Dream on. Welcome to vampire hell.

Hanging limp from the shackles which held her wrists, she became aware of the straining muscles in her arms and shoulders. She licked her dry lips and forced her knees to hold her weight.

She wondered what time it was. Didn’t these foul, undead denizens of the night need to hunker down in their coffins – or crawl back into a nightmare – before the sun came up? Was Quade going to leave her tethered to the wall all day? Or would he just kill her and get it over with? Her sick sense of humor emerged long enough for her to compare the benefits of death versus pissing on herself.

Quade crept between the vampire bodies, bending to lick blood from each stake-filled wound.

As she became mesmerized by the sight of the disgusting spectacle on the floor, she relaxed her arms. She felt the slack in her shackles a couple of heartbeats before she recognized what it meant. Obviously, the cuffs were made for someone with larger bones.

Excited, she concentrated on one wrist, twisting it as she gently pulled. Being sweaty helped, but she was only able to gain a couple of inches before the cuff caught on the widest part of her hand. Darting glances toward the suck-fest to make sure Quade was still otherwise occupied, she tried again with the same result.

Frustrated, she shut her eyes. She hated not being in control. Hated being at anyone’s mercy. She refused to cave, but what the hell could she do? She wished she could morph into fog like Malveaux had.

A flash of memory tapped her on the shoulder. The lack of sleep must have fried her brain cells, because she couldn’t believe she’d forgotten her lesson in mind over matter. Her martial arts instructor had invited a “mentalist” to their class to introduce the idea that the outer world was an illusion – energy – that could be manipulated by the mind. The guy had stuck himself with needles, knives, even swords without spilling a drop of blood. He’d done a Houdini and gotten himself out of a straight jacket in less time than she would have spent taking off her dad’s coat.

Damn. Her dad’s coat. She’d figure out a way to get that back one way or another.

The straight-jacket guy said it was a matter of stilling the mind, going into a trance, and imagining the wanted outcome. He said he sometimes “saw” his limbs boneless, so they could do “impossible” things.

She knew there was truth to the mind idea because she often went into a light trance while playing her guitar and was able to do things with the strings that fingers weren’t supposed to be able to do. She seemed to have a knack for the mind power stuff. Not to mention all the sexual positions she’d contorted her body into.

Sneaking a peek at Quade to reassure herself that he wasn’t watching her, she relaxed her body. She closed her eyes again, and took some deep breaths, as the mentalist guy had suggested. It was easy for her to use her potent imagination to dissolve the bones in her right wrist and hand. She envisioned her hand sliding easily and silently out of the cuff.

She pulled her arm slowly and “saw” the hand ease through the shackle. Opening an eyelid to check, she was overjoyed to find that the hand actually
was
free of the cuff. As much as she hated to do it, she needed to push her hand back through the grip. If Quade saw what she’d been able to do with his equipment, he’d probably think of something worse for her. The throbbing of her nipple reminded her of the awful possibilities.

She imagined the process in reverse and slid her hand back into captivity.

Okay. It worked. She’d need to test out the ankle cuffs. Hopefully, those restraints had also been created to hold bigger people, but feet were larger than hands. Luckily, she had long, skinny ones.

Shit. If she could force her feet into all the stiletto-heeled shoes she wore, she could find a way out of this medieval sex toy.

Quade was still lost in his blood orgy, so she closed her eyes again and focused on imagining her foot free of the cold circle. She tugged, and her foot snagged at the heel. Taking more deep breaths, she relaxed, and remembered a time on stage when she’d been entranced by the music. Imagining her foot flaccid like a noodle, she pulled again, and this time her foot slid free.