Crave the Night (21 page)

His eyes were bloodshot. His mouth was open,
stretched wide to reveal—

“
Fangs. Oh hell.” Bree’s leg muscles
gave out. Her body slumped against the door. “A
vampire.”

She didn't fear vampires. And she had a
habit of getting along with most in the paranormal nations because
she believed in treating others the way she wished to be treated in
return. But seeing the man's fangs now clued her to where she'd
been taken.

Some werewolf packs practiced the macabre
sport of pitting blood-starved vampires against one another. For
weeks, they kept their unfortunate charges chained under UV lights,
which rendered them sick and weak. Later, when put into a cage with
another vampire, the opponents fought to the death, desperate for
the healing blood.

This vampire didn’t look weak. But he didn’t
look eager for a friendly chat, either.

Why had they brought her here?

Another growl and he gnashed his teeth. The
chained vampire rasped, “Hungry.”

“
This must be some kind of sick
joke.”

Bree slid along the wall, palms flat against
the cool cinder blocks. The position anchored her, and, for the
moment, enhanced a feeling of safety. But it was a false feeling,
not a tangible guarantee. The chained vampire could get to her if
he tugged those bolts from the steel plates secured to the
floor.

“
Come to me,” he growled.

The vampire lowered his head, yet looked up
at her. Eyes dark as hell entreated, but instead of making her feel
warm and sensual, a shiver traced Bree’s neck. A shiver
of…recognition?

Her heart stopped for so long she noticed
it. Bree slapped a palm over her chest. Then her pulse started
rampaging. Something in the vampire's gaze…

"Can't be. No. No way."

Her mother had told her that some day she
would find her Intended, the one man meant for her, and that her
heart would recognize him before she did. She'd given up on ever
finding that man in Faery and had left for the mortal realm years
ago, only to be further disappointed by the male offerings this
realm put forth.

"No. Not a vampire. That would be so
wrong."

But her heart stuttered. It spoke to
her in a whisper,
He is
yours
.

A vampire, her Intended? A ridiculous match
to comprehend.

A vampire bite wasn’t awful. She’d been
bitten once. Never saw the creep again. So much for one night
stands. But faeries and vampires did not mix for one reason—her
ichor would prove addictive to the vampire. And if this guy didn’t
know what she was, she didn’t want to be the one to spring on him
that his snack could do more nasty to him than another UV sickened
vampire could.

Nor must she tell him she suspected he was
her Intended. She had to be wrong. What she saw in his eyes was
hunger.

So why did your heart
stop beating? And why are your shoulders tingling right now?
As if preparing to unloose her wings.

Bree rubbed her shoulder against the wall,
attempting to distract the tingle with a new sensation. The wolves
must have put her here to further torment the poor creature with
the possibility of a wicked addiction.

“
Chill.” She held out a hand before
her to placate.

The vampire snarled, revealing bold white
fangs.

“
Listen, buddy, you don’t think that
razor charm is going to win you a bite, do you?”

The chains clanked. The manacles about his
wrists were medieval, thick enough to contain him. But, oh, his
wrists bled. He’d been straining at the cuffs too long.

Bree bit her lip. She would not succumb to
the frustrating inner desire to protect and make better. But a
homeless man nestled in an alleyway or a woman standing by a car
with a flat tire? She was all over the situation. And what if he
really was her Intended? She couldn't allow him to suffer.

“
So…hungry.” His voice was hoarse. He
must have been here a while. It took weeks for a vampire to crave
blood, to starve from it. But if the wolves kept him under UV
lights, that sped the process. “Please.”

“
What’s your name?”

Keeping one eye on the vampire, Bree
stretched her gaze along the ceiling. In the far corner a green LED
blinked. They were watching. “Listen, buddy, how long have you been
in here? If you give me a name, I’ll tell you mine.”

Yeah, make nice. Food wasn’t as appealing if
you knew its name, right?

“
Too long.” He swung about and lunged
against the wall. Bloody palms slapped the cinder blocks, leaving
smeared tracks. He beat the ungiving surface and pounded his
shoulder against it.

“
Stop it!" She couldn’t bear to watch
him hurt himself. Maybe he’d settle if she talked to him. And
hopefully a chat would distract her from the pining ache between
her shoulder blades. "Listen to me.”

Like she expected to cure him of horrible
torture through talk? Oh, Bree.

“
My name’s Sabrina. Bree. Those
bastards kidnapped me and tossed me in here. Yeah, you guys.” She
flipped the camera the bird. “They must be waiting for a show.
Which, they won’t get. I work for real solid cash,” she commented
again to the camera. “No freebie here, boys.”

Oh, Sabrina, don’t make
them angry
. For all she knew there was a release button
for the chains. If she pissed off the wrong werewolf, they’d set
the longtooth free to devour her.

Could he recognize what she was to him? No,
the sidhe were able to recognize their Intended, but it generally
did not work in tandem, since the Intended could be anyone, sidhe,
paranormal, or even mortal.

“
Need blood!” He lunged for her,
fingers clawed. The chains stopped him short and he landed on his
knees and slipped in his own blood. Sprawled, he shouted. “The
light!” Tucking his head down, his whole body arced into a
protective fetal curve.

She scanned the walls. No light switch.
Hands to her hips, Bree approached the camera and spoke to the
silent watchers. “What the hell? Are you all insane? What did I
ever do to you? And for that matter, what’s his crime?”

The rush of air at her back clued her she’d
stepped too close to danger. The vampire groped in the air,
straining. Spinning about, she settled at the wall beneath the
camera.

The lights went out. The brilliant afterglow
danced on her retinas. The scramble of chains and limbs alerted
her. Emboldened by darkness, he lunged, and she could feel his hot
breath upon her ankles.

She wouldn’t move. The last thing she wanted
to do was treat him like a thing or show him that she was
frightened. He needed compassion.

“
Rev,” he said, panting.

“
Your name? Thanks. I hate seeing you
in pain, Rev. More so, I hate to give those bastard werewolves the
sick show they’re jonesing for." She softened her voice, unsure if
the wolves could also hear them. "But you have to know something.
Even if I were willing, you wouldn’t want to bite me. Oh
no…”

Her wings shivered, pulling at her shoulder
muscles. Must be some sort of involuntary reaction to her Intended.
She did not want this to happen…

“
Yes. Blood," he gasped. "Need it.
Won’t…harm you.”

He was going to learn the truth, whether she
liked it or not.

“
Rev, I don’t have any blood to give
you. I’ve ichor in my veins.”

Her wings sprang free at her back, unfurling
and fluttering to their full length.

The lights flashed back on and Rev coiled
forward, protecting his eyes. But the flash of the woman he'd
gotten before he'd recoiled had not been good. Wings?

They’d tossed a freaking ichor-laced faery
in with him. That was worse than the UV light that burned his eyes
and made his skin crawl with a million insects. Worse than two
weeks of starvation—if it had been two weeks. Rev thought so, but
had lost count after day seven or eight.

Straining at the manacles, he no longer
winced at the pain of iron tearing through his flesh. The throbbing
had become a distraction from the light, replacing one agony with
another.

And now this delicious new distraction he
wanted to bite. And suck. And drink. To ease his pain. To regain
strength.

To afford escape.

Please, let her step
closer.

A warm, pulsing, sexy female who shot off
pheromones that screamed to both his tormented lust and hunger. He
could hear her heartbeats, proud and strong. A trace of fear laced
the strangely confident gush of gorgeous blood. Perfect. He could
taste her already. She would be as sweet as those wide violet eyes
of hers.

But blood did not run through her
veins.
Get it right
. It was
ichor, the faery version of blood. And those wings were so…not what
he wanted.

Damn, damn, damn!

Ichor could sustain a vampire much like
blood. It could also rock the vampire’s world, because
ichor—naturally laced with faery dust—worked like a hallucinogenic
drug, to the tenth power. But there was one caveat to the high:
Faery dust was addictive. One taste and the vampire became like
those human junkies who lived, breathed and sacrificed sanity for
the crack pipe.

Rev didn’t want that. He was stronger than
that. Nothing could take him down. Not even a sip of faery
dust.

He needed blood. Rivers of hot, flowing
crimson elixir. His body craved it. He'd licked his abraded wrists,
but that only disgusted. His own blood did not satisfy.

“
Bree,” he groaned, not recognizing
his voice after days of mindless shouting, and then the parching
effects of lacking blood. “Put them away. Your wings.”

“
I can't. Sorry, it's—I can't control
it right now. I recognize—uh, I can't say. You wouldn't understand.
I want to help you, but one bite from me and you’ll become
enchanted.”

What an exquisite word—enchanted. It spoke
of faery tales and tender things, brilliant colors, and of daylight
he could never again view.

“
Enchanted doesn’t sound half bad,” he
murmured, sinking in the delicious fantasy of it all. Luscious
sparkling ichor spilling down his throat, launching him on a loopy
brightness he never wanted to abandon. Maybe her wings didn't look
so bad, kinda pretty, actually.

“
You think?" she said. "You ever see a
vampire on dust?”

“
Yes.” His kind called them dust
freaks. They were pitiful shells who were better off dead. “Not
what I want.”

“
That's what I hoped you’d say. Cheer
up, Rev. It could be worse.”

He snatched the chain and lunged, his body
forcing him toward what it craved. “Give me!”

“
Sorry. Maybe this is your
worse.”

Close to it. Rev couldn’t imagine anything
worse than being chained and treated like an animal. Bloody
werewolves.

Then again, addiction would be worse.

The light crackled under his skin and burned
in his eyes and mouth. Yet it would not kill him. Nothing but a
beheading and/or removal of his heart would bring final death—or a
battle against another blood-starved vamp who would rip out his
veins to get the last precious drops that sluiced through his
system.

So what if she was a faery. He wouldn’t
become addicted. How could he? One taste? He could handle it.

“
Please,” he tried in a low tone. It
didn’t sound as gentle as he wanted it to. He knew he was a bloody,
sweaty mess. Not an appealing sight. He didn’t want to speak the
words. He had never spoken surrender. But he no longer owned
rationale. Desperation overwhelmed. “Help me.”

The faery shot a glance to the camera over
his shoulder. He’d tried to take it out with a kick days ago—or had
it been weeks?

“
They want a show,” she said softly so
if the wolves were listening they would not hear. As it was, Rev
strained against the pounding blood in his ears to focus on her
voice. Sweet sparkling tones.
Enchant
me
. “I know you need something, Rev. But I won’t be
responsible for your addiction.”

“
Please. Better than this
torture.”

“
Just breathe. Relax. We can get
through this.”

He lunged again, straining at the chains,
pushing out his chest, but he got no closer to her. The faery stood
with shoulders straight and breasts high. Gorgeous. Sensual. Full
lips battled for attention against bright, curious eyes. Violet
wings glowed red around the filmy, feathery edges, but she held
them down and back as if ashamed to release them in their full
glory. In any other situation, he’d make a pass at her—and only
retreat when he learned her truth.

The only other option was starvation, and
the eventual bloody fight he’d be forced to endure. The wolves
starved vampires for weeks, then put them in cages, two at a time,
and sold tickets and made bets on which vampire would kill the
other first to get the blood he so desperately needed.

He did not want to go out that way. Hell, he
had been working tactical for the Rescue Project. His job had been
to get into the warehouses where wolves kept vampires and rescue
them. What an idiot to get captured!

If the lights were turned off, and he could
drink the faery’s ichor, he may gain enough strength to break the
chains from the floor bolts.

“
You’re messed up, Rev. I believe in
the power of mind over matter, but no amount of Zen focus is going
to help you. I’ll do it,” she suddenly said. “But on my
terms.”

Yes
.