Zane’s Redemption (9 page)

His attacker landed on him. With his glove-clad hands, he pressed a silver chain against Zane’s neck. Zane fought for air, his hands instinctively coming up to his neck, trying to pry the silver away from his skin.

“Finally got you,” the assassin bit out.

Zane recognized an accent, most likely South American in origin, even as he fought against the silver’s effect. As it was the only metal that could injure or kill a vampire, he feared silver as much as the next vampire, but even though the pain was excruciating and incapacitating, Zane knew he couldn’t give up. He wasn’t ready to die.

His fingers singed when he touched the chain, but he continued nevertheless, ignoring the taunting grin on the stranger’s face. “Murderer! You’ll pay today!”

Not if he could help it. Zane kicked his legs against the asshole that held him down, but with his energy quickly draining from his body as the effect of the silver intensified, his kicks had no more effect than the frantic yapping of his dog.

His eyes darted toward the animal, but there was no help to be expected from it. Maybe if he’d had a fully grown dog who was trained to fight, but Z was more likely to lick the guy to death than bite him.

“Wait until Müller finds out I found you. Now I’ll get my reward,” the assassin announced and lifted his torso, reaching into his jacket with one hand as he pressed the silver chain against Zane’s neck with the other.

Zane wasn’t surprised that the intruder had been sent by Müller. Sooner or later, it had to be expected. But he couldn’t allow the bastard to win.

Zane removed his hands from the burning metal, unable to stand the pain any longer and reached above his head for anything he could use as a weapon. His fingers encountered a cold, wet cloth, and he gripped it. Just as the attacker’s hand emerged with a stake, Zane flung the cloth into his face: it was the same he’d used to clean up the dog’s shit.

As the poop-covered towel hit the hybrid’s face, the hand on the chain loosened for a short moment. It was enough for Zane to jerk it from his neck, freeing himself.

The assassin yanked the towel from his face, just as Zane swiped his claws across it, ripping open his left cheek. The half-vampire howled, and Zane tossed him off, slamming him against the stove.

Zane scrambled to his feet and jumped, kicking both his feet into the stranger’s chest. As several ribs cracked, his opponent picked himself up and, murderous intent in his eyes and dog shit on his cheeks, blindly barreled toward Zane.

Zane snarled and sidestepped him. Now he had the upper hand: his enemy was pissed, and it made him an emotional fighter who didn’t think.

“Your time to die,” Zane whispered behind the intruder’s back and jumped onto him, locking his head in a vice grip. The stake still in his right hand, the attacker tried to twist, but Zane tightened his grip like a noose at the same time that he kicked into the back of his knees, making him collapse.

“Fucking bastard!” the guy pressed out, his hands flailing.

Zane’s eyes swept over the kitchen to find where the silver chain had landed. Keeping his opponent’s head lodged in his arm hold, Zane pushed him ahead of him. He snatched a towel from the counter and wrapped it around his damaged palm, covering as much of the surface as possible. Then he forced his prisoner to his knees and picked up the chain with his towel-covered hand.

As he kicked the assassin facedown, Zane released his arm hold and wrapped the chain around his neck, twisting it into a knot at the nape. “See, that’s how it’s done right.”

The hybrid screamed in agony as his flesh burned. His attempts to remove the chain were futile. Zane now used both his hands with the towel as a barrier against the silver to hold the chain tightly around his neck. The stake dropped from the assassin’s hand.

“See, you made a mistake. You started your obligatory villain speech before you had me subdued. Big mistake,” Zane announced. He wrenched him up and dragged him toward the oven. Before the asshole had any time to react, Zane attached the chain to the stove top, hooking it around one of the iron burners.

As he stepped back and retrieved the stake his prisoner had dropped, he briefly glanced at Z who watched him with interest but had finally stopped barking.

Zane looked down at the hybrid, perusing him. While he was sure he didn’t know him, there was something about him that was familiar—and it wasn’t the dog shit that still clung to his face. The odd crook in his nose and the blue of his eyes reminded him of someone.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

The man spat, but his defiance was instantly punished by the chain around his neck that made his flesh sizzle even more with each unnecessary movement.

Zane went for the intruder’s pockets in search for an ID, but neither his jacket pocket nor his pants pocket held any wallet or identification.

“Talk and I’ll loosen the chain.” Not. His own neck still burned, and the damaged skin and flesh would need an entire day of sleep to regenerate. His hand tightened around the stake as he took another step toward the assailant.

“Now, before I grow impatient,” he commanded and bit back the pain. He needed blood, but a look toward the closed blinds over the sink told him that the sun had long since risen, and he couldn’t venture outside.

His victim’s blood assaulted his nostrils. He inhaled deeply, picking up the distinct undertone of human blood in the hybrid. A thought intruded. Since the assassin’s blood was a mix between human and vampire, it would nourish and strengthen Zane just like pure human blood would.

His gaze zeroed in on the guy’s wrist. “Not talking? Guess you’ll only be good for dinner then.”

Zane snatched the hybrid’s wrist and pulled it to his mouth. His fangs dug into the flesh and quickly pulled on the vein as the stranger struggled and hit him with his other arm, kicking his legs to boot. But Zane held him off. With every ounce of blood that replenished his body, he felt his strength return. As soon as he had enough to heal, he released the guy with disgust.

His eyes were shut, his face contorted in pain. But the sight conjured up no feelings of pity in Zane. This man had come to kill him. “Who are you?”

His eyes flew open, their intense blue colliding with Zane’s dark gaze. “I’m Volker Brandt’s son.”

Shit! He’d killed Brandt the year before down in Brazil and thought he had closed this chapter. “Then you’ll die like your father. You’re poison, you’re evil just like him. Nothing coming from any of them can be good. Their seed produces only evil.”

Brandt’s son tried to thrust his head forward, but the chain made mincemeat out of his efforts to underscore his defiance physically. “I’m not alone. You kill me, the others come after you. They find you, just like I found you.”

Zane shrugged off the guy’s false bravado. “Only a few minutes ago you said Müller would be happy to hear that you found me. Guess that means he has no idea where I am.”

“He knows,” he spat.

“If he knew, he’d be here himself and finish me off.”

The hybrid squeezed his eyes shut to avoid Zane’s stare, but Zane interpreted the action as confirmation of his guess. Big fucking deal!

Defiance shot from Brandt’s eyes when he reopened them. “He’ll find you.”

“Not if I find him first. Which hole is he hiding in?”

“I don’t know.”

Zane punched his face, whipping it sideways, skin sizzling in response. “Where is he?”

“Nobody’s seen him.”

“You’re lying. Where is Franz Müller?”

“If I knew, do you think I would have come alone?”

Zane digested the words. Either the asshole really didn’t know, or he was too loyal to tell. Either way, it made no difference. He’d find Müller himself. One day. “Then you’re no use to me.”

With one powerful thrust of his right arm, he slammed the stake into Brandt’s heart.

“No use at all,” he whispered as the hybrid dissolved into dust.

The silver chain fell slack, and several metal items dropped clinking to the floor: a small key, a few loose coins, and a pin. Zane bent to pick up the items. He stared at the symbol embossed on the pin.

He’d never seen anything like it, but he’d bet his last clean shirt that it would somehow lead him to Müller. The dead hybrid was Volker Brandt’s son, and the older Brandt had been Müller’s right hand. They had to have been in contact somehow. And he wouldn’t leave any stone unturned until he figured out where Müller was hiding.

Chapter Nine

Portia looked back in the mirror and examined her face. Was it obvious that she’d put on a little more makeup than usual? Hell, who was she kidding? She rarely ever wore more than the occasional eyeliner, and today she sported not only that, but also mascara, lip gloss, some rouge, and a little eye shadow. Another critical look in the bathroom mirror confirmed it. She had lost all her good senses and painted her face for the one person who would ignore her anyway: Zane.

Portia tossed the washcloth in the sink, annoyed at herself. There was no reason why she should be attracted to this jerk whose only mission was to keep her away from her male fellow students or any other men who could become a danger to her virginity. And who was keeping her away from Zane? Was this her father’s ultimate punishment, to dangle the hottest stuff since the invention of the Chippendales in front of her when she knew Zane saw her as only a pesky annoyance?

Well, she’d show him that he could shove his indifference up his ass and prove to everybody that there was somebody out there who’d be more than happy to liberate her from her virginity.

Portia heard the front door open and Oliver exchange a few words with Zane. At the sound of his voice, her knees wobbled, and butterflies fluttered in her stomach. She braced herself on the sink for support. This was not good. If she couldn’t bring her body’s reactions under control, she couldn’t face him.

His vampire hearing would pick up on her rapid heartbeat as well as on the fact that she was emitting pheromones. She’d learned enough in biology to realize that much, and her own acute senses told her that her body was doing exactly that. This wouldn’t work. Portia grabbed her cell phone and typed a text message to Lauren:
wr lots of Chanel & bring it w/ u.  C u in 15.

With a deep breath, she opened the bathroom door and went downstairs. As she’d expected, Zane had installed himself on the couch at an angle that allowed him to see both the stairs and the front door.

She didn’t miss the instant flaring of Zane’s nostrils the moment she reached the foot of the stairs. The accompanying spark in his eyes could have been an optical illusion, had he not instantly clenched his hands into fists as if trying to fight something or someone off. There was no doubt in her mind that he could smell her arousal. A thought shot through her mind. Maybe that was actually a good thing and would make her plan for tonight easier to execute than she’d thought.

“Evening, Zane,” she said politely and approached the couch. Oh, yeah, it was best if he got a really good whiff of her tonight.

His eyes narrowed in suspicion even as he answered her greeting. “Portia.” Then he swept a long look over her before his eyes lingered on her face. “Up to something tonight?”

The mocking tone in his voice almost made her lash out at him, but she reigned herself in. “I’m wearing jeans and a t-shirt, hardly an outfit for going out.”

He didn’t buy it. “What’s with the makeup?”

“What are you suddenly, my father? I can wear makeup whenever I please.”

Zane jumped up, and a second later stood only a foot from her. “You wouldn’t be wearing that makeup for me, would you?”

Anger churned inside her, but she used all her restraint not to let this arrogant jerk see it. It wouldn’t serve her, not tonight. “Please! You’re my bodyguard, nothing more.” Her heart beat high into her throat, making it difficult to keep her voice even and indifferent. “I wear makeup all the time.”

Zane moved closer, his sinful body now only inches from touching hers. “Is that so?” His eyes lowered to her lips, and she instinctively licked them.

The rumble coming from Zane’s chest could only be a suppressed groan. Maybe he was feeling not quite as indifferent toward her as he pretended.

Portia closed her eyes for a second, allowing her other senses to guide her. The first thing she noticed was his masculine scent. It was stronger now than when she’d first entered the living room. As she took it deep into her lungs, she couldn’t stop her body from reacting to it. A shiver slithered down her back.

Heat suddenly seared her body, making her open her eyes to find the source. Zane stood flush against her. Had he crossed the remaining inches of space between them or had she? She wanted to pull back and sever the contact when he pressed his palm into her lower back and yanked her against him. In an instant, all her previous thoughts fled to be replaced by a single realization: Zane was turned on by her. The hard outline of his erection pressing against her soft flesh left no doubt about it.

His heartbeat echoed hers, and his eyes glowed now. There were only two instances when a vampire’s eyes glowed: when in fighting mode, or when aroused.

With each breath she took, her breasts brushed against his chest. Her nipples tightened in response. The clenching of his jaw was sign enough that he noticed her body’s responses to him. Responses which, in truth, she was unaccustomed to. Not even when kissing a guy had she ever felt so turned on, so boneless as she felt now. And Zane hadn’t even made any attempt to kiss her. Instead, his hand on her lower back moved slowly, his thumb drawing lazy circles on her waist before dropping further down and repeating the same motion on her backside.

She should push him away and not allow him such liberties when she knew he couldn’t stand her, but her body simply melted into him and didn’t obey. The sensation was so new and exciting, she couldn’t bring herself to stop what they were doing. Not that Zane was really doing anything. He only stood there, his body a pillar of stone, hard and unyielding, with only his hand and his fingers moving, caressing her ever so softly. Everything else remained motionless, except maybe his erection, which seemed to grow.