Cold Hard Secret (Secret McQueen) (6 page)

When he broke away, he whispered, “I love you.”

Bracing my hands against his chest, I gazed up at him and gave a weak, watery smile. “And you think I’m the crazy one.”

Chapter Eight

Inside the doorway, the stink of urine vanished, replaced with a smell that reminded me of coal or old firewood. A sort of aged char scent that I couldn’t place and didn’t have time to wonder about. Anything was better than the reek of piss, so I’d take it.

Desmond shut the door behind us, casting the small corridor into darkness. I might have decent night vision, but I couldn’t see in the dark the way a full-blooded vampire could. I’d brought a small flashlight along, foreseeing this as a potential issue. Once we got to the actual sewers, I’d have to turn it off, but it would take us twice as long to get there without a bit of light.

We bumped our way along the passage, Desmond hauling the bag and me trying to duck under low pipes, snagging my sword several times. Without the flashlight I probably would have beaned my head at least once. After taking one wrong turn and having to backtrack, we finally found ourselves at a door that read
L’accès D’égout
. Sewer Access.

Yet another metal door, but thankfully this one opened with a round wheel handle instead of a lock. I didn’t have the patience for more locks at this point. Desmond did the honors of opening the door, and as soon as it swung inward we were assaulted with a new smell.

It wasn’t what I expected from a sewer, though, and definitely not as foul as the sewer tunnels back home. The Alma-Marceau Sewer Museum, from my understanding, let tourists explore the Paris Underground, and this section of the sewers was actually dry.

I angled the flashlight around the catacomb-like arches, getting a sense for what direction we’d be going in the darkness. Mouse had given us a rough idea of where his friend left goods for Peyton, so once we found the drop point, we’d keep going from there.

Inevitably we were going to end up wading through flooded passages, but I was glad we’d get to start the hunt with dry legs. I didn’t relish the idea of getting soaked by dingy sewer water, but I would have slogged through a lake of blood if it meant getting to Alexandre Peyton at the end.

In spite of knowing my guns were armed, I checked the safeties again and let out my breath in a little huff.

It was time. I was going to do this.

I’d been waiting to kill Peyton since I was sixteen, and now I was going to get my chance.

“Let’s do this.”

I removed my sword from its scabbard, wanting to hold off on using the guns until I absolutely had to. They’d create an insane level of racket underground, and since I wasn’t sure where all the walls were, I didn’t want to risk hitting myself with a ricochet.

Or, God forbid, Desmond.

The darkness wasn’t total. Light from the night sky filtered through grates overhead, making the blade of my katana glimmer faintly.

“This way.” Desmond stepped ahead of me, the shotgun propped on his shoulder. Damn did he look good with a gun in hand. It was nice to see my mild-mannered, sweet-as-hell boyfriend acting like an alpha. He was so often overshadowed by Lucas, it was easy to forget he was a born leader.

I wondered briefly how the relationship between Desmond and Lucas was now. Lucas was king, and Desmond his second-in-command in the pack. They had once been best friends, but I was responsible for screwing their friendship up completely.

It didn’t mean the pack dynamic had changed though, and I wished I was thoughtful enough to ask how Desmond was handling working under Lucas these days.

Now didn’t seem like the best time to bring it up.

Peyton had once been part of a plan to help one of Lucas’s rivals usurp the throne. Though the plan had been a failure on many levels, it meant Desmond had a personal stake in wanting Peyton dead too. The vampire had no interest in a werewolf throne, but he was a smart man and made alliances wherever he thought they might benefit his ultimate goal.

I wondered what kind of shit-show we might be walking into. If only Mouse had been able to give us more insight into what Peyton was plotting here. Was he merely lying low, or was he up to something? Knowing Peyton, the latter was the most likely case.

But
what
was he planning? Knowing that would give me a better idea of how many people would be guarding his subterranean lair. I had no doubt whatsoever he would have—to borrow Desmond’s term—minions. He was too smart to go without protection, especially knowing how many people wanted him dead.

I never understood how he was able to recruit aid with such ease. Did he promise them wealth or eternal life? Or did he build his own army by turning a dozen new baby vamps? That would be a risky move, given how unpredictable newborn vampires could be.

And Peyton knew all about that.

We followed the tunnels, each of us quietly waiting for the inevitable attack. After about fifteen minutes, we found the place Mouse had told us about. A cardboard box and a few empty blood donor bags littered the ground, but I highly doubted that was where Peyton was getting most of his supply from. A vampire starved of blood as long as he’d been was going to want it fresh.

The candy wrappers in the box suggested I was right, because if he had a human blood harem, they would need to eat something too.

I poked at the box and the wrappers with my toe. A waft from the donor bags caught me, and I sniffed the air.

“These are new,” I observed. “They probably picked the stuff up not too long ago.”

Desmond took a breath, raising his nose to get a good whiff. When his face wrinkled in an unpleasant way, he looked back at me. He’d smelled vampire. “That way.” He indicated to our right, away from the light peeking through the grates overhead. We’d be going into the real dark. Right where Peyton would have the upper hand.

“Can you tell how many?” Sometimes it was possible to get distinct scents from those we were tracking and estimate a rough number. It wasn’t a perfect science, but it gave more insight than blind guessing.

“A half dozen? Maybe more?” He shrugged. “It’s hard to say, sorry. They just stink.”

I pretended to be insulted by his comment, sticking my tongue out. Desmond reached out his free hand as if he might grab it, grinning wickedly at me. In spite of the seriousness of our mission, it felt good to be stupid and playful with him. I hadn’t felt this free and easy in months.

Apparently all it took to bring me back to life was a death wish for someone else.

I cuffed Desmond in the ribs, my hand bouncing harmlessly off his tight, muscled side. Part of me wished we could just stand here all night, pretending this was a normal date, and forget why we’d come. But a rat scuttled over my foot, reminding me that this wasn’t a romantic outing and we were in genuine danger every moment we had our guard down.

I took a deep breath and attempted to differentiate between the vampire scents, hoping I might pick up something Desmond couldn’t. But his sense of smell was better than mine, and even though I could detect the vampires, I didn’t do any better at picking up on their number.

We were going in blind.

And given how dark it was, that was both figurative and literal.

I choked up on the hilt of my sword and swallowed hard.
You asked for this,
I reminded myself coldly.
Now suck it up and get your ass in gear.

Bitchy Secret was right. It was time to find Peyton.

We moved in the direction Desmond had pointed to, all the light from the street vanishing, leaving us in a bleak, murky chaos. In a matter of feet, the dry stone gave way to puddles, and soon the water was deep enough to slosh around my calves. My boots kept most of the mess out, but zippers weren’t the best defense against liquid, and some of the sewer grime started seeping in.

The boots would be ruined, but I could celebrate Peyton’s death by buying a new pair.

“How is it that it stinks less
in
the sewer than it does in the metro stations?” Desmond mused, his voice barely over a whisper.

“One of life’s great mysteries.”

The water helped mute our footfalls, replacing the clomp of shoes with a soft splashing. Sneaking up on vampires wasn’t really a possibility anyway, no matter how quiet we were. Werewolves could hear well enough, but vampires had better senses all around. They’d know we were coming. I was just hoping they’d underestimate us. I’d spent much of my life learning how to use people’s lowered expectations to my advantage.

In spite of everything Peyton and I had been through, I still believed he thought I was beneath him. After all, how could a woman with a pulse best a three-hundred-year-old vampire? I was counting on his hubris to be his undoing.

We walked several minutes in silence, the scent of vampires, humans, sex and blood growing thick in the air. We were close, and both Desmond and I could sense it, but neither of us was ready to address what was coming.

My skin prickled with anticipation. I chose to think of it as a kind of excitement, rather than fear. Fear and I had been bedfellows too often over recent months, but excitement was almost unfamiliar at this point. Whatever came next would be the end of a chapter in my life.

I just hoped it wouldn’t be the end of the whole story.

“A vampire and a werewolf walk into a bar…” The voice’s sudden arrival made it seem much louder than it really was. What was likely only a speaking level boomed in my ears like a loudspeaker. “Stop me if you’ve heard this one.”

The words had a rasp to them, but beneath that was a cultured French accent. It was subtle, as if whittled away over time, but had the freshness of someone who might start using an accent after vacation.

I jolted, lifting my arm to stop Desmond, the way someone might reach out to protect the passenger in a car crash. My guard wasn’t necessary, though. Desmond had already come to a stop.

“No? Haven’t heard it? Good, I’ll go on.”

I scanned the darkness, trying to find him, but all I had to go on was his voice, and it seemed to be coming from everywhere at once.

“A vampire and a werewolf walk into a bar,” he repeated.

“You already said that,” I countered, clasping my sword like it was a lifeline. I feared someone might reach out and snatch it before I knew they were near. Silly what scared me at moments like this.

“Let me finish, missy. It isn’t polite to interrupt your elders.”

The last time I’d spoken with Peyton he’d been bound in chains and wasn’t able to secrete enough saliva to finish a sentence. He’d been a living corpse, and not in the classic vampire sense. Now, though there was a roughness to his voice, he was clearly doing much better. I wondered, briefly, how he looked.

I’d find out soon enough.

“Bartender says, ‘What can I get you?’ and the werewolf says, ‘I’ll have what’s on tap.’ Bartender looks at the vampire. Vampire says…” His voice drifted off into nothing, and I strained to find him. The hairs on the back of my neck went up a moment before his lips brushed my ear. “I’ll have what she’s having.”

Chapter Nine

My elbow shot back faster than Peyton was expecting and cracked him hard in a bone. He snarled and dug his fingers into my bun, jerking my head backwards, exposing my throat.

“I could bleed you dry right here, you stupid little bitch.”

“You won’t,” I wheezed.

“What makes you so sure?” His curiosity was piqued, I could tell as much from his tone and the way his grip loosened just a fraction.

“You like to watch.”

Oh, how I wished the innuendo wasn’t so accurate. Peyton had a well-documented flair for sadism, and he
would
want to watch to see how his machinations impacted me. He’d want to draw it out.

I still remembered the greedy way he drank in the scene when my mother kept a bullet wedged between my ribs, stopping me from healing. He would relish being the one to inflict that pain on me.

No, Alexandre Peyton had bigger plans for me than something quick and dirty in a sewer tunnel. He’d want to make it last.

“Maybe I’ve changed.” His mouth was on my ear, my head locked in place by his hand. It must have been a while since he’d bothered to cut his nails because they scraped against my scalp, as long as a woman’s and sharper than they ought to be.

“You’ll never change.”

“Secret, what do you want me to do?” Knowing Desmond as well as I did, I could tell how hard he was struggling to keep the worry out of his voice. He sounded calm and even cold, but lingering below the surface was the slightest quiver of uneasiness, and one would have to be
very
familiar with the man to know it was there.

“Hold on,” I said quietly. “Alexandre isn’t going to do anything rash. He still wants to have some fun.”

“Don’t tease me, little one. You don’t know the kind of fun I want to have with you.”

“I sure do.”

“And you came anyway?”

“What can I say? When I found out you were in town, I couldn’t resist coming to ask for a play date.”

He yanked my hair harder, and his mouth drifted from my ear to my exposed throat, his cold lips trailing over the thin skin. I didn’t want to react, didn’t want to give him the pleasure, but my body gave a shudder of revulsion. Having his hands and mouth on me made me want to vomit and claw off my own skin.