Mistwalker (38 page)

She held out her other fist in a similar fashion. “To the life,” she corrected.

Juliun followed her action as did all those standing in the room. Their voices rose in a triumphant chorus.

Allegra sighed. Her gaze shifted around the Council chamber, and her wings swept in sharp, agitated flicks.
“Oh, very well.” She looked at Simone. “Be warned, this could start the next war, and I will do everything in my power to stop that. I swear as well. The fae are not fighters, yet like Minna said, we must do what we can. We have never had the advantage of using someone as bait. I have seen what happens to a vampire with the mist when their family are taken.” She cast a worried glance up at Radu. “We don’t want a repeat of that.”

Everyone resumed their seat, and Simone let out a shaky sigh of relief. “Thank you, all so much.” She slid closer to Juliun.
*Thank you especially,*
she sent to him.
*For standing beside me. I know it’s dangerous, and I could not have convinced them without your help. You truly understand. I cannot leave her there.*

He ran his fingertips along Simone’s arm and shifted closer.
*Anything for you.*

“Attention.” Radu slammed the gavel and smiled at Simone with
a look that was a mixture of calculated determination and cunning intelligence. “Lives are at stake, and we need a plan of action…as Simone says, a trap.” He rubbed his hands together with nothing short of gleeful delight. “That is something I have wanted to plan for centuries.”

Chapter
Forty-One

Dust particles invaded Simone’s nose, and she held back a sneeze, trying to make no noise. Her eyes watered. The scent of death permeated the stale air inside the truck, and the richness of vampire blood combined with the musky scent of humans. She breathed through her mouth to calm herself, easing the .44 from beneath her jacket.

She hoped Luciano had a reason for dropping her off here and materialised at the front window.

Radu’s plan to interrogate the leader of another vampire faction in London had been inspired, since they weren’t sure of the exact location of Dravego’s hideout.

Luciano Zatello, a young and extremely wealthy vampire, had attempted to break into three of Dravego’s hideaways in the past year and immediately agreed to their mission since he’d lost his brother to the psychic vampire. Juliun took the first image Luciano produced in his mind, while she tackled the second. She stood inside a truck that Luciano had seen Dravego use to transport humans and vampires. Witch and Radu commanded the immortal communities in preparation, and the Council teamed up with their packs and clans to take down the assassins who stalked the underground tunnels beneath Whitby.

Silhouettes moved within the shadows outside the open garage, and a stiff breeze blew between the trees, rustling the leaves. She took form outside the truck within the shadows.

She must be in an open field somewhere. The silhouettes could be Dravego’s guards and they would smell her coming if they hadn’t
already. She ducked down beside the truck, blurred every part of her so no scent would be apparent and considered her options. She stood in a detached garage, but had no idea if her mother was in the building in the distance which looked to be an old farmhouse.

She materialised at the sliding door of the garage. The glint of metal winked from a nearby tree three feet from the garage. She stilled and held her breath. They’d have a comms link.
Crossbows. Guns. The mist could only help if she attacked by stealth. If she made them disappear, there was the chance that one could remain and shoot her when she returned.

Twenty feet stood between her position and the front door. She wished for Juliun to be by her side, and for once, the thought of needing him didn’t scare her. The second hand of her watch mocked her struggle, wasting precious seconds of her mother’s life. The truck might be useful. No, it was too big and noisy.

Simone mind-linked with the nearest vampire in the trees—her entry whisper-soft, it took a few minutes on her watch before his restless thoughts stopped.

He was tired of waiting, thirsty, but would hold out because Dravego scared him witless.
The pits.
He brought up the image of a clearing with a massive hole in the ground. He couldn’t see all the way down the hole and pulled a light stick from his inner jacket pocket and snapped it, shook it then dropped the tube down the long well. The yellow light winked, then was gone.

Cries and screams rent the air. Scuffling feet broke out beneath him, scrabbling against the rock and longer, high-pitched screams followed. He shook and crouched at the edge, staring down into the shadows.

He shifted backward at the harsh, heavy grunts; flesh tearing and long, liquid slurps.

He withdrew another light stick, snapped, shook it and skirted the edges of the pit.

Then Simone saw another scene, an elegant room with high-backed mahogany chairs, a roaring fire and plush red carpet, the kind that swallowed up your feet. A vampire pulled out a scroll from a bookcase and stood with his back to the guard. He turned with a superior smile to the sub-ordinate vampire.

How did she know that it was him? She only knew deep down in
her heart. The fear in the vampire was also a dead giveaway. Dravego’s height and bearing showed nothing of his ability. The chandelier shone on his deep golden-brown hair, and his cheeks were flushed with youth and vigour. Aristocratic and assured, he laid out the fragile scroll on the desk.

The guard stepped forward, grasped the pen and scribbled his name on the parchment. His memory shifted away to the sight of the trees again.

Simone took out the Glock and .44, readying her mind for the role she would have to play and faded to mist to reappear with both guns raised in the room where the vampire sealed the deal with Dravego.

“Finally,” a mocking voice called behind her. “Took your time, didn’t you? Move and your mother
is dead.”

Simone’s heart thudded with sickening realisation. Her stomach twisted. She’d been led here. A thousand thoughts struggled for freedom, but she swallowed and turned.

Oh.
Tears stung and burned her nose. She choked. Bethany Ann Woods was slumped in a rickety chair with an arrow pointed at her heart. Her eyes were closed, face slack and empty. Drained, but mercifully, not dead. Not yet.

*Mum.*
Simone put every ounce of her power into the silent plea through a direct mind-link.
*Wake up!*

Her mother moaned
.

Simone smiled and made it a spear of command.
*That’s it. Open your eyes. Open your eyes.*

“Not so fast.”

The arrowhead dug deeper into her mother’s chest, and Simone lifted her gaze to the vampire who held the crossbow.

No. It wasn’t.
Memories washed over her.

Carlo.

That was his name. Shock stilled her face. More memories surfaced.

His face that night; blood and heat; pain and darkness; laughter, so wicked and cruel.

“You,” he said, slowly. “I know you. How are you alive? We didn’t change you.”

She stared at him, unmoving, taking in his plainness, the horrible gauntness that seemed to suggest he hadn’t fed for a long time. She shook her head, straightened, steadying her aim with the .44. “Funny that. Life has a way of surprising everybody.”

He shook, and the arrow tip dug into her mother.
“How? How did you do it?” Then he shook his head as though he didn’t believe it, and he closed his eyes to take a deep breath. “Drop your guns or she is dead. How did you survive?”

Simone sighed, trying again to wake up her mother.
*Mum!*

Carlo pushed in the arrow head, and this time copious amounts of blood ran freely down her mother’s shirt. She was obviously under a compulsion that only Juliun and Radu would be strong enough to break.

Simone tossed the guns to the floor.

“There’s a good girl. There’s more than one release for this trigger,” Carlo said, still a little shaky. “Don’t get any ideas about saving her before I shoot. You try to read my mind, and she’s dead.”

Wires connected to the crossbow in brutal customisation. Simone frowned at the hint to read his mind, knowing she could always fade the arrow or crossbow itself, but then Carlo might have something else on him to kill her mother. Simone could fade all of them together.

“How much do you remember of me?” she asked, stepping closer, trying for distraction. “Why did you try to kill me?”

“We did. We did try! I don’t know how…Stop,” he said. An ominous click sounded in the room. He pressed a button behind him, and a ringing alarm echoed over their heads. The noise died down, and he smiled, razor canines flashing. “I will admit it’s been…” he paused. “Strange seeing you again. Lorena would be upset that she didn’t kill you the first time around.”

“Where is she? Maybe she could try to finish the job.” Simone’s stomach grew heavy, but she couldn’t allow herself to dwell in the past.

Carlo’s face dropped and for a moment, it seemed he showed an expression of complete despair. “She is here.” He thumped his heart.

“That’s why I only remember half of the attack,” Simone said. She should have guessed this vampire would be around to see that he finished the job. “Where’s your boss?”

He laughed and shifted closer to her mother. Blood seeped from the point of the arrow and bloomed in a dark red stain across the old pink shirt.

Simone gasped and stilled.

“He’ll be along any second. Don’t fret, darling,” Carlo said. “How did you live—with that after your mother—after you thought her dead?”

The double doors swung open then, and Dravego swept into the room, dressed in a black suit and tie, everything about him refined perfection.
A cultivated gentleman. His sculpted face, his smile, white and wide—all that life force from his victims, no doubt. His straight brown hair glistened in the amber light.

“Simone Woods.” His voice was cultured, disarming. “I see you came right on
time
.”

She tensed and looked at her guns on the floor, then back up at him.

He gestured to her mother. “Meet Beth Woods, your long lost mother.” A sardonic smile curved his lips, but never moved from there. His gaze burned through her skin, and her entire face heated.

Dravego laughed with undeniable amusement. “I can see your anger, child. How fortunate that you followed the trail.
Saves me so much effort that I would rather spend doing anything else.” He glided to the chair behind the desk near the back wall and reclined with ease. “I presume you came
earlier
to trade. I like to do something to vampires who fight me. I suck their minds from their body, their personalities, and then I leave them in the pits.” Dravego tapped his fingers on the desk. “I can see the thoughts on your face, little one. Give me your blood, then your mother will be released.”

Simone glared at the vampires who’d destroyed her life from the age of nine. “No trade. I’ve come to take back what is mine.”

He laughed, tilting his head, and the light from the chandelier reflected in his black eyes. “How I adore a woman who knows what she wants. I’d enjoying draining someone like you.”

“Two dead, powerful vampires seems a fair trade for my mother’s death. I imagine she would like me to kill you all,” Simone continued, undaunted.

“It bothers me not if your mother dies,” Dravego chided. “You are the one who will have to live with that decision.”

“I’ve lived with it for twenty years. You will not get the mist from me,” Simone said, gritting her teeth.

“Then we are at an impasse.” Dravego laughed again with a hint of admiration. “I must say, I find you utterly delightful. Much more so than your mother who agreed immediately to conserve her energy.”

All the actions of Simone’s life seemed to come to this one point.

The years of training, trying to forget, coming to terms with being an orphan and living without her mother. The years of building herself up. She lifted her shoulders and raised her chin. Had it been to foster something within herself—a truth she could be proud of?

“I won’t do it.”

Carlo nudged her mother until the point of the arrow disappeared through her ragged shirt. The blood oozed down the shirt. “Then your mother is dust.”

Simone had no right to wield something as powerful as the mist. The consequences weighed up to something monstrous, giving Dravego the gift, but
that thread of belief in herself, her new friends and in her new life would not be extinguished. She grasped it with both hands.

“Look at her,” Dravego said.

Her mother’s red hair had been chopped into a messy bob cut, dirt smudged her cheeks, and her body appeared so frail she looked skin and bone, a wasteland of despair even under compulsion, as though she fought something she could never master.

“Decide,” Dravego whispered, his dark gaze burning. Something shifted beneath his youthful face as though two thousand people resided beneath the same skin. “You want her. I want the mist.”