Demon's Kiss. Maggie Shayne
go and sought wildly for some means of escape. There! The door, and that gap in the bottom. Please, let her fit! She ran up to it.
Then the door swung open, and the master himself stepped in. She darted fast, intending to race between his feet and outside before the door swung closed, but Gregor was faster. He grabbed her by the tail as she rushed past and lifted her high.
“Well! So she can still do it after all!”
Vixen twisted her little body around, and sank her claws into his arm and her teeth into his hand. She sucked blood from him as he howled, and a hunger reared up inside her such as she had never known. They’d been starving her to keep her weak.
She drank all she could before he flung her away so hard that her body slammed into the stone wall and sank to the floor. Energy spent, she felt herself changing again, becoming a woman. A vampiress. She lay there, naked, her head aching, her tailbone throbbing, the taste of Gregor’s blood on her lips.
“Jack, toss her back into the cell. Briar, you have some explaining to do.”
“I didn’t mean to let her get out,” she began.
“Not about that. I understand you sent one of the drones on an assignment last night, without clearing it with me first.”
Jack scooped Vixen up into his arms, and she remained limp, not because she was acting, but because she was exhausted, half starved and in pain. He seemed to try to be gentle with her, as he carried her into her cell and lowered her down onto the cot that was the only piece of furniture.
“You said this person, this hit-man vampire, was coming after you,” Briar said. “I caught wind of where he was, and I didn’t see any reason to delay and risk losing track of him again. So, yeah, I sent a drone to take him out.”
“Well, the drone failed. Any task that takes thought isn’t exactly their forte. But that’s irrelevant. Next time, Briar, do not even think about giving orders. I’m in charge here, not you. You have no authority.”
“But…but—”
Vixen heard pain in the dark one’s voice. She was hurt and confused. The black-hearted bitch deserved it—and more.
“The thing is, Briar, I want him to come after me. I need him. Alive.”
Briar blinked slowly. “Well, you could have just told me that.”
“Easy, Briar,” Jack said. “Haven’t you figured him out by now? He operates on a need-to-know basis. And you didn’t need to know. Just like I didn’t need to know about our guest here and her special abilities.” He looked at Gregor. “Even though I’m his right-hand man. Right, Gregor?”
Gregor shrugged, but the look in his eyes was chilling. “You complaining, Jack?”
“Not me. Not a chance. You’re driving this rig, and I’m content to sit in the passenger seat and ride along. Always have been.”
Gregor grunted but said nothing more. Instead, he looked down at his hand, which was dripping blood. “Briar, come with me and patch this thing up before I bleed out. Damn. Good thing it’s almost dawn. Jack, you see to the vixen here. Make sure she’s staying put for the day. We can use her.” He took Briar by the arm, and left the horrible underworld where Vixen was forced to exist on stale air and darkness.
Jack closed the cage door, double-checked the locks, and then she heard his footsteps moving away. She expected that to be the end of her torment, but no. Only moments later, she heard his return, caught his scent.
Her cage opened once more. If she’d had the energy, she would have shifted again and tried to escape. But she was so tired.
She opened her eyes, saw Jack come closer. He was hesitant, as if he were approaching an animal that might bite, which was probably wise of him, because that was what she was. His gaze kept lowering, sliding down her nude body, but he seemed to be trying to keep it from doing so. She didn’t feel any shame about her form, or any shyness. It was just a body, after all.
He had a blanket and pillow under one arm, and a glass of red liquid in his free hand. He held the glass out.
She took it, noting how quickly he jerked his hand back. Sniffing, she wrinkled her nose, but drank, too hungry to be fussy. Then she handed the glass back to him, and he gave her the pillow and blanket. She tucked the pillow under her head, spread the blanket over her and curled onto her side.
“You’re welcome,” he said, an odd tone in his voice.
She frowned and lifted her head to look at him.
“When someone does something nice for you, Foxy, it’s customary to say thank-you. And then they say, ‘you’re welcome.’”
“Oh. And you consider bringing me this blanket and pillow and that blood, to be nice?”
“Well, yeah.”
“I’m being kept prisoner in a cage against my will. If you want to be nice, let me go.”
He lowered his head. “Man, I can’t do that. Gregor would have my hide.”
“Then don’t expect my thanks.”
He shrugged, turned slowly and started to walk out of her cage, but then he stopped. “If you’d escaped tonight, you would have died, you know.”
She frowned and looked up at him.
“You’re a vampire now. It’s almost daylight. If you go outside in the sun, it’ll burn you alive. We can’t tolerate it, Foxy.”
She blinked three times, weighing his words. “Are you saying this so that I’ll be too afraid to try to run away again?”
“Why would you be? You’d just try it by night.”
“Are you forgetting that I’m in this place where I can’t tell day from night?”
“Sure you can. When day comes, you fall asleep. It’s irresistible. You feel that coming on, you know it’s almost morning. When you wake again, it’s just past sundown. Understand?”
Tilting her head to one side, she said, “Why are you helping me?”
One corner of his mouth pulled into a half smile. “I have a weakness for pretty women. And you are a—Well, hell, you’re a fox.”
She frowned at him, unsure why he was stating the obvious, but he just touched his forehead as if it were a way of saying goodbye and turned to leave her alone. He locked her cage again on his way out, though, the bastard.
6
“This thing is going to get us noticed—and probably killed—before we get within a dozen miles of Gregor’s band,” Reaper said, eyeing the vehicle Roxy had pulled out of her garage—where it had been, understandably, hidden—and parked in front of her house. He wore a look of distaste mingled with utter horror.
The customized conversion van was something to behold, and while Seth believed Reaper was a miserable curmudgeon about a lot of matters, he totally agreed with him on this one.
“No,” Reaper said. “Absolutely not.”
Roxy glanced at Seth, as if seeking a second opinion.
“Well, it’s not exactly…inconspicuous.” He wondered for just a second if he would be just as tactful if she wasn’t such a hotty, then wondered why it mattered. She certainly didn’t seem to care.
Shirley—and that was the van’s name, as its custom license plates attested—was yellow. Canary yellow. Its—her?—sides sported murals depicting fields full of sunflowers, and the rear window was decorated with a translucent sunset.
“She’s just what we need,” Roxy said. “Look, we can rent a car or something