The Secret Night Page 17

  He tipped back her head again and examined her neck. His thumb stroked her flesh, sending a shiver through her. “Right here. He drank from you. I can see the healed wound. A vampire’s saliva has wonderful restorative properties, don’t you know? But he definitely sank his teeth into you. More than once, I see.”

  More than once? But no…unless…

  Emma remembered how dazed she’d felt after Nick had taken her blood when he’d been shot—how she’d had no memory of it having happened, just a foggy sense that something had transpired. The same foggy sense she’d had at least a couple other times since she’d been with him.

  Damn him!

  She wasn’t about to let Caldwell know how angry and betrayed she felt, though.

  “What does that matter?” she said flatly. “He didn’t hurt me. You may both be vampires, but he’s nothing like you. You control and hurt and kill people. He helps them. You’re evil. He’s good. It’s that simple.”

  Caldwell cocked one eyebrow in a disdainful look. “A very nice speech. But look where goodness has gotten him. He’s going to die today—very soon, in fact. Nicholas can’t tolerate sunlight as I can. And we wouldn’t want him to burn up before he sees you die.”

  He turned abruptly and walked toward the door, but before he exited the cell, he swung toward her again. The look in his eyes made her skin crawl.

  “Oh, and one more thing. Don’t expect to see sympathy or concern from him as he watches you die. I’ve convinced him that I sent you to gain his confidence and bring him here. He thinks you betrayed him. A nice irony, don’t you think? I get to drain your blood, then tell him I lied about you. And finally I get to rid myself of the enemy who’s been stalking me for over a hundred years.”

  He gave her a considering look. “I’m sorry you’re in such an uncomfortable position, but it can’t be helped. I want to make sure you’ll still be here when I get back.”

  Emma waited until he had shut the door before she allowed herself to sag against the wall. A film of tears blurred her vision, then welled over and began running down her cheeks. But with her hands chained behind her, she couldn’t even wipe them away.

  “Nick,” she whispered, then pressed her lips together. Caldwell might be listening, and she didn’t want him to know the depths of her torment.

  Behind her, she squeezed her hands into fists. What a naive little twit she’d been. She had come to Nick’s house and hounded him unmercifully until he’d agreed to help her rescue Margaret. Then when she’d seen his bloody shirt and figured out he was a vampire, what had she done? Run away and come tearing down here to…to do what? Persuade Alex Shane to help her, even when she knew it was against his best interests?

  She’d made a mess of everything. And this time, no one was going to come to her rescue.

  “I’m sorry, Nick,” she whispered, not caring anymore who heard her.

  As she huddled in her cell, she thought about what she’d said to Caldwell—that he was evil and Nick was good. It was the truth.

  And it had nothing to do with either of them being vampires. Their fundamental natures were opposite. And that would be true even if they were both mortal men.

  She dragged in a shaky breath and let it out in a rush. All her adult life she’d avoided serious relationships, afraid of repeating her mother’s mistakes. She’d dated casually, choosing men who wanted to have a good time but who weren’t interested in a long-term commitment. And each time, she’d said goodbye with a carefree wave, all the while feeling unsatisfied and unfulfilled and…lonely.

  In the few short days with Nick, she’d been more satisfied and fulfilled than she’d ever been in her life. And she hadn’t felt lonely once. But then, he wasn’t like any man she had ever known, or any she’d have chosen. And the difference wasn’t merely that he was a vampire.

  He was solid, steadfast, a man who honored his commitments and kept his word. Really, in her heart of hearts, she knew he was the man she had been looking for all her life. She had known it from the first night she’d dreamed about him.

  The night she had fallen in love with him.

  In love with a vampire…

  Still, she shrank from the very idea. She simply couldn’t get past the certain knowledge that Nick—or the vampire in Nick—had betrayed her trust.

  He had drunk her blood. Worse, he’d done it without asking or telling her or even allowing her to know he was doing it. She was sure he had used his mental powers to cloud her mind so she wouldn’t know what he’d done. He had done it the night in Baltimore, after the police had left. And he had done it at least a couple other times, she was sure.

  She squeezed her eyes closed, remembering the night in his bedroom, after she’d triggered his basement alarm. He’d given her a shattering climax, so shattering that she had thought she must have passed out afterward. But she hadn’t passed out. He’d zapped her brain so he could satisfy his own need to drink from her without her knowing. She was as certain of it as she was certain that he hadn’t done it when they’d made love after the debacle in Baltimore. The details of that memory were vivid in her mind—including that it hadn’t been as glorious for him as it had been for her. When she’d asked him what was wrong, he had told her that everything was fine.

  But it hadn’t been fine. He’d denied himself what for him was the ultimate pleasure because…

  Because he cares about you.

  She cared about him, too—deeply. And as she searched her heart, she acknowledged that she could forgive him the night in Baltimore, for taking from her what he had needed to survive. And she could forgive him the other time, or times, as well.

  What she had difficulty forgiving was that he had deprived her of knowing what he was doing. He’d taken away her memories, leaving gaping holes, as if the past few days were a badly edited movie clip that had been broken and stuck back together, with pieces of the critical action missing.

  She could understand why he’d done it—to keep from scaring her away. But she couldn’t live like that, never knowing when he might decide he knew best what she should and shouldn’t remember. She couldn’t live with pieces of her life missing, lost to her forever.

  But then, she wouldn’t have to live like that. In a little while, Caldwell would kill her. Then he would kill Nick.

  She clenched her fists, struggling not to break down, because she would go to her death with dignity. She wouldn’t give Caldwell the satisfaction of anything else. Yet so many conflicting emotions tore at her. What Nick had done to her was bad enough, but in the depths of her soul, she knew that her own role was far worse.

  She bowed her head, her heart breaking, unable to bear the knowledge that the man she loved had lived for more than a hundred and fifty years—and she had brought him here to die.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Nick turned his head toward the French doors. They were covered with blackout drapes. But dawn would come in a few hours, and then his life would be over.

  In a way, that would be a relief.

  He had let himself get emotionally involved with Emma. And she had been lying to him all along.

  That hurt more than he’d like to admit.

  Yet he couldn’t quite believe it.

  As his mind went over and over the details of the video, he felt sudden hope.

  He fought to keep the relief off of his face in case Caldwell—or, more likely, one of his guards—was monitoring the office surveillance camera. Slumping in the chair to which he was still chained, he did his best to present the picture of defeat.

  It wasn’t easy. Because he’d figured out the truth. Emma had never made love with the Master. If she had, Caldwell would have taken her blood—he wouldn’t have denied himself that pleasure. And Nick knew as surely as he knew the sun would soon rise that there had been no puncture wounds on Emma’s neck when he had bitten her for the first time.

  It was the sort of thing a male vampire noticed—rather like a mortal man noticed when he entered a woman’s body and disco
vered she was a virgin. It couldn’t be faked, either. The vampire’s puncture wounds, even if sealed with his saliva, would be visible to another vampire.

  No, Caldwell had never had his teeth in Emma’s lovely, sweet neck. The woman in the tape had been her sister, Margaret, as he’d thought in the first place.

  Nor had the Master had anything to do with the dreams, Nick realized, now that he thought about it. Caldwell had been eager to taunt him with every piece of evidence, real or manufactured, to convince him that Emma had betrayed him. If the dreams he and Emma had shared were part of the trap, Caldwell surely would have mentioned them himself, if only as further proof of his brilliance and power.

  No, the dreams had been his and Emma’s alone, and their real-world lovemaking had been true and heartfelt. She cared about him—perhaps even loved him as much as he loved her. At the moment, it didn’t matter that it couldn’t last, that there was no hope of them having any kind of long-term relationship. All that mattered was that the intimacy they had shared had been genuine—and that he loved her.

  Nick looked toward the doors again. Dawn wasn’t far away. And by then, he and Emma would be dead.

  Unless he did something about it—fast.

  With his night-tuned vision, Nick scanned the room and located two hidden cameras in opposite corners, near the ceiling. They’d be equipped with night-vision lenses, so the dark wouldn’t hide his actions. When he made his move, he would have to be swift and decisive.

  Careful to maintain his defeated posture, he closed his eyes and made a fast assessment of his mental and physical condition. Without the anguish of believing that Emma had betrayed him, he quickly realized that he was in better shape than he’d thought. The debilitating effects of Caldwell’s mind burst had faded. His mental energy was nearly at full strength.

  He directed that energy inward, gathering his strength, focusing on the cells of his arms and legs, pumping up his muscles in preparation for the first task he must perform: getting out of this damn chair.

  A KEY RATTLED in the lock of the cell door, and Emma tensed. This was it. They were coming to get her, and she wasn’t ready to die.

  The guards would have to unfasten her from the ring in the wall, but she didn’t see how she could fight her way past them. Still, she had nothing to lose in trying. And, it occurred to her, the guards wouldn’t kill her. Caldwell wanted to do that himself.

  Her heart pounded, and she held her breath, anticipating the confrontation. She ordered herself to relax. She didn’t want to give anything away to Caldwell’s goons. Her life depended on convincing them that her spirit was too broken for her to resist.

  She let her head fall forward to her chest, hoping she appeared the very epitome of abject defeat. When she heard the door open, her breath froze in her lungs.

  But nothing happened—no footsteps, no zombified goons hauling her to her feet. For long seconds she waited. When she couldn’t stand the tension another moment, she raised her head—and gasped.

  NICK FOCUSED ON the two chain links binding the manacles around his wrists. Sweat broke out on his forehead and his head throbbed as he attempted to tear apart the forged steel. It wasn’t working.

  Unwilling to give up, he gathered his mental energy and tried again. His whole body grew damp, and pain surged in his head until he thought it would burst. But he felt the links give. Just a bit.

  Again he tried…and again. His breath was coming in gasps and his clothing was stuck to his skin, drenched in sweat. And still he remained locked to the chair.

  Stifling a groan, he went at it one more time. He had to get free. He was not going to allow Damien Caldwell to tie Emma to a stake and drain her blood. He was not going to let that bastard bare her lovely body to a crowd of leering men while he touched and stroked her and, finally, sank his fangs into her and—

  The chain links moved, the steel turning soft like rubber. Aware of the change, Nick held on to the intolerable image of Caldwell holding Emma’s naked and limp body, her blood dripping from his mouth. At the same time, with his muscles bulging, Nick jerked his arms upward.

  The chains snapped. He still had the manacles around his wrists, but his arms were no longer bound to the chair.

  Quickly, knowing he had only seconds, he bent down and slipped the chain running between his manacled ankles under the chair legs, so that he was completely free of the chair, although his feet were still hobbled.

  He stood up at the same instant the door burst open and two men with guns barreled in. Knowing he couldn’t risk taking a hit and losing blood before he could rescue Emma, he ducked. Hampered by the leg chains, he threw himself at the man in front, knocking him backward and into his companion. They both went down, but one of their guns fired. Nick felt a bullet whiz past his ear. With his chains rattling, he stamped his booted foot down on the gun hand of the man who had fired, hearing bone crunch under the blow. The man screamed at the same instant Nick brought his boot down again, this time on the other guard’s face, drawing another scream.

  Moving fast, he grabbed them both by the hair, hauled them upward and banged their heads together hard enough to knock them both unconscious. Then he fumbled in one of their pockets until he found a small key ring. One of the keys on it opened the locks on his wrist and ankle cuffs.

  Freed of all restraint, he started for the door, then stopped. In the hallway, heavy footsteps raced toward the office—drawn by the gunshot or screams or both, he figured.

  Nick didn’t wait to see who was coming. He sprang to the French doors, kicked them open and, without looking back, leaped into the pre-dawn night. He ducked low and at vampire speed made for a stand of trees fifty feet away.

  Although it was still fully dark outside, he could smell the coming dawn. He had to hurry. Based on his previous reconnoiters of the grounds, he had a good idea of where to find Emma. One of the buildings near the woods that Caldwell had outfitted as a prison.

  Moving swiftly through patches of woods and even faster across open lawns, he took only a minute or so to get there. But when he threw open the door, his heart skipped a beat, then lurched into heavy pounding inside his chest.

  The room was empty. They had already taken Emma to the outdoor amphitheater, where he knew Caldwell held his ceremonies.

  Nick hadn’t prayed in decades, but as he ran through the night, he chanted silently, “Please, God, please…don’t let her be dead. Don’t let it happen. Please…”

  As he approached the killing ground, he slowed to a walk. No matter how scared he was that he might be too late, he couldn’t go rushing in without some kind of plan. Creeping slowly from tree to tree, he arrived at the top of the sunken theater.

  Caldwell considered it his sacred ground. Sacred to the devil, maybe.

  The place held seating for perhaps fifty people, arranged on tiers around a central stage. Only about half the seats were filled. Of course, the men in those seats were Caldwell’s most trusted followers.

  In the center of the large square stage was an upright post with a spotlight shining on it. As Nick watched, two men led Emma onto the platform. She was barefoot and dressed in white, and her blond hair was tied at the back of her neck. She walked between them with her head held high, not struggling at all.

  Meeting her fate with courage, Nick thought, his heart breaking at the thought of what her outward appearance of calm dignity must be costing her.

  With some vague idea of swooping down, scooping her up and flying out of there before Caldwell arrived, Nick took a step away from the shelter of the trees, preparing himself for a single, all-out assault.

  A hand clamped onto his arm, stopping him. He whipped around, fist raised in expectation of smashing a guard’s face, and he nearly did it before he saw who it was.

  “Emma?” he croaked, hardly daring to believe it. “But you’re…”

  “No,” she whispered. “That’s Margaret down there.”

  Casting a quick look around to make sure they hadn’t been noticed, he grab
bed her hand and pulled her back into the shadows of the trees. When he hauled her into his arms and hugged her, she hugged him back, as if she meant it.

  “How did you get away?” he whispered into her hair.

  “Margaret,” she replied. “She came to my cell to tell me that Caldwell was going to punish me for running away. I tried to tell her what the punishment would be, but she doesn’t believe he would kill me, or anybody else. To prove it, she insisted on changing places with me—and I let her, hoping I’d be able to find you or, if all else failed, at least try to get her out of here myself.”

  “You won’t have to,” he said. “I will.”

  They were speaking in whispers, but that didn’t detract from the vehemence of her tone as she insisted, “You certainly will not. We’ll do it together, exactly as we planned.”

  “Emma, we don’t have the laser anymore, and—”

  “Wait.” Reaching inside her pants, she pulled out the weapon he’d designed.

  He stared at it in disbelief. “How did you manage—”

  “A really stupid guard. Never mind the details.”

  “My darling Emma, you are truly amazing.”

  The sound of clapping cut his protest short. He and Emma both moved so they had a view of the amphitheater stage without being seen.

  Caldwell had stepped onto the stage, dressed in black tights topped by a black, thigh-length tunic. Ignoring Margaret, who was tied to the post, he walked with solemn steps to the front of the platform and began to address his followers.

  “I want to thank you for attending this special night,” the Master said, spreading his arms wide to embrace his rapt audience. “The woman you see before you insinuated herself into our community like a worm into a living body. She is a false disciple who was never meant to live among us. She fled our household and has only returned because she thought she could destroy all that we have come to hold dear.”

  Behind him, Margaret whimpered, “No, that’s not true. You don’t understand.”