Vampire Mistress

He'd been up all through the daylight hours, but Henry Barnabus didn't like to sleep. It made it harder to sort out the voices in his dreams from the ones that were outside of them. All the time talking, driving him crazy.



He sat apart from the two vampires he'd made, as a leader should. Distinguishing himself. Just like one of those fat-cat types that rode the subway in their suits, pretending they were so important as they looked right through him. Ignored him and the voices that screamed for their blood, so loudly it made him shake, snigger with it and earn their mistrustful glances. He didn't have to beg from them anymore. Now they begged from him.



Sydney hadn't let him kill them all at once. He'd said to make them wait, draw it out, strike from the shadows so they never knew what hit them. But Syd was dead. He knew. He'd been told that it was someone's fault. A vampire named Daegan Rei who thought he could get away with that.



He scraped his nails over his cheek, felt the pocked marking. Childhood measles. Mother there with cool cloth, but she was long gone. Or was she close by? Sometimes she came and talked to him.



He pushed himself back and forth in a restless rock on the office chair. He liked this place. They put supplies in this warehouse, things to be shipped to those big office supply stores, so they'd taken chairs and a table out of the boxes, set themselves up their own temporary office tonight. But instead of reports and other stupid things on the tables, he had real treasure. Just like when he was a child and Mommy hid it in the house, let him go find it. But the voices sometimes hadn't let him find it, had spoken in whispers, told him he should hide instead.



He sorted through the shriveled ear, the long braid of red hair, and then closed his fingers on the panties stained with dried blood. She hadn't screamed as much as she should have. She'd screamed for help, not out of fear, so he'd gagged her with this until he'd gagged her with other things. She'd even tried to bite him, but they'd held her mouth open with their fingers shoved into the corners, ruthlessly stretching her pretty lips. The way they'd stretched her cunt.



He was twirling the undergarment on his finger, and then, sure that he'd caught his crew's attention, he snapped it like a rubber band at Casey. Casey looked sixteen, because that was how old he was. A boy prostitute that he'd turned, who liked being able to beat up on others the way he'd been beat up on.



Henry understood that, even if he thought the skinny, fox-eyed boy was too much like those who whispered in his mind, telling him that no one could be trusted.



Casey caught the panties, tossed them back. “Why didn't we kill her, Henry? And where's Louie?” Bastard.Casey's barely broken-into-adulthood voice grated. “He probably found other prey. Maybe he'll bring us some more body parts.”



“Shouldn't we post a lookout or something, in casehe comes?” This from Tim, who, despite the question, was rubbing the heel of his hand slowly over his dick, staring into space. Probably still thinking about her writhing helpless in that alley. It made Henry hard, too, but he didn't want them to see that.



“He went to New Orleans.” He sneered, vaguely irritated his contact hadn't told him that before he went looking for the vampire. “He'll be back in a day or two. Maybe sooner, if he finds out about her, but not before tomorrow.”



With a speculative look, he drew the panties back over, stroked the fabric. He decided not to be angry, because if he hadn't been given incorrect information, he never would have foundher . “She'll be completely batshit by then. Maybe we'll go back and get her. Might do good to have a girl with us. I like that idea. We'll give her blood, make her our new pet, so we won't miss Lawrence so much. We miss Syd.”



He heard his voice change, Henry the boy coming forward, gripping him with that sense of loss, no mommy to guide him anymore. Casey stared at him with that faint sneer on his mouth. Just like that snot-nosed kid Louie. He didn't care if Louie came back, anyway. He shouldn't turn teenagers.



With a snarl, Henry cleared the table, landing on the young vampire and tumbling them both to the ground. Tim watched with indifference as Henry pummeled the younger vampire. “Don't question me.



You don't ever do that. I'm going to tell Mommy that you—” A childish wail wrenched from Henry's lips before he even finished the thought, and he tore at the young vamp's ears. “I'll take yours off, too. You never listen. No one ever listens to me.”



Casey cried out for help, was ignored. Tim started making a sculpture out of a box of paper clips. Henry saw the dumb vacancy in his eyes, wondered if he was real, or if all of them were an illusion. When he disemboweled Casey, yanking out a handful of intestines, the boy screamed, so loud that it rang in his ears, but it still didn't soundreal .



Then something did. A chain rattling.



Henry abruptly surged up off the young vamp and kicked him. Casey rolled over, cradling his stomach, trying to push everything back in. Henry focused on the dark aisles that went back into the bowels of the warehouse. A stray beam of a flashlight, accompanied by the sweet scent of human flesh. Maybe a security guard, coming to check on things.



The voices in his head calmed down, because they were always happy when it was time for this. He whistled low, like a master calling his hunting hounds. It brought Tim out of his absorption. “Kill,” Henry commanded.



Daegan hadn't gone to New Orleans because he'd had an unsettled feeling. He'd attributed it to some concern about how Anwyn's session with Gideon Green would go, so he'd decided to check in with her before heading on to Louisiana.



He hadn't told the Council he was going to do that, because a short side trip back to his home base seemed hardly relevant to a Council status report. More evidence that his backstabber was in the Council ranks.



Daegan moved swiftly through the rafters and dropped down behind the overweight night guard. Before the older man could turn, Daegan had placed a gentle hand on his windpipe, held him steady until the man fainted. He listened to the two come toward him with the stealth of a herd of cattle. When they burst forth, he'd moved into the shadows, so their gaze fell on the prone security guard. “He's already lying down,” Tim said stupidly. Casey stood with him, breathing hard, his hand on his bloody but already healing gut.



They were his last words. Daegan took both of their heads in two elegant sweeps of his blade, an effortless spiral of motion that brought the blade back to rest at his left hip, his arms bent at his sides.



He'd put more effort into cutting fresh roses to give to Anwyn. With vamps so young, he normally would have felt regret, said a prayer for young souls who hadn't had a chance to be anything different, but



Anwyn's pain and fear were too close to his mind right now for even reflective mercy.



The heads rolled down the aisle, almost tripping Henry where he was rushing up behind them. He stopped, looking around wildly.



“You're here, aren't you?” He clapped his hands abruptly, took a spin like a child at his first real birthday party. “I made you come to me. She was scared. She didn't want me to know, though. But when I took these off her”—he lifted the panties, balled up in his hand—“she knew what was going to happen. She knew she was mine.”



He turned away from the bodies, looking through the shadows, and found himself face-to-face with a crimson-eyed demon, a shadow of darkness with the silver gleam of metal in his hands. Henry stuttered to a halt, his sense of victory draining away, the voices going completely silent for once.



“Monster in the closet, Mommy,” he whimpered. “You told me it didn't exist.”



“The Council will protect you,” the demon whispered. “Who will you call?”



“The woman with Mommy's voice. She said Mommy and Daddy would protect me. She's right. Go away.” He put on his best scary voice, the voice that kept all the other vampires afraid of him.



“No one will help you now,” the demon said. “But you are going to help someone else, before I end your miserable existence.” A fist shot out of that darkness and clipped his temple. There were stars, and blurriness, and then suddenly Henry was falling in the darkness of his closet, grabbing at Mommy's dresses to slow his fall, but it didn't help. He fell, those demon eyes falling with him into blackness.



Daegan glanced around. Two bodies, one prisoner and a passed-out security guard. He had a damn lot of cleanup to do before he could get back. Sighing, he drew his knife and bent down to get to it.



14



AS he'd predicted, the attacks came closer together, each more vicious than the last. The only blessing was that Gideon discovered his precognitive sense got better at anticipating them, even before her body temperature changed. While it gave him a key few minutes' lead time, all that did was save his miserable skin, not any agony to her.



Several times she broke bones in her arms and legs, her human panic at being restrained combining with her bloodlust to drive her past any cognizance of what she was doing to her body, until she'd done it.



The pain tore screams from her throat. While the bones knitted, they did so far too slowly. It was excruciating to watch her thrash about, see her bite through her tongue. He could do nothing to relieve her suffering until the powerful convulsions and mad bloodlust let go of her again.



Having to watch the process helplessly was the second-most horrible thing he'd ever endured.



Considering the array of things he'd experienced, that was saying something.



Between one attack and the next, no matter how little time that was, she'd scrape herself back together.



Though she lost the battle more than won it, she fought the tears and involuntary trembling of her limbs every time.



At least he could help with each aftermath. He washed her off every time. She'd destroyed the T-shirt quickly, so he brought in a stack of towels and wrapped one around her after each episode. He carried on one-way conversations with her when she was too exhausted to respond but still needed his voice.



When it was possible, he'd stroke her head or lay his hand on her trembling thigh, reminding her that, though she was trapped by her bonds, he was there. He wasn't going anywhere. He cleaned up the floor so she wouldn't be ankle deep in filth, and firmly coaxed her human blood into her.