Chapter Seven
Zoey peered through night-vision goggles. She was planted in a snowbank, stretched out on her belly, wearing her standard black garb. The cloud cover over the nighttime sky cast shadows over their surroundings, concealing her better than moonlight.
Unfortunately, none of it would help with infiltrating the prime dwelling she surveyed.
A stretch of midnight-blue water sat between her and the house.
A private island. On a lake. Owned by a female named Yancy de Mornay, who had set up no-flashing wards over the entire island. The wards ebbed out over the shoreline and made Zoey’s skin itch.
One of the things Zoey loved the most about her job was that the primes’ money couldn’t protect them from her and her team. It couldn’t protect them from the Synod. However, money could build an island with the equivalent of a damn moat.
She stared through the goggles while Creed swore next to her. A hulking, dark monstrosity of a house had been plunked in the middle of the waterlocked landmass. Raggedy trees that had lost their leaves for winter, but wouldn’t look much better with them, filled the perimeter between the building and the water’s edge.
“How the hell do we get to that?” Creed dropped his goggles but stayed positioned in the snow.
Rourke shook his head. “We get wet.”
Zoey had come to the same conclusion. Boats couldn’t sneak up on the place. Cold water was an effective barrier for humans. But for vampires, it’d just be a frigid swim. Slightly less pleasant than lying in snow in the middle of the night. Could she pack a couple of Gatorades to guzzle after the trip? The energy of keeping herself warm, even as a creature who couldn’t be killed by cold, could mortally deplete her. She would come out the other side, lie down for a nap, and not wake up until someone shoved a bleeding wrist in her mouth.
She hadn’t packed her juice, had been in too big of a hurry to leave once the sun set. Most of the time, she didn’t need much replenishment in the field, only in cases of extreme blood loss. Hopefully, this was one of those nights.
“Our guns might not survive the water.” Zoey glared at the ice stretched over half the lake. The water was going to be more of an obstacle than she’d first thought. Swaths of ice and snowpack plugged most of the shoreline. “Are we going to take on vamps, possibly some possessed humans, and a demon?”
Stryke might be compelled to fight. She didn’t think he’d do it otherwise. He was, literally, the lesser of two evils right now.
“We have enough blades between us,” Rourke said. “We’ll have the element of surprise and we can pilfer guns from our kills.”
Creed snorted, his blue eyes flashing in the dark. “If we don’t have the element of surprise as we’re shivering our asses off, then what?”
“Then we cut a swath a mile wide,” Rourke said, his face as placid as the half-frozen lake. “And rip that band off the demon so he can go all underworld on the rest of them.”
“How do I know he won’t go all underworld on me?” Creed pursed his lips as if he’d relish the opportunity to take on Stryke. “He’s obsessed with Zoey and sees me as competition, though she’s made it clear I’m not.”
Zoey suppressed a sigh. Awkward. Nearly the whole time she and Creed had been sleeping together, they’d hidden it from their team. A month since she’d been with him, and it was being brought up constantly.
Thanks to that demon.
She couldn’t summon as much anger as she wanted.
Zoey pointed to the right. “If we enter the water there, we won’t have as much ice to bust through. The less noise the better. I’m sure it’s monitored. Then,” she swung her arm to the left to indicate the far shoreline, “we get out of the water there. The ice is thicker and if we can find a section to haul ourselves on, then we can flatten ourselves and slither to shore.”
Creed nodded. “We’d still be noticeable, three black figures on white, but the overcast night helps.”
Rourke cocked his finger toward the opposite end of the island. “I’ll come out there. We have a better chance of one of us getting by their security if we split up. I’ll also find a separate entry point.”
Creed dropped his forehead in the snow. “Sometimes this job sucks.” He lifted himself into a crouch and crept toward the agreed-upon entry point.
Zoey followed and Rourke split off in the opposite direction.
She crunched through the layer of ice rimming the shore. Old reeds crackled and the sound carried like a hammer through the night, but there wasn’t much else to do. She could run and leap, but the splash and ripples might create more of a ruckus.
She picked her way behind Creed, using the path he’d already broken to help minimize sound. Ice water seeped through her boots and wicked up her pants. Yep, her energy took a downturn.
Could she ask Creed for a sip since she had no juice? Hell, she didn’t want to ask…because she didn’t want to drink from him. Before, it’d been a physically pleasant experience, but her emotions just hadn’t been invested. What would it be like tonight?
Smooth and easy, Creed lunged into the water with a shallow dive. Inky water swallowed him and Zoey waited a heartbeat for him to swim clear before she dove.
The shock of the cold induced an instant ice-cream headache. She sucked in a mouthful of water but managed not to inhale it as the water froze the roof of her mouth. She fought the urge to surface and clamber to shore.
She’d heard humans became paralyzed from the cold when they fell through the ice, and she risked the same reaction. As her body fought the cold, her electrolytes would diminish until she couldn’t heal herself as thoroughly as a healthy vampire.
Gritting her teeth and blowing out her mouthful of lake water, she used broad strokes to propel her along. Every minute, she and Creed rose to take a breath and ducked back under.
She sighted her objective with each breath and recalculated her direction. Supernatural senses were only slightly better than a human’s in the frigid darkness of the water.
She bobbed with her head exposed to just under her nostrils as Creed tested the sturdiness of the ice layer. It was the middle of winter in Freemont, but this year, temps fluctuated enough to make ice cover sporadic and thinner than usual.
Fatigue weighed on her. She wanted to float for a while, let her eyelids drift shut, but her waterlogged clothing and heavy boots would drag her to the bottom.
She’d need a solid few pulls of Stryke’s blood.
Creed’s! Hellfire, Creed’s blood.
She forced her lids wide as Creed jetted out of the water with as much power as he could muster and skittered like a starfish across the surface. He slowed, then abruptly stopped. He had to pry himself off as his clothing had frozen to the top.
His teeth chattered almost as loudly as when he and Zoey had crashed through the ice.
Zoey followed suit, but the shivers in her muscles made her grip rubbery. She hauled herself onto the ice only to slide back in.
Scrambling, she clawed and lost a fingernail or two to keep herself from submerging. She only felt the tug and rip of her nails; the cold had numbed the rest of her.
Creed grabbed the back of her shirt and hauled her flat next to him.
Her lower jaw had a life of its own as she shook and shivered.
“L-let’s go.” Creed dragged himself forward, gaining momentum the more he moved.
Zoey wasn’t as lucky. Her body wasn’t generating heat like it should. Her midnight swim was letting her disorder flourish.
“I need…your blood.” Her lips barely moved. She hoped he understood what she’d said.
He nodded and cool relief flooded her. They were almost to the end.
A crack resonated from beneath her.
Oh shit. Cracks spread out in a radius all around her.
“Move, Zoey.” Creed’s panicked words were the last thing she heard as she plunged through jagged shards of collapsing ice.
Freezing water surrounded her once again and the surface floated farther away. Her feet touched the uneven bottom. There, just above her head, she could make out the difference between cloudy ice and clear water.
Just push off, her brain commanded, but her body couldn’t follow.
Her muscles twitched, no longer shivering. The twitches were from her trying to move, but she remained as still as an ice sculpture rooted to the lake bottom.
A hand punched into the water.
Creed. Safety. The two words were the only thing she was conscious of.
She didn’t want to die; she had a job to do. Her job had saved her after Mitchell died, and it’d save her again. Stryke’s violet gaze flashed through her mind. Yes. He was her duty. That was why he was going to be the last thing she thought about before she lost consciousness.
No. She had to finish her damn job.
Raise. Your. Hand.
Creed was waving his arm, grasping for her. He must be able to see her. Could he see she hadn’t moved?
Her right arm jerked.
Move.
Ever so slowly, her arm drifted up in front of her eyes. She kept ordering it to go higher until her marbled skin brushed Creed’s fingers.
He reacted instantly, circling her wrist and yanking her up and onto the ice next to him.
Lacking all stealth, he rushed her to shore. Ice cracked under them, but they moved too fast to fall in again.
They got to shore and Zoey barely noticed it wasn’t any warmer.
His face pale, his mouth set in a line, Creed raised his wrist and bit down.
Zoey was as motionless as she’d been in the lake.
He slapped his wrist to her mouth and cool blood spilled in. She swallowed and a tiny amount of strength bloomed. As Creed healed, his blood warmed and so did Zoey.
There was nothing sensual or pleasant about the feeding. It was pure survival.
A male’s roar shook the night. Zoey recoiled from Creed, flinging his wrist back at him. “He’s coming.”
***
He felt Zoey drink another male’s blood.
Rage, hot and fierce, speared his logical mind.
Hypna’s calculating chuckle, cloaked in Yancy’s voice, broke through his fog of fury. Her back was to Stryke as she monitored the shoreline. “Look at that. She’s drinking him dry. I guess you won’t resist when I tell you to kill her. Kill her. Kill him. Don’t stop until they’re dead.”
He stormed off. Any gratefulness he’d experienced at his female’s arrival had dissipated.
As soon as the vampires had neared the lake, Hypna’s lackeys had manned the windows to watch. Hypna had abandoned her efforts to seduce him, which she found a whole lot more challenging without stabbing him with her horns and poisoning him.
Stryke charged through the manor. His horns straightened past his hair as he banged out the door.
The three possessed humans that had survived the attack on Demetrius’s compound scattered out of Stryke’s way.
His eyes probably glowed with the energy coursing through him.
His female. Had drunk someone else’s blood.
His female. Lips on someone else.
It was one thing when she hadn’t known he existed. Now, it was intolerable.
Hypna’s command raged through him. Kill them. Kill them all.
He brandished his claws and crossed the expanse of the lawn to where Zoey was wobbling to her feet. Creed was helping her. A fleeting moment of concern was quashed by ire.
Creed’s hands. Were on her.
Kill them. Kill them all.
“Stryke.” Zoey staggered back out of Creed’s reach and wiped her mouth.
Stryke’s lips curled back into a snarl, his fangs dripping with bloodlust. Someone else’s blood stained her lips.
How long had he watched her from within her mate? How long had he kept his hands to himself to let her process the loss of her mate? For five years, he’d wasted time in the underworld to give her time to heal, to figure out a way to reveal his connection to her without her burying a knife in his chest.
For what?
She’d sucked on Creed’s vein right under his nose!
There had to be a reason. There was always a reason with Zoey.
Hypna’s commands beat around his skull, pounding his common sense to dust. What had he just been thinking?
Metal glinted in Creed’s hands and fueled Stryke’s killing haze.
Stryke’s gaze locked on him and he charged.
Creed leaped and met him halfway. Stryke lowered his head and skewered Creed in the shoulder. Pain blazed in Stryke’s side. Creed must’ve stabbed him, but Stryke’s adrenaline was running too high for the blow to register. Creed shoved him away and ducked under the reach of his horns to plunge his bloodied knife back into him. Stryke wrapped his arms around Creed and flipped him to the ground.
Creed’s head bounced on the frozen soil, leaving him dazed. Stryke bared his fangs and lunged, aiming for his throat.
A force tackled him from behind. Zoey’s scent enveloped him, calming him only slightly.
Kill her.
He shook his head as he tried dislodging her.
She bashed her elbow into the crook of his neck. The power drove him to his knees, but he surged back up.
“I thought you didn’t want to hurt me.” She sounded breathless from the struggle, but she managed to hook an arm around his throat and squeeze.
“I don’t,” he huffed. No, that wasn’t right. “I do.”
He’d used up the last of his air. He bent and twisted to fling her over his shoulder, but she wrapped her legs around his waist.
Wasn’t there a time he would’ve killed for this contact?
Kill her.
No, that wasn’t right either.
Her arm was a vice, cutting off his air. He’d recover, but she was going to incapacitate him.
Creed rolled off the ground to his feet. He crouched and hovered around them, waiting for an opening. Stryke swelled with fury, seeing the male. He reached back, grabbed Zoey’s damp head, and yanked her over his freshly healed shoulder.
She wasn’t strong enough for him and her grip loosened. Stryke tossed her and caught her, putting her flush against him, her back to his chest. This time, he anchored his arms around her and his fangs hovered at her neck.
“I hope you enjoyed drinking from your boyfriend,” he growled. Unfamiliar rage slammed at his skull, demanding he hurt her.
She clawed at his arms and he let an evil smile cross his face.
Then his smile faded.
Zoey was in his arms and he was supposed to kill her. But he didn’t want to. Did he?
His fangs were poised over her jugular. Would she taste like Creed? Stryke spit to the side and returned to her neck.
Kill her.
No.
“I would’ve died if I hadn’t,” she said.
He blinked. He didn’t want her to die. But he was supposed to kill her. Why again?
He gave his head a strong shake. He was never confused. The movement stirred up her scent, an action that should’ve enraged him, but instead he sniffed.
He detected the other male, but brushed it aside to get to Zoey’s scent. She smelled…sick… No. Not completely healthy was a better way to describe it. Had he always brushed aside that aspect of her scent before? Zoey’s strength and confidence didn’t convey illness.
His grip loosened just as Zoey snapped something at his wrist.
Clarity rushed back, but he didn’t drop Zoey in shock, he hugged her closer.
Sweet brimstone, he’d been trying to kill her.
Creed froze, eying him warily. When his gaze flicked ever so slightly over Stryke’s shoulder, Stryke pushed Zoey away.
Before he could spin, something lodged into his back and he dropped, blinding pain spread over his torso.
His face buried in the snow-packed ground, he coughed. A knife lodged next to his heart made breathing excruciating.
“Aw, man.” Zoey’s voice echoed like his brain was a tin can. “I just got the bracelet off him.”
“I didn’t know if he was going to stop trying to kill you.” Was that Rourke?
“Should I shoot him in the head to incapacitate him while we search the island?” Creed would likely do it anyway.
“One of us should stay with him while the others look for Yancy,” Zoey said. “She must’ve been the cloaked figure in the woods.”
Yes, it was. Stryke couldn’t talk. He was stuck in a state of constant healing from what would’ve been a fatal wound in a human.
“I’ll stay.” Dammit. Rourke.
In his periphery, boots crunched away. Zoey and Creed were paired up. Anger and frustration clouded out the pain.
Rourke squatted next to him. Stryke turned his head as much as he could to look into the serious, dark gaze of the male.
“I’m gonna keep you there until they get back. Savvy?”
Yep, he most definitely understood. Stryke moved his head a millimeter in an attempt to nod.
“Are they going to find anyone?”
“Yes.” It came out as a croak.
The farther away Zoey got with another male, the more adrenaline flooded Stryke. He twitched his shoulders. Fucking hurt, but he could move if he had to. He’d need to refuel with some serious beef and ice cream after this.
“The prime?” Rourke asked.
“Plus her second-tiers. Three left.”
Rourke rose. “Then we wait.”
Stryke relaxed, reserving his energy. Zoey and Creed were skilled enough to take care of everything on the island. It’s not like Hypna had had enough time to booby-trap any of it. She wouldn’t stick around and risk her host getting killed, but Zoey and her team would probably let Yancy live to interrogate her.
If you asked him, staking her would be the best thing in Stryke’s opinion, or Hypna would keep using her. But no one was going to ask him.