Bound by Night(17)

Even if it was deserved.
He shoved himself away with deliberate, measured composure, as if backing off was entirely his idea.
Nicole’s wide peridot eyes kicked him right in the gut, but he steeled himself, summoning his inner hardass.
He didn’t have to reach very far for it.
“There. You’re healed. No thanks necessary.” He licked his lips, savoring the last rich, silky drop of her blood. Unlike most of the humans he fed on, she tasted of health and a hint of fine wine. He wanted more.
“Don’t try that again. You die when I say you die. Help us, and you’ll avoid that fate.”
“You’re going to be hanged and staked for this.”
Her fingers fluttered up to her throat, scarred by some sort of heinous injury, to trace the thin crimson line that had been bleeding a moment ago.
“Aren’t you a ray of sunshine.” He breathed deep, measuring her fear level by scent. She was afraid but not as much as he’d expected. “What happened to your throat?”
The sour note of fear spiked. “Why do you want to know?”
The ring on her right hand glinted with little crimson sparkles as she covered her neck with her palm.
Her scars forgotten, he snared her hand, bringing it and the ruby ring decorating one of her fingers—so close he caught a metallic whiff of gold.
“Let me go.” Nicole struggled against his hold, but he squeezed her wrist as tight as his lungs felt. He could barely breathe, barely speak.
“Where did you get that ring?”
“It’s mine.”
His blood, already vibrating with the heat of un— wanted arousal, began to boil with anger. “Where did you get it? ”
A glint of pure, unadulterated hatred sparked in her eyes. “From. Your. Mate.” She hurled the words at him like weapons, and like an expert marksman, she hit every one of his vulnerable spots with sniper precision.
With a snarl, he wrapped his fingers around the throat he’d just healed. “Did you take it from her while she was alive, or did you loot it off her corpse?” Rage made his voice warble, which only made him angrier.
“Did you even wait for her body to get cold before you stripped her of everything she loved?”
“How dare you!” Nicole spat. “How can you talk about love, when you’re the one who killed her?”
He blinked in disbelief. “How dare I? Your family killed her the day they put her in chains and forced her to wait on your despicable asses hand and foot.”
“And that,” she said, “is why I don’t believe for a second that you’re ever going to set me free. You plan to take your revenge on me, don’t you?”
Her voice was as flat as his was furious. It should have been a clue. He shouldn’t have been surprised when she flipped the hinged lid on the ring and jammed her hand in front of his nose.
When she blew a powdery substance into his face, he could only utter a single curse before he was gasping for breath and stumbling backward in an uncoordinated tangle of his own feet.
“That was for Terese, you murdering bastard.”
For his mate? Why? Through blurry eyes, he saw Nicole swipe the dagger off the ground and tuck it into her waistband.
“What . . .” He inhaled, coughed, doubled over in agony. Someone had replaced the air with fire. Holy fuck, he was breathing napalm. “What . . . did you . . . do?”
“Boric acid.” Her reply was muffled. Or maybe the ringing in his ears was dampening outside sounds.
“Bitch.” He dropped to the ground like a sack of rocks, his lungs burning, his vision developing spots that swirled around her as she crouched next to him.
“I’m not done. See, boric acid is lethal to vampires.
My company, the one you hate so much, figured it out.
I figured it out after analyzing why your kind can’t use firearms. I’m sure you’re aware that gunshot residue and propellant destroy your lungs. It made me wonder what else would do that.” Damn, but she sounded like she was enjoying this. “We’re starting to put acid-delivery devices out on the market so that soon, humans everywhere will have their own handy-dandy vampire pepper sprays.” She leaned in, so close and personal he felt her warm breath whispering across the shell of his ear. “In forty-eight hours, you’ll be dead, and it’s no less than you deserve.”
He’d laugh if his lungs weren’t burning as hot as the surface of the sun. Forty-eight hours? That was nothing. He’d been dead for twenty years already.
 
 
• • • • • •

 
 
Riker’s Clas’s home was like a maze. Or, more accu-rately, like a warren. A series of dimly lit tunnels and caverns skirted what appeared to be a massive complex of dwellings, all carved out of dirt, stone, and a framework of tree roots. The closer Nicole got to what she guessed was the center, the more finished, clean, and bright the tunnels became.