Roaring Shadows: Macey Book 2 (The Gardella Vampire Hunters 8)(21)

“In light of the stake in your hand, I can only suppose you’ve come to finish off Fanalucci,” Iscariot said, moving toward the open drawer. “It’s a clever stunt—using silver bullets.” He looked at her sharply, and Macey almost got caught in his lethal gaze. A shimmer of softness teased at the edge of her consciousness, and she pushed it away. “Surely that wasn’t your idea.”

Interesting. Did he not know about Capone?

“In light of your unwanted presence, I can only suppose you’ve come to identify the body…before I dust it to ash,” she replied evenly. “Make it quick, Nicholas. I haven’t got all night.”

He looked at her. His thin lips flattened into a small smile. “You weren’t so bold the last time we had occasion to meet, Macey Gardella. I find I like this aspect of you much better than the sniveling, shivering, fainting girl you were then.”

She measured the distance and height of the sheet-covered slab between her and Iscariot. If she launched herself over the body then levered herself to the right—

“I don’t think so,” murmured Iscariot. Suddenly he whirled…and was gone.

It was impossible—but he was there, and then in an instant, he wasn’t—he was over there, and Macey spun to find him standing behind her, on the other side of the room. Had he flown? Cold shuddered through her. How could she fight a vampire who flew? Who could turn lights on and off at will?

The empty slab cut through the space between them, but Iscariot was closer than he’d been a moment before. She could smell him…a sort of earthy, oily, dark smell that made her insides churn.

“Do you feel it?” he said in a low, lisping voice. “I know you can feel it…you can feel me.” His eyes glowed bright—a strange combination of red ringed with cobalt blue. They caught her unawares and tugged…as if a hook pierced her belly and reeled her closer.

Her breathing clogged, and her vision softened at the edges… She felt it happening, and fought, fought…

Iscariot chuckled, low and gritty, and Macey curled her fingers around the stake, around the edge of the empty slab next to her. She held tightly, focusing on the cold metal, the smooth wood, her feet planted on the floor… No.

“Macey,” he whispered. “I remember…do you?”

She struggled to blink her eyes, to close them against those twin beacons of red flame eclipsed by bright, burning blue…mesmerizing, lulling, and luring…

Suddenly, she felt a stinging pain down the front of her torso, from breastbone to belly. She clapped a hand to her abdomen as the scar he’d left with the tip of a knife throbbed and burned in reminder of that terrifying night. Fear shuttled through her again, fighting to overcome her determination.

“I see you do remember, my lovely Venator. The blood of Max Pesaro runs in your veins…and I’ve tasted it. Do you remember? Oh, yes, I see how well you remember…” He smiled, and Macey felt another sharp pain streaking around the front of her left breast.

She shuddered, her knees buckling, her breath thick and slow, but she caught herself at the edge of the metal table, gripping it as if the slab was an anchor. Her veins pulsed and surged as if responding to his thrall. The pain slicing down her torso stung and burned, and she was aware of blood dampening her frock in a long, thin line right down the center and around her left areola. It was as if Iscariot was pulling the life force from her with every beat of her pulse…tug, surge, tug, surge… Softly, gently, incessantly.

“It’s unbelievably perfect, isn’t it, my lovely Venator, that I should be so fascinated by the progeny of the man with whom my sister Lilith was obsessed. And that I should be the one to destroy both father and daughter of that selfsame legacy.”

Father. Legacy.

The words penetrated Macey’s fog, and in that instant, something changed. Determination edged back blind fear. The metal slab felt more firm, her grip less desperate.

“You killed my father.” The words came from far off, dreamlike, but they came nevertheless. And with them, the stake became more solid in her grip. Her feet rooted more sturdily on the concrete floor. “And my mother.” The foggy edge of her vision turned clearer. Her mind latched on to fury in the place of susceptibility.

The tips of his fangs showed now. “Oh, yes, Felicia. She was luscious. Quite honestly, nearly as delightful as you—all springlike and fresh, and a little bold on the tongue. But, unfortunately, your mother was merely a mortal. There wasn’t enough of her to…well, for someone such as I to appreciate. And it was all over much too quickly. But it was worth it, lowering myself to partake of her…to see Max Denton destroyed.”

Macey swallowed the bile surging into her throat. Now more than ever she was certain she would slay the repulsive, evil creature smiling at her from across the room. His lips glistened, red and reptilian, and his stark, angular countenance appeared as cold as marble…except for the eyes. They glowed strong and bright, teasing and beckoning Macey…the strength of their thrall wavering at the edge of her vision.

“And yes, I killed your father—but not in the way you imagine, my bold stake-wielder. No…he lives on in his own private Hell: alone, guilt-ridden, empty. But still upon this earth. I suppose he must wish for his death every day, as one does when one loves too deeply and then loses all—simply because of one’s own folly…but I cannot wish him anything other than such a fate.”

Macey went cold and still. “My father is alive?”

This made Iscariot laugh, his eyes squinting closed for a moment. It was a reprieve from that dangerous, insistent gaze. “And so no one has bothered to tell you that, have they? They’ve sent you off to fight their battles, armed with the righteousness of avenging the death of your parents—despite the fact that it’s a lie.” He shook his head. “You poor darling. I almost feel sorry for you.”

“Enjoy your pity while it lasts,” she managed to say. “Because it won’t be long before you’ve joined Lilith the Dark in Hell. And I’m going to be the one to send you there.”

Iscariot smiled, fully displaying his fangs as well as a horribly attractive dimple in his cheek. “One must have dreams, then, mustn’t one? Do you think your father, and Sebastian Vioget, and even Chas Woodmore have not also promised the same? And here I am.” The smile widened. “I have more powers than my sister ever dreamed of…and when I have acquired the Rings of Jubai and the secret they protect in the Pool of Samung, well then…” His laugh was delicate, genteel. “I will, quite literally, rule the world. There will be no more darkness—for me, anyway.”

Iscariot lifted his hand, his fingers curling up like elegant talons. He beckoned for her, the motion smooth and alluring. His nails were long and sharp, and they glinted like mother-of-pearl beads in the dim light. “Come here, Macey Gardella Denton…come to me.” His eyes glowed brighter than ever, like a blazing fire and a flash of blue. “Come.”

She released the metal table that separated them, her hand going to her throat, the stake clattering to the floor at her feet.

She took a step. Then another.

Then another.

His cold, powerful presence wrapped around her, and still she went to him.





TWELVE

~ A Dark Battle ~



“Now, Macey,” Iscariot coaxed. “Come to me. I can smell you, and now I will taste you once more.”

Macey’s fingers curled around the neckline of her dress, tangling in the heavy chain beneath it. She felt the unyielding edge of the empty metal table as she made her way along its length toward him…step by step.

Father. My father is alive.

The words burned in her mind. Our legacy.

Her hand gripped the edge of the table as she came to the end. She was almost to Iscariot, close enough she could feel his heartbeat more strongly…she could see a small mole on his face, see the way his nostrils flared as he scented her… His eyes were narrowed with anticipation, and his tongue slipped out to moisten those skinny lips, running over the tips of his fangs.

And then she moved: yanked the chain from beneath her frock and simultaneously rammed the table toward him with every bit of strength she owned.

The metal corner caught him in the abdomen just as her large silver cross came into view, tumbling forth to dangle between her breasts. Iscariot’s shocked cry was cut off as the heavy table knocked the breath out of his lungs. He slammed into the wall behind him, doubled over, and shoved the table back.

Macey whirled away, swiping her stake from the floor in a smooth move as her cross bounced and swung as if it yearned to lunge for him itself. By the time she swooped upright, Iscariot had recovered. His eyes were furious: red and blue. His lips were peeled back, revealing long, terrifying fangs. The sight of the cross had paralyzed him, but not for long.

He lunged toward her, and Macey somersaulted over one of the bodies, dislodging it as she landed on the other side of its slab. The corpse tumbled to the ground in a morbid show of stiff limbs, and she barely missed her feet tangling in its sheet.

Iscariot hissed and swiped his long-nailed fingers at her, catching her bare arm across the slab and leaving three long streaks.