Macey’s insides surged as Grady jolted, and his eyes flew open, wide with shock and pain. She resisted the desire to rush forward and tear Iscariot away, for surely that was what he wanted. Surely there was some sort of threat or trap waiting for her. Surely that was what he hoped for…what he’d planned.
But Grady… Oh, Grady. Oh, God, oh, God…
She had to hold herself rigid and still and unmoving, watching and waiting even as her insides churned and wept as Grady jolted and struggled, trembling and groaning as Iscariot drew from his veins.
Even when the master vampire, clearly annoyed, beckoned another vampire to join him on the stage and drive his fangs into Grady’s other arm, she remained still, waiting, terrified she would make the wrong decision.
But when Iscariot gestured for a third undead to join them, Macey couldn’t hold back any longer. “Stop! All right, stop!”
She was onstage—damn the risk, whatever it was—slamming her stake into a nearby vampire on the way in a moment of frustration. “Let him go. I’ll do whatever you want. Just let him go.” Furious at the sob that caught in her throat, Macey bared her teeth like a feral cat and lunged recklessly at Iscariot once more.
She was halted in mid-leap, thrown to the ground in a violent sweep from behind. Her head slammed into the wooden stage, bouncing twice before strong hands dragged her upright.
Three of them—there were three of them needed to subdue her, so wildly did she fight them.
“It’s always a pleasure to watch a Venator in action,” Iscariot said playfully. “Did I not promise you some fine entertainment?” he added, speaking to his audience of undead. There was a smattering of applause and a few catcalls.
“I’m here. You have me. What is it you want?” Macey said. Her head throbbed and her whole body ached. The scent of blood and undead ash filled her nostrils.
“I have a little task for you. Actually, two of them. And then after that…well, I see no reason you can’t go about your business.” He smiled lazily. “But first, we must set the stage, so to speak. I must prepare the…er…warrior, shall we say?”
He approached her with raw heat in his eyes. “Hold her.”
The vampires complied, brutal and fierce, pinning her into place: one behind, gripping her wrists in a numbing vise that forced her to drop the stake, and one on either side, holding her at the ankles. Macey couldn’t move except for the heaving of her torso.
Iscariot took his time unbuttoning her shirt as she panted in front of him. “I hate to ruin a good blouse,” he explained.
One button, two, then three. Four.
“Ah!” Iscariot stepped back sharply at the sight of the large silver cross—the one that had marked his cheek—she’d tucked down inside her blouse. She shifted her shoulders suddenly and the cross swung around, bumping into one of the vampires who stood next to her.
He shrieked and fell back, holding his arm. The other two kept their grip, but barely, easing back from her and the holy relic while still holding her by the ankles. Her arms were free, but she remained unmoving, conscious that Grady’s safety was still at risk.
“We can’t do with this, now, can we.” Iscariot’s brow furrowed, then relaxed as he turned to Grady. “Release the mortal.”
Macey felt a surge of hope as Grady’s bound wrists were unfastened from the hanging rope, but Iscariot was taking no chances in releasing him, for he instructed that they were to stay tied.
“Remove the cross.”
Macey didn’t know whether Grady had the strength to comply, or whether he even comprehended the instructions. But when he drew nearer, walking unsteadily and slowly, he lifted his face slightly. Their eyes met and she felt a rush of…something. It shocked her, burrowing deep inside. And she let out her breath because though there was pain, real, deep pain, in his sea-blue eyes—pain and horror—there was also lucidity and determination and strength.
Please let him be all right.
“Grady,” she whispered when he was close enough to hear. “Keep it. Use it.” She wanted to say something more…much more…but she dared not.
He gave a bare nod, then had to step around behind her to unclasp the necklace, for his hands were still bound at the wrists. For a moment, as he stood there behind her, tall and so very near, his fingers working slowly to unseat the cross’s hook, she closed her eyes and reveled in his presence…and then hated herself for wanting his comfort. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
She wished to sag backward, just enough to touch him, just enough that he could feel her and she could feel him.
The weight of the cross sagged lower as the chain loosened, then Grady came back around to face her as he gathered up the pendant. He said something, muttered something she couldn’t understand, and before he could repeat it or she could respond or tell him she was sorry, the vampires were back at her in full force, dragging her away from him.
She struggled. But she no longer had any weapon she could get to, nothing that would help except the small, delicate rosary she’d tucked deep inside her corset simply to have it with her.
Grady, go, she thought fiercely. Get out of here. In the dark melee that was her world, she could no longer see him, but she sent the thoughts with every bit of her being.
“Now, where were we?” Iscariot approached again as she was once more forced into immobility. He yanked at her blouse so it bared one shoulder. The shirt hung open now, exposing her flimsy laced-up undergarment…and the stripe of a scar disappearing down behind it, along her sternum.
“I can see how incredibly pleased you—or at least your lovely body is—to see me,” said Iscariot, tracing a finger over the fresh blood. With rough hands, he tore open the top two inches of the corset, revealing more of the scar and a swell of breast. His fangs were long and ready, seeming to vibrate with need as he leaned closer. “Your blood—it knows me, doesn’t it?”
“What do you—argh.” Macey gasped as he plunged his fangs into her shoulder. She stifled a scream and twisted, trying in vain to free herself from the brutality. The pain was intense—dark and red and searing; somehow different from anything she’d experienced before.
Her veins leapt and blood surged and she sank into darkness, dark splotches of nothing, sagging and writhing in the grip of the creatures who held her.
When Iscariot withdrew, he was panting and his eyes were lit with an unholy emotion. A delicate trickle of blood oozed from the corner of his mouth. “If only I didn’t have other plans for you, my sweet…” His finger was unsteady as he reached up to wipe it away. Then he smeared the blood—Macey’s blood—over her parted lips. It was rich and hot, tasting of iron and life.
“But,” he said, turning away reluctantly, “I do have other plans for you. And now that the stage has been set, it’s time to get down to business.”
Macey tried to get her bearings, for now all was coming to a head. But her vision tilted and spun. Her legs no longer had the strength to support her body; the guards were doing all of the work to hold her upright. How could a single bite have affected her so violently?
Was he marking her this time?
“I have two tasks for you to accomplish, Macey Gardella,” said Iscariot, stepping upstage, away from her. “Please, if you will?” He gestured for her to follow him, and when her three vampire assailants released her, Macey complied on unsteady feet.
She looked around for Grady, but he was no longer in sight. With the spotlights flaring onto the stage, and no illumination out in the house, she could see nothing but vague silhouettes of undead…and their pairs of red or pink eyes. If Grady was out there, she couldn’t detect him.
Please, let him have left. Let him be gone.
A mechanized grinding attracted her attention, and Macey looked over to see the floor opening in front of her… No, it wasn’t the entire floor. It was the front third of the stage, folding down and in on itself in the manner of an accordion, leaving a large open hole.
The orchestra pit.
Iscariot came to stand next to her, and she saw he was holding a wooden stake. His eyes gleamed and he gestured for her to look down into the pit. She couldn’t see the entire space, for part of it was hidden beneath the stage. What she could see, however, appeared empty and shadowed.
“There are two things I want, Macey Gardella. Succeed in them, and I’ll set you and your friend free. I’ll never bother you again.”
An awful, cold dread settled over her, and she resisted taking the two steps forward that would give her more of a view inside the hole.
“What?” she managed to say.
“I want the Rings of Jubai,” he said, grasping her arm. “And I want Sebastian Vioget’s soul.”
He flung her into the pit.
TWENTY-SIX
~ Wherein Our Hero Plays the Role of a Buffet ~
Grady was no fool.
When the tall, redheaded gal had arrived at his house, knocking vehemently on the door—but wouldn’t step over the threshold even when he opened it and stepped back—he knew something was not right.
He recognized the redhead as Macey’s friend—he’d seen them together the first night he really got to talk to her, at the club called The Gyro. The night the vampires attacked.