Argeneau Family 12. The Renegade Hunter(77)

Ernie removed his teeth and whirled to glare at Jo. "This time," he snarled, blood coating his teeth and rimming his mouth. "She paid for you this time. But bear in mind that my father doesn't know about his gift, and I can always drain you dry and go after Nicholas or one of the other girls to give to Father should you push me too far."

Jo's gaze slid to Dee. Ernie was still holding her head back by the hair at what appeared to be a painful angle. It left her wound exposed, and Jo swallowed as she peered at the ragged, angry-looking bite mark. In his anger, he hadn't just punctured her neck, he'd torn it somewhat, and the two wounds were seeping blood.

Ernie glanced back to Dee and released her abruptly, snapping, "Take care of your neck."

Dee stumbled a couple of steps and then caught herself and moved into the bathroom. The moment the door closed behind her, Ernie turned back to Jo, and she found herself walking to the small two-person table and chairs beside the bed. She heard a drawer open and close behind her, and when her body sat down in the chair in the corner without her input, Ernie was walking toward her, rope in hand.

"Just so you don't get any ideas about trying to escape while I sleep," he commented, moving behind her chair, and jerking her arms back painfully to tie her wrists together. "I'm afraid if you did try to escape, Dee would probably club you over the head and kill you. She doesn't like you," he confided, seeming amused.

Jo didn't have to ask how he knew that. She supposed he'd read it in Dee's thoughts, and said through gritted teeth, "She doesn't know me."

"She's jealous," he said with amusement as he jerked on the rope, tightening it painfully around her wrists. "She wants me to turn her and she's afraid you might be a threat to that."

"So tell her I'm not a threat," Jo suggested as he finished with her wrists and moved to work on her ankles, binding them together now as well.

"Why?" Ernie asked, and seemed truly surprised at the suggestion. "I'm her master. I do what I want and she has to accept that whether she likes it or not. As will you." He finished with her ankles and stood to survey her with displeasure. "Nicholas should have made you aware of your status. You are inferior. We feed on you, milking you like the cows you are. We can control you, make you do anything we want. We are faster, smarter, stronger… we are superior."

"If you're so superior, why do you run around with greasy hair and in filthy clothes?" she asked dryly.

"Because I can," he said coldly. "I do what I want."

Jo stared at him, the thought running through her mind that she was in the hands of a very dangerous, snot-nosed, spoiled, petulant, little pissant. She supposed she shouldn't have been surprised at the fury that suddenly covered his face. But after a lifetime where her thoughts had always been her own and private, it was hard to remember that this was no longer true and he could read her mind. When his hands balled into fists and one raised, Jo steeled herself for the blow about to come, wondering if she would make it to Ernie's father or die here in this room. A moment passed, but no blow fell, and Jo opened her eyes warily to find the hand back at his side and relaxed. The man was even smiling.

"I'm not going to kill you," he said calmly. "I'll leave that to my father."

Jo forced the tension from her muscles and merely peered at him, thinking it really made no difference. Here now, or later at his father's hands. It was all the same. Dead was dead.

"Oh no, it's not the same," Ernie assured her solemnly, picking up on her thoughts. "My killing you would be a mercy. My father will cut you to pieces as slowly and painfully as he can. He's a no-fanger."

"You say that like I should know what it is," she said with false indifference.

"Don't you?" he asked with surprise.

Jo shook her head.

Ernie frowned, and then apparently deciding she wouldn't be sufficiently scared if she didn't know what she was in for, he explained, "No-fangers are immortals without fangs, a result of the first trials with nanos. One in three don't survive the turn and those who do… well." He smiled cruelly. "Half of them come up mad and mean and completely unfeeling. They keep mortals like the cattle they are and slice and dice them whenever they want a meal."

"And your father is one?" Jo asked slowly.

"Oh yes. He's the oldest no-fanger known to be alive." Ernie said with what sounded like pride and not a little glee, and then added, "And the older they are, the more powerful and cruel they are."

Jo considered that and then tilted her head and asked, "But you're not a no-fanger?"

"No," he muttered, some of his glee waning.