Blood Secrets

twenty-one



VARIK KILLED HIS CORVETTE’S ENGINE AND COASTED TO a stop outside the sprawling Caspian Drive farmhouse. The original house had been added onto in a haphazard fashion over the years with each addition featuring the dominant style of the period. Tying the disparate architectural elements to one another was the commonality of dingy and peeling white paint. The overall effect gave the house an appearance of a bloated toad lying in wait for its next meal.

He grabbed his Glock and badge and stepped from the car, leaving his cell phone behind. Gravel crunched beneath his boots as he cautiously approached the house. Experience tempered the instinct to rush inside and shout Alex’s name. This was the Dollmaker’s domain and as such it gave an advantage to his opponent. Varik would have to proceed carefully and hope he found Alex before—

He shook his head to clear it of negative thoughts. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by the what-ifs.

Ancient cement steps crumbled in protest of his weight and porch boards creaked underfoot as he glided up the front stoop to the door. A screen door hung to the side but the weather-beaten main door swung open easily when he turned the knob.

Crouching to make for a smaller target, he entered the dark foyer and toed the door shut, pausing to allow his eyes time to adjust to the gloom. Blocky shadows slowly identified themselves as display cases and shelves clung to the walls, each holding an inventory of dolls whose eyes seemed to follow his movements.

He slipped through an archway and into what he assumed would’ve been a dining room if it held a table and chairs instead of floor-to-ceiling shelves. Hundreds of dolls watched him as he checked corners for hidden dangers. The room was thick with the stench of leather and old blood, and he was forced to sip the air to prevent himself from gagging.

Methodically, he checked each of the main rooms on the first floor and found nothing save more dolls. He eased into the foyer, passed a small fireplace, and headed for the stairs. Moving to their base, he glanced up quickly, holding his Glock at the ready, and saw only more darkness. The entire house was silent and void of any apparent signs of life.

As he mounted the first step, worry gnawed at him. What if he was too late? What if Alex had already been moved to another location, or worse, killed?

He thrust the thoughts aside. He would not succumb to his fears.

Hugging the wall, he slowly climbed the stairs to the second floor.

Peter crashed through the flimsy mental shields Alexandra tried to erect. Every barrier she placed before him, he knocked aside. He would not be denied. He would strip away all her memories of Varik Baudelaire and give her new memories—his memories.

He plunged into her mind, pressing against the last of her shields until it collapsed. He sensed her fleeing before him, trying to hide from him. He pursued and cornered her, enveloping her consciousness with his.

Get out of my head! Anger colored her thoughts a bright red.

Love me.

No!

It wasn’t a request, my tricky chickie.

She screamed and lashed out, and he backed away. She lunged at him in an attempt to drive him out.

He deflected her assault, using the momentary opening to dive into her core. He burned a path through her subconscious. Thousands of memories flashed before him, but he was only interested in a select few. Images of Varik appeared and he delighted in reducing them to cinders. Some he replaced with those of his choosing and others he left to smolder, consigned to the realm of the forgotten.

A memory of her first kiss with Varik played before him. They were covered in mud and hiking up a steep riverbank. She stumbled and fell into his arms. They laughed and suddenly Varik kissed her.

Hatred fueled Peter’s attack. The memory exploded before him and he felt her shudder as he ripped another hole in her mind. A new memory stitched itself into the fabric of her subconscious, one in which he caught her as she fell and he kissed her.

A flash of yellow passed through her mind and he paused. Something tickled the back of his brain. Following the sensation, he withdrew from her mind and returned to his own.

He groaned, weak from the effort of changing her past, and fell to the attic floor beside her unmoving form. His head pounded with a chorus of voices, shouting and screaming for help. The dolls were crying out, calling to—

Peter bolted to his feet, staring at the attic floor as if he could see through it.

He was here, in the house.

Peter growled and rushed to the attic stairs. Now was the time for him to take what he started in her memory and finish it in his reality.

Varik stopped his search of the second floor when he heard a faint thump. He waited, hoping to hear the sound again to determine its direction, but the house refused to give up its secrets.

He entered a bedroom and the familiar scent of jasmine and vanilla rocked him. His pulse tripled and his breath came in sharp, shallow gulps.

Alex had been in there, recently.

Circling the bed, he noted the signs of a struggle and knelt before a window. A few drops of blood stained the hardwood floor. He dipped his finger in one of the congealed puddles and rubbed together his finger and thumb. The warmth of his skin released a faint smell of leather and decay.

He stood, wiping the blood on the leg of his jeans. It was the Dollmaker’s blood, not Alex’s, and he suppressed a smile. If she was fighting hard enough to draw blood, his chances of locating her greatly increased.

Another thump sounded nearby and this time he was able to determine it came from the hallway. Sliding to the door, he peeked around the corner and saw only an empty corridor. He waited a moment in case someone appeared from one of the other rooms. The hall remained empty.

Varik left the bedroom to resume his search, passing an oversized print of Duchamp’s Nude Descending a Staircase. A small draft ruffled his hair as he passed, and the scent of jasmine and vanilla combined with leather and old blood hit him once more. He turned back to the framed print as it swung outward and a body slammed into him, knocking him to the floor and sending his Glock tumbling down the stairs.

He used the momentum of his attacker and kicked upward with both feet, launching the assailant over his head. Varik completed the backward somersault motion to land in a kneeling position.

A tall blond vamp charged him, the flash of metal in his hands.

Varik blocked one blow but the other found its target. He grunted as a scalpel sliced open a gash along his left biceps. The blond vamp continued to slash at him. Varik gathered his legs beneath him and, with a roar, launched himself into the other’s midsection.

They crashed into the wall beside the stairs, cracking plaster and sending plumes of dust into the air. Varik used his knee to dislodge one of the scalpels while he kept a grip on the Dollmaker’s other arm.

Peter used his scalpel-free hand to punch Varik in the side of the throat. Varik gagged and stumbled back. He tried to clumsily dodge another swipe with the remaining scalpel but the thin blade connected with his chest, opening a wound diagonally from his right shoulder to his breastbone.

“She’s mine,” Peter snarled, dropping into a crouch. “She came to me!”

“You took her,” Varik snapped as they circled.

“I saved her! I showed her the truth about you, about her father, and now she loves me, not you.” He smiled. “She’s already forgotten all about you.”

The blood-bond opened and Varik cried out as pain seared his mind. He sank to his knees, helpless as Peter manipulated the bond to show him the hell in Alex’s mind.

Memories—their memories—were nearly all gone, burned away and new ones erected in their place. Tears of agony tracked down his cheeks as he writhed on the floor at the Dollmaker’s feet.

“You see now,” Peter said calmly, kneeling beside Varik. “I’ve already touched her more deeply than you could ever dream of doing.”

Varik groaned as another wave of fire burned his brain.

“I made her forget about you. Only a few memories to go and then she’ll be completely mine.” He grabbed the front of Varik’s bloody shirt, pulled him to his feet, and walked him to the stairs. “And after I kill you, I’ll finish what I started. I’ll mindf*ck her and when she no longer even remembers your name, I’ll f*ck her body until she cries out my name.”

Teetering on the edge of the first step, Varik growled, “I’ll kill you first.”

“You can try.”

Varik frantically grabbed for Peter and then the stair railing as he was shoved backward. He hung suspended in mid-air for a moment before crashing into the hard edges of the staircase. He felt something snap in his lower left leg as he tumbled head over heels to land in a battered heap at the bottom.

Laughter rang from above. “And he sticks the landing!”

Using the banisters and handrail, Varik maneuvered into sitting position. Footsteps banged on the stairs overhead. Groaning with the effort, he pushed to his feet and gritted his teeth, ignoring the sharp pain in his left leg as he hobbled to the fireplace. He found a set of rusted iron tools and grabbed the longest poker.

Peter skipped the last two steps, laughing as Varik haltingly turned to face him and hefted the poker like a bat. “You’re going to beat me to death with a poker?” He snorted with laughter. “Oh, now that’s original.”

“Who said it was for you, a*shole?” Varik rasped and swung the poker at the nearest display case.

“No!”

Glass shattered and porcelain doll heads disintegrated. The stench of decay intensified as the blood contained within the heads was exposed to the air for the first time since being sealed away.

Peter shrieked and clutched his head in pain.

Varik raked a line of dolls off a shelf, destroying them.

Peter howled.

He smashed another display case.

Peter roared and leapt forward.

Varik met his charge, thrusting the poker like a sword before him. The poker pierced Peter’s flesh below the breastbone, impaling him on the hooked end.

The Dollmaker dropped to his knees, eyes wide. He clawed at Varik and blood bubbled from his mouth as he tried to speak, but no words came forth.

Varik released the poker and let him crumple to the floor. For the first time, he heard sirens wailing, growing louder as they approached. His eyes shot to the stairs. “Alex.”

Using the wall for balance, he stepped over the struggling vampire and limped toward the stairs. He reached the steps and balanced himself between the wall and handrail. On one foot, he bunny-hopped up the first flight.

Sirens whooped outside as Damian and the others arrived. Varik gritted his teeth and repeated the process to hop up the remaining flight of stairs to the second floor.

Downstairs, the front door banged open and a cacophony of shouts filled the house.

Varik located the oversized Duchamp print in the hallway. He knew it concealed a door, if he could just find the opening trigger.

“Varik!” Damian’s voice boomed downstairs.

He didn’t answer. He ran a hand over the edges of the ornate frame and felt a hidden latch. When he flipped the trigger, the concealed door swung open to reveal another narrow set of stairs.

“Baudelaire!” Damian called. “Answer me, goddamn it!”

He tried to bunny-hop the new stairs but their narrowness prevented it. “Alex!” He listened for a response or any sign of movement. “If you can hear me, answer me, baby!”

Silence rang in his ears.

Fear spurred him into action. Grimacing with each step that scraped over his injured leg, he crawled on hands and knees up the stairs.

He reached the attic and saw Alex lying motionless a few feet from the stairs. “Alex?”

She didn’t move.

“Baby,” he called, crawling to her. “Baby, it’s me. I’m here.” Her face was turned away and he gently moved her head toward him.

Unseeing emerald eyes stared into his soul.

“Alex?” He shook her shoulders. “Alexandra!” He felt for a pulse at her throat and found none. “No, no, no! Don’t do this to me! Alex!”

Stampeding footsteps rushed up the stairs. Damian and two Enforcers carrying medical kits entered the attic. One of the medics knelt beside Alex and began CPR while the other attempted to check Varik’s wounds.

“I’m fine,” he growled and pushed the medic away. “Help her.”

The medic glanced at Alex and then Damian, who nodded, and the medic slid over to assist his partner.

Varik stayed beside her, holding her hand. “I can’t lose her, Damian,” he whispered as the big vampire squatted next to him. “Not like this.”

Damian gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

As the medics continued to work on Alex, tears fell from Varik’s face to land on Alex’s hand. Minutes ticked by with no change and it took Varik a moment to realize the medics had ceased their effort.

“Why did you stop? Don’t stop! She’s not—” His words ended in a strangled choke. “She’s not …”

“Varik,” Damian said softly. “They’ve done all they can. She’s gone.”

He shook his head. “No. I don’t believe that. I would know. I would feel it!”

“You have to let her go.”

“No!” Varik shoved Damian away. “She’s not dead! We’re bond-mates! I would know!” Pain ripped through him, tearing his soul in two. He brushed away the hair from her face. “I would know,” he whispered.

He gently gathered her in his arms. As he looked into her unblinking eyes, anger burned away his grief and he lifted his head, shouting at the ceiling. “Bernard! You bring her back to me! Do you hear me? Bring her back like you brought me back!”

Fresh tears flowed in the tracks left by others as he looked down at Alex. “Bring her back,” he whispered. He rocked in place with her. “Bring her back … bring her back … bring her back …”