“Aidan—”
“You, Paris.” He looked back. “And when the time is right, you’ll know what to do.” Maybe you’ll use it on Jane. Maybe you’ll use it on me.
Or maybe…maybe you’ll just watch us destroy each other.
Chapter Seventeen
Annette stared down into her mirror once again. Aidan would find the other alpha, of that, she had no doubt. And Aidan was strong enough to win the battle, but…
But that isn’t how I see it ending.
Her breath caught in her throat as she gazed into the mirror. No, no, no!
The images tore through her mind and she jumped to her feet. She had to get to Aidan. Had to stop him. Annette grabbed her car keys and raced outside.
And she slammed straight into the vampire who’d been waiting for her. Not that he looked like a vampire. He was tall, handsome, dressed expensively. His hair was perfectly styled, his body strong and—
And when I look at him, I know exactly what he is…because I saw him in my visions. I saw him die on a Viking ship.
“Annette Benoit,” he murmured, his voice smooth and rich and deep. He gave her a little bow. “I have to say, I’m honored to meet you.”
Annette jerked out the wooden stake that she kept in her bag, for emergencies just like this one. “I’m not so honored.” She shoved the stake against his chest.
He…didn’t stop her.
The stake cut through his skin. Blood soaked his shirt.
But she didn’t drive the stake down into his heart. He wasn’t fighting her, and that was just…wrong.
“Wrong,” Annette whispered, the word settling deep within her. Something was wrong.
“I like my heart, old and battered though it may be,” the vampire said. “So how about we just leave it where it is?” Carefully, his fingers closed around her wrist and he eased the stake out of his chest. “Thank you.”
Her temples were pounding. “What’s happening?”
“I don’t know. And since my witch isn’t close enough to help me figure things out…I thought you might be able to take her place.”
Annette’s eyes narrowed on him.
“Jane can’t take blood. When she tries, she just vomits it up.” His voice roughened, belying his controlled appearance. “And every moment that passes without her getting blood, well, it’s a moment that drives her closer to the edge. Soon, there won’t be any sane thought for her. She’d slip over that thin line that separates good and evil, and Jane will be lost, just like so many other vamps have lost themselves to the bloodlust.”
Annette shivered.
“Jane has to take blood. It is a simple matter of survival for her. But she has to be controlled when she does it. Taking a life when you first drink…that’s the tipping point for vampires. The darkness grows within them after that act, and there is no stopping it from consuming their souls.”
Her breath heaved out. “But Jane can’t take blood.”
“No…no, she’s starving and we have to find a way to help her.” The faint lines near his mouth tightened. “This wasn’t the way it was supposed to work. But Jane…something is different.”
Wrong. Her heart stuttered in her chest. “Where is Jane now?”
“She’s safe. Don’t worry. I left her chained up.”
She flinched.
“She’s in an old building near the St. Louis Cemetery. She won’t hurt anyone, not as long as she stays chained up.”
St. Louis Cemetery.
Aidan was going to that cemetery. Oh, hell.
“She won’t stay chained up long,” Annette announced. “She’ll break loose.” She grabbed the vampire. “You’ve been using your witch’s magic to vanish?”
He nodded.
“Good. Then use it now. Get us to Jane, as fast as you can.” Before it was too late.
***
Quint Laurel smiled at his prey. The police captain was spread out, her blood still seeping from her wounds, as she lay before the old crypt. The blond reporter—Sarah Steele was sobbing, too terrified of him to move.
Soon, the whole world would be terrified.
“You’re going to film me,” he told the reporter. Then there would be no denying what he was. The humans would all understand. He motioned to the phone in her hands. The woman was so far gone, a freaking wreck, that she hadn’t even thought to call for help. Not that he would have let her but…still, her fear was incredibly gratifying. It was like she was his puppet on a string. Pull that string, pull it. “You’ll record every moment. Then you’ll show it on the news. You’ll show the world.”
“Please,” the news anchor whispered as heavy tracks of mascara bled down her cheeks. “Let us go. Just let us go.”