Vincent stayed on the floor, his gun gripped in his hand. “That was…tense.”
“Paris died tonight,” Jane said. Vincent had been keeping tabs on her long before she’d become a vamp—she had no doubt that he knew all about Aidan’s long friendship with the other wolf. “Only he…he came back as a vampire.”
“No.” Vincent shot to his feet. He tucked the gun in his waistband and adjusted the gold chain that looped around his neck and disappeared beneath his shirt. “Sorry, love, but that doesn’t happen. Not with werewolves. They don’t—”
“They do.” She pointed toward the lab door. “Go take a look for yourself if you don’t believe me. He transformed.”
Vincent frowned at her. She frowned back. Vincent wasn’t exactly on her friend list. More of a Watch-Very-Closely list. “He transformed,” Jane said again, “and I was wondering…were you the one who did this to him?”
The wolf snarled.
Vincent shook his head. “No! Of course not! Look, I told you, it can’t be done.”
In a flash, Jane was before him. “It is done.” And she was terrified. Terrified because…I don’t want to end Paris. “Now you helped me when I became a vampire, and I need you to help Paris now. I need you to fix him.”
“Fix him?” Vincent laughed. “There is no fixing—”
Jane pointed to her shoulder. “He attacked me. He was wild. Manic.”
The wolf growled behind her.
“We have to stop Paris. He can’t be…he can’t be like the others.” The other vampires she’d encountered. The terrible ones who killed their own families. “Please.”
Vincent’s gaze sharpened on her. “If I help him…what will you give me?”
“This isn’t a game!”
“No, no, it’s not.” Vincent’s lips thinned. “There will be a price you have to pay.”
Wasn’t there always? Jane looked back at Aidan. Even as a beast, he carried pain in his eyes. “Just help him,” Jane whispered. “And I’ll pay whatever you want.”
Chapter Seven
The old building near the cemetery used to be a BDSM club. That was why there were so many chains and ropes hanging from the walls and the ceiling, part of the leftover decor.
It had also been Jane’s prison, once. For a time that Aidan didn’t like remembering. When she’d first transformed into a vampire, Vincent had held Jane in that place. He’d been trying to make sure she didn’t attack anyone.
Or so the vamp said.
I still think the bastard was just keeping my Jane from me.
“He’s secure,” Vincent said, as he tested the chains that now bound Paris’s wrists and ankles. Not the old chains that had come with the building—those were just for show, but with new, gleaming manacles. Paris was still out cold, courtesy of Annette and her spells. He was on a mattress they’d brought in for him, chained hand and foot.
And it fucking infuriated Aidan. A hard rumble slipped from him. Werewolves weren’t meant to be chained up.
Vincent’s stare cut his way. “You doing all right, wolf?” His eyes swept over Aidan. “Or are you about to go all beast again?”
Aidan was back in the form of a man, and his control was holding, for the moment. He’d only lost it and shifted into a beast back at the ME’s office because he’d been so shocked.
Paris would never want to be a vampire. He wouldn’t want to live this way.
“Don’t worry about me,” Aidan gritted out the words. Worry about yourself because I still owe you a reckoning. He and Vincent would never be fucking friends. Enemies by blood.
Enemies until death.
I’ll never forgive him for what he did to Jane. The vamp needs to get his ass out of my town. Aidan flexed his fingers. “The way I see it…” He took a step closer to Vincent. Jane and Annette tensed, and he could feel their stares on him. “Only a vampire could transform Paris. I know of two vampires in this town. Jane and…you. Since Jane didn’t do this, well…” Well, I think you’re the tricky bastard who did. Maybe Vincent had been the guy setting up all of the little tests for Jane.
Why? Because he wanted to see just what another born vampire could do?
Or maybe because he was just a crazy fuck who needed to be put out of his misery?
“It wasn’t me,” Vincent said, voice flat. “I haven’t been near your pack in days. Not near them, not near Jane. I was—” But he broke off, looking away.
“You were what?” Jane called.
Vincent glanced over at her. “I was waiting for you to come to me.”
Aidan wanted to rip out his heart. “Not happening.”
“I can help her, in ways you will never understand. I can—”
“Forget me,” Jane ordered him flatly. “Help Paris.”
As if on cue, Paris let out a low groan.
“I can put him under again,” Annette said. “I can—”
Vincent locked his fingers around Paris’s jaw. “Do you want to live?”
Aidan stepped forward. The bastard needed to damn well be more careful with his friend—