Crimson Veil (Otherworld/Sisters of the Moon #15)

Crimson Veil (Otherworld/Sisters of the Moon #15) Page 26

She shook her head. “No. It just feels narrower than usual because it was a side street. However, again—yes. There should be tunnels branching off, with the amount of building and expansion that has gone on down here. But nothing.”

By the looks of the tunnel, there had been more than cosmetic work done down here in the past ten years.

“I’ll bet you anything, Lowestar had some renovation done down here to give him more privacy. It would make sense when you consider the scope of the operation that he’s running. It’s probably a multimillion-dollar business. He’s not going to jeopardize that—nor is he going to risk being found out. Even if the FBH courts wouldn’t know what to do with him, you can bet some angry Supe would do their best to take him out.”

Delilah laughed. “I know somebody who would probably love to get his hands on this knowledge. He could make book with it so big.”

Camille chimed in from behind. “Are you talking about Daniel?”

“Daniel? No. I’m talking about Alex—someone I met not long ago at the Supe-Urban Café. He owns the Fly by Night Investigations Agency. He and his crew are bounty hunters in a sense. They not only take on paranormal cases, but go after rogue Supes. I’m surprised you haven’t met the guy, Menolly. He’s a vampire and his IT guy is a werewolf.”

I frowned. The name of the agency sounded vaguely familiar. “They’re in Seattle?”

“Yeah. I thought of him because his last name is the same as our villain’s. Radcliffe. But without the e on the end. And there’s no connection; that much I can tell you. I checked into it. Alex was originally from Australia.” She let out a chuckle. “Not your usual vamp either.”

I wanted to ask what she meant by that, but just then, we reached the end of the road. Literally. The tunnel ended at another brick wall. But to the right, we saw a sign. PETE’S BARBERSHOP. And against the brick façade built over the mouth of the passageway were two sconces.

Tanne pointed. “That’s what I saw. We’re here.”

“Then we’re close to Lowestar’s cells. Did you notice any sort of trap, any other action he took when he came through here?” I gazed at the Fae, hoping to hell he was remembering correctly.

He shook his head. “No, he just fiddled with the sconce and the passageway opened. There’s a knob back there, I can see it. That’s what he was turning. I’ll do it. I just hope to hell we find her in one piece.” He moved forward, his lips set.

There wasn’t much I could say to that. A woman he loved had been kidnapped and was slated to be sold to the highest bidder. The only thing we could do was pray she was still here, and hadn’t been farmed out yet. If she’d been auctioned off, we might never be able to find out where she was.

Behind me, Delilah readied her dagger as Roz pulled out a silver short sword. I could hear Camille and Morio ramping up some sort of spell, and Smoky was, as ever, poised for action. I gave Tanne a silent nod.

He moved to the sconce and reached up, hesitating just a single heartbeat before he twisted the knob. Another heartbeat—I could hear his heart pounding in his chest—and a brick panel slid back.

On the other side, waiting to greet us, stood four armed guards. They weren’t Tregarts—think burly biker-demons—but they reminded me of them. And they were fully armed with coldset iron blades—close enough to unalloyed iron in nature that they could do nasty damage to the Fae—and heavy-duty bullwhips. I shuddered. Demons or daemons, there were subsets of both who were so fucking good with whips they could behead a man with a single flick of the wrist.

Then, as they parted slightly, we could see behind them. There, lumbering like a giant three-headed Rottweiler, was a hellhound. He was almost shoulder high to me, huge and with eyes as fiery as his nature.

“Crap! Not hellhounds.” Behind me, Camille groaned and I could hear her heart pounding. The monsters had acid in their blood, and, in one battle, Camille had been on the wrong end of it. She still bore the scar.

As the guards pushed forward into the hallway, we fell back, making room for the looming battle. Then, before they could make the first move to attack, I took the initiative and launched myself forward. And once again, the fight was on.

Chapter 13

As I raced forward, I decided to take on the hellhound. He couldn’t do as much damage to me as he could to my sisters, and they could probably handle the daemons easier.

The daemons weren’t prepared for my attack, and I managed to launch myself off the floor, over their heads, to land behind them. Turning, I shoved them both, forcing them to stumble forward, which would give the others an advantage. Then I whirled to face the hellhound.

The creature was full grown, meaning he was nearly shoulder high to me. Black as night, the three-headed dog had fiery eyes, and each of those heads was rife with teeth that could rip flesh and sinew. I had already decided that one of the best ways to take it down would be to avoid shedding its blood. That way I wouldn’t chance the acidic liquid spraying on the others.

One thing about hellhounds—they were intelligent. They were guarded, cunning, and volatile. And they didn’t have a lot of patience. When I landed in front of it, there was no hemming or hawing. The hellhound met my aggression, lunging forward, the center head with jaws gaping, ready to bite.

I kicked it under the chin, the force of my foot shoving the freak up off its front legs and skidding it sideways. Before it had time to regroup, I slammed into its side, pushing it farther back, away from the main group. I could hear shouts from behind, and I knew that the fight was on, but I didn’t dare chance glancing over my shoulder to see how they were doing.

The hellhound scrambled, recovering its footing as I hit it again. No time to think—no time to plan. I was in out-and-out beat it senseless mode. But this time, it was ready for my attack and its right head swung around, the gnashing teeth grabbing hold of the sleeve of my jacket. The monster yanked, and—even though I’d seen it coming, I wasn’t prepared for the force of the brute. I stumbled, falling as my arm slipped out of the sleeve, and as I rolled, I pulled my other arm out. But it dropped the jacket the minute it saw me pull away.

As it lunged again, I scrambled to my feet, but the creature landed against me and sent me flying back. Before it could snap at my face, all three of the thing’s slobbering jowls looming over me, I managed to roll away, and once again, come up into a crouch. I wondered what the fuck would happen if I tried to drink it down? Would acidic blood hurt me? The acid was corrosive but I didn’t know if it would react like fire on me. I decided a sample taste couldn’t hurt. Well, maybe not too much.

Leaping on its back, I leaned down and sank my teeth into the skin. Immediately a foul-tasting liquid poured into my mouth, stinging like hell. I spit it out as I felt welts rise up inside my mouth from the corrosive blood. Well, hell, that wasn’t going to work, and now the fucker was bleeding from the place where I’d fanged it.

The hellhound yelped and the left head let out a curse in some language I couldn’t understand, while the right swung the body around and thrust its muzzle at me, this time latching on to my leg. I yelped—even if I could survive an attack like this, it still fucking hurt.

I brought my hands down, fists clenched, on top of its head with full force, driving them deep into the skull. Bones shattering, the sound of my hands meeting brain was one I never got used to—a sucking, squishy sound that left me nauseated and yet oddly elated.

“One down!” As the teeth let go of my leg and the hellhound staggered, I was on my feet, and this time I grabbed the tail, spinning it around. Heavy as it was, I was stronger, thanks to my vampiric nature, and I managed to lift the creature off the ground a few inches, whirling it like I was Thor, wielding his mighty hammer. As I built up momentum, the hellhound seemed to realize it needed to book its way out of my grasp and began to struggle, so I waited till I was facing away from the group, then let go.

The hellhound went flying through the air, landing against the opposite wall with a massive thud that actually shook the ground, dazing the two heads that were still alive. It was still foggy—meaning, I’d just bought more time.

I moved in again, racing forward to land on its back once more. This time I brought my fists down on the second head, which seemed to be the smarter of the three, and once again, the crunching of bone, the shattering of skull, and another one was down.

As the remaining head howled, I grabbed it around the neck and abruptly twisted, rejoicing in the strength of my body, the elation of the kill, the feel of its life draining away in my hands. Reveling in the bloodlust as my hunger flared, I rose up with a low growl, turning to see how the others were doing. I was in my game, ready for more.

The others were still facing off with the guards, but they couldn’t get near enough to fight. The lead daemon had a pair of whips out, going a mile a minute, and he knew how to use them. He alternated sides as the whips became propellers, dangerously lethal. They could take a head off, slice a throat, rend flesh. The crack of the whips echoed through the air with ear-popping precision as he moved forward, his buddies behind him.

Camille and Morio had backed a ways down the hall. They were holding hands, preparing a spell. Magic might be our only hope right now, unless we could get those whips away—but then, I realized, I was facing the back of the daemons. They seemed to have forgotten about me, leaving me to the hellhound’s devices. I had the perfect opportunity to narrow the odds a bit. Within two shakes I bounded across the room and launched myself at the one in back, grappling him around the neck and pulling him to the floor with me.

He went down hard—he was big and heavy and his leather armor was stiff to the point of being wooden. I had the upper hand, having surprised him, but I wouldn’t for long, so I took full advantage of my position. I grabbed a handful of his hair as I sat on his chest, used it to yank his head off the ground, then smashed it against the floor. He let out a shout as he tried to push me away, but I backhanded him, hard, and his neck snapped to the left with a nasty crack. He wasn’t dead, but that had to hurt.

Apparently, one of his buddies noticed the scuffle, because the next thing I knew, I was unceremoniously ripped off my opponent’s belly, and I found myself flat on my back to the side of him. As he rolled out of the way, I saw the daemon standing over me bring his whip up, and the next thing I knew, the whistling tip had sliced through my clothing, leaving a long gash on my left side.

The pain made me gasp, but I managed to roll to the side, avoiding his next flick of the whip. Then, I readied myself, and on the third crack, before he could yank it back, my lightning-quick reflexes allowed me to grab the end.

He didn’t count on me being a vampire—with the accompanying strength—because when I gave a hearty yank, he stumbled forward, close enough for me to catch the back of his leg with my toe. I pulled, jerking my foot, and he went down in a tumble, falling on his buddy.

With the both of them in a tangle, I shouted for help just as some sort of an explosion went off. It sounded magical by nature, so I could only assume Camille and Morio had let off some spell.

The next moment, Smoky appeared in a shimmer—thank the gods for the Ionyc Seas—and he ripped into my opponents, talons lengthening as he intervened between the daemons and me.

Never anger a dragon. Even in human form, Smoky was a nightmare on the battlefield, and he managed to slice through one’s armor, neat as a pin. The other daemon—the one who I’d first attacked—scrambled back, like a crab scuttling along the sand. He was weaving erratically as he tried to get out of the way, and I realized I’d managed to give him a pretty nasty head injury.

Before the prone daemon could lift a finger to protect himself, Smoky let loose with another slash, neatly eviscerating him. As a pile of steaming intestines and other internal organs came pouring through the wide, deep gash, the daemon let out a howl, then fell silent, his head dropping to the side. With one last strike, Smoky slit his throat to ensure he was dead, then turned to the other daemon, who had managed to stagger to his feet, but was still weaving back and forth.

“I’ve got this.” Smoky pushed past me, and within seconds, the other daemon hit the ground, his throat bloody. The sight and scent of the blood stimulated my predatory nature, and I knew that I had to feed, and fast, because both the scent and the rush of the fight were pushing me over the edge.

“Give me space.” I stared at Smoky.

His gaze flickered to my face, then he simply nodded and turned back to the others. I fell on the dead daemon, the thirst gnawing in me as I sucked up the blood, licking the wound joyfully.

There was power in the blood, and life force, and it sang in my mouth. I had tasted demon’s blood before and it had frightened me with the strength and nasty aftertaste it left behind. But this… this was different. The daemon’s blood—at least this one’s—was sweet, and full in my mouth. Ripe and fruity and sparkling, like champagne. I reeled. What the hell? I’d had reactions to blood before but this was…

The room began to spin and I let out a low laugh. I wanted more. Wanted a mouthful, a bellyful, wanted to drain the whole damned river of it that was flowing out of the creature. I fell on him, savaging the corpse, practically rolling in the stuff. Elated, feeling dizzy, I sucked up as much of the blood as I could before I realized Smoky was pulling me off the body.

“Let go! Let me go!” I struggled with him, furious, wanting only to return to my bloody feast.

“Camille—we need you!” Smoky bellowed out as he held me fast.

In my haze, I noticed the other two daemons were down and Camille was running past their bodies. She took one look at the situation and let out a loud command.