Send it back.
Underwood closes his eyes. Only a tiny movement in his shoulders, an involuntary gasp, tells me it worked. Instead of debilitating him, though, the way it did Lance, the way it did the others, he welcomes it, absorbs it, lets it permeate his body and mind. After a moment, he licks his lips and smiles down at me.
You have a few tricks of your own, don’t you?
He snaps his fingers. Breaks the spell. Turns to Stephen and the others. Go inside. The private dining room is reserved for us. Tell Brian we’re ready.
As one, the five vampires and their hosts pick up the thread of their conversation as if nothing happened, move through the door, disappear into the interior of the restaurant. They show no reaction to the numbing pain of a moment before. Even Lance stands quietly beside me, his mind reflecting only concern for me. The events of the last five minutes lost.
I want to shake him. Scream. Snap him out of the fugue state he’s lost in.
Underwood speaks to me. And what about you, Anna Strong? Will you be staying?
That he knows my name does not surprise me. He knew it before Stephen, before Lance. This creature in his Dolce & Gabbana suit and Ferragamo shoes made himself comfortable in my head. How can you ask? You already know my answer.
He shakes his head, mouth turned down in a frown of disappointment. I was hoping for a more adventurous spirit. I’m sorry you feel so threatened.
Threatened? I want to sink my teeth into his neck, shake him like a wolf with a rattler. Only Lance’s presence keeps me from attacking. I don’t know what hold he has on Lance, what harm he’s capable of inflicting. Best to get away.
He signals to the doorman. “Would you be kind enough to call Ms. Strong a cab?”
I wave the doorman off. “That won’t be necessary. Lance brought me, he’ll take me home.”
Again, a shake of the head. “I’m afraid not. Broderick and I have a lot of catching up to do. If you insist on leaving, it will be alone.”
I look up at Lance. He has shut me out of his head.
My stomach contracts at the thought that he would want to stay. When he meets my gaze his expression is resigned and unafraid. What is wrong with him? He can’t see this man is evil?
Lance takes my shoulders in his hands. “I won’t be long.”
No. Lance, he can’t force you to stay. If it’s a spell—
He kisses me, softly, on the lips. Spell? Why would you think that? Julian is not forcing me. I want to stay.
He drops his hands.
Underwood is watching me. Once again, he signals the doorman, who picks up a telephone at the valet desk.
Lance leaves me with a small wave. Underwood and I stare at each other.
“Don’t fight it, Anna. Broderick and I are old friends. I’ll send him back to you when we’ve caught up.” He drags a finger down the length of my right arm. “He’s safe with me.”
My skin burns where his finger touched my skin. I jerk back, instantly angry with myself for the reaction. It’s just what Underwood expected, his eyes narrowing with satisfaction.
“You fuck.”
But Underwood has already turned away from me. I stare at his back.
I don’t know what to do. I know I can’t stay. When I looked into Underwood’s eyes, I was looking into an abyss—empty, threatening, full of horror. I’m afraid if I stay, I’ll be drawn into that pit. Even the depth of my disgust isn’t enough to protect myself from this kind of evil. How could I imagine I’d be able to protect Lance?
I’ll have to trust Lance’s instincts. Underwood is his sire. It’s too late now to ask the questions I should have asked him earlier. The questions I’ll ask him the minute he gets home.
Underwood is more than an old-soul vampire. He possesses more than vampiric powers. He uses sorcery.
What sort of creature does that? What sort of demon?
CHAPTER 11
I’m alone in the house.
Restless.
Afraid.
Not for myself. For Lance.
I never should have left him. I let that bastard Underwood get to me. Now he’s out there somewhere with Lance, and I’m here making myself crazy with worry. The worst thing? I don’t know why. It’s not as if Lance isn’t capable of taking care of himself.
A clock somewhere chimes the hours. Midnight. Lance has been gone three hours.
I’m not waiting any longer.
I run upstairs, change out of the gown and into jeans and a T-shirt. I grab my keys and head for the garage.
Shit. I realize I don’t know where the restaurant is located. I didn’t pay attention on the ride over. I plug the name into the Jag’s GPS system and the directions flash on the screen.
I’m there in twenty minutes. The parking lot is still full. Music floats on the air from a lounge somewhere to the right.
The doorman stops me at the door. “I’m sorry, miss. No jeans after nine.”
I stare at him. I didn’t think places that had dress codes still existed. I fish a twenty out of my wallet. “I won’t stay long. I just need to see if my friend is inside.”
He waves away the money. “Sorry. Maybe if you tell me your friend’s name?”
“Lance Turner. No, wait. He’s probably known here as—”
“Rick.” The guy grins. “The model, right? Sure. He was here. With Julian Underwood’s party. They left about ninety minutes ago.”
Ninety minutes? “Do you know where they went?”
He shakes his head. “No. Sorry.”
A couple approaches and he moves away to open the door. When he comes back, I add another twenty to the first. “You wouldn’t happen to know where Mr. Underwood lives, do you?”
He frowns. “If I started giving out customer’s personal information, I wouldn’t have a job very long, would I?”
Shit. He continues to glare at me as if I’ve insulted his integrity. He’s a valet at a goddamned restaurant, for Christ’s sake. It makes me want to show him what a real insult would be—knocking his ass to the ground in front of all his “customers” and slapping him until he squeals like a girl.
But what good would that do? None, except get me arrested.
I turn my back on the self-righteous jerk, run to the car. Time to move on.
Maybe Adele is back and knows where I can find Underwood. She knows so much about Lance’s life, she’s bound to know where “the boys” like to party.
I let myself back into the house through the garage. The MG is still gone. I’m beginning to feel more anger than concern—at Lance, at myself. Why would he stay with Underwood instead of coming home with me? Why did I let him?
I start up the stairs, calling to Adele.
There’s no answer.
Then I hear it.
A moan.
It stops me.
I grow still.
Listen.
It comes again. So soft, so low, it takes all my concentration to get a bearing on the sound. A human ear would never pick it up. In the silence that follows, I wonder if I imagined it. Could it be the wind?
No.
When it comes a third time, I feel pain behind it.
A spasm of alarm triggers the animal instinct. I feel the pain because I’m meant to feel it. I know it as surely as I know whose pain I’m feeling.
Lance.
Somewhere in this house. Not upstairs.
I ignore the frenetic beating of my heart.
Concentrate.
Lance, where are you?
No answer. Another ghostly moan.
From somewhere beneath me.
A basement?
Lance didn’t show me a basement today.