Another mate had been infected and the bastard hadn’t even contacted them. Conn forced his shoulders to slump and his words to slur. “Who else, Marcus? Who else did they get?”
The cat studied him for a moment, rage and pain flickering in his eyes. “They got five from my clan. I haven’t heard of any others.” He shrugged the gun off his shoulder to lean against the wall. “Two are females, who lost the ability to shift.”
Conn barely kept his head from jerking up. Drugged. He needed to appear drugged. “Any males infected?” The virus didn’t infect vampires, all whom were male and had more chromosomal pairs than every other race except for demons. The scientists believed that was what protected them from the virus. They’d been waiting for confirmation that the virus infected male shifters.
“Three males.” Marcus gripped the bars with whitened knuckles. “And guess what, Kayrs?” His voice lowered to a hiss. “They didn’t lose the ability to shift. Sure, the moon had to be full. They shifted into something that ...” The color drained from his angular face. A snarl ripped from his throat. “We had to kill them all.”
Jesus. The Kurjans might be successful in creating a werewolf slave class from shifters.
“So going after Jordan isn’t a political move. You want revenge.” Conn understood. If someone killed Moira, he’d burn the earth dry for vengeance. But he’d go after the right people, the ones at fault.
“Turning against the Realm won’t help you find justice.” He concentrated, and his femur popped back into place.
“Sure it will.” Marcus smiled. “I know about you, Kayrs, and your great friendship with Jordan Pride. His buddy, his comrade in war, dying in his place? This will kill him.” Marcus cracked his knuckles. “Taking you out serves revenge and my political agenda. Good thing you showed up in that tunnel.”
A vehicle rumbled by outside. Men’s voices echoed in the distance. Ah. Conn’s senses were returning. But man, he needed blood.
The door shoved open again, catching at several points and scattering dirt. Metal glinted from a tripod as a teenager quickly set a video camera on top, his movements smooth and economical. He took a moment to glare over his shoulder, his eyes full of hate, his features a younger version of Marcus’. “We’re gonna make you truly immortal, vampire scum.”
Even annoyed, empathy for the boy slid through Conn. He’d lost his mother when a mere twenty years old, and the wound still cut deep. He doubted the surly teenager would appreciate the sympathy, though, and wondered if the kid had streaked his hair a bright blue and pierced his nose, chin, and ears before his mother died. Adrenaline began to pump through Conn’s meager amount of blood.
Marcus jerked his head toward the door. “Tell Roland to bring in the blowtorch.”
With another venomous glare, the teenager loped away.
“Your son?” Conn asked.
“Yes.” Marcus fiddled with the camera until a green light blinked.
“I’m surprised you’d let him witness you torturing someone.” Jase had been thrust into war at the age of fifteen, and it had been a mistake. Kids should be protected from life.
“He deserves vengeance.” Marcus grabbed the gun in one hand, levering the barrel toward Conn’s chest. “I can’t broadcast your death in real time, as the king would trace our location. But I can video the removal of your head for the entire Realm to enjoy.”
“You’ll die before I do, Marcus.” Conn’s head lolled on his shoulders as he formulated a plan. He was getting tired of pretending to be drugged. When the hell was Marcus going to make a move?
“Even if you didn’t, my brothers would spend their last breath hunting you down like the vermin you are, taking turns slicing the skin from your body.” Not to mention his mate. Moira would track the bastard as well. Pride filled him along with unease. While the woman was trained, she lacked the physical strength to really fight. Good thing she made her own weapons with energy.
“Your brothers are weak.” Marcus kicked the chair out of the way. “Even the Coven Nine is aligning with the demons against you, which means the end. For the Kayrs lineage at least.” He angled the tripod closer to the bars. “First I’m going to beat you bloody. Well, bloodier. Then I plan to start you on fire. Finally, we’ll slice your head off. Everyone will see the weakness of the Realm.” Grabbing the gun, he fired three darts into Conn’s abs.
Conn let out a fake snarl and jerked against his restraints, turning to face the back wall and sagging down.
“Damn it,” Marcus huffed. “Kayrs, turn around. I need your agony to be seen.”
Conn let out a low groan, his body staying lax.
The bars rattled and the earthy scent of panther wafted closer. The air swished around Conn, and pain immediately exploded at the base of his spine. He hadn’t expected Marcus to swing the bat. Three more hits came in rapid succession, the metal spikes ripping flesh from his bones. Half of his remaining kidney ripped apart, staying attached to the bat.
No more. With a growl that came from beyond his soul, Conn twisted around, kicking the bat and pulling himself up high enough to clap his knees to Marcus’ neck. The bat slammed against the rock wall with a vibrating hum. Marcus bellowed in protest. Conn balanced himself with the steel ropes and his prey’s body.
He levered back, tightening his knees harder against the panther’s jugular, ignoring the shards of pain shooting through his internal organs.
Marcus grabbed for Conn’s thighs, his face turning purple, his mouth opening to gasp for air. His fingertips dug in, seeking release. A shimmering glowed along his skin.
Conn twisted, anger hazing his vision. “You start to shift and I’ll break your neck.” He needed to keep the guy alive to get out of there safely. “Give me the key.”
Marcus’ cheeks billowed out like those of a fish in a cartoon. He clenched his hand into a fist, pummeling Conn’s battered thigh. Shredded tendons and destroyed muscles screamed in agony. With a quick jerk, Marcus reached for his back pocket, swinging up and plunging a double-edged knife into Conn’s knee. Tissue and muscle opened up like a sardine can.
Fire cascaded through his leg. He roared, his nervous system igniting to fight. A twist of his hips snapped the panther’s neck. Marcus dropped to the ground with a dull thud.
Don’t feel. Think. Conn spit out blood, his mind roiling, his gut clenching. Moira’s pretty green eyes flashed into his head. Dizziness swamped him. The bastard had pierced his femoral artery. Blood he couldn’t afford to lose washed down his leg. Sparkling dots scattered across his vision.
Conn? Where the hell are you? Feminine, not so sweet, Moira’s voice whispered through his consciousness. Insistent, demanding and ... concerned.
Dunno. His head rolled to the side for real. Need a snack.
You can snack on me when you return. Her voice strengthened. They were getting better at telepathics. Look around. What do you see?
The urgency in her tone centered him. His eyes snapped open. Hold on, Dailtín. This was going to fucking hurt. Shoving pain away from the surface, he grabbed the steel ropes, swinging his head back and his legs into the air, bending at the knees. The knife handle smacked into his hand. His low growl of pain competed with the shrieking one he kept inside.
Biting his lip, he rotated his hold, yanking the knife out. His breath caught in his gut. His heart may have stopped. He was unable to control his legs. They dropped back to the ground, one foot landing on the dead shifter’s chest. Pain hurled through Conn and he sucked the waves in. Rode them. Welcomed them until they ebbed. Time wasn’t his friend. Someone would come looking for Marcus soon.