“You might not have as much time as you normally do,” he warned. The moment Ganelon got wind that Christos had captured the null, he could be assured that the bastard would be breaking down his door. And no way was he going to hand her over—or his other ace in the hole for that matter—without making sure that no matter where they were, they’d answer to him first.
“Hmmm. That does make things more difficult.” Cyrus looked at him with glowing red eyes. “How far did you want me to take this, my king?”
“However far you need in order to make her break. Just don’t kill her.” Christos’s gaze flicked up toward the ceiling and the present that waited for him on the top floor of the other wing. “And keep her in a state that she won’t interfere with my other project, of course.”
“Of course,” Cyrus agreed, sweeping his arm in a wide arc as he tipped his torso toward the floor.
Christos swept by the bowing vampire, his blood already churning with anticipation on how next to break his daughter. Oh yes, Gabriella was indeed proving to be the best welcome-back-to-the-living gift a minion of his Lord Lucifer could hope for.
Chapter 19
Gabby was back in the corner of her room, the one that she’d spent way too much time curled up in during her seventy-nine-year sojourn here. She hurt, her entire body groaning with the mammoth effort it took to breathe. But it was her spirit that was bleeding out.
Christos was alive. And though the body may have changed, the evil core had not. From the moment she’d been turned at the age of fourteen until her escape four months ago, she’d fought and resisted, clinging to the remnants of her humanity, etching out the barest of an existence from beneath the whims of his will. She didn’t kid herself into thinking that she’d just been that strong. She’d survived then because he’d had other things to do…and because, she suspected, he found her amusing and enjoyed playing with her. She didn’t fool herself into thinking she’d be afforded such luxuries again.
She was going to die here. Soon. Today even. Because the alternative was unthinkable.
He means to break you, another her whispered from deep within her mind, the one born of blood and darkness, the one who’d taken her pain and molded it into an angry determination to never, ever yield.
I know, she replied, her gut clenching at the visual aids offered from her own memories.
We can’t let him.
I won’t, she promised.
A pause. He’ll go after those you’ve helped next.
Warm tears coursed over the bridge of her nose, combined, then trickled across her temple toward the cold floor. No heat here. Not that vampires needed the warmth. No electricity either, though not because they wouldn’t have enjoyed such luxuries but because they relied so heavily on magic for their wards. To keep the unwanteds away…and to keep their prisoners within.
Magic and electricity didn’t mix well. And this entire place pulsed with the first. Which meant that she had failed before she’d even had a chance to succeed.
Annie was either dead, dying…or they were keeping her someplace else. Regardless, her coming here had played right into Christos’s plans.
The door swung open. Even knowing it was useless, desperation made her lunge toward the opening. The predictable lash to her mind cracked like a whip on her fraying shreds of hope. She moaned. Her brain muddled with pain. Her limbs unresponsive as rough hands grabbed her under her armpits, dragging her up. It was as if her body wasn’t her own, and all she could do was watch as another tied her wrists and looped them over the hook that hung in lieu of the light fixture from the ceiling.
Not Christos—the coward. After subduing her and stuffing her behind the magical bars of her current prison, he’d yet to come himself. Only the others. Her kin. Her torturers. Christos would use them to peel away every layer of resistance she possessed before coming himself.
She closed her eyes, willing her mind to another place as the hands roamed her body. She hardly cringed as fangs pierced her skin, lapping, suckling, before moving on.
It doesn’t matter. They can do what they want to your body, just protect your soul.
She tried to laugh but choked on the sound. Soul? She still wasn’t sure she had one. But even if she did, mental vacations could not help her. She was living her nightmare. And no matter how she fought against the sweeping tide of horror, she knew it was only a matter of time until she succumbed to the onslaught and drowned.
Think of Valin. Close the connection between your brain and body and think of how full your heart felt when he held you in his arms.
She swallowed tears. Yes. Valin had held her. He’d made love to her again and again, his gaze burning as he made her unravel in his arms. Until the morning. When he left.
<<Because that’s what they do. Use and betray. The only reason he ever touched you was to have his revenge.>>
She moaned, shaking her head against the sibilant whisper that threatened to sever her last lifeline.
<<What other reason could there be for him sleeping with you? You killed his mate, remember? It was your conception that caused his ultimate suffering.>>
He made love to me. He kissed me. He…
<<He was playing you. Using you for his revenge.>>
No…
<<Deny all you want, Gabby. But you know. Unloved. Unwanted…except by me.>>
Don’t listen…Don’t listen…
Fangs pierced her throat, their weight suffocating against her windpipe as her attacker pulled directly from the carotid. Her limbs went heavy, clammy sweat beading on her skin and chilling her. Her ears began to ring, her limbs shaking involuntarily.
Holy crap. He’s going to drain me dry. Her brain screamed at her to struggle, though her limbs still refused to respond under the lock Christos had placed upon her. Draining me dry. Going to die.
Valin…God, Valin!
<<They’re right. Something different about you. Your taste…it’s…>> Her attacker pulled away, his tongue swiping across the tender wound to start the healing. How sweet.
She opened her eyes to glare at the asshole that had made her realize how very unprepared she really was to die. Her eyes widened, her breath catching in her bruised throat as she stared at the man fondling her breast: Christos.
She forced herself to swallow her horror. She’d survived before and would again.
“So you finally decided to come face me yourself?” she asked, inserting every bit of bravado she could muster into her voice. “A girl could almost feel loved.”
“Ah, Gabby, how I’ve missed the sweet lash of your tongue.” He ducked down, his tongue darting out to cleanse a path of still-moist blood that dripped down between her breasts before moving on to lap at a still-oozing wound below her nipple.
Hate boiled in her veins, her body shaking with the need to respond despite the bonds upon her will. Those bonds would fail, had to, because somehow, someway she would kill him. Sink her fangs in him and drain him dry. And with his blood she could kill every one of the fuckers who’d touched her.