Captiva Capitulation (16 page)

“You stand corrected,” Kash muttered, trailing him.

“You know, Qudir, maybe you should mention these nastier situations before you call. Like a heads up.” Sixten sauntered into the demolished lab. “Then I’ll kick off my favorite boots and replace them with the old ones I wear for gardening.”

Qudir didn’t glance Sixten’s way. “You don’t do yard work.”

“Still…common gentilities have escaped you lately.” With every step he took, blood squelched beneath his feet, making a God awful suctioning.

Kash pushed a fingertip in his sensitive ear, swiveling it. “Nails on a chalkboard.”

In front of them, blood dripped in slow, large drops onto a metal pan anchored to a gurney. Above, a youthful female with raven hair dangled from the ceiling by chains, her armpits cleanly sliced.

“Where’s the rest coming from?” Sixten asked, since the human’s blood was contained.

“It’s anyone’s guess,” Oycher answered, reaching up for the girl. “There are parts of parts around here, but not enough to allow for this much drainage. The bastards scattered below.”

“She’s gone,” Maestru said, dismissing Oycher’s attempt at her retrieval. “Her soul just left.”

Sixten glanced up, staring in fascination as a soft glow pushed through the ceiling. On the heels of that fascination, he grew numb, knowing if they’d managed to enter merely five minutes earlier…she might have lived. That could have been his Blythe. He fought not to reach for his phone again. The best thing he could do for her was to give her time with Rock to complete their mating, turning her immortal and releasing her from Gianni’s hold. She still didn’t know Gianni may be alive, which he hoped wasn’t the case, and Rock agreed not to tell her. For now.

Kash shook his head, as if following Sixten’s thoughts, pulling his gaze from the ceiling. “Come on, Oycher,” he cautioned, “I know that look, man. You don’t have time to raise and care for an Undead. Fight the urge. Leave her soul in peace.”

Oycher nodded, his beads rattling in his mahogany hair. “She’s just a human, though, not that anyone deserves this, but what did
she
do to warrant their attention?”

“At one point, she lived. That’s what she did to warrant their attention. She existed.” Sixten started with the files, reading his native language, the Habaline tongue. He wondered why they always had paper backups around instead of relying solely on computers.

“We barely sleep. We are lucky to find time to feed, to have lives. We’ve pushed off all domestic issues for our soldiers to handle, which, might I remind you all, they’re not trained for, and
still
we’re not doing enough,” Kash grumbled, going to the back of the lab and examining the alarm system. “They just cut everything. How can they afford to leave lab after lab and never come back? Are their resources indeed limitless?” He fingered the wires, a few sparked with that strange electricity Habalines harnessed. Turning to Qudir, he inquired, “What was your time between arrival and entry, Commander?”

Qudir shrugged, moving in front of a high-resolution screen dancing with DNA chains. “Three minutes tops. Reminding you all, except Sixten, they have higher intelligence. Ask all the questions you want, be dumfounded as usual, they’ll always outsmart us.”

“Taking that into consideration, they destroyed and aborted all of this,” Kash replied, holding out his hands, “in less than
three minutes
. Tops.”

“You’re seeing the same thing I’m seeing, Kash,” Qudir met him with a level look. “Why don’t you dig into that alarm system, reconnect some shit, maybe then something will lead us to their main system or at least an adjacent lab.”

In his peripheral vision, Sixten saw Qudir move to the next workstation. Then Maestru took his place, examining the cycling DNA chains. Sixten offered an opinion based on gut instinct and frightening intelligence, “They’re on a loop you know, fakes or the techs jammed their system. My bets are on fakes. No one’s DNA is that squirrelly.” Sixten caught Maestru’s flinch; the barest of movements, but it happened. That was the Coven Master’s only response, so Sixten snagged the next file, regrettably he couldn’t read it. Blood saturated every word, column and graph.

Qudir moved next to him, picking up various limbs strewn across a stainless steel worktable. All belonged to females, though Sixten didn’t think they amounted to the blood that covered the floor. He shook his head, going through the next stack of papers, wordlessly opening and closing his mouth a few times. No matter how hard he tried, his superior mind refused to place this
level
of cold destruction. Taking into consideration that over the years, he had seen it
all
in varying shades of madness, yet he could not place this.

What was he thinking?

He was a born predator.

Dropping the papers on the worktable, Sixten inhaled. “It’s the same scent bordering all others.” Nearing an arm Qudir gripped, he breathed over the appendage. “Rogue hunters really participated here? Is that what I smell?”

“I’m questioning myself,” Maestru stopped, cocking his head. “It’s hard to pick up with all these underlying aromas.”

“I agree. Still, you can detect odors better than I can.” He moved towards a small door. “There are threads of scent everywhere, hidden under,” Sixten stalled out, moving beyond that thought, his brain working in psychotic speeds. He had no doubt that this was a viable lab, up and working this very night, but they were tipped off. Sure, they could be following Vojaks. That was plausible, but still. “And all of this,” he said, waving one hand over the floor. “It’s a feeble yet nearly effective cover up for the sinister parties involved.” But who were
all
of the players in this sick game? Whose scent were they really covering? Sixten had a hunch, and he didn’t like it one bit.

“Wouldn’t they be covering for the rogue hunters?” Qudir questioned. “Master, didn’t you say the werewolf trackers could scent the Lovci?”

“Yes, I did.”

“There’s something else at work here,” Sixten cut in. “Another creature’s trail the shifters are working overtime to conceal. You still have Adam trussed up, Maestru?”

“Definitely,” the Coven Master replied. “He’s be-spelled inside a cell at the joint faction facility while drumming up countless ways in which to kill you for lying about his Amy’s whereabouts. Why?”

“Just thinking.” Pulling his favorite blade back out, he opened a narrow door to find numerous quart sized bags torn open, dripping with remnants of a
vampire’s
blood. His fangs dropped low, and he shut the door in vampiric speed. “My instinct says they’re still below.”

“Finally.” Oycher stood before the first in a long row of computer screens that he and Kash booted. Now, all flickered bar graphs and corresponding equations. “These aren’t in their alien language, humans worked the reports. Blood extraction data,” he murmured before moving his hands across the keys. “Let’s see if they’re smarter than me.”

“We need to find their exit route,” Maestru said, “his eyes raking every square inch of the torture slash medical lab.”

“Working on it.” Qudir placed his hands on each vertical surface, sensing any minute changes in pressure, any sign of a hidden panel. “Electricity cuts off about here,” he said slowly, “and amplifies down here.” With a strong-arm move mimicking a perfect close-line, Qudir knocked a rolling, medical cart to the ground, beakers and test tubes flying in his wake. “Hot spot.”

Maestru shook his head, staring at the panel. “Too easy.”

Oycher pulled his eyes from the screen. “We used explosives to open this baby, dispelled alien ores to get inside. Yeah, a passageway behind a medical cart sounds like a setup.”

“Agreed.” Qudir backed away. “Did you manage to retrieve those reports?” He motioned to the computers.

Oycher flashed a shit-eating grin at Kash. “My man Kash did. All forwarded to an undisclosed computer at an undisclosed location.”

“Yeah, it’s bad enough that they attacked our Sanctuary,” Kash put in. “We don’t need to leave any trails for the Habalines to hack into our new and improved computer systems. Is everything else here a waste of time, Six?”

“Yeah, I’d like your verdict, Six. I have soldiers waiting to secure this nightmare,” Qudir said, fooling with his phone. “They’re guarding the perimeter, but I don’t want to risk them if you’re jazzed about something.”

Sixten couldn’t take his eyes from the panel. Certainly, it was an elementary trap, but there was something
more
. Yes, he knew this sensation, was becoming familiar to him by now. An underlying urge beckoned him to go down there and kick the ass belonging to a creature who thought he was Sixten’s counterpart, though he would never come close. “Poison is lurking,” he said in a voice devoid of any recognizable emotion. “I can feel him.”

“Six,” Kash warned, now placing an insistent hand on his shoulder. “Not this way. It goes against everything they taught us at the Academy, and those were the baby classes. Suicide isn’t the way.”

It sure wasn’t, but Sixten had something Poison wanted: a scroll that was no longer missing. “This may have started with my brother, but it didn’t end when I killed him. I have to take out Poison, too. Somehow, I have to atone for all of this death and, in the process; I have to prevent more from happening.”

“Why now?” Kash pleaded. “Why this trap? Think of Blythe.”

“I’m always thinking of Blythe,” he hissed in the way of vampires. “You were there last night, at our home, the shifters coming onto
my
territory, risking my precious mate.” Yep, they would continue to threaten his mate until he produced the scroll. Wrenching the panel from the wall, he kicked it away. They were past going covert, anything below heard he was coming. “They’re never going to stop unless I stop them. Blythe will always be in danger because she loves me, because I love her, you know this.” Folding himself, he moved inside the confining duct. There was a drop next to him, no rungs in sight, and he couldn’t see the bottom. Before he let go, plummeting to the unknown, he turned back to Kash and the others lurking behind him, all readying their weapons. “None of you are coming,” he said, pushing his best friend away from him. “Poison is the pinnacle. Poison must die by
my
hands.”

Four inches to his left, and he free fell. “Here goes nothing,” he groaned, hoping his coat didn’t snag on anything and snap his neck. Thankfully, he landed on two feet. “Just like a cat,” Sixten congratulated himself, pulling out a six-inch dagger in the process. “Here, Poison. Come to Daddy.”

He came upon a heap of Stavzs parts, assorted wires and pliers. “Why the modified Stavzs, Poison, they didn’t change any results?” Unfortunately, Qudir and Kash had tested them on a few vampire prisoners. The vampires had the normal reaction, with their innards gruesomely disintegrating and then painfully regenerating within three long days. What was the difference? Why did the Habalines change them with their alien ore? Sixten kicked the mess aside, revealing a sewage grate filmed with fresh blood and human flesh. “I know this grate doesn’t belong here, this far below sea level. Come out and play, Poison.”

Kneeling down, he took hold of one of the bars, lifting it to the side. Sixten couldn’t believe how heavy it was. He narrowed his eyes. “More ore, is it? Do you ever run out?” Wasting no time, he jumped down feet first. When he landed, shadows darted left and right. “You didn’t think I would have the balls to come down here alone, did you?”

He didn’t like having his back vulnerable, but he sensed he should walk forward. “I feel you, Poison.” Sixten’s footfalls crossed the uneven concrete in slow, measured movements. Every step he took dragged wires under his boot heels or whirled screws against the dank, moldy walls. “How do I feel you, you ask? Ah, maybe it’s because we have a Habaline kinship. Possibly, it’s because we’re adversaries. Lucky for me - trouble for you.” Cocking his head, he caught the tiniest whimpering sound coming from the left, muffled, though it was definitely there. “Still, I’m thinking it’s because the last time we played, I gorged on your blood, after surviving your venomous bite. Ah, yes, connections we have.” Veering right, he went the opposite way of the whimpering sounds, finding their rudimentary ploy insulting. “Hmm, sounds like I’m unstoppable as far as you’re concerned, Poison, is that why you’re hiding even now?”

A heavy thump sounded overhead before cold fingers sprung from behind, wrapping themselves around Sixten’s throat. A bloodcurdling scream followed, not his. Sixten whirled, nearly taking his head off since Poison had the grip of a five-hundred pound Python.

Poison smiled manically, slamming Sixten against the wall with Sixten’s dagger positioned between their chests. One side of the blade cut into Poison’s breastbone, the other sliced into Sixten. “So you think we’re blood brothers now, Bastard of the Habaline King? You gorged on me, you say. I have no problems feeding the last walking prince. If you have no problems feeding from a lowly Raven, after all, I am your humble servant,” he mocked with eyes of a thousand desert sunsets, pressing further and smashing Sixten into the wall. He could feel the rise and fall of his chest - Poison’s every breath - as their blood mingled in rivulets.

“You’re starting to piss me off,” Sixten growled.

“Produce the scroll and she’ll always live by your side. You have my word. Otherwise -” Kash jumped down, throwing his long knife. It landed between Poison’s shoulder blades, burrowing through his body until its tip came out above his breastbone. Although a half inch went into Sixten, that wasn’t his biggest problem. Sixten’s own dagger had made headway inside his very spleen, possibly his liver, and he was rapidly bleeding-out.

Poison’s eyes widened, but his reflexes were quick. He swiveled, blade still buried in his chest, and easily knocked Kash’s feet from under him, his friend’s head making a sickening crack when hitting the wall. In blurring speed, Kash’s body slipped down, landing in a loose heap. “Aim lower. You missed my heart, fool!”

Sixten couldn’t believe the way this was playing out, couldn’t understand why Kash would stupidly come after him. Even so, he would stick to his plan. Poison dropped to his knees, grunting.  Sixten had one hand around his throat, the other was holding his favorite dagger. The one his brother gave him. The one his brother died by. A blade that killed pure blood Habalines. “I aimed perfectly,” Sixten hissed in his ear, “didn’t I?” Unable to deny his thirst for blood, he tore into Poison’s throat, drinking in power.