Taken by Moonlight (30 page)

Max had
just pulled open the door to the driver’s side when his body stiffened. She was
still arranging the duffel bag on the seat, but she heard a voice that sent
shivers down her spine.

“You
drive.”

Closing the
back door, she pushed her braids out of her face and lifted her brows at him.

“What?”

He walked
around the car. “Drive.” His voice was flat and his face reminded her of one of
the sculptures in the art gallery. Set in stone.

“Why?
W-what’s wrong, Max?” Drew asked softly, looking around them. It was growing
dark, and the sidewalk was filled with people returning home from jobs, school,
and the other events that took up vital time in their lives.

“Get in the
car, Drew.” Max’s voice was firm, and he gave her a look that said he wanted no
argument.

Moving
around to the driver’s side, she stepped into the car. Her door closed
immediately, causing her to jump. Drew stared through the tinted windows at
Max. He bent next to the car, under the guise of tying his shoe laces, and
said, “Drive. Now.”

With that,
he began to walk in the direction of the apartment building. Drew grabbed the
car handle and pulled but it wouldn’t open. She tried to shift the lock, but it
was stuck.

“Max!” she
called, fear closing around her heart as she stared at his retreating figure.
What was he doing? He’d almost reached the entrance to the apartment when five
men suddenly appeared around him. They were dressed in dark clothing
reminiscent of the men who’d attacked them before. Drew blinked once, and they
were gone.

“Max!”

The door
opened this time and she stared at the spot where she’d last seen him. She
remembered what he’d last told her and closed the door quickly. Panic set in
and her hands began to shake before she forced herself to calm down. Reaching
into her jacket pocket, she grabbed her cell phone and found Vivienne among her
contacts. At the same time, she eased into the traffic, checking her rearview
to see if she was being followed. She couldn’t tell.
How am I supposed to
tell?

Vivienne
picked up after the fifth ring, sounding a bit winded. “Hey.”

“They took
him—they took Max,” Drew rushed out, barely forcing breaths in and out of her
body. Her eyes watered and she sniffled, feeling her throat clog. “The guys who
attacked us took Max.”

Max groaned
and blinked slowly. His mind was foggy and he shook his head to clear it. Where
was he? As if in answer to his question, memory returned. His father had sent
his personal guards after him. He’d felt them even before they materialized.

Drew
…?

He tried to
move but found he couldn’t. Something cold was at his throat, his wrists, and
his ankles. It was then he fully took in his whereabouts. He was in a brightly
lit stone cell, chained to the wall. Looking down, he recognized that all of
his clothing, except for his boxers, had been removed. Closing his eyes, he
gathered his strength, and when he felt the familiar rush, strained against the
bonds.

Max tired
quickly, and after minutes of building up a sweat with nothing to show for it
but the blood that now flowed freely from the cuts that he’d incurred, he
recognized something else. These were not regular iron shackles. They were
mixed with silver, which was harmless to a witch unless in the form of a deadly
weapon, but crippling to a vampire. Hence, it would restrain, but not kill, a
warlock.

“Shit!” he
cursed softly, and tugged futilely against the chains once more. Where the hell
was he? If his father’s guards had come for him, then this was one of his
father’s holdings. Was he back in New Orleans? He couldn’t remember seeing any
stone cells or laboratories in New Orleans. Hell, he couldn’t remember seeing
any place that looked like this in New York, either.

He looked
around the cell again. Max zoned in on what appeared to be a camera lens. His
lips curled. He was being watched.

“What are
you waiting for?” he demanded, pulling against the chains once more. Some of
the silver seeped into his wounds and he bit his lip, as it burned like fire
before cooling to a dull but still painful throb.

The lights
went out, leaving the place black, and Max blinked. When his gaze adjusted, his
father stood before him. His hair was pulled back from his stoic face, and he
leaned heavily on the wooden cane he sometimes used.

“Where are
they?” Maximilian asked softly. There was no need to elaborate on the “they.”
Father and son knew to whom Maximilian referred.

Max
chuckled drily. After all he’d done to aid Vivienne, did his father really
think he would just give her over?

“What is
this place?” he countered.

A muscle
worked in Maximilian’s jaw, and his eyes narrowed. “Where are the girls, Max?”

“I don’t
know what girls you’re talking about.”

“You
don’t?” Maximilian asked in a voice that was whispery sweet.

Max shook
his head slowly, “I don’t.”

“Maybe I
should jar your memory…
son
.”

Max was
contemplating what that meant when his head exploded. He swayed and would have
fallen had it not been for the chains securing him to the wall. Pain lanced
through his skull and his eyes watered as his mouth opened on soundless
screams.

If you
won’t speak, you will show me your memories
….

He yelled,
a primitive sound of an animal in pain, and bit into his lip. Blood rushed into
his mouth but he didn’t taste it. He only felt the pinch of pain, welcomed it.

“No.” His
voice sounded strangled, hoarse, but as he fought through the pain of the
invasion to clear his mind, his voice grew steadier. “I. Said. No!” He might be
powerless against a physical attack, but he’d been trained to parry a mental
invasion by the very same man who now sought to do it.

Max
remained still, allowing the pain to wash over him. Pain meant that his father
was pushing and getting nothing. If the pain subsided, then he’d have to worry.

After what
seemed like hours, Maximilian thumped the cane at his side and snarled, “You’d
betray your own father, your own people, over two insignificant girls you’ve
barely known for a few years?” When Max failed to answer, his father stepped
closer and grabbed his chin, forcing him to look into eyes similar to his. “If
you weren’t my son, I would kill you for this!” He released him and Max’s head
slumped forward. “But you are. You are my son, my only child and I feel
inclined to give you one more chance. Tell me where they are and I may forget this….”
his father paused as if offended by the very word, “betrayal.”

“Betrayal?”
Max managed. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth. Lifting his head, he leaned it
against the wall, and stared accusingly at his father. “You want to resurrect
the druids. You want to resurrect the very people who almost wiped out your
people.” His father’s eyes narrowed but he said nothing. Max took a breath,
finding himself still weak from his father’s mind-probe. “You want to make a
deal with them. Trade your own people for immortality.” A brow lifted, but
Maximilian held his tongue. “I’m not the traitor, Father. You are.”

Maximilian
moved so fast that Max had barely gotten the last syllable out before his
father was inches away from him. He grabbed Max’s chin—this time painfully—as
his eyes faded to black. “You would listen to a woman who hates me over your
own father? You are a—”

“How did
you know I was talking about a woman?”

Eyes
narrowing, Maximilian replied, “Evelyn? Because she’s the only one to tell you
something so ridiculous.”

Max’s
shackles rattled, and he tried to twist his face from his father’s grasp. “How
long have you lied to me,
Father?
How long have you lied to your
covenant?” When Maximilian remained silent, Max snarled, “Kill me and get it
over with. I’m not telling you anything.”

His father
smiled and released him. “Oh you will, my son.” The wall to his left unhinged
and swung inward.

Max watched
in apprehension as two trackers, one male, the other female, entered and came
to stand behind his father. Each held a wide, black briefcase. A hand touched
his chin, almost gently, pulling his gaze back to the man standing before him.
Maximilian’s fingers traced the blood at the corner of Max’s lips before he
sighed and shook his head.

“You will
tell me everything.” His father disappeared.

To say that
Conall was on edge would have been an understatement. A big understatement. The
fact that Max had been taken by trackers, coupled with the increased agitation
he was feeling concerning his mating, or lack of mating, with Vivienne, and
that he was driving toward the third council meeting of the year, were just
three of the things tightening his short leash. The meeting was being held at
an abandoned warehouse near the pier, just after dusk. All council members were
to be in attendance. Sloan accompanied him while Raoul and three of his best
fighters stayed with Vivienne and Evelyn. He was taking no chances.

From the
expensive cars and bikes lined up before the warehouse, he wasn’t the first to
arrive. Conall parked, and exited the vehicle. Sloan stepped out after,
surveying the gathering in quick detail. Witches, vampires, and other
werewolves, all waiting for their leaders, stood beside their respective
vehicles. Some engaged in conversation with others. Others were silent,
watchful. Each council member was allowed to have one member of their pack,
covenant, or clan, accompany them into the building. Even then, they were all
asked to wait outside the room. Protocol.

Conall was
heading for the entrance of the warehouse when the sounds of tires screeching
caught his attention. He quickly leapt back as a fire-engine-red Lamborghini
sailed into the space he’d just vacated. Smoke rose as the car stopped and the
loud bass beats of a rap song came, muffled, from the car before the driver cut
engine. Conall felt his fangs descend. Now was not the time for some flyboy to
be showing off his ride, especially since flyboy had come close to hitting an
already pissed off alpha.

The door
slid up and a tanned flip-flop-covered foot touched asphalt right before the
other joined it. Santiago, a really angry Santiago, pushed himself from the car
and did a quick intake of his surroundings. In an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt and
khaki bottoms, the werewolf looked ready for a vacation in a warm place with
palm trees and beaches, but the scowl on his face, and the fact that his eyes
glowed bold amber, contradicted his getup. He looked like a cross between happy
tourist and coldblooded killer. Santiago de Luca controlled the second largest
were
pack in New York, right behind Conall in terms of heads, and assets.

“Athelwulf.”
He extended a large, darkly tanned hand, which Conall grudgingly shook. He’d
known Santiago for centuries, and was one of the wolves Conall respected.
Respected enough to refrain from redecorating his face for that close
encounter.

“I see you
still can’t drive worth a damn,” he snarled.

Smirking, Santiago released his hand, and replied without rancor, “If I couldn’t, that wall would
have a fresh new coat of red.”

He offered
his hand to Sloan, who despite his rigid expression looked friendly enough to Santiago.

“Still
licking boots, McTavish?”

“Still
being an asshole, Santiago?”

“Only when
I have to leave sunny Jamaica for some bullshit Council meeting. Whose son got
his ass kicked for being a punk bitch now?”

“That’s
what I want to know.” Drako approached from the shadows, as if he’d been there
for a long time. “Conall. Santiago. Sloan.” Knowing the wolf, he probably had.

“You know,
one of these days I’m going to kick your ass for pulling that sneaky shit,” Santiago said lowly, his eyes trained on Drako.

A smirk
touched the
were
’s lips and he said easily, “Santiago…always a
pleasure.”

“Asshole.
Where’s your brother? I like him better.”

Drako and
Dominic Klevan were blood brothers, though they didn’t look it. Born to the
same father, they’d grown up in different places, at different times. Where
Drako was lean and tall, fast and lithe, Dominic was more traditional
werewolf—just plain huge.

“Inside,
trying to figure out what the meeting is about. By the way, anyone have an idea
who called the meeting, or why?”

Footsteps
approached them and the four wolves turned as one. Two tall men, with skin so
pale it was almost luminescent, dressed from head to toe in expensive designer
apparel, nodded once in acknowledgement and spoke, flashing sharp and pointed
canines, “Wolves.”

“Vampires,”
Santiago returned. Conall, already eager to get this meeting over with, and
get back to Vivienne, dipped his head in acknowledgement.

Verenus
Riddelin and Lucian Thormidor, the vampires, passed them and headed for the
entrance.