When Wicked Craves (16 page)

“He’s okay?” She squeezed Rand’s hand. “Oh my God, Rand, he’s okay.”

She started to stand, wanting to run to the cell and see in person what she couldn’t quite get her mind to believe, but Rand’s strong hand on her shoulder held her down. “Wait,” he said. “And watch.”

On the screen, Serge stood for another beat, his expression baffled. And then, as quickly as it had come,
the humanity disappeared. Serge tossed his head back and wailed—a gut-wrenching sound that ripped a sob from Lissa’s throat as well—before he went back to battering the cell, slamming against the cement walls, pounding on the glass, and then lifting his eyes and snarling straight into the camera.

“What happened?” she asked. “Why did he change like that? He looked himself again, and then … oh dear God …”

“I
don’t know. Something, but—I don’t know.” Rand shut the laptop, cutting the sound and erasing the image, but even so, she could still see the pictures clearly in her mind. The Serge-creature thrashing wildly.

The creature with pure evil in its eyes.

Evil, and dark, raw power.
Real
power. It coursed through the creature. Filling it. Fueling it.

So potent that its touch alone left a hand-shaped imprint etched in the glass.

The glass was thinner now. Weaker.

Soon
, the monster thought, with rare clarity.

Soon it would be free.

“Your report?”

Tariq sat across from his uncle, Tiberius, and the para-daemon Trylag. A triumvirate of power, and he forced his chin up high and his eyes to meet each man’s. This was an opportunity to prove himself, and he knew it. He wasn’t going to fuck it up.

“Sara Constantine’s in custody, as you know, but we don’t have any indication that she knows where Nicholas and the girl have gone.” He focused his attention on Tiberius. “Division’s being uncooperative about allowing us to use a Truth Teller, but if you could push on that, we might learn something new.”

“I doubt Constantine knows,” Tiberius said. “I know Nicholas well. He would not be so clumsy as to leave bread crumbs.”

“I agree,” Tariq said. “But we will still pursue the lead.”

“Not our priority, I hope,” Trylag said. “If Constantine is most likely a dead end, I don’t care to see us wasting time arguing with Division about the appropriateness of a Truth Teller.”

Tariq nodded, feeling more on the spot than was comfortable. “Right. Of course. And Constantine is not our primary concern.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve ordered multiple teams into the field. I have agents searching Montegue’s known residences, monitoring cellular communications, observing Montegue’s associates, the works. I have teams in other cities ready to move at a moment’s notice, as well. But none of that reflects our primary plan of attack.”

“And what is that?” Tiberius asked.

“The girl’s brother,” Tariq said. “Our observation has led us to believe that he has the ability to locate her. Some spell most likely, though possibly related to the fact that they’re twins. The reason is irrelevant at this point. What’s important is that if we follow the brother, we’ll find the girl.”

“Then you are following him, I assume?” his uncle asked.

“We are,” Tariq said, sitting up straight. “I’m personally leading that team. At the moment, the brother is asleep. Passed out, actually. The universal counterbalance. He pumped out a lot of magic getting across town to his sister’s earlier location.”

“Where you missed her, if I read your report correctly,” Trylag said.

Tariq forced himself not to ball his hands into fists. “That is accurate. We were not aware of his ability at the time. We expected the sister would be coming to him, not the other way around. But as a result of that failed mission objective, we gained valuable intelligence. Follow the brother, we find the girl.”

“When will he be on the move again?” Tiberius demanded.

“I can’t be certain, but we believe it will be a while before he has the energy to go after her. In the meantime, my team members Elric and Vale continue to monitor his home. They’ll contact me if anything pops.”

“Good.” His uncle nodded with approval, and relief surged through Tariq. “In the meantime, what else have you learned?”

They were seated at a corner booth in a bar overflowing with humans. Tiberius and Trylag passed easily, but Dirque and Tariq had tossed up glamours—the power of illusion wielded by even the youngest and weakest of the jinn—to hide their unusual eyes and the inhuman pallor of their skin. The glamours layered their conversation, too, so that to other customers, the shadowers appeared to be businessmen discussing nothing so interesting that it required even a second thought.

Dirque had dragged the group to the bar, ignoring Tariq’s protests that the high examiner’s temporary office at Division was a secure location. Then again, there was a reason Dirque was the Alliance chairman. The man took nothing for granted, accepted nothing as fact, and questioned every convenience or bit of good luck.

It had kept him alive for centuries, and it was an approach to life that Tariq tried to emulate. Tried, but often failed. His impetuousness had kept him tied to RAC as a team leader instead of moving up to commander or even transferring to a position with the Alliance itself.

Now, though, he had an opportunity to prove himself to his uncle. And his uncle was able to get Tariq a position pretty much anywhere he wanted.

So, yeah, if Dirque wanted to drag him to some human-infested bar, then Tariq was all over that plan.

A waitress in a white shirt and skintight black pants sidled up to the booth. “Lawyers, right?”

“How did you guess?” Dirque said, his voice as smooth as shark skin.

She grinned at him, but her focus was on Tariq, who smiled up at her, the kind of smile that he knew women liked. “You have that sharp, deadly look,” she said.

“Sweetheart, you don’t know the half of it.” Just for fun, Tariq let the illusion drop from his face. No more than a split second, but it was enough for her to see his yellow eyes and diamond-shaped pupils. Enough for her mind to register that these men weren’t lawyers. For that matter, they weren’t human.

Or maybe her eyes were just playing tricks on her.

She took a step backward, looking at the four of them as she fumbled for her notepad. “Sorry. I—it’s been a long shift.”

“We understand,” Trylag said. “Scotch,” he said. “Neat is fine. He’ll have the same.”

She nodded, then turned as if she couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Tariq hid a smile … which faded as he met his uncle’s eyes.

Dirque leaned back his huge body, putting a strain on the booth’s bench that only Tariq could see. “Well?”

Tariq cleared his throat and looked at the three men. “I’ve been thinking about why Montegue would risk rescuing that human, and I can’t come up with a damn thing. Not unless we alter our premises.”

“What premises are those?”

“What if Sergius isn’t dead?” Tariq asked.

Tiberius cocked his head and Dirque leaned forward. “Go on.”

“I’m just wondering if the fire was faked. There was never a body, just DNA. Granted, Sergius is a vamp, but I’m still dubious.”

“We’ve seen this type of monster before,” Trylag said. “It tears a path across the earth. If Sergius were alive, we would have heard of it. Hell, the destruction would be the lead story on every human news channel.”

“Unless he was captured. Unless he’s being held. Montegue was with him right after the change, isn’t that so? And Lucius Dragos was there, too. I think it is reasonable to assume the two of them would do whatever is necessary to protect their friend.”

“You think they somehow subdued the monster, and now they hold him captive as they search for a cure?”

“No,” Tiberius said. “Dragos is my closest confidant. Montegue is my personal advocate. I would know.”

Dirque looked at him. “Would you? Then perhaps you do.”

The vampire’s face grew hard and his eyes darkened. Otherwise, he didn’t move, but nonetheless Tariq could sense the daemon rising. “Do you accuse me?”

“I say nothing,” Dirque said. “I’m merely playing with the hypothesis my nephew has raised, as I assumed you were doing.” He smiled, so cold and menacing that even Tariq, who couldn’t give a shit about Tiberius, had to stifle a shiver. “If Sergius is alive, and you speak the truth that you were not told, that says something itself, don’t you think? Either you’re lying to us, or the bond between you and those highest among your ranks is fraying. More’s the pity.”

Trylag looked at the other two. “
Enough.
Now is not the time. Our goal is to terminate the girl. Once we do that, it will not matter if Sergius is alive. Upon her death, he will be restored.”

“Trylag speaks the truth,” Dirque said. He turned to Tariq. “Go back to your team. Continue your surveillance. Direct your subordinates as you have been doing. With luck, you will be on the move soon. With even more luck, your efforts will not even be necessary.”

Something sharp like fear cut through Tariq. “What do you mean?”

“Things have been set in motion,” Dirque said. “High-level things.”

Tariq sat up straighter. “Sir, it is my job to—”

Dirque cut him off with a hard swipe of his hand. “We are after the same result, nephew. You search for the girl in your own way,” he said, and a thin, smug smile stretched across his face. “And I’ll seek to destroy her in mine.”

“What’s going on?” Petra asked, as Nicholas came back from the cockpit where he’d answered a radio call from Rand.

He didn’t answer right away, but nodded to Pyre, silently signaling for the weren to return to the front and take the controls off autopilot.

“Rand thinks our injured friend might be recovering,” Nicholas said once Pyre was gone.

“Why?”

“Apparently there was a moment when our boy was himself again. Said he could see it in his eyes, his posture, everything. Rand said it was as plain as day.”

Ripples of cold understanding flooded her. “But?”

Nicholas cocked his head as he looked at her, as if wondering why she was so damn certain that there was a “but” coming. “But then it passed,” he said. “The moment passed and he was … ill again.” He studied her. “But you already knew that.”

She nodded, miserable. Of course she knew it. She’d died—sort of—and Serge had been cured, at least for a moment. But then she’d come alive again, and that meant he’d been cursed again, too.

But there was more than just that; something bubbling inside her. An insidious awareness that she’d been
avoiding, but now had to examine. “I think he’s getting worse,” she said. “Not better.”

He took a step toward her. “How the hell do you know that?”

She had to push the words out past the fear. “I’m not sure, but I think I can feel him.”

“You
think
you can feel him?”

“That shivery feeling I told you about. It’s … I don’t know … 
dark.
But it’s so subtle. I’m not even certain that’s what I’m feeling. I mean, how can I know for sure? It’s not like one of them has ever stayed alive this long. It’s not like I’ve got experience in empathizing with monsters. And you know what? I don’t like it. Not one little bit,” she added, and took some relief from the compassion she saw on Nicholas’s face.

“No,” he said. “I don’t like it, either.” He rubbed his temples. “Perhaps this can work to our benefit.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. But it’s something new in the mix. A new variable. And no matter what that means, the game has changed slightly. We’ll have to wait and see.”

She licked her lips. Dear God, she’d created this thing. This monster that was going to burst out and destroy. And, yeah, he was definitely going to burst out. The only real question was when. As Nicholas said, they’d have to wait and see.

She sat still, lost in her thoughts, and as she did, Nicholas stretched his hand out and laid it on the table. Slowly, deliberately, he took a napkin from the table service and spread it over his hand.
Comfort.
He was offering her comfort.

Did he really think she needed it? Did he not understand that she’d taken care of herself her entire life?

She glanced down, and the hand was still there, as if beckoning her. As if tempting her to just try a little and see if she liked the taste of it.

She wasn’t going to. Wasn’t going to give in. But then her hand was moving, and before she could talk herself out of it, she put her gloved hand on his. More than that, she kept it there.

One beat. Then another.

Then she couldn’t take it anymore and she yanked her hand back. She knew he’d write her actions off to fear of the touch, but that wasn’t it. Not really.

No, what scared her was the way his touch made her feel. The way want built up inside her when she thought about him.

She’d taste it during a blue moon, that much she promised herself. Anytime else, though? That was thoroughly off limits. Nicholas belonged in a blue moon bubble, and outside of that bubble she simply didn’t care.

Right? Right.

She pressed her fingertips to her temple. And she was a goddamned liar.

“Petra?”