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He had contacted Nicholas earlier and learned that the three remaining Council members were staying in one of Volger’s lairs in Blue Grass, Iowa, and that several of Volger’s vampires, along with a few trusted humans, were also on the premises to keep an eye out for Villagrande. Rhys had snorted when he heard the name of the town. Blue Grass had a population of just over a thousand; twenty-five percent of the residents were under the age of eighteen. And then he had grinned inwardly. Julius had always had a taste for young blood.
As for Hastings, no one knew where’d he gone. According to Nicholas, Hastings had been there one night and the next he was gone. The general consensus was that he’d headed back to Medford and Villagrande had found him there.
“Stupid,” Rhys had muttered. If Hastings had just stayed put, he’d still be alive.
Nicholas had added that they were all getting antsy and wanted to know when they could return to their own lairs.
Rhys had assured Nicholas it would be soon, and hoped that was the truth. As for himself, he hated to leave LA, but what the hell, the world was a big place. He hadn’t been to Italy in a while. He wondered if Megan had ever been to Naples or Sicily, and then frowned. He was taking a lot for granted. True, she had said she would marry him, but that didn’t mean she wanted to quit her job or leave the country. For that matter, they hadn’t set a date for the wedding, either. He didn’t know if she wanted a big wedding or if she would be content with something more intimate, say just the two of them. One thing he did know—she was going to make a beautiful bride.
A glance at the sky showed it was almost eleven. Smiling, he quickened his step, eager to see her again.
He knew, before he opened the front door, that she was gone. A single, indrawn breath told him what had transpired. Oh, not the details, but Shirl’s scent was strong in the air, as was Villagrande’s. Rhys didn’t know how the other two vampires had managed to penetrate the protective wards and spells that had been placed on Megan’s house, but that didn’t matter. All that was important now was that Villagrande had Megan.
Rhys swore a vile oath as he stepped back and slammed the door. Dammit! So much for Erik’s protective magick! Why the hell hadn’t it worked? And where was Megan?
He followed her scent until it disappeared and then, closing his eyes, he took several slow deep breaths and opened his senses, homing in on the blood bond that connected them.
It drew him unerringly down the coast toward San Diego.
Speeding through the night faster than the human eye could follow, he prayed he wasn’t too late.
Chapter 40
Megan didn’t hear him coming, but she knew when Villagrande boarded the ship. It was as if a dark shroud settled over the craft. Evil slid along her skin and crawled inside her like some loathsome insect. She knew, somehow, that when she had seen him before, he had been masking his true self, and that what she sensed now was the real Tomás Villagrande. Had he been masking his true nature from Shirl? Or was she so infatuated with his supernatural power and his promises that she had turned a blind eye to the truth of what he was?
He appeared beside the bunk between one heartbeat and the next. Eyes red, fangs bared, he was a nightmare come to life.
“So.” Moving closer to the bunk, he swept his gaze over her. It made her feel dirty, defiled. “It’s time for dinner.”
Megan stared up at him. Heart pounding, body trembling uncontrollably, she couldn’t think, couldn’t speak. Like a fox helplessly caught in the jaws of a trap, she could only stare up at him while a voice in the back of her mind whispered that this was what death looked like.
Thoughts flew through her mind like leaves in a wind storm. She would never see her parents again. Never see Rhys. Never be a bride. Darkness swirled at the edge of her consciousness, and she prayed she would pass out before Villagrande sank his fangs into her throat. What if he didn’t intend to kill her? What if he turned her into a vampire? For a fleeting moment, she thought she would rather be a vampire than die so horribly, but then Villagrande grinned at her and she knew she’d rather be dead than become what he was.
His fangs lengthened. Gleaming. Bright white. She took a deep breath as fear coiled deep in the pit of her stomach. She tried to look away from his hellish gaze, but like a rabbit mesmerized by a snake, she could only lie there, waiting for death to strike.
Megan tensed when Villagrande lowered his head to her neck, but then a curious thing happened. As soon as his fangs touched her skin, a shower of bright golden yellow sparks exploded between them. Villagrande reared back, a vile curse issuing from his lips.
Startled, Megan cried out, her whole body tensing in fearful anticipation as the fiery embers rained down on her face and neck, but there was no pain. The bright yellow sparks vanished when they touched her skin.
Villagrande wasn’t so fortunate. The embers burned his skin wherever they touched, leaving raw, red patches.
He reeled backward as Shirl burst into the cabin. “Tomás, what’s going on…?”
She had scarcely uttered the words when Rhys appeared behind her in the doorway. His eyes took on a warm red glow when he saw Villagrande, and, before Megan could move or speak, Villagrande and Rhys were on each other.
With her hands still bound behind her back, Megan struggled to sit up as the two vampires battled each other. The smell of blood and scorched flesh mingled with the scent of sea and salt, making her stomach churn.
Villagrande hurled Rhys against the wall with such force, Megan was surprised the wood didn’t crack from the impact. With a feral cry, Rhys sprang to his feet and lunged at Villagrande, his hands like claws, his fangs dripping blood.
It was a battle unlike anything she had ever seen. Like two superheroes, they flung each other to and fro, fangs and claws rending preternatural flesh that healed almost instantly. Blood splattered on the walls, the ceiling, the deck.
As blood sprayed over her face and robe, Megan cowered against the bed, praying that Rhys would be the victor even as she wondered how much more punishment he could take.
She let out a cry as Shirl struck Rhys from behind, opening a gash in the back of his head and knocking him off balance. Springing forward, Villagrande seized Rhys by the nape and slammed him to the floor, facedown; then, straddling his back, Villagrande grasped a handful of Rhys’s hair, jerked his head backward and buried his fangs in the side of Rhys’s neck.
Megan glanced at Shirl, but one look at Shirl’s face, contorted with bloodlust, banished all thought of asking for help. Her former friend’s eyes burned with excitement as the scent of Rhys’s blood filled the air.
