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Had she been able, she would have screamed in protest—even though there was no one to hear her. No one to save her.
As Desmarais bent his head to her neck, she caught a glimpse of Sam’s face. From his expression, she knew he was as horrified at what was about to happen as was she.
Unable to escape the vampire’s hold, Sky closed her eyes when she felt the sharp sting of his fangs. There was no pleasure in his bite—as there was in Kaiden’s—only pain magnified by gut-wrenching fear and sheer revulsion at what he was doing. The slurping noise he made was disgusting. Blackness clouded her vision. What if he took too much? Oh, Lord, what if he turned her into the same kind of ravening monster that he was?
That terrifying possibility sent her spiraling down, down, into the gray nothingness of oblivion.
Thorne searched every room in Sky’s house even though he knew it was a waste of time, and then he walked around the living room a second time. Desmarais’ scent was strong here. There were no signs of a struggle, either on the porch, in the doorway, or in the living room.
How had Desmarais gotten inside? Surely Sky wouldn’t have invited him in? It had to have been Sam. That was the only answer. Dammit! He should have warned Sam about Desmarais, but who would have thought Girard would come knocking at the door again? Thorne doubted either Skylynn or Sam would have gone peacefully. Desmarais must have used his vampire powers to transport the sister and brother out of the house. For a fledgling, Desmarais was learning to use his powers in record time. Of course, having Cassandra as his sire didn’t hurt. The blood of the old ones was extremely powerful. Thorne knew that firsthand.
Closing his eyes, he opened his preternatural senses. He had taken Sky’s blood, creating a bond between them, a sort of vampiric GPS. Fear slithered down his spine when he couldn’t find her. Either she was dead, which he refused to accept, or she was unconscious.
Either way, Girard Desmarais’ days on earth were numbered.
Awareness returned gradually. Feeling. Hearing. Movement. Afraid of what she would see, Skylynn opened her eyes to darkness. She lifted one hand. At least she was no longer paralyzed. Whatever she was lying on was hard and cold. A touch told her it was a floor made of stone.
Rising to her knees and then to her feet, she moved slowly around the room, one hand outstretched to feel her way. Six steps carried her from one wall to the other. She didn’t encounter anything in her way. So, was she locked inside some kind of dungeon?
“Sam? Are you here? Sam?”
Pressing her hand against the wall to guide her, she walked around the room. A cry rose in her throat when she kicked something solid. At first, she was afraid it was Sam, but it turned out to be an old-fashioned chamber pot. There was nothing else in the room.
Where was Sam? Was he still alive?
Where was Desmarais?
Most importantly, where was Kaiden? By now, he would know she was gone. Sky took a deep breath. Kaiden would find her. She had to believe that. She just hoped she would still be alive when he did.
Thorne stalked the dark streets, his fear and outrage rising with every step. He was hesitant to feed, afraid that, in his present condition, he would kill whoever crossed his path.
Where was she?
And then, like lightning shimmering across his mind, he felt their link connect.
Kaiden?
Skylynn! Are you all right?
Yes. He heard the underlying note of fear in that single word.
Is Sam with you?
He was, but he isn’t now. I don’t know where he is. I don’t know where I am except that it’s dark and cold. I think it’s some kind of dungeon.
I’ll find you. Even as he sent the thought to her, he was leaving the town behind, the link they shared guiding him unerringly on the path Desmarais had taken. A path that led Thorne to a secluded airport in Atlanta run by the kind of people who worked on a cash-only basis and didn’t ask any questions.
It didn’t take Kaiden long to discover that Desmarais had booked a nonstop flight to England for himself and two passengers. As soon as he learned Desmarais’ destination, he knew where they were going. The Abbey at St. Germaine.
He considered transporting himself to the Abbey but discarded the idea for two reasons. Transporting himself across such a long distance would leave him weak and drained of strength and he couldn’t afford that, not with Desmarais waiting at the end of his journey. Not with Sky’s life in danger.
Moments later, he had arranged a “no questions asked” flight for himself.
It was an hour before dawn when Thorne’s plane landed on a private airstrip outside of London. After paying the pilot an exorbitant fee to stay put until he returned, Thorne willed himself to the Abbey, then located a place in the nearby forest where he could safely go to ground until nightfall.
Rising at sunset, he approached the Abbey’s ornately carved double doors. He stared at the entrance for several minutes. His chances of being invited inside were slim to none. The threshold of an ordinary church wouldn’t have presented a problem since such places of worship were open to the public. But St. Germaine’s Abbey was home to about thirty monks, as well as ten or fifteen slayers-turned-clerics who had taken a vow of silence. They never left the Abbey and rarely had any contact with the outside world, although both slayers and monks were free to leave if they wished.
The monks grew all their own food, made their own wine, and raised cattle and goats for milk and cheese. Strangers were not welcome inside the Abbey. Desmarais had taken refuge with the monks shortly after the death of his wife. If only he had stayed there.
Thorne raked his hands through his hair. All that mattered now was getting Skylynn and her brother out of the Abbey, alive.
Sam paced his narrow prison, a string of curses peppering the fetid air around him. Where the hell was he? It was bad enough that he didn’t remember anything about his life before he woke up in the VA hospital, but now he couldn’t remember how he had gotten here, either.
He did remember one thing, though. A scary-looking old guy with eyes that burned as red as flame. Red eyes! Nobody human had eyes like that.
Sam shook his head. Maybe he didn’t have amnesia. Maybe he was just going insane. That made a lot more sense.
He paused, his brow furrowed. Had he seen that guy before? Something about that long gray cloak ... Sam massaged his temples. If he could remember one thing, just one lousy little thing, maybe it would all come back to him.
Filled with worry and frustration, he resumed his restless pacing, concern for Skylynn overshadowing fear for his own life. Was she locked up in a cell like this one? He had called her name from time to time, but she didn’t answer. Maybe the cell was soundproof. Maybe she wasn’t here. His hands curled into tight fists. Maybe she was dead.
