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For years after Stefano’s murder, she had wished to join him. But over time, she began to face the fact that he would want her not only to survive, but to embrace life again. Hell, she was no Disney princess, and she had plenty of bad days, but the good outweighed them.
Besides, what sort of example would she be to the young ones if she gave up?
Feeling content, she picked a rock by the edge of the wading pool and used it as her seat. Across the pool, the falls were shimmering with the golden afternoon light. Letting her mind roam, she relived the moments she’d spent there with Nick. She knew without a doubt it would always be one of her most treasured memories.
Graham settled on a log a few yards away and started playing on his phone. She guessed it was pretty boring watching her stare at the pool and didn’t blame him for playing a game or checking his messages. Then again, he’d insisted on tagging along, so if he was bored, it was his own fault.
She wasn’t sure how long she sat there. But the sun was starting to dip behind the trees and shadows lengthened across the earth when she decided she was ready to go inside.
Just then, she heard a cry of surprise, and she spun on her rock, thinking the guard must’ve somehow hurt himself. Instead, she was shocked to see him struggling with a human dressed in a camouflage shirt and pants.
A hunter!
Graham went for the gun stuck in his waistband, but was too late. The hunter brandished a dagger and plunged it into his shoulder, and the guard went down.
“Graham!” she yelled.
But he was slow getting to his feet, and the hunter stabbed him again. Panic exploded in Calla’s chest. She couldn’t abandon the guard. But she wasn’t much of a fighter. Should she go for help?
Yes. She needed to alert Tarron. It would take only seconds—
From behind, strong arms grabbed her and something heavy was snapped around her neck. She screamed, and her hand went to the collar. Iron! Oh, gods, no!
“No! Let go of me!”
“Shut up, vampire bitch!”
A fist cuffed the side of her face, and pain reverberated in her skull. She was tough, but incapacitated this way, she knew she was in serious trouble. The iron collar severely hampered her natural defenses against abuse, and she couldn’t teleport away. It weakened her immediately.
The man began dragging her away as his companion wiped his knife on Graham’s shirt. She didn’t know whether the guard was alive or dead, and a wave of remorse hit her hard.
“Help! Tarron! Somebody, help me!”
“I said, shut up!”
Another blow to her face made her head swim. She couldn’t form a coherent thought, and came very close to passing out. When the bastard picked her up and slung her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and ran, bouncing her stomach again and again, she had to fight not to be sick.
After several minutes, the man stopped. He roughly yanked her off his shoulder and thrust her toward the open side door of a dark van. Two more men were waiting inside, and pulled her in, shoving her to the dirty carpet. Her arms were pulled behind her back and one picked up a roll of silver duct tape, wrapping several layers around her wrists. Another piece was slapped over her mouth, and the man who’d abducted her jumped into the passenger’s seat.
The van took off with a lurch, and her heart pounded in terror. What the hell was going on? Hunters don’t kidnap their victims. They kill them outright.
They must want her as a hostage. To trade for . . . something. Had they taken Tarron as well? The thought made her go cold.
Oh, Nick. Help me. If only they’d mated already, she could’ve communicated with him telepathically. As it was, he’d learn she was missing after Tarron and his men did—and how long would that take? They would search, but her scent might be gone by that time.
“That’s one fine bitch right there,” one of the men drawled.
His companion snickered. “Yeah. Too bad she’s a bloodsucker.”
Calla angled her head to see them. The first speaker was a shorter, bulky man with a graying buzz cut and pockmarked skin. Military, maybe. But more likely military wannabe than the real thing. The second man was younger, skinny. Dark hair, mean dark eyes. He reminded her of a rodent.
Buzz Cut spat near her head. “I’ll bet she can suck this just fine,” he said, crudely cupping his crotch. “I’ll find out soon enough. But if she bites, I’ll take a pair of pliers and pull those teeth out.”
The idea made her sick. The agony, she’d heard, was indescribable. Survivors of this sort of torture were forced to feed by drinking from a cup. They could never bite their mates again. A horrible fate.
“What do ya thin
k, honey?” Rat said, pushing a lock of hair from her face. “Think you can Hoover my cock with nothin’ but your gums?”
