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"—and he wants to make me suffer before he kills us both."
"So you and Jasper have this personal vendetta happening, and Nikki and I were unlucky enough to get in the way."
Boiled down to basics, that just about summed it up. Michael rubbed his forehead, wondering again if all the years—and all the lives lost—were worth the effort of chasing Jasper. Then he remembered his brother, Patrick, and his friend, Jenna. And people like Monica, who was by no means innocent and yet who had still deserved more than the path of death and destruction that Jasper's seduction and lies had led her to.
"As I said before, it's more than a personal vendetta. Jasper has to be stopped. It's my job to do it."
"Why?” Jake's gaze was shrewd. “You're not in this alone, are you?" Both were questions he wasn't prepared to answer right now. Risking his life was one thing; risking the lives of his companions by revealing too much about their organization was another. Jasper was still loose, and Jake just might be next on the hit list. The less Jake knew, the better for them both.
"Sometimes it takes a vampire to hunt a vampire."
"In other words, mind my own business.” Jake flashed a toothy smile that held very little warmth. “I guess we wait, then. I hope you don't mind if I keep my distance. Being around a vampire might take a little getting used to."
Michael smiled. Jake was all right. No wonder Nikki depended on the man.
"I just feel so damn useless sitting here,” Jake continued with a sigh.
"We'll find her. Don't worry."
"Yeah, right."
The disbelief in Jake's voice annoyed him. Hope was the one thing they couldn't afford to lose. But the rebuke died on his tongue. It was fear that made Jake speak like that, a fear he could well understand. An hour crawled by, then another. Night approached. Michael pushed away from the wall. At least now he could do something, instead of merely waiting.
Life suddenly sparked in the darkness of the link. He stiffened, reaching out swiftly. Turmoil, fear and confusion greeted him. Nikki didn't hear him, didn't acknowledge his presence. It didn't matter. He knew where she was.
Jasper was a dead man.
* * * *
Puddles of yellow light splashed across the floor but did little to take the chill from the room or her body. She'd watched the gentle progress of the sun for the last few hours, lethargy holding her immobile. But time and daylight would not wait for her. She had to move, had to get out of here before the day disappeared. The sunlight's waning strength said it was already late afternoon. There was so little time left.
Gritting her teeth, she straightened out her right leg. Stiff muscles protested the movement, and her stomach churned. Head swimming, she gritted her teeth and slowly straightened her other leg. Her arms were almost as difficult to move, stiff and leaden with cold. Her whole body felt numb with it, her skin icy to touch. But for the first time in ages, she felt stirrings of life in the void that had been her psychic gifts. Massaging her legs with stiff fingers, she glanced warily at the bed. Monica and Jasper lay still and silent, naked limbs entwined around each other. If they breathed, she couldn't see it. But what interested her more was the door next to the bed. Until now, she hadn't even realized it existed. She bit her lip, then rolled over onto her hands and knees. The effort sent the room into a swim. She took several deep breaths, her gaze never leaving the figures on the bed.
They didn't stir.
Slowly she turned and put her hands against the wall, using it for support as she stood. No movement on the bed.
Sweat trickled down the side of her face. She turned around until her back was braced against the wall. Sick tension churned her stomach, but she ignored it, focusing instead on the padlock chaining the door closed. She lacked the time and energy for finesse; she hit the lock with all the psychic energy she could muster. It literally exploded, the noise reverberating around the room. She held her breath and watched the figures on the bed>* * * *
"Jasper Harding."
The words were torn from her. She couldn't stop herself repeating his name, though her heart wept in bitter defeat.
The darkness stilled its dance. Sweet silence filled the void.
"Repeat it,” Jasper urged, elation running through his voice.
"Jasper Harding.” She croaked in reply. How long had she sat here? How long had she resisted the drug? It felt like forever, but it was probably little more than a day or so. Fatigue trembled through every muscle, but that in itself told her little. Her head swam, though she wasn't sure if the cause was lack of food or the drug. Her throat was parched, and it hurt to swallow, let alone speak. Jasper would kill her if he weren't careful.
She studied the darkness wearily. She may have lost the battle, but not the war. Jasper couldn't guard her, or control her, twenty-four hours of every day. She'd beat him yet. If there was one thing she'd learned during her years with Tommy, it was that no matter how bad things seemed, you could never give up. Hope might only be a heartbeat away.
Jasper appeared out of the darkness, a presence she felt rather than saw. She closed her eyes, refusing to acknowledge him.
"Resistance is feeble,” he mocked quietly. “You are mine now." She made no comment. The chill air caressed her sweaty flesh, making her feel colder than she'd ever thought possible.
"Open your eyes.” His voice took on a commanding tone. “Look at me." She fought the order as hard as she could. Yet her head rose, her eyes met his. Tears tracked silently down her cheeks.
Monica stood behind him, her blue eyes full of hate. Behind them both, dawn's warm light danced through the shadows.
