Long Black Cadillac Page 11

  “That’s it.” Gryphon slid his fingers behind the man’s head, pulling them together. No air could get between them.

  “Please.”

  “Oh yes.” He bit down, biting deep, the blood pouring into him. Such compliance always made the drinking so much better. The man was hard against him, rocking madly.

  He chuckled and swallowed, letting the arousal ratchet up.

  “Uhn.” Those legs wrapped around him. Good thing he was strong, for all he was willowy.

  Gryph took all he needed, then eased the little one to the ground, a wet spot growing on the man’s uniform slacks.

  “Shhh. Now your friends will ask if you don’t go change first. You don’t want that, do you?”

  The man shook his head, eyes cloudy.

  Gryph slipped away, his hunger for blood sated for now.

  He did love a tasty little snack. Even more, he loved that his senses were even better now, his body revitalized.

  Chuckling, Gryph slipped all the way to the back of the mansion, looking for a way in.

  He was curious to see this monster that was trapped. He wanted to get the scent, the feel.

  The kitchen was empty, and he slid in, sniffing hard, looking around. No food had been cooked in days. Just coffee. Hmm. Were they bringing in food?

  They had to be, with all these people. They were like ants.

  So what was going on? What kind of paranoia was this?

  Up and down, up and down—the scent of death wafted up through the vents. That was—was the old bastard bloating in there somewhere?

  How entertaining would that be?

  Still, mostly he followed his nose to the basement, where the worst of the smell emanated. He frowned, turning the steel handle of a locked door easily.

  He slipped halfway down the steps, but a crackling stopped him short, a roar of agony. Oh.

  Gryph pondered interrupting, but it was hardly his place, was it? He started for the stairs again, but that noise came again, and Gryph knew what that sound was now. It was a light wand, similar to a cattle prod, but worse for vamps. So he slid into the shadows, trying the next door. This one wouldn’t yield as easily, so he had to wait. Gather himself.

  He might not be able to save the “monster,” but he’d be damned if he left the fellow to be beaten and burned.

  Gryph wasn’t a proponent of “we all have to stick together.” Vampires were solitary creatures. But this was beyond the pale.

  This was torture, pure and simple.

  He braced himself to slam into the door, but a noise from behind him made him pause. What was that?

  One of his kind came rushing past him, followed by….

  Oh.

  Oh, his own.

  Gryph stared, lost for a moment in the tiny, dark avenging angel who roared by. Yes, that was his. No need to rescue the one in the room now.

  Now he could focus on the perfect time to woo his love away.

  He stood there, shocked into stillness, body throbbing in time with his sweet one’s heartbeat.

  The noises coming from the room were pure violence. Roars from the large vampire, shouts from his little one, and inhuman sounds from the new child. Oh, he would have a hard time.

  Too bad that it mattered not to him.

  He had his bayou baby in his sight. He would not lose him again.

  Gryph grinned, feeling his fangs against his lower lip. He did love a hunt. He truly did. This one would be a challenge, which was better than anything.

  Well, anything one could still do at his age. And in this modern world. They did so object to rending people limb from limb.

  So many rules.

  Too bad Gryph lived to break them.

  When his sweet love headed out, the temptation to follow was huge, but he needed to see what happened next, so when the big guy hustled out, carrying the young one, Gryph watched.

  Then he followed, feeling a bit like a cartoon skunk.

  He wanted to snatch his dear one, but the young one was feral and near death. They had it under control. He would catch up. As would they when they made their way after the Colonel.

  How very interesting his life had just become.

  Gryph simply couldn’t wait to see what happened next.

  Chapter Sixteen

  CLAY WAS about to go crazy.

  He itched. He burned. And he would swear he could feel every bit of torment Vance was going through. It pulled at him. Urged him to act.

  Once night had fallen, he and Remy had crawled out of their hidey-hole, and he’d had to get Remy water and a bathroom, as well as some food. Bless his heart, the crazy little Cajun had held up well.

  “We got to find Boo,” Remy had said, tugging him out into the night. And the search was on.

  The car had been trashed and the cabin riddled with bullet holes, but there hadn’t been one cop, so someone paid well to keep things quiet. It hadn’t taken but a minute for Remy to find the owner’s pickup and jerry-rig it to start, both of them zooming down the highway, running on his instinct and the few directions they’d pulled from the wrecked Caddy.

  Goddamn it, he’d liked that car. Finding another that was so comfortable, with a big back seat, would be a bitch.

  They spent the morning in a quiet, cheap-assed motel, and when Clay woke, the sun was setting and Remy was sneaking in the door.

  “I got us some defense, boss, and I saw the place they got Boo. There’s guards and shit; it’s a big old house, but it’s just like Boo told us—three stories and a green roof and them ugly bushes cut to look like hearts and spades and clubs and shit.”

  Two sawed-off rifles landed on the bed, along with a pair of .38s. He knew better than to ask. Remy came by things using voodoo, he would swear. They needed to get Vance and get the hell out of Dodge.

  “Good job, babe. C’mere.” He held out his hand to Remy, knowing he needed a moment, just to get his shit together, Remy’s solid little body just the ticket against his.

  “We’ll get him, cher, yeah? You don’ worry on it none.” Remy pressed close, petting him like Remy was the big badass.

  “I know, babe. I just don’t know what he’ll be like when we get him. You might have to stay away the first bit.” Hunger could make some of them crazy, and it had been a few days….

  Remy nodded, eyes serious. “I ain’t looking to be lunch, yeah? We gotta, we’ll get him some bagged stuff.”

  “There you go.” Sighing, he took a kiss from Remy, needing something, and damn it, he wasn’t allowed to bite. “Come on, babe. Night’s a-wastin’.”

  “We’ll hex their asses and get Boo.” Remy grabbed a gas can and a backpack filled with God knew what. He did keep the Cajun for a reason. They headed down the road, parked the truck out of sight about a quarter mile from the gate.

  “Things get bad, you get the hell out, Rem. I won’t have you hurt. You got it?” Clay knew he could tear it up if he needed to, all on his own. That was Vance in there. His.

  “We ain’t thinkin’ that way. We’re gonna go in there and get him and go. You and me.”

  Stubborn ass.

  “You’re a stud, babe. I knew I kept you around for a reason. You let me take out that guard, then you come on.” Clay waited for the short nod before stalking into the darkness, intent on doing a bit of killing.

  The first guard went down easy, the next one fought a little, enough to make him snarl and to give Remy the chance to whack the asshole in the knee with a bat. If this was how bad the help was, it was no wonder the mythical Colonel was pissed off that Vance had gone to the other team. Clay motioned Remy to go around the backside of the house, figuring they’d split up and catch any other guards who might be patrolling. Remy nodded, moving quick and quiet. There was a big wraparound front porch, a double set of front doors flanked by long, thin windows. He could see guys moving around back there, pacing.

  The back would be best. Hell, maybe they could get in through the low windows under the kitchen. Clay took one more guard in a rush, th
e wet gurgle as Clay tore out his throat the only noise in the night.

  He heard things from the inside now, the distant sounds of screams, of his own in pain. He met Remy at the back, one low window already broken out, a guard covered in glass slumped to one side, Remy holding one arm. “I was waiting, boss. They got me with sumpin’. A shot.”

  “A shot? Fucking bastards. You gonna be okay? You feel sick?” At the nod, he gave Remy a quick squeeze, knowing they both did better with a little contact. He sniffed, trying to scent if something was wrong. It was his Remy, but more. “Be ready for anything.”

  Clay went in low and fast, hoping to hell he didn’t land on anything loud.

  There was a guy coming in the door, and he took the fucker down and bashed him.

  Yeah, okay. Now he just had to follow the screams. Goddamn. Rage burned in his belly, making him move faster. Not reckless. Just quick as hell.

  Remy ran behind him, staying close, pistol in hand as they headed deeper into the house. “They know we’re here, boss. I’ll watch your back. You get him afore he screams himself hoarse. That’s a nasty sound.”

  “I’m on it.” That was all the time he spared for talking. Clay followed the noise of Vance’s screams, hot fury riding him, pushing him faster and faster.

  He ran through the house, boots clacking on the wood floors, heading toward the fury. He screeched to a halt in what looked like a drawing room, the shadow of a hutch hiding him. Two guards stood at the door at the end of the hall, pistols drawn, eyes huge. One looked at the other as Vance screamed. “How come he ain’t dead, man?”

  “Because the Colonel don’t want him dead yet. He sold out. Got bit. That used to be one of the best. One of the Colonel’s special pets, you know. One of them.”

  “Oh…. Yeah. Yeah, where’s Andy and them?”

  Andy and them probably wouldn’t be coming back. Clay hoped to hell they were dead. It took him perhaps two seconds to decide which guard to take out first. The one on the right would move faster, so Clay took him down.

  “Fuck!” He heard the hammer cock, heard the shot so loud his teeth rattled, and waited for the pain, the shock. What he got was Remy, nudging him. “Come on, now. He’s still making that fucking noise.”

  Shit. His whole body went into fight mode, and Clay tore into the room, trusting Remy to stay out of the line of fire. Bullets would hurt like shit, but he’d survive them.

  The smell hit him first—burnt flesh and blood thick on the air—but when the sizzling and laughter pushed over the screams, he went wild. They had Vance hanging from the wall, slashing at Vance with sun lamps, laughing as they connected.

  Clay waded in, teeth bared and hands clenched into claws. He swung at the closest asshole, sending the man flying in a screaming arc, right into the wall. A dull cracking followed, the scream cutting off. Two more went, bam bam, and one guy managed to hit him on the shoulder with one of those fucking lamps, making him scream before ripping out a soft, vulnerable throat.

  “Boss, boss. He’s getting loose!” He’d heard Remy sound a thousand ways, but never heard pure terror.

  Blood sprayed across him, but Clay didn’t stop to drink the fucker down. No, he went for the last one, needing him to help Vance heal enough to get out. “Don’t kill him, Rem! I need him.”

  “He ain’t right. He ain’t Boo no more.” Remy was backpedaling, eyes fastened on Vance. He stopped to look—Jesus.

  Vance was raw and striped with burns, lips drawn back to show long, sharp fangs. He’d become one of them, but crazed with blood lust and pain.

  Sending the last sun lamp crashing to the floor, Clay grabbed the final guard, propelling the begging man forward. Right onto those fangs. The last chain holding Vance snapped and the guard fell, Vance snarling and feeding, the guard’s screams cut off with a gurgle.

  Clay checked the danger areas, making sure no more guards were pouring in. Then he went and pulled Vance away from the empty shell he was mauling. “Where’s the fucking Colonel, honey?”

  Glowing eyes blazed up at him, Vance pure animal, pure hunger and pain as he was attacked.

  Damn it.

  “Boss!” Shit, Remy’d kill Vance. Vance heard the sound and snarled, lunging for Remy, eyes empty and wild.

  “Go, Remy. Get us a better car. Don’t get yourself killed.” Remy had to get out. Clay could handle Vance if Remy wasn’t there. He remembered what that first desperate hunger felt like.

  “Meet you in the back. No getting eaten.” Remy took off like a bat out of hell, Vance slavering and trying to follow the little Cajun, teeth snapping at the air like a rabid dog’s.

  Clay yanked Vance around, shaking him like a pit bull with a Chihuahua. He had to get Vance to settle some before he let the man feed, or it would get ugly. Vance screamed again, blisters breaking under Clay’s hands. The blood had helped, though; he could see the skin trying to heal itself.

  Rushing Vance, Clay pushed the man back against a wall, holding him there with one arm, raising his other arm to press it against Vance’s mouth. Fuck. Fuck, those teeth were sharp, biting deep, the suction fierce as Vance fed. It fucking hurt like nothing had since he’d changed over, but Clay let it go on as long as he could, knowing it would heal Vance like nothing else. Finally, though, he had to fight free, slapping Vance hard across the face when the man went for him again.

  Vance’s head rocked, knees buckling a little. Goddamn, he hoped Remy’d found them a car.

  Now it was time for Vance to sleep, to get his shit back on straight. If he could. Clay picked the suddenly very heavy body up and ran for the back door.

  They could figure out where the hell that damned Colonel was later.

  When Vance could talk and shit.

  Chapter Seventeen

  HUNGRY.

  Hungry.

  Hungry.

  He could smell it.

  Food.

  Human. Hot blood.

  Close.

  Alive.

  He could.

  Right here.

  He pulled against the ropes holding his arms, screaming out his rage, the hunger crawling on his torn skin.

  “You sho’ he ain’t getting free, boss? He’s like a rabid dog.” The words made no sense.

  “I’m sure. Did you get me what I asked for?” He knew that voice. Somewhere deep down.

  “Yeah. Yeah, boss. I got some ointment and soft sheets too. Z’at still Boo in there?”

  “It is. He’s just real confused and hungry, and you’re like to drive him crazy, all alive and shit. You go on to your room. You did good, babe.” Vance could hear… something. Something familiar, a wet touch of skin. It gave him rage. More rage.

  He screamed, pulling, fighting to open eyes that didn’t want to work. Out.

  Out.

  Hungry.

  Out.

  Out.

  “Go on, babe. I need to take him the blood you brought.”

  Blood. Oh yes.

  The click of a door closing sounded like the beating of a bass drum, so loud in his ears. He stilled, listening, the constant thrum of food fading, the hunger easing some. Something was here with him.

  Something he knew.

  A man. A man came through the door. And yet… this was not food. This was not the human he smelled.

  “Hey, honey. Look what I brought you. Something to eat.”

  He groaned, trying to reach. He knew that voice. Knew.

  Hurt.

  He hurt. All over.

  “Shhh. I know, baby. I know. It’s itching and hurting and you hate it, yeah?” The man came right up, not even afraid of his bared teeth, holding up a bag of red fluid. Oh….

  The lack of fear eased him, his nostrils flaring as he arched, begging for it. Food. Please.

  “Neeeeeeeeeeeeeeed.”

  “Lord, you’re a zombie.” Laughing, the man pushed up against him, holding him back against the wall, pressing the bag against his mouth.

  Oh.

  He drank deep, the pain inside
him easing as he sucked. The strangest sounds poured from him—pleasure and need and hunger together, guttural and awful.

  “There you go, honey. That’s it, Vance. Just drink. I have more.” Soothing. The voice was so soothing.

  He looked into dark eyes, relaxing, caught. Mine. Mine.

  “Mmm. That’s it. You be a good boy, I’ll give you dessert. One more bag. Come on.” Another bag pushed against his mouth.

  His eyes rolled as his stomach filled, hunger easing. His skin began to knit, itching as it did.

  “Look at that. So much better. So good, baby.” The man kissed his throat, his cheek, getting right in close and tempting him. His cock rose.

  “Mmm.” He groaned, sniffing, tongue sliding out to taste. Not food.

  So good, though. So good.

  One big hand cupped the back of his head, pulling his mouth against the thin skin, encouraging him to sink his teeth in deep. He whimpered and bit, the splash of blood sharp, familiar, tingling and burning, filling him with energy. A low moan sounded, the man just rubbing on him like a cat in heat, making his body remember even more. Yes. Yes, he knew this.

  He rubbed back, groaning and sucking, the burn and life and….

  Wait.

  Life.

  Life.

  Vance lifted his head, stared some. “Clay. Clay, they shot me.”

  “I know, baby.” Dark eyes stared into his. Clay, his Clay, just touched his cheek, cupping it, stroking his lips. “I know, honey. You’ll be fine.”

  “You’ve got me tied up again.” Which, obviously, Clay knew, but still, he thought he’d point it out.

  “Uh-huh. You tried to eat Remy. Uh, a couple three times.” That grin. Made him want to head-butt the man. Maybe kiss him.

  “I don’t eat people. Especially not little freaky Cajuns.” He leaned harder. “They shot me, man. I know they did.”

  “They did, honey. You gonna be okay if I let you loose, now?” Clay looked… worried. About him. Damn. Maybe a touch scared of him.

  “Fuck if I know. My shit isn’t exactly together, man.”

  “Well, we’re gonna try.” That body pressed up against his, holding him still while Clay untied him, helping him when he slumped toward the floor. “I got you, honey.”