Would nine o’clock never come?
Cara’s heart lodged in her throat when Anton pulled up in front of what looked like an old abandoned building. She knew, in the deepest part of her being, that if she entered the place she would never leave it alive.
Grabbing the door handle, she shook it fiercely, willing it to open, and when that failed, she tried to roll down the window in hopes of climbing out, but to no avail.
Anton’s laughter, cold and brittle, like the sound of dead leaves striking a tombstone, filled the confines of the car. “What’s the matter, sweet cakes?”
“Please.” She forced the word through lips gone dry. “Please let me go.”
“No can do.” His hand closed over her forearm, dragging her across the console and out the driver-side door.
“My father’s not in danger, is he?”
“Not yet, but he will be.” Anton unlocked the door to the old building and dragged her inside.
She tried to wrest her arm from his grasp and when that failed, she pummeled his chest with her fists, then kicked him in the shin.
“Stop that!” he growled.
“Let me go!”
He slapped her across the face, hard enough to make her ears ring. “I said stop it!”
“Anton, is that you?”
Glancing over her shoulder at the sound of a feminine voice, Cara saw a middle-aged woman, clad in a long black dress and white apron, ascend the stairs. She was of medium height, with dark brown hair tied at her nape. Her skin was pale and clear; her eyes were gray. A hint of madness lurked in their depths.
The woman’s gaze, sharp as a dagger, raked over Cara. “You must be DeLongpre’s brat.”
“Who are you?” Cara asked.
“Serafina. Has your father never mentioned me?”
“Not that I recall.”
“Perhaps I’ll tell you the story while we wait.”
“Wait for what?”
“Your father’s arrival, of course. Didn’t Anton tell you? Bring her down, Anton. Everything is ready.”
Knowing it was useless, Cara continued to struggle as Anton dragged her down a flight of stairs, through a laboratory, down another flight of stairs, and into a large, windowless room. Two metal tables stood side by side in the middle of the floor. One was fitted with thick silver restraints, the other with leather straps. A stone crypt occupied one corner; a table covered with a black cloth stood beside it. Two dozen black candles provided light.
In spite of Cara’s frantic struggles, Anton lifted her onto one of the tables. He held her immobile while the woman strapped her wrists and ankles to the table.
Cara tugged against the restraints, her heart pounding so loudly in her ears that she couldn’t hear anything else. “Please.” She glanced at Anton and the woman. “Please, don’t do this.”
“It’s time,” the woman said.
Anton nodded. “I’ll be back soon, Mother.”
Cara stared after him. Where was he going? Surely not to confront her father. No sane man would rile a vampire. And yet, her father was her only hope.
Wringing her hands, the woman paced between the metal tables. “It will all be over soon,” she said.
“Why?” Cara asked, choking back a sob. “Why are you doing this?”
Serafina stopped pacing and glared at Cara, her eyes blazing with hatred. “Why? You ask me why? Your father killed the man I love, that’s why!” She walked to the crypt and knelt beside it. “My Anthony.” Her hand caressed the cold stone. “Soon, my love, soon we’ll be together.” Rising, she came to stand beside Cara once again. “Tonight I will bring my Anthony back,” she said, the madness in her eyes growing brighter, “and tomorrow he will be mine again.”
Smiling, Serafina walked to the covered table and drew back the cloth, revealing a silver bowl, a black-handled silver dagger, and several small jars.
Cara stared at the dagger and hoped that her death would be quick.
Anton was surprised to find the gate leading to DeLongpre’s house standing open. But then, maybe DeLongpre was expecting him. No doubt the bodyguard had already informed the vampire that Cara was missing.
Lights shone in all the downstairs windows. The front door opened even before Anton was out of the car and Roshan DeLongpre stood silhouetted in the doorway.
Anton slipped his hands into his coat pockets. The left one held a bottle of holy water, the right one contained a string of garlic. A sharp wooden stake rested against the small of his back; he wore a silver crucifix on a thick silver chain. It felt heavy around his neck.
DeLongpre moved to the end of the porch. “Bouchard, what are you doing here?”
“I have a message concerning your daughter.”
The vampire was down the stairs in the blink of an eye. He towered over Anton, his dark eyes blazing. “You know where Cara is?”
“I do.”
“Tell me now.”
“All in good time.”
Roshan’s eyes narrowed ominously. “What’s going on? What kind of game are you playing?”
“No games.”
“Tell me what you want.”
“Back off,” Anton said, “or you’ll never see her alive again.”
“Roshan?”
“Stay in the house, Brenna,” DeLongpre said curtly. “I’ll take care of this.” His eyes burned into Anton’s. “What do you want?”
“This is how it’s going to be,” Anton said, pleased that his voice betrayed none of the fear that trembled just below the surface of his calm exterior. “You will get in the back of my car. You’ll find a pair of handcuffs there. You will put them on. You will put the hood over your face. You will not try any of your mind games on me, nor will you offer any resistance when we reach our destination. Is that clear?”
“Where is my daughter?”
“With my mother. Cara’s life depends on your obedience.”
“And who is your mother?”
“You might remember her. Serafina Bouchard. You might also remember my father,” Anton said. “Anthony Loken.”
Roshan nodded as everything became suddenly clear. He was aware of Brenna listening at the door, sensed her frustration because he had sent her inside. Glaring at Anton, he considered his options. He could easily overpower Bouchard and search his mind for Cara’s whereabouts, but to do so might put Cara’s life in danger. Then there was the witch, Serafina, to contend with. She was a far greater threat than her son.