There was little amusing about the day's developments back in Boston. The Minion courier dispatched to obtain an important overnight delivery for him had instead turned up at the city morgue--a John Doe stabbing victim, according to Marek's contact in the coroner's office. As he was killed in broad daylight, that ruled out the Order or any other Breed intervention, but Marek still had his suspicions.
And he was very interested to learn that the package he'd been expecting had gone missing from the FedEx store that very day. The loss was serious, but he intended to reclaim it. When he did, he would take great pleasure in personally questioning the thief who had it.
Up ahead, at the top of the attic stairwell, one of the Minions on guard opened the door to permit Marek entry into the now-darkened room. The vampire was naked, strapped to a chair by chain links and steel shackles at each ankle and wrist. His skin was smoking from head-to-toe burns, emitting the sickly sweet odors of sweat and badly seared flesh.
Enjoy the view? Marek asked as he strolled in and looked on the male with revulsion. A pity it's still winter. I understand the colors up here are amazing in the fall.
The vampire's head was dropped low on his chest, and when he tried to speak, the sound was nothing more than a sputtered rasp in the back of his throat.
Are you ready to tell me what I need to know?
A pitiful moan slipped past the male's blistered, swollen lips. Marek crouched down before his captive, offended by both the stench and sight of him. No one would know that you broke. I can give you that, if you cooperate with me now. I can send you away to heal, ensure your protection. That's easily within my power. Do you understand?
The vampire whimpered, and Marek sensed a possible teetering of conviction in the pained sound. He had no intention of making good on the lies he fed his captive. They were merely tools meant to bend him where torture and suffering had not.
Speak it, and be free of this, he coaxed, his tone quiet and unhurried despite the urgent greed swimming in him to have the answer. Tell me where he is.
There was an audible click of the prisoner's throat as he attempted to swallow, a vague tremor in his head as he struggled to lift it from its slump on his ravaged chest. Marek waited, eager with hope and uncaring that the Minions standing around him could probably feel that hope vibrating off him.
Tell me now. You don't need to carry this burden any longer.
A hiss began to leak from between the vampire's lips, a drawn-out, rattling exhalation. A shudder overtook him, but he gathered himself and tried again, expelling the start of his confession at last.
Marek felt his eyes widen in anticipation, his own breath ceasing as he waited for the words that would begin his destiny.
Ffff... One eye peeled open just a crack behind the vampire's seared lids. The iris was bright amber from the prolonged suffering, the pupil a thin slit of black that found Marek's own gaze and burned into him with hatred. The captive drew in a breath, then spat it out on a low growl. "Fff...fuck...you."
With an utter calm that belied the storm of rage that swept instantly to life inside him, Marek rose and began a deliberate stroll toward the attic stairs.
Open the blinds, he instructed the Minion guards. Leave this worthless offal to the sun. If he doesn't perish by the time it sets, let him bake up here with the dawn.
Marek quit the room, not so much as flinching when the first terrorized screams cranked up again in his wake.
Chapter Nine
As the last few minutes of day passed into dusk, Tegan gathered up the book and his weapons, then reached for his dark coat. Elise had spent the past hour or more--since the moment she'd handed the FedEx package over to him--watching him pore intensely over every page of the text while she worked up the nerve to ask him again about helping her become more involved in the war against the Rogues. Now, as he shrugged into the black leather trench coat, she sensed it was her final chance.
Tegan...I hope the book proves useful.
It will. Striking green eyes flicked to her, but she could see that his mind was churning on the new information in his hands. He blinked and it was as if he had dismissed her entirely now, was itching to get away from her. You have the Order's gratitude for this.
What about yours?
Mine? When he paused, scowling, Elise said, It's not so much to ask, is it? You're the only one who can help me deal with this...flaw of mine. Teach me how to mute it, how not to feel. I can be an asset to you and to the Order. I want to help.
His answering look scathed her with its sharp edge. I work alone. And you don't know what you're asking for. Besides, we've already covered this ground.
I can learn. I want to learn. Please, Tegan. I need to learn.
And you think I'm the one to help you?
I think you're my only hope.
He scoffed at that, shaking his head. When he moved away from her, Elise marched toward him, undaunted, as if she could physically keep him from leaving. She caught herself a mere hairbreadth from contact, and let her hand fall to her side. Don't you think I'd go to someone else--anyone else--if I could?
He was silent for a moment, considering, she hoped. But then he exhaled a curse and reached for the door. I gave you my answer.
And I gave you that journal. That's worth something, isn't it?