h.e.l.l, there was more than one.

The smoker turned toward the voice, which wasn't a voice Will recognized.

"What the h.e.l.l do you want, bloodsucker?"

"What I want is to rip your heart out and suck it dry. But that wasn't why I summoned you just now."

Will smiled just a little. The vamp knew he was here. He'd heard the pebble as clearly as the guard had. Maybe he'd heard more than that. Sarafina said their senses were magnified. He guessed the owner of the voice must be Rhiannon's husband-Roland, she'd called him.

"It's Angelica," the vampire went on. "I think she may be near death."

"Right."

"Look for yourself, man!"

"You think I'm an idiot? I come any closer to the bars, you'll have me. I'm not leech food."

Will squinted in the darkness, wishing to G.o.d he could see the action.

"I'll stand back from the bars. See?"

The man didn't, apparently, because he flicked his lighter again, holding it in front of his face. Will could see him now, see his face illuminated by the single tongue of flame. As was the dim outline of the man who stood beside him. Will saw only two. He prayed there were not more.

"Mercer, go up and get the boss. See what he wants to do about this."

The second man flicked on a flashlight, and Will ducked behind a support post and watched its beam move quickly across the bas.e.m.e.nt. He heard the man pound up the stairs and close the door behind him after he got up there.

The first one leaned a little closer to the bars, peering in, holding the lighter a bit farther in front of him. He was extremely careful not to put himself within reach of the prisoners. His back was to Will now, as no doubt, the vampire had intended. Will moved in, swift and silent, right up behind the guard. He cupped the man's mouth and chin with one hand and braced the other at his nape.

"Don't kill him," a woman's voice snapped.

Frowning into the darkness, Will couldn't see, and he didn't ask questions. He changed his grip to a choke hold and squeezed the guard into unconsciousness. When the man went limp, Will dropped him, and his body fell forward. Will bent over to search him. But before he could even begin, the body was jerked roughly forward, smashing against the bars.

Will had no idea what was going on-at least, not until he heard the sucking sounds. He tried his best to ignore the smacking and slurping, along with the guard's position, which soon became apparent-both arms had been yanked through the bars-and finished searching the guy's pockets. He located a set of keys, removed them, then got to his feet, stepping over the guard and running his hands along the barred door, b.u.mping the arms along the way, until he found the lock panel with its keyhole. Then he began trying one key after another, until, finally, one of them fit.

The feeding frenzy had stopped. He rolled the body aside and pulled the cage door open.

"I'm glad to see you, Stone."

That was Bryant's voice. Amber's father, the man who'd hired him. "Wish I could say the same," he replied, blinking in the darkness. "Good move distracting the guard. I'm glad you heard me kick that pebble."

The other male, the one Will a.s.sumed was Roland, cleared his throat. "We heard you coming down the stairs, watched you all the way across the bas.e.m.e.nt. Stealth is not your strong suit, Stone."

"Maybe not to you. The guard didn't hear me, though."

"Where's my daughter?" the woman, Angelica, asked.

Will blinked, looking in her general direction. "I thought you two were able to communicate-you know, astrally or whatever."

"Mentally. She's gone silent. Something's wrong."

Will twisted his wrist, squeezed his watch so its face lit green. "Let's get upstairs. We don't have much time."

"Much time before what?" Jameson asked, already heading toward the stairway.

Roland gripped Will's upper arm to guide him across the dark bas.e.m.e.nt to the stairs. Will was grateful; it would have taken him twice as long, blind.

"Before my diversion kicks in-a.s.suming it works."

They were heading up the stairs by now, but before they could make it, the door at the top opened, letting a shaft of light fill the stairway. Rhiannon stood there, carrying Amber in her arms. The girl hung limply, and Willem's heart twisted.

Angelica gave a sharp little cry, and the next thing Will knew she was at the top, taking the girl from Rhiannon's arms.

"She's only unconscious. One of them drugged her again."

"How are you two progressing?" Will asked.

"Sarafina killed one on the ground floor. I haven't seen her, but I saw the kill through her eyes. I killed another, though I'm afraid I didn't do it as neatly as you instructed. You?"

"One dead down here. Another raced upstairs to find Stiles. You didn't see him?"

"No."

They were all on the ground floor now, Roland closing the bas.e.m.e.nt door behind them, before turning to slide an arm around Rhiannon, pulling her close to him, kissing her hungrily.

"By my count," Will said, "Stiles and the one who ran up here to find him are the only two left in the house."

Jameson nodded. "Then where the h.e.l.l are they?" Will frowned. "More importantly, where the h.e.l.l is Sarafina?"

22.

Sarafina opened her mind as she searched the house. She knew that Rhiannon was with Amber, and the slick and slimy Joe was dead. She knew that Willem had gone below to search for the vampires being held there, and that Rhiannon had gone to back him up.

And she knew, from the conversation she had overheard, that Stiles was in a laboratory somewhere in the house. Once a.s.sured the others were holding their own-confident they could handle the one mortal thug still unaccounted for-she honed her focus, drew it in until it was as sharp and attuned as a pinp.r.i.c.k of light. Within that pinp.r.i.c.k, she placed an image of Stiles as she remembered him, with the left half of his face mottled and pink with scars, the left half of his head smooth where no hair could grow. He'd been inside DPI headquarters when the vampires had burned it to the ground all those years ago. He hadn't escaped unscathed.

She wished fervently that he hadn't escaped at all. He'd singlehandedly recreated the DPI, though whether he still used the name, she didn't know. It didn't matter. What he had created was born of the same fear-based hatred. If anything, this new organization of his was even more despicable than the original had been. But it would end when he did. And she intended to see to it that his end found him soon.

She owed the man.

Her instincts led her through the house, her senses guiding the way, until she found herself in a corridor lined with doors on either side. Moving through it, she held her palms to each closed door, feeling the vibrations on the other side-or not feeling them, since most of the rooms were empty. But then, she had help from an unexpected source.

Ahead, around a corner, a man-not Stiles-lifted his hand to pound on a closed door. She moved toward him in a flash of speed, caught the hand before it could make contact, covered the man's mouth so he couldn't cry out and held his nose so he couldn't breathe. It was the quietest method she could think of, but her patience was stretched to its limits by the time his oxygen- starved heart finally stopped beating.

She dragged him around the corner and left him there. Then she returned to the door, put her palm to its surface and knew that Stiles was inside.

Closing her hand around the doork.n.o.b, she tried to turn it, found it locked. She took two steps back, turned slightly to one side and kicked. The door burst open, wood splintering along the locked edge.

Stiles whirled to face her, his eyes wide. He stood on the far side of the dimly lit room. She took rapid note of computers, shelves lined with bottles and jars, microscopes and more sophisticated laboratory equipment and books. There were endless rows of notebooks like the one the two had been perusing in the library. One such book lay open on the table that stood between her and Stiles. There was a syringe in his arm, its plunger fully depressed.

"Funny," she said. "I didn't take you for an addict."

He pulled the needle from his arm, tossed it to the floor and casually rolled down his sleeve.

"And I didn't take you for an idiot-Sarafina, isn't it?" She nodded, just once. "You remember me, then.''

"I never forget an enemy. This is going to be a supreme pleasure. Of course, you realize you're completely surrounded. Trapped."

"By those soldiers you have stationed outside, you mean? They didn't stop me from getting in, Stiles. I doubt they'll give me much trouble when I decide to make my exit. Not that you'll be alive to see it."

"I think I will." He lunged for the counter behind him, grabbing a small handheld radio. She shot across the room, clearing the table easily, landing beside him and closing her hand over the one that held the device. When she squeezed, Stiles's face contorted and the radio crumbled into pieces.

He shouted then. "Nelson, Joe, get in here!"

She released his hand, brushing her own as if to rid it of dirt. "Nelson. That's the big blonde with the broken neck, isn't it? And I believe Joe has, well, as someone dear to me put it, he's simply lost his head.

In fact, I'm fairly certain all your household staff have decided to...take the rest of the night off."

"You killed them. You murderous b.i.t.c.h." He was backing across the room as he spoke, toward the right wall. There were numerous items strewn on the counter there, and a small refrigerator, as well.

"I'm not the one who kidnapped a teenage girl, Mr. Stiles," she said, picking up the open book from the table as she followed him. She glanced down at the pages.

"Dr. Stiles."

She ignored him, noticing the phrases that stood out on the page.

...tenth injection...noted increase in strength and stamina...no aversion so far to sunlight or solid food...

Frowning, she looked up at him. "What is this? Exactly what were you injecting into what's left of your pathetic body when I walked in here?"

He smiled very slowly. "You'll never live long enough to find out," he muttered.

She tossed the book aside, and in a single burst of motion she was on him, had him by the throat, ready to choke the answers from him. Stile drove his fist into her belly with impossible force. Her grip broke, and she flew backward, airborne, until her back hit the table, breaking it in two. She lay on the floor, the jagged wood beneath her, stunned. He couldn't be that strong. He couldn't be....

"What have you done?" she whispered.

He started toward her, and she sprang to her feet, defensive, ready. He made as if to attack, but instead pulled a gun from inside his jacket. An ordinary handgun. He fired it, and the sound was deafening to her sensitive ears as the muzzle flashed blue fire. A red-hot brand seared through her midsection. Pain screamed, and blood flowed as she fell to her knees. She looked down at where her hands clasped her belly, saw the scarlet lifeblood oozing from between her fingers. "You'll die for this...."

"Not likely. You will, though. I guarantee you that."

Even before she lost consciousness, the b.a.s.t.a.r.d had hauled her up and thrown her over his shoulder as if she were weightless, and at such close range she smelled him even more acutely than she had before. His scent was off-there was something familiar, something beloved that shouldn't be there. And then it hit her. He smelled like Amber Lily!

He carried her toward the wall. Not the door, but the wall.

Willem heard the gunshot. They all did, and they raced through the house toward its source.

Sarafina. Jesus, something had happened to Sarafina. He felt it in his gut-and it burned.

They ran into a hall, down it, the others opening doors as they went. Will didn't bother. He felt pulled, and he followed that feeling, running on his injured foot, completely oblivious to the pain. He nearly tripped over a dead man lying on the floor. Leaping over the corpse, he kept moving and came to a door that was already open. Splintered but open, revealing a laboratory.

"Here!" he shouted, and the others came running.

Silently they took in the surroundings, the equipment, the broken table and the small pool of blood on the floor near it. Amber, rousing now from the mild dose of tranquilizer she'd been given, bent to pick up the notebook on the floor.

"That's Sarafina's blood," Rhiannon said softly. "He's taken her... somewhere.''

"But where?" Will looked frantically around the room, his heart racing, his head in chaos.

But then he checked himself, fell back on his training, called up every ounce of will and self- control in him. He went still, closed his eyes and let his experience take over.

"Roland, go to the front of the house, where you can see outside through the windows.

Check the troops outside, see if they seem to have heard the gunshot."

"It's doubtful, given the thickness of these old stone walls."

"Make sure. And don't be seen."

Roland nodded and left the room.

Will glanced at Jameson. "We left one alive. The woman, in the room upstairs. Get her and bring her down here."

Jameson nodded and left, moving fast.

Angelica said, "We know he didn't carry her out the way we came in or we'd have pa.s.sed them. I'll check the other way along this hall, see if there are any other exits that he could have used."

"Look for blood on the floor, as well," Will told her. And even as she hurried away, he was looking at the floor, his eyes narrow. There were droplets of blood between the puddle and the wall on his right. Nowhere else. He shook his head. "This doesn't make any sense."

"My G.o.d," Amber whispered.

Rhiannon and Willem both turned toward her. She was standing in the doorway, her eyes moving rapidly over the pages of the book she held.

She looked up slowly, at each of them in turn. "He's been-he's been injecting himself with...with my blood. My blood."

"What?'' Rhiannon took the book from her, reading for herself.

Will understood. "He says you're animals, evil demons and that he wants to eliminate you all. He uses that rhetoric to draft men to his cause. But what he really wants is what you have."

Rhiannon looked up. "He wants to be a vampire?"

"He wants to be immortal," Will said softly.