A Cursed Bloodline
Page 49

“And a Valium,” Tim muttered.
The water bottle bounced off his bald head when I threw it at him. Maria flashed me some fang, seemingly impressed, and passed me another bottle. I grabbed it and searched for the closest window seat. Edith and Agnes had strategically positioned themselves on either side of Tye. He left them to sit with me. The moment I buckled in, Hank whistled and the plane readied for takeoff.
I closed my eyes and tried to breathe slowly. I had to rest, if only for a short while. No sooner did we reach altitude than a sharp image of Misha appeared in my mind. I jolted upright. “Shit. They’re moving him again. Get me a map of Guatemala.”
Agnes opened the map and spread it out on the wide table in front of me. I looked around at all the names of the cities until one grabbed my attention. I pointed. “There. They’ll be in Escuintla by morning.”
Hank rubbed his arm and examined the map. “That’s near a seaport. Are they planning to ship the master somewhere?”
“I don’t know.”
Edith tugged on my long-sleeved T-shirt. “How does the master look?”
The image of Misha had not been a pretty one. His once sleek and shimmering hair lay in greasy clumps mixed with dirt. Deep gashes covered his filthy arms and chest. His wounds told me two things: his captors whipped him regularly, and that they weren’t feeding him enough blood.
Edith tugged harder. “Well?”
“Hungry.” I didn’t lie. Misha was falling further into bloodlust.
“You have to tell us more than that!” Edith demanded to know what I’d seen, yet I wasn’t sure she could handle it.
“Just tell us,” Tim asked. “Please, Celia.”
I sighed. “He’s lying in filth…and they’re whipping him.”
The fury that filled the plane incited my tigress to growl. The vampires bowed their heads out of respect for me as their current mistress. Had they held me responsible for Misha’s suffering, they’d have torn me to pieces and played volleyball with my liver. In a strange way, perhaps it was the pep talk they needed. If they weren’t ready to slaughter before, they certainly were then.
“You need to contact him.” Tye’s voice was calm, but he’d leapt to his feet in attack stance when he sensed the vamps’ rage unleash.
“I don’t think I can do that.” I looked around. “You forget, we’re not mates—we’re not bonded.”
“It’s not about being mates.” Tye raised my arm and traced a line down with his finger. “It’s about a master vampire passing you his call. That’s like an indestructible cellphone with unlimited service, dovie. If he can contact you, you sure as hell can reach him.”
“It hasn’t worked in the past, Tye.”
Maria stood. “Take a nap. Make certain your very last thought is of de master. You’ll be sure to reach him then.”
Tye lifted me to my feet when I hesitated. “Celia, you have to try. Your presence will help him to fight the bloodlust. There’s no sense in rescuing him if he’s going to try to eat us.”
Though I had my doubts, a nap sounded good. I walked into the rear of the plane to the ultramodern suite and spread out on the bed. Tye rolled next to me. I punched the pillow beneath my head and tried to settle. “Is this really necessary?”
He flashed me one of his more lionlike smiles. “I’m just here to keep the scary leeches away.”
My lids drooped. “Oh, is that all?”
“That, and to brag to my friends that I finally got you in bed.”
I laughed. “Just don’t write anything on the bathroom wall about me.”
I flipped to my side. Exhaustion weighed on me like a brick in water. I drifted away, but it wasn’t into sleep. Instead I appeared outside an old barn. Humidity slicked my skin despite the late-night hour and neglected palm trees grew like weeds along the garbage-strewn yard. Where am I?
The barn door was thrown open and an old woman hurried out, dragging a young teen by her long dark hair. I dove behind a rusted pickup truck before they could see me. “Estupida,” the woman admonished in a low voice. “No le hagas caso a lo que te prometen esos diablos.”
Deep-throated laughter echoed from within the barn. The males inside were either weres or vampires to have heard the woman scolding the girl for believing their promises. But even if their keen sense of hearing hadn’t given them away, I knew only preternaturals could imprison a master vamp. Misha called to me, luring me forward with a tangible pull.
I snuck through the crack of the open door. Dirt mixed with dry grass and old cow manure made up the floor. Pigs squealed with fright from their pen in the corner. Darkness swallowed most of the dilapidated structure except for a small dim bulb hanging from the rafters. My tigress eyes came forward, permitting me to see while I hid behind a splintered stall.
Three wereoxen stood facing Misha where he’d been staked to the wall. At first it didn’t make sense why he didn’t yank his limbs free. While his muscles and bones would be damaged, in a bloodlust state, a vampire was stronger. He could feast on his captors, mend, and then easily escape.
Misha raised his head and hissed through his fangs. The three weres answered him by lifting their guns and firing. My heart resumed beating only after I realized he’d been struck with tranquilizers instead of bullets. His head and shoulders slumped. One by one, his muscles ejected the darts. They clinked as they fell against the pile at his feet.
My plan was simple: break the neck of the were closest to me and shift the other two underground before they realized what had happened. I crept behind the wereox and attacked, falling when my arms went right through his body. I landed in a crouch, growling and ready to fight. No one reacted. That’s when I realized I was nothing more than an apparition despite my ability to sense my surroundings. My mind worked through how I could use my invisibility to my advantage until the were reaching for a whip ground my thoughts to a halt.
The whip soared through my chest, striking Misha’s face, chest, and groin and inciting laughter from the group. I wrenched my body away, unable to watch. The were closest to me backed away into a stall and lifted a half-empty bottle of tequila from an old plastic table. He took a few swigs, filling his mouth before spitting the rank fluid on Misha’s open wounds.
They each took turns lashing Misha, until the last grew bored and dropped the blood-smeared whip on the ground. The tip shimmered. It had been dipped in cursed gold. Shit. No wonder the strikes had been so effective.