Prisoner of Night (The Black Dagger Brotherhood #16.5)(46)

Even through the pain, she stayed focused on the pearl, reaching, straining. Inches, she had only inches—

“Is that all you’re after?” the Dhavos said through heaving breaths. “Chalen’s worthless beloved?”

Thunderous impact. Over on the far wall. Like someone had hit it with their entire body.

Duran, she thought.

There was a sudden hush, as if the father had recognized the son’s presence. And then . . . an inhale. A long, slow inhale.

“Dearest Virgin Scribe,” the Dhavos whispered with reverence.

“I thought you only believed in yourself,” she muttered.

Another impact, so loud she could have sworn Duran was going to come through the plaster.

“No,” Duran’s father said. “Your blood . . . so long it has been for me. A proper feeding . . .”

Pounding now, like Duran was hitting the other side with his fists.

“He’s coming for you,” she vowed grimly. “Let me go, and run for your life. I’ve seen what he’s like when he attacks, and I promise you, you will not live through it.”

The chuckle above her was evil. “I’m not worried. That’s a steel door. He will not make it through—so we have plenty of time here together to get acquainted.”

All at once, the stake was removed and she was freed—from the floor at least. But before she could twist around and get at him, he gripped the back of her neck and pushed down so hard, she thought her face was going to be crushed—

Sucking. On the wound.

The bastard was taking her blood.

Ahmare felt a wave of power come into her, and suddenly, it didn’t matter that he was a male and he was strong and he weighed more than she did. Planting her palms, she did the push-up of all push-ups, lifting her chest and the body on top of her off the floor. So great was her anger at the taking, she got her knees up under them both as well.

And then she let out a roar and threw Duran’s father off her, sending him flying into the stacks of chairs.

She was on him in a heartbeat, attacking with her own fangs, taking a hunk out of the side of his neck—except he didn’t fight her. He went limp and laid himself open, his eyes rapturous as he looked at her, her reaction captivating him in an unholy way.

Yeah, she would cure him of that one.

Ahmare kneed that bastard in the nuts so hard, he sat up like a schoolboy, cupping what she’d nailed, his eyes popping from pain.

She wanted to keep going at him.

But she had to get the beloved.

Stumbling, slipping in her own blood where it had pooled on the floor, she went back to where he’d stabbed her. Where the fuck was it?

She checked over her shoulder. The Dhavos was where she’d left him, curled in and coughing.

Getting down on her hands and knees, she patted around the mess on the floor. It must have been kicked aside. Into the chaos of chairs.

“Goddamn it—”

The crash came from overhead, part of the ceiling breaking free, something enormous dropping through and bringing with it all kinds of ductwork.

Duran landed like a superhero, boots planted, body ready to fight, half of a section of venting falling off his huge shoulder and clanging as it hit the floor.

The sound he made was that of a T. rex, shaking the very foundation of the compound.

Behind him, his father jumped up and disappeared, leaving through a hole in the wall that appeared like a hunting dog summoned, the escape closing up in his wake as if it had never been.

“Your father!” She pointed across the room. “He went through there!”





28




DURAN’S BRAIN TOLD HIM to bolt after his father. Get his revenge. Tear the male up into pieces and eat some of them.

But his body refused to move the instant he caught the scent of Ahmare’s blood in the air. “You’re hurt!”

She dropped down to the ground. Like she had passed out.

“You’re dying—”

“The pearl!” She looked up over her shoulder. “I’m trying to find the beloved! It fell out while we were fighting—”

“He stabbed you!”

They were both yelling in the silence, her while she patted around, him while standing over her. And she became more frantic the more she looked without finding it while he got more enraged.

Duran knelt and captured her hands, bringing her focus to him. With a pounding heart, he measured her pupils, her skin tone, her breathing. “You’re bleeding.”

“I can’t feel anything—”

“You’re in shock—”

“I have to find the pearl!” Her voice vibrated with urgency. “I can’t go back without it. Go after your father!”

Duran looked across the storage area.

A ragged path had been cut in stacks of chairs, like a body had careened through them. Streaks of red painted the floor. There was a trail of blood drops as well, one that ended at the wall.

His father. Escaping.

“Go,” she said urgently. “I’ll find the pearl and get out. You told me how—follow the spokes, not the curved corridors, and I have the code that works. If you go after him now, you can catch him—maybe through the ceiling again?”

He thought of his mother’s bones on that cot, and the way her skull had seemed to look at him.