Chapter Forty-Four

Wind rushed down the lengthof the alley, bullying paper trash out of dumpsters and whirling the bits of litter around each other in what looked like a bizarre mating ritual. It also buffeted the stench of human waste and decay at their group, odors they all would've preferred to have left un-smelled. Behind him, Dev sensed Breen and Kasson tense. Those two rarely came topside—they couldn't handle the scents—but both would've leveled anyone who'd dared suggest they stay behind. Every swinging dick was needed in the field for this.

Dev narrowed his gaze on the end of the alley, his eyes feeling packed in hot sand from how long they'd been ignited, and he had the worst headache of his life from the number of hours his fangs had been elongated. Twenty-three long hours, to be exact, that he'd been stewing in worry and hatred, his internal radar a constant, annoying ping.

Last night, in this very alley, he'd felt like a stick shift some first timer had been trying to learn how to drive, lurching forward, then stalling out, gears grinding, whining, screaming, his body racing forward again, then crashing to a stop. He'd never wanted anything more than to jump Parthen's shit and get his wife back, but…fuck, Parthen's thumb had never wavered from that hypo plunger. One push of that evil fucking thumb, and Dev would've lost the chance to meet the little being who even now was struggling to grow big enough to come into this world. He would've likewise deprived his wife of the same precious opportunity, and with Marissa crying and begging him to "back off," what was he supposed to do? She never would've forgiven him if he'd blown it. Would he have forgiven himself? The whole hosed-up situation had firmly wedged his balls between a rock and a hard place.

The wind made a funny keening sound in the fire escapes above as Jacken quietly directed the rest of the warriors around to the other end of the alley, where they'd take up various flanking positions around Parthen. Only Jacken, Dev, and Sedge would remain at this end, same as last night. Boots rang out on the asphalt as the men took off en masse, ammunition rattling, and flashbang grenades clanking softly together.

Flashbangs, or stun grenades, emitted a deafening explosion and a blinding white light upon detonation. The plan was to use the shocking pyrotechnics to create the necessary chaos and confusion among Parthen and his men in order to extract Marissa. At least that was the plan. Unfortunately, there were holes in it large enough to drive a truck through. First off, if they couldn't get Marissa far enough away from Parthen, she'd get caught up in the explosion, and while flashbangs were designed to stun, not injure, who knew what kind of effect something so jarring would have on a pregnant woman? The second cold, hard truth was that if the warriors could've fought their way out of this, they already would have. Pretty much as long as Raymond could threaten to kill Marissa and Dev's baby, then that assface had them over a barrel.

What alternative did they have, though, other than to fight? Ask a pregnant Toni to come topside for a sit-down with a father who kept abortifacients lying around like English fucking tea and who considered Jacken's unborn child not much better than insect shit? Toni would've done it—if she could've gotten past Jacken—but, no. As much as Dev wanted Marissa back, he couldn't even consider such a thing.

Headlights swept into the alley, and tension pounded through Dev, tangling his organs together. He would spend a week hand-washing a homeless man's crusted-over skivvies, or whatever other community service work needed doing, if he could just get his wife out of this unharmed. Please…

Jacken, Sedge, and he stepped forward as the limo pulled to a stop. The passenger side door opened, expelling dick-smackers Murk and Videon, both armed with AKs. Then the back door swung wide, and out came Douchebag-Hall-of-Famer, Raymond Parthen. He dragged Marissa out with him, another fucking syringe stabbed into her arm, but this time, a gunny sack had also been pulled over her head.

Dev clamped his jaw so hard he ran the risk of eating his own teeth. What the hell was that about? Was this just Parthen's fun way of making things more frightening for Marissa or had she been beaten? His nostrils flared into tight ridges. He could smell his wife's terror, and—"Shit," he hissed. "Parthen has done something to her. Her scent is different." What drugs had he mainlined into her? Glaring at the hypodermic needle, Dev sucked in a couple of hot, quick breaths between his teeth. Was their baby all right? An insidious dread twisted through his bowels. He couldn't remember ever feeling this afraid.

"Good evening, chaps," Parthen said. "All of you," he added in that knowing smug way that set Dev's teeth on edge. "Where is my beloved Toni?"

Jacken gestured behind a building. "She's back here," he lied.

"And Alex?"

"He'll have to come by next time."

A little bit of lying, a little bit of truth-telling: Jacken had to play a shrewd chess match with the elegant Mr. Douche-Bucket.

"That wasn't the arrangement," Parthen returned.

"Couldn't be avoided."

Parthen paused. "Bring Toni forth."

"Send our woman down first."

Parthen sniffed. "Your men in hiding will surely think that gives them license to shoot at my lads."

Jacken shrugged. "We can stand here all night."

"I will happily do so," Parthen countered, "rather than be made a fool. Have Toni step into the open, and I might consider releasing your woman."

Jacken laughed darkly. "So you can use your powers on her? I'm not stupid, either, Parthen. Any discussion you have with Toni will be in my presence, and only after you've released our woman."

Parthen's lips pulled back into something only a generous person would've called a smile. "I do believe you've forgotten who has the true negotiating power here, Varcolac." He pulled Marissa closer to his side. "It would be regretful if your bullheadedness forced me to use this abortifacient. Such theatrics are ever distasteful."

A long, low growl rumbled out of Dev. Here was that thorny crux he was half out of his mind about.

Jacken paused. On an underbreath to Dev, he said, "We're going to have to do this."

Dev locked rigid. He didn't see another choice, either, but…something about this…

"All right," Jacken told Parthen. "I'll let you see Toni." Jacken leaned toward the back of the building. "Toni—" he called out, and a second later two flashbang grenades arced through the air.

Dev followed their path, breathing heavily, a cold, nasty sensation wrapping around the back of his neck, like someone was holding a palmful of icy slime there. This isn't right.

He leapt into a run.

The flashbangs landed near the limo, and Dev threw an arm over his face as—wa-boom!—they detonated with an ear-shattering explosion and filled the alley with white lightning. He was thrown onto his back and sent skidding for several feet, vaguely thanking fuck for his thick trench coat. Before he'd even come to a stop, he was back on his feet and racing for Marissa.

She was face-down on the ground!

The rear end of the limo had been knocked helter-skelter; Videon was painting the hood and Murk was just finishing up banging his head against the wheel well, his eyeballs doing loop de loops.

Parthen stood like a god rising out of the smoke, unmoved from his original spot, his face a mask of icy rage. Bullets zinged out from the warriors in hiding. Parthen tossed the hypodermic needle aside with a flick of his wrist, said something to Videon, then got back in his limousine.

Videon jumped off the hood with a snarl and aimed his AK-47 assault rifle at Marissa.

"No!" Dev bellowed. He increased his speed beyond normal endurance, but… Too far. He panted, desperate, panicked. He wouldn't be able to reach her in time… Horror slid the world out of focus as a grey puff spouted from the AK's muzzle, a report rang out, then a jet of blood leapt from of the back of Marissa's head.

"NO!" Dev's heart ripped out of his chest. His boots smoked as he skidded up to his wife, his breath wheezing out of him. He fell down onto his knees beside her, his entire body numb. Flashbang remnants burned his eyes and the scent of blood over-saturated his senses. He wrenched the hood off his wife, saw blank eyes through the tangle of her hair, and let loose an anguished yell. "Marissa!" He clasped her lifeless body to his chest, his throat pumping hard with a flooding onrush of tears. No, no, no, this wasn't happening. The limo's receding tires kicked debris into his face.

Jacken ran up to him. "Dev…" His strong hand landed on his shoulder. "Let go of her, man."

"Get your hands off me," Dev snarled, a wild savagery building in his chest. "You're not taking her. I'll fucking kill you if you try."

Jacken removed his hand, but his voice grew firmer. "Listen to me, Nichita, dammit. That's not Marissa."

He shook and shuddered. What—?

"If your mate was dead, your radar would have you flat on your back right now. Look at her," Jacken barked.

Slowly, shakily, he lowered Marissa to the street. He smoothed bloody hair off her face, and—the bullet had exited through her right eyeball, but still…he could tell… He hugged his own chest and fell back on his heels. All-encompassing relief stole his strength.

It. Wasn't. Her.

The warriors gathered around.

"Nichita…Christ, that scared the crap out of me."

"Can you believe that asshole killed this poor woman?"

"Who is she?"

"Dev, brother, you okay?"

Dev looked up into Thomal's face. "Yeah, I…" He placed a hand over his chest. Not even a ping. "Marissa is okay. Completely okay." He shifted his gaze and frowned at the dead woman. "Fucking Parthen murdered an innocent just to up the stakes with us."

"It's a damned clear message," Jacken agreed grimly.

This war was only going to get worse.

Dev dragged a hand through his hair. "Where the hell is my wife?"

Sirens wailed in the distance.

"We've got to get out of here," Jacken said. "We'll head someplace safe, then develop a plan for finding her."

Thomal helped Dev to his feet, and he staggered on the way up. If it wasn't for the oil-drum-load of adrenaline still pouring through his system, he probably would've collapsed, performed a groan-and-yack number, then finale'd by going unconscious. The long hours of stress had his blood-need on a steep climb, and it wouldn't be leveling out until he could confirm with his own eyes that his wife and unborn child were all right.

Jacken's cell beeped. He glanced at the screen, then looked up at Dev, exhaling a breath. "It's a message from Cleeve. Marissa has called for a transport. She's at the downtown rendezvous point."

Dev's head fell back on his neck, gifting his eyes with a view of the stars. "Now that's some news I can stand to hear."

Their group raced for their cars.

"Damn," Thomal said behind him. "How do you figure she got loose?"

* * *

Earlier…

Pandra scanned the shelves ofbooks in her father's library. Charles Dickens, Charlotte Bront?, James Joyce…

She didn't really fancy any of them. She was just biding her time. Waiting.

John Keats, Rudyard Kipling, Chaucer… She turned toward the bookcase across the—

He was standing in the library doorway.

She froze, but didn't flinch. Didn't swallow, either, even though her throat had suddenly turned to chalk. She supposed she ought to be proud of that.

"You released my hostage," her father informed her. "An extremely important prisoner to me, Pandra."

"I did," she admitted in an even tone.

Apparently, he didn't care overly much for the lack of remorse in her response. A barb of electricity lanced off him and shot spears under her skin, like a thousand clawing cockroaches, eating her from the inside out. Against her best efforts, her stomach sagged with fear. Her status as his favorite bedamned, Raymond's punishment was going to be a bastarding kick in the arse.

"Explain your behavior," Raymond demanded.

She balanced out the weight on her feet. She'd rather not, thank you. His understanding of her motivations wouldn't lessen the degree of his castigation. But then…further defiance on her part would surely worsen it. "You let Videon torture a woman to death, Raymond. I didn't hack into the girl's delivery schedule for that, and I sure as bloody hell wasn't going to let another woman get killed." Although, in honesty, she was more taking a stand for herself than acting out of remorse for a couple of strangers. She'd reached the top limit of Raymond's terror, damned sick of all the times she had to rush to do his bidding, and sicker still of standing at attention in his almighty sun room when anything wasn't done to his exacting specifications. What had finally pushed her over the edge? Her computer skills had been used to take a life—she herself had been used. This was the first time Raymond had exploited her so directly, and even though it was true she'd been bred to be used, that had never sat well with her.

"I thought you had more spine than that, my pet." Disappointment lay heavy in Raymond's tone.

Admittedly, that stung. She hesitated only a heartbeat, then slipped off her immortality ring and set it on the library desk. "I have spine enough."

Raymond glanced at the ring, then his cold, blue eyes assessed the length of her body, not as a father to a daughter, but as an enemy to an adversary.

Her lungs buckled inward as if she'd taken a hard belt to the chest.

"I have to busy myself with finding a decoy woman now. But…" Raymond sauntered toward her, the tap of his Gucci loafers across the marble floor managing to sound both elegant and lethal. "I daresay I can spare the time it takes to break that plucky spirit of yours."