Dark Predator d-22 Page 30

  What have you done to me?

  Zacarias was deep in the ground far beyond the everyday running of a ranch, while she was at everyone’s beck and call. It was well and good to give orders, to demand she stay indoors, try to force her to sleep during the day, but there was work to be done and the ranch was used to her taking part—a big part.

  Determined now, Marguarita forced her reluctant body into a sitting position. Light spilled through the small crack in the drapes at her window hitting across her face like a slap. Her eyes burned, an instant painful searing that made her stomach churn ominously and brought tears streaming down her face.

  Throwing up her arm to protect her eyes, she slipped from the bed, her legs and body trembling with the effort to find her bones. She wanted to slide to the ground. It took more effort to throw cold water on her face and neck, rinsing her eyes, but she felt much better afterward. Still sluggish, her brain and body tuned to another world, but at least she could drag on her clothes without falling on her face.

  Her hair was a wild mess and she did her best to tame it as she hurried through the house on bare feet to get to the front door. The problem with Zacarias’s precise instructions regarding the safeguards on the house was, as she had no voice, she couldn’t call out to ask who was outside, therefore she had to open the door to see who was there. She tried to peek through the window, but the sun nearly blinded her.

  Sun scorch you right back, man of mine, she declared vehemently in her head, a kind of sick amusement creeping in. Where was the man when she was left to deal with the problems he created? She was going to ask him that as soon as sleeping beauty woke up.

  Cautiously she cracked the door open. Lea stood outside, her face swollen, one eye closed, the other drooping, her lip cracked and bloody. Tears streamed down her face. She shook her head when Marguarita yanked the door open and reached for her. Pressing her hands to her mouth, she sobbed.

  Marguarita caught her arm. The light was so blinding, her sensitive eyes going as red as Lea’s, burning and tearing the moment the sun hit them. Even her skin prickled, as if shrinking away from the light. She stepped back instinctively, drawing Lea with her. Lea made a sound, halfway between a groan and a sobbing scream. Behind her, a man loomed, his face a triumphant sneer, and he slammed his hand hard into Lea’s back, forcing her forward into the house, propelling her into Marguarita. The two women tumbled to the ground, a tangle of arms and legs, Lea pinning Marguarita to the floor.

  The stranger leaped through the door. “Hurry, hurry,” he called to Esteban. His face was twisted into a demonic mask, eyes darting around him in a kind of rolling terror even as he leaped over the two women on the floor and whirled around in an effort to see the entire interior at once. Esteban rushed through after him, slamming the door closed and locking it.

  A foul odor permeated the air the moment the two men entered. A mixture of heavy garlic, fear and drugs oozed from their pores, nearly gagging Marguarita.

  The stranger reached down and caught Lea by her blond hair and yanked. Lea grabbed his wrists in an effort to relieve the pressure on her scalp, struggling to stand, glaring at her brother, anger mixed with fear.

  “Get up, bitch,” the stranger snapped.

  Marguarita assumed she was the bitch, considering Lea was already on her feet. Calm settled over her. There could be only one reason these men were here. Esteban carried a satchel, and it was heavy. Charlie Diaz, in his drunken state, had betrayed the De La Cruz family, and by the silly necklace of garlic hanging around Esteban’s neck and the foul garlicky odor pouring off of the stranger, they were planning to kill Zacarias. It was up to her to prevent these men from getting to his resting place.

  She took her time, feigning pain as she struggled to her feet. There was a panic button a few feet from her, positioned near the door. If she hit that, her men would come running, armed to the teeth, but they couldn’t get in if she didn’t open the door to them. Swallowing hard—and it wasn’t that difficult to look frightened—she stood, swaying a little, one hand going to her scarred throat, the other searching for the wall as if to hold her up.

  Zacarias. Can you hear me? We’re in trouble. You have to wake up and hear me.

  The panic button was several feet from her, but at least she had her hand on the wall and they were all buying her fear. Now that they were in the house, they were a little less agitated and a little more cocky.

  DS threw Lea against the wall beside Marguarita and swaggered over to stand in front of them, so close his garlicky breath blasted their faces in hot, foul puffs as he spoke. He deliberately invaded their space as a terror tactic. Marguarita found, after facing a vampire and Zacarias, DS just didn’t scare her as much as she thought he might. The realization that these men couldn’t hold a candle to the dangerous beings she had dealt with took her fear down another notch, allowing her to keep her breathing even and steady. Her heart stopped pounding and her mind settled into a quiet, logical machine, working on finding a solution and a backup plan to her present predicament.

  Zacarias. She tried again, this time allowing that part of her that sent her spirit soaring free to find him. He came into her fast, a melding of their spirits, strength and courage and total reassurance. There was no panic in him, no thought but destroying the danger to her. He had no thought of himself—only her.

  Marguarita hugged that knowledge to herself and it bolstered her courage even more. She wasn’t alone trying to control an impossible situation.

  I need you to get rid of the safeguards at the doors or windows so Cesaro and the others can come inside. Is that possible?

  She tried not to overreact as she shoved her hand into her pocket and pulled out her notepad and pen. Hastily, and in what she hoped was a trembling hand, she scribbled her question.

  Who are you? What do you want?

  “You know,” DS snapped. “You’re hiding him. We know he’s here.”

  Lea moistened her swollen lips. “DS thinks Zacarias is a vampire. He plans to kill him.”

  Marguarita frowned, her eyebrows drawing together in puzzlement. She scribbled more on the notepad, taking her time, letting Zacarias assess his enemies through her.

  He is gone. He left late last night. They never stay long.

  DS slapped her hard, so hard the back of her head connected with the wall. The speed was so shocking and the strike so unexpected, Marguarita found herself disoriented for a moment. Beneath her feet, a wave raised the floor. The walls trembled.

  “Don’t you lie to me, you bitch. You’re his guardian. I know he’s here and you’ll lead us to his resting place.”

  Call to Julio, Zacarias, and allow the men entry. Marguarita did her best to get the entreaty across to him. She was shaken at the savagery of DS’s reaction and his apparent fanaticism.

  Esteban giggled, a high-pitched, almost hysterical sound. He didn’t necessarily believe in vampires, that much was apparent to her, but DS provided his drugs and an unusual, adrenaline-filled lifestyle. He craved the power DS had, and needed the association, feeling like he was in the inner circle. Marguarita wasn’t entirely certain the assessment was hers or Zacarias’s.

  I am very weak, sívamet. I will strike when I can kill them. I could alert Julio and Cesaro, but they will have to unravel the safeguards and it is very dangerous. If I aid them, I may not have the strength to strike when needed. I am very close to the darkness, more so than most of my kind and the sun takes a toll on me that is not the same as others.

  She couldn’t hear any note of anxiety in his voice, just that matter-of-fact way that he spoke of everything, but she was locked to him tightly, feeling his emotions when even he couldn’t, and his anxiety was all for her.

  A Carpathian as close to the darkness as Zacarias suffered the leaden weight of the sun much more than others. The sun was at its highest point. DS had chosen his time well. He must have studied—and believed—all the vampire legends. She let her breath out slowly. Zacarias feared he would have only one chance to
strike through her. As it was, she was holding the connection between them, not him. He wasn’t wasting his energy when she was capable and that told her just how dire the consequence of the afternoon sun really was for him.

  Marguarita made a show of pressing her pen to the paper again, taking her time, letting her hand shake, while her mind raced. There was not going to be the opportunity to stall these men until sunset. They were as aware as her just what position the sun was in. She was going to have to keep them away from Zacarias. Charlie had betrayed him, but evidently they didn’t know Zacarias’s exact location. She could well imagine. Only those serving inside the house knew where the sleeping chambers were located.

  I am telling the truth. Señor De La Cruz left late last night to go to one of his other residences. He does not stay in one place long. She knew that would have a ring of truth. Charlie had to have told them that, which was why they hadn’t waited. It was obvious Lea had been brutally beaten and yet she hadn’t given up Marguarita.

  Remembering the ring and the words in the ancient tongue engraved in the antique gold, she plunged her left hand into her skirt pocket. She needed to remove the ring, but Zacarias, being who and what he was, had made it the exact size to snugly fit her finger. It would take a few tugs to slip it off.

  Can you do that for me?

  She felt his hesitation. He didn’t want to waste the energy.

  I can stall them for a time to give you time to recoup. It will give me a small chance to convince them you aren’t here.

  She already knew they weren’t going to take her word for it and eventually, after a show of being beaten, she would have to give up some location for them to dig in. If they had any brains, they’d look at her throat and know she would never give up his location no matter what they did to her.

  Yes, you will. I will not allow them to put another hand on you. Tell them.

  Like hell, I’ll tell them.

  His heart jerked. She felt it. That quiet smoldering rage that built like a volcano beneath the earth. You will obey me in this.

  Actually, no, I don’t think I will. I can handle them. If we get that far, you can destroy them, but I have weapons all over the house. I just need to get a chance at them.

  I forbid this.

  Forbid away. Did he really think she would give him up to these insane fanatics?

  She handed the note to DS. He read it, cursed, crumpled it up and threw it in her face. His fist hit the wall beside her head.

  She felt the ring loosen on her finger and slide off into her pocket. The relief was instantaneous. Zacarias might be angry with her, but he still reached out to protect her as best he could. Even that small push of energy drained him. She could feel his weakness—and his frustration. He remained alert, no longer arguing with her, reading her determination just as easily as she could read his anger and silent promise of retaliation. Strangely, that made her shiver, frightening her more than DS and Esteban. But not enough to allow them to get to Zacarias. She would take the consequences as long as she saved his life.

  “Do you think I’m kidding around with you? I can hurt you like you’ve never been hurt.”

  Lea reached out and took Marguarita’s hand in silent camaraderie. “I’m sorry. There was no real way to warn you.”

  “Shut up,” DS snapped. He shoved Lea toward the large family room. “Get in there. Both of you.”

  Esteban snatched up the satchel and followed. His face beaded with sweat, the smell permeating the room making Marguarita want to gag. Both men were terrified, but so high and elated at the thought of driving a stake through Zacarias’s heart that they couldn’t stand still.

  “Watch them,” DS snapped.

  He prowled through the house, inspecting every nook and cranny, paying attention to the floors, and closets, opening every door. Marguarita kept the house in perfect order. There were no marks on any of the floors indicating furniture had been moved, or trap doors were installed. The floorboards appeared seamless, even when DS moved throw rugs. She tried not to wince when she heard pottery smashing on the floor, or her dishes being thrown as his frustration and anger grew.

  Her heart gave a little thud of protest when he stalked back into the room, fury on his face. His eyes locked onto hers as he marched toward her determinedly. Lea gave a small squeal of fear and moved closer to Marguarita as though she might protect her. Marguarita withdrew immediately from Zacarias, not wanting him to witness or feel what was coming. She heard the sharp echo of his protest, but she broke the contact off anyway. He was already upset with her for not disclosing his location, so what did it really matter if she could spare him this?

  His face was a twisted mask. “You will tell me what I want to know, you little demon bitch.” Spittle flew from his mouth. His eyes were maniacal.

  DS rained blows on Marguarita without mercy, her face, her stomach, every unprotected part of her body until she went to the floor and he kicked her repeatedly. Marguarita was grateful she couldn’t scream. No sound emerged, no matter how much she cried out in pain. She did her best to cover her face and body while the blows continued, curling into the fetal position. The attack continued forever it seemed. She lost track of time, her mind a haze of pain.

  “You’re going to kill her,” Esteban yelled, rushing DS.

  “Good. The bitch deserves it.” DS yanked his arm away from Esteban and delivered another hard kick to her hip.

  “She doesn’t know or she would have told you.”

  “She knows. They protect their masters. They’re like dogs, guarding them, with no minds of their own.” He continued to rain down punches and kicks, striking anywhere he could, legs, hips, arms and back, even her head.

  Esteban grabbed DS again, pulling him away from her. “She won’t be able to lead us to the resting place and no one else knows. By the time we tear up the floor, the sun will have set.”

  DS shoved Esteban away from him with enough force to send him staggering. DS wiped his hand over his face as if clearing his mind. The wild look in his eyes receded. He spit at Marguarita and paced across the floor. There was only the sound of his ragged breathing as he worked to get himself under control. Eventually he dug out a silver vial and dumped white powder on the small table in the corner of the room.

  Esteban’s eyes lit up. He started over but DS waved him away. “Watch them.”

  “They aren’t going anywhere,” Esteban whined. He licked his lips.

  Lea slid down the wall, her movements very careful as she positioned herself beside Marguarita. She leaned toward Marguarita, placed her lips against her ear and whispered as softly as she could, “Are you okay?”

  Marguarita couldn’t catch her breath. There were so many places on her body that hurt and her ribs burned, robbing her of all air. Tears swam in her eyes, obscuring her vision, or maybe it was blood. She could taste it in her mouth. Her lip was swollen and painful. She curled a little tighter in response, praying DS would stay away from her.

  Lea put her hand on Marguarita’s arm in a gesture of comfort, tears streaming down her face. She looked pleadingly at her brother. His eyes were on the white powder DS was carefully chopping into straight lines on the table. He crept closer, licking his lips repeatedly, his hands shaking in excitement and need. Lea closed her eyes in disgust.

  “DS, I need it, come on,” Esteban pleaded, his voice shaking.

  DS swung around, swearing. “You act like a bitch in heat, you want it so bad, crawl to me, on your hands and knees. Show your high and mighty sister what a bitch dog you are.”

  “Don’t, Esteban,” Lea pleaded in a whisper. “Look what he’s doing to you.”

  Esteban didn’t turn around. He had eyes for only the white powder. Deliberately, DS took his silver straw and sniffed an entire line up his nose. He threw his head back and howled, as if he was a wolf, howling at the moon. “Damn, that’s good shit.”

  Esteban stumbled forward, and immediately DS’s expression changed from rapture to pure contempt. He slapped Es
teban and shoved him. “Get away from me, you bitch dog. You want it, you gotta earn it. Crawl across the room on your knees in front of your fuckin’ sister.”

  A sob escaped Lea as Esteban slowly sank to his hands and knees and crawled in front of DS who watched with triumphant, gleaming eyes, his twisted face infused with glee. Laughing, he spat at Esteban, the spit hitting his cheek and slowly dribbling down to his chin.

  DS kicked at him when Esteban tried to wipe his face clean. “Leave it. It may remind you who’s in charge. Don’t interfere again.” He turned his back and sniffed another line of the powder.

  Esteban crouched on the floor at his feet, looking at him with desperation. He made a single sound of pleading in the back of his throat and tried to slide up to DS.

  “Get back. You haven’t begged properly yet. Sit up and beg. Come on, little doggie. Sit up and wag your tail like a good little pet.”

  Marguarita shifted, the subtlest of movements. When she’d fallen, she made certain to fall near the end table where a knife was kept taped beneath the small drawer. She let her hand creep very slowly up the wood, not wanting to draw DS’s attention. He was focused on tormenting Esteban and seemed, for the moment, to have forgotten her.

  It hurt to move. Everything hurt, just the act of lifting her arm was painful, as if there were minor cracks in her bone. She was certain the damage was all severe bruising, but that small, subtle movement still sent white lightning streaking through her body.

  Lea’s eyelashes fluttered. She frowned at Marguarita and slowly shook her head, fearing repercussions, but, although she clearly didn’t understand what Marguarita’s hand was doing sliding so stealthily up the leg of the end table, she valiantly shifted her body just enough to block DS’s view should he look. Her eyes went wide when Marguarita’s fist came away from under the table with the knife. The blade was four inches long and honed to a razor-sharp edge, tucked inside a smooth leather sheath. Marguarita shoved the knife as deep into the pocket of her skirt as she possibly could.