Page 64 of The Tenor's Shadow

He took several more steps down when a sharp pain shot through the back of his head. As he collapsed down and his vision went blurry, he glimpsed Gabriela’s face hovering over him. Poking through her cruel smirk was a pair of fangs.

Shit.

***

There was a faint drip drop, a trickle of water somewhere nearby, as Anthony returned consciousness. A soft murmuring tickled his ears, and then the memory of the attack came flooding back to him. He resisted the temptation to open his eyes, keeping his breath even and trying to stay still.

“Do not bother with petty deceptions, little human.” The ragged rasp cut at his eardrums like a knife. “I have been a vampire for a long time. I sensed it the moment you awoke.”

Anthony pondered for a second the possibility of waiting the speaker out, but he doubted it would help. Behind his back, the coarse rope rubbed raw against his wrists. He was tied to a chair.

His eyes fluttered open.

The room was dark, lit by the weak glow of an incandescent bulb peeking through a small rectangular window. The dim light revealed dirty, graffiti-covered walls and a deteriorating concrete floor. Two figures stood several feet away, shadows enveloping their bodies.

One was tall and slender, dressed in a black suit with an old-fashioned cravat. His face was hidden, but the dull warmth of the bulb illuminated his perfectly coiffed hair from behind. He was the spitting image of the stereotypical, aristocratic vampire.

The other was Gabriela.

“Glad to see I didn’t do permanent damage, querida.”

His fists balled in anger at her use of the endearment. Anthony pulled against his restraints, testing their strength. There was no give. Still, he strained against them. He had to get himself out of this.

“Gabriela is very handy with knots, little Antonio.” It was painful for Anthony to hear the voice of the effete vamp, damaged as it was. He stepped forward, and the light revealed a strong, olive-skinned face, beautiful, except for a deep scar running across the neck that his cravat didn’t fully cover. Quite beautiful, and quite familiar.

“I know you!” Anthony wracked his brain, trying to place the asshole. “Wait. You…you were in that cafe in San Francisco! When fucking Brian attacked me. You were at the next table.”

“Ah yes. Brian. Not very bright, but he’s dead now, so I suppose it doesn’t matter. But yes, I have kept tabs on you, Anthony. Or should I say Tony, as your uncle sometimes calls you?”

“Leave my uncle out of this.” Anthony strained against his restraints once more. He knew he shouldn’t tire himself out, but his anger was overcoming his good sense.

The vampire smiled, self-congratulatory and malevolent. “But you’re here because of your slut uncle, termite. And his bastard husband.”

“Fuck you.”

A stinging slashed across his face, but he hadn’t seen any movement at all. Damn, the vampire was fast. Blood slid down his cheek and dripped off his chin.

“Don’t goad him.” Gabriela strode across the room and wiped the blood from Anthony’s face with a white lace handkerchief. “Do as he says, and you’ll leave alive.”

“Push me, worm, and the next cut will be deeper.” The vampire’s eyes flashed with unhinged rage. “You’ll be able to smile at your redheaded lover through your open cheek.”

Anthony shuddered. The grating voice held no reason or compassion. He only hoped that Freddie would realize in time what had happened. He didn’t love the idea of being the damsel in distress, but he liked the idea of dying even less.

Gabriela caught his gaze. Her face was expressionless, almost bored.

“What did I do to deserve this?” Anthony was genuinely hurt. Yes, he hadn’t known her long, but he had thought they were friends.

“Nothing, darling.” She patted his cheek gently where Charles had cut it. Anthony winced at the sting. “But my son is rebuilding his coven, and your new step-uncle is standing in his way.”

“Your son is Charles Azarian?”

The tall vampire smirked at Anthony. “It is always lovely to be recognized.”

Anthony ignored him. “You’re related? To him? You look nothing alike.”

“Child, I did not birth him.” Gabriela smiled, but there was no humor there. “I sired him.”

A loud rumble shook the room, growing in intensity and became overpowering, as light and shadow alternated and flickered against the wall. Dirty white flakes of old ceiling paint fell like sparse snowflakes onto Anthony’s head. After a long moment, it all died down.

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