Page 29 of Redeemed
Either that or things are going to get ugly.
The walk from the Uber to the hotel room is about ten miles long. Not really, but it feels that way. I keep a hand on Trajan in case he wanders off in a cloud of his own distress, swipe the keycard on the door, and almost shove him inside.
“Where’s Connor?” His question comes through clenched teeth.
“He’s probably still out with Brodie. They were going to check the houses along the coast.”
Trajan stands still in the middle of the floor. He doesn’t take his coat off, doesn’t rake the hank of hair that’s fallen into his face. His hands are fisted and I start to get nervous. He’s not calming down. Has the ward’s power faded already?
I’d left it on the nightstand on “my” side of the bed, but when I glance over, it’s gone.
Gone.
Shit.
Nothing else seems out of place. My bag is still half-open on the floor and the door to Trajan’s room is shut.
Wait. Was it shut before?
I slide over, worried that anything I do might provoke him. Between whatever Jacques is doing to him and the pact with Delia Packard, my big vampire is hanging by a thread. Slowly, I open the door.
Chaos.
Someone has tossed his room. Clothing is strewn everywhere and there’s a picture…a picture…
On the center of his pillow, there’s a black and white photograph of a man. He’s young, maybe twenty, and he’s posed facing the camera, wearing a white button-down shirt. Only a shirt. His cock hangs below the white fabric between his spread legs, and while he’s not smiling, there’s an invitation in his eyes.
It’s Trajan.
A younger version, skinny enough to be called bony, his greasy hair hanging over one eye, but it’s definitely him. Looking closer, I see someone has torn this photograph in pieces, then put them back together.
What the hell?
Without giving it a whole lot of thought, I grab my phone and start a text to Connor.
Don’t come back here. Something’s really wrong and I’m afraid—
The door to our suite opens before I can hit send. After one last glance at the photograph, I head toward the sounds of a fight.
Trajan has Connor pinned against the desk, his hands around Conor’s throat. Connor’s Elite buddy Brodie is the one making all the noise. He’s got a pistol against Trajan’s temple and a maniac’s grin.
“Don’t…Brodie, don’t.” Connor manages to rasp out the words. He’s got ahold of Trajan’s wrists, but as strong as he is, he’s no match for the vampire. His face is bright red, his nostrils flared.
Fuck.I’ve got exactly one option. “Brodie, drop the gun.”
With those words, I shift.
Rage has a scent that’s uglier than the stink of fear. Madness is worse than both. I growl at Brodie, who does the smart thing and moves out of my way. Baring my fangs, I lunge toward Trajan, latching onto the meatiest part of his thigh.
He swings around, tearing himself out of my jaw. I’m faced with the vampire, eyes wholly black, nothing remotely human in his expression. His fangs are long, nearly to his chin, andOh fuck this is going to hurt.
I leap at him before he can get me trapped against the bed. He yields a step and I snap at him and miss. My wolf knows I must force the danger out. I leap at him again, this time tearing a chunk out of his hand. He moves back another step. Connor’s making word-shaped noises that I don’t understand. His friend is gone.
Trajan comes at me and I rise up on my hind legs, meeting him with claws and teeth. He tries to grab my throat but I slice at him and he gives way. Maybe there’s still something human in there, and maybe that little bit of humanity recognizes me because he’s holding back despite the blood I’ve drawn.
We seesaw back and forth, with me doing my best to edge Trajan toward the door. I lunge, fatigue catching up to me, but this time he doesn’t move.
He can’t. There’s someone behind him, someone with an unnaturally long arm that stretches around his chest, pinning him in place.
