Page 118 of Dark Reign of Forever

Jackson sucked in his lips the way he sucked in his emotions. He knew that look. He had seen it in the mirror often enough. Without his twin, Lyle was half. He was done.

The boy closed his eyes and went as pale and still as a corpse, waiting to become one, which, given the way Dominique and Esteban were going at it, could happen at any second. But with over four centuries of practice and strength to call on, the Spaniard proved to be a real challenge. The combatants’ ghostly shapes bent and twisted, their whirling blades missing each other by nanoseconds and millimeters.

Or…so it seemed.

Isao and Makoto stood by, but made no move to intervene. Jackson was pretty sure those two weren’t suicidal. Just as he reasoned that something else was happening here, it happened.

Esteban cried out when Dominique’skatanaslid through his shoulder. The tip of Dominique’s shorter blade first sent Esteban’s second sword flying and then jabbed under his jaw, forcing up his head, pinioning him in place, preventing him from snatching up his severed arm. Immobilized, Esteban stood, blood pouring from his shoulder and flowing along Dominique’s sword…a mere five feet away from Jackson.

Dominique’s eyes were living flames in the darkness. “If you care anything at all for yourself or your spawn, youwillsubmit to me.” He sounded calm, not like someone who had just been fighting for his life. Because he hadn’t, Jackson realized. This is precisely where Dominique wanted Esteban. He wanted him to know that even his very best effort wouldn’t be enough.

And so close to Jackson, too. That couldn’t be an accident. With a tight hold on Kostya’s sword, he stood up.

Esteban’s lips drew back in a vicious sneer. “Just because you have tapped a powerful vein, you are not the master of me. You are nothing but a pretentious youngling fool.”

“Who is holding a sword to your throat,” Makoto pointed out.

“You are condemning all your spawn to death, Esteban,” Isao’s rumbling baritone added. “When you could give them true peace.”

“You’re the last one I had thought would buy into this drivel, Isao. You, all of you, have earned yourself Adilla’s eternal wrath!”

“Which means nothing to me,” Dominique murmured. There was a strange reverberation in his voice. As he continued, it morphed further, becoming an otherworldly presence that took wing on the night, carried by the wind out of the cave, the forest, even the sky. “Because itisnothing. Just like the tantrum of a spoiled child is nothing compared to a father’s grief…or a brother’s broken soul.”

The surreal soundscape thrummed in the air for several more seconds as Dominique stepped back and withdrew the sword point from Esteban’s jawline. No one moved, least of all Esteban, who stood slack-jawed, his obsidian eyes locked on the true Lord of Night as if he had never seen him before.

Jackson certainly hadn’t seen this side of Dominique before, and he was more than a little rattled himself, but the nudge pressing into his mind was unmistakable. As was the slight nod Dominique gave him, a gesture of permission or encouragement, likely both.

Touching the twin St. Christopher medallions around his neck, Jackson took a deep breath and looked up into the lake of stars glittering between the treetops.Brother, are you seeing this? Are you with me, Justin?

The answer came not in words or thoughts, but in a familiar sense of calm settling over him. The hunt was on, the prey cornered, a kill imminent. Sword in hand, he stepped in front of the vampire ultimately responsible for his brother’s death. With sweet satisfaction, he saw realization dawn on the Spaniard’s face. “You…”

“Me,” he said and raised the sword. “Feel the wrath, Esteban. Feelmywrath.”

If Esteban had any thought of defending himself or taking flight, those impulses never translated to his feet. “You,” he said again.

Then Jackson’s sword found its mark, and he said no more.

52

The Silver Gambit

“Ineedtousea toilet.”

Cassidy glanced at her fellow captive beside her in the backseat. They had just merged into highway traffic and were picking up speed. Francesca stared straight ahead, eyes unfocused, her face the color of milk in the strobes of passing headlights. The bruise spreading on her cheek stood out in ugly relief. These were the first words she had uttered since regaining consciousness in Cassidy’s lap almost ten minutes ago.

Their captors skipped restraints and gags, relying on their supernatural speed and strength instead. Cassidy knew better than to run, much less try to solicit help from anyone they encountered. That she and Francesca still lived was a good sign. It meant someone valued them as hostages, and the only reason for that would be to gain Dominique’s cooperation. For which purpose didn’t matter. The important thing was that she would be with him before the night was over, and as long as she stayed alive and conscious, they would find a way out of this together.

Francesca was of a different opinion. She flat-out begged for help from the couple who shared the elevator with them on the way down. When the woman looked at the vampires with alarm, the thug vamp yanked her close and delivered a swift bite. Boss vamp told the man that his companion was fainting and the two of them were alone in the elevator. By the time the doors opened, the man was oblivious to all but the unconscious woman in his arms with the blood soaking the collar of her blouse.

In the lobby, Francesca screamed as if possessed—shrill and desperate—for all of two seconds. That’s how long it took before she was backhanded so hard she passed out herself. Cassidy scrambled to catch her and soften the fall.

“Fucking bitch,” boss vamp cursed. Then he turned to face the handful of shocked mortals who witnessed the scene. “You see nothing out of the ordinary.” His voice rolled with compulsion. Most people resumed their business with only a small shake of the head. A few needed a more personal follow-up compulsion.

Francesca was dumped into the backseat of their current ride, Cassidy shoved in right behind her. “You’re going to regret this,” Cassidy promised as the car squealed out of the lot. They ignored her.

Downtown traffic mired them at one stop light after another. She watched the pedestrians who might have given them cover, if not for Francesca, who was in no condition to bolt. Not that they would have gotten far. These two clowns could be tapped into the minds of anyone who would see them. A neural network of surveillance spanning a city. Two human women didn’t have a chance.

“I need to use a toilet,” Francesca said again now, calm and polite, and Cassidy wondered if her mind had cracked at last. Francesca’s hands lay flat on her thighs. Only the pinkie finger of her left hand moved—along a cylindrical shape in her trouser pocket.

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