Page 82 of The Tracker's Rage
“I take it you couldn’t convince her,” Bernadetta said, enunciating each word with her careful way of talking.
“She’s spirited,” Stephen said with amusement in his tone. “It’s one of the many things I love about her.”
The vamp nodded. “Yes, she doesn’t intimidate easily.” Her deep black eyes assessed me carefully. “I tried to warn you to stay away, Ms. Sunder.”
“You lied,” I spat.
“Did I?” She raised her manicured eyebrows. “I told you I hadn’t kidnapped Stephen, and it was true. He was a willing participant.”
“Don’t play stupid. You were behind it all along.”
The vamp rushed me in a blur of movement and, bearing her pointed fangs, hissed in my face. “Talk to me like that one more time, and I will pluck your little eyes out.” She raised a fist, then her claw-tipped index finger sprang up like a switchblade.
“She will behave,” Stephen said behind me. “Won’t you, Toni?” His tone was conciliatory and made me realize he took Bernadetta’s threats seriously. “Besides, in a few minutes, she will be nothing but obedient.”
No. No!
Renewing my struggle, I slammed and elbow into Stephen’s ribs. Hehumphedbut didn’t loosen his hold.
I had to get free. They had the Unholy Vessel, and they meant to use it on me and on the other werewolves they’d brought. Once more, I called my wolf forward, willing her to manifest with all my might. I felt her under the surface, fighting to come forward, but it was useless.
Desperately, I glanced over at the captives, searching their faces. A few of them wore strained expressions as if they were trying to call on their wolves, too. Others simply appeared resigned and kept their heads low, eyes to the floor.
This was it. Without being able to shift, we couldn’t fight. We were stronger than Stales even in our human forms, but not as strong as vampires—not unless we shifted. But this place...
I glanced around, hopelessness flooding my heart.
Bernadetta climbed the three steps to the altar and faced us. A cold, little smile stretched her lips. She reached into her trench coat and pulled something out: a cylindrical container that appeared to be made out of jade. It was no bigger than a soda can, with a handle of the same polished, green material, protruding from the top. It had to be the Unholy Vessel.
The vamp delicately set the object on the marble altar, then pulled on the top piece. A small dagger slid out, its silver edge reflecting the candlelight. Without preamble, she positioned her hand over the vessel and used the dagger to slice her palm open.
An angry, red gash gaped open. She made a fist, squeezing hard, and a thin stream of blood trickled into the jade cup, through the narrow slit where the dagger had rested. The wound closed within seconds, and the vamp used the dagger again to make another cut. She had to cut herself one more time and, after checking the vessel to make sure it was filled to satisfaction, she ran her tongue over her palm, lapping up the blood that remained after the wound closed for the third time. Bile rose in my throat as her pink tongue flicked in and out, her hooded eyes set on Stephen.
When she was done, she gestured toward me. “Bring her here.”
“One of the other ones first,” Stephen said. “Just to make sure.”
The Dark Donna shrugged and glanced toward the vampire dressed in red leather. She pushed her captive werewolf forward, a young man in his early twenties, no more than a few years older than me. He was struggling against his captor, but she manhandled him as if the werewolf were no more than a child. She practically carried him up the steps and placed him in front of Bernadetta.
“Don’t touch me,” he growled at the petite vampiress.
He was a head taller than Bernadetta, but her powerful aura made her seem greater than life.
“Worry not,” she smirked. “I won’t lay a finger on you. I avoid touching your kind like the plague. I hate the stench.” She turned, picked up the dagger from the altar, and stuck it inside the vessel. “One drop will do,” she said in a musical tone as she pulled the dagger back out. The silver blade was covered with a sheen of blood. She held it steady for a bit as droplets of her blood splashed back into the jade cup.
Grinning with satisfaction, a glint in her eyes, she faced the werewolf and gestured toward the red-clad vamp. “Open his mouth, Danika.”
The werewolf struggled, shaking his head, trying to get free, but Danika forced him to his knees, and, with one hand, squeezed his face until his lips parted open.
“Stop!” I cried out, but no one paid me any mind.
Bernadetta tiptoed closer, holding the dagger in front of her, inching it closer toward the werewolf’s mouth. He screamed, hopelessly fighting against the arms that held him in place, his legs thrashing as the rest of his body was kept in place.
The blade hovered over the werewolf’s lips. A drop of blood quivered at the tip of the blade. The werewolf’s face disfigured in terror.
I fought against Stephen. “Let him go, you psychopaths. Stephen, don’t do this. If you do this, there’s no coming back from it.”
The drop of blood fell. For a second, it seemed to hover frozen in midair. I thought of a miracle that might stop it, but the drop plunged into the man’s opened mouth, sizzling on contact. The hands that held him released him.
