Xavier: Vampires in Europe (Vampires in America Book 14) Page 15

  She turned it over and stared at the wax seal holding the flap shut. “Pretentious fuck,” she muttered. Who used wax seals anymore?

  She drew a long, deep breath and blew it out, then slipped a fingertip under the loose side of the envelope flap, and slowly slid it all the way down, until she’d dislodged the seal without cracking it. She’d save that for Xavier. He might recognize it.

  The message inside was a single folded piece of thick paper, the kind used for letters back before everyone switched to email, and then text messages. Tipping the envelope so the page slid to the desk, she set the envelope aside and picked up the message. Holding it with two fingers and at arm’s length, she turned her face away, and flipped the page open. When nothing happened, she began to read.

  Xavier,

  I have rescued these poor children from the servitude they were innocently born into. I’d like to believe their parents were ignorant of the damage they were doing, but I cannot take that chance with their young lives, cannot stand by when their future is to be used as food for your vampires. Or worse, to be turned into one of the very demons who have destroyed their lives. If you look for them, they will die. Better a quick death at my hand, than endless suffering at yours.

  —Sakal

  “Sakal?” Layla said. “Who the fuck is Sakal?” Damn, she wished Xavier was awake. Or that at least Brian and the others were here instead of down in the town, even though what they were doing down there was more important. She needed someone she trusted to bounce this off.

  One thing she knew for sure—this Sakal wanted them to wait. And there was a hard and fast rule against ever acting on the enemy’s timetable. Give the kidnappers the several hours until darkness, and they would disappear with the children forever.

  She slid the message back into the envelope, then put the whole thing in the top drawer of her father’s desk and secured it, using the key hanging from the open lock. She was out the door two minutes later, and double timing it back to the gate.

  Her car was there, but instead of sliding into the driver’s seat, she opened the passenger door, grabbed her MP5, and strode to the sally port, which had probably seen more use in the last two days than in the entire time Xavier had lived in the Fortalesa.

  She found Tony, the guard from the last firefight, waiting for her there, and said, “I’m going down the hill.”

  “Need backup?” he asked, his expression both sharp and eager.

  She shook her head, said, “No,” but glanced up at the billed cap he was wearing. “I need this,” she said, taking it without asking.

  He gave her a bemused look. “It’s yours. Anything else?”

  She shoved the cap low on her forehead. “I need everyone to stay here on alert. Right here. I know they’re worried and terrified, but I don’t want an angry mob of parents coming after me. Tell them I’m on it, and I have a skilled hostage rescue team waiting below.”

  “Is it true?”

  “Yes, it is. Sometime, I’ll tell you the stories. Give me your cell number,” she said as an afterthought, thinking it would be good to have a second way of reaching the Fortalesa.

  He rattled it off as Layla tapped in the numbers, then called him to be sure it stayed in her cell’s memory.

  The gate was already open and waiting for her. “Lock it behind me,” she said, then stepped out onto the apron of empty space below the wall. Pausing for no more than a heartbeat, she ran at an easy lope for the trees, walked in several yards, until she doubted anyone could see her, then started downhill on foot.

  WHILE LAYLA MADE her way through the forest and down the hill, Xavier lay trapped, fighting the unbreakable bonds of a sleep that held him prisoner while his people suffered. The most vulnerable and easily wounded of them all—the children who ran to hold his hand when he visited their homes or attended their holiday plays and parties, the ones who counted on him to keep them safe—those children had been taken in an act so violent, it would scar them forever. Just as it would him. He would never forget, could never forgive anyone who’d played even the smallest part in its planning. Everyone involved in this heinous crime would suffer before he was through with them. Every godforsaken one of them. He swore it.

  For all the good his oaths did, he thought viciously. It frustrated him, infuriated him, that he couldn’t see the details, couldn’t know exactly what had been done, or even who’d done it. His mind could only read the horror of the guards’ brutal deaths, the frantic terror of the children.

  He knew that Layla would already be on task, doing everything she could to find the kidnappers and get a rescue underway. He knew what she was capable of. Knew things that even her father didn’t know, things she’d never shared, because she didn’t want him to think his only child, his daughter, was a brute capable of monstrous acts of cruelty. Xavier only knew because he had contacts among the vampire community in the U.S., vampires who’d mated or married humans from that country, including several who’d moved to the U.S. to be with their lover or mate when they’d gone home. Those vampires in turn either worked, or had friends who worked, in places where they could be of assistance, and remembering friendship or loyalty to Xavier, were willing to help when he asked. Which he did only rarely.

  In this case, they had, on his behalf, gained access to details involving both Layla’s military record and the jobs her current team had undertaken as private security consultants. Those records, both government and private, had often included so-called after-action reports, which frequently revealed the most extreme details of the undertaken missions. This was especially true for the privately funded jobs, since those were more likely to involve people who’d wanted to punish the ones who’d crossed them in one way or another, and would demand proof. They were most often hostage rescue and ransom cases, since neither Layla nor those she worked with were simple murderers for hire. But that didn’t mean they followed every law. When a child or children had been taken or abused, Layla’s team worried only about the hostages, and did whatever it took—killing or torturing whomever necessary—to return the children safely.

  So he knew the extremes to which his Layla would go to rescue the ones who’d been kidnapped. He only wished he’d managed to get closer to her, faster. Their eventual bonding was inevitable in his mind, but if he’d already taken her blood, or if she’d already taken even the smallest amount of his, there would have been a chance that he could link with her, so they could communicate even when he slept and she hunted.

  But all he could do now was lie in this dark room and curse the fate that had not only given him the gift of vampirism, but had made him a power with it. The same fate that now extracted a daily price in exchange.

  Even worse, he had received fresh information just before sunrise that might have helped Layla and the others locate the missing children. Two of his scouts had identified a possible nest of rogue vampires hidden in the city. He didn’t know yet who was behind this attack, but if unknown vampires were moving around freely in Barcelona, it was always possible they were somehow involved. His vamps didn’t yet have a number, but even five strange vampires in his city were too many for Xavier to remain unaware of their presence for long.

  By design, most of Barcelona’s vampires lived inside the Fortalesa because he liked it that way. The fact that these newly arrived vampires were trying to conceal themselves from him, even knowing he would inevitably sniff them out, was enough to suggest they were working for one of his enemies. Maybe even the same one who’d attacked his lair and kidnapped its children.

  But for all that their discovery was a welcome development, he’d been left cursing, because the news had come too late for him to act on until the next night. As it was, the two scouts had barely reached the basement loading dock of the vampire wing before collapsing into their daylight sleep. They’d had to be carried to their vault bedrooms by Xavier whose age and strength permi
tted him to remain awake and strong well past the time when most vampires were soundly asleep.

  And still, while the children suffered, while Layla walked into danger, he could do nothing but lie there and curse in silence.

  LAYLA WALKED slowly at first, aware of every footfall, every branch in her way, though she doubted the enemy—Sakal, she corrected—had posted anyone in the forest to waylay possible rescuers from the Fortalesa. If he—or she, the name was unfamiliar and could be anyone—decided to conceal an ambush somewhere, it was more likely to be on the road itself. It would be logical on his part to assume that a rescue operation would include several armed guards and a vehicle in order to mobilize as quickly as possible. Sakal might know that her father was gone, and that she was filling in, but he couldn’t know that Brian and the others were in town waiting for her. Or that she’d hike down to meet them.

  Let him think they were obeying his command not to look for the kidnapped children. Or waiting until darkness when Xavier could make the decision. That was his mistake, and one she was going to take advantage of. Whoever had thought it a good idea to get Xavier’s attention by taking the Fortalesa’s children didn’t understand what they’d done. She’d been raised here. She knew what it was like to grow up in a place where every child was treasured, where every adult—human and vampire—treated each child as their own. It had taken her a while to understand why, especially since the Fortalesa was a place for vampires. They were virtually immortal, but the price of that immortality was the inability to breed, even with human partners. As a result, a lot of vamps became obsessed with death, or with acquiring wealth to ease their immortal lives.

  But Xavier had made the decision early on, that his lair, as he called it, his Fortalesa would be a true community, where humans and vampires dwelled together. Where vampires could live with their human mates, and be part of a family unit if that’s what they chose. The result was a close-knit community with humans and vampires protecting each other, and where families were the center of the social fabric.

  She didn’t envy Danilo’s job right now. Keeping the parents and grandparents, the neighbors and friends from forming a hunting party to search for their children would be a monstrous chore, especially when some of the missing kids were certain to have parents within the guard ranks. She counted on her father’s reputation as their long-time commander—and hoped enough of it would transfer to her—that they’d wait, knowing good men and women were on the kidnappers’ trail. And that they wouldn’t stop until every child was safe, and the kidnappers were no longer breathing on this earth.

  She was nearing the town now, moving easily, her clothing blending into the surrounding foliage, her footsteps nearly silent. She was good at this, at remaining unseen and unheard when moving through enemy territory. It was a skill she’d had to learn early on when she’d been chosen for reconnaissance missions, not only for her ability to perfectly recall everything she’d seen and heard, but because she was a woman and thus seen as less threatening. She and her teammates, before they even were a team, had spent a lot of time in countries where women were the property of men—fathers, husbands, even brothers. When the women were permitted to go out, they were often covered head to toe, which was a very convenient camouflage not only for Layla, but sometimes for a male companion as well. Layla had known enough of the regional dialect to pass if she’d been called upon to speak, but she was more often inserted or extracted at night. And for that reason, she’d learned how to move quietly through dried brush and weeds. Animals ignored her for the most part, rustling in the underbrush, while birds continued to sing in the treetops. Layla was part of the forest, no threat, raising no alarms.

  She was, however, armed for bear, as the saying went, though there were no bears in this part of Spain. She carried her MP5 in the ready position, though still wishing she had an extra mag or two. A 9mm Glock 19 rode on her hip, and she had two knives—one at her waist, one in her boot. And just for kicks, she had a taser on her belt. Armed and pissed off as she was, she was almost disappointed at the lack of enemies along her route, and by the time she could hear the occasional car or truck passing by, she was actively hoping that her team had found someone to attack. She wanted to hurt the bastards who’d thought terrorizing children was in any way acceptable.

  It struck her then that the kidnappers hadn’t demanded anything for a safe return. No ransom, no reciprocal action of any kind. Did they truly plan to whisk the Fortalesa’s children away forever? Did they think Xavier, or anyone else, would permit that?

  She hit the edge of the forest, then, and hunkered down in the shadows to consider her next steps. Sakal had to know Xavier would come for the children. So why take them? Something itched at her brain about that letter. It struck her as too familiar, almost taunting. Too much of a one-up shot aimed at Xavier, to be from an unknown. And he’d addressed Xavier by his first name, signing his own the same way. This felt personal.

  It would be interesting to see Xavier’s reaction to Sakal’s letter. But she couldn’t wait for that. She had to act based on what she knew at this moment, so she went ahead and texted Brian, asking his position. As she was typing, her phone vibrated with a call from him.

  “Can you talk?” he asked, his voice low, but not stealthily so.

  “Give me a minute,” she murmured, and moved deeper back under the trees, finding a spot that would shield her from casual listeners, but not blind her to anyone coming up on her position. “All right, go.”

  “We’re set up at a place called Vista Bonica. It’s a rundown motel that probably rents rooms by the hour, but it was right on the edge of town as we drove in. Figured we’d keep a low profile until we heard from you.”

  “Good choice. And you’re right. They do rent rooms by the hour, so don’t sit anywhere.”

  Brian chuckled briefly. “Oh hell, Cap. You know River. First thing he did was strip the beds and dump everything in a pile along with the towels.”

  “This is one time I agree with him. What’s the situation now?”

  “I’m on my own, Kerry and Riv are together, checking in every thirty. Should be hearing from them in a few.”

  Layla studied her current location, mentally calculating time and route to reach the Vista Bonica. It wasn’t far, but armed and dressed as she was, she wouldn’t blend in with locals or tourists. Spain’s gun policy was very restrictive, and civilians simply didn’t carry guns of any kind, much less a damn MP5. She cursed herself for not thinking of that sooner, and then immediately moved past it. She needed her weapons. “I figure thirty minutes for me to reach you,” she told Brian. “It’s going to take some maneuvering to avoid notice. Let me know if anything pops before then.”

  “Roger that. Out.”

  She tucked her phone in a pocket, then walked silently to where the forest gave way to houses and streets. The neighborhood was working class, quiet this time of day with children in school and parents working. She’d bet there were more than a few grandparents caring for grandchildren too young for school. But in this heat, they’d stay inside if they could.

  Layla unhooked the MP5 from its sling around her neck, then quickly removed her shirt, baring toned and suntanned arms in a plain tank-top. Using her belt and shirt she rigged a shapeless, hobo-style shoulder bag and slid the gun inside so that the collapsed shoulder stock was tucked into her armpit. It wasn’t comfortable, but it hid the gun from casual notice, while keeping it reasonably accessible. Next, she untucked her tank top and pulled it over the Glock at her hip. Again, not perfect concealment, but she wanted it handy. Her knives she left in place. Her boots she could do nothing about, since she wasn’t about to go barefoot, but figured wearing combat boots as a fashion statement was still common enough that no one would think it worth noticing.

  With a final scan of the quiet streets, she fixed the route in her head and began walking. She’d been gone for a lot of years
and things had changed, so she wasn’t confident about the street layout. But she had an excellent sense of direction and knew where the hotel was. As long as she maintained a rough southerly heading, she’d end up close enough to that side of town to spot the hotel.

  She’d been walking more than twenty minutes, and the combination of her fast pace and the hot sun was causing sweat to pool along her sides and between her breasts. The billed cap she’d grabbed from Tony was pulled low on her forehead and combined with her sunglasses, shielded her face from both sun and detection. So when she approached a corner just as a familiar fire-engine red Ford minivan slowed next to her, she saw them before they recognized her.

  Scowling, she stepped off the curb and knocked on the passenger side window of the front seat. Six startled faces turned as one to stare at her while she gestured for the front passenger to lower his window.

  “Commander,” he said, voice cracking nervously.

  Layla scanned the guilty faces of the Fortalesa’s teenage population. “Alícia,” she said, spying the girl in the second row of seats. “I might be confused, but I don’t think this is the way to school.”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “It’s not her fault,” the driver said, before Layla could respond. “Miri’s sister is one of the missing kids, so we took a vote and agreed to look for them.”

  “You took a vote? Well, then, carry on.”

  The driver gave her wide eyes. “Really?”

  “No, you idiot,” she snapped. “But since you’re here, I’m going to make use of you. Or at least your van. You,” she said, gesturing at the front passenger. “Go sit in the back.”

  The boy, who couldn’t have been more than thirteen, didn’t say a word. He simply opened the door, jumped out, and ran around to climb into the cargo space of the minivan, even though there was room in the third-row seat. Apparently, she was intimidating. Who knew?