“I don’t understand this relationship with Brusilev,” her captor was musing. “You are annoyingly tenacious and he is far too soft by comparison. Perhaps, if you hadn’t been so distracted with one another, you would have caught me, but neither of you has what it takes to defeat me.”
“Go to hell,” Maggie rasped through clenched teeth, refusing to rise to the bait. She didn’t have anything to prove here; all she wanted was to survive.
“Oh, most certainly.” His voice came from beside her ear, his knee digging deeper into her spine. “But will you be there to see my demise? I think not.”
Fear washed over Maggie and she redoubled her efforts to fight back, even as he tugged at her blouse, pulling it away from her neck and shoulder. There wasn’t much she could do given her broken leg and helpless position, but she fought all the same.
“What have we here…?” The voice purred behind her. “Looks like Brusilev left his mark on you. How interesting…”
“Fuck off!” Maggie growled, her nails scraping against the concrete as she scrambled to get him off her.
There was a brief moment of silence and then a dark, sinister chuckle. “Yes, this will do nicely. Now, stop fussing. You’re being a fool.”
Icy breath hit her neck, making Maggie shudder. Seconds later, she felt something cold pierce her skin, sending more agony through her body. It was very unlike the times Anatoly had fed from her, gentle and alluring where only the first prick of his fangs had been the only source of discomfort.
This pain burned and ached all at once, freezing her in place even though she wanted to try slamming her head back into her captor. The urge was sluggish and by the time she thought to do it, there was no strength left in her to act.
The vampire at her back groaned as he swallowed gulp after gulp of her blood. She could hear him sucking it down like his existence depended on it, but pain and defeat were too much for her, and she remained frozen.
Slowly, the tension and warmth ebbed from her, taking the fire out of her fight. She wanted to kill this inhuman creature, to drive a stake through his heart, but she didn’t have a stake, and even if she did, she doubted she could match his speed. She was truly helpless as he continued to drink greedily.
Black spots filled her vision, her limbs weak and useless, and the overpowering urge to just slip into darkness filled Maggie. She was going to die here and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Her thoughts turned to Anatoly and she squeezed her eyes shut, remembering every detail about him that she could conjure to mind. His memory was the only light she had, and even if she died, there was nothing her captor could do to take that away from her.
Eventually, he stopped drinking and pulled away, dribbling her precious life essence over her shoulder. By now, she was too weak to fight so when he withdrew entirely, shoving her onto her back, Maggie could do nothing to stop him.
“Delicious…” he purred, and for the first time she got a good look at his pale, gaunt features. “I imagine you only have a few minutes left to live. Does that frighten you?”
Maggie wanted to flip him off, but her arms were too weak to comply with her brain’s command. Instead, she grunted at him and whispered, “Go fuck yourself.”
He chuckled that same chilling laugh and then he did something that to Maggie made no sense. He held his hand up, used a fang to slice open his palm, and then forced the blood into her mouth.
Maggie tried to spit it out, but he pinched her nose closed and held it until she coughed down the vile, metallic fluid. It felt like icy mucous, oozing down her throat and she nearly wretched, but her traitorous body wouldn’t cooperate with that either.
She shuddered, fighting now to maintain consciousness. Blood still flowed from the wound in her throat, pooling on the ground beside her and as blackness took over, Maggie’s last thought was of Anatoly.
Chapter Fifty-Five
A cold chill had settled in Anatoly’s bones, reminding him of the harsh climate of his homeland. He stood outside what looked like an abandoned house, the address that Markov had given him, and tried to compose himself. He needed to keep his wits about him in this situation, but his vampiric nature was thrashing in its cage, urging him to violence.
Anatoly let out a heavy sigh, hoping that violence wouldn’t be necessary, but he had a sinking suspicion that this conflict wouldn’t be settled without it. Fearing the worst, he approached the front door, doing nothing to hide his presence. He was expected after all.
The small set of stairs creaked as he stepped up them, announcing his coming as he crossed the porch to the door. When he got there, he saw that it was slightly ajar and cold dread settled over him.
He breathed in through his nose, trying to determine by scent if Maggie had been here or not. The faintest trace of her blood came back to him, drawing his eye to the welcome mat where a drop of her blood stood out on the dingy thing. That confirmed that she had been here, but whether or not she still was remained to be seen.
Pushing the door open the rest of the way, Anatoly stared past it to the house’s interior. It was just as cold inside as out, suggesting that the heat was off. He wanted to cross the threshold, but he hesitated. If the homeowner was alive, he would need an invitation and the sting of trying to get through the door without it would be most unpleasant.
“Privet?” he called out, not bothering to keep his voice low. “Is anyone home?”
Silence answered him, eerie and foreboding.
Anatoly glanced over his shoulder, expecting someone to appear behind him at any second, but it was just him on the porch. He didn’t dare even breathe as he made up his mind and stuck his arm over the threshold into the house.
When nothing happened, he took a tentative step inside, his entire body on alert for danger. Instead of being flung back by supernatural forces, Anatoly found himself still inside the house.
Either the place was truly abandoned, or the owner was deceased. He hoped the former, but given he was dealing with a vampire who was also a psychopath he suspected the latter.
“Maggie?” he called again, expecting a trap to be sprung at any second, but hoping against the odds that her voice answered him.
