Provoked

CHAPTER 7

Jase Kayrs settled against the rough stone wall, his gaze on the myriad of earthy colors in the rock across the small cell. Slowly, methodically, he listed every shade of brown he could see. Tan, beige, mud . . . the list went on and on. For every new shade he noted, victory filled him that his brain still worked. Somewhat.

Take that, demons.

A crude window had been cut high above to let in light during the day. Once in a while the wind would blow hard enough he’d get a whiff of the sea, but usually the smell of dirt filled his small space. There was a time he could control the elements and heat the small area, but no longer. Cold permeated through his skin to his bones—no muscles. Idly, he wondered how much he weighed now. Not much.

Water dripped down the grooves in the rock and splashed onto the hard ground. The tip-tap of it faded away into the familiar, no longer causing spikes of irritation to dig at his neck.

That had taken about a year.

Sometimes he saw faces in the rock. After particularly bad sessions with the demons, those faces would speak to him. And when he was at his lowest, he’d talk back. These days he seemed to be talking to the rock often.

A massive metal door took up one wall of the four-by-six prison. He’d tried to break the locks for so long without success. Now the sound of the locks engaging sent peace through his body.

Something told him that wasn’t a good sign.

But for now, he was late for a golf game with his brother Kane. He and Kane played golf once a week, well, approximately. Time had ceased to be linear during Jase’s captivity, but he was fairly sure today was golf day. So he shut his eyes, resting his head against a smooth area and sending healing cells to the kidneys his captors had beaten with metal poles earlier.

The image took longer than usual to fill his brain. Evening out his breathing, he dug deeper.

Sun shone down through pretty pine trees to glint off the grass, which was a lovely turquoise. Or should the fairways be green? His memory failed him. The scent of freshly cut grass infused his senses, and he inhaled deeply.

Kane strode out of the trees, two golf bags over his shoulders. He dropped one in front of Jase. “You’re still visualizing. Nice job.”

Yeah. Their oldest brother had taught them necessary skills for dealing with captivity and torture. Every time Jase played an imaginary game of golf, he won a small victory over the demons. Those victories kept him from going completely mad. At least, they had for some time. “I’m trying. I kicked Dage’s ass in a boxing match yesterday.” Or had it been last week?

“Now I know you’re imagining things,” Kane said with a smile on his angular face. “We’re getting closer to finding you.”

“No, you’re not.” It seemed shitty his imagination was fucking with him. “The real Kane wouldn’t lie to me. I need the real Kane to show up.” Of course, Jase was arguing with his own brain.

A tapping against metal jerked Jase from the daydream. Fury filled him. They’d interrupted his golf game. He shoved to his feet. “Bastards,” he muttered to the morphing face in the rock.

Needles instantly ripped into his brain. The pain shot neurons into life and he gasped, dropping to one knee. The sharp stabs of pain cascaded down his spine to his tailbone. “Now that’s new,” he hissed.

The rock face nodded.

The door slid open.

He lifted his head, and his breath caught in his throat. “Female.”

“Yes.” The demon wrapped a chilled hand around his chin, turning his face. Her mental attack faded.

Jase shrugged away, stumbling to stand tall, at least a foot taller than the woman. Female demons were notoriously tiny. Blanking his expression, he stared down.

Black eyes, white hair, smoother than possible pale skin marked her as a demon. “I’m Willa.”

“I don’t need your name.”

Her smile revealed even white teeth. “Oh, you might change your mind about that.” She retreated, and two demon guards moved to grab his arms and haul him from the cell.

He rolled his eyes. At least, he thought he rolled his eyes. Months ago he’d lost some muscle function in his face. “Field trip?”

Long hair cascaded over her shoulders as she threw back her head and laughed. Throaty, hoarse, the chuckle confirmed her lineage as a purebred. Only pure demons had the odd configuration of vocal cords that created such hoarseness. Unfortunately, on the female, the tenor was almost sexy. She led the way through the underground labyrinth dressed in a tight blue sheath that showed off a toned butt.

“I bet I could bounce a shilling off your ass,” Jase muttered.

The guards tightened their hold on his arms. The woman laughed again.

Shit. He’d said that out loud.

They reached a fork in the tunnel, and Jase braced himself for the right turn toward the room he’d dubbed “the torture cell.” The demons had used both physical and mental torture in the rock-covered room, usually at the same time. In fact, the red stains on the walls were from his blood.

Sometimes he spent hours counting the different colors of red in the old blood versus the new, just to keep his mind on anything but the pain. Oddly enough, the rock faces never ventured into the torture cell with him.

They probably figured they’d never make it out.

The woman turned the opposite direction.

Eying the two huge guards dragging him along, Jase counted the closed doorways along the way. Then he cataloged each step for when he escaped. That probably wouldn’t be soon. While he stood to six-foot-five, the demon guards were several inches taller, and certainly broader. How much weight had he lost, anyway?

Willa opened a door into a spacious room and swept inside, settling herself on a feminine divan. A plush Persian rug covered the rock floor, and priceless oil paintings adorned the walls.

Jase eyed an oil of the Northern Sea. Dark thunderclouds mirrored the tumultuous ocean, the scene both mysterious and somehow threatening. “I doubt Brenna Dunne would appreciate demons having her painting.”

Willa shrugged. “Her oils will be worth a fortune someday, and our people need money as much as yours. Besides, Dunne seems to understand the demon mind-set with dark works like that.”

Odd, but Jase hadn’t noticed that dimension to Brenna before. “If you say so.”

Will nodded. “The value of that work will soon increase—considering she won’t have time for painting with Virus-27 affecting their kind.”

Jase stumbled. The virus did affect witches?

The demon smiled. “Oops. That’s news, huh?”

“Yes.” His mind reeling, Jase allowed the brutes to shove him into a plush leather chair situated off the rug. Virus-27 had been created by his enemies to harm vampire mates—to take them with their twenty-seven chromosomal pairs from immortal down to human or maybe worse. Nobody had realized the virus would affect witches. But considering witches only had twenty-eight chromosomal pairs, apparently they were susceptible.

Vampires with their thirty chromosomal pairs were safe.

The tallest guy reached for a set of restraints hammered into the floor.

“No. I want his hands unbound.” Willa crossed her legs, revealing silky skin.

The closest guard stiffened, turning toward her. An apparent, silent battle of wills ensued. Finally, the guard dropped the restraints and grabbed another set, clasping them around Jase’s ankles. With a growl, he and the other guy stomped from the room, slamming the door.

What kind of game was this? Jase tugged a little on the restraints—not very impressive . . . he could probably break free. Even in his state, he had to outweigh the small demon. He lifted an eyebrow. Maybe.

She smiled, sliding to her feet and sauntering over to a bar set in the corner.

The stunning painting of the Northern Sea caught his eye again. There was a time he’d spent hours running along the beach, feeling the salty spray on his face.

Willa turned with a low hiss. “You like the painting.”

“Yes.” Lying seemed to be a waste of time.

“Or is it the artist who has captured your attention?” Willa asked softly.

Jase settled into the chair, surprise jerking his head. “Brenna? Well, she is a sweetheart.” Or at least she was last time he’d seen her.

Willa laughed, the sound grating. “That witch is the reject of all rejects. Imagine an eighth sister being born to a seventh sister.” The demon shook her head. “They should’ve killed her on sight.”

Jase lifted a lip in irritation. While it was true that a seventh sister of a seventh sister was known to be the most powerful of witches, like his sister-in-law, Moira, maybe it was just coincidence that no eighth sister had ever been born. Well, until Brenna. The young witch’s fathomless gray eyes had always intrigued him. “I like her.” The words tumbled from him as if he were talking to the rock faces.

“Lucky Brenna Dunne.” Willa turned back to the heavy antique. The bar matched the sofa and end tables. Late eighteenth century. Crystal chinked. Turning toward him, she carried a goblet full of red liquid. The smell hit him when she was two feet away.

Blood.

His stomach clenched in pain. Need had his fangs dropping against his will.

She held out the wineglass, and he hesitated before taking it, the world narrowing to the shimmering liquid. She pressed the stem into his hand. Inhaling deeply, the pure scent of copper and life filled his nostrils. No drugs, no substances that didn’t belong in the blood were detectable.

Digging beyond deep, he shoved his fangs back up and lifted his gaze to the demon. “You’re giving me blood.” Now his voice sounded hoarse.

She shrugged a small shoulder and glided to retake her seat on the pink divan. “I figure the sooner we start getting along, the better. Speaking of which, I do apologize for the mind attack when I was outside your door. My reaction was instinctual—even now, you have power. Impressive power.” Her black eyes sparked with interest. “You can drink the blood, Jase.”

Saliva wet his tongue. When was the last time he’d taken blood? Maybe a month ago? “The blood is human.”

“Yes. Fresh human—female—and no, we didn’t drain her. She donated for a generous sum of money and went on her way.”

That should fill him with relief. But his only thought remained on the blood. Still, he didn’t drink.

Willa tapped a ruby-tipped nail on her chin. “Okay, I’m impressed. You’ve been tortured for almost four years, have rarely been given blood, and now have the pride to refuse to drink.”

So it had been four years. Maybe his golf game had improved since he’d played so often in his brain. A part of him wanted to throw the blood in her face. The other part, the one growling for substance, wanted to drink fast and hard. And if he was ever going to get out of this hellhole, he needed strength. So he took one small taste.

The molecules exploded on his tongue. A low growl erupted from his gut. Hunger roared to life throughout his entire body. He held her gaze, holding himself off from another sip.

A deep flush covered her sharp face. Interest lit her eyes. “That growl was quite sexy, Jase.” Her voice came out more of a purr.

The purr nauseated him. “You have got to be kidding.” Sending all his internal sensors into alert, he waited to see if the blood had been tainted. His senses were definitely off. The demons could’ve sneaked something past him.

“Actually, I’m not joking.” She reached for a folder set off to the side and flipped open the top. “Jase Kayrs, the youngest of the brothers. Charming, talented, a good sport.” One white eyebrow arched as she focused on him. “Yet you killed right along with the king in the last war three centuries ago when you were only fifteen. Something tells me you weren’t as carefree as you appeared.”

She was correct to refer to Jase in the past tense. The man in the file was gone. Maybe he had been carefree . . . perhaps not. Either way, that guy no longer existed after several solid years of demon mind games. And this was just another one. “So, I’ve always wondered. As a female, are you a demon or a demoness?”

She shrugged. “Both or either. We really don’t care.”

Enough with the small talk. Jase shoved his shoulders back. “What do you want?”

Closing the file, she tilted her head toward the goblet. “I give you my word the blood is pure. Drink it because you’re going to need strength.”

What the hell. He tipped the goblet and drank down the nourishing liquid. His heart flared to full speed. A tingling wandered along damaged nerves in his neck. The healing had begun. He set the empty glass on the Victorian end-table near his chair, tempted to lick the sides clean. But some pride must remain. “Now tell me why the hell I’m alone with a female demon.” Female demons were incredibly rare, and this was the first one he’d met in person. The fact that they were alone seemed off.

She sighed. “You’ve never heard of me?”

“Nope.”

“That figures.” Pale pink lips pursed together. “I’m Suri’s sister.”

Suri was the leader of the demons, and a former friend of Jase’s family. He’d also enjoyed torturing Jase for the last few years. “We didn’t know he had a sister.”

“He has two sisters.” Willa rolled her eyes. “But of course, we’re kept rather hidden. Especially in war.”

“Two sisters, huh?” Maybe Jase’s head had finally exploded. No way was he alone with a female demon who had just given him blood. No way. He tried to tune his senses to see if anybody was listening but only reached silence. “You’re not hiding now.”

“Yes, well, Suri has headed over to the States to incorporate some changes in our strongholds there. We’re about to make a move on the king.”

“My brother will destroy yours.”

She flashed a strong smile. “Handsome, you’ve been in the dark too long. The Kurjans attacked your headquarters in Oregon a few years ago, and Dage hasn’t recovered. Nobody has recovered, and rumor has it, your niece was injured. Badly.”

Jase kept his face expressionless. The Kurjans had invented Virus-27 and were at war with the vampires, and they attacked every chance they got. The Kayrs family was always prepared. Demons lived for mind games, and this was another one. “Bullshit.”

“Then how did we know his headquarters was in Oregon on the cliffs of the ocean?” Smugness lifted her pale lips.

Good question. There wasn’t a good answer, so Jase remained silent. Finally, he stood, the chains rattling against the hard floor. “I’m done now.”

She followed suit. “We’re just getting started. You have a choice to make.”

“Which is?”

“Either mate me, or I’ll drive you crazy.”

He almost sat back down. The air caught in his throat. “Are you nuts?” No way would a purebred demon, one of the royal family, want to mate a vampire. No way.

She cocked her head to the side. “That’s debatable. Maybe.” Her gaze swept down to his groin and back up. “I’m tired of being under Suri’s thumb . . . tired of being hidden. You mate me, I’ll get you free. We both know your king will protect me if I do.” She turned and swept toward the door. “If you refuse, I’ll drive you crazy, which will greatly please my brother. That’ll gain me some freedom, but I’d rather have complete autonomy. Your choice.”

Vampires mated by marking their women for all time during sex. The Kayrs family had a marking that appeared on their hands during the opportune moment that transferred to the mate as a sort of brand. His sisters-in-law had been greatly ticked off by the branding. “A mating is forever.”

“Yes.” Willa twirled around, eyes sparking. “We both know many matings have been arranged through the years. You can force the marking on your palm if you wish.”

“No.” The idea of tying himself to anyone remotely connected to the bastard who’d taken such pleasure in ripping his mind apart made Jase want to puke. “I’m not your solution—get free on your own.”

Oil instantly coated his brain and slid through his gray matter with sticky fingers. Images followed next. Horrible images depicting his greatest fears: His niece dying, Dage being beheaded, brothers being brutalized. Jase tightened his knees to keep from falling. “That all you got?” His voice merged tinny as if from a far distance.

“No.”

Spikes of pain ripped into his brain, flashing brutal images of blood and death. He staggered back. The chair caught below his knees, keeping him upright. His vision went black.

“My mind is far more powerful than any you’ve met, Jase.” Willa hissed. “Think about my offer.”

Blunt pain centered in his cerebral cortex and pounded out. He dropped into the chair.

Time spun away. He may have sat blinded for a minute—maybe an hour.

Chains rattled and strong hands yanked him up and through the door. The world spun several times around. His feet dragged uselessly on the stone. His stomach lurched, and he swallowed to keep the recent meal in.

Suddenly, the pain retreated. His eyesight returned. Coughing, he regained his balance.

The guards tossed him in his cell.

Locks slammed shut, and something inside him shuddered. A glance at the rock wall showed a morphing of several faces, all new. Dropping to sit, he pressed his closed eyes against his knees. If his family was coming to get him, they’d better hurry.

But instinct whispered deep inside his mind that it was too late.

He lifted his head to see a large face in the rock nodding at him.

Definitely too late.