Vampire Babylon - Midnight Reign Part 10

Dawn, giggled a female's melodious, foreign-accented voice.

Wracked by a chill, Dawn eased away from the painting. The light voice was more inside her head than anywhere else. Still, that didn't mean it hadn't come from the picture.

Dawn Mad-ee-son...

Ignoring the mind games, she tried to slip her fingers to the back of the portrait, expecting it to move away from the wall. But it didn't. The frame was bolted permanently, like a flat fortress that could never be breached.

Then it happened, right in front of her.

In slow-or was it fast?-motion, the woman's eyes closed, as if in sleep.

Dawn's breath chopped past her lips.

Why was she still what-the-h.e.l.ling all this? She knew the pictures contained spirits. She'd at least been told that much. Or maybe she'd just inferred it.... Anyway, seeing one of them in the flesh, or whatever, made this all too real-much harder to deny, because even with all she'd been through, all she'd learned, that's what she still wanted to do.

Keep denying everything.

"Dawn," said a much lower, much more immediate voice.

She gazed toward the office again, toward the slightly open door. Had it been the boss this time? His tone seemed different, maybe because it was unfiltered by the constraints of those high-quality speakers. She'd heard him sound that way only once before but there was a less ominous quality this time....

"Jonah?" she asked. It seemed okay to call him that right now, with him sounding so human...so here.

The door sc.r.a.ped open a few more inches, an invitation.

Her body went Pavlovian, a throb working between her legs like the stiff ticks of circular seconds. Heat primed her in antic.i.p.ation, in the hope that she would get a s.e.xual fix to tide her over again.

Just until she could get back to normal.

Her heartbeat banged in her ears, through her belly, as she made her way there. She pushed open the door, greeted by cool air and a faint, unidentifiable scent that did more to stir her up than calm her. She felt like she was listening to a crack of thunder split the sky, like she was waiting for a bad storm to hit.

But fear didn't stop her. She was lured beyond endurance, and it wasn't for the first-or probably last-time, either.

Stepping inside his dim office, she saw the lone flicker of a candle ensconced in its iron-and-gla.s.s casing behind the ma.s.sive desk.

A tongue of reflection teased the surface, where a scar marked the wood, hinting at a ripple of violence in The Voice's past. It looked like an ax blade had made itself at home there, not that he'd ever told her the story.

Or ever would.

The candle flame imitated the waver of her heartbeat. "Jonah?"

No one answered as she scanned the rest of the room: the lifeless books and heavy, closed curtains, the ever-watchful TV that seemed to have been lulled to a nap.

The portraits of the other women.

She stopped near the picture of an empty field of fire, but as her eyes focused on the familiar scene, she did a double take.

Like the portrait in the hallway, this one wasn't empty anymore.

The fiery landscape now showed a person she'd never seen. The subject faced away from the room, a red cape covering any hint of a body, a long sheen of tousled dark hair masking everything else. It reminded Dawn of the woman downstairs above the fireplace mantel-the colors, the tone....

Entranced, she began to move toward it.

A gust of jasmine perfume spiked through the room, mixing with a sound that made Dawn think of a torch being brandished in attack. With the accompaniment of a deep, sirenlike laugh, the candle behind the desk guttered.

Adrenaline burning, Dawn crouched in response to the sudden darkness. The door slammed, and she spun around, darting toward the now-barred exit.

What was The Voice trying to do? Control her through fear this time?"Shhhh," he whispered from somewhere on the right as she tested the locked doork.n.o.b. "Quiet, Dawn."

It seemed as if he were actually here in the flesh, standing in the corner near a bookcase. The situation made her think of that other time Jonah had come to her like this, when she'd confronted him about luring her to L.A. with Frank as bait and he'd tried to tell her he hadn't planned it that way, even though that's how everything had worked out. Of course, he'd gone invisible when it came down to interacting with her; at least, that's what she thought he'd done. Even though his touch had felt more real than usual, she hadn't been able to see him in a mirror across the room, a mirror reflecting her every movement-not his-even as his hands and mouth had remained on her body.

As she listened to him stir in his corner, she halted, remaining low to the ground near the door, tuning her ears in to his movements.

This was a guy who usually preferred to enter her during mind play, never physically. So what was he doing now? What did he have planned today?

"I've been waiting for you," he said. "Waiting a long time."

He sounded so...strange...without the speakers. Not as low-pitched, and the foreign accent...gone? Why? Maybe the speakers just warped his tone whenever he spoke. But wouldn't she have noticed this the last time he'd come to her without the cover of the audio system?

"What's going on?" she said. "Spill it or I'm out of here."

"Trust me."

She heard clothing rustle as he moved closer.

A thought clicked into gear: had he gotten braver and finally decided to forgo all the masquerade c.r.a.p he loved to hide behind?

Her blood went hot, rus.h.i.+ng and stomping until she got lightheaded, light-bodied, a rhythm beating deep and low.

"I want you to turn from my voice," he said, only feet away now.

Games. Their games.

Her skin awakened, but it was more out of an odd inner alarm than desire. Yet, weren't fear and l.u.s.t entwined? Hadn't she gotten off on other short-lived, rough-and-tumble boning sessions too many times to count?

So why was she hesitating? She'd already decided that it was okay for The Voice to "anchor" her crazy new existence, right?

Wild s.e.x had always stabilized her. Why not now?

Before she could answer him, frigid heat enveloped her, like someone had wrapped her in a column of numbing flame. She startled, unable to move her arms, her hands, her legs.

Another of The Voice's provocative moves?

Why didn't it feel as good as it usually did?

Dawn thought she heard him breathing just inches away now, but when she caught a whiff of jasmine, she realized that Jonah wasn't touching her at all: it was one of the Friends binding her.

"Relax," he whispered. "All I want you to do is relax."

Listen to him, let it happen, she told herself. You always feel better afterward, so don't fight it. Her pulse escalated, liquid gusts flooding her veins.

He came to stand behind her. At the feel of silk against her forehead, then over her eyes, she sucked in a quick breath.

A blindfold.

As he tied it, the sensual material whispered, harsh and sleek, into a knot. The pressure vised around her head, cutting into the long black wig she was still wearing from the Tomlinson interview. Her temples thudded in time with the rest of her body, kicking out a coded message that she couldn't translate.

The world was all black, a ma.s.s of heartbeats and razored hesitation- Something crashed against the closed door, and Dawn startled away from it. A rain of thumps followed, like fists pelting the thick wood.

She thought she heard cries, thin and rushed, like voices threading through a wind tunnel.

Kalin, stop, Kalin...

In back of her, Jonah made a sound of disgust. "d.a.m.n it, you'd better go to your sisters, Kalin. Go."

The cloak of cold fire unwrapped itself from around Dawn's body, spinning her mind as the door's lock snapped, allowing the wood to whoosh open, then slam shut. In the hall, there was a screech, then what sounded like a thousand wails of responding anger.

"Go!" Jonah yelled.

With a clipped cry, all the voices merged into one long scream that traveled down the hall, through the house, into oblivion or wherever the Friends resided.

Something, no, a lot of things, weren't right. She had to get out of here, now, before- At the same time Dawn reached for the blindfold, she angled away from Jonah. But before she could maneuver away, he gripped her wrist.

Solid, real- "No..." he began.

But his words sliced off as he jerked back from her. Still blindfolded, she heard him fall to the ground.

As she fumbled to take the material off, she didn't even have time to ask another what-the-h.e.l.l. She got rid of the silk, but when she squinted her eyes to see, she couldn't. With the candlelight gone, it was too dark.

Meanwhile, Jonah writhed and grunted on the floor, and she frantically slid her hands along the wall, coming to the light switch.

"Stop, Dawn!"

It was The Voice she knew.

She was bolted back to the wall by the command's power...and also by the thrust of a carnal presence, exponentially more debilitating than before. She realized that, earlier, she'd only been antic.i.p.ating The Voice, that her body had just been reacting to the promise of what would definitely come.

For a few seconds, she couldn't move at all, could only gasp at the erotic waves consuming her. The darkness covered the sounds of Jonah moving-was he sliding along the carpet?-toward the bookcase, then the mild roar of wood slipping back into place.

A secret door, she managed to think. It was probably where Jonah had first entered the room.

And...silence, except for her erratic intake of oxygen. She clawed for it, hampered by the pounding of her body, the sharp ache between her legs.

Melting, she thought, wanting him to come back, to finish what he'd started.

What had just happened?

Again, she grappled for the light switch, finally turning it on.

Illumination flooded the room, but not her mind. She looked at the bookcase, finding it opened to a slit, just as the office door had been.

But she didn't think it was so much of an invitation this time.

The next moment, she felt his essence, expanding around her, taking up the air she so sorely needed.

"Are you all right?" he asked softly. His dark, low accent was back, and it didn't sound like he was coming through the speakers.

Still, it didn't sound like he was quite in the room, either.

Even so, his obvious concern threw her off balance. "Nice, Jonah. Was that your take on the female version of blue b.a.l.l.s?

Because I don't like that game so much."

"I am sorry, Dawn. I...I didn't mean to get so out of hand."

Her l.u.s.t was evening out to a slow rhythm, no less stimulating but definitely less frenzied.

She slid down the wall, resting on the floor before her legs gave out. "What happened?"

"I lost control. This time."

Her brain finally grasped all his foreign allure again; his tone brushed over her with the same rough strokes that always escalated her desire.

Back in familiar territory, she relaxed, allowing her head to rest against the wall, her neck exposed. She ran a hand over her throat, her beating jugular. Tempting him, she played dirty so he would consider telling her more.

Again, she thought back to that one s.e.xual battle they'd had after she'd found out that The Voice had used Frank as bait. She'd been enraged, tearing around the house to find him. Then he'd come to her, offering scant answers but somehow managing to get her back on his side-as much as possible anyway.

Inevitably, they'd fallen into their usual pattern, raw and starved pseudo-s.e.x, leading up to the moment she'd given him permission to enter her. And she never failed to give it: he supplied her with such a high that she didn't mind when he used her l.u.s.t to avoid answering her questions.

Maybe that's why he kept doing it.

"I went too long without sustenance." Why did he sound so different...sad? "That must be what got to me."

Sustenance, she thought. What kept him going? s.e.x?When he hushed around her, his presence fluttering the strands of her wig, Dawn realized that sustenance was just a double entendre for what he really wanted right now.

Her.

She started to quiver, shaken by her need for him. "You looking for permission?"

In answer, a caress of air skimmed her earlobe, as if marking where her earring-a sign of the old Dawn-used to be. The pressure of his essence was a disarming sigh telling her how much he needed her, too.

"Why is it always me?" she asked. "Why not Breisi? Or-"

"I need you more than anything."

His admission made her heart clench just as ferociously as the rest of her body. She didn't like how that made her feel: vulnerable, open to attack.

"Why?" she asked, being difficult, defensive.