“The lightning and thunder,” Raven replied easily. “One of our males is upset.”
“Great. Tantrums, that’s all we need,” Shea said moodily. Jacques hadn’t answered her. Where was he? Couldn’t he feel her need?
Raven laughed. “They are great for that, aren’t they?”
The door banged open, the wood, so recently repaired, splintering. Shea swung around, instinctively taking a stride to place herself between the entrance and Raven. Framed in the doorway was Don Wallace, a scattergun in his hand, an older man behind him. Shea heard the maniacal laughter of the two men and saw the malice and loathing in their eyes.
Jacques! She screamed his name even as the orange blossom burst from the muzzle of the gun. The wicked stings hitting her arm and shoulder spun her around, and she reeled into Raven. Raven took the main burst of the gun and was flung backward nearly into the wall. Shea landed in a pool of blood. It was everywhere, beneath her, on Raven’s chest and stomach, leaking onto the wooden floor. Raven was still and lifeless, her face white, her pulse nonexistent when Shea tried to find it.
Don Wallace seized her by her hair and dragged her away from the body. He was laughing as he contemptuously kicked Raven’s leg out of his way. “I knew I’d get you, Doc. Small world, isn’t it?”
Jacques! My God, he’s killed Raven! Gregori! I’m sorry, I couldn’t save her. Shea was fighting, kicking and punching, and didn’t even realize it until Wallace hit her repeatedly in the face.
“Shut up! Stop that screaming or I’ll knock you out.” He hit her twice more. “Damn vampires think they’re so smart. It was so easy, wasn’t it, Uncle Eugene?”
Shea was sobbing uncontrollably, almost immune to the pain of Wallace dragging her by her injured arm. Warmth stirred in her mind. Shea? We need you to look at the man holding you, look around the room slowly and picture everything exactly the way you see it. Jacques’ voice was calm and unruffled, no hint of rage or anger, simply a cool wind of logic. We are all three linked and can aid you.
Raven is dead! They shot her! she cried hysterically in her mind, afraid to move or call further attention to herself, lest she endanger Jacques in some way.
Just do as I tell you, love. Look around the room. Study your enemy and picture every detail in your mind so that we can see him. Jacques was tranquil, breathing steadily and slowly to help her control her own breathing. Block out everything else. What they say does not matter. What they do does not matter. Give us the data we need.
Shea took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and tried to do as Jacques had instructed. It was difficult to overcome the horror of Raven’s violent death, the loss of the all-important baby. She blocked out the sounds of the malicious laughter, the sexual threats and innuendoes. Wallace was standing over her, one hand twisted in her thick mane of hair, the other hand deliberately digging into the bloody wounds in her arm. She pushed aside the pain of her injuries, the throbbing in her face.
Shea opened her eyes and looked first at Raven’s broken body. The blood lay like a thick red pool around her. Her blue-black hair lay across one cheek like a shawl. Shea made herself move on. Her gaze swept the room, settled on Eugene Slovensky. He was kneeling beside Raven, examining her to assure himself she was dead. He stood up, backed away two feet, cleared his throat, and spat at the body. He reached behind him for a canvas bag and yanked it open. Gleefully he seized a thick, pointed stake and held it out for her to see.
“Spawn of the devil,” he whispered insanely. “Bride to the one who killed my brother. You die this day while he sleeps unaware. I am fortunate that the Vulture hates you and the one that created you as much as I hate you both. I don’t know why he wants the other female alive, but again, our wishes coincide.”
“Not quite, Uncle Eugene. We keep this one for ourselves. You promised we would kill the Vulture like the others this time,” Don Wallace protested.