Be Not Like (Vampire Assassin League Book 33) Page 2

  Almost.

  The smaller ulu knife smacked the flashlight out of his hand, sending the light harmlessly out of range. She didn’t wait. Eska flew at him, grabbed his shoulders, and slammed his back into the wall behind him. Masonry debris and dust exploded about her. He huffed a large breath, as if she’d knocked the wind out of him. His blue eyes were wide. Shocked. And something else. Something that made her smile.

  “Hello again,” she said.

  He choked. It might have been an answer, but no sound made it out of his throat.

  “Are you frightened yet?” she continued.

  He didn’t reply to that. He didn’t even nod. Eska’s smile widened. She lifted her jaw, displaying her canines. Licked them. Dropped her mouth to his neck.

  Stabbed...

  And partook.

  She almost had him drained when the cell phone at her breast vibrated. Eska pulled from her victim slowly. Licked the puncture wounds closed with the same lack of speed. He had a distinct pallor and was breathing shallowly, but he was alive. That felt like a victory. She arranged him beside the bloody mass that had been Theresa. In pretty much the same position. So the authorities could have some fun with this. And then she snagged the cell phone from her bra. Nigel Beethan answered. Eska had never met him but she didn’t need to. He probably looked exactly like he usually sounded. Young. Brash. And way too self-confident. Tonight was different however.

  “Eska? You there?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is Nigel.”

  “You don’t sound right.”

  “Come again?”

  “You aren’t razzing me. You know like calling me Eskimo when I’m Inupiaq.”

  “I’ve got a lot on my mind. Family stuff. Like...human family stuff.”

  “You have family that’s still living? Oh, my. That’s...deep.”

  “Forget I said anything, okay? The big guy calls me a worrywart. He must be right. I’m sure everything will be fine.”

  She heard a rustling sound from where she’d tossed the Hunter. Eska turned that direction. Squinted. A groan emitted from the heap of body. This could be interesting. She might be able to interrogate before she annihilated.

  “By the by, I called because you have an assignment,” Nigel continued.

  “Okay. Do me a favor this time, will you? Tell me it isn’t somewhere in the middle of nowhere. Is that too much to ask?”

  “You don’t like solitude?”

  “I fancy the nightlife. You know that.”

  “Bad news. It’s Siberia. Tunguska region. Your plane is fueled up and ready at the airfield.”

  “Siberia?”

  “It might be fun. You can do the Eskimo thing. Dress in your parka, build yourself an igloo. Harpoon some seals. Train a penguin or two.”

  Eska almost chuckled at his return to stereotyping. “Penguins are from the South Pole, Nigel.”

  “Whatever. Have a nice flight.”

  He cut the connection. Eska tossed the phone at the wall. It shattered into a blizzard of unidentifiable bits. And then the Hunter groaned from the shadows again, diverting her attention.

  CHAPTER THREE

  He’d never been a heavy sleeper. Life was fleeting, and he had a long bucket list. He was also incredibly disciplined. Everyone thought so. Paul Henry Beethan was known for his regimental lifestyle. He consumed the exact quantities of food and at times specified by his nutritionist. His exercise regimen was overseen by physical trainers. His education had been, and still was, the best money could purchase. He didn’t socialize much. He rarely drank. He’d never had a hangover.

  But right now, he knew exactly what that must feel like.

  Eye sockets burned. His throat was dust-dry. A large weight rested atop his chest. He couldn’t feel his arms or legs. They might as well be missing. And his head pounded with such fervor, it might explode if he wasn’t careful.

  Paul Henry inhaled a small dose of sweet-smelling air. Exhaled it. Breathed in another. Exhaled again. There was a mechanical sound mimicking his motions. As if a pump was in use nearby.

  In.

  Out.

  He shut his eyes for a long moment. Tried to think around the pain in his skull. Gave it up almost instantly. Was this a migraine? He’d never had a migraine. He’d rarely suffered a headache. His eyes reopened. He blinked twice. The view didn’t change, nor did the clarity with which he observed it. His vision was a perfect 20/20, but it had never been this good. Nor had his hearing been this acute. The space about him must be cavernous. There wasn’t much ambient noise, but each sound was amplified. A slow drip of liquid somewhere might as well be a torrent. A whisper of something filtered about, swelling in volume and depth. It could be voices. He wasn’t sure. It dimmed somewhat. Came back again. Sometimes it ceased altogether. And then there was that machine-driven sound - the one accompanying his breathing.

  This was unbelievably confusing. And if his head would cease pounding for a moment, he might be able to address it. He tried to ignore it. That proved useless. This headache could easily take over his existence. Make him pray for oblivion again.

  No.

  He needed to figure this out. Gather facts. Evaluate his situation. Decide on an action.

  Now.

  Right now.

  Paul Henry forced his mind to work around agony. The pounding actually dulled somewhat. He pressed his eyes to work, despite how they watered up. A continual eye-blink solved that. And then, little-by-little, things started coming into focus.

  It was dark about him, but he could make out all kinds of details. He was on his back, stretched out beneath a span of gray stone. The surface was marred with scratches where someone – or something – had marked it.

  Paul Henry frowned. The ache in his head accompanied the motion. He disregarded. He couldn’t give in to pain. He needed facts here. Details. He didn’t know where he was, but he sure knew where he wasn’t. This was not his hotel suite in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. It wasn’t even close.

  He should be gazing up at a ceiling two stories above him, the view containing splendors lit with morning sunlight coming through small apertures. The hotel was known for its opulence, in construction as well as furnishings. It dated back to the Ottoman Empire. This room should be covered with colored tiles arranged in graceful patterns, all polished to a jewel-like shine. That’s what he should be looking up at, his mind already busy as he calculated what to order from room service, how long it would take to arrive, and how many calories he could consume before his morning workout. That would be followed by a brisk shower. After which, he was scheduled to meet with stockholders of Beethan Enterprises.

  Nothing made any sense.

  He went over his last recollections.

  He remembered boarding the flight in Beijing. Just before midnight, he’d checked with the pilots. Everything was running smoothly. They were scheduled to land at 0600. He’d settled in for the night, and then...?

  “Ah. I see you have awakened.”

  A light source accompanied the voice. Paul Henry turned his head. An apparatus attached to his lower face moved with it. Hoses flexed. The machine sound halted for a second, and then it whined. He flung an arm up, heard a clinking noise. Saw his arm move. He couldn’t feel much. Somehow, he snagged the thing on his face and yanked it off. And then he stared uncomprehendingly at it. As he watched, his arm dropped away, taking the thing with it.

  “Here. I have something for you.”

  A nurse came into view. She had dark hair and wore a face mask. She appeared to be smiling if her eyes were any indicator. He would have addressed her but his throat felt restricted, his chest hurt, and the pain in his head decided to return with a vengeance. He had to give it up. She answered as if he’d spoken, however.

  “That was an oxygen mask.”

  “Oxy—?”

  He should have waited. His voice sounded like an ancient bullfrog croaking.

  “You’ve been on oxygen all day. It was still touch and go. Here. Drink
this.”

  Damn this head pain. Drinking sounded impossible. He couldn’t even seem to move without gaining more agony to his existence. She must know of it, however. Her arm went beneath his head to lift it, so she could press a heavy crystal goblet to his mouth. It contained a thick, dark-reddish colored liquid. It didn’t have much smell. It was warm. And his taste buds must also be as hyper-sensitive as vision and hearing, because he’d never tasted anything as fantastic. Ambrosia couldn’t possibly be better.

  Paul Henry drank thirstily, licked at the rim once he’d finished, and sucked on his mouth after she moved the goblet away. From her expression, her smile was now a grin.

  “Would you like some more?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “I’ll schedule it.”

  More weirdness.

  His throat had worked perfectly when he spoke. Not only that, but he could swear he felt the liquid racing through his veins, sending an electrifying burst of energy with it. He didn’t know what it was, but the effect was miraculous. The pounding in his head dulled. The weight on his chest eased. Sensation returned to his extremities without a hint of tingling. Paul Henry tried to sit. Made it to an incline that strained his abs.

  And that’s when he found out he was bound.

  What was this?

  He was a prisoner?

  Facts bombarded him. He was atop an outcrop of the same gray-colored stone, a linen-covered pad beneath him. Another small bit of linen covered his hips. He could see the waistband of his boxer-length briefs. It didn’t appear that he wore anything more. It wasn’t cold, however. The room temperature was nicely warm. Everything extremely hospitable, except...

  He had iron cuffs around each wrist. Thick ones. They were attached to substantial metal links. The arrangement looked so heavy he should be straining to lift his arms. He turned his head. Looked over his shoulder. The chains were bolted to the walls. Each appeared capable of holding back a railcar being pulled in the opposing direction. By a steam engine. It didn’t look possible to break.

  There was a spigot directly above the bolt arrangement. As he watched, a drop of water fell. Hit the chain. Slid along the length of it. In direct opposition to gravity, it seemed to move toward him. He had an explanation to the dripping sound he’d heard earlier, but nothing explained his situation...nor how inescapable it looked.

  Despite that evaluation, Paul Henry pulled his arms as if doing curls in a gym. Unpleasant jolts shot up both arms. He dropped them back to his sides. The sensation ceased. He tried again. Got the same result, only this time it stung. His arms trembled before he ceased pulling. The third time, his arms shook for several seconds afterward. He had to accept reality. Any arm movement beyond eighteen inches brought an electric shock of some kind.

  Paul Henry scanned his legs next. His abs should be burning with the length of time he’d been holding himself in a crunch position. That was another oddity he’d need to ascertain.

  His ankles were bound in a similar fashion only they were bolted to a perpendicular wall. He lifted his right leg. The jolt that shot through his leg was even more unpleasant than ones received by his arms. It also sent a spike of fire-sensation through his calf muscle. He sucked back any reaction, lowered his leg back down. His legs were being held about shoulder-width apart. The position was disconcerting. The entire affair was.

  Paul Henry slowly lay back down. He couldn’t escape facts. He was being held captive. He didn’t know where. For how long. When it had happened. Who his captors were. Or what they wanted.

  “Paul Henry Beethan! LizBeth tells me you’ve awakened. Right on time, too.”

  A voice boomed through the enclosure. It reverberated off stone. Resounded through the air. Despite how his head pain had eased, Paul Henry still scrunched his shoulders slightly in defense. He turned his head, watched as a black-caped figure neared. A hood shrouded the man’s head, placing his face in almost total blackness. It was impossible to decipher features. There wasn’t much he could use to measure size, but the fellow was large. And extremely fit...or he’d padded the shoulders of his attire. Despite the absurdity of it, Paul Henry almost smiled at the idea.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Who are you and what do you want?” Paul Henry replied.

  “In due time, young man.”

  “Do not make me repeat myself.”

  “Ah. The Brits. So...supercilious and self-assured. Always. No matter the circumstance or provocation.”

  Anger warred with curiosity. The latter won out. “How do you know I’m British?” Paul Henry asked.

  “Well. Even if I didn’t already know everything about you, I’ll just state the obvious. Your accent is a dead giveaway, my boy.”

  “I’m not a boy. And I’m not yours. And I’m only going to repeat this once more. Who are you? And what the hell do you want?”

  This time, he added profanity. The figure snickered.

  “Is that your answer?” Paul Henry asked.

  “You have my answer already. In. Due. Time.”

  Paul Henry had never heard such a voice. He might as well have a megaphone directed right at him. The last three words sent a stab of pain through his skull before they continued resounding through the area. If he wasn’t mistaken, a crack even opened in the stone wall behind his visitor. Several moments ticked by before he spoke again.

  “And just how long will that be?”

  “My. My. You’re courageous, aren’t you?”

  “If you wanted me dead, I’d be dead. And I’m beginning to get annoyed.”

  “Courage...and arrogance. What a combination.”

  “I don’t like conversing with kidnappers.”

  “Kidnapping? Interesting summation. Entirely inaccurate...but interesting.”

  “You say you know everything about me. That would include the extent of my family holdings. Very well. Get on with it. I have business in Kuala Lumpur. I don’t know how you snatched me from the hotel, but I’d like to return there. The sooner the better.”

  “You never made it to Malaysia.”

  “You know what? That part doesn’t matter. Wire a message to my father. How much do you want? Where do you want it delivered? And in what denomination?”

  The cloaked figure gave another hoot of laughter. The sound hit like an onslaught of armored air. Despite the futility of it, Paul Henry had his shoulders scrunched again until the sound subsided. “I don’t see what is so amusing.”

  “You owe me your life, young man.”

  That was surprising. Paul Henry hesitated before asking. “Your meaning?”

  “Your plane experienced a fatal carbon monoxide leak during the flight.”

  Paul Henry’s heart stalled for a moment. He felt it happen. “No.”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “No,” he repeated.

  “Again, I must answer in the affirmative. Trust me.”

  “What of the pilots? Bodyguards? My secretary?”

  “They are somewhere on the bottom of the Indian Ocean. There is a massive search and rescue operation happening as we speak. Unfortunately, it will be in vain. They won’t find anything.”

  Ice went through Paul Henry’s veins, raising goose bumps along his limbs. A tremor rattled through him. It sounded in his one word response. “B-but...?”

  “If it helps, the entire crew expired long before the plane sank beneath the waves.”

  “No, that doesn’t help.”

  “You have my abject apologies. I could only rescue one.”

  Disbelief stained his voice. “You rescued me?”

  “I just said as much.”

  “From an airplane? Midflight?”

  “Is it that hard to believe?”

  “Complete bullshit,” Paul Henry answered.

  “Such language. And here I thought Brits were stoic.”

  Paul Henry lifted his wrists. Chain links followed the motion. “Let me loose.”

  “In due time.”

  He dropped his arms. “That
again? May I ask why not?”

  “I can’t let you run amuck through my enclave. Not yet anyway.”

  “I have never run amuck through anything. At any time.”

  His visitor chuckled. “That, I can well believe. Well. Here’s a warning. You might be known as a cold fish, but things will be a bit different for you now.”

  “Did you just call me a cold fish?”

  “Paul Henry Beethan. I have to admit something. I find you very entertaining. Not at all what I expected.”

  “Let me loose.”

  “I apologize, but I cannot. You might not be amenable to your circumstances. And until you are? Well. What can I say? You are better off right where you are. You are not too uncomfortable? Not too cold? Warm? Your manacles...not too tight?”

  Paul Henry jerked on the chains. An already familiar jolt of pain accompanied it. “Ugh! This is unconscionable.”

  “You think so?”

  “What if I gave you my word?”

  “Oh, come now. It’s not that onerous. I have many means of controlling you. This happens to be the least invasive.”

  Paul Henry sucked in on anger. The emotion burned his chest. “Controlling me? All right. I’m done here. Release me. And that’s an order.”

  The laughter this time was lengthy. And ear-splittingly loud. Nothing prevented a ringing that overtook his hearing. Paul Henry held his breath and waited for it to subside, and was actually relieved when it did.

  “I don’t take orders, young man. In fact...now that I think on it, I don’t believe I ever received one until now.”

  Fuck you.

  Paul Henry almost said it aloud. Caught it with a choked sound. Stiffened in surprise. This was so unlike him. Completely reprehensible. And unfathomable.

  “You complain with little reason. I borrowed this method from your company.”

  He regarded his visitor balefully. “Beethan Enterprises is not into incarceration and torture.”

  The man clicked his tongue. “Not that company. The other one. The covert business few know of...and fewer still belong.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Of course you would say that. Well. Let me assist with your recollection. That is Holy Water being dripped onto your chains.”