Midnight Predator

The instinct to analyze, manipulate, destroy, and dominate never goes away. Reason and . . . morals can overlap and control instincts, but they can never destroy them.”

He shook his head, his gaze distant. His voice was soft as he added, “I don’t want to have to break you.”

She didn’t like the way he phrased that.

“If Jeshickah takes over Midnight, she won’t let you stay here as freeblood. Either she’ll kill you, or she’ll have someone tame you.”

“Lord Daryl didn’t manage it,” Turquoise stated, bravado in her voice.

“Daryl is too soft,” Jaguar stated coldly, and this time Turquoise did recoil. Soft? The creature of her nightmares, soft?

Then Jaguar’s voice was in her mind.Daryl decided to act as a trainer because it was profitable, and he liked power. He can’t read people very well, and he certainly has no idea how to control them.

Turquoise would not look away, though she wanted to get as far from the vampire in her brain as possible.

A trainer who knew what he was doing. . . For a split second images came to her, vivid and painful; her knees gave out and she fell to the ground, the phantom taste of blood in her mouth.You’re strong, Audra. But you don’t know what you’re up against.

He paused.

Would you like me to let you go?

Yes! Her mind was still reeling from the brief taste Jaguar had given her—a taste of what it was like to be in a trainer’s cell, one that would keep her awake at nights longing for the more gentle memories of a beating from Lord Daryl.

Think I have somewhere else to go?she answered, as soon as she could gather her thoughts. She would love to go, to get as far away from Midnight as possible, but she had a job here and would not leave until it was finished. Besides, if she ran now she would need to run forever. One was either predator or prey; a person could not be a hunter if she hid from that which she hunted.

“As you wish.” She could feel Jaguar leave her mind, like a subtle pressure draining away. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I wanted to make sure you knew what there was for you to fear.”

“Thanks,” she answered hoarsely, not yet trusting her legs to hold her if she stood. She forced herself to focus on the job. Information was safe, safer than memories, anyway. “Why is Jeshickah so upset about how you’re running things here?”

Jaguar sat beside her. “She wants me to rule Midnight like she used to.”

“Don’t you?”

Jaguar’s expression was shocked. “You don’t know much about the first Midnight, if you ask that question.”

“Then tell me.”

Jaguar’s expression was distant as he spoke. “The east wing was a row of cells, each of which usually housed a litter.” He hesitated with distaste, and then explained. “The humans were bred for beauty and obedience. Eight or nine children were usually born each year, but it was rare for more than four or five to live past the first culling.”

Turquoise choked back bile as Jaguar continued.

“The first-generation slaves, the ones brought into Midnight from the outside, were kept in the combined lower cells, or on occasion in individual trainer cells if they had caught someone’s attention.” He paused, and then gave an example. “Jeshickah’s idea of a well-trained slave would make most of Daryl’s dogs seem rowdy, and her methods make Daryl himself seem like a humanist.”

Audra nodded, remembering the silent slaves Lord Daryl had surrounded himself with. To her eyes, they had been perfectly obedient, eerily so.

“You don’t want to know more,” Jaguar stated bluntly, and of course he was right. She had not wanted to know as much as he had already told her. “I worked in the original Midnight for almost two hundred years, until it was destroyed.”

“Why did you rebuild it?” Turquoise asked quietly.

Jaguar looked surprised. “Someone was going to.”

“Why?”

“Why not?” he responded. “Wealth. Power. The vampire who was threatening to rebuild at the time was generally disliked, and an old enemy of mine.” His gaze searched her face for a moment as if wondering whether to say something. He continued, “Daryl, to be exact. You know him well enough to understand that it would have been disaster if he had taken control. Jeshickah had disappeared after her Midnight burned, and Gabriel didn’t want to lead, so I was the only one with the power to challenge Daryl.” He shrugged, but there was pain in the movement.

“Is he really so strong?” Turquoise asked. Though there were crevices in her soul that held a particular horror of him, a panic that appeared when he was near, in her rational mind she knew he was not powerful.

“Physically, no, but he has political power. He was called a trainer in the original Midnight, and even though his methods were often ineffective, that title gave him a following.” Jaguar shook his head. “Still, no one would back him against one of Jeshickah’s blood. I’m not quite the strongest in my line, but I’m close enough that the people who originally followed her will follow me.”

“How . . .” She broke off, unsure that she wanted to know the answer to the question she had been about to ask.

Jaguar looked at her questioningly. “What?”

“How were your methods different from Lord Daryl’s?”

He looked away from her, but still answered. “Daryl’s line is known for its ability to manipulate the minds of humans, and he depends on that talent. He uses a simple mixture of brute force, physical and mental, to twist his slave’s minds into what he wants them to be.” There was contempt in his tone as he continued, “It works about half the time. Frequently, he ends up with products too damaged to be of use. Scarring, for instance,” he added, his tone apologetic, “is common on Daryl’s projects. I knew you were once his the instant I saw your arms.”

Turquoise swallowed the lump in her throat, and forced herself to say, “And how did you work?”

“Pain . . . is easy to give.” His voice was remote, and his gaze rested on some distant point. “Daryl doesn’t have the patience necessary to bide his time and observe. Every person has her own weaknesses, physical, emotional, spiritual. After a while, finding those weaknesses and pressing against them becomes a habit, almost a game.”

Turquoise remembered uneasily how Jaguar had done just that when she had woken that evening and pulled away from him. He had reacted to her fear almost angrily, like a shark that had caught a blood scent but did not want to acknowledge his attraction to it.

When he spoke to her, was he sizing her up, testing her as a possible opponent? He said he did not want to break her. Did that mean he saw her, a human being, and was content with her actions and reactions? Or was she just a slave he happened to be fond of, and which he would wait to tame until she ceased to please him?

Her thoughts were cut off as Jaguar looked up abruptly. He muttered a curse under his breath and then jumped to his feet.

Stay here.

Turquoise ignored the words and followed Jaguar. She swore at a rock that nearly tripped her, and arrived in the southern wing just in time to hear the crack of Jaguar’s whip and a loud string of colorful expletives from Ravyn. Ducking, she narrowly avoided the knife that Jaguar’s whip had caught and tossed across the room.

I thought I told you to stay put.

She did not respond to Jaguar, and he did not insist on an answer. They both had more pressing issues to deal with.

Ravyn had her back pressed to the wall; her hair was in disarray, and she stood stiffly, favoring her right leg. Her gaze flickered to Turquoise briefly, and then returned to the two vampires in the room with her.

Jeshickah was leaning against a table; despite a slit in the side of her shirt, which had probably been made by Ravyn’s knife, she looked unfazed. Her gaze was fixed on Jaguar.