Ildar and I tore through the forest toward the administration building. At that moment, the value of the entire world had narrowed for me to the life of a single person. And if anything happened to Mark, I would douse this place in gasoline and set it ablaze—then do the same to the estate where the clan held its summer convocation.
Men are often called natural aggressors, but have those people ever seen a woman's fury? I'd be happy to demonstrate.
As we drew closer, a soft glow began to emerge from between the tree trunks. Through the wide windows, I could see candles burning all around the perimeter of the hall. When we were close enough, I managed to make out some of what was happening inside. Shadows danced in the dim light. Heads cloaked in dark hoods were illuminated by a solitary chandelier. It swayed slightly—whether from a draft or from the restless movement below, I couldn't tell.
I caught the faintest trace of Mark's scent, and for a fleeting moment I felt relief—until, among all the others, my senses seized upon the most coveted aroma for a vampire.
Blood.
The scent of fresh blood made my throat ache. I turned to ask Ildar if he smelled it too and realized he was beginning to fall behind. Confusion was written plainly across his face.
"You feel it too?" I asked.
"Not just feel it," he shook his head, as if trying to chase away intrusive thoughts, then sped up to catch me. "I know whose blood it is."
Yesenia was inside. So was Mark.
We raced up the steps and slammed into the closed doors. Ildar hurled himself into one shoulder-first with a deafening crash, but it didn't give.
"On three," he ordered, lining up beside me.
"One, two…" I began the count.
"Three!" we shouted together and charged the door again—still nothing.
"Again."
"One, two—"
"Three!" On the third attempt, the door shuddered. The hinges gave a tortured squeal, but the barrier held.
"Damn it!" Ildar snarled and began kicking the door again and again, until at last we heard the long-awaited crack. One of the doors sagged. Without hesitating, I threw my shoulder into it once more. The frame finally gave way. Large chunks of wood scattered across the floor as I broke through inside.
To the right of the reception desk lay the hall Ildar and I had glimpsed from the forest. Deer skulls and branching antlers hung high along the walls, and in the candlelight they looked especially grotesque. It seemed as though they might soon join what I had mistaken from afar for a dance of shadows—yield to the collective chaos and elevate the madness to a new, previously unreachable level. And there was plenty here to drive one insane.
The shadows moved in a tight ring around the center of the hall—something was clearly there, but their dense formation blocked our view. Then the hem of one figure's cloak flared as it stepped more sharply than the others, and for a brief moment, I saw Mark.
He lay on a raised platform, his arms and legs spread wide. Ropes extended from each limb, pulled taut, and vanished beyond the edges of a large, solid surface. It looked as though they had stretched him out on a table—one of those that had once stood in the hall, disguised as dining furniture.
How dare they?
I surged forward, but at that instant the shadows froze, and a woman's scream—raw with pain—cut through the air. Something flew upward above their heads, followed by the sounds of tearing fabric and flesh.
No. Not Mark. Not him.
We couldn't have been too late.