How Zane hated fearful people—wimps, cowards, chickens, all of them. As if they knew of true fear, true horror. He’d seen it all. He’d lived through it and come out the other side: shattered, broken, but still alive. His heart had died a hundred deaths, but his body was stronger than ever. Zane feared nothing now. Maybe that’s why he despised the stink of it so much. And he didn’t care if the limo driver feared him now and was afraid of what might happen to him. It didn’t matter, not when he knew that the man’s memories could help them find Yvette.

His family was all that mattered to him. And if the illegal limo driver could provide them with the information they sought, maybe Zane would even wipe his memory of the events from his mind. If he felt charitable after all was said and done.

By the time they reached Gabriel’s house and had pulled into the garage so Zane could safely exit the van with his captive, his mind had somewhat calmed. He knew that Gabriel would be able to extract whatever they needed from the man. Zane envied his boss for his gift—Gabriel could unlock memories—and for that matter, he envied all those colleagues who possessed one, whereas he seemed to be entirely without any special abilities, unless inflicting pain could be called a gift. Even Zane doubted that.

Without delay, he hauled the man upstairs and brought him to Gabriel’s office, where his boss was pacing. Gabriel instantly turned to his guests.

“Zane, who’s this?”

“The limo driver. He’s seen the attack on Yvette and Kimberly.” Zane didn’t want to waste time on relaying what the driver had told him. “He knows what the attacker looks like. It’s in his memories.” He gave his boss a pointed look.

Gabriel held his eyes for a long while, then nodded. “This is an emergency. We need to know.”

Zane understood Gabriel instantly: he never used his special gift of prying into other people’s memories unless it was absolutely necessary, believing that everybody had a right to privacy.

Gabriel looked at the man and gestured to the chair. “Sit. You might as well be comfortable.”

“What you doing to me?” Panic was evident in the man’s voice and in the way he tried to pull away from Gabriel when he approached. His boss’ gruesome scar could be a bit of a turn-off, particularly when it throbbed like it did now. Not that the man had any idea that he needn’t fear the scarred vampire, whose strong ethics forbade him to harm others.

“It won’t hurt, I promise you.” Gabriel laid his hands on the man’s shoulders and pressed him into the chair. “It won’t take long.” Then he closed his eyes and fell silent.

The driver’s eyes darted between him and Zane, his shoulders hunched, his breathing erratic. Zane could sense how the driver’s heartbeat increased, could smell the terror in the sour-sharp rankness of his sweat. Despite his attempt to get out of the chair, he couldn’t manage it: Gabriel’s hands on his shoulders still pinned him down effortlessly.

Outwardly, nobody could see what Gabriel was doing, but Zane knew how his boss’ gift worked. He would slip into the person’s mind by bringing himself to the same wavelength, then travel back in the memory bank to the place of the event he was looking for. Once there, the event would play out before him, and it would be as if he saw it through his own eyes in the exact same way as the driver had.

A couple of minutes into the silence, Gabriel opened his eyes and looked straight at Zane. “Witchcraft. Fuck!”

Zane nodded. He’d guessed as much. “Do we need Francine?”

Gabriel gave him a long look, warring emotions dancing on his face. “Unfortunately, yes. If I only knew what she’ll take for her help this time. I wish the woman took cash.”

Zane shrugged. Favors were returned with favors. Because of their longevity, most vampires had more money than they knew what to do with. Money in the end meant very little. Favors were a whole other currency and their world thrived on them. It could be a bitch at times, but it also made you think twice about when to ask someone for a favor.
Fourteen

“Why is your hair long?”

Yvette turned at Kimberly’s question and watched her tuck her legs underneath her as she sat on her cot. She briefly glanced in Haven’s direction. He and his brother were standing in the opposite corner of the room, talking quietly; nevertheless, Haven looked at her from under his long dark lashes. A man shouldn’t be allowed to have such sultry-looking eyelashes. With a deliberate jerk of her shoulder, she turned back to Kimberly.

“It grows while I sleep.”