So he left the room exactly as it was with a muttered, “You’re welcome.” See how nice he was? He wasn’t even going to demand a thank-you of his own.
He strode down the hall, following Ava’s scent, but stopped midway as a thought struck him. Scent. He was following her scent. Her human scent.
The vampires’ scent … He’d never noticed one.
Frowning, McKell backtracked to the bloody room. In the club, he’d recognized their faces, so had known what they were, but had assumed they were scentless because of the many humans that surrounded them. Plus, he’d been worked into a cold, dark frenzy because one of them had practically embraced Ava.
In the car, he’d been too wrapped up in kissing Ava to care or consider. During the interrogation, he’d been too wrapped up in impressing Ava to care or consider. But now that she’d left, now that their blood was spilled all over the floor, he realized they still didn’t smell like vampires.
They smelled human, and that human scent was stamped inside his nose. A consequence of draining humans to death?
Maybe. But they’d claimed to have stopped. That begged the question: How long ago had they stopped? Yesterday? The day before? A year? And since they smelled human, would they heal like a vampire or die from their wounds?
They deserved the latter, so he still couldn’t regret his actions.
Killing their food supply went against every vampire rule in existence. McKell might view the humans as beneath him—well, most of them—but he would never do such a thing. Not even to walk unfettered in the daylight.
No wonder the vampires he’d hunted and tortured for leaving the underground had taken their secrets to the grave. Like these two, they’d known he would have made their deaths ten thousands times more painful if he’d known.
He left the room a second time, certain there had to be another way to impede the sun’s harmful rays. Equally certain Ava would help him find it. He had only to uncover her whereabouts, take her home, make love, feed, make love again, and put her immense brainpower to use. He picked up his pace.
Like the rest of her world, this home was too open for his tastes. Too spacious. He needed walls at his sides, closing him in. Like his cave. Perhaps one day he’d take Ava there. Make love to her there.
Again he quickened his steps. Left, right, right, left. Up another staircase. Down one. Through a kitchen. Every servant and guard he’d seen on the way in was now gone. Where was Ava? If she’d left … He frowned as a morbid thought occurred to him. Had he frightened her? Had she lied and run from him?
She’d seen him nearly kill two men, yes, but she’d already known he was a killer. A killer who always acted without hesitation. Well, only once had he hesitated, but Bride didn’t count, since they’d already been betrothed and he’d considered her to be his exclusive property.
His head tilted to the side as he pondered his willingness to later let Bride leave with Devyn the Targon. A willingness Ava would not receive. The thought of her walking away from him permanently, and for another man at that, filled him with so much rage he could have clawed every piece of furniture to shreds and returned the walls to plaster and dust. But he wouldn’t hurt her, he thought with conviction. Even then, even lost to the red haze of fury, he would be unable to hurt her. She was … precious.
She made him laugh, something no one had ever done before. She understood him, helped him. Drove him to be better. He hadn’t killed those vampires, and he hadn’t made them beg and suffer for hours. See? An utter improvement.
So, what did she think about him? Now that she’d seen his violent, yet merciful side?
He would ask her, and she would tell him the truth. She always did. No matter how deeply the truth cut. That was something else he liked about her. Her honesty. And after she told him that she still craved him—she hadn’t run, she just hadn’t—they could return home and, what? Make love. His shaft was still hard, still aching.
Where was she? Where was anyone? The servants and guards had probably left with the old crone. Perhaps she’d wanted no witnesses for her daughter’s deeds. That implied caring, though, and the crone hadn’t seemed to care about anything but hating Ava.
He should have killed her, he thought. He’d wanted to. How dare she look at Ava as beneath her? No one was better than Ava. She could rule this planet if she wished. She was the best of the best.
Where you are, sweetness? Her scent led him to a music room. There was a piano, a harp, drums and several guitars, but no Ava. He sniffed. The crone had been here recently, as well.
His frown deepened. He didn’t like the thought of Ava wandering around without his protection. No matter how skilled she was. The hag could have paid a group of men to attack her. If so, heads would roll.
McKell had never been a discriminating killer. Whoever the king had ordered him to kill, he had killed. Male, female, young, old, it hadn’t mattered. Rebels and deserters were rebels and deserters, no matter their sex or age. But this time the kills would be personal. He’d enjoy them.
“Ava,” he called.
No reply.
A quick stride through the chamber, and he caught Ava’s butterscotch scent again. Good. But, no. Impossible. She couldn’t have gone through the far wall. Unless … He knocked on said wall until he heard the hollow echo of a hidden doorway. Ah. Of course. Such a clever girl. And as he’d known, she hadn’t run from him.
His fingers brushed gently, searching and finding a telling seam. Naughty vixen, trying to do something in secret. Not that he’d let her get away with it. He straightened and considered his options. With hidden passages, there was always a latch, but discovering that latch would take time. Time required patience. Patience he didn’t have.
He clawed an opening in the wall, plaster falling away in chunks, dust plumping around him. When the void was a little wider than his body, he slipped through. Female voices echoed. Finally.
Grinning, McKell descended a well-lit staircase, turned a corner, and found another open doorway that led into … another room. With an arsenal. Guns and knives hung from the walls, and there were actual shelves piled high with grenades, throwing stars, and all kinds of other things he couldn’t name.
Ava and Noelle were talking and laughing as they suited up, probably adding one hundred pounds of death to their bodies. A … what was that? His lips curled in distaste. Was that what humans referred to as a dog? Yes, that sounded correct. Dogs had nearly been wiped out during the human-alien war, and most people had robotic imitations now.