“See, you made a mistake. You started your obligatory villain speech before you had me subdued. Big mistake,” Zane announced. He wrenched him up and dragged him toward the oven. Before the asshole had any time to react, Zane attached the chain to the stove top, hooking it around one of the iron burners.
As he stepped back and retrieved the stake his prisoner had dropped, he briefly glanced at Z who watched him with interest but had finally stopped barking.
Zane looked down at the hybrid, perusing him. While he was sure he didn’t know him, there was something about him that was familiar—and it wasn’t the dog shit that still clung to his face. The odd crook in his nose and the blue of his eyes reminded him of someone.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
The man spat, but his defiance was instantly punished by the chain around his neck that made his flesh sizzle even more with each unnecessary movement.
Zane went for the intruder’s pockets in search for an ID, but neither his jacket pocket nor his pants pocket held any wallet or identification.
“Talk and I’ll loosen the chain.” Not. His own neck still burned, and the damaged skin and flesh would need an entire day of sleep to regenerate. His hand tightened around the stake as he took another step toward the assailant.
“Now, before I grow impatient,” he commanded and bit back the pain. He needed blood, but a look toward the closed blinds over the sink told him that the sun had long since risen, and he couldn’t venture outside.
His victim’s blood assaulted his nostrils. He inhaled deeply, picking up the distinct undertone of human blood in the hybrid. A thought intruded. Since the assassin’s blood was a mix between human and vampire, it would nourish and strengthen Zane just like pure human blood would.
His gaze zeroed in on the guy’s wrist. “Not talking? Guess you’ll only be good for dinner then.”
Zane snatched the hybrid’s wrist and pulled it to his mouth. His fangs dug into the flesh and quickly pulled on the vein as the stranger struggled and hit him with his other arm, kicking his legs to boot. But Zane held him off. With every ounce of blood that replenished his body, he felt his strength return. As soon as he had enough to heal, he released the guy with disgust.
His eyes were shut, his face contorted in pain. But the sight conjured up no feelings of pity in Zane. This man had come to kill him. “Who are you?”
His eyes flew open, their intense blue colliding with Zane’s dark gaze. “I’m Volker Brandt’s son.”
Shit! He’d killed Brandt the year before down in Brazil and thought he had closed this chapter. “Then you’ll die like your father. You’re poison, you’re evil just like him. Nothing coming from any of them can be good. Their seed produces only evil.”
Brandt’s son tried to thrust his head forward, but the chain made mincemeat out of his efforts to underscore his defiance physically. “I’m not alone. You kill me, the others come after you. They find you, just like I found you.”
Zane shrugged off the guy’s false bravado. “Only a few minutes ago you said Müller would be happy to hear that you found me. Guess that means he has no idea where I am.”
“He knows,” he spat.
“If he knew, he’d be here himself and finish me off.”
The hybrid squeezed his eyes shut to avoid Zane’s stare, but Zane interpreted the action as confirmation of his guess. Big fucking deal!
Defiance shot from Brandt’s eyes when he reopened them. “He’ll find you.”
“Not if I find him first. Which hole is he hiding in?”
“I don’t know.”
Zane punched his face, whipping it sideways, skin sizzling in response. “Where is he?”
“Nobody’s seen him.”
“You’re lying. Where is Franz Müller?”
“If I knew, do you think I would have come alone?”
Zane digested the words. Either the asshole really didn’t know, or he was too loyal to tell. Either way, it made no difference. He’d find Müller himself. One day. “Then you’re no use to me.”
With one powerful thrust of his right arm, he slammed the stake into Brandt’s heart.
“No use at all,” he whispered as the hybrid dissolved into dust.
The silver chain fell slack, and several metal items dropped clinking to the floor: a small key, a few loose coins, and a pin. Zane bent to pick up the items. He stared at the symbol embossed on the pin.
He’d never seen anything like it, but he’d bet his last clean shirt that it would somehow lead him to Müller. The dead hybrid was Volker Brandt’s son, and the older Brandt had been Müller’s right hand. They had to have been in contact somehow. And he wouldn’t leave any stone unturned until he figured out where Müller was hiding.