by Amber Kallyn
“Unless you want the salt mixture blowing away and not doing you any good.”
“Mierda.” She slammed the window shut. “Not going to sleep well.”
Back in the living room, as he was tucking the salt into the case, she asked, “So how are you planning on figuring out who, and what, the killer is?”
He said, “I’m not the detective.”
She nearly growled at him.
He hid a grin.
Sitting on the couch, the kitten in her lap, she stroked its fur as her eyes unfocused. He settled in the chair across from her, watching her think.
“First thing, I need to check on my sister.”
“Of course,” he replied.
“Then we’ll revisit the crime scenes, see if you can find any more of those invisible markings. Find a witch or whoever to read them.”
Her eyes drifted closed and her hand on the kitten slowed. The woman was falling asleep, and yet she was still planning and plotting about the case.
“I’ll find someone,” he murmured softly. He realized he felt... comfortable around her. As if something about her was familiar.
With the soft feelings for this woman drifting through him, making him confused and annoyed, he stood and grabbed his case.
Her eyes opened and she stared at him.
There was no fear of what he was, nothing but curiosity. And what he thought might be an inkling of mutual attraction.
Which couldn’t be allowed. They’d solve this case together, and then he’d leave. He had no time for anything this woman--this mortal--could offer. He didn’t want it.
“I’ll be by around seven, if that’s not too early for you.” It would only give them a few hours sleep, but he wanted to be finished with this whole thing and get back home to his brother.
Get away from this woman who stirred things inside him he didn’t want woken.
***
Celeste watched Brandon leave abruptly. His words were curt, as if something had pissed him off.
He shut the door with a bang and she pushed to her feet, locking it behind him. As she leaned against the wood, she realized she could smell him. The spicy male scent permeated her entire apartment.
She’d rarely had a guy up here. It was strange, and woke her up completely as she remembered holding onto him on his bike, the feel of his body pressed to hers.
She pushed the thoughts from her mind.
Heading for the kitchen, she threw a sandwich together, then sat at the table, looking over the copies of the case files and started going through them one more time.
Hercules meowed until she pulled him onto her lap. Settling, he curled up and purred sleepily.
Celeste’s mind wandered, drifting back to Brandon. There was something about him she couldn’t put her finger on, but she also couldn’t get out of her mind.
She needed to though.
Her life was being a cop. She didn’t have time for some strange man--and a vampire none-the-less--turning the world even further upside down with complications like desire.
And yet, she could still feel his strength against her body, beneath her hands.
What the hell was wrong with her?
Chapter six
As Brandon drove his Harley to O’Grady’s pub and the room he’d rented above it, the image of Celeste’s deep chocolate eyes sparking with desire, her red kissable lips, and her lush body, wouldn’t go away. His body tightened painfully against his will.
He growled at himself for the unusual loss of control and tried to think of anything but her.
By the time he pulled into the parking lot, he was so aggravated his muscles coiled with unreleased tension. It took careful control to pull the key from the bike without snapping it off.
A chuckle from the dark end of the lot brought his head up. He sniffed, smelling vampire. And shifter. Wolf.
The combined scent was strange. As far as he knew, the packs down here in the city didn’t like vamps any better than the ones in Moss Creek.
Yet, in his town up in the mountains, they’d been working together recently. Perhaps they were doing the same down here.
As he dismounted his bike, a deep growl came from the shadows. Claws clicked on the pavement. From the night, husky-blue eyes glowed, drawing closer.
Patting the sword strung along the side of his bike, Brandon grinned. A fight was just the thing he needed. Looked like someone was about to oblige him.
A black wolf stepped forward, into the light. It snarled, lips peeling back to showcase dagger-like teeth. Behind it, a young woman approached.
Her reddened eyes and glistening fangs said vampire, but her scent said more.
She was some sort of half-breed. What kind, he couldn’t pinpoint.
He stood steady, hands loose at his sides. “Did you want something?” he asked pleasantly.
The woman smiled, twirling a long red strand of hair around her fingers. “Only you.”
“Well, lady. I’m afraid I’m busy.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Oh, you will be. You killed Denny.”
Brandon cocked his head, tapping his chin. “Did I? And which imbecile was he?”
She growled, dropping her hand to the hilt of the thin sword swinging from her belt. “My brother and our master’s right hand.”
Brandon watched her eyes closely, while keeping the wolf in his vision. “Sorry. I don’t take names when I kill vamps stupid enough to go after humans.”
Her eyes flashed as she leapt at him. He was ready, spinning out of the way before she landed.
The wolf yipped and rushed for him.
From the shadows, more wolves bayed, coming closer to join in the fight.
He hadn’t wanted to kill anyone tonight, but it looked like they were after his blood. It could only end in one of two ways, and he wasn’t going to be the one taken down.
He ripped his claymore from the sheath, slicing through the air with ease. Tyrfingr pierced the first wolf as its fangs sank into his calf.
He hissed, pain driving up his leg. The beast yelped and scrambled away.
The vampire screeched and rushed at him. Claws raked down his face as she snapped her teeth.
Before he could push her back and bring up his sword, she screamed. His head throbbed, his muscles tightened and froze.
Two other wolves appeared, creeping closer, watching his unmoving sword. Fiery pain sank into his legs as one bit his thigh, one his calf.
The vampire continued to screech like the unholy hells were arriving.
His mind dulled, ears grew wetly warm as they began to bleed.
Banshee.
He clamped his fangs on his tongue. Blood flowed into his mouth. The pain, the taste, helped him call to some deep place inside. Strength welled.
He managed to move his arm an inch.
The banshee half-breed blinked, then screamed louder.
Car windows cracked, shattered in a rain of glass falling onto the pavement that he couldn’t hear.
Before she could push him further down into the depths of her death spell, he roared, a cry of his Viking ancestors. Fire blazed through his blood and the world drowned in a red haze.
Still, he could barely move.
The back door to the bar banged open and Ben O’Grady strode out, his face drenched with sweat.
In his blue eyes, small flames of silver burned. He held his staff, the carved, crystal phoenix on top glowing with the same flames.
“Begone she-devil!” he called.
A blast of power swept over the parking lot.
The banshee stopped screaming, turning to look at O’Grady.
The old man trembled, but took another step, holding his staff in front of him like a powerful, magical shield. Which, knowing the elven, it probably was.
Brandon’s muscles loosened. He swung his claymore at the wolves chewing on his legs.
The blade bit into fur and skin, muscle and blood. The first wolf dropped to the ground, twitching.
He roared once
more, drawing on the flames within, and sliced his blade into the other wolf’s neck. It didn’t make a sound as it dropped.
The third wolf was nowhere to be seen.
Brandon faced the banshee.
The woman looked back at Brandon, disbelief that he’d broken her spell etched around her wide eyes.
Staggering forward, he ignored the pain in his body and mind and raised his sword, pointing the tip at her.
“Next,” he said.
With a screech, she turned and fled.
His strength was waning, the pain taking over. His legs shook.
Glancing down, he cursed at the sight of his shredded pants. His skin would heal, but he’d loved these jeans.
“You okay, boyo?” O’Grady demanded, staring out into the dark night.
“I will be.”
“Hmph.” O’Grady looked him over, then glanced at the dead wolves. “I’ll get someone to take care of the trash. Come, you need to eat.”
He followed the man into the back room of the pub, slouching into the first chair he came to and laid his claymore on the table. He flattened his shaking hands onto the wood.
That had been close. Too damn close. Where the hell had this master she’d spoken of managed to dig up a banshee half-breed?
What else did the “master” have in his arsenal?
O’Grady silently handed him an open bottle and Brandon gulped down the warm blood.
As he emptied it, a waitress set a plate of food in front of him, with another bottle, nice and full.
He ate with gusto, feeling strength slowly seep back into him and begin to heal his wounds.
O’Grady sat across from him, his eyes once more human. “I ain’t seen one of them she-devils since I lived in the old country.”
“You think she came from Ireland?” he asked.
O’Grady shrugged. “Now-a-days, you never can tell. She wasn’t full blood, though, was she?”
“No. Vampire.”
Shaking his head, O’Grady relaxed a bit in the chair. “Thought so. If she’d been pure, we’d all be dead right now. Not even my magic can compare to one of those bitches’ caterwauling.”
Brandon didn’t doubt it. This woman’s scream had been powerful enough. He didn’t want to run into a full blood any time soon.
“So, what’d she want with you?” O’Grady asked, his voice hardening.
“She says I killed her brother, and her master didn’t like it.”
“You think she’s involved with these new murders?”
“If not, it would be too much of a coincidence.”
O’Grady’s eyes narrowed. “You gonna keep bringing riff raff to my place?”
“Might. You going to keep renting me that room upstairs?”
“Aye. Won’t kick you out. Just try to keep your business away from here. Scares the clients.”
Brandon hid a grin. “I’ll try.”
“Good.” As O’Grady stood, he said, “You can bring that cute little thing from this afternoon back in, though.”
“She’s a cop,” he replied.
“Aw, hells.” O’Grady’s eyes narrowed. After a long moment, he added, “Well, if she’s with you, I guess she’s still okay.”
He watched the man stride away, his thoughts on Celeste. The sudden urge to check on her hit hard.
What if the banshee and her wolves headed for Celeste next?
They’d known where to find him, even if O’Grady’s might be more than obvious.
He left the bar, forgoing his bike and instead flashed through the streets using his vampire speed. He reached her apartment quickly and sniffed the air. There was no scent or sign of danger.
On top of the office building across from her complex, he studied her apartment, and the window to her bedroom.
The room was dark, but light from the hall lit the doorway. He hunched down, searching the shadowed streets.
After a half-hour, no one had shown up. He was about to leave when her bedroom light blinked on. He froze as Celeste walked into her bedroom, the kitten in her arms.
She stopped at the foot of the bed, rubbing her cheek along the furball’s back, then set it on the bed.
It looked up at her, meowing, and she laughed. He could barely hear it through the closed window, but the musical sound flooded him with longing. He sank a fang into his tongue to clear his unstoppable thoughts.
When she reached up and drew her shirt over her head, revealing an expanse of creamy skin covered only by a lacy, red bra, his lungs stopped working.
He couldn’t breathe. His hands shook.
He felt as frozen as when the banshee’s scream had held him.
She tossed the shirt somewhere, then unsnapped her jeans and tugged them down long, smooth thighs.
His blood fired at the sight of her standing in nothing but two scraps of matching red lace.
She was beautiful, a warrior’s form hidden beneath her womanly curves.
She was perfect.
When she reached to unhook her bra, he finally found the strength to turn away. He couldn’t sit here and leer at her, like some Peeping Tom.
He left the roof, trying to forget what he’d just seen, but it was impossible with desire racing through his blood.
After checking around her apartment one more time, he stood on the street, watching her now-dark window.
Sighing, he headed back to the pub to get some sleep of his own.
***
The dreams came fast and hard. He was a young boy, on his parents’ farm. He and Eric were working in the field, bringing in the sheep for shearing.
A giant ship sailed up the fjord along their land, a strange ship unlike any they’d ever seen before.
His mother called for him to come to the house as his father strode to the dock with two of his warriors to meet the ship. Brandon and Eric ignored their mother’s calls, hiding in the tall grass, watching the ship’s arrival.
A tall woman came down the plank, wearing a shimmering, nearly transparent gown. He and Eric stopped at the sight, unable to look away from the nearly naked woman.
Their father spoke, his words unclear. The woman smiled, her green eyes bright.
Monsters descended, crawling over the side of the ship and onto land.
The woman waved her hand towards their father. He screamed, a soul-destroying sound Brandon had never before heard, and had never forgotten.
His father’s body erupted in flames that quickly jumped to his two warriors. All three slid to the ground, writhing as they burned.
Near the house, his mother screamed as she saw what was happening.
Brandon jumped from his hiding place. With Eric at his side, they raced for the house, to protect their mother and siblings inside.
He’d found a scythe near the barn, grabbed it, then faced the beasts rushing down the docks.
He’d fought, Eric at his back. But the creatures didn’t stop, were never ending.
The beasts clawed, bit, snapped.
All too soon, his energy flagged. Behind him, Eric cried out and the crack of a bone rang in the air.
His anger burned at what had been done to his father, what was happening to his brother. What he refused to allow to happen to his mother and other siblings.
From deep inside, flames sprung up, rushing through his blood. His anger sharpened, molten, ready to be forged into a most dangerous weapon.
Everything grew drenched with red.
Strength filled him and he somehow fought harder, faster, no longer feeling pain or exhaustion.
The woman called out, and the beasts stopped.
But he didn’t, until the air wrapped around him, freezing him in place.
The woman from the ship approached, her eye lit with eagerness. “A berserker. How interesting.”
From behind him, Eric shouted, rushing forward to attack the woman. She waved her hand, and he too froze. The woman looked at them both. “Twins? And both with the powers of the ancients.” She turned her head and calle
d out, “Gaston, bring them both. But first, let them watch.”
Brandon tensed as he found himself watching the scene not as himself, but an observer. He wanted to close his eyes, but couldn’t as the woman and her beasts ravaged his mother and sisters, killing them all, then burned down the house.
He and Eric were dragged to the ship. Helpless. Unable to save anyone.
The dream drifted away and though usually, he went back to the sorceress’ dungeon, this night he found himself in Celeste’s bedroom.
She lay on the bed, in her lacey red underthings, watching him. “You’re in pain. I feel it,” she said.
He jerked back as her eyes flickered from brown to the green of the sorceress. She smiled, but there was no malice in it.
“Let me make you feel better,” she said softly. “I cannot change the past, but I can help you now.”
She opened her arms to him. Emotion, hot and heavy, rushed through his blood and all he wanted to do was go to her, let her comfort him, push away the soul deep pain of the past, which refused to let him go.
Lust, sex, hot and heavy, to drown out the memories.
But something about her struck him. Magic. Sorcery perhaps.
And it didn’t feel like this was his dream any longer.
Chapter seven
Celeste woke abruptly to her phone buzzing. She sat up and stared around her bedroom. The light of dawn shone through the window.
Rubbing her eyes, she thought back to the dream. It had been weird.
She’d been lying in bed, telling Brandon to join her.
The phone rang again, insistent, and she pushed the dream from her mind. “Wilder.”
She didn’t recognize the voice, only the words. “There was another murder connected to yours last night. The guy didn’t call in this time. We just found the body.”
Sitting straighter, she replied, “Give me the information. I’ll be there shortly.”
She hung up. Two in one night? As she dialed Brandon’s number, she started to dress.
He answered, his voice gruff and strained. “Yeah?”
“You were right. There was a double murder last night.”
