by Kiki Howell
A bitter laugh burst from his lips. “Who will, Melia? Who besides you would dare?”
The first rays of dawn crept across the stone floors and Rand stiffened, not caring what her answer was.
“You’ll find out one day. And by then it will be too late.” Her laughter followed Rand as he stalked into the shadows of the hall. He pulled the door shut behind him, the higher windows of the solarium now just beginning to capture the sun’s poisonous rays, pushing the light closer to where he stood.
Melia’s dying shrieks followed him into the cool darkness. Still they haunted him, twisting with dreams to make them just as real now as they had been in the past.
Visions of unrest drifted through his subconscious and he shifted within the confines of his bed chamber, the stirrings of hunger tearing at him. He forced them back, irritation at his body’s needs making him cross. There was no part of the world he wanted anything to do with.
Naught but one.
It started a week ago. He’d begun to dream of a woman. At first he hadn’t understood the connection, but as he followed her in his mind’s eye, his gaze located the cause. His dagger.
The first time she touched it at the strange fair and the magic flowing through her veins, dark and decadent but still strangely pure. He wanted her, his cock hardening at the thought of her pliant lips pressed against his. As the connection between them grew, he showed her visions of his past.
At first he thought it a trick set upon him by Melia’s demon but as he watched her from his dreams, he saw her for her true nature. She’d been holding his blade the first time she’d stumbled into his reality and the link to the knife at his side made the spelled jewel dance in its setting.
In his slumber, he thought of her, reaching now for the blade that had been with him for centuries. Somehow it had been displaced. Anger that someone would dare to disturb his resting chamber to take what few personal articles he’d taken with him into his rest sparked a rage that awakened his blood lust, leading him in and out of sleep, restless dreams making him edgy.
But first he needed to find the woman.
Vulnerable. Giving. And, it seemed, a witch.
Her long dark hair, lush curves and a smile that made him hard beckoned him from sleep once again, a growl on his lips. Gods, but he wanted to part her sweet thighs and fuck her. The need scraped at him, painful in its intensity. It had been too long since he’d felt the welcome surge of desire for a woman. He certainly hadn’t for his bride, nor she for him. He was no monk but neither was he a rutting beast ready to be a slave to his animal instincts.
Mate...
It was not possible. And definitely not to a witch.
He put the idea out of his head immediately but not before his heritage reared up to mock him. Born of a court based witch’s dalliance with his vampire lord father, Rand was part witch himself. Not a fact he bandied about and as he fought his way up the ranks. As he gained power, no one dared. The blade given to him by his mother had also brought him visions, awakening the dual natured warrior within.
The blade will lead you to your true mate.
At the time, he’d thought her words to be no more than the tired ramblings of a woman that spent more time on the other side of the veil than in the real world. Now he knew different. As he slept and his vampire nature slumbered, his witch side soared far and wide into the night, leading him to his missing blade-and his mate.
It was rare for a vampire to find a fated mate. In his time, marriages were made to foster unity between Covens and no more. Until death. And he hadn’t minded dying. As Regent, he’d been forced by custom to wed a woman colder than the tomb he resided in now. Parting with her had seemed like a small price to pay for his centuries below ground. And now to find himself attracted to a witch? Was it not a witch who had ensnared his bride, converting her to a demon loving whore?
Rand’s emotions were in turmoil.
He could not chance that again. Not without first meeting this woman and deciding if her magic was meant to drive him deeper into the grave.
Melia’s end had not been kind. Chained to the ground like the traitor to her people that she was, her death was well met under the burning rays of the winter sun. He only wished he could have watched the bones disintegrate into dust.
Her machinations and calculations nearly cost him everything. The evil she’d brought on his people twisted his fidelity with his brother wolves until many lay dying, immortality a cruel and bitter joke.
Abel had assured him the deed was done, and locking the bitch’s handiwork in a spelled case, he retired to the earth, securing the passage of his successor into power. But no Regent was ever allowed to simply die.
They had to live, suspended for eternity for the good of their people. And with that thought, Rand opened his eyes and realized the sound of battle weren’t simply from days gone past but raging overhead. The essence of an evil he’d never wanted to sense again slid through his consciousness like an unwanted guest.
The acrid scent of the green fire burned his nostrils and rose, blinking in the darkness. Images swam through his mind’s eye and he wasn’t entirely sure what was a dream and what harsh reality was about to come crashing down on him. His witch in her shop...the demon charmed necklace...a wolf with amber eyes and his daughter. She had picked up the piece and was gone, whisked away by the lethal power of the enchantment.
Lastly, his internal gaze settled upon the vampire he’d entrusted with his home, his people and knew he had been betrayed. The sounds of battle raging overhead formed the backdrop of his vision as he watched the vampire ride in his motorized coach, a small green pin hidden where most eyes would not see.
The pin swirled with green fire and the truth sank in like a punch to the gut. Virgil had been trafficking with the demon and now what he harnessed was coming home to roost. A small object was in the other man’s hand, and on it resided a picture of his mate. He punched something on the screen and words appeared.
His witch.
Virgil.
Fuck.
Alarm skittered through him and he forced himself back to consciousness. If his mate was being targeted by Virgil he could waste no time.
Rand rose, limbs weak from his time below, the scent of blood drawing him from his chamber to the pitch black catacombs below the coven house. Biting back a snarl, he staggered toward the melee, his fangs extended with a thirst for blood, a flash of his warm hearted witch spurring him into action.
He would reclaim his blade and meet the witch who had called him from his centuries long sleep. Then he’d take his bounty in the form of a kiss and if the Gods were on his side, some of the warmth between her creamy thighs. After he’d watched the blood of a traitor feed the hunger of his blade.
“COME ON MARSHA. I KNOW this great bar on Lisette Street. You have to try their Voodoo Hex. It’ll curl your toes.” Giselle looped her arm around her friend’s waist and ushered her back into the crowd. It was the week before Halloween and the moniker of being the one of the most haunted parish in Louisiana brought in the crowds, hot and heavy.
“I wouldn’t have pegged Moulin Revere for a tourist trap. Not like Orleans.” Marsha grinned, clomping along the cobblestone side street in her platform heels.
The night was hazy and filled with promise and she refused to listen to her hum drum elders intone about a big bad werewolf serial killer. Or whatever was out there stalking her kind.
Wolves were at the top of the food chain. Not like it used to be back in the day when vamps had enslaved them with the help of black magic gone batty. Not anymore. Hell, her best friend Hannah was a vamp. She would have been here tonight too if their new Regent hadn’t had some stupid gallery event he was putting together.
They’d been friends despite their respective families being at each other’s throats. Literally.
Giselle let out a loud snort. “Girl, then you’d be wrong. I know you’re disappointed I couldn’t come back with you this weekend, but my cousin was counting
on me to help out at this thing for the Pack.”
“Yeah,” Marsha curled her lip. “I know what you mean.”
“Yeah.” Giselle rolled her eyes. “My Alpha has us all on our toes. Was pissed at me for coming here. Something about missing wolves and he wanted everyone to stay in.” Her phone beeped and she fished it out of her purse, her lips parting in a hiss as she read the frantic text from Hannah.
At art show. Something wrong. Just got a text from home. 911.
Narrowing her eyes, Giselle texted. What?
Don’t know. Screaming in the front of the building. Phone blowing up from home too.
“Oh my God.”
Marsha twirled her hair around her finger. “What?”
“Hannah’s in trouble. Something’s going on with the vamp coven.” Giselle dialed Hannah but the other girl didn’t pick up.
Shit.
“Come on. I want to make sure she’s okay. If it’s some nut with a gun they’re going to be eating it. I’m tired of all this terrorist shit. And people have been acting weird as hell all day.”
Marsha glanced off in the direction of the hotel restaurant, her expression mutinous. “Really? I just got here and you’re going back to babysit a bunch of vamps? WTF, girl?”
“I have to.”
“No. You don’t.”
Giselle drew herself up. “Maybe you should go back to the hotel then.” Her heels tottered on the uneven pavement as she reached to straighten her skirt.
“Maybe I will.” Marsha sniffed, clearly irritated.
Giselle sighed. “Go, then. Get a drink. I’ll join you later.” Her eyes caught on something lying in the gutter and she frowned.
Marsha faltered, her eyes flickering over something in the street. “What is that?”
“What?” Giselle bent down, and reached for the shiny, object, captivated by the way it caught the light, even under the gauzy hue of the street lamps. As she touched it, the object began to blaze with a green light.
“Giselle?” Her friend backed away, uneasy.
“Hang on a sec.”
Giselle’s fingers brushed the cold green stone, she felt the breath rush from her lungs. A vision of Aristide, her Alpha rippled through her consciousness and she reached for him. He was there, somehow in the murky gloom. But why was he there in the shadows, his eyes glowing the same green as the stone in her grasp.
Giselle’s heart surged, wild longing rising like a caged bird beating inside of her chest.
Aristide did want her. Despite what he’d said earlier at the pack assembly. Something else tugged at her. She was supposed to be going somewhere but she couldn’t remember. But none of that was important now.
He held out his hand and she stumbled toward him. Finally...she would get a chance at her fondest wish. Giselle reached for him and her body fell forward even as the image of Aristide waivered and the shiny green object vanished from sight.
She was good enough to be the next Alpha female. She would show them. Hell yes, she would show them all. Her greatest desire was there right at her fingertips and all she had to do was take it.
“Yes,” she whispered, ignoring her friend’s prattling behind her. But when she bent forward and the shadows reached up instead, the last thing Giselle heard was the sound of Marsha’s screams.
Chapter Three
“EVANGELINE. GET OFF the shelf please.” Diana Robichard frowned at the ghostly feline currently weaving to and fro amid the collectibles on the shelf. A bauble broken was one that wouldn’t sell. And the shop couldn’t afford the loss.
She’d worked hard to keep the doors to Moon Called open and to find a good use for her ability to unwind curses and manifestations housed within objects. Sometimes old things, like the urn that housed Evangeline brought her comfort, but others not so much.
Either way, the shop was her second home and for the girls in her employ, it was a place of new beginnings. Just like she’d had once.
Her gaze flickered to the picture of her grandmother, Grace that held a prominent place on the only spot on the wall that wasn’t covered by bookshelves. There was a lot you could tell about a person from their books. Her grandmother taught her that and a whole lot more.
“When the time comes, girl, you pay it forward.”
Diana hadn’t understood what she meant then but she did now. It had been hard, keeping the girls safe in a city where wolves and vampires seemed to be at war and everyone else was in the crosshairs.
Evangeline gazed down at her and with a haughty flick of her tail, faded from view.
“I thought so.”
Damned fussy feline. Always had to have her say, even when her opinion wasn’t wanted.
Diana glanced down at her books, the figures swimming in front of her. Celine should be arriving for her shift and she was ready to call it a day. The new shipment of antiques and the paperwork that came with them was mind numbing. She was looking forward to a glass of wine and a nice hot soak in the bath.
She’d spent longer than normal at the antique show but after wandering the booths and coming up with several pieces of jewelry and a quilt, she was about to head home when her eyes grazed an unusual blade in an obscure booth toward the back of the market. Thinking back now, she should have just walked away.
“That’s beautiful craftsmanship.” The hilt was encrusted with a blue stone the color of midnight, the blade itself polished to a radiant sheen. But it wasn’t its beauty that called to her. It was something else. Something she couldn’t put a fix on. And that usually meant the slick kind of spell working that got people in trouble. Curses were her game. She should know.
“It is. The blade is many centuries old.” A gaunt man emerged from the shadows, his lips tugging up in a semblance of a smile. “Would you care to see it?”
Diana nodded, holding out her hands as he unlocked the case. “Is it spelled?”
“Not to my knowledge.” The man’s eyes swept away from hers and he busied himself with something under the counter she couldn’t see.
Was he lying?
Probably.
Pursing her lips, she reached out with her senses as the vendor placed the hilt in her palm. She tried to steel herself but it was too late. Diana gasped as a barrage of visions swept through her, nearly buckling her knees and dropping her to the floor.
A man’s eyes met hers in a vision filled with blood, fire and an overwhelming sense of connection. Tall, and muscular, he was a warrior in every sense of the word. Hair close shaven, his pale complexion spoke of a man who lived under the cover of night. And when he parted his lips, she knew him for what he was.
Vampire.
She reached for him, but as his fingers brushed hers, she stumbled backwards and the link was broken, leaving her once more in the present, a hollow feeling in her belly.
One thing she knew. He was hers.
“You’ll find him someday, girl. And when you do, you best be paying attention.”
Her grandmother’s words haunted her and she knew exactly what she was talking about. Now. Then...not so much.
Diana’s eyes swept up in panic and met the startled gaze of the shop owner. “Here.” The man started to take the blade from her but something deep inside of her cried out and she tightened her grip. The knife was hers and she wasn’t leaving without it.
“No.” Diana straightened, shaking her head to clear it. She would figure the rest out later. Now she needed to find out how much he wanted and just go home. It had been a long day and her feet were screaming. “I’ll take it.”
“Fine. Shall I have it sent to your hotel?” He cocked his head, once again reaching for the blade.
“No. I mean. I’ll take it with me. I’m driving so...”
The man nodded, lowering his hands. “I see. Well then. That will be three hundred.”
Diana blinked and fished in her wallet for her card, quickly handing it over. Moments later the transaction was done and she was on her way out the door, only remembering to go back and ask for a
ny history of the piece.
That was not how she did business. Every piece in her shop had a well-documented history.
Except this piece isn’t going in the shop, now is it?
“Shit.” She must have been tired to walk away without at least some information of the origin or who owned it last. Anything. Only when she rounded the last corner to where the booth had been, she discovered it was empty, as if the strange man had never even been there.
The shopkeeper seemed to be human and nothing more. No witch heritage tugged at her senses. Not a shifter and most definitely not a vamp. Not in the daylight at any rate. Still, the events of the day niggled at her as she drove back to town and began to lug her haul inside.
Not surprisingly, she kept the dagger close to her, not touching it until she was alone in her apartment above. There, she could cast a circle and let the visions take her where they wished.
That night she began to dream. Not entirely certain if it stemmed from her exhaustion and a seriously overactive imagination, but the man from her visions seemed to see her.
“Witch...” he sat up from where he reclined, reaching out of the darkness to cup her face. “Watch what you search for in the shadows. You might not like what you find.”
“Who are you?” She stepped forward into a room that appeared more like a mausoleum than a bedchamber.
His eyes burned. “The man who will claim you one day, lady.” The gaunt hollows of his cheeks sucked in with pain and he turned from her.
“What is it?”
“Protect the dagger. Keep it with you. Trust no vampire.”
Diana staggered backwards, her breath coming in hollow gasps. He’d nearly touched her and then he was gone. That was the first night.
Some nights she would find him in battle. Others he was with a woman who Diana believed may have been his wife. No matter what, he always turned to her, as if he could see her watching, a strange look of recognition on his face.
And it all started with that bloody dagger.
If she had any sense, she’d spell it into oblivion and render it as useless as any of the other cursed objects that made their way to Moon Called. But she couldn’t. There was something in the way the blue stone winked up at her and the smooth lines of the metal that called her to keep it close. Like the man who it belonged to would walk into the shop at any moment.
