Blooddrinker's Prophecy

by Anna Abner

  “Who—” he began, but she shushed him. Loudly.

  “You don’t want to wake up sleeping beauty over there.” She nodded toward Violet’s emaciated form. “Just listen. I’ll do the talking.”

  He clenched his jaws tight. What kind of prank was this? Had Connor set this up?

  “I’m the Oracle. You know, the one and only?”

  All inclination to laugh or shout vanished.

  “Ilvane?” he whispered. It couldn’t be. Ilvane the Oracle was the greatest living seer in the world. She was an unstoppable prediction machine protected by the Coven. What would she be doing here talking to him?

  “You know me?” She fluttered her eyelashes. “I’m flattered. Because you’re so famous and all, Mr. Vampire Traiter. Wait, that sounded too much like vampire trader. That’s not what I meant.”

  Maks hung his head. Of course, the Oracle was insane. Why would he expect any different?

  Sighing, he rose from the bed in nothing but boxer shorts and crossed to the attached bathroom, gesturing for Ilvane to join him inside where they could speak privately.

  “To what do I owe this great honor?” he asked. “I already did your bidding with Connor.”

  In the bright light, her form shimmered, translucent. He suspected he could pass his hands right through her and touch nothing but air. A witch’s portal spell.

  “Yes, and you’re welcome for reuniting you with Violet. By the way, I had a vision,” she began nervously, twisting her fingers together like she’d done something wrong. “I had to tell the Coven, it’s my sacred duty and all that crap, but I came to you as quick as I could. Just run. Get dressed, grab a bag of blood, and run. The Coven is on its way to kill you.”

  Maks didn’t think he’d ever heard a string of such nonsensical words in his entire life. “This is a joke, right?” He glanced around her to see if Connor were filming from the corner.

  No such luck.

  “No, it’s very serious. The prophecy will post any second, but the Coven won’t wait. They see you as a huge problem, and what’s the best way to deal with a problem? Kill it.”

  This was becoming less and less funny. He wasn’t concerned about his own safety. Let the Coven bitches come at him. He’d been attacked by worse and survived.

  Except Violet was lying in his bed, her vulnerable human body a bright, blinking target to supernaturals bent on hurting him through her.

  Not to mention his adopted daughter. For anyone trying to wound him, Ali would be their first priority.

  Maks leaned his hip against the sink and crossed his arms. He gave her a sardonic look with one eyebrow raised over skeptical eyes. “What did you see in your vision? What’s the prophecy?”

  “The beautiful devil from Odessa will re-make the horde in his own image,” she quoted.

  He dismissed the idea of being flattered at the word beautiful—he’d been called worse—because her words were making less sense by the moment. “That’s impossible,” he assured. “The Horde won’t even take my calls. The guy who dropped me out a window? Sergei? He leads the horde now.”

  “But your daughter killed Olek, and that was supposed to be impossible. I mean, sure, you and I alone know Olek is a dustball on the side of Highway I-95, but others noticed the OG Son went after your daughter and never came back. Once Sergei’s gone, there will be a power vacuum. The horde has to follow someone. Why not you?”

  “You forget I haven’t killed Sergei,” though Maks enjoyed the sound of it, “and two of his brothers still breathe,” he said. “Ilya or Ivan will surely take over.”

  “They’re a little gun shy.” Ilvane cocked her head to the side. “Can you blame them?”

  “Well.” He straightened and then checked his reflection in the mirror. Staring back stood a lanky seventeen-year-old man-child with black hair and the saddest eyes to ever exist in such a pretty face. “As I said, I’m not even on the contenders list.”

  “Whatever,” Ilvane argued, her voice growing in agitation. “But the Coven is still coming. Right now. If you want to survive, you have to leave.”

  He shook his head slowly. “I may be a liar and a cheat, but I’m no coward. I’m not running anywhere.”

  “You can’t fight witches! You’re no match for these women, and you’re important in a hundred little ways. If you die today, it’ll mess with other stuff. And that other stuff is super important, so you can’t die today.”

  “I don’t plan to.”

  The Oracle sucked in a breath and grabbed the sides of her head. “Dang it,” she squealed. “They’re coming. If they catch me here, I’ll be in big doodoo.” And with a final huff of adolescent annoyance, the girl vanished.

  Maks quickly dressed, checked a final time on Violet sleeping soundly and then ventured out of the bedroom.

  The suite’s living room—a decadent example of French design and architecture—dripped gold, cream, and fluer d’lis from every surface. The paintings were of the pastoral French countryside, and the drapes were heavy and expensive. It was a bit of a shock to Maks who’d been living in an abandoned hospital, a deserted mine, and the twenty years before that a concrete prison cell.

  Maks quickly realized how much he’d missed while sleeping. Connor wasn’t clinging to life anymore. He lounged in an armchair, a half empty bag of blood in his hand. He still looked like shit, but at least he was mobile.

  Ali spotted him first and hurried over, then stood awkwardly three feet away as if not sure whether to hug him or not. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better,” he answered, scanning the room for both exits and allies. There was a balcony beyond a set of French doors, but they were on an upper floor. He wasn’t sure he’d chance an escape off the balcony even if he considered fleeing. Which he didn’t. He wasn’t going to run from a fight while Ali and Violet were nearby and could be hurt.

  “The Oracle was here,” Maks continued, sizing up the shapeshifter, the witch, and the vampire Connor Beckett. Each had their strengths and weaknesses in a fight. “She said the Coven is at our door, and they’re coming to kill me. Can we fend them off?”

  “The Oracle came to you?” Connor asked, shocked. He murmured, “I thought we were buds.”

  Maks was at a loss to respond to Connor’s issues with the annoying tween seer. “Either way, I believe her when she says they’re on their way.”

  “The Coven?” Roz’s mouth popped open. “How do we fight a bunch of witches with unknown magical abilities?”

  Lukas placed a hand on her shoulder. “With the most powerful witch in the world.”

  Maks raised his eyebrows. The bitchy witch had real mojo?

  “Don’t doubt it,” Lukas said to him, catching his expression. “She saved your life, Connor’s life, my life…”

  “What’s going on?” Violet appeared in the bedroom doorway dragging an IV stand, her tousled auburn hair flowing over an oversized terrycloth robe.

  “Nothing,” Maks began.

  At the same time, Connor blurted out, “Witches are coming to kill Maks.”

  What a douchebag. “It’s fine,” Maks assured Violet, hating to worry her any further. She’d already been through a lot for a fragile human. “You’ll be fine.” She was finally safe, and he was going to keep it that way.

  “And you?” Violet returned, crossing the room to stand beside him.

  Maks didn’t answer because he heard the elevator ding on their floor. “They’re here,” he snapped.

  Lukas dove for the gun safe in the dining room, and Maks followed. “What’s the biggest gun you have?” he asked.

  Lukas passed him a hand cannon larger than anything Maks had ever handled.

  “And a knife,” Maks said, grabbing the nearest Bowie. “I’m better with knives.”

  Whatever the witches were after, they would regret threatening him and his girls.

  Lukas pressed a .44 magnum into Connor’s hands. “Roz, throw up a shield,” Lukas shouted, shapeshifting right there in the living room. Clothes rip
ped, and a roaring bear stood where a man had just been.

  Okay. Right.

  Roz spread her hands and raw, invisible power vortexes swirled around her, whipping her long dark hair and clothes. Her eyes turned blue, and when she said, “No one gets in. No one comes through,” her words manifested as curlicues of energy. The whole room vibrated with magic.

  Man, that girl had power with a capital P. Maks had seen a little witchcraft in his time, but nothing compared to her output. He wondered for a moment if she was a witch at all or maybe something new. Something previously unheard of.

  But those thoughts were short-lived as the Coven witches reached the door.

  Ali spun on Violet. “Move back! Stay out of the way!”

  Maks grabbed Violet to hurry her into a bedroom and far from the fracas at the same time she reached for him.

  “You forgot to shield from magic, you stupid twat,” came a shrill voice through the paneling. “Now, starve, vampire.”

  Maks’ chin snapped up as a black torpedo of magic and shadow zipped through the wall and zeroed in on him.

  Chapter Four

  A magic missile with Maks’ name on it zoomed right for him. Instinctively, he reached to shove Violet to the left at the same time she threw herself to the right. She screamed as the witches’ shadow spell blew through the living room wall and struck her lower back.

  “No!” Maks roared, going down with her as her knees collapsed. “It was supposed to be me!”

  Their spell complete, Maks heard the witches’ rapid little footsteps trip toward the elevator.

  “Fuck that,” he growled. Leaving Violet in Ali’s care, he ran for the door, brushing Lukas’ bear out of his way. The beast snarled and snapped at his back, but Maks was fast. He ripped open the door, popping the knob off in his hand, and sprinted for the elevators.

  Seeing red, Maks pried open the doors, grabbed a witch in each hand, and smashed their heads together. Their skulls shattered like hard-boiled eggs. Still panting, chest heaving, no further outlet for his rage, he dragged the women by the hair back into the suite and dumped them onto the tiled foyer floor.

  “Holy shit,” Roz exclaimed.

  Maks felt their judgmental eyes on him, all four pairs, but all he saw was Violet’s terrified gaze. “I don’t run and hide,” he snarled.

  Lukas, in human form once again and pulling on pants, gave him the middle finger as he passed.

  “How do you feel?” Maks asked, kneeling beside Violet. She sat upright, but her face was drawn and pale. She was in discomfort, possibly in pain, and it infuriated him.

  “Something’s wiggling around inside me,” she complained in a high, tense tone.

  “Can I look?” he asked, reaching for her robe but not actually touching it.

  “Yeah.”

  He crawled around her and pulled gently at the collar.

  “Here,” Ali said, straddling her thighs, “hug me.” Violet tentatively put her arms on Ali’s shoulders.

  Her modesty intact, Maks rolled down the collar of her robe past a knotty spine and sharp rib bones to her waist and sucked in a breath as his gaze fell upon a fresh bruise. There was no blood, but the peach-pit-sized wound was a dark smudge.

  “Well?” Violet prompted.

  He glanced at Roz. “Do you recognize the curse?”

  The witch shook her head, and his hopes crumbled.

  “I can try to heal her,” Roz said. “I healed Lukas of a hex. Maybe this is similar.”

  “Please,” he agreed, pulling the robe up and covering Violet’s skeletal back. More guilt enflamed him.

  “Come with me.” Roz urged Violet to her feet, and then pointed at Connor. “While I’m casting, will you and the others run a search for dark magic with the word starve? It might be helpful knowing what we’re dealing with and any time constraints involved.” They limped into one of the bedrooms, dragging the IV stand, and Maks pulled the Bowie knife, flipping it from blade to handle, handle to blade.

  “What are we supposed to do with two dead witches?” Lukas queried in annoyance.

  “Throw ‘em off the balcony,” Maks suggested angrily. “I don’t give a fuck.”

  Connor made the mistake of not dropping the subject. “They were just following orders. You didn’t have to kill them.”

  Maks flipped the blade and then hurled it as hard as he could at the wall beside Connor’s smug, holier-than-thou face. It buried itself to the hilt into the plaster with a satisfying thunk. Connor, to his credit, didn’t even blink.

  “Cursing an innocent woman was their job?” Maks argued. “Hurting a woman who’s known nothing but pain for months? A woman whose child is waiting for her to finally come home?” He glanced with disgust at the corpses. “They got what they deserved.” He set his borrowed gun on the dining room table and then stalked after Roz.

  In the bedroom, Violet was a tiny kitten curled among the blankets and pillows as Roz channeled magic over her.

  He stood uncertainly in the doorway, knowing he offered no solace. Maks was a monster, not a nursemaid. He immediately regretted following her in here.

  “Maks,” Violet called out, a skinny arm emerging from the bedclothes. “Talk to me.”

  He could have fled. He probably should have. If he had any honor whatsoever, he’d never darken her door again.

  But how many times had she fed him from her veins? How many dark nights had her memory kept him sane and given him purpose? Didn’t he owe her something?

  Glancing at Roz and then away, he neared the bed. He didn’t take Violet’s hand, though. He climbed in behind her and wrapped her firmly in his arms, her warm body wedged within the V of his legs.

  “Is this okay?” he whispered into her sweet-smelling hair. “Are you in pain?”

  “Not anymore,” she answered just as softly.

  He tried to relax, knowing he lay as stiff and unyielding as cordwood. But he wasn’t used to holding people. Not when they were awake, anyway. He’d held Violet once before on the night Olek had dumped her, half dead, on the floor at Maks’ feet, but she’d been delirious from dehydration and anemia. At the time, he hadn’t stopped to enjoy her body. He’d been too concerned with saving her life, but presently she was a comforting and pleasurable weight against him.

  He peered again at Roz who arched an unamused eyebrow at him as she continued speaking spells.

  “You’ve been hit with a witch’s curse,” he tried to explain. “It was meant for a vampire—for me—so hopefully it will disengage right away.”

  Roz shook her head at him.

  So much for that small hope.

  “Why would they do this?” Violet asked.

  “Because witches are bitches,” he declared, purposefully not looking up to catch Roz’s reaction. “And they want to kill me before I do things they won’t like.”

  Violet was quiet for a long time, and Maks began to unwind. Their bodies warmed, and their breathing synced up. Her pear blossom scent was everywhere, and he found he enjoyed it more than he had a right to.

  Finally, he asked, “What’s the IV for?” sensing it was important to keep her talking. Plus, Roz’s magical mumbo jumbo in the quiet, dark room creeped him out.

  “I’m anemic,” she said. “Among other things.”

  “I can get you something—” He started to pull away.

  Violet latched onto him. “Don’t you dare.”

  “Violet,” he sighed, settling around her. “I’m not…” good for you.

  But he didn’t have a chance to finish his thought because Violet sucked in a pained breath.

  Holding her tight, Maks demanded of Roz, “What are you doing to her?”

  She didn’t answer, of course. She couldn’t speak her spell and talk to him at the same time. But her expression hardened in direct relation to Violet’s thrashing.

  “It burns,” Violet cried, spinning to bury her face in Maks’ neck. “Oh, my God, it hurts so bad.”

  “Hang on a little longer,” he promised, sho
oting Roz a look that said she better know what she was doing. “She’s trying to burn it out of you, if I had to guess.”

  Violet gripped his shirt tighter. Fabric ripped. She shuddered, and then with a strangled scream went limp.

  “Enough,” Maks roared, lifting up on one arm and shoving Roz with the other. Crouching over Violet’s unconscious body, he was unable to control the protective snarl that tore from his throat. “She’s had enough.” If Roz, or anyone else, came near the woman beneath him, he wasn’t sure he could leash his instincts to defend her.

  “Jesus Christ,” Roz gasped. “I’m trying to help her!”

  “It’s not working,” he shouted back.

  “No shit!”

  Maks growled low. “Find another way.”

  Pointing a furious finger at him, she exclaimed, “You crazy motherfucker. I’m on your side, though God knows why, and I don’t deserve this.” Throwing her hands up, she stalked off.

  Finally, Maks exhaled, some of the strain leaving his body as the nearest threat to Violet left the room, slamming the door behind her. He carefully climbed off the bed and tugged the blankets over Violet’s figure.

  “I’m going to fix this,” he swore to her pale, lax face. “I’m going to reunite you with your child, and then I’m going to tear that son of a bitch Sergei limb from limb.”

  He slipped out of the room, needing to do something—punch, bruise, make bleed. Too bad the witches responsible were already dead.

  “Maks,” Ali called sharply from the kitchen bar. “What did you do to piss off the Coven?”

  “Yeah,” Connor agreed, “I’d like to know the same thing. I’d also like to hear exactly what the Oracle said to you. Nothing is very clear at this point.”

  “Apparently,” Maks began, clenching his arms tight across his chest, “my existence alone pissed them off. The Oracle said I had to run if I wanted to survive. She said some stuff about me being important later. When I said I wasn’t running from anyone, she made a lot of strange noises and covered her ears. Then she disappeared.” He scowled. “I hope you can make better sense of it than I can.”