by Jen Colly
In a weak whisper, Cat asked, “You told her to shoot him?”
“I did no such thing.” Navarre lifted her across his legs and took a closer look at her neck. “I told her to bring the Guardians.”
“Cat?” Dulcina hesitantly approached, crouching down beside them.
She reached out, tried to hold Dulcina’s hand, but she had no strength in her grip. Cat whispered, “Were you hurt? Are you all right?”
“No. Yes,” Dulcina said.
“Which is it?” Cat asked, trying to move so she could inspect her from head to toe, but Navarre held her tight.
“Calm down and ask a straight question. I’m fine.” Dulcina scrunched her eyebrows together, then asked, “What’s Jericho?”
“It’s an old legend about the lost demon city,” Navarre said.
Cat lifted an eyebrow, or thought she had. She’d meant to, but nothing felt fully functional yet. “Not a legend. Maybe he’d promised them Jericho to become king.”
“A city for a city,” he said, a grim look on his face.
Cat coughed, turning away to spit blood into the sand. She cringed as pain tore through her neck, reminding her that her wound had only been sealed. The vein would mend first, muscles and flesh would heal slower.
“I thought I lost you.” Navarre cradled her, his fingers gently brushing her red hair from her face.
“Yuck. I’m done,” Dulcina announced loudly. “I’ll get the Guardians now.”
“Navarre, why did you… You didn’t kill him,” Cat said, her throat raw, dry.
“You did a number on him.” Navarre smiled down at her, proud. “He could wait. The Guardians were coming and I needed you safe.”
“I didn’t know you could fight.” Tears welled, then spilled down her cheeks.
“Saving Dulcina seemed an appropriate occasion to show off.”
“Thank you.” Cat made an effort to lift her hand, to touch his cheek, but it didn’t go as planned. Her strength gave out, and Navarre caught her wrist, kissing the palm of her hand before bringing it to his face.
A shout broke the silence, echoed around the arena walls. Cat flinched. Commotion was all around her, but she saw nothing from where she was lying.
“Be still,” Navarre soothed. “It’s only the Guardians.”
“Don’t let them see my tears,” she warned.
“Relief can be overwhelming.” Navarre brushed the tears from her cheeks. He gathered her close to his chest and held her tight.
Cat heard men moving around the arena, doing what Guardians did. They’d verify species, then decapitate the demons.
“Cat. You’ve looked better,” Dyre said, standing over them. “What shall I do with the body, my lord?”
Navarre glanced over at Vidor’s corpse. “Take his head as you do the demons.”
Dyre’s eyes widened, shocked, and he looked to Cat for confirmation. She nodded, and as Dyre’s blade fell, separating Vidor’s head from his body, she knew the children were finally safe.
Navarre cradled her close, and a tear slipped down her cheek. He’d protected her, wanted her, and he’d kept his word. He hadn’t abandoned her to fight Vidor on her own. This was what safety felt like. This was being cherished. Loved. She had these things. She had Navarre.
Epilogue
Dulcina gazed over the dining hall, half slouched in her chair at the head table. Faith had tried to get her into a dress for this singular occasion, but Dulcina refused, compromising with a promise to wear something with sleeves. No one seemed willing to fight her on the issue, and so the conversation had ended. It was why Barro lay on his side beneath the table, gnawing on her boot instead of some open-toed heel. The panther had been allowed broader access to the city, but only if Cat was at his side.
Not many had gathered for Navarre and Cat’s wedding feast. Only a handful of aristocrats made an appearance, but Dulcina was more impressed with the number of Guardians.
Rollin had moved from home about a year ago, and because of Cat’s training, he’d sailed through the classes and requirements to become a Guardian. He’d served his city for six months now. Rollin fit in with the Guardians, and hadn’t waited long before leaving the head table to join them. She was happy for him, as well as for the rest of her patchwork family.
Oriana danced in the center of the room, showing off her dress and swaying to the music as though it was meant for her alone. Jovan was at the buffet table loading down a plate. He’d been training hard lately, going through the steps to become a Guardian, but Dulcina suspected it wasn’t for the reasons everyone else assumed.
When Jovan turned and walked back to the main table, Dulcina laughed. The plate was piled four inches high with meats and cheeses, and God only knew what else. He should have just taken the whole damn platter. Settling back in his seat beside Maeryn, he dug in, shoving tiny sandwiches into his mouth. After a minute, he finally took note of Maeryn’s adoring gaze on him. He didn’t say a word, just shoved the plate over closer to her. Maeryn thanked him, acting as if he’d fought a battalion of men off just to bring her sustenance.
Dulcina shook her head. She’d never understand those two. Cat and Navarre at least made sense. She thought they’d waited too long to get married, but Dulcina had a feeling they’d held off until she’d turned eighteen. Navarre had offered to buy her a small home, but she refused. Dulcina already had a secluded home picked out, and her self-reliant nature wouldn’t allow him to hand her anything. Still, the gesture was nice.
Cat sighed, then turned to Navarre and asked, “What do you think Savard would say about us?”
“I’m fairly certain he set us up,” Navarre said.
“Husband?” Cat leaned over, kissed her new mate, and said, “Take me home and get me out of this dress.”
Dulcina watched them wander away, hand in hand, each with a fresh mating mark on their neck. The double black lines stemming from the unhealed points of a bite mark matched, the ribbonlike lines sweeping and curling in a unique pattern from ear to collarbone. Barro bumped the table as he got up to follow them out the door. He moved slowly, reluctant to leave the smell of food behind, but the twitching sway of Cat’s wedding gown dragging over the floor had become his favorite new toy.
Rocking onto the back legs of her chair, Dulcina put her hands behind her head and resumed watching people. She’d discovered so much in the last two years. Dulcina knew herself, better than most people did at forty. For starters, she didn’t like crowds. She wasn’t uncomfortable, frightened, or even guarded. Dulcina was simply a solitary creature.
She trained, sparred, and craved her time alone. Those were her daily goals. Swords didn’t appeal to her, and neither did guns. Carrying an arsenal, in her opinion, was ridiculous. All she needed was a bowie knife.
Soren had given her the knife after she’d shot Vidor. The lecture she’d gotten from him was fatherly, all safety and fearing for her life, but then he handed her the knife she now wore proudly on her hip. Soren had said, “If you’re going to kill demons, do it the right way.”
Her fingers played over the hilt. Dulcina’s hate for demons ran deep, and because of the incident with Vidor, she’d become leery of vampires. No one knew, but she’d been above ground, to the edge of Paris, looking for demons. She was ready to go back, to walk inside the city on the surface, to fight in this war that demons started. Dulcina needed the freedom Paris could give her. She’d become restless without the night wind in her face, the sun reminding her that it rose and set as it marked the passing of time. Down here, beneath the earth, she felt detached.
Two things in life appealed to Dulcina: A demon’s blood on her blade and a man in her bed. She’d had both, and to a female like her, they were equally addictive.
Dario caught her attention from across the room, confident as he eyed her with open sexual interest. She reciprocated, though more on account of her appreciation for his lean, muscled body. Looking at this toned aristocrat was no hardship,
but she was more interested in the dangerous warrior she sensed lurking beneath his calm facade.
Head high, he approached the table, and though she could see his impeccable aristocratic manners, he moved like a Guardian. Aware. Lethal. Those two traits appealed to her. Dario stood close, and in case she might refuse his offer, he asked softly, “Care to dance?”
Dulcina stood, placed her hands on the table, and leaned close to whisper into his ear. “You can call it what you want, but as long as we’re in your home and naked, I’m game.”
A look of utter shock skirted over his defined features for one brief moment. Then, like a gentleman, he bowed his head and offered his hand. She took it, allowing him to walk her out of the dining hall.
Dulcina glanced around her at the gilded ceilings, plush drapery, and the well-dressed gentleman at her side. She didn’t belong down here, not when demons above ground needed to be killed. Next sunset she was leaving again, a single objective burned into her brain: Find Jericho.
In case you missed it, keep reading for an excerpt from Jen Colly’s
IN THE DARK
Demons have returned, a vengeful enemy waiting to strike.
Faith’s spur of the moment vacation, meant to free her and boost her spirits, has left her lost on the streets of Paris. And apparently, Paris is populated with something more than just humans. Vampires, suave, seductive and oh so sexy, and one such warrior vampire has set his sights on her.
When Soren hears Faith’s terrified screams, he rushes in and saves her life without considering the consequences. Two problems: one, she’s a human and clearly aware of his vampire qualities, and two, the men who attacked her were not men at all, but demons. Their target, his beloved underground city of Balinese. He can never let Faith go home again, but can she learn to love his people...love him?
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Chapter 1
Dark tonight. The steady rain mottled the persistent light from the streetlamps. Darkness was a good thing. He wasn’t comfortable here. This wasn’t home, and a part of him hated Paris. For all the city’s beauty and sophistication, it was a very dangerous place.
Stepping over a deep puddle, Soren moved as quickly as he could, keeping to the shadows as he scanned the quiet street, straining to hear any movement beyond the rain.
Though he usually didn’t watch his back or worry about what waited around the next corner, here in this city, it made the difference between getting what he needed to survive and the eradication of his people. If humans were to discover him, their fear would take over, and every last one of his kind would be hunted down and butchered. It had happened before.
Men’s voices broke through the peaceful silence of night, and he ignored them, just as he did the rain dripping from his hair and off the tip of his nose. They were too far away to cause him any trouble. He was here for another, more urgent purpose. He’d ignored the signs, and now his body required sustenance.
Then a woman’s whimpering plea fell into the mix of voices.
He changed his path, searching for her, and found her in a dead end alleyway. Two men pinned the helpless and frightened woman to the brick wall. He pulled the men from her, threw them hard against the building. Their heads hit on the bricks with a sickening thud, and the men fell to the ground, limp, lifeless.
The woman had been pitched back against the far building, taking a bump to her head. He spun around to see how she had fared. She still stood.
Hunger hit him hard.
He strode toward her, chest heaving from excitement, anticipation. The woman before him was water to a man dying of thirst.
She was so refreshingly ordinary, from her wet and clinging black hair, to her flushed cheeks. Even the cut of her shirt, low enough to show a mere hint of her bosom and all her lovely neck, was simple.
She leaned against the building for support as she tested the back of her head for any serious injury. “Thank you. I don’t know what I would have done.”
Her trembling voice set him in motion, but her tentative smile sealed her fate. He moved a step closer, then another, crowding her.
She stumbled as she tried to step back, looking for an escape. The wall of the building was already pressing against her back. Still he advanced.
Standing inches from her, he grazed her cheek with his fingers then plunged them into her hair and swept the sopping mess back. She gasped softly, a nervous intake of breath.
“Please, don’t.” Her voice quavered.
“Say it again,” he demanded roughly, though his touch was gentle.
“Please,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut, and he dropped his head and nuzzled her neck. Her voice enthralled him so, had drawn him closer.
She whimpered, the vibrations touching his lips, and he tightened his grasp on her, trying to somehow remain focused. He needed to go slowly, but it had been too long. The sensation of her lush form against him was too right, the soft scent of her flesh too potent.
Control fled, and he bit her. Her body jerked once, then went rigid against him. Happily drowning in the sweet and tempting scent that had driven him over the edge, he barely noticed. Rose? Lavender? He didn’t know flowers, and didn’t care to learn them, but he would never again breathe that scent without thinking of her.
Nourishing, sweet and hot, her lifeblood sent blissful shivers coursing through his body. Feeding was always a delicious experience, though he’d never experienced anything like this.
The rain continued to fall on them, the cool drops sliding down her neck to the very spot where they were joined. Soren drank in the water, the taste of her skin infused in every raindrop. So intoxicating, so sensual. He couldn’t help but wrap his other arm around her waist and bring her closer. He was no longer holding her still, but simply holding her.
His heartbeat raced. The simple act of feeding was enough to send him out of his mind with satisfaction, but the soul wrenching pleasure of her clutching his shoulders had him gasping for breath.
The world faded away. No rain or alley, no feeding existed. He only wanted to bask in the way her fingers moved, tightening then releasing, like she needed him. Wanted him. But too soon her fingers slipped from his shirt, fell slowly down his arms, and hung at her sides.
She went limp in his arms. Something was wrong. Sealing the bite on her neck with a kiss of thanks, he pulled back. She’d passed out.
That wasn’t supposed to happen. Losing consciousness occurred after a person had been either wounded or frightened. Any injury she had wasn’t serious. If he’d frightened her, that posed a far more complicated problem. Adrenaline sharpened the mind.
She shouldn’t be here. The hour was too late, the streets deserted. Shops had closed hours ago. Her purse lay on the ground, discarded, unwanted. The two men hadn’t meant to rob her.
He needed to get her out of here, and shifted her higher against him. If she woke to find two dead bodies, she would likely become hysterical, and he wasn’t in the mood to deal with that human emotion. Maybe the beauty’s purse contained useful information. He scanned the ground for it.
Something moved in the shadows. One of the attackers, his fingers curling.
Tightening his grasp on the unconscious woman, he stepped closer to the man, and with eyes used to the night, caught movement behind the man’s eyelids.
He was awake.
Soren pulled his gun and sent the man back into blackness with a single shot.
He had to find out who or what these men were. Nothing should have come back that fast after tangling with him. Nothing ever had. He didn’t like this, not at all, and cursing under his breath, pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed an all too familiar number. Only Gustav could sort out this mess and provide answers.
* * * *
This was his corner of the small, smoky room. With a glass of cheap merlot in one hand
, and a cigarette in the other, Gustav sat in the middle of pure bliss. Not a large crowd tonight, but it didn’t matter. The rhythmic, heavy drumming of the music filled in the spaces.
As he took a long, soothing pull on his cigarette, an orange glow lit his face. He surveyed this hidden hotspot. Two men much larger than him guarded the doors, though their presence wasn’t warranted. This place didn’t have a name, which made it hard to find. Not that he was hiding, just indulging in his Friday night routine.
Friday was fight night here. And inside the cage, the house champion leaned lazily against the metal links. A tall man, even without the extra three inches of spiked black hair. He didn’t speak as he looked through those gathered around, waiting for anyone stupid enough to step inside with him.
And there was Stupid, surrounded by his buddies, being slapped on the back by one and having his shoulder shaken by the other. Clearly, pumping up the challenger’s ego. Nineteen, twenty at the most, the boy strutted inside that cage like he’d already won.
How wonderful, that brief moment when the champion took his first real shot and the challenger realized how badly he’d screwed up.
A muffled ring reached his ears as his pocket vibrated. Gustav took the phone out and flipped it open without looking at the caller ID. There were only two people in the world who called him.
“Yeah.”
“You have a mess to clean up, my friend. I’m on Rue Daru,” the man on the other end said, followed by a disconnecting click.
Gustav tossed the phone on the table and rubbed his hand over his face, smoothing his goatee. In the cage, the boy lay flat on his back, and the champion back against the links. He’d waited a week for this, and missed the moment that made him remember who he was and why he was here. He snagged his glass from the table and drank the contents down quickly, needing the wine to keep him warm tonight.
