The Necromancer's Dance (The Beacon Hill Sorcerer Book 1)

by SJ Himes

Simeon was looking past him, green eyes as sharp as glass, and Angel tried to turn his head to see who he was looking at, but the attempt made him groan and wish fervently for the nearest flat surface. Simeon sent one last hard look, and Angel got a glimpse of a shadowed figure leaving the room behind the others. Must be that remaining Elder, but Angel was too tired to speculate.

  “You must sleep, Angel,” Simeon whispered in his ear, his breath tickling over his skin, and Angel shivered in response. Simeon smelled of copper, mint and spice, and chocolate. Simeon felt Angel’s whole body reaction, and his hand tightened on his elbow. Angel wasn’t sure how it happened but his head ended up resting on Simeon’s solid, stone-cold shoulder. Angel’s hands were on the vampire’s chest, clutching at his fine dress shirt.

  Angel opened his mouth to speak, to say something, but the world dropped away and his mind fell into darkness.

  He must have passed out, too damn tired from a long day at work, interrupted sleep, and a semi-major working that consumed a huge portion of his reserves. It took power to use power, and even though Angel fueled the spell with ambient magic, he still had to control and shape the working. It was a bitch, doing magic cold like that, and he would have been better off if he hadn’t gone into it stressed out and tired. Not to mention he couldn’t remember the last time he ate anything more substantial than tea and a muffin. Isaac moving out meant Angel forgot to eat more often than not.

  Angel woke wrapped up in his favorite blanket, his bed warm and welcoming. Something was tickling his face, and he worked a hand free from under the blanket to swipe at his cheek. Feeling cool skin and soft lips, Angel opened his eyes.

  He was in Simeon’s arms, laying half on his clothed chest, their faces so close together the vampire’s deep green eyes were all he could see.

  Angel’s hand was caught up in Simeon’s, their fingers intertwining. Angel’s eyes drifted shut as Simeon closed the tiny distance between them, his soft and cool lips ghosting over Angel’s. He pulled in a deep breath of Simeon-flavored air, the vampire’s scent filling his mouth and nose.

  The scent of fresh blood was in there too—Simeon must have fed before taking Angel home, the potent tang of hot metal impossible to miss. The sensation of Simeon’s lips barely touching Angel’s did unrepeatable things to his nervous system, setting him on fire with a cool flame.

  His body jerked, just a little, freezing and alternately relaxing as Simeon’s lips settled over his in a full kiss, with a hint of tongue and the nip of sharp teeth.

  Angel had been thinking about kissing Simeon since the day they met, a little over two years ago. It was Halloween, and Angel was dressed in normal clothes because only humans would dress up as a witch and think it not insulting, and he was dragging Isaac and Greg out of a bar in downtown Boston.

  Angel’s boots wore a few flecks of vomit on them when Isaac kindly threw up before he got in Angel’s car. While the two drunks passed out in the back seat, Angel had gone back in the bar to the restrooms, hoping to wipe off the sickening liquid before he drove them all home. No way in hell was he driving an hour with the windows down in autumn just to escape the smell.

  At the time, he hadn’t known the Master of Boston owned the bar. No one did—no one mortal, at least. All anyone knew was that it was vamp property owned by any one of the lesser masters, and a place for people to go if they wanted to flirt with fangheads and try out for a place as a blood slave. Isaac was safe from that Fate, as his blood was caustic and poisonous to vampires, and most of them could smell it up close. Angel thought that maybe the boys just wanted to go for the atmosphere or the discounted beer, not that it mattered.

  His lack of a costume that night actually drew more attention than if he had been dressed in black leather and fishnets. His tight blue jeans, white tee, and brown leather boots stood out in the crowd of goth wannabes, steampunk, and a myriad of other ‘vampire’ fashions that made him feel bad for the people wearing them. Smoke filled the place, the dry kind that looked dangerous to breathe but is relatively harmless, humans pressed up against the bar and the tables along the walls, the dance floor packed as the DJ played some kind of rapid-fire techno-house mix. Lasers danced and blue light lit Angel up as he cut through the crowd, and he was halfway across the dance floor when a rough grasp of a cold hand caught his arm, jerking him to an abrupt halt.

  Angel wasn’t a big guy. He was only five-seven, about a hundred thirty-five pounds, and he was glad he was able to grow in a decent enough five o’clock shadow on his jaw or the twink label would have followed him into his late twenties. He wasn’t jacked or a gym bunny, though he was lean like a swimmer, and his muscles were vaguely defined. Yet he was no weakling or pushover, so having someone yank him to a forceful stop, dead in his tracks, made his hackles go up faster than a wet cat’s surrounded by aggressive toddlers.

  Bodies bumped and ground, the music ghastly and obnoxious, and Angel was tired and surrounded by drunk humans. He spun to confront the fool who dared to touch him, someone with no manners and all arrogance. He looked down at the hand holding his arm, and it was pale, colder than the air outside, and the grip that of a metal vise. Angel sent his gaze up, over the black lace-covered wrist, the slim arm in black velvet, and past the black smoking jacket and black silk shirt to see a vampire, a real one, looking back at him with a decidedly predatory gaze.

  It wasn’t a master vamp or one of the upper-level fangheads. This vamp was a lackey, a lower-rung vamp fresh from the turn and looking to impress humans with how fucking cool he was in his faux period outfit. Angel pegged him as a few years old, still arrogant enough to think he was the new Lestat or the sparkling kid with the hair, and stupid enough to think that everyone in this bar on Halloween was a human willing to be snacked on. And definitely, an idiot, since he wasn’t using his nose, ignoring the hint of death magic Angel carried on him just by breathing. Even with the hundreds of bodies pressing close in the club, a smart and experienced vamp would have recognized what Angel was immediately, and cut his or her losses and let him go.

  “Take your hand off of me,” Angel spoke clearly, as the music was loud and even vamp hearing started to suffer at some point. “I’m not here as a snack.”

  Gothic Steampunk Vamp smirked at Angel, tightened his grip, and pulled him in closer. Angel ended up pressed to the rude vamp’s front, his hand so tight now on Angel’s elbow he was already sporting bruises. All Angel wanted was to go wash his boots and drive his brother home. Yet he couldn’t, since he now had to deal with a very forward vamp who was at that moment caressing Angel’s cheek with an over-perfumed hand like he’d just been watching a really bad B-movie of a villain doing the same.

  “You aren’t wearing a costume, my pretty. Think we need to collect the penalty fee for coming in here without a costume on.” Mr. Rude tried to pull off a purring European accent, but all Angel heard was strangling cats. B-movie villain indeed.

  Angel rolled his eyes, and he began pulling in some of the ambient magic in the room, prepared to blast the vamp fucker off of him. He wouldn’t use too much magic since there were humans so close to where they stood Angel could feel wandering hands in rude places.

  The vampire leaned down, ignoring Angel’s tugs to free his arm as the vampire sniffed at his neck when suddenly one of the owners of the wandering hands materialized into another vamp. Angel was now pinned between two vamps, the new one a female in an outfit just as campy as the male, and she looked and acted just as new as the presumptuous male.

  Angel pegged her for just as stupid, too.

  “Last chance, fuckers. Let me go.” Angel made sure to say it loudly enough some people dancing around them heard, looking their way.

  Angel felt the brush of sharp fangs grazing his skin, on the top of his shoulder, the female way too close to taking a sip. Angel lifted his free hand, energy buzzing on his fingertips when the fangheads both struck at the same time. The female got him at the top of his left shoulder, and the male attacked the right side of Angel’s neck,
and he gasped at the pain.

  He’d been bitten before, and it was tolerable, but the double attack was too much and Angel began to freak out for a second. Pain shot from his neck and shoulder, inescapable, and his knees jerked like they were about to drop him on the floor. The vamps weren’t savaging him yet. They were trying to get a good drag of blood off their bites, so they were distracted, and Angel regained control enough to keep pulling on the ambient energy around them.

  Angel brought his hand up, fingertips rubbing together, charge building, and made contact with the female’s temple, tapping lightly. The zap hit her like a magical stun gun, and she pulled off his shoulder, her fangs tearing the flesh as they withdrew. The female growled as she staggered to her knees at his side, knocking back several humans and a few other vamps in the process. Angel kept his hand moving, and dropped it on the back of the male vamp’s head, applying the same charge. The male coughed blood and he backed away as fast as she did, falling on his ass. Angel slapped a hand over the seeping wound in his neck, feeling blood run past his fingers. Not too much blood, but he might need stitches, and the gash on his shoulder was going to leave a fucking nasty scar if he didn’t get it healed.

  Angel backed away, and the music stopped. The crowd stared at him, as he bled all over his white tee, one hand pressed tight to his neck, with two vamps still trying to reboot their nervous systems on the floor at his feet. Hissing came from the shushed crowd, and he saw vamps moving through the throng of humans, approaching fast.

  Angel looked back towards the door, but he way was blocked by more vamps heading his way.

  “Back the fuck off, now!” Angel shouted, and he got more hissing in response.

  The two vamps on the floor were trying to get up. Several vamps were moving in on him, none of them looking friendly, and there were too many humans surrounding him. Angel was about to be turned into a shredded blood bag, and they would kill him even faster once his blood started to make them sick, which would be several long painful minutes into his torture.

  That was when Angel gave up being subtle.

  Angel was aware of his blood. Not the blood running past his fingers, warm on his shoulder and neck. Angel could sense the blood stolen from him by the vampires, coursing through their mouths and throats, in their stomachs. He was in them, and his death affinity was about to show the crowd packed around him why vampires hated necromancers.

  “Moderatus mortem!” The Latin came as easily as his English, and though unnecessary, it let those hearing him know he was casting, and it was enough to make even the most foolish of observers back off. I control death. “Ego meum corpus est corpus meum mihi!”

  I am my body, and my body is me.

  Simple, and devastatingly brutal as Angel reached past the veil, and dragged power screaming back into this dimension. He sucked in every wave of power, his hair crackling with static, the air burning as it warped in the rising heat, and Angel saturated every cell of his body with the raw power that came at his call. Crude, very crude. He didn’t have time for proper spell-casting, and instinctual casting was enough for him to level the building if he chose.

  The vamps in the crowd were seconds from attacking, the two on the floor getting up in what felt like slow motion, death promised in their eyes.

  Angel reached out to his still living blood in the vampires’ undead bodies, and it gave him a foothold that he could exploit. This was why necromancers and vampires usually didn’t get along all that well—a necromancer, if strong enough, could slip inside a vampire’s body and completely subsume a vampire’s free will. They were dead, after all.

  Angel’s life energy and focused will exploded through their systems and he owned his attackers in seconds.

  They stopped in macabre tableaus of arrested motion, the two who bit him and took his blood. They stood, eyes wild with fear, their bodies now under Angel’s control. They had their thoughts, but he owned their actions. They stepped back to Angel’s side and turned to face the crowd that was now milling in confusion. The crowd was backing away and the rest of the vamps felt the power surge in the room, but still kept approaching.

  “Prohibe eos,” Angel whispered, and the two vamps he held leashed to his will blitzed out, attacking the approaching vamps.

  Stop them.

  His attackers were not expecting the two vamps they were presumably coming to assist to suddenly turn and attack them—two of the other vamps ended up thrown over the crowd, landing on some tables as they fell to the ground. Drinks and screams spilled out, and Angel’s unwilling defenders spun, knocking back two more vamps closing in on him from behind.

  Angel kept the power pouring in, the tear in the veil held open by his willpower and nerves. Humans were screaming, confused, running over each other, pushing back against the tables and the bar, the dance floor emptying. Angel yanked on the blood in the two vamps and pulled them back to him, both of them crouched at his feet, hissing, fangs out and claws extended.

  “Necromancer!”

  Angel had no idea who screamed it, but the bar was shocked into motionlessness. Everyone froze where they stood, even the vamps in mid-stride coming back for another go at Angel and his new pets. The word necromancer raced across the room, and a hush settled that was creepier than the hissing moments before.

  Whispers rose and fell in waves amongst the crowd, people looking at each other with nervous expressions. A rumble of growls, a low, nearly inaudible hum through the room made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Angel sent out more power, tightening his foothold on the vamps at his feet, and they snarled in response.

  “All I wanted was to use the restroom, and I get attacked. I want nothing to do with violence, but I will use any means necessary to protect myself. Who is the Elder here?” Angel called out, throwing his voice over the heads of those watching. He might not be a big man, but he knew how to project his voice with authority.

  No one moved. Humans and vamps alike stared, and Angel tried to keep an eye on every corner of the bar, searching. For there to be this many vampires in one place there must be an Elder nearby, a vampire to control the lesser undead. He was hoping at least since he couldn’t very well keep his two vamps as slaves and walk out of the bar without having every vamp in the city wanting to kill him.

  “Necromancer,” a whisper graced his ear, and the shiver that ran down his spine was involuntary.

  Angel tensed, his body instinctively reacting to the presence of a predator. The vamps at his feet hissed and snarled, twisting like snakes in reaction to his nerves. It was all the reaction he let himself show, and he made himself relax and turn to face the vampire that suddenly materialized behind him.

  “You the Elder here?” Angel asked, doing his best not to show the pain of his injuries or the strain of holding raw veil-sourced power and two angry vamps to his will. Casting such a dynamic combination of instinctual spells and handling this much power was going to leave him dangerously exhausted if he didn’t end this and soon.

  The new vampire was dressed in a black tux and white tie that made him look like a red-headed James Bond. More auburn than true red, but he was hot, and his green eyes arrested a good portion of Angel’s attention. Full sexy lips and a strong jaw, he was absolutely Angel’s type, and if he wasn’t an undead monster Angel was tempted to ask him for his number. He then remembered where he was and what was happening, and frowned.

  “I am, necromancer. How are you this evening?” At the smoothly accented words, Angel’s cock made its interest known, twitching and thrumming. The red-head’s lips were unsmiling, but the corners twitched, and his eyes narrowed slightly. He could smell Angel’s blood, not to mention see it as it ran down his neck and shoulder and stained his shirt. The bastard could also smell just how aroused Angel was getting, and that pissed him off even more than the biting and attacking.

  “Oh, ya know. Hate Halloween. People always end up acting like idiots,” Angel replied, and for some reason Angel wanted to smile at the older vamp despite
his temper, but he restrained himself. “Came to pick up my drunk brother and his bestie, got puked on, decided to wash my boots off in the bathroom, and got molested by the fangheads here.” Angel pointed at his feet, and the Elder’s eyes flickered down for a nanosecond before returning to Angel’s. “I said stop and they didn’t listen. I got …um…. Upset.”

  “Ah, so I see. Upset.” The Elder glanced around the room, noting the tables in disarray and the bruises forming on vamps and humans alike, and his lips twitched again. “I wonder what damage you could cause if you were truly angered?” he mused in a soft, low tone that purred within his accent.

  It was rhetorical, but Angel answered anyway. “Things get nasty.”

  “I’m certain they do.” The vampire looked around the room again, and straightened a cuff link that glittered from his sleeve. “It appears you have an apology due to you.”

  “That’s nice of you,” Angel said, and meant it. He was expecting to have to hand out some more threats, maybe blast a few more vamps, but if the old vamp wanted to play diplomat instead of entitled lord of the manor, that was good too.

  The old vamp chuckled, but still no smile. Angel didn’t know it was possible to laugh without smiling. “Nice. I haven’t been called nice in centuries.”

  “Meh. Nice, smice. So, can I release my newest acquisitions without things getting nasty here?” Angel eyed the crowd, and saw some anger out there, eyes glittering. “After I get my apology of course, and not to mention a promise of no more violence against me or mine.”

  “Negotiations. How elegant. When you hold all the power here, necromancer. Two fledglings under your sway, and poisoned by your blood. By rights, you could leave them to die.” The laughter was gone, but Angel saw something in the mossy depths of the master vamp’s eyes. Respect, maybe? He sensed nothing reminiscent of anger. The vamp was as calm as a frozen lake in January.

  “I get my apology, I release the two idiots licking my boots, and we all part ways, calm and alive,” Angel loudly enough for everyone to hear. “Oh, and no violence against me or mine.”