Must Love Lycans

by Michele Bardsley

  Romany/Romani: The language of the Roma

  Strigoi mort: Term for Romanian vampire

  GLOSSARY 2

  Ancient: Refers to one of the original eight vampires. The very first vampire was Ruadan, who is the biological father of Patrick and Lorcan. Several centuries ago, Ruadan and his sons took on the last name of O’Halloran, which means “stranger from overseas.”

  banning: (see: World Between Worlds) Any one can be sent into limbo, but the spell must be cast by an Ancient or a being with powerful magick. No one can be released from banning until they feel true remorse for their evil acts. This happens rarely, which means banning is not done lightly.

  binding: When vampires have consummation sex (with any person or creature), they’re bound together for a hundred years. This was the Ancients’ solution to keep vamps from sexual intercourse while blood-taking. There are only two known instances of breaking a binding.

  Consortium: More than five hundred years ago, Patrick and Lorcan O’Halloran created the Consortium to figure out ways that parakind could make the world a better place for all beings. Many sudden leaps in human medicine and technology are because of the Consortium’s work.

  Convocation: Five neutral, immortal beings given the responsibility of keeping the balance between Light and Dark.

  donors: Mortals who serve as sustenance for vampires. The Consortium screens and hires humans to be food sources. Donors are paid well and given living quarters. Not all vampires follow the guidelines created by the Consortium for feeding. A mortal may have been a donor without ever realizing it.

  Drone: Mortals who do the bidding of their vampire Masters. The most famous was Renfield—drone to Dracula. The Consortium’s code of ethics forbids the use of drones, but plenty of vampires still use them.

  ETAC: The Ethics and Technology Assessment Commission is the public face of this covert government agency. In its program, soldier volunteers have undergone surgical procedures to implant nanobyte technology, which enhances strength, intelligence, sensory perception, and healing. Volunteers are trained in use of technological weapons and defense mechanisms so advanced, it’s rumored they come from a certain section of Area 51. Their mission is to remove, by any means necessary, paranormal targets named as domestic threats.

  Family: Every vampire can be traced to the one of the eight Ancients. The Ancients are divided into the Eight Sacred Sects, also known as the Families. The Families are: Ruadan, Koschei (aka Romanov), Hua Mu Lan, Durga, Zela, Amahté, Shamhat, and Velthur. Please note: At this time only one known vampire of the Family Shamhat exists.

  gone to ground: When vampires secure places where they can lie undisturbed for centuries, they “go to ground.” Usually they let someone know where they are located, but the resting locations of many vampires are unknown. Both the Ancients Amahté and Shamhat have gone to ground for more than three thousand years. Their locations have yet to be discovered.

  Invisi-shield: Using technology stolen from ETAC and ancient magic, the Consortium created a shield that not only makes the town invisible to outsiders, but also creates a force field. No one can get into the town’s borders unless their DNA signature is recognized by both the technology and magical elements.

  loup de sang: Translated as “blood wolf.” The first of these vampire-werewolves were triplets born after their lycanthrope mother was drained and killed by a vampire. For nearly two centuries, Gabriel Marchand was the only known loup de sang and also known as “the outcast.” (See: Vedere Prophecy) Now the loup de sang include his brother, Ren, his sister, Anise, his wife, Patsy, and his children.

  lycanthropes: Also called lycans and/or werewolves. Full-bloods can shift from human into wolf at will. Lycans have been around a long time and originate in Germany. Their numbers are small because they don’t have many females, and most children born have a fifty percent chance of living to the age of one.

  Master: Most Master vampires are hundreds of years old and have had many successful Turnings. Masters show Turn-bloods how to survive as a vampire. A Turn-blood has the protection of the Family (see: Family or Sacred Sects) to which their Master belongs.

  PRIS: Paranormal Research and Investigation Services. Cofounded by Theodora and her husband, Elmore Monroe. Its primary mission is to document supernatural phenomena and conduct cryptozoological studies.

  Roma: The Roma are cousins to full-blooded lycanthropes. They can change only on the night of a full moon. Just as full-blooded lycanthropes are raised to protect vampires, the Roma are raised to hunt vampires.

  soul shifter: A supernatural being with the ability to absorb the souls of any mortal or immortal. The shifter has the ability to assume any of the forms she’s absorbed. Only one is known to exist, the woman known as Ash, who works as a “balance keeper” for the Convocation.

  Taint: The Black Plague for vampires, which makes vampires insane as their body deteriorates. The origins of the Taint were traced to demon poison. After many attempts to find a cure, which included transfusions of royal lycanthrope blood, a permanent cure has been found.

  Turn-blood: A human who’s been recently Turned into a vampire. If you’re less than a century old, you’re a Turn-blood.

  Turning: Vampires perpetuate the species by Turning humans. Unfortunately, only one in about ten humans actually makes the transition.

  Vedere prophecy: Astria Vedere predicted that in the twenty-first century a vampire queen would rule both vampires and lycans, and would also end the ruling power of the Ancients. This prophecy was circumvented by a newer proclamation that the lycan crown prince would take a mate and rebuild his pack. Please note: Patsy was granted only seven powers out of the eight. No one is sure why.

  World Between Worlds: The place between this plane and the next, where there is a void. Some beings can slip back and forth between this “veil.”

  Wraiths: Rogue vampires who banded together to dominate both vampires and humans. Since the defeat of the Ancients Koschei and Durga, they are believed to be defunct.

  Read on for a sneak peek at the

  next book in Michele Bardsley’s

  Wizards of Nevermore series,

  NOW OR NEVER

  Coming from Signet Eclipse in March 2012

  “She’s filthy.”

  Norie Whyte stared dully at the man in the black robe, his tall, bulky form hidden by the layers of shining cloth. The hood covered his face, but even through the mush that was currently her mind, she recognized her kidnapper’s voice. The two guys holding her up were leaning away as much as possible. She’d gotten used to the stench.

  “You said to make sure she couldn’t escape again. You didn’t say nothing about keeping her clean.” This protest rang out from the bald guy on the left, the one who liked to stare at her breasts and touch himself. He knew better than to try to get his jollies with her. She used to have three guards, but one had made the mistake of trying to rape her.

  The man in the black robe had punched a hole in the guard’s chest with his fist and magic, and then coldly watched the horny bastard bleed out on the floor. Then he’d used his magic to turn the guard’s body into ash. Just . . . poof. No more rapist. Then he’d looked at the other two, who’d both pissed themselves, and said calmly, “Do you also require an explanation of what ‘virgin sacrifice’ means?”

  They didn’t.

  She didn’t know Black Robe’s name, his title, his House, or his face. But she knew one thing quite well: He was an asshole.

  “I won’t do it.” She wasn’t sure whether the words actually made it past her throat. Then Black Robe swung toward her, and she knew he’d heard the hoarse protest.

  “It’s your destiny, Norie.”

  “Bullshit.” Her voice was stronger this time, but still sounded like a rusted hinge.

  He slapped her hard across the face. She felt the shock of that blow all the way to her toes, and she would’ve fallen had it not been for her captors holding her so tightly. Her cheek bloomed with wicked pain, but she stil
l managed to turn her head and stare at Black Robe with as much defiance as she could muster.

  Gods be damned! She wanted to punch him. She wanted to knee his balls and claw his face and pull out his hair. But she hadn’t the energy, and her anger was sliding away into the fog of apathy, into the resignation that was nearly as familiar as all the other wretched things about her life. She knew then that the newest dose of magic-laced drugs was kicking in. Her tongue felt thick and her head felt as if it were stuffed with cotton.

  “Are you feeding her?” Black Robe asked.

  The guards shuffled their feet. “We try to, but she won’t eat.”

  “She can’t die before the ceremony, damn it.” Black Robe sighed. “Very well. It’s obvious that she requires care other than yours now.”

  “Aw right. You want us to clean up here?” asked the bald guy. He made the sound of an explosion. “Y’know, like we did the other places?”

  “I can take it from here.” Black Robe grabbed Norie, sweeping her against his chest and raising one hand toward the startled men. Through her graying vision, she saw the fireball emerge, split in two, and hit each of her guards square in the chest. She wasn’t exactly sorry to see the bastards burn.

  They screamed and flailed, falling onto the floor and trying to roll around. But the fire was born of magic, so it wasn’t like a mundane-created fire—it couldn’t be doused or suffocated.

  Black Robe threw her over his shoulder and walked away. She realized vaguely that she’d been holed up in a warehouse. She could smell the sea air, which wasn’t exactly refreshing, what with all the dead-fish and garbage stink. Nausea roiled through her. She almost wished she would throw up so she could ruin His Highness’s robe.

  The building started to go up in flames, and in moments, it was completely on fire. Norie stared dazedly at the flames licking the wood, snaking toward the wharf. The whole dock would be on fire soon. Someone from Magic Protection Services would have to be called in to combat the spell. And the bastard holding her like a moldy old sack of potatoes probably didn’t give a shit if he burned down the whole city.

  Black Robe tossed her into the back of a limousine. By the time she hit the seat, Norie was nearly unconscious.

  “Everyone has a destiny,” said her tormentor again. “And you will fulfill yours.”

  Those were the last words she heard before darkness claimed her.

  Sheriff Taylor Mooreland slammed shut the door to his crotchety old SUV, grimacing at the creaking sounds of rusted springs and tired metal. He should have put in for a new vehicle, but doing so would have meant yet another change. And there’d already been a lot of changes around Nevermore, Texas.

  Made life unnerving, damn it.

  He liked routine. Order. Knowing that what happened today would probably happen tomorrow. He took comfort in consistency.

  He pulled his thick wool coat tighter, zipping it up to the neck. Then he leaned against the side of the SUV and stared up at the twinkling stars.

  It wasn’t even dawn, for fuck’s sake.

  He scrubbed his face, trying to wipe off the tiredness, but he still felt like a zombie. He needed more coffee, and that meant hauling his ass up to his office and wrestling with that newfangled machine. His assistant, Arlene, had requisitioned a new coffeemaker, and Gray Calhoun, Dragon wizard and current town Guardian, had one imported from Italy. Italy! The thing was huge and shiny and covered with a thousand dials and spouts. It looked like something out of a Dr. Seuss book.

  The wind whipped at his coat and brought with it the ashy-sweet scent of incense—from the temple, no doubt.

  He shifted, then paused. The wind carried another scent, too—a wonderful smell that brought back memories of his mother in the kitchen baking. A pang of longing sliced through him. She’d been gone almost six years now. And not a day went by that he didn’t miss her.

  He sniffed the air. Well, I’ll be. It damned sure did smell like cookies.

  Sugar cookies.

  His favorite.

  He looked around, but Main Street was dark and quiet. The brick buildings looked the same as ever, and so did the sidewalks and the street and there, where Main Street ended in a large cul-de-sac, gleamed the shining brass dragon, and behind it the Temple of Light. People showed up every week to pay homage to the Goddess and to the Dragon ancestor Jaed. The big wooden doors were always unlocked to allow supplicants into the inner chamber, with its polished oak pews and shining stainedglass windows. Magic kept the torches on the walls burning red and orange, the colors of Jaed. The colors of dragons. The temple was open to anyone, night or day.

  He felt a sudden urge to walk down there, to slide into one of the pews, and to ask the Goddess for guidance. He’d always had a goal, a purpose. But lately, he’d felt unbalanced. Like the ground beneath his feet was about to shift and swallow him whole.

  Damned nightmares. He hadn’t had a single good night’s rest in the past six days. He didn’t want to admit that the nightmares were costing him physically and emotionally. All the same, he figured it wouldn’t hurt to talk to Ember. She was a good friend who ran the local tea shop, and she had an herbal remedy for everything; surely she could whip up something tasty and magical to help him sleep.

  Taylor stared at the temple, a beacon of solace in the darkness; then he turned toward the steps that led up to the sheriff’s office. It wasn’t that he had anything against the Goddess, or religion, for that matter. He deeply respected not only the faith of believers, but the right of everyone to worship whatever deities they liked. But he wasn’t a church kind of guy.

  Pain throbbed in the center of his forehead and he rubbed at the aching spot. Looked like aspirin was in order, too. After a final sweeping glance down the empty street, he headed up the stairs and unlocked the door.

  The smell of sugar cookies followed him inside.

  “Please describe the . . . er, creature,” said Sheriff Mooreland. His pen was poised above the form his assistant, Arlene, had created specifically for this particular situation. He glanced up at the man sitting in one of the leather wingbacks facing Taylor’s oversized antique desk.

  “Red,” said Henry Archer. “Definitely red.” His cowboy hat was perched on his knee, his fingers tapping the crown. His gaze was steady, the same as his manner, but the man’s expression kept wavering between disbelief and shock. “Scaly, too.”

  Taylor nodded, then looked down at the form, with its neat rows of boxes. His pen scratched over the crisp paper. “What else?”

  “Wings,” admitted Henry. “It was a big son of a bitch. Blotted out the moon, Sheriff. Startled me so badly last night, I tripped over my own two feet and went ass over teakettle into Maureen’s begonias.”

  Taylor’s lips quirked. “And how’d she take that?”

  “’Bout as well as you might think,” said Henry, also smiling. “Don’t suppose Ant might be willing to come over and see if they can be coaxed back to life?”

  “I’m sure my brother could be talked into it,” said Taylor. “Especially if it means he can get within snatching distance of one of Maureen’s apple pies.”

  “Three were cooling in the kitchen when I left,” said Henry. “The more agitated my wife gets, the more pies she makes.” He chuckled. “Sometimes I rile her up just so I can get some of her blackberry cobbler.”

  Taylor’s smile widened as he looked over the report. “All right, then, Henry. Anything else?”

  Henry hesitated, and then he sighed. “I saw a dragon, Sheriff. It’s almost like the statue in our town square came to life. You don’t think one of the magicals did a spell on it or something . . . ?”

  Henry was looking for an explanation other than, yeah, he’d seen a dragon flying around Nevermore’s skies. In a world where some people could talk to the dead, control the elements, or, like Taylor’s little brother, grow a garden from barren soil, the idea of an honest-togoddess dragon still freaked people out.

  “The statue’s protected. No one could pull a prank like
that even if they were fool enough to try,” said Taylor. He studied his friend. His instincts were humming, and he knew Henry was holding something back. “What else?”

  Henry grimaced. “I swear I wasn’t drinking,” he said. “We got into the habit of not keeping alcohol in the house because Lennie . . . well, you know. We never was much for the hard stuff, anyway.” He paused, his gaze dropping.

  Taylor let the man have a moment. Eight months ago, Henry and Maureen’s youngest son, Lennie, had been killed. The young man’s demise was one of three deaths that had been facilitated by Taylor’s former deputy and half brother, Ren Banton. Ren had been killed, too, and that was just as well. Hell’s bells. By the time it was all said and done, six people had gone to early graves. The whole debacle still weighed heavily on Taylor’s mind, but at least life had gotten back to normal—if life in Nevermore could ever really be called “normal.”

  “Anyway,” said Henry, “I saw someone on its back.”

  Taylor blinked. “You saw a person riding the dragon?”

  Henry nodded. “A woman. I think she was wearing . . . uh, you know. A nightie.”