by Michele Hauf
“I have never heard you talk about a woman in terms of years,” King said. “I couldn’t imagine doing so. It’s not normal. Not for us.”
Neither he nor King indulged in long-term relationships, though King was more prone to check in with his lovers, both mortal and immortal alike, over the decades. Rook had learned long ago never to keep strings hanging. The heart made the hunter weaker.
So if a vampire literally held his soul within a semblance of his heart? Hell.
“Verity mentioned she may not look for a source when it comes time to do so.”
“Interesting. So you two could, feasibly, grow old together.”
Rook tilted his head against the brick wall. “What’s it like to have a soul? I can’t remember.”
“Well, for one thing, you’d be much warmer than you are now.” King mocked a shudder. “And, I don’t know, I think your capacity toward emotion would increase.”
“I can do emotion with the best of them.”
“It’s Oz who does that for you.”
And do not forget it.
“Soon, Oz,” Rook said.
“He getting anxious?”
“His baby is due within days. And you know how time is different in Faery.”
“So I’ve heard,” King commented. “I’d miss Oz, too.”
“I won’t set him free until he promises he’ll visit.”
I promise.
“He promises.” Rook chuckled. It felt good to relax for a few seconds. But hunters never let down their guard.
He cast a glance around the corner, his eyes tracking the freshly paved narrow street to the opposite sidewalk clumped with overgrown weeds in need of clipping. The early nineteenth-century mansion they were watching was dark. And it was still before midnight. They didn’t expect traffic until after the witching hour.
The moon was high and round but a sliver away from true fullness, which would come tomorrow night. He hated leaving Verity home with nothing to distract her from the blood hunger. It would only grow stronger. Which is why he was here right now. If she stayed at home, immersed in her spellbooks, as she had promised, that should keep her preoccupied.
He would not let the sun rise without staking Clas.
* * *
“I can’t believe I missed this spell earlier.”
Verity trailed her finger down the page that had been scrawled in unfamiliar handwriting. It wasn’t her mother’s or great-grandmother Bluebell’s. It almost looked masculine, but who could know? The history of the Von Veldes generally passed the grimoire from maternal head of the family to the next maternal head.
No matter. The spell was a tracking spell to be used to find missing objects. Such as a soul pulsing within a wooden heart?
She had to give it a try because if the spell worked, it would lead her to the vampire who had bitten her. Worst scenario? The vampire had dumped the necklace but the spell would still lead her to it, thus resulting in Rook getting what he needed most.
“One way or another, one of us is going to be happy. And it’s going to happen tonight.”
Opening the little velvet-lined jewelry box she’d used to store the heart necklace in on occasion, she scraped the fine velvet weft off and onto the tinfoil she’d spread out on the spell table. She had already gathered comfrey, grave dirt, a newborn peahen’s bone dust (she stocked up at the local witch’s bazaar) and a fox’s breath. She had everything that was required.
Now to make it work.
An hour later, the flames she set upon the emulsified ingredients flashed a sulfurous glow, then extinguished at her magical command.
Verity took the compass she’d dug out from the bottom of her mother’s hope chest, which contained years of assorted treasures and collected ephemera, and pried off the back casing. The bespelled ashes fit nicely into the round brass cover. She packed them in with the tip of a spoon and then resealed the compass. The glass housing briefly glowed blue. If the spell worked, it would glow nonstop once she was near the intended object.
“Of course it will work. My magic…” Verity sighed. It would work. It had to.
She’d asked to find Rook’s soul. The magnetic needle swung north.
“All right, then. I’m going out for a walk.”
Slipping on a long sweater over her soft jersey dress, down in the foyer she stepped into some ballet flats. Turning off the lights and remembering Rook had asked her to stay put until he returned, she opened the front door.
A tall man with spiky brown hair and an easy smile turned to block her exit with his broad shoulders. He wore Order gear.
“Evening, mademoiselle. I’m Kaz. You’re not going anywhere, are you?”
“Uh…” She shook her head. And she recognized the name because one of her friends was dating a Kaz, who was also a hunter. “Does Zoë know you’re at some strange witch’s house so late at night?”
“Now don’t make it sound like that. I’m doing as Rook commanded. So get back inside. And—hey!”
He put up a hand when Verity lifted hers, intending to brew up some fire.
“No magic,” he said firmly. He turned his wrist toward her to show the small pentacle tattooed there.
Verity pouted. “No fair.” She slammed the door on him and marched down the hallway. “A tattoo against magic? Not a stupid hunter. I’m going to give Zoë hell for that one.”
With a new tactic springing to mind, she scampered into the living room and stood before the window overlooking the back courtyard. It would be too easy to slip out the back way. But she would never question an easy option.
Kaz’s head popped around the corner of the house. He waved at her. That sexy smile must have knocked Zoë off her feet the first time she’d met him. Again, no fair wielding the charm weapon.
Verity stuck out her tongue at him.
He was only one man. Albeit a skilled hunter who was warded against witch magic.
When she spied the calico tail snaking through the garden, Verity let out a whispered blurt of glee.
“Perfect timing, Thomas.”
* * *
Cats pride themselves on their stealthy sneak. Thomas was a master at pussyfooting quietly through the night. He could follow a human for miles, always no farther than ten feet behind them, and they’d never be the wiser.
Verity had been too excited to see him at first. After showing him her fridge—empty—and dramatically pleading hunger, she’d then explained the hunter posted out on her front step was a precaution from the Order. She was under house arrest because she’d been seen on the Order’s security cameras when Rook had clandestinely led her in to view some mug shots.
She wouldn’t be long. But she was so hungry. And the hunter wasn’t budging.
When Thomas had suggested she order pizza, she had pouted. Prettily. Damn, but he fell for the pout every time.
So he’d led the hunter into the back courtyard and all around until he’d lost his balance and landed in the stinging nettles. A five-minute distraction was all Verity had requested.
For some reason, he felt it best if he kept a close eye on Verity tonight. She’d been acting strange. The moon grew full tomorrow night. And that worried him. If she was going out to scam for blood, he’d have to bring out the big claws to stop her.
* * *
The compass led from her neighborhood, across the Seine on the Pont de Bir-Hakeim, and toward the city park. Beyond the Peripherique, Verity entered the massive forested park in an older neighborhood with grand mansions that had been built in the nineteenth century. Many were unoccupied, their dark windows either broken or boarded over.
The compass glass glowed, but not as bright as originally. She was close. Had to be.
Down a long street, a right turn and then another, she had the sneaking suspicion she was
being followed. The hunter? Always that possibility. Thomas had managed to distract him long enough for her escape. And she’d worn flats so she could run those few minutes. Yet whenever she suddenly turned around, there was nobody.
“I’m creeping myself out,” she muttered. “I need food to take the edge off. Something…”
A hunger pang clutched at her gut, bending her in half. Verity gripped an iron fence that gathered in overgrown climbing moon flowers before an ancient mansion. Her mouth was dry. She craved liquid.
She craved what she didn’t want to crave.
Fingers shaking, she clenched the compass. The glass casing glowed brightly and the arrow pointed to her right, beyond the iron fence.
“This has to be the place.”
A small yellow glow beamed from one of the long, tall windows, which she assumed must front a grand ballroom. If she knocked on the door and a friendly old human couple answered, then what?
Then my spellcraft needs practice.
Tucking the compass in her pocket, she turned and walked right into the tight embrace of a man she hadn’t seen in months.
“Slater.”
“The strays always return,” he said. “And so close to the full moon. Hungry, sweetie?”
She struggled, but his grip pinched her arms painfully, and before she could scream, Slater’s fist met her jaw and knocked her unconscious.
* * *
Around the corner and across the street, three houses down from the mansion, Rook stretched his legs and asked King if he was ready to go inside.
King checked the stake at his hip. “Ready to rock.”
They turned, but both men dropped their jaws at the sight of the naked man rushing toward them.
Chapter 20
Verity woke in a standing position. Head bowed forward, her neck muscles twanged. Something was banded across her chest. Her arms were wrenched behind her, her wrists bound together. She wriggled but couldn’t move much. The air around her was musty with a thick chemical smell.
Blinking completely awake, and wincing at the ache in her jaw, she realized she was tied to a wood column. Perhaps a structural beam similar to the others she saw here and there in the vast, hazy room.
She’d been tied to the post in what looked to have once been a grand ballroom. to judge by the elaborate flocked wallpaper, tattered velvet curtains and dusty chandeliers. Real candles were lit in the massive fixture just overhead and off to her side, casting a dull glow over her predicament.
The floorboards were dusty and scratched, and some kind of liquid had been poured before her in an arc. Looking as far as she could over her shoulder, she saw it formed a circle around her. And twenty feet beyond the inner circle traced another wet circle.
“Gas,” she whispered.
Dreadful images of her mother standing within the blazing pyre churned her gut. A reedy moan stirred in her throat.
Slater was not stupid. No witch who could command fire would purposefully use that magic when surrounded by a substance that promised her doom. If the gas caught, she’d be surrounded by flame. She was helpless.
“Mother,” she whispered. “Blessed goddess, please help me.”
Panicking, she wriggled at the ropes binding her wrists. The post she was tied to seemed solid, so she assumed it was a main load-bearing column that would not be moved. She had no weapons on her and no magic that could cut through the rope. Though she might try to loosen the knot with some focused concentration.
Closing her eyes, she searched her memory for a spell that would perform as she needed, but her heartbeats challenged her focus and she couldn’t manage to come up with anything save a jittery stomach. Add to that the hunger pangs that clawed at her gut, and she almost screamed.
The measured click of a man’s dress shoes echoed up beside her, distracting her from the pain. Verity would not give the bastard the pleasure of turning to look at him. Instead, she closed her eyes, but that only enhanced her sense of smell. The gasoline was strong, but she also picked up a foppish lavender scent, of which Slater was inordinately fond.
“This has been an interesting week,” the vampire said. The footsteps stopped in front of her. He stood outside the inner ring of gasoline. “I’m losing tribe members left and right to a rather industrious knight of the Order, and then, when I had thought my ex-girlfriend dead and buried, I discover she’s very much alive and quite possibly on the path to becoming vampire.”
“You sent Clas to kill me, didn’t you?” She opened her eyes. Slater’s smug smirk was too familiar. He nodded at her. “Why? We broke up. We weren’t compatible. Get over it. Go steal magic from some other witch.”
“But I wanted your fire magic, lover.”
“Don’t call me that. It disgusts me to think I let you touch me.”
“Fucked you well and good, if I recall correctly. And I do.”
She wouldn’t reply. He wanted to see her outrage, her begging protests. It fueled his malicious need for power. Frederick Slater corrupted control; Rook mastered it and made it his own.
Where was her knight? She should have never gone against his order to remain safe at home.
“You are rare, Verity. Not many witches—that I’d be willing to fuck—practice fire magic.”
Asshole.
“So you’ve hooked up with a hunter? That should be interesting in oh, say…a day?”
She was so close to the soul. The compass had pointed her to this location. Clas must be in the building somewhere. If only she’d been smarter and called Rook to let him know she’d be going out to track the vampire. Kaz would catch hell for this. Thomas might never forgive her.
“I can’t wait.” Slater clapped his hands loudly and bent toward her. “Hungry yet?”
Yes, she was. Her insides twisted, seeking sustenance. But she’d never drink the bastard’s blood, no matter how desperate she got. “Not for anything you could offer me.”
“We’ll see about that. You were tracking Clas, weren’t you? Think you can stake him before the full moon and win your freedom from the inevitable?”
Slater reached into his inner jacket pocket and drew out a wooden stake. The weapon looked vulgar in the hands of a vampire. He tossed it onto the floor , and it rolled to a stop at the toe of her shoe. “Don’t say I didn’t give you opportunity. Clas!”
The bald vampire thunked into the ballroom on
rubber-soled biker boots. Hands shoved in the pockets of his loose, baggy jeans, he stopped behind Verity, opposite from where Slater stood.
“This little witch wants to shove wood through your heart,” Slater said.
At first Clas’s laughter was a simple chuckle, then he let loose into a loud and roiling rumble.
“I need the heart necklace he stole from me!” Verity yelled. “There’s a soul in it.”
Slater tilted his head at her. She’d said too much. They would keep her tied here through the next twenty-four hours, most likely taunting her with blood, and eventually force her to transform. She could deal with that. But she mustn’t let them keep Rook’s soul.
“A soul? In a heart?” Slater paced before her. “Elaborate.”
Verity shook her head.
“Wait, boss,” Clas said from behind her. “The necklace I gave you. Wasn’t that a heart?”
“Ah, yes.” Slater snapped his fingers. “In my office desk. Run and fetch it, Clas.”
Boot steps clomped out of the ballroom.
Slater dipped his head to study her gaze from below her line of sight.
“Whose soul would be in that little piece of wood, my fickle witch? Wait. You don’t have to tell me. It must be someone you care about very much to risk going out on your own like this. Is the hunter sans soul?”
She shook her head furiously.
“You ne
ver were a good liar, Verity. Your chest flushes red, even when you don’t speak a word. Yes, like that. So pretty.”
Lavender choked the wanting hunger within her.
“Tonight is going to be special. Not only will I claim a hunter kill, but I’ll also gain another tribe member. We’ll take good care of you, lover. Real good care of my pretty vamp witch.”
* * *
Rook peeled off his leather coat and thrust it toward the naked man, who stood in front of him and King, cupping his private parts with both hands. “What the hell, man?”
“I’m Thomas,” he said, slipping on the coat and buttoning up.
“Be careful of the collar,” Rook warned. “You’re the cat that visits Verity?”
He nodded. “No time for chatter. She went out tonight—”
“What? She was supposed to stay put. Where was Kaz?” He tugged out his cell phone. Damn it. He shouldn’t have turned it off so early.
“If you’re asking about the hunter, erm, I may have distracted him,” the cat offered.
A text message from Kaz told of Verity’s escape. Rook clenched the phone, cursing both the witch and the hunter he’d trusted to keep her closely guarded.
“She told me you’d turned against her and she was under house arrest,” Thomas offered.
“What?”
The familiar shrugged. “Sounded good to me. But also suspicious. That witch is not a very good liar. You ever notice how her chest flushes when she lies? No? Right. But now that I see you here, all suited up and ready for action—hell. I shouldn’t have helped her.”
The knight’s look cut Thomas across his little cat heart.
“Anyway, I had a weird feeling about it, so I followed her. To around the corner.”
Rook pushed past the familiar, but King reined him in. “I don’t think she’s standing around waiting for you.”
“Well, she was,” Thomas said. He preened a hand over his thick black and gold calico hair. “I’m all sweaty. All worked up.”
