Deceived: Bitter Harvest, Book One

by Ann Gimpel

  She smiled sweetly. “If all I have at my command is sleight of hand tricks, you don’t have much to worry about.”

  Raphael skinned his lips back from his teeth and spat guttural words in an Eastern European language.

  Ketha dropped her hands to her sides, balling them into fists. She longed to blast one right through his supercilious face, but she didn’t stand a chance in hand-to-hand combat against a Vampire. His superior strength and speed would flatten her.

  I have to find something that works. Some argument that will get through to him.

  She adopted a neutral tone with mild compulsion laced into her words. Nothing too dramatic, or he’d notice. “We really haven’t talked much. Perhaps we could continue this conversation tomorrow. Once you’ve had a chance to mull over the possibilities.”

  “I’ve already done all the mulling I’m likely to do.”

  Ketha took a step toward him, facing him squarely. “We’ll all die here. It won’t take too many more months before the water fails entirely. Once that happens, you’ll wither too. You’re already drinking blood from creatures half-dead from bad water, and it will affect you sooner or later.”

  A crafty look crossed his face, but it was gone before she was certain what she’d seen. “Vampires never die, merely enter stasis. If you were in a generous mood, you could alter the water,” he suggested smoothly. “Same way you’re modifying it for yourselves and the humans.”

  “You overestimate Shifter magic. Perhaps if there were more of us...”

  She hurried on before he could accuse her of lying—or demand Shifters turn their power toward distilling clean water. While that might work over the short term, it would fail eventually.

  “Back to escaping from here. Is my plan foolproof? Of course not. But Vamps and Shifters combining our power is the only route for any of us to leave. I’m certain of it. Check my words for truth. We’ll only need to work together for a scant handful of hours to perfect the spell. Once it’s over and done with, you’ll never have to lay eyes on me or any of my Shifters again.”

  Ketha stopped shy of telling him she’d welcome a world where she never had to share the same air with him, either.

  His lips curled into a sneer, and Raphael pushed away from the wall. “You’d like me to believe that, wouldn’t you? You think I’m stupid, but I feel your magic trying to worm its way through my warding.”

  “I’d never make the mistake of underestimating you,” she murmured and turned her hands palms up.

  “Words,” he growled. “Empty words.” In a flash of movement, he was gone, the cell door clanking behind him.

  Ketha inhaled deeply, spit out the breath, and did it a few more times. She was trembling from the aftereffects of her magic and Raphael’s unexpected visit. She hadn’t exactly been ready for him, and things hadn’t gone well.

  She didn’t need her glass to see into this future. He’d play a macabre cat-and-mouse game with her until he wearied of the sport. Then she’d be history.

  Ketha tottered to the bench and sat. She had to get out of this cell and Ushuaia before that happened. All she needed were a few Vamps. Maybe she could manage without Raphael ever knowing—until it was too late and the spell was too far gone to sabotage. Once they were free, he’d flee. She would too, sidestepping his ire.

  But I saw him acquiesce in that one future vision.

  Was there a future she hadn’t seen where she and her Shifters proceeded without Raphael? What happened in that one? Did they need Raphael to succeed? Or could they do this without him?

  Ketha squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed them with one hand. She needed more information, which meant another vision state, but she was too frazzled to call that much power or to focus her concentration.

  Food and sleep would help.

  “So would not being a prisoner,” she muttered, feeling sorry for herself before she recognized it as useless indulgence.

  Ketha reached for the cloth bag and opened its string closure. Her eyes widened as she pulled out a carrot, two potatoes, and a dead rat. Juan must’ve raided some kind of secret greenhouse for the vegetables. Or maybe he knew where one or more of the human enclaves were—and wasn’t telling his sire. Rats were easy enough to come by, and this one was conveniently drained of blood. Ketha dragged a knife from its sheath beneath her robe and made short work of skinning the rat.

  The Vampires hadn’t bothered to search her. Or maybe they had and had laughed at her four-inch blade, not viewing it as any kind of threat.

  A pit at the far end of the cell held rocks and charcoal bits. She walked to it and focused a thin beam of magic to heat the rocks. Once they were ready, she placed the meat and potatoes on them. She munched down the carrot while she waited.

  The scents of cooking food soothed her. She didn’t see how, but maybe things would turn out better than she expected. Once she’d eaten and rested, she’d look into her glass again, trolling for more clues about the future.

  A muted squeak drew her attention to a pair of fat, curious rats, drawn by the smells of her dinner. Magic sizzled, and she stunned them both. An idea blasted her, and she ran with it. Letting her robe pool around her, she unlaced her boots kicking them off. Naked and shivering, she summoned shift magic. It might be an extravagant use of power, but tonight they’d have two meals, by God.

  Hers and her wolf’s.

  Her black-and-gray timber wolf roared into being and scooped up both rodents, crunching hungrily. Ketha welcomed her animal nature with a vengeance. Its presence made her whole, and she savored the hot tang of blood sliding down her gullet. When those rats were gone, she broke a cardinal Shifter rule and used magic to lure half a dozen more.

  Not only did the wolf not censure her, it added its power to hers until a cavalcade of rodents marched through the cell, ripe for the plucking.

  Chapter Five: Paradise Found—Or Not

  Viktor raced away from his old cell with speed most Vamps couldn’t have matched. His groin throbbed with need, and Ketha’s scent filled his nostrils, making him long for the impossible. A life where he was still human. Frustration pounded through him, and he punched a boulder as he flashed past it. Pain didn’t make a dent in the arousal turning his blood molten.

  The feel of her in his arms defied credibility. He craved her with an intensity that shocked him. Even though being turned hadn’t quashed all his human emotions, he hadn’t felt this strongly about anything since Raphael drained him and offered his wrist, flowing with dark-red blood. If Viktor hadn’t been dying, he might have had the strength to resist, but the desire to live overwhelmed his capacity to reason. It wasn’t that he hadn’t known what would happen before he glommed onto Raphael’s wrist, but he hadn’t counted on the strength of his desire to keep living—regardless how it happened or the cost.

  He’d had long years to castigate himself for that day. Years he’d contemplated ways to do away with himself. Vamps healed so fast, though, that anything shy of cutting off his own head wouldn’t have done the trick.

  Viktor glanced up from his headlong dash away from the cave containing the cells. He’d gone farther up the mountainside, not down to what was left of the city and harbor. The track wound ahead of him. Covered with brambles and brush, it was clearly not used often—or at all. Curious where it led, he continued upward. Snow patches dotted the trail, but they didn’t slow him down.

  A condor flew past, its huge wingspan inspiring. They appeared to be surviving. Were they still nesting, raising chicks? And then he wondered how it was possible since decaying fish had been the seabirds’ primary food source. As he climbed higher, rock fall joined more frequent snow, and he slowed to work his way around obstacles.

  Raphael had ordered him to return immediately, but he shrugged it off. Juan said the Master Vamp had dismissed the group, which meant he’d likely retired to his quarters across the street. Viktor didn’t delude himself that his sire was pacing the floor worrying what happened to his minion. No. If Raph were fixated on anyt
hing, it would be figuring out how to maximize having captured Ketha, his latest prize.

  Viktor wasn’t certain he could take part in that conversation without giving something away. Even though feelings didn’t slow Raphael down, the canny Vamp was quick to pick up on them in others. He’d be sure to ridicule Viktor—right before he made double damn sure to spirit Ketha somewhere Viktor couldn’t reach her.

  An enormous thicket studded with inch-long, thorny spines blocked the path. Crawling over it was out of the question. His wounds would heal fast, but he wasn’t interested in becoming a pincushion. He glanced up, then down, searching for a way around the obstacle. The second time he scanned above him, he could’ve sworn the faintest of paths wound through the steep, rock-strewn slope. He closed his eyes and sniffed. Vampires had exceptional hearing and eyesight, and a sense of smell that could detect years-old human presence. He inhaled again, concentrating. Faint traces of human blood tickled the edges of his brain.

  It was good enough.

  Viktor started up the all-but-invisible zigzag track, dislodging rocks as he climbed. Following the trail was time-consuming; he kept losing it and finally changed strategies, heading straight uphill. Because this route was more direct than the original one had been, he gained altitude fast. Angling for a low point in the ridgeline, he crested it and stopped dead.

  Rather than what he’d expected to find—the other side of this mountain trailing downward—a flat butte extended before him, surrounded by steep cliffs on two sides. Divots suggesting long-ago human habitation dotted a flat area about the size of a soccer field. Two condors winged past him, landing on the far side of the mesa. They squawked defiantly as if to announce he was trespassing on their turf. Without waiting to see if their raucous chiding had any effect, they shuffled into an opening in the cliffs, fluffing their feathers around them.

  Viktor stared after them. Had he stumbled onto a condor nesting ground? Two pools lay in scrub grass near the base of the cliff where the birds had disappeared. Did underground springs flow from the mountainside? He loped to the first pool and knelt, expecting the characteristic odor of tainted water but not finding it.

  He dipped two fingers into the pool and brought his hand to his mouth, tasting with all his senses deployed. And then did it again. Once he was certain, he dropped to his belly and drank. The water was cold, crystal clear, and tasted like it was supposed to, the taint of metal and wicked magic conspicuously absent.

  Once he’d filled his belly, he rinsed his hands and face, glorying in the feel against his skin. Viktor rocked back on his heels and looked around him. How had this tiny spot escaped contamination? It shared the same air that was eroding the rest of Ciudad de Huesos. A quick study of the cliffs revealed multiple openings. He shot upright and headed for the nearest one, hoping to hell he wouldn’t disturb a nest of young condors.

  Viktor listened intently at the opening. While the sounds of birds nesting and feeding reached him, they weren’t coming from this particular cave. What were the birds eating? All the fish were long gone.

  Or were they?

  If all the water wasn’t poisoned, perhaps some fish—at least the freshwater varieties—still remained. It was also possible the condors had discovered a way to fly beneath the magical barrier and bring food back to their nesting ground.

  He pushed into the cave, stooping to duck past its low entrance. Once inside, he dilated his pupils to make use of every scrap of available light. A medium-sized enclosure spread before him. Drawings on the walls suggested early humans had once occupied this space, and probably the other grottos scattered around the mesa as well. The hard-to-access location would have provided a defensible position from both predators and neighboring tribes.

  Sure enough, the remains of a fire pit rested against the far wall, complete with bits of blackened bone and charcoal-coated rocks. He knelt next to it, thinking. It was an almost-sure bet the Vamps didn’t know about this place. If they did, they’d have set traps for the condors. Blood was blood, and condors were considerably larger than rats.

  “Ketha!”

  He clapped a hand over his mouth, but her name—part entreaty, part prayer—had already escaped. This would be a perfect place to hide her. Unless Raph grew suspicious and ordered a twenty-four-hour watch on Viktor.

  Even if he did, there’s water up here. And shelter. Maybe even food. I wouldn’t ever have to come here once I either led her to this place or sent her up the mountain on her own.

  Determined to find out as much as he could, he let himself out of the cave and began a systematic examination of the other ones. Condors flew at him from a few, but he employed a light version of the Vamp immobilization spell. The one they used to hypnotize their prey. He was careful not to injure the birds, merely stunning them long enough to trudge through bird shit and examine each grotto.

  He found what he sought in one cave on each side of the mesa. Underground rivers thick with breeding fish were tucked deep into the mountainside. Either it was spawning season, or the Cataclysm’s foul magic had forced changes in the trout life cycle. Rather than riding the current out of their subterranean pools, the fish congregated in small groups, almost as if they knew leaving the protected area would sign their death warrants far faster than condors eating them would.

  Viktor reached into the water and grabbed two fish, devouring them raw. The succulent, transparent flesh tasted sweet and cold going down, like everything used to before the Cataclysm’s magic snared the city. He smiled, as close to relaxed as he’d been since being turned. Life would have been so much worse if he were limited to blood to sustain himself.

  Still chewing, he made his way outside into rapidly fading light. The day had gotten away from him, and it was long past time to hurry back and present himself front and center before his sire. Raphael would demand an explanation, and Viktor needed to come up with a credible excuse for being gone so long.

  He tossed the fish bones aside and hustled down the mountain to the place he’d left the track. He needed to obliterate traces of his passage from this point on. Not easy if Vamps were looking for him with their augmented senses. He melted snow patches that held his boot prints as he worked his way down and pulled the worst of broken foliage aside, hurling it down the mountain. All the while, he pumped out energy to confuse his scent. Satisfied he’d done the best he could, he broke into a sprint, skirting the edges of the harbor and heading into the center of town.

  He breathed deep, missing the sharp, salt tang of the sea. Something about it turning red had altered its smell until it made his stomach churn with disgust. Recalling the Garden of Eden he’d unearthed—with its clean, living odors—he pushed all traces of it deep. Hopefully, where no one would ever find out about it, even if they probed. He didn’t see anyone at all on his way to the building where he lived. Dropping through a manhole cover, he entered the warren of underground tunnels spreading beneath Ushuaia like a demented spider’s web. It was his usual method of accessing his room, and he aimed for normal.

  Raphael wasn’t waiting for him. Nor had he left anything as prosaic as a note. Viktor scanned the small room, seeking clues, but the other Vamp hadn’t been here recently. Thank God. Viktor snorted at the archaic expression. If there were a God, He’d long since deserted Ushuaia. And Vampires. No god in his right mind would ever include Vamps among his flock.

  On that cheery note, he said a quick prayer he hadn’t burned up his meager allotment of electricity and cranked the dial on his ancient space heater. It sputtered, and the coils glowed red. Sighing with pleasure, he extended his hands toward the warmth, bending so more of him could take advantage of it.

  One advantage of the windowless space he occupied was its size. Just large enough to hold a bed, a chair, a bookcase, and a useless floor lamp, it grew warm fast. Viktor retreated to the chair, an overstuffed affair that had long since lost its cushioning, and sank into it. He kept his llama-skin jacket on, not ready to abandon it quite yet.

  Books were a
n extravagance, but the library was one part of Ushuaia that had mostly avoided looting and destruction. Viktor plucked a volume of Dante’s writing off one of the chair’s arms and opened it to where he’d left off with the Inferno. It had seemed a fitting counterpoint to the Milton’s Paradise Lost, which lay on the floor. As he read, he longed for a bottle of decent red wine, but spirits didn’t mesh well with his Vampire physiology. He’d found out the hard way how ill he felt after imbibing, with the effects lingering for days.

  Energy canted crazily, making the air come alive with small black darts. One poked into his leg, and Viktor drew wards around himself since he wasn’t interested in repeating the experience. The space heater sputtered to a stop. Only one person held that level of power, and Viktor had been expecting him sooner or later.

  The door burst open without so much as a knock.

  “Good thing you weren’t hard to find,” Raphael growled and kicked the door shut behind him. “Damn my eyes, it’s bloody hot in here. How can you stand it?”

  Not surprised by his sire’s ill-temper, Viktor shrugged and moved out of the chair, motioning for Raphael to sit.

  The Master Vamp shook his head. “This feels like the backside of Hell. Join me in my quarters. Immediately.”

  The air shimmered, and Raphael was gone.

  Viktor knew better than to make him wait. He bolted out the door and took the stairs three at a time. The door to Raphael’s suite of rooms stood open. Viktor walked through, shutting it behind him.

  “What happened?” he asked his sire.

  “What didn’t?” Raphael shot back from where he perched atop his rolltop desk.