Wicked Road to Hell

by Juliana Stone

  Declan took a few steps closer and felt the unmistakable trace of a protection ward. “DeLacrux?” he asked, frowning as he continued to gaze upon the darkened home. The name was familiar somehow, but at the moment the reason for it escaped him.

  He made a note to call Nico and have him check it out.

  “The family has lived here for over two hundred years. They are the original owners and built this house, though for the last fifty or so it’s been vacant.” Ransome glanced toward Declan. “Until a few weeks ago.”

  “Any idea how many vampires inside?”

  Ransome scented the air and nodded. “Just one.” A smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “A woman.”

  Declan was surprised. “You’ve seen her?”

  Ransome shook his head. “I can smell her.”

  Nice.

  “You smell anyone else inside?” he asked sarcastically.

  Ransome frowned. “There is someone, but I can’t get a read on him.” He looked at Declan. “I’m guessing this would be your person of interest.”

  Declan remained silent. He’d like nothing more than to put this baby to rest, grab the target, and take him back to holding until Bill could deal with him.

  “The vampire? She around?”

  Ransome shrugged. “Her scent is faint. She’s probably hunting.”

  Declan took a few more steps until he was close enough to touch the iron fence. His hand lingered in midair and he closed his eyes as he visualized the wards that were in place.

  They were intricate, filled with a power that surprised him considering the signature felt raw and untamed. He clenched his jaw together tightly. Something was way off. Things weren’t right.

  “Looks like we have company.”

  Ransome’s voice was low, gruff, and Declan immediately fell back, though he was confident their presence was undetected. Shadows that he commanded slid across them as they melted into the darkness.

  Several hundred yards down the road two forms emerged from the mist that hovered above the ground. They walked with purpose and lingered in the middle of the road, showing no fear, their long jackets unfurling in the wind.

  One was demon; the stench was unmistakable. The other was vampire.

  Declan loosened his hands and cracked his neck. It couldn’t be coincidence they were here in New Orleans, on this street in front of this house. He smiled wickedly as his power unfurled. The sensation was like an intense jolt of energy.

  It was almost better than sex.

  “Guess you’re not the only one looking for this prize.”

  Declan shook his head. “I guess not.”

  “I suppose it would be a shame to let them get close to him.”

  Declan grinned. “A total fucking shame.”

  “We should probably kick their asses then, no?”

  Declan’s hands burned hot, filled with power. “Copy that.”

  He took a step forward and halted just as quick. Shadows that clung to a large oak tree farther down the street began to swirl, wisps of energy that spun ever faster, and seconds later a small form appeared from the darkness.

  A woman dropped to the ground and squared her shoulders as she looked toward the two men.

  And there was no doubt that she was female; the round curve of her ass couldn’t be mistaken for anything but. She was unaware of their presence, her focus on the two strangers. She shook out long hair that hung nearly to her waist and slowly walked toward the newcomers.

  Something about the grace of her limbs as she glided over the road hit a nerve and Declan clenched his teeth. She moved like a dancer, effortless and sensual.

  A twinge of unease sat low in his gut as he stared at the woman. There was something about her . . .

  “That would be our vampire,” Ransome murmured. “Sexy little thing.”

  The woman stopped a few feet from the two men in the street. She was too far away for Declan to hear her words, but her aggressive stance and clenched fists told him she was pissed.

  He watched the three of them and then glanced at the house. The vampire was busy. Now would be a good time to slip inside and assess the situation. Was his target here?

  “Go,” Ransome whispered, a devilish grin in place. “I’ll keep her busy if our visitors aren’t up to the task.” He laughed softly. “I wouldn’t mind getting closer to that delicious piece of ass.”

  For whatever reason, the wolf’s words irritated Declan, but he ignored them and began to draw charms in the air, his fingers flying with ease as the magick inside him flowed.

  Though the ward was strong it was no match for him, and less than thirty seconds later he felt the gentle tug and pull as the protection charms evaporated. He should have been through them at once and yet he hesitated.

  Declan glanced back once more. The female vampire was extremely animated in the way she talked, her hands moving constantly.

  Goddamn but she was like Ana.

  A flash of pain sliced through him and he hissed. Where the hell had that thought come from?

  “What are you waiting for?” Ransome’s slow drawl cut through his thoughts and Declan gave himself a mental shake. Revisiting the past and the memory of a woman two years dead was never a good thing.

  He hopped the fence with ease, his long stride carrying him toward the gallery. Dark shadows lined the roof as he moved closer to the front door.

  Declan eyed them carefully, his hands at the ready as the familiar burn of energy lit his fingers. Suddenly the dark erupted into hundreds of sharp teeth and flapping wings.

  He raised his hands and reveled in the energy that flew from his fingers. It burned white-hot and the swarm of teeth and wings circled overhead, their cries of rage hitting a pitch that made his ears ring.

  The little bastards couldn’t reach him, and their confusion and anger were palpable. He eyed them closely as they continued to swoop about in a frenetic dance. They looked like rabid bats from Hell.

  An enraged scream cut through the night and drew his attention. He whirled around and saw Ransome on the move.

  One of the men, the vampire, had his hands on the female and they struggled. She deftly broke his hold and kneed him between the legs. His cry of pain echoed in the damp evening air, followed by a growl of fury.

  The demon made an odd series of clacking noises, its body already morphing into its true form. It looked like the little vampire was going to have her hands full.

  Yet it was the sight beyond that gave him pause. Several forms emerged from the fog and were moving toward them quickly, their bodies jerking in random motions, heads rocking to the side, arms flailing wide. It was unnatural.

  They were unnatural. From the smell that drifted on the breeze he was guessing ghouls—the dead arisen.

  Normally ghouls were slow and uncoordinated. But these ones were juiced up on some seriously dark shit. They were fast and he had no doubt they’d be dangerous. A powerful necromancer was in the area and it seemed he had business on Prytania Street.

  Declan’s night had just ramped from interesting to game on.

  The legion of bats overhead flew toward the ghouls in silence, a deadly arc of fury. A few of them circled above Declan. With a flick of his wrist he knocked them hard and sent them flying.

  There were no more barriers in place—nothing between him and the door. All he had to do was let himself in.

  And still he paused.

  The demon was now nearly ten feet in height, its human facade gone and replaced by its true form, which was scaly, slimy, and menacing. It hissed and breathed fire down at the small vampire, yet she stared up at it and yelled, “I’m going to bitch slap that ugly ass of yours all the way back to Hell.”

  This time he had no problem hearing her words.

  “And then I’m gonna rip your face off, asshole.”

  Declan’s blood ran cold. It wasn’t so much the words themselves, but the tone and the defiance that bled through. She was so like Ana, it was eerie.

  The rush of emo
tion that accompanied the thought pissed him off. He had no time to go down that path.

  Ransome had shifted, and Declan saw the huge werewolf jump toward the demon. If the small vampire was surprised, there was no time to process, as the large group of ghouls was nearly upon them.

  Declan had his chance and turned back to the door. His hand gripped the handle tightly and he pushed it open.

  Inside it was dark—pitch black—as if a blanket of midnight had been thrown over everything. He quickly called forth an illumination charm and held his hand aloft, a soft glow falling from the tips of his fingers. He arced his hand slowly, watching the shadows recede and leaving bare to his eyes the old, tired wallpaper that adorned the walls. It was yellowed, a rose pattern, and brought to mind an era long gone.

  A grand staircase dominated the foyer. The stairs looked worn, well used, and several of the spindles in the railing were missing.

  He ran forward taking them two at a time and paused at the top to turn in a full circle. All the doors were open except the two at the front.

  Good. That made things simple.

  A god-awful screech ricocheted in the air outside, sliding in through the cracks of the windows, kick-starting his heart something fierce.

  He moved with the stealth of a predator and opened the door on his right first. Empty.

  He closed the door carefully and crossed over to the remaining room but before he could touch the handle, it was wrenched open.

  “What the—”

  Surprise furled his eyebrows and he felt a deflation of sorts as he realized almost immediately that this was not his target. It couldn’t be. The person in front of him was not a man at all but a teenager.

  “Who the hell are you?” The kid’s tone was belligerent.

  Declan sighed. A smart-ass, no less.

  The boy’s dark eyes narrowed. “How did you get in?” The teenager tried to see around him. “You shouldn’t have been able to get in.” The boy took a step forward and met his gaze boldly. “If you hurt her I’ll kill you.”

  The air around the teenager shimmered and Declan took a step backward, not out of fear, but surprise. He frowned.

  The young man was full of magick, deep, powerful magick that was on the cusp of maturing. And yet there was something else entirely different about him. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

  “What are you?” His thoughts were whispered. It had been so long since he’d been truly puzzled.

  The young boy smiled, tilted his head to the right. “I’m the dude who’s going to kick your ass all over the place.”

  The kid’s brash arrogance and cocky attitude totally needed adjusting.

  Declan squared his shoulders. As much as he’d like to solve the mystery, he just didn’t have the time.

  He opened his mouth, a sarcastic retort on his tongue when the large stained-glass window behind him exploded, showering them both with shards of glass.

  Declan’s first instinct was to protect and he reached for the teenager, but the young man slid past him, his movements fast and graceful.

  A ghoul had managed to climb to the upper level and though it was missing an arm, its eyes burned a fierce red. It slid forward. Behind it was another. The second monster lunged forward immediately, its dark, toothless grin dripping black gunk onto the faded wood floor.

  “I don’t think so, asshole!” the boy shouted, not fearing at all for his safety. He pushed forward, his intent clear, and Declan swore as he followed suit. He pulled up the power that lay in his gut, relishing the sharpness of it as he did so.

  The boy leapt over the stairs like an acrobat, landing on the other side in a quick move, and Declan knew in that instant that the teenager could hold his own. His slight frame hummed with energy.

  The armless ghoul rushed Declan, black crap spewing out of its stump, and he barely had a chance to move away from the acrid spray. He turned quickly and sent a blast of energy into its chest, again jumping out of the way as it imploded, spilling the stench of death into the air.

  The screech that fell from its mouth faded almost immediately as it disintegrated into nothing but a mess of liquid at his feet. Shouts, snarls, and mayhem crept up from below, echoing on the breeze that now flew in through the broken window.

  “Ana!” the boy shouted, and hopped the railing before Declan could react.

  A chill ran along Declan’s skull and down his back. He faltered. Ana?

  “What the—?” he growled. He turned and followed the boy’s lead, flying down the stairs and running hard to catch up. The little bastard had skills, he’d give him that.

  Declan burst out into the cool night air, and the sight that greeted him was unreal at best—a macabre banquet of black goop and body parts strung into the trees, the shrubs, and all over the road.

  He swerved to avoid the crazed bats that swooped overhead, their protection absolute and ferocious, swearing once more as he narrowly missed stepping into a pile of the slippery shit. He spied Ransome several feet away. The wolf had shifted back into human form and was slowly gaining his legs with the help of the female vampire.

  The teenager rushed to her and she embraced the young man fully, her head turned slightly as she held him close. The boy meant something to her. His eyes narrowed and Declan’s chest constricted painfully as he watched.

  The curve of her cheek, the small tilt to her nose, and the subtle scent that wafted into the air—all of it sent his radar crashing into overdrive.

  Ana.

  She tensed as if she’d heard the painful whisper in his mind. He felt the vibrations in the air hang low, tight to the ground, as all sound faded into nothing. His chest was tight. His mouth dry.

  Slowly she turned.

  Declan’s eyes widened in disbelief as his gaze ran over the delicate features, the generous lips, and the smattering of freckles that touched the bridge of her nose.

  He felt like he’d been hit in the gut with a sledgehammer. The air was sucked from his lungs and he shook his head, not believing what he was seeing. It couldn’t be.

  “Declan.” His name fell from her lips, two syllables that crushed him hard and twisted his insides painfully.

  What the hell kind of shit was this? The image in front of him was not possible.

  His anger unfurled—power rushed through him—and the ground around him started to tremble as huge cracks split the asphalt into gaping wounds.

  She smiled, though her eyes glittered strangely, their blue depths like fragile sapphires. “Self-control was never one of your strong suits.”

  “Who are you?” he rasped, his mind wild and unsettled.

  Ana was long dead, so how was that possible? He couldn’t finish his thoughts. They were freaking crazy. Cormac had run a stake directly through her heart. Two years ago.

  “She’s dead,” he muttered as he stared her down.

  Laughter greeted his words, but the emptiness that rang with them couldn’t be hidden. “You’re right of course, O’Hara. Technically I was born dead. Cradle to the grave on the same day.”

  Declan swore and took a step toward her. What the hell was going on? He didn’t for one second believe that the vampire in front of him was Ana. His Ana. This was a sick joke, nothing more.

  “Who are you?” He snarled again.

  “Go back to the house, Kaden.”

  “I’m not leaving you with him.”

  “I’m not asking.” The teenager protested once more but she silenced him with one look.

  The boy glared at Declan, tucked his hands into the front of his jeans, and slowly walked toward the house, casting dark looks over his shoulder as he did so.

  Ransome followed, an irritating smile hanging on his face as he passed by and scooped up his clothes. “See you back at the lounge”—he winked—“if you make it out alive.”

  Declan watch the wolf leave.

  “You shouldn’t have come here,” the woman spit out, her eyes fully black.

  “I’m not leaving until I
get some answers,” Declan answered fiercely.

  “Well then.” The vampire’s fangs slid out as she hissed at him. “I have a problem with that.”

  And before he had time to react, she attacked.

  Chapter 3

  Ana DeLacrux was a pro at masking her true emotions. In the three hundred years she’d been alive, or rather, undead, she’d picked up a thing or two. Amongst them, never show surprise or emotion.

  Sometimes it was the only thing that kept you alive.

  Sometimes it was the only thing that kept you sane.

  Declan O’Hara was a problem she’d not seen coming, and though her facade was one of cool indifference, anger even, inside she was a mess.

  She felt her barriers sliding away, and the fear that accompanied such a loss of control was nearly paralyzing.

  She couldn’t go there. Not again. Feelings were something she’d never been good at navigating, especially when it came to the Irishman.

  “Who are you?”

  He was pissed and yet his voice was still the same, a bit of rasp, a touch of lilt, and a timbre that tore at her heartstrings.

  In the space of a few seconds her mind whirled in what felt like a thousand different directions.

  The fact that Declan O’Hara was here in New Orleans, with his ass parked in front of her home, was not good. It meant that he’d been sent by the Seraphim. She stared at Declan, her face stone cold.

  They were actively hunting Kaden.

  Why the hell hadn’t she been warned? Jesus fuck. She gritted her teeth as she stared at the tall Irishman. She was so gonna kick Bill’s ass the next time she saw him. Roly-Poly wasn’t going to know what the hell hit him. He should have told her O’Hara was after the boy.

  He should have told her the chance of a face-to-face was pretty damn imminent.

  She’d warned Bill after that last time. Seeing Declan the year before, in the arms of some strumpet, and not being able to reveal herself to him had nearly killed her. Again.

  Ana hissed and closed her mind to anything other than her job—protecting Kaden. If it meant hurting the man in front of her, so be it. It’s not like she had much choice. No one could be trusted, and with the stakes this high . . .