And of course the Monsters MC leader was there too.
Somewhere between Ares leaning against his bike and scanning the crowd, Cain had apparently snuck right up behind him. Cain could sneak up on the devil. Hell, most people thought he was the devil.
Antares slowly lowered his beer, opened his eyes, and looked over his left shoulder. A few feet away, Cain leisurely leaned on the saddle of his own motorcycle, his thick arms crossed over his chest, his boots crossed at the ankle. He watched Antares with very blue, very keen eyes.
Ares glanced from Cain to the motorcycles. All thirteen of the chrome beasts were lined up along the street here, and the sight was attention-grabbing not only because the bikes were gorgeous, but because of what the symbols on their gas tanks proclaimed them to be. However, other than Ares, Cain was the only Monsters member outside with the admittedly priceless vehicles. Everyone else in the warden clan was either asleep because they were genuinely tired, at the bar getting drunk because they couldn’t sleep, pretending to get drunk because they actually couldn’t, or off somewhere getting laid because they could.
“We?” Ares repeated flatly, returning his gaze to Cain. “We’re not looking for anyone.”
Cain shrugged his broad shoulders and smiled a predator’s white smile, crossing his arms over the expanse of his chest. “Suit yourself, Mace. But I’ve got nothing better to do.”
Antares knew that sure as hell wasn’t true. Cain was an enigma of a man. He may have appeared to be the leader of a motorcycle club, but in deeply influential circles within both the mortal and immortal worlds, Cain was known as one of the most powerful men in existence. Power came with TTD lists.
“You aren’t out here because you can’t sleep, are you?” Mace asked him.
“Nope,” Cain simply replied.
“And you really do have a thousand things to do right now, don’t you?”
“Yep.”
“And you know who it is I’m looking for.” The last one wasn’t a question. And it also wasn’t necessary.
“I might,” Cain answered anyway. “But I want to hear you say it. Who are we hunting, Mace?” he asked softly before taking a drink of some beer that Antares knew for sure had absolutely zero inebriating effect on the man.
Antares went still at the question. The thought of Cain hunting anyone at all gave the black dragon a chill, but the thought of him hunting this particular person was downright unsettling. “We’re searching for… a ghost,” he finally said. That’s what it felt like, anyway.
Cain watched him in silence a second before he looked away again to peruse the people milling on the street. “Ghosts,” he repeated softly. He seemed to contemplate things as he peered down the block. Everyone he looked at no doubt felt Cain’s eyes on them. It would feel like a touch of something both cold and hot like dry ice, but heavy like the sudden condensed and collapsing mass of a neutron star becoming a black hole, and it would be there for a mere split moment before it at once lifted away – poof. And life was a little different.
That was what it felt like to be noticed by Cain.
“Well, I’m no ghost whisperer,” Cain said, turning back to pin Ares once more with his blue search lights. “But it’s been my experience that ghosts are a hell of a lot less solid than the girl you’re…” he smiled rakishly, “searching for.”
Ares tore his gaze away and paid attention to his drink. “Who said it was a girl?” But Cain was slower in answering this time, and that made Antares look back up.
The clan leader was still studying him with that acute perception that made his stark eyes look so sharp that diamonds would slice themselves up before him just to save themselves the pain of a long, drawn-out death. Suddenly the MC leader straightened on the bike he’d been leaning on, unfolding his well-built arms to place first the empty beer bottle, and then his palms on the seat and tank of his bike on either side of him. Antares steeled himself because he knew the game was up.
“I’ll be damned,” Cain said with a shake of his head. “She is here. You saw Faith, didn’t you?”
Anyone else in the world – anyone else – and Ares could have said something like, “What – after fifty years?” or “Seriously? You’re mental.” or just “Yeah, right.” And he could brush it off.
But because it wasn’t anyone else, he just let out a deep sigh and nodded. “But I’m probably off my rocker,” he admitted, trying to shrug off the confession as if it wasn’t plaguing him the way it really was. “I keep thinking I’m seeing her out of the corner of my eye… smelling her, even.”
“White Rain,” Cain supplied.
Ares gave a soft snort, shaking his head. “I told you that fifty years ago, Cain.”
Cain grinned. “I’ve got a good memory for detailed descriptions of beautiful women with really clean hair.”
Now Antares laughed outright.
After a minute Cain said, “So. Tell me.”
Ares didn’t respond right away. Cain obviously wanted more information – when Ares saw her, where Ares saw her, where she went, and so forth. But he didn’t know what to tell his leader. The truth was, something felt different this time. Despite the natural laws that dictated Leia would be either old or dead and either way wouldn’t be on Sixth Street at that time of night, he wouldn’t have been surprised to turn around and find her standing in the middle of the road, looking exactly as she had half a century ago. And probably wearing some mouth-watering bohemian-filmy white dress and a pair of what people called “granny” boots even though they were more like fucking-hot-steampunk librarian boots.
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he finally admitted, running his thumb along the lip of his beer bottle. “It doesn’t make sense. But… I thought I saw her through a window earlier. And I feel her here, Cain. I can feel her tonight.”
“Then you’ve already told me everything I need to know.”
Just like that, Ares felt the swell of Cain’s power wash over him as it shock-waved outward in a circle, encompassing the parked bikes, the nearby crowd, the street, the buildings lining either side, and the alleys and construction beyond. Ares knew the magic would continue to expand, its path ever-widening as it scoured the area with inescapable precision. It was one of the many things Cain had always been able to do that escaped Mace’s comprehension. The ancient vampire’s magic was wordless and had no need for components. He just willed it to happen and it did. In this case, he was using seeking magic.
Nothing escaped Cain’s “dragnet,” as Ares and the boys called it. Ares hadn’t asked Cain to cast anything; he hadn’t even considered it because the black dragon was ancient as well, and he’d carved up every inch of that street looking for Annaleia before he’d given up earlier that night. He’d assumed that if he couldn’t find her, she wasn’t there to be found.
But now when he turned to look behind him, it was like he could actually see Cain’s magic rippling outward like waves on a disturbed pond. And he found his spirit surfing it with nearly desperate curiosity. He was grateful Cain hadn’t asked permission, because he couldn’t help but hope. And he wanted to damn well know one way or another.
Cain made a sound of interest under his breath that had Antares spinning back around. The clan leader had cocked his head to the side, his piercing gaze narrowed at something in the distance that Ares couldn’t see. The blond man’s focused expression had become intent and fixed, his attention clearly piqued. This sharpened countenance cast his already handsome features into the realm of fallen archangel. Antares at once felt sorry for any future love interest of Cain’s. Or really anyone who might find herself on the receiving end of that particular look.
“Spit it out, Cain.” Ares said. His own power unfurled just beneath the surface.
But Cain swiveled his gaze to the black dragon and smirked. “You have competition, Mace.” He gave a slight nod, indicating the stretch of Sixth to their right. Antares gathered it was the direction in which he should head, but for what exactly?
Competition? For… Annaleia? Is that what he meant? What the hell did that mean? Was she still alive? Was she here, but fifty years older now and somehow in trouble? Or did that mean…. Did Cain actually mean the impossible? Did it mean the black dragon’s gut instinct had been right, and he’d not only sensed but seen her there on Sixth Street, a young woman as beautiful as she’d been five decades ago?
Stranger things had happened. He would know. And fifty years ago, she had vanished so suddenly, so thoroughly, Ares had always been convinced that something supernatural was responsible.
The dragon in him was well awake now, sniffing the air with dark interest. He searched Cain’s face for any further clues, but the tall blond asshole with the timeless blue eyes was not forthcoming. The warden leader was fond of shoving little birds from the nest, so to speak.
“You hate me, don’t you?” Mace asked.
Cain chuckled. “Like Sunday morning. Now get the fuck out of here.”
“Right,” Ares muttered. Bastard, he thought before turning away from his leader to head into the crowd with grim purpose.
Chapter Fifteen – Twilight Zone (and Texas of course)
The distance the street placed between Ares and the restaurant was patently necessary. It was necessary for the large restaurant window glass to be there too. It was vital that the inches be there, the yards and meters, separating the wrath of his inner dragon – from the scene he’d been watching for the last thirty minutes. If not for that indispensable length, the man that was sitting across the booth from Annaleia Faith inside that restaurant would most assuredly be dead by now. Ares would have seen to it without giving it much of a second thought.
But killing him was not what Antares wanted to do, not yet. Not right away. Not quickly, anyway. Before he committed murder, Ares wanted answers. He wanted answers to questions like, “What the hell do you think you’re doing eating dinner with this woman?” And also, “Who the fuck do you think you are?” And finally, “How the hell do you get to be with her when I haven’t been able to find her for fifty years?”
Never mind the answers he wanted from Annaleia herself. Such as… “Why?”
Why had she left him? How had she done it? No. How in the nine hells had she managed to make herself disappear to the very last trace from the face of any planet in any realm?
His gaze narrowed dangerously on the man sitting across from Annaleia at the table in the restaurant on the other side of that all-important glass. He was betting that whatever the answers to his questions, that very man had nearly everything to do with them. He wasn’t human; that much was obvious, yet Antares had never before seen him. Not only was he a stranger to sight, he possessed no discernible scent. Cain had of course sensed something of the man, but that was Cain. To Antares the stranger was a blank slate.
This close, all Ares could determine for certain was that the man radiated some kind of power. That power was shrouded almost entirely in obscurity. His species, his skillset, and his intentions toward Annaleia were all a mystery.
Ares stiffened, his teeth growing sharp when the man leaned over the table toward Annaleia, his body language indicating that his intentions toward Annaleia were really no mystery at all.
Ares stifled a growl and forced a deep breath. The odd set of contradictions surrounding the stranger all but guaranteed that the man was at the core of Annaleia’s disappearance five decades earlier. And quite possibly her reappearance now.
Ares had never felt so torn. He wanted to study the man, figure him out, note every weakness and tell that would guarantee the man’s eminent demise once Antares got him alone. But the truth was, Annaleia had the core of his attention, the heart of it. She was there, real and solid, and he’d been right about seeing her earlier; she was the same woman she’d been when she’d disappeared fifty years ago. She carried the same grace, radiated the same inner-lit beauty, had the same impossible amethyst eyes, and surprise, surprise, she was the same age. Give or take a few years maybe. Now she was in her early twenties perhaps, certainly no older.
All in all, Ares wanted a lot of things from the couple conversing on the other side of the glass that cold December night. On one hand was the woman he had been searching for, the single most important blip on his eternal radar, the only woman his irrational, idiotic self had ever fallen entirely in love with. On the other hand was a brand new interloper that Antares quite simply wanted to flay alive.
And it was for that very reason that he kept his distance. To keep them both safe.
In the meantime, he quietly watched. And while he did, he repeatedly boiled back his fury and waited. They had to leave the restaurant eventually.
Chapter Sixteen – Sixth Street. You guessed it.
Annaleia was alone again, in so far as one could be alone in a crowd. She was impressed it still hadn’t thinned out. For the second time that night, she pounded the pavement of Austin’s tourist trap street, and it appeared to be in the black.
Her interaction with the warlock incubus she hadn’t seen in fifty years had been brief, for a dinner, and to the point. They did talk some… Anna realized she had missed that. Sterling was an adept conversationalist. He filled her in on some of the things she had a real interest in, such as the fact that a sentinel ward wasn’t the only thing the Withered Warlock, Michael Clemens had perfected. He’d also devised a way to literally turn a being from one type of creature into something else. He’d originally planned to use this magic on a human in order to make her Withered. But apparently it could be used on anyone and to any means.
Anything could now become anything.
This was something to take note of, not only because it opened supernatural doors for mortals that had been closed to them in the past, but more importantly because it meant that a supernatural creature could also be turned into a mortal.
Vampire to human. Werewolf to human. Nomad to human? She highly doubted that last one. But the others, she could certainly imagine. Not that a vampire or werewolf would make the task an easy one.
But it was what Sterling hadn’t shared that Anna could glean just by knowing the incubus as personally as she did. She knew just by looking at him that he’d perfected the spell, simplified it, and probably found a way to transfer it to a transportable object. That was the kind of thing Jarrod Sterling did.
It would still require activation, and Anna could imagine that the activation would be different depending on what species or form the recipient was and wished to become. Or didn’t wish to become. Either way.
If Sterling had managed to do this, he now possessed something quite volatile in his arsenal. A secret weapon of sorts.
He’d certainly had her attention at dinner. However, in the end Anna couldn’t truly enjoy the reunion with Sterling. He may have bought her a meal and even insisted she eat it, but he really only wanted one thing from her. He always wanted one thing from her. In his case, it wasn’t just typical male desire, it was fundamental to his species.
He wanted to have sex with her.
She wished she could chalk it up to extraordinary beauty or charisma on her part, but no. Sterling wanted to sleep with her because when he did, he would absorb a dose of her magic. Apparently, he desperately needed it right now.
Anna’s otherworldly potential was something Jarrod Sterling had been able to see even before she’d gained it. In a way, he even helped usher it in.
Sterling was an incubus, a male sex demon. Amongst their own kind they were referred to as Nightmares, for a number of reasons. Incubi were not evil by nature, and they did not engage in sex for fun, but for sustenance. Well… she was sure it was fun sometimes. Eating chocolate was fun for humans, after all. But mostly, it was necessary for survival. The sex, not the chocolate. Okay, both.
But Sterling was also a warlock. It wasn’t rare for an incubus to have secondary talents, after all “being human” was not a mortal person’s sole occupation, at least not normally by choice. Most people at least had hobbies. But being a warlock was
rare for anyone. She’d wager it was probably as rare as winning an Oscar or earning a Pulitzer. It was even more rare for Nightmares because incubi tended to not want to associate their species, which already bore a scandalous reputation, with something as historically ignoble as dark magic.
Sterling’s warlock status in addition to his species was enough to garner him notoriety. But there was one more thing. In addition, Sterling was a seer. Visions came to him of their own accord, when and how they chose, but he made the best use of them when they did. It had made him a very wealthy man, and Anna had to admit he’d saved countless lives.
An evil man would not have done that.
So, that honestly might have been enough for her to sleep with him. He was supernaturally attractive and good in bed, and when he took her power from her he used it to save someone. But… well….
When all was done and said, she couldn’t help but feel a little used by Jarrod. She knew he desperately didn’t want her to feel that way and tried his damnedest to keep her doing so. He stayed with her afterward or asked her to stay with him, and he took care of her. He cooked for her, took her out, spoiled her. Once, she’d found out surreptitiously that he’d even purchased the company she worked for so she wouldn’t have to go into work the next day. Or any day if she didn’t want to.
It was like that with some of these non-mortal guys; they were magic and they were ancient, so they had money to throw around. And incubi knew how to impress women. Sterling had asked her to go globe trotting with him. He’d even asked her if she would consider staying with him for longer than a few days. Say, for instance, a few decades.
Monsters, Book Two: Hour of the Dragon Page 14
