by Caris Roane
* * *
Kerrick felt the vibration as Central folded him to the outskirts of the medical complex in Paradise Valley.
The moment he felt asphalt beneath his heavy strapped sandals, he sent a wall of mist before and behind. He wanted to get this motherfucker then get the hell out. He’d let Thorne deal with whatever mortal female was causing Endelle to throw a bitch-fit.
Just as he prepared to fold his sword into his hand, he stayed the thought.
Something was wrong.
He scanned the area and cursed. Why hadn’t Jeannie told him that the circus had already come to town? The parking lot was full of emergency vehicles and they’d been here a while, longer than his time in the shower. One length of yellow crime scene tape extended into a group of uniforms, though he wasn’t able to see the source from his position.
He slid his phone from his pocket and thumbed.
“Central. How we doin’?”
“Jeannie, what the hell is going on? There’s already a cavalcade of medical and law enforcement vehicles here.”
“I don’t know what to say.” A flurry of taps followed. “I’m not getting anything.”
“Shit.” There was only one reason Central’s network hadn’t picked up this mess—Greaves was here. Holy shit. “Okay. Do you see any mist trails?”
“There are a few minor ones around the death vamp, and yours, of course. I’m seeing a dull area to the west of you about twenty yards away. Do you see a Ramada or something?”
“Nope, but the party’s right there.”
“Holy shit,” Jeannie cried. “Has to be the Commander. Even you can’t do mist like that, and you do it better than anyone.”
“Gotta be Greaves. Stay close.”
“You got it.” He heard more tapping.
He dropped low. He could see the victim from where he crouched. She was stretched out on the sidewalk, a woman whose curly black hair was just visible from beneath a white sheet. All around her, red stained the cement. His heart sank into his gut. She’d been drained in public long before sunset. And now he had a circus to manage.
What the hell was the Commander doing at a medical complex? Which begged the question, why had the death vamp shown up here as well?
He rose up then walked a good twenty yards to the west. He kept his mist tight. Any mortal looking in his direction would experience confusion of mind and fail to see him.
A host of onlookers surrounded the scene, lining the cement stairs and gathering in pockets across a two-story courtyard catwalk to watch the doings. In front of the catwalk, the death vamp floated about eight feet off the ground and turned in a lazy circle, euphoria on his face, blood on his mouth. His black wings, at full-mount, obscured a number of the onlookers from view.
Kerrick thumbed his phone then brought it to his ear again. “Found our head case. Big wings, too, which means he’s been around a few centuries. He’s twirling between two sets of stairs, enjoying one helluva high from the drain. At least he had enough sense to mist the area first.” Kerrick could see a faint web-like structure around the death vamp, but his powers of penetration far surpassed the pretty-boy’s ability to create the mind-bewildering substance.
“In addition to the death vamp’s signature, there are two strong grid signatures nearby as well.”
“Two?” he cried.
“One is probably the Commander,” Jeannie said. “And the other?”
“Who the hell knows?” He lowered his phone but stayed on the line.
The whole situation bugged the shit out of him. The only directive the Commander’s army honored was the law of absolute secrecy. However, the gore he’d cleaned up earlier, as well as the woman now on the sidewalk, had been left for anyone to see. So either Greaves’s army was getting sloppy or they no longer had orders to do cleanup. One way or the other, the war was becoming a whole new kind of nightmare.
He did a quick scan of all the individuals present, from the police officers and emergency techs, to the spectators near the crime scene, to the various huddled groups all up the stairs, until on the catwalk above the courtyard he found a blond female whose gaze was fixed not on the white sheet and black curls but on the spinning death vampire. Everyone else was focused on the crime scene.
Holy hell.
By every natural law, she shouldn’t have been able to see the death vamp, but her face had a wind-blasted expression so he knew she wasn’t looking at a goddamn maypole. Yet how was that even possible, and what did it mean?
The death vamp hid part of her from view. Kerrick strengthened his mist and moved to his right. When he saw her fully, time slowed, thickened, then stopped, a hard slam on the brakes.
His lips parted to allow for more air. A sense of knowing flowed through his mind, his body, a wide erotic river. The mortal was as familiar to him as blood down his throat, though he had no idea who she was. She was at least six feet tall, blond, blue-eyed, an elegant figure, although those were just a group of stats. He knew her.
His body set up a dedicated hum. Even his wing-locks vibrated. How did he know her? He searched his memories. Nothing came forward. The same river of knowing once more flowed through him, like he’d already been inside her in every possible way or that somehow he knew he would soon be with her. Holy shit. The small of his back tightened and he began to grow hard.
Okay. This was way the hell off target.
He pulled himself together and focused on the situation. Something was really wrong.
He moved a few paces again to his right in order to complete his scan of those catwalk spectators that the twirling head case still blocked from view.
Holy motherfucker, so it was true. Commander Greaves stood right next to the mortal as calm as you please and even inclined his head to Kerrick in a slight bow of recognition. Naturally, Greaves could see through his mist. Holy shit. Holy hell. What the fuck was going on? What was the Commander doing with this mortal female? No wonder Endelle was freaking out.
Must be an ascension in progress, yet everything he was looking at was completely without precedent.
Despite his shock, however, he needed to prepare for battle.
He drew in a deep breath and felt the familiar vibration through the muscles of his back, the sweet thrum that preceded the powering of his wings through his wing-locks. He let them fly. He let them extend to their full height and breadth. He stretched them and held them at the farthest reaches of full-mount until his head swirled with endorphins and a fighting sheen of sweat flowed over the entire surface of his skin. He wanted Greaves reminded of the extent of his powers, that he wasn’t an ordinary warrior, and that if he wanted to go head-to-head, Kerrick was goddamn ready, right here, right now, this place, this time. Bring-it-the-fuck-on.
The Commander, however, merely inclined his head again, acknowledging the presentation of his wings as a threat. Then he turned to the female and said something—so, yeah, he knew her. Afterward, he simply departed, leaving in the opposite direction, away from the crowd lining the stairs. No flash, no spectacle, this man, this vampire, just infinite maneuvering and plotting, the bastard.
Kerrick jerked his phone back up to his ear. “Jeannie?”
“Yeah? Trouble?”
“I need to know if one of the two signatures just fell off the grid.”
A pause, followed by a series of taps.
“Yep. Vanished. Is that a good thing?”
“Very. That was Commander Greaves.”
Jeannie whistled. “Holy shit.”
“Ditto. Now tell me, is the other signature still marking your screen?”
“Yep, though the reading is a little skewed.”
“I’m not surprised. I think the second signature belongs to a mortal.”
“Are you shitting me?”
“Nope.”
“I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“Me, neither.”
“So have we got a vampire-in-the-making or what? Can you see what’s in her head, see if she’s
been called to sport a pair of fangs?”
“Give me a second.”
Kerrick reached out toward her with his senses and tried to drive into the female’s mind, but damn she had shields, like walls of granite.
He stared at the woman and frowned. Who the hell was this female? She was tall for a mortal and wore her hair pulled back in a severe twist at the back of her head—she kept herself in control. He got that. She was in fact beautiful, with large blue eyes, full sensual lips, a straight nose, and in that split second as he looked at her, a third strange kind of recognition rocketed though his body and his hormones shot into outer space. Goddammit, he was attracted to her like falling apples to gravity. His groin burned. What the hell?
His wings rippled in anticipation, tightened and shimmied as though the future had suddenly reached back and grabbed the present by the balls. His groin lit on fire again and his eyelids felt weighted and heavy. The muscles of his thighs jumped and his biceps flexed. The woman had power. Shit, that was such a turn-on. Making love to this woman would be like entering a hurricane of sensation.
He wanted her. Now. He wanted her beneath him. He wanted inside her and pumping hard.
What the fuck?
For a moment he drew his wings to half-mount, bent over at the waist, planted his hands on his knees, and forced himself to take one deep breath after another. For all his vows, he suddenly knew temptation, deep, soul-searing temptation. A hyphenate from the ancient language came to mind, breh-hedden. Mate-bonding. The kind he believed was just a myth, yet here he was out of his mind with need and desire. Was it possible?
He closed his eyes and shut his brain down in a hurry. This shit was so not going to happen. Besides, with a death vamp still hanging in the air, he needed to focus. He had a job to do. He sucked more air into his lungs.
When he calmed down, he rose up then did a quick scan. He profiled the female’s powers—so many—telepathy, empathy, hand-pulse, and she could dematerialize. No mortal had ever ascended with the ability to fold … except one … Endelle. No wonder the Commander seemed to have staked some kind of claim on her. Holy, holy shit.
Endelle must have known, and right now he felt like he’d been suckered into something. He shook his head, back and forth, a strong negation. None of this mattered, not what he was experiencing, not Endelle’s scheming, nothing. He had a vow to keep and he would keep it.
A little calmer, he brought his phone to his ear. “I can’t tell what’s going on with the female because I can’t punch into her head.”
“What?” she cried. “You can get into anybody’s head.”
“Not hers.” His voice was rough, like he’d swallowed a box of tacks. “At least not from this position.”
“Then what do we do with her?” Jeannie asked. She sounded as shocked out as he felt.
“You know the rules.”
“Yeah, yeah. No interference. Blah-blah-blah.”
“Amen to that. I’ll just have to get rid of the death vamp and we’ll see what happens over the next forty-eight hours. You’d better let Endelle know what’s doing. Tell her Greaves was here as well and tell her about the strength of the woman’s signature. I’ll know more later.”
“I’m on it.”
He thumbed his phone and once more returned it to the tight narrow pocket of his kilt.
He summoned a different kind of deep breath and shifted his gaze to the pretty-boy.
Time to take care of business.
Who can comprehend the lure of the breh-hedden,
except those caught in its teeth?
—Collected Proverbs, Beatrice of Fourth
CHAPTER 3
Alison released a deep sigh that Darian had finally left since she couldn’t comprehend what she was seeing. A hallucination, maybe?
A winged creature drifted slowly in a circle about ten feet away from her. He was very beautiful, extraordinarily so. His dark brown hair was long, well past his shoulders. He was muscled like a bodybuilder and wore only black cargoes, no shoes, no shirt. He sported a massive pair of glossy black wings, the feathers barely moving but keeping him both aloft and spinning very slowly. His chin and chest were streaked with blood, his feet—oh, God—at least two yards off the ground. His eyes were closed and he looked euphoric, like a drug addict who’d just taken a hit of his favorite supply.
His strange twirling reminded her of something from a film heavy on the CGI side. In fact, the whole courtyard had the appearance of a movie set, dozens of people crammed at the far end of the catwalk and down the stairs, all chattering quietly, hands covering mouths, and a host of emergency vehicles and corresponding personnel. The center of attention was a body stretched out on the cement, surrounded by yellow tape, the view blocked by several officers, thank God. Given the blood on the creature’s body, she could only presume he’d killed her, the way a fictional vampire would kill his prey.
So what exactly was this thing with the porcelain skin that hung in the air without any apparent cable support? Was she really seeing him? Did he exist? A psychopath who had somehow strapped wings onto his back—without straps? And how did he pull off the float-and-spin?
She shook her head in complete disbelief. She blinked several times. She glanced at the spectators to see their reactions to this strange creature, but no one—not one person—was looking at him, thus confirming her suspicion that she was hallucinating.
She moved close to the railing and stared down at him. A familiar gripping sensation pulled at her heart, a longing she couldn’t explain, a yearning that had tormented her for the past few weeks, but surely not for this monster?
“Al-is-on” emerged in a singsong cadence from the creature’s mouth. “I’m ready for you.”
He spoke her name?
She formed a thought and let it fly from her mind: Why can no one see you?
The fanged freak stopped twirling, plunged toward the cement, then stopped to float suspended in the air just inches above the ground. His wings undulated slowly. He turned his back to her as he looked around at the spectators then came into profile as his gaze skipped from face to face all up the stairs. Yet no one looked at him. So yeah, maybe he existed only in her head. She’d seen A Beautiful Mind and she’d read a number of case histories on schizophrenia during the course of her studies.
His wings fluttered and his body shifted a little more as his gaze worked over the small knots of onlookers all across the landing until he found her.
He met her gaze and smiled. His shoulders relaxed.
Alison, he said, his lips unmoving. So, my sister was right and you are here after all.
Telepathy. He was able to communicate with her telepathically.
A pair of fangs—fangs—descended, thick white incisors against perfect lips. Red tinted the grooves between his teeth.
Fangs?
Wings?
Blood?
Her mind shifted around and around. The word vampire once more tumbled through her brain, end-over-end-over-end, leaving her dizzy.
A slow, perfectly executed downward sweep of the creature’s glossy black wings sent him floating upward. He rose toward her and once more conversed with her telepathically, his dark gaze fixed to hers. I am here to take your powers so that I can destroy what is evil in our world. Your blood belongs to me now.
As his words reverberated through her head, her ankles filled slowly with cement. She tried to move but couldn’t. He wanted to take her blood?
Nausea rippled through her stomach, as though her body knew things her mind couldn’t yet comprehend.
Who are you? she sent. The movement of his wings caused the leaves of the surrounding ficus trees to flutter as if a breeze filled the outdoor courtyard. Why can I see you when no one else can?
He ignored her questions and aloud said, “I must have your blood.”
She shook her head. Her chest grew tight. How was it possible after all this time, after all these years of hopelessness, after three decades of living trapped with powe
rs that made no sense in the normal human realm, she would have to meet a terrible winged being, maybe even a vampire, who might actually share her abilities, but who had only killing on his mind? Why couldn’t she have met a good guy?
When he reached the catwalk, however, her nerves settled down. He was incredibly beautiful, so pleasing to the eye. Did she really need to be frightened of such a creature?
He settled his hands on the railing and smiled, a lovely smile. He drew his wings back and flipped his legs over the side. He landed easily and bore down on her, a wall of thick exquisitely shaped muscles, a fluttering of glossy feathers, a show of fangs. As the blood on his chest came into view, however, her mind sharpened and her instincts fired up.
Yes. She should be frightened.
For the entire duration of her adult life, Alison had never, never engaged in a dematerialization in plain view of other people. It was one of her rules, an important rule, one that had for years helped her to feel like she had a place in the world, that all her exceptional and useless gifts could exist side by side with normal.
But this monster had already made his intention clear, and right now this rule would have to go. Hallucination or not, and though she felt completely freaked out at vanishing in front of God and everyone, she pictured the courtyard below and moved herself there with a thought followed by a brief vibration of blood and bone.
* * *
Kerrick’s head swam as he watched the mortal female fold from the catwalk to a position not three yards away, her back to him as she gazed up at the now stunned death vamp. Kerrick had been ready to intervene, his wings thrumming, when the pretty-boy explained his mission. His words alone, his professed purpose, had forced Kerrick to pause—a death vamp ready to destroy that which was evil? Did he actually mean the Commander?
But then the woman folded. He knew it was possible because he’d read her powers. However, since he still couldn’t fold, he was mesmerized, and not a hair of her tight blond twist out of place.
