Master of the Moon

by Angela Knight

  “He’s forgotten us all,” the women whispered, drifting from the shadows. All his wives—dark, lovely Isolde; blond Shayla; laughing Carili; even cool Teriva, with her summer-grass hair piled high on her head.

  “Even me,” Isolde said, her voice sweetly familiar even after more than a millennium. “And you told me you loved me.”

  Llyr tried desperately to move, but his body was frozen in place as his lovely ghosts surrounded him. His very lips felt cold with terror.

  “Does the wolf girl know she’s next?” the boy asked. His hair shimmered the same golden shade as Llyr’s as he stepped into the moonlight. He’d been a man grown when he died, but he looked no more than ten now. His opalescent eyes met Llyr’s. “Does she know you’ll let him kill her, too?”

  Llyr jerked upright with a strangled shout. Wildly, he looked around the room.

  They were gone.

  A dream. It had been a dream, thank Cachamwri.

  He lay back with a relieved huff. His sweat-damp shoulder touched Diana’s, and he glanced at her in the moonlight. For such a formidable creature, she looked delicate and defenseless in sleep.

  Does she know you’ll let him kill her, too?

  Dragon’s Breath.

  What did he think he was doing, involving her in the bloody chaos that so frequently engulfed his life? Yes, she was a werewolf, but that did not make her invulnerable. Just the reverse. For all her magic, she was still mortal. At least his wives and children had been immortals. Even when they fell to assassins, they’d still had far longer lives than Diana would ever know.

  It was criminal to put at risk what little life she did have.

  Of course, they still had to work together if they were going to capture the vampire. But that didn’t mean he had to make her his lover—and a more tempting target for Ansgar’s assassins.

  He had to keep his distance. There could be no more sleeping with her. No more seductions. No more joking. He had to limit contact to what was strictly necessary to catch the killer.

  Next to him, Diana sighed and rolled against him, slipping one slender arm around his chest as she laid her head against his shoulder. Her hair tumbled over his skin like fine silk. One soft little nipple beaded as it came in contact with his forearm.

  Llyr closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. Distance, he chanted to himself. Keep your distance.

  Susan Anderson lay dozing in the darkness, stuffed with the blood and life force of the boy she’d killed. Behind her closed lids, she could still see him, struggling and screaming.

  And helpless.

  She smiled to herself as she remembered the way he’d come to her with such dazzled trust. There had been a time when a man like him would have had nothing to do with her. Would have seen her as the skinny, bookish, ugly little freak she’d been in high school.

  But that was before she’d become beautiful and immortal. Before she’d become one of the demon god’s worshippers, and tasted the power Geirolf rained down on those who loved him.

  Susan had joined Death’s Sabbat last year, looking for something to give her empty life meaning. She’d found it in the cult, with its dark secrecy and promise of forbidden knowledge.

  But when the cult’s leaders started talking about human sacrifices, Susan had been frightened. What if they were caught? Still, she’d been intrigued, too. What would it be like to break society’s ultimate taboo?

  What would it be like to commit murder?

  Besides, she didn’t want her new friends to turn on her. She knew that if they began to doubt her, she might end up being the sacrifice herself.

  So Susan went along for the ride when they abducted an old homeless man who lived under the Highway Eleven bridge. They all knew nobody would care. He lived in a refrigerator packing crate, for God’s sake. He wasn’t exactly a loss, was he?

  Susan quickly found that though he was dressed in rags and smelled bad, the fear in his eyes was intoxicating. When the cult leader plunged in his knife, the power of that moment made the hair rise on the back of her neck.

  Then it happened. With a crack of thunder and the stench of brimstone, Geirolf appeared to drink the dying man’s life force.

  The demon towered over the altar, his great horned head thrown back, roaring in pleasure as their victim gasped out his life. Susan realized she was in the presence of a god.

  The idea of serving a being like that entranced her. This wasn’t the invisible, kindly, gray-bearded wimp god she’d learned about in Sunday school. Geirolf loved blood and death and power, and he was real.

  Suddenly there was no good and evil. There was only pleasure and power and the dark god. Susan threw herself into the cult with everything she had, plotting with the others to obtain sacrifices for him. Women or men, rich or poor, all were prey to the knife.

  And Geirolf rewarded her.

  She was summoned with the others to appear before him at his hidden temple. She drank from his perverted version of the Holy Grail and welcomed the pain of transformation. She became a vampire. Part of his army.

  Suddenly Susan had more power than she had ever dreamed of, not to mention the face and body of a supermodel. She was no longer even human. She’d remember the joy of that moment for the rest of her life.

  But just when everything was within her grasp, those Magekind bastards killed Geirolf.

  Susan had been standing in the sanctuary watching the sacrifice of the Magekind couple when it happened. The god had lifted a knife in either hand, preparing to plunge it into the chests of the witch and the vampire. Instead, the Maja had blasted him with some kind of death spell, and the vampire had beheaded him.

  Susan had screamed in rage and disbelief, hearing the congregation howl around her. How could her god die?

  As if that wasn’t bad enough, suddenly the sanctuary was full of Sidhe and Magekind enemies, ready to kill them all. Furious, Susan attacked, wanting only revenge, determined that they would pay for what they had done.

  Some fairy was the first to fall to her sword. Then she’d found herself face to face with King Arthur himself. She’d attacked him, confident in her power.

  He’d disarmed her as if she was nothing more than a child.

  Shocked, terrified, she’d watched him lift his blade. She’d known she was about to die.

  But then Parker’s final spell had swept over them all, mixed with the death energy of the god himself. Even as Excalibur descended, Parker’s magic swept her away.

  She’d found herself here, in Verdaville, alone. But powerful.

  And hungry.

  Now the entire town had become her personal feast. The police would never catch her. Even the werewolf could do nothing. And she was safe underground where they would never find her.

  How could they? Her lair did not even have doors. She’d used her magic to dig it out of the solid rock of a hillside, and furnished it with beautiful things she’d seen in magazines. The floor was covered in a thick, royal-blue carpet that felt like velvet under her feet. Her bed, like the bureau and vanity, was massive, carved of solid oak. Bloodred silk sheets covered it, and the mattress felt like a pillow of air.

  When she needed to see anything, she illuminated it with her magic. Anything else she needed—anything at all—she could create with a thought.

  The men she had killed had given her a great deal of power, and she could use it any way she liked.

  Smiling in pure happiness, Susan hugged her pillow close.

  Then, from the darkness, a man’s voice spoke. “You’ve been a very wicked girl, haven’t you?”

  Susan yelped, rolling off her bed as her heart catapulted into her throat. “Lights!” she gasped, and her spell illuminated the chamber.

  The man was a good eight inches taller than she, his hair a crow-black tumble around broad shoulders. He wore black armor, intricately engraved and blatantly magical, trimmed in gold that glittered against all that darkness. In one huge hand, he held a massive sword, its hilt embedded with alien gems.

&n
bsp; “Who the hell are you?” With a jerk of one hand, Susan summoned her own armor. The shimmering magical plate instantly appeared around her body, gleaming bloodred. “Answer me!” She lifted her sword.

  He shrugged those powerful shoulders. “My name is Ansgar.”

  “Well, Ansgar, get the fuck out of my house!” She took a threatening step toward him. “I don’t like uninvited visitors!”

  “I wouldn’t either, if I’d done to a man what you did to that boy.” His mouth curled into a cruel smile as he settled lazily into guard, his black eyes watchful. “Draping him in his own intestines. Tsk. I do believe you deserve to be soundly punished.”

  “Dream on, asshole.” Heedless frenzy whipping through her, Susan leapt for the invader, bringing her sword down in a vicious, two-handed chop.

  He parried it with an ease that made her shoulders shriek in protest at the impact. Jesus, he was strong!

  Snarling, she swung again, aiming for his head, only to be deflected by another ringing parry. To her fury, he looked almost bored.

  His return attack staggered her with its power. She backpedaled frantically as he hammered at her, their swords ringing with every blow. Something hit the back of her knees, and she fell backward to sprawl across the bed. Frantically, she brought up her sword, barely blocking his downward chop. Jackknifing her body up and over, she rolled off the mattress and backed away from him.

  “You’re going to have to do better than that,” Ansgar said, rounding the bed as he came after her.

  Susan snarled at him. His big body seemed to take up all the available space as he slowly stalked her. She had to get more room to fight or she was finished.

  Sweating, she launched another attack, banging her blade against his, not so much to land a strike as to keep him busy. At the same time she flung out her will in a spell, generating a gate in the woods above her lair.

  The moment it was open, she whirled and dove through it, hitting the ground in a hard roll on the other side. Crickets went still as she surged to her feet. She threw a quick glance around, trying to get her bearings. Thick pine trees circled the clearing she stood in. There was just enough light to warn that dawn wasn’t far away. She’d better wrap this up fast, or the sun would catch her. And unlike a Magekind vampire, the light could kill her.

  Ansgar shot through the gate before she had time to close it and instantly went on the attack. She scrambled away, parrying his relentless attacks as her shoulders screamed with effort.

  This wasn’t working. He was too good with that blade. It was time to change the rules.

  Susan reached for her magic, pulled a fireball out of the air, and sent it screaming toward Ansgar’s head. He ducked. It hit a tree behind him, instantly igniting a blaze.

  “Much better,” Ansgar said, extinguishing the fire with an offhand gesture. “I was beginning to get bored.”

  “Can’t have that,” Susan growled. She swung her sword at his ribs, then as he parried, followed it with another energy ball. The spell splashed off his armor like napalm, and he shouted in pain.

  “Got you.”

  He shot her a black-eyed look glittering with such malice even Susan felt fear. One mailed hand lifted in an intricate gesture, and she caught her breath as his spell snapped toward her.

  She threw up a shield and fell back, but the magic ate like acid at the mystical barrier. Susan tried to reinforce it, but the spell kept coming. An instant later, the white-hot splash of power touched her skin and burned. She cursed as her stomach clenched in fear.

  The power she’d stolen from the boy was running out.

  She had to defeat Ansgar quickly. A lethal gamble: It meant giving him everything she had. If it wasn’t enough, she was finished.

  Gathering herself, Susan shrieked like a banshee and lunged at him. Even as she rained sword blow after sword blow on him, she followed up with bolts of magic. Ansgar had no choice except to retreat, his sword flashing to meet hers, his eyes burning as he blocked her magical attacks.

  Yes! Now she had him! “Bored now?” She grinned savagely into his face.

  “You’re doing better.” He shot a fireball at her head. She ducked aside and swung her sword with all her strength. As he went for the parry, she blew all her remaining power right into his face.

  Ansgar fell back with a roar of rage. His hair was burning. With a shriek of triumph, she brought her sword scything around, intent on taking his head.

  Instead she struck an invisible shield so hard she felt the reverberation in her shoulders.

  She was still staggering from that when his fist struck the side of her head. The world spun around her as she flew across the clearing. Her back slammed hard into something, then the ground came up and punched her in the face.

  For a moment Susan lay stunned. Her head ached savagely. So did every muscle, bone and tendon.

  And Ansgar wasn’t through yet.

  Desperately Susan reached for the power. This time, it didn’t come. She’d given him everything she had. There was nothing left.

  She was dead.

  Susan heard the scuff of booted feet in the leaves as he moved to stand over her. Dizzy and sick, she lifted her head and looked up at him. Her heart sank.

  The side of his face was blackened from her spell, and the rage in his eyes was terrible. He reached for her. She lifted a leaden hand to swat him away, but he ignored it, wrapping a fist in her hair as he dragged her mercilessly to her feet. She cursed him hopelessly.

  Ansgar tightened his grip, shaking her slowly back and forth. “Watch your tongue. You speak to a king.”

  “Fuck you!”

  His slap made her taste blood. He tightened his grip on her hair still more and dragged her onto her toes. “Do you have anything left?”

  She spat in his face.

  He grinned, spittle running down his cheek, his eyes glittering with rage. “I didn’t think so. I could kill you now, vampire. Your life is mine.”

  Susan sneered. “Then cut the cornball speech and do it.”

  “Are you in such a hurry to die?”

  She glared at him. Her entire body rang with pain. She could feel blood running down her face, taste it in her mouth. She could smell her own sweat, acrid with terror. He should have already killed her. “What do you want, you bastard?”

  Ansgar tightened his grip on her hair, cranking her another inch onto her toes. “Your services.”

  “I’m not a whore.”

  “You flatter yourself.” He shoved her away. She tripped and fell, landing hard in the leaves. Pain jarred through her body.

  She didn’t dare take her eyes off him. He seemed to grow, drawing in power out of the very air. Susan knew she was an instant from annihilation. “All right!” She threw up a hand in

  “What I want,” he growled, “is the services of a killer.”

  “Seems to me you do just fine on your own.” Rolling onto her hands and knees, Susan pushed her way slowly to her feet.

  Ansgar let her rise. “Unfortunately it isn’t that easy. I can’t be connected to this death.”

  Rubbing her bruised shoulder, she studied him with calculation. “So you want an assassin. Why the hell didn’t you just ask?”

  “This isn’t an easy target. I had to know if you were capable.”

  Susan wiped the blood from her cut lower lip. “Am I?”

  His smile spread across his sooty face. “You will be—with a little more power.”

  Power. Now that she understood. “Who do you want dead?”

  Ansgar stepped through the gate and into his chambers. He was limping, and his entire body throbbed like a toothache. Normally he would have cast a simple spell to heal his injuries, but he’d lent Susan too much power. He didn’t have it to spare.

  He hoped she’d use her new magic with a little more wit. It had been a simple matter to track her from the scene of her last murder. If he hadn’t erased her mystical trail with a spell, Llyr would have found her as easily.

  “Your Majesty
!”

  He whipped around in alarm, then relaxed when he saw it was only Adsulata.

  She would not betray him. He’d see to it.

  The Sidhe hurried toward him, her eyes wide and anxious as she scanned his battered body. “My love, what happened? Was it Llyr?”

  He snorted. “As if I’d be such a fool to battle him openly. No, I was testing a new…employee.”

  “And he did that to you?” Bracing her slender hands on her lush hips, Adsulata frowned. “I trust you punished him.”

  “To the contrary, I found her performance entirely satisfactory.” Coolly, he studied his spy. She wore a whisper-thin gown obviously designed for seduction, its fine lace a delicate veil over hard rose nipples. When he inhaled, he scented sex. She was already wet for him. In a breath, the triumph of finding the new assassin turned to lust. He gave her his best purr, knowing it would make her heat. “Tell me, my dear, where is your husband?”

  She lowered her lids as she moved toward him in a slow, hip-swaying strut. “Back at the palace. He sleeps.”

  Ansgar stiffened, arousal dashed. “And you dare come here right under his nose? What if he wakes?”

  She took a step back. “No! I put a spell on him to make sure his sleep is deep. Egan will not so much as open an eye for hours yet.”

  He relaxed slightly. “Still, you took a chance.”

  Adsulata gave him a pleading look, as though he could be swayed by those kitten eyes of hers. “I had to see you.”

  Fool. He forced himself to smile. “It’s well you did. You may tend my injuries.”

  “It would be my pleasure!” Slender fingers traced a design in the air.

  Healing energy slid over his skin like a warm spring rain. Bruises faded, cuts closed. Strength poured through his body, and he sighed. “Very nice.”

  The spy smiled, slow and seductive. “Ah, sire—believe me, it’s an honor to serve you.” Dipping her head, she looked at him from under her lashes. “Is there anything else I may do?”

  She really was quite beautiful, with those high, pert breasts and long legs. “I’m sure I can find a use for you.”

  NINE