Cave Canem

by Susan Sizemore

THE MAGIC DIDN’T FEEL LIKE VALENTINE’S. NOT that Tess had ever personally encountered the Ancient Mother’s personal energy, but she was certain it wouldn’t feel like this if she did. The flow and pulse of the guarding magic didn’t have an ancient feel to it for one thing. For another, she’d didn’t think she’d be able to detect any spell Valentine cast as quickly as she had this one. And it didn’t matter that she’d detected it quickly, she was still stuck in the darkness.

  Tess was in a hurry and the inconvenience of the trap did not help her mood. She growled deep in her throat, not something she normally did in human form, but the sound came out anyway.

  The last thing she expected afterward was to hear a man say, “Calm down, cub.”

  The voice was behind her, but where exactly was harder to determine. She was almost dizzy from whirling before she made out another shape in the thick darkness.

  “Who the hell—” she began.

  “Hello, werewolf,” he said. “Fancy meeting you here.”

  Her sharp ears detected the remnants of a dozen lifes’ worth of accents in his deep voice. She could make out no scent in the magical dark, but it was easy enough to guess what he was. “Hello, vampire,” she replied.

  “Not exactly vampire,” he answered. “Although I used to be one.”

  That revelation was meant to scare her, and it sort of worked. He was letting her know he was one of the vampires who ate vampires—and who knew what else?

  “What do you call yourself these days?” she asked. “Enforcer? Hunter? Abomination?” Bravado might not be a good idea, but she just couldn’t help herself.

  “Dan,” he said. “You?”

  Oh, shit! What the hell was Dan Conover doing here? What did he want with her? “Tess,” she told him. “What are—?”

  “I thought at first that you were part of the trap, but it’s more likely that you’re as stupid as I was about Valentine’s security.”

  “I don’t think Valentine had anything to do with—”

  “Geoff Sterling, I bet. He’s the apprentice living with—”

  “Yes,” she cut him off. “Do you make a habit of not letting people finish sentences?”

  “I don’t spend much time around people. I’m not around one now,” he added.

  His conversational tone really pissed her off.

  Then the black bulk of him was looming over her. The darkness made it worse. “Did you take the pups, Tess?”

  Though there were none there, she could almost feel hot breath and claws brushing her throat. She was werewolf, she didn’t scare easily. This—monster—could certainly do it to her. And why the hell did that turn her on?

  Tess made herself concentrate. “I’m here to see Valentine about that.” She wasn’t sure if it was smart to blurt that out, but it was hard not to respond to such an obvious alpha.

  “Me, too,” he said, and became all mild-mannered. At least he stopped aiming the threat of danger at her. “Let’s get out of here and get on with it,” he suggested. “You are a witch as well as a werewolf, aren’t you?”

  “It’s going to take me a while to break a spell this strong,” she said. “Though I expect that once the sun comes up—”

  “I may have all night,” he cut her off. “But I’m not planning on hanging around come daylight.”

  “Then what—?”

  “We combine our brains.”

  She knew what he meant, and what he suggested was even more annoying than his constant interruptions. It was also dangerous—in a very personal way. They could get into each other’s heads, under each other’s skins. It could make things— complicated. Especially if there was anything even vaguely compatible in their personali—

  He recognized her hesitation. “I promise not to peek, if you promise, too.”

  He seemed to already be halfway into her head. Damn the vampires and their greater telepathic abilities.

  “We’re wasting time here, weregirl.”

  She growled—he really brought that out in her—but she had to agree.

  “Fine—fangboy.”

  He chuckled.

  Tess took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Which was stupid considering they were already in complete blackness.

  The energy that surged through her was pure orgasmic rush. She didn’t know how long she was lost inside pure pleasure inside pure dark.

  This is nice. The voice of the vampire eventually floated through the bliss. But . . .

  Shut up and let me concentrate, she snarled back, embarrassed at her reaction to this monster’s—

  Do you want me to show you how—?

  I’m the witch here, fangboy.

  He poured more energy into her. Show me.

  She concentrated, wrapped her power around his, discovered she wasn’t giving enough to control all the energy. Every barrier she had came down. They blended, but somehow she wasn’t lost. She longed to linger within this pulsing, shining vortex but she didn’t lose hold of what needed to be done. Reluctant as she was to leave these new, exciting sensations unexplored, she took their mixed energy and pushed—pouring light against the dark, conjuring counterspell against the spell that held them.

  The perfectly normal night returned with a lurch that twisted her stomach even as it brought reality back into focus. The dark now had many textures, and there was plenty of light—streetlights and car lights and apartment lights and even the faint glow of starlight high above all the night lights of Los Angeles. Scent returned with vision, as acute as ever. Tess realized she’d missed this extra sense even more than she had the presence of light.

  “I hate magic,” she muttered. It was a supernatural allergy, really. One that most people had little or no reaction to. She wondered what it would be like to be like most people.

  “But you use your allergy well,” the vampire behind her said. “And you really don’t want to be like everybody else.”

  “I suppose not, but—” She whirled around to face him and snarled. “You’d better get out of my head now.”

  He stared at her in shock. His mouth even hung open for a moment.

  Tess stared back, absorbing her own surprise that the vampire’s scent was—delicious. Where’d he get those sexy pheromones, she wondered. “What?” she demanded as his gaze continued to roam hungrily over her.

  “Syrilla?” he questioned. There was the roughness of desire in his voice.

  Oh, that.

  “My name is Tess Sirella,” she growled. She pulled her hair away from her face, revealing the werewolf widow’s peak and letting him get a good look at her sharp features.

  “You look very much like her.”

  “Yeah, I’m descended from the old bitch.”

  He showed fang at her tone. “She was dear to me.”

  “And bitch isn’t an insult among my kind, Conover,” she reminded him.

  “True.” He smiled, and actually had the audacity to pat her on the cheek, only laughing when she snarled. He turned and walked away.

  She caught up with him as he reached the entrance of the building. He held a cell phone to his ear.

  “Still only getting her voicemail.” He flipped the phone closed and put it back in his jacket pocket. “And I’ve never known anyone who could block telepathic contact as efficiently as Valentine.” He looked at her. “What shall we do now?”

  “I didn’t know we were together,” she replied.

  “Fortunately I know where she keeps her spare key.”

  She watched as Conover moved to the brick wall, made the shadows around him darken, and began to climb the side of the building.

  “Damn flashy vampire,” she complained as she watched. Her plan had been to first lay a web of watching spells around Valentine’s place the way she had around Conover’s. She found the vampire’s direct method far more tempting.

  Tess stepped up to the brick wall, slipped off her shoes, and extended all of her claws. “You’re a bad influence on my family, Conover,” she said as she began to climb.


  I know, he thought back.

  “I hope you haven’t ruined your manicure,” he said when she joined him on Valentine’s terrace.

  She looked past him at the sliding glass doors, then flexed her fingers. “As sharp as these may be, they don’t cut glass. Do you have any diamonds on you?”

  He chuckled as he removed something from under the base of a potted plant.

  “That really is a key?” she asked as he straightened. “Does Valentine let you use this place as a safe house?” She knew a lot about strigoi society.

  “No, the old girl just locks herself out sometimes.”

  The “old girl” was about a thousand years older than Conover, and he was no spring chicken. He certainly didn’t look any the worse for wear, though. He was a beefy guy, but all muscle and no fat and taller than you’d expect someone born in the Roman era to be. She shouldn’t find him attractive—it was a species thing—but he looked good to her. And he certainly didn’t smell bad. Tess took a deep breath, and nearly swayed from the rush of lust.

  “Those are the same pheromones that seduced my great-granny,” she said.

  “No,” he answered. “I was a mortal when that affair happened.” He unlocked the glass door and gestured for her to enter before him. “Don’t worry, there’s nobody home,” he said when she hesitated. “Surely a nosy witch can tell that much.”

  Tess growled. “It’s hard to tell anything about Valentine.”

  “True,” he said as she walked inside past him.

  He followed her into the spacious living room. Big place, she noticed, but sparsely furnished. Frankly, she’d expected the décor to be gothic, full of a lifetime’s worth of mementoes and walls lined with bulging bookcases. The only thing on any wall was a huge flat-screen television. There was a couch, a coffee table, and a couple of chairs facing the television in the center of the room. The kitchen was on her left, a hallway led off the other side of the room. She felt the vampire come up too close behind her and stopped seeing the room.

  Awareness of him surrounded her. His slow heartbeat thundered in her ears. His scent was overwhelming. His body heat rose, his warmth flooding through her. Tess wanted to run.

  The fear that flashed up from her gut was all wrong. She was Tess Sirella, damn it, as scary as any vampire!

  She forced herself to turn, shifting form.

  When she faced him she saw that the vampire wasn’t a vampire at all.

  SEVEN

  OH, SHIT. HOW COULD SHE HAVE FORGOTTEN CONOVER was more than a garden variety strigoi?

  Frankly, what she now faced looked more like a werewolf than she did. Only a lot bigger and a lot meaner.

  These monsters called themselves Hunters. Many vampires called them Abominations, at least out of earshot. The Strigoi Council who ruled vampires named them Enforcers of the Laws of the Blood. Vampires consumed humans; the Hunters consumed vampires who broke the rules of the Council.

  “I’m not of your kind,” she managed to say though her throat was dry with terror. “I’m not subject to your Laws.”

  Though she probably knew more about his kind than he did. Knowledge didn’t keep Tess from shaking.

  A huge paw circled her throat. Claws delicately nicked the sides of her neck.

  What are you doing here? His thought drilled into her mind. Where are the pups?

  “Oh, crap, I don’t have your damn puppies,” she snarled. Maybe Conover frightened her, but that didn’t stop her from being a werewolf.

  Werewolves kill hellhounds, he reminded her.

  “I haven’t yet.”

  Tess winced as the claws drew blood. That yet had definitely been a mistake.

  Words rushed from her. “I’m not interested in killing your pups. It’s my duty to keep them from killing.” She grabbed his arm as the vise around her throat grew tighter. His muscles were pure steel. “You have no idea how they can be used,” she choked out. “The magic—”

  He tossed her across the room. She landed sprawled on the vast expanse of sofa. Before she could spring up, Conover had changed back to his human form. But he still moved as fast as a vampire.

  She snapped at his wrist when he held her down, but had only the satisfaction of tasting his blood. Mortal teeth were practically useless! And it was a trap anyway, because he used his own blood to quickly trace symbols on her chest while he muttered a swift incantation. The magic took hold, leaving her unable to change no matter how much she wanted to.

  “I never heard you were a wizard,” she said.

  “I’ve been dealing with your kind for a long time,” he answered. “I’ve learned a few tricks along the way.”

  His hands moved over her in ways that had nothing to do with magic, not in the technical way at least. Her body’s response to this alpha handling shorted out her brain, so that it took her a few minutes to ask, “Why did you take off my clothes?”

  His knowing chuckle was as much answer as she needed.

  “Okay, stupid question. You’re not looking for concealed weapons—”

  “Hidden charms or spells are weapons, however . . .” After a thorough examination that had him tumbling her around like a doll, he eventually put her on her back and concluded, “No visible body painting or tattoos.”

  She was panting. Damned animal instincts! “You could have just asked.”

  Fingers delved between her splayed thighs. “I like to be thorough. You aren’t minding a bit,” he added when he found how wet and ready she was. He played with her swollen clit for a while, bringing her to a quick, hard orgasm with his thumb. “Life’s hard being a virgin witch, isn’t it?” he asked after her climax passed.

  “How did you—”

  “No woman is that delightfully tight inside in this day and age unless—”

  “Let’s not talk about my—”

  “Vow of chastity to increase your magical power, my furry little vestal?”

  “If I was furry at the moment, I’d rip your throat out.”

  “I know. And I wouldn’t blame you for trying.” He leaned back, though a hand on her chest easily held her down. “Fulfilling your vows is an admirable thing, and I shouldn’t tease you about it.” He stroked her breasts as he talked. She was all too aware of how her nipples tightened and strained to his touch.

  “Excuse me, but would you mind stopping—?”

  “How do you manage to stay sane when you’re in season?” he wondered.

  She didn’t know if he was using magic, or if she answered because she couldn’t help but respond to his genuine curiosity. “A vibrator and a lot of chocolate.”

  He nodded. “That’s better than most men at any time. But enough girl talk . . .”

  He said a word that sent sharp pain through her head and left Tess’s ears ringing. But she knew he’d released her from the enchantment that had left her in human form.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “I don’t want you to feel under any compulsions when you answer my questions.”

  Where are they?

  His telepathy did not help her headache, but she opened her mind to him. I don’t know. I’m here to find out.

  He probed and he prowled inside her. He hurt her. She didn’t try to fight him. Eventually Conover let her mind go free. Something of his dominance remained inside her though. It was a male to female sort of dominance every member of her kind sought. Damn Conover and his Hunter-self to hell!

  It was only then that she noticed how close he held her naked body.

  Then the nausea hit and all that mattered was throwing up.

  EIGHT

  DAN SNATCHED UP THE RETCHING WEREWOLF AND carried her into the bathroom. He wasn’t in the habit of abusing the females of any species, but he was in too much of a hurry to find the pups to question her gently. He was gentle now, knowing that she’d done them no harm. She still held information he intended to find out, but for now he saw to her needs.

  He held her head so that she could barf into the toilet bowl and wiped her face with
a wet towel when she was done. While she lay collapsed like a sweaty wet noodle on the floor, he adjusted the controls in the shower until the temperature was just right. He lifted her again and eased her under the warm spray.

  While waiting for the water to revive her, Dan went in search of clothes to replace the ones he’d ripped and shredded between climbing the walls and turning into a Hunter. Some things it was just better to do naked.

  He found a closet full of expensive black clothing in the bedroom occupied by Valentine’s apprentice, Geoff. He shook his head at the sight. Why was it vampires wore so much black? Especially the younger ones. The color had never appealed to him. For one thing it showed every speck and fiber. His pets shed a great deal, and not all hellhounds were black.

  He found a shirt and slacks that fit well enough to replace his jeans and plaid shirt, then went back to see how the girl was doing.

  By the time he returned, she’d dried off and wrapped herself in a white robe. Her wet hair was pulled severely back from her angular face. He stopped in the doorway, stunned and staring. Pain and longing shot through him. He shouldn’t be so attracted to a creature so absolutely different from his own kind—but his body didn’t seem to be aware that lust between their species didn’t happen.

  “What the hell’s the matter with you?” she demanded.

  They’d already established that she was a descendent of Syrilla’s, but . . .

  “Are you sure werewolves aren’t immortal?” he asked.

  “We could be,” she said. “If we used the same sort of dark magic your kind is addicted to.”

  Her comment reminded him of other things she’d said, and bits of knowledge he’d picked up inside her mind. The problem with telepathy wasn’t in picking up thoughts, but in putting them into context. He’d dug out the specific items he’d been looking for—she hadn’t taken the pups, she’d never killed a hellhound, she was looking for them herself, and like him sensed that Valentine was somehow involved. She was, in fact, as much a guardian of the animals as he was. He didn’t know why. He didn’t know how.

  He took her hand, meaning to pull her back into the living room, but he dropped it as soon as their skin touched and an electric charge of attraction passed between them.