by Larissa Ione
Humans were so freaking uptight.
His prey’s pulse picked up as his heart tried to compensate for the blood loss. Wraith took two more strong pulls, disengaged his fangs, and hesitated before licking the puncture holes to seal the wound. He’d never minded drinking from his victims, but he hated licking them, tasting sweat, dirt, perfume, and worse, their individual essence. Cursing silently, he swiped the holes with his tongue and tried not to shudder, but the shakes wracked his body anyway.
“You should kill him.”
The male voice, deep and calm, startled him. No one snuck up on Wraith. Ever.
He released the gangbanger, letting the guy hit the pavement with a thud. In a fluid, easy movement, he faced the newcomer, but too late he saw a flash and a blur, felt the sting of a dart in his throat.
“Shit!” Wraith ripped the dart from his neck and threw it to the ground, even as he charged the guy who had shot him with it. He was going to gut the bastard.
Wraith grabbed for the male’s shirt, some sort of burlap tunic, but his fingers only brushed the collar. The guy was unnaturally fast—unnaturally fast for a human. This male was demonkind, species unknown.
The male didn’t make a sound as he whispered through the night, moving toward a sewer grate.
Awkwardly, because his left side had begun to weaken, Wraith drew a throwing star from his weapons harness. He hurled it, catching the newcomer in the back.
The male’s ear-shattering, high-pitched scream rent the night as he fell. Wraith slowed, a sudden sense of dread weighing him down, turning his limbs sluggish and uncoordinated.
He stumbled, attempted to catch himself on the side of a building, but his muscles had turned to water. His vision grew dim, his mouth went dry, and with every breath it felt as if he was taking flames into his lungs.
He tried to reach his cell phone, but his arm wouldn’t work. And then his mind wouldn’t work, and all went black.
Throbbing pain in Wraith’s head woke him, and a serious case of cotton-mouth made him gag. He smelled sickness. Blood. Antiseptic
Shit, what had he done last night? He’d been clean for months… well, he hadn’t fed on a junkie just for the sake of getting high, anyway. He’d eaten his share of humans and demons who had drugs in their systems, but that hadn’t been why Wraith had chosen them as food. At least, that’s what he’d told himself.
In any case, he hadn’t woken up with a drug or alcohol hangover in months, but this… this was one mother of a hangover.
He peeled open his eyes, the pain convincing him his eyelids were coated on the inside with sandpaper. They watered, and he had to blink several times before he could focus. Through blurry vision he saw chains hanging in loops from a dark ceiling. Low, muted voices blended with the sound of beeping hospital equipment and ringing in his ears. He was at Underworld General.
He should be relieved, comforted to be safe. Instead, his gut wrenched. Clearly, he’d screwed up again, and his brothers were going to chew his ass but good.
Speak of the demons, he thought, as Eidolon and Shade entered the room. Wraith tried to lift his head, but the room spun in a nauseating swirl of dark colors.
“Hey, bro,” Shade said as he grasped Wraith’s wrist. A warm, pulsing sensation shot up Wraith’s arm. Shade was doing his body probe thing, checking his vitals and whatever other crap needed to be checked. Maybe he could do something about the spins.
“What’s up?” he croaked. “You boys are wearing your grim faces.” Which meant he’d fucked up even more royally than he’d thought.
Eidolon didn’t smile, not even the fake, doctorish, it’s-going-to-be-okay smile. “What happened the other night?”
“Other night?”
“You’ve been out for two weeks,” E said. “What happened?”
Wraith levered up so fast his head threatened to fall off. “Oh, no. Fuck, no. E, did I kill someone?”
His brothers both pushed him back on the bed. “Not that we know of. Yet. But we need to know what happened.”
Relief made him sag into the mattress as he searched the black hole that was his memory. An alley. He’d been in an alley. And in pain. But why? “I’m not sure. How did I get here?”
Shade grunted. “I felt your distress. Grabbed a medic team and took a Harrowgate to you.”
“What do you remember?” E asked, jacking up the head of the bed so Wraith could sit up.
He sifted through the fuzzy memories, but piecing them together was like trying to do a jigsaw puzzle while blindfolded. “I was eating a gangbanger. Tasty, surprisingly free of drugs.” He frowned. Had he killed the guy? No, he didn’t think so… remembered closing the punctures. “I felt a sting in my neck. And there was a male. Demon, I think. Why?”
The pulses down his arm stopped, but Shade kept his hand where it was. Even though he was no longer using his healing power, his dermoire continued to writhe. “You were attacked by an assassin. Sent by Roag.”
“Ah… did you guys miss the bulletin that said Roag is gone?” Wraith eyed his brothers, waiting for the punchline, but they didn’t look like they were jacking with him. “Oh, come on. Roag is as good as dead. For real this time.”
Their older brother had plotted a gruesome revenge against the three of them, had nearly succeeded. If Wraith never saw the dark depths of a dungeon again, it would be too soon.
Eidolon ran his hand through his short, dark hair. “Yeah, well, he hired the assassin to handle his revenge on us in the event of his death. You must have injured him, because he was in bad shape. Tayla tracked and caught him while Shade was bringing you back here. He confessed everything before Luc ate him.”
“Ate him?”
E nodded. “The assassin was a leopard-shifter. Nothing scares them more than werewolves, so we chained him up in Luc’s basement to get him to talk. We thought we’d secured him far enough away from Luc.” He shrugged. “Apparently not.”
“I love werewolves,” Wraith said, shooting Shade a sly grin. “Guess you’d better not piss off Runa. She might eat you.” Shade had bonded to a werewolf last year, and had been disgustingly happy since. “Why are you here, anyway? Shouldn’t you be helping her with the monsters?”
“You mean the ones you haven’t bothered to come see yet?”
“Shade.” Eidolon’s voice held a soft warning, which was odd. Usually Shade was the voice of reason when it came to handling Wraith.
But ever since Runa had delivered their triplets, Shade had been seriously overprotective and easily offended. He just didn’t get that not everyone went as goo-goo over his offspring as he did.
Wraith shoved the sheet off his body and saw that he was naked. Not that he cared, but his coat had better not have been ruined when they stripped him. Knowing Shade’s love of trauma shears, Wraith figured odds were good that he’d have to buy another one.
“So why all the doom and gloom? The assassin failed.”
Shade and E exchanged glances, which set Wraith on high alert. This wasn’t good.
“No, he didn’t fail,” Shade said softly. “The guy has a partner. He’s still out there, and he’s after all of us.”
“So I hunt his ass down and kill him. I don’t see the problem.”
Shade’s pause made Wraith’s gut do a slow slide to his feet. “The problem is that the first assassin shot you with a slow-acting poison dart.”
Wraith snorted. “Is that all? Just shoot me up with the antidote.”
“Remember Roag’s foray into the storeroom?” E asked, and yeah, Wraith remembered. Last year during Roag’s bid for revenge, he’d helped himself to E’s collection of rare artifacts and crap Wraith gathered for him. “One of the things he took was the mordlair necrotoxin. That’s what the assassin used.” E exhaled slowly. “There’s no antidote.”
No antidote? “Then a spell. Find a spell to cure it.” Panic started to fray the edges of his control, and Shade must have sensed it, because his grip grew firmer.
“Wraith, we’ve consulted
every text, every shaman, every witch.… There’s nothing that can flush the poison from your system.”
“So, bottom line. What are you saying?”
E handed Wraith a mirror. “Take a look at your neck.” He brushed Wraith’s hair back to reveal his personal symbol at the top of his dermoire. The hourglass, which had always appeared full on the bottom, had emerged following his first maturation cycle at the age of twenty.
Wraith inhaled sharply at what he saw now: The hourglass had been inverted, the sand flowing from top to bottom, marking time.
“You’re dying,” Eidolon said. “You have a month, maybe six weeks, to live.”
Chapter 2
Serena Kelley was dying. Well, not literally, but it felt like it, what with the way the air was being sucked from her lungs by an extremely hot vampire who was kissing her senseless.
She wasn’t one to hang out in Goth clubs, but tonight’s nosebleed-Euro-Goth music at Alchemy had promised to bring in the vampires—both the wannabe’s of the human variety and the actual undead.
The music echoed off the walls of the old slaughterhouse so loudly it messed with her heart’s ability to beat, shocking her pulse into an uneven, chaotic rhythm. The smell of perfume, sweat, and sex was thick in the air, ratcheting up her libido. She moved with the crush of bodies on the dance floor, going with the tide as the vampire whose name she’d just learned guided her.
She sensed his hunger, his dark need, and yes, it was wrong of her to lead him on like this. Wrong to let him think he was going to get a meal and a notch in his coffin from her.
But what the hell. Every girl needed to flirt now and then.
Especially when flirting was as far as she could go with a guy.
“Come,” Marcus said, in that low whisper vampires could somehow make audible above any racket. “My table waits.”
Marcus was an old vamp, his formal, stiff speech part of his allure, and Serena’s hormones ran amok as he led her to a shadowed corner where several human groupies quivered like excited lapdogs at his approach.
Like so many older-generation vamps, he dressed in tasteful, conservative clothing beneath a midnight trench coat that helped him blend among the Goth and punk fashion in the bars. Glossy black, waist-length hair and ruby-red lips on a severe, pale face completed the look.
He waved his hand, and the lapdogs scattered, some of them cutting her jealous glares. She wondered how many knew he was a real vampire. Few who were deep into the vampire lifestyle actually believed in the undead. Those who did had a tendency to become Renfields—scraping, bowing hangers-ons who offered themselves up to be used in any way a vampire wanted.
Serena might have a thing for vamps, but she’d never stepped over the line to become a meal or a throwaway bedmate.
They sank into the booth, her black cargoes sliding across the faux-leather seats. Marcus wrapped his arm around her waist and tugged her into him.
Perfect. Because yes, she had a vampire fetish her boss, benefactor, and personal Aegis Guardian, Valeriu Macek, would have seizures over, and yes, she liked to live on the wild side. But she also liked to mix business with pleasure, and at this very moment, her business as a treasure hunter involved stealing Marcus’s very valuable, very antique bracelet off his wrist.
Slowly, carefully, she slid her hand over his so her fingers rested on the ancient Macedonian bauble. Marcus didn’t notice—his heavy-lidded gaze focused on her throat, and his erection prodded her hip.
“Shall we go outside, or stay here?” he asked, and she wondered if he knew she was fully aware of what he was.
The way he kept his fangs concealed told her he probably didn’t know. Then again, after hundreds of years of being undead, keeping them hidden had probably become second nature to him. And really, vampire canines weren’t all that obvious unless the vampire became excited, and then they’d erupt from the gums, elongating, growing… so erotic.
Serena tilted her jaw, exposing her throat enticingly. Distractingly. “Here,” she purred, working the bracelet with one hand, and running the other up his chest.
Powerful muscles flexed beneath her palm, and for the thousandth time, she wished she weren’t celibate. Wished she could let herself do all the stupid, risky things humans did when they were in their twenties.
Marcus’s smile revealed just the tips of his fangs as he leaned in, wincing when his chest crushed her pendant between them. He frowned at the grape-sized crystal. “That’s one hell of a jewel.”
“Gift from my mom,” she said easily, even though the necklace was far more than that.
The bracelet slid free. She slipped it inside a leg pocket in her pants and glanced at her watch. “Oh, would you look at the time! I’d better go. Don’t want to turn into a pumpkin.”
Marcus’s hand squeezed her biceps. “I am not finished with you.”
She smiled sweetly. “Oh, but you are. I’m no swan,” she said, using the term for humans who offered up their blood or psychic energy to vampires, though they usually believed the vampires were of the breathing, human variety—what true undead jokingly called fakires.
Rage iced over his dark eyes, and his lips peeled back to reveal daggerlike canines. Any sane human would be terrified, but not Serena.
She had a little secret. She’d been protected by a divine charm for eighteen years, since the day it was bestowed upon her at the age of seven, and no harm could come to her.
Not so long as she remained a virgin.
Marcus lunged for her throat. Serena angled away, and for no apparent reason, the vampire lost his balance, slipped off the seat, and landed in a heap on the floor. The groupies hovering nearby either backed away or rushed in to help him up, but he came to his feet in an explosion of anger.
His eyes narrowed and his fists clenched, but he hadn’t avoided being slain by Aegis Guardians for centuries by causing scenes. Wisely, he did nothing more threatening than curse at her, and then he whirled away in dramatic vampire fashion, the crowd swallowing him and his Renfields as they followed on his heels.
Before Marcus figured out she’d lifted his bracelet, she needed to haul ass—
Something flashed in front of her. No… inside her. A crisp pop burst in her ears, echoing from somewhere in her head. A wash of nausea made her break out in a cold sweat. Instinctively, she reached for her pendant, let the cool, smooth orb comfort her.
Except, the comfort was short-lived. The pendant glowed. A warning. Her cloak… compromised. She was exposed.
Jerking to her feet, she stumbled toward the exit on wobbly legs. She needed to get home. Back to Val’s mansion.
Because for the first time in eighteen years of living a carefree, sheltered life, Serena was afraid.
Byzamoth fell back in his seat, panting, body shuddering. Orgasmic waves of power pumped through him, the name he’d just learned breaking softly from his lips.
Serena Kelley.
He hadn’t known the identity of the human he’d been seeking, but everything about her was now as clear as a witch’s crystal ball.
Too quickly, the power fizzled, leaving him weak, but no less ecstatic. His palm burned, but it was a lovely pain, easily endured. He opened his fist, where the cause of the discomfort, a golf-ball-sized orb known as Eth’s Eye, glowed red. Red instead of gold, because it had been used for evil rather than good.
Exhausted, he let his head fall against the seat rest and gazed up at the ceiling of the Israeli house he’d commandeered this morning. The family who’d inhabited it lay at various angles around him, dead eyes staring blindly. The youngest female virgin had volunteered herself as the blood sacrifice Byzamoth had needed to activate the evil capabilities of Eth’s Eye.
“Volunteered” was probably too strong a word, but in any case, Byzamoth had gotten what he wanted. He’d found the most important human in the universe, the one who would be instrumental in kicking off the most significant event in demon history.
“It’s started,” he said to the demon standing in
the living room entrance.
Lore entered, a massive male covered from neck to toe, including his hands, in black leather that matched his short hair. He was one of the most efficient killers Byzamoth had come across, a male whose touch killed everything his bare hand came into contact with.
Byzamoth might be immortal, but even he gave Lore a wide berth.
“I don’t give a shit about your war. I want my money.”
“Why the rush?”
“My partner failed to kill the Vampire demon. I need to finish the job.”
Byzamoth waved his hand. “You’ll get your payment, but it won’t matter. Soon, money will be worthless. Pain will be the new currency.”
“Yeah, well, right now cash buys beer, so hand it over.”
Byzamoth smiled. Even now, the underworld would begin to stir with the sense that something was coming, even if that something was still a mystery to them. Few would understand the significance of what Byzamoth had just done, which was to lift the divine cloak of invisibility that had shielded Serena from demon eyes for so long.
For years she had walked the Earth disguised as a normal human, and few, if any, were the wiser. Until now.
Fortunately for her, she was still charmed and still the keeper of the necklace, Heofon, and no one could take either away from her—not against her will.
No one but a select few individuals. Like Byzamoth.
He had every intention of taking them against her will.
And when he was done with her, he’d be in possession of the most powerful weapon imaginable, and demons would finally rule the world.
Doctor Gemella Endri sat in UG’s conference room with her sister and Eidolon’s mate, Tayla, at her right side and Shade at her left. Eidolon and doctors Shakvhan and Reaver sat across from them. Tension thickened the air, growing more oppressive as the night went on with no new, feasible ideas for how to save Wraith
Who had been sedated after Shade and E told him he was dying. Wraith had taken the news surprisingly well, but neither Shade nor Eidolon had trusted him to not immediately take off after the second assassin. They wanted him here, where they could monitor his health, though they had to know that their little brother wouldn’t be held immobile for long. That demon couldn’t sit still, and doing nothing wasn’t in his DNA.
