The Shopgirl's Prophecy (Beasts of Vegas Book 1)

by Anna Abner

  “You promised me,” Olek said, growling, “that Anya would be there.”

  He sat up. Time to soothe the savage beast. “We received bad information.” Keeping his gaze averted, he added a hint of deference to his voice as he remembered Olek had been shot today. “It won’t happen again.”

  Olek paused in his pacing across the faded, torn carpeting. “You have failed me twice.”

  “Forgive me, my lord.” He bowed his head. “But she is within our grasp.”

  Maks had been keeping tabs on Anya since his release from his American prison. For the past twenty-two years, she’d been in the UK, out of reach, ensconced in a metropolis built upon an island. Uri Rusenko had planned his disappearance perfectly. But, over time, he’d grown sloppy. Over confident. The fool had died and left her all alone.

  And Maks wasn’t the only person watching. Almost the moment Anya stepped foot on American soil, Olek knew it. He was far trickier than even Maks gave him credit for. He’d taken a few days to plan, and then five of them had gone to Paradise. Except they’d missed her by minutes. She was on a bus, her uncle admitted under threat of torture. Olek sent Maks along to investigate. But a clueless humanitarian had nearly shot his head off. Fearing he’d pass out and be imprisoned again, Volk had fled.

  Infuriated, sensing a never-ending rabbit chase, Olek killed her family and retreated to form a new plan. A better one.

  “You won’t fail me again.” The threat in Olek’s tone was unmistakable. Lose the girl a third time and forfeit your life. Volk’s youthful appearance went a long way in easing tensions, but there were limits.

  If it would’ve helped smooth things over he’d have fallen to his knees in supplication. But that might have been overdoing it.

  The Destroyer sent him a disgusted look. “Choose your punishment.”

  Maks stopped breathing for a split second. He hadn’t been punished in years. Not since the manifesto debacle, during which major news outlets in the West had laughed at them. No one mocked the Destroyer. No one.

  The public ridicule had been Maks’ fault because he’d encouraged publishing it. Releasing it was supposed to humiliate Olek. Maks had known the consequences of making the Destroyer into a joke. It had seemed worth it at the time, but lots and lots of burning flesh had since tempered Maks’ sense of humor.

  Maks stood immediately. To show an instant of hesitation or fear would degrade the position of power he’d worked so hard to gain. And keep.

  “As you wish, my lord.”

  The wall opposite his couch was covered with a myriad of medieval weapons. A sword, a mace, a club, daggers, and for the truly damned a large double-bladed axe. Most of the weapons caused copious bleeding, and Maks didn’t need to draw the attention of any of his less-evolved brethren scattered throughout the abandoned hospital.

  Bones were a bitch to heal, but with no other choice, he lifted the club from its place on the wall. It was a thick, gnarled chunk of wood with one end wrapped in black tape. He offered it to Olek, who accepted it, his face expressionless.

  “Turn around.”

  Maks showed Olek his back. He tried to loosen up and breathe. Taking a hit all tensed up only made it hurt worse.

  Crack. His left knee crumpled, and he collapsed onto his side, his fingers scrabbling for purchase in the frayed carpet.

  Son of a bitch. It would be days before he could walk properly again, he knew from experience. The Destroyer swung his caveman club again and again, bashing up and down Maks’ right side. Bones crackled and popped. His shoulder joint separated.

  Maks locked his jaws together, despite the explosion of pain, and never made a sound. Not a whimper, not a moan, not so much as a peep. It was one of his greatest strengths. It was what had kept him on Olek’s good side all these years.

  Three of the four sons, not to mention Maks’ eleven original comrades, had been weaker men, and now they were all dead or entombed. Nothing disgusted Olek more than hearing a grown man scream in agony.

  Black spots appeared before Maks’ eyes. The pain escalated from intense to almost unbearable. That’s when the club returned to its place on the wall. Maks managed to stand with one smashed knee and a dead right arm. A small victory.

  He’d love to crawl off and tend his wounds in private, but he had to suck it up and stay until dismissed. Another test of both strength and deference.

  Olek gestured to the only chair at the salvaged table. “Convince me I shouldn’t kill you.”

  Maks recognized a new wildness in Olek’s eyes. The guy was losing it. Twenty years of torture had wrecked his mind. He actually believed the seers, and he’d put all his eggs in the Anya basket. Without her and her prophecy, his plans would crumble. The invasion of Las Vegas. His eventual world domination. Maks didn’t know how long the man could go on like this before he lost all reason.

  “Of course, my lord.” Maks dropped into the seat, gently placing his numb right hand in his lap. “She was here.” He touched the words Hoover Dam. “And here.” He pointed at the city of Paradise, Nevada. Pressure built as blood pooled in his lung and tickled the back of his throat. He turned his face away. Spewing on the map would only further irritate Olek. So, he spat blood on the floor.

  When he could speak, Maks added, “She is far from home and without allies. I will start in these towns and circle the area until I find her.”

  “I want her at my side,” Olek said. “We invade soon, but not with these unfulfilled words hanging over my head.” Ilvane’s prophecy number four hundred eighty-seven. Olek took it as a very good omen. He believed Anya from Nadvirna was the key to his eventual world domination.

  “Excellent strategy, my lord.” There went those black dots again. He may not make it to his room before he passed out. No. He would not faint in the Destroyer’s presence. Olek would see to it he never woke.

  “I don’t trust you.”

  Maks inwardly cringed, not sure how things had deteriorated so far. Just days ago, he would have sworn Olek trusted him implicitly. He had for almost twenty-five years. It was the only reason he still lived—Olek’s faith in him. This new attitude stung. So many years spent earning that trust. Without Olek’s trust, Volk could never fully earn his revenge.

  “What can I do?” Maks asked.

  “I will send two others, separately. You will spread out and track her.” Olek cracked a malicious grin. “If you want to please me, then find her before the others do.”

  Maks wiped his mouth on his wrist, staining it dark red. “Yes, my lord.” He stood on his good leg. A goddamned race to the prize. Of all the ridiculous, dangerous, egotistical…

  “You leave at first light.” The Destroyer turned his back, dismissing him.

  Using the walls for support, Maks walked out. He didn’t let on to the vampires he passed that each time he limped on his left foot razor blades ground up and down his leg. He didn’t make a fuss about his right arm hanging like a dead fish from his ruined shoulder. He didn’t even cough, though blood threatened to suffocate him. Because to show weakness was to admit he was a lesser man. And lesser men didn’t last long in the Destroyer’s presence.

  He awkwardly shuffled his way deeper into the hospital corridors toward his rooms, avoiding garbage, rotting corpses, and broken furniture.

  If only he could lay his tired eyes on his beacon of hope. Katya. His little bird.

  But the same soldiers who’d tortured him for two decades had cut her into pieces and left her to rot in a mass grave.

  Fury like a purifying fire rushed through him. Clutching the pendant around his neck, he eased through the neo-natal doors and collapsed against the tile wall, too weak to crawl to the closet and pull out his pretty, amber-eyed donor with the sharp tongue and soft hands.

  “Olek punished me.” He pressed her pendant against his face, inhaling Katya’s barely-there scent of smoke and vanilla. “He wants me to bring him Anya. If I don’t, he’ll kill me.” He opened his eyes and stared blankly at the closed clot door. “But it’
s to be a race.” He pictured Katya’s large, dewy blue eyes. So compassionate. So beautiful. “I swear to you, little bird. I will find her first.”

  Chapter Six

  Ali could hardly believe it, but Connor was alive—as in not dead. The doc had performed a down and dirty surgery right there in the exam room to remove the knife, stitch up his insides, and put in a chest tube. Against all odds and reason, the do-gooder frontier doctor had saved his life.

  The moment Connor was safe—relatively speaking—Roz switched into Green Beret mode. Ali watched her hide the truck behind the strip mall clinic, cover it with a camouflaged tarp, and then take stock of their impressive arsenal.

  As the sun set, Dr. Julia Burke joined Ali in the alley behind the clinic. She nodded toward Roz, conceal-carrying to the teeth and circling the property. “What is she afraid of?”

  “That they’ll come back to finish the job.” But a vampire siege seemed far-fetched. If Olek’s followers wanted to kill him, they wouldn’t have left him alive. And Connor had chased them, not the other way around.

  “Hmmm.” Julia produced a can of beer from her coat pocket and cracked it open. “Want a drink?”

  Ali had never tried drugs or alcohol, had never wanted to, and she wasn’t going to start now. It might take away her control, something that could never, ever happen.

  “I’m good, thanks.” She waved the can away. “Should you be drinking at work?”

  “Oh, it’s fine.” Julia swallowed deeply and then made a face. “It’s for my anxiety.”

  Ali nodded, focused on the frayed hem of her borrowed green tee. After Connor had stabilized, she had fit in a quick shower and borrowed a clean change of clothes from the doctor. Apparently, Julia didn’t own anything with long sleeves, either. If her father could see her now—arms, legs, and cleavage showing in liberated clothes—he’d die all over again.

  She didn’t think she’d go back to all his rules. Extra layers were fine in the winter, but in the summer she’d walk around in tank tops and dresses like normal girls. It’d be fine. She had her issue under control.

  Behind a spindly tree, Roz locked clips into a pair of handguns, testing all the mechanisms. But bullets and laser sights weren’t going to do any good. A lot of wasted energy. Maybe it was like a nervous tick and Roz couldn’t help herself.

  “Tell me the truth,” Ali said to the doc. “Is Connor going to live?”

  “Hard to say.” Julia took another swallow. “He’s your friend?”

  Her gaze remained fixed on Roz. “Sort of. I met him this afternoon.”

  “Well, he’ll have much better odds when he’s in a real hospital.” She checked her watch. “The transport ambulance will be here in a bit to take him to Vegas.” And an actual medical facility. It was his best chance at survival.

  Something Roz had said earlier piqued Ali’s curiosity. “I heard you receive money from people in New Zealand called Anton and Natasha. What do they want in return?”

  Dr. Burke took a long drink, and then sighed as if exhausted. “In Germany, I worked in a lab mapping communicable diseases. They offered to set me up with my own clinic near Vegas if I would continue my research.”

  “Secretly?” Ali guessed.

  The doctor nodded. “But they seem like nice young people with money to burn, and I’m not doing anything illegal. I just take blood samples and look at them under microscopes.”

  Done with her little commando routine, Roz sauntered over, brushing her hands on the seat of her shorts. “Doc, can Ali and I have a minute to talk?”

  “See you inside.” Julia nodded and took her beer with her.

  “Look,” Roz began, “until Connor’s on his feet again I don’t want you out of my sight.”

  Ali’s stomach soured. “I need to get home to London. I don’t belong here. In fact, I was going to ask you to help me get my purse from Paradise, so I can leave immediately.”

  Roz gave her a once over. “You are one cold-hearted bitch, aren’t you?”

  Lord, how right she was. Ali had to be cold, twenty-four-seven. But no one had ever called her out on it before. Most people simply stayed away from her.

  Roz added, “That’s all you care about, right? Your stupid purse? Not Connor. Or your family.” She tilted her head to the left, evaluating. “How many people died today? Hmm? How many in your family alone? And I haven’t seen you shed one tear. Unless vomit counts.”

  Wrath burst like a wildfire. Bye-bye cold indifference. Angry heat rolled into its place. Ali clenched her hands and took a step, wanting to smash something heavy into Roz’s mean little mouth.

  “You don’t know anything about me or my family.” And before she could second-guess herself, Ali pushed her, hard.

  Roz spread her hands at her sides, ducked her chin, and stared at Ali with absolute hatred rolling off her in waves. “Blessed is my power. I call upon thee.”

  The air crackled with unseen magic. Roz’s hair and clothes ruffled, as if caught in an invisible whirlwind she’d created from nothing, no, from within her.

  “You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Ali’s anger ebbed as curiosity and a bit of fear edged in. So, that’s why Connor kept her around. “You’re a witch? For reals?”

  She’d never met a legitimate witch. She’d definitely never seen one call her power. Holy shit. A real witch.

  They were a secretive bunch ruled by the Coven, a supernatural organization whose main purposes were to train witches and to protect the identity and whereabouts of Ilvane the Oracle. Or so they said. But there were rumors the Coven was not only more powerful than its members admitted, but that they’d recently begun a task force on dangerous creatures to police the ever-growing paranormal community.

  “You don’t get it.” Roz’s power faded, and her black hair settled along her shoulders. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  No, what Ali didn’t get was the rude and hurtful anger directed at her. “Why not?” She could do whatever the hell she wanted to, including move into the clinic and candy-stripe the rest of the summer, if she so chose.

  “This morning you were in Maksim Volk’s arms and now Connor’s in the hospital. That’s why.”

  “You don’t like me,” Ali surmised.

  “No, I don’t. It’s the way he looks at you,” she said, shaking her head in disgust. “You’re going to get us all killed.”

  Ali was spun. “Looks at me? What are you talking about?”

  Roz stepped into her personal space, everything about her emanating threat. “You are a walking disaster magnet. And I have a very strong instinct for self-preservation. So, until I figure you out, we’re joined at the hip. Are we clear?”

  The back door opened and Maria, the physician’s assistant, stuck her head out. “He’s waking up.”

  Roz hurried inside without a backward glance, confident Ali would do what she was told. But Ali hesitated. How far could she get if she ran?

  She’d never been on her own. Not in her entire life. As a kid, her dad had ruled her every move. School was the only place he didn’t follow her. As an adult, she worked in a jewelry shop and shared a flat with a roommate. She didn’t know how to be alone.

  Though this could be her last chance to make a run for it, something felt off. Maybe it was Roz’s attitude or the magic still lingering in the air, but she couldn’t walk away until Connor recovered. She’d saved his life. She felt responsible for him.

  She reached for the clinic’s door. Screw Roz. Ali made her own decisions now. She’d leave when she wanted to. When Connor was better.

  Connor.

  How, exactly, did he look at her?

  #

  Olek, a ten-foot tall, juiced up monster in rotting clothes, grabbed Connor by the neck and stabbed him in the chest. Over and over until he was a pin cushion, a bleeding, aching slice of Swiss cheese.

  He whimpered, his throat thick with blood and fear.

  Over Olek’s shoulder, in a yellowing field, stood Ilvane the Oracle, or his best estimation of
her since he’d never met her and photographs of her didn’t exist. Long, fiery orange hair blew around a pale face with milky white eyes. Her lips moved, but she made no sound.

  The vampire roared with laughter, and then stabbed him again.

  “Connor?”

  He took a labored breath, and the ache scaled new heights. He clenched his eyes closed and curled his toes, praying for mercy.

  “Connor?”

  He startled, pain rifling down the right side of his chest. Finding a little of his equilibrium, he groped at his mouth, finding a tube down his throat, the kind coma patients wore. He squirmed, afraid he was a prisoner trapped somewhere.

  And then he remembered. Oleksander. Volk. That chick who’d sawed into his neck with her impressive fangs. Fear and anger sliced into him, as if it were happening all over again.

  “Everything’s okay.”

  Roz. He focused on her voice.

  “You’re safe.”

  He almost laughed. No one was safe. They were all going to die.

  “Ladies, I need you to back up so I can examine him.” An unfamiliar voice. “We’ll get that tube out very soon, Mr. Beckett.”

  Yes, please. Connor cracked his eyes open. Roz hovered in the doorway with the girl from the bus crash. At his bedside stood a statuesque woman in a white lab coat.

  She worked him over, checking his pulse, blood pressure, breathing, pupils, the whole she-bang. She inspected his chest wound, and he ground his teeth to keep from crying. He lay very still, because if he didn’t move, it hurt less.

  “On the count of three.” The doc braced one hand on the bed beside him. “One, two—” She slid the tube free, and he jerked. It felt like she was pulling his esophagus out through his teeth. If he could have screamed, he would have.

  God, he was a wreck.