Harlequin Nocturne January 2014 Bundle: The Vampire HunterMoon Rising

by Michele Hauf

  “It’s a drug that makes my job a pain in the ass. What more do I need to know?”

  Vail sighed and tapped the steering wheel, then turned to him. “So you’ve got faery dust and faery ichor. The dust is easy to obtain, and it gives a quick high. Very addictive. You get dust directly from the faery, but can also do something to the ichor to make it turn to dust. I’m not sure how that works. But it’s dust form. Right?”

  Kaz nodded. He understood that much.

  “Vamps deal dust. But not ichor. The Sidhe Cortège controls that.”

  “Do I want to know what that is?”

  “You should. They’re sort of faery mafia that exist only in the mortal realm.”

  “Great.” Yet another wrench tossed into his investigation. “So all ichor goes through this cortège?”

  Vail nodded. “A vampire can only get ichor by going to FaeryTown and checking into an ichor den. Or he can find a willing faery and bite her. Ichor straight from the vein is amazing. Or it was. I’m clean now, man. And then there’s the ultimate. The Neverland Fix.”

  “Explain.”

  “That’s when a vampire has sex with a faery—you know when a faery comes they sort of explode dust all over, right?”

  He had not known that. Kaz wasn’t sure he’d ever get the image from his brain.

  “So if you bite them and suck out their ichor while they are coming in a cloud of dust it’s like Neverland,” Vail said. “Except, you ain’t never coming back from that one. Total oblivion for the vamp. No chance of returning to sanity. But I’ve heard it’s worth it.”

  “Is that so?” Kaz eyed his informant. He knew the vampire was a father and had many friends in the paranormal community. But how much was he keeping to himself? Did he have reason to protect those vamps who dealt dust?

  “You going to some kind of AA, Dark One?”

  Vail nodded. “Don’t worry about me. Addiction is tough. Since I’ve gotten clean, I fight it every day. Good thing I have Lyric. She’s a million times more appealing than ichor. But still...” He heaved out a sigh.

  Kaz had never touched drugs or alcohol, himself. Too many bad memories harbored by those illicit substances. Vail’s sigh said so much that didn’t require words.

  Kaz understood addiction because his father was an alcoholic. Okay, so he didn’t understand it, but he did know it when it hit him in the face. The bastard was always ready to punch him whenever he got wasted, which had been all the time. Kaz hadn’t seen him in almost fourteen years, and had no desire for a reunion anytime soon.

  “Now that I let my mind wander,” Vail started, “there is a vamp chick who slinks about under the radar. Always into something new. Not attached to a particular tribe, though she does tend to date tribe leaders. She deals dust and has been known to do wet work, as well.”

  Sex, drugs and murder? Sounded like a piece of work. “Name?”

  Vail held up his palm between the two of them. “There are only two or three vamps who have permission to deal dust in this city. Give me your word that this information did not come from me.”

  Kaz slapped his hand into Vail’s in a gentleman’s agreement. “You have my word. I know you supply me with information because you care about your breed. You don’t want to see any of them addicted to the stuff.”

  “The vampire’s name is Switch,” Vail said. “I don’t know where to find her, only that she moves around. She’s tall and slender. Aggressive, but attractive in a hooker kind of way.”

  “Great. That describes half the female vampires in Paris.”

  “Yeah, but you should be able to pick her out by her hair. Half black, half pink, like some kind of cotton-candy machine gone over to the dark side.”

  A distinguishing hairstyle? Perfect. It would give Kaz a place to start.

  “So you know the names of those two or three who sell the dust? They would be the ones giving Switch the work, right?”

  “Yes, but...I don’t have names. Isn’t what I’ve already told you enough?”

  It would be a start. “Thanks, Vail—er, Dark Stranger. Give my regards to your wife.” He recalled the Order notes he’d reviewed before coming here tonight. “Did she just have a baby?”

  “Our second,” Vail offered with a note of pride. “Sweet little girl. I love her, even when she wakes in the middle of the night yowling like a banshee. Yeah, I’ll tell Lyric you said hello. If you need me...I’ll find you.”

  “Cool.”

  At the thought of a vampire baby, Kaz quelled the shudder that wanted to give his bones a good shake. Then he prayed he wouldn’t have to stake the little flesh pricker someday.

  After shaking Vail’s hand, Kaz got out of the car, stroked the smashed front panel and walked away, hands in his coat pockets, without giving the vampire a glance back.

  He lived on the left bank, far from the eighteenth arrondissement. Hopping onto the Metro at the Blanche station, he settled in for the ride.

  Once home, he activated the inner wards by closing the four sliding locks on his front door. The Order ensured all their knights’ homes were warded against vampires, werewolves and sometimes, if the knight requested it, witches. Between that and some personal wards he’d had tattooed on his body, Kaz felt relatively safe, even knowing the city of millions was populated with tens of thousands of paranormal critters.

  Standing before the living room wall, plastered with a large Paris city map, he darted his gaze from the red pins, which indicated the location of tribal nests, to the white— individual vamps, to the few green pins—known wolf packs.

  Plucking out a silver pin from the nearby pin box, he poked it in place in the eighteenth arrondissement.

  “Zoë,” he muttered. A smile was unstoppable.

  * * *

  “Will you find the source of the Magic Dust, little one?”

  Coyote flinched at Riské’s use of the possessive moniker. Yes, she was small. But she was anything but little.

  “It’s tainting our supply,” Riské continued. The faery elder’s feather headdress listed in the summer breeze that always surrounded him, even on brisk winter nights. “The idiot bloodsuckers are selling on our turf. This mortal realm is convoluted with lacking intelligence and those who would sell their very souls for another coin in their pocket.”

  “I’ve Whim sniffing out the trail,” she answered, preening her left wing over her shoulder. Living in the mortal realm zapped her vitality, and she was ever concerned about her faded wings. “He’s an excellent tracker.”

  “And what about the other one who is often stumbling about in your wake? Ever? Sever?”

  “His name is Never. And he does not stumble. He’s an ace marksman. My secret weapon.”

  “I thought you were my secret weapon?”

  “I am, mon Grand Sidhe,” she said, using the respectful title. Lately, Riské had been ignoring her for his many other consorts. She was fine with that. The sidhe lord was a fickle lover. She preferred those with a bit more devotion— and vita, which could restore the color to her wings that living in the mortal realm had drained. “I suspect the dealer is a vampire.”

  “Of course.” He said it as if admonishing her for stating the obvious.

  “I don’t want to unsettle the fragile balance we have with the vampire community,” she said.

  “See that you do not. But do not allow this one who deems to step on my feet one moment longer of triumph. I will not accept failure from you, Coyote.”

  Meaning, he’d strike her dead with a look that could stop her heart if she returned without the vampire’s head. Easy enough. Coyote always got her man. Or vampire. She just had to let loose her hounds, Whim and Never, and follow the trail.

  Chapter 3

  The knock at the front door was accompanied by a yelp.

  Zoë smi
led with self-satisfied glee. “I do love a well-tuned vampire ward.”

  She grabbed the plastic kid’s lunchbox from the living room table and strode to the door with the usual spring in her step that the yelp always produced. The autumn sky was dark, promising imminent rain. Most vamps could handle the sunlight for a short time, though they did tend to grumble about it whenever anyone would listen.

  A flash of pink swept before the narrow window that paralleled each side of her front door.

  “Fashion nightmare,” Zoë muttered before she swung open the door to grant her visitor a Cheshire Cat greeting. “You again, and looking so bright and cheery.”

  “Witch, your wards hurt.”

  “That’s the purpose. You have my phone number. You can call when you’re walking up the sidewalk and I’d meet you at the door.”

  The vampiress, tall and lanky, and built like a rock star with a permanent heroin hangover, cocked a hand to one hip, and swept back the pink half of her hair with a tilt of her head. Sunglasses concealed what Zoë guessed was a dagger gaze. She held out a waiting hand.

  She was annoying, but also strong, and Zoë had no intention of pissing her off. The woman had visible muscles revealed by a sleeveless plaid shirt spattered with black ink and skulls. She wore enough silver jewelry to kill a werewolf just by being in his vicinity. And besides the head of hair that was half fluorescent pink and half Hell black, she sported a chain of earrings along each ear, henna tattoos all over her arms, a thick silver ring that looked like—and probably was—brass knuckles, and a visible knife blade sticking out her hip pocket.

  Despite her many vampire friends, this one wasn’t a vampire Zoë wanted to meet in a dark alley anytime soon.

  Passing the lunchbox over the threshold, far enough to cross over the wards, Zoë held it there until the vampiress snatched it. Then she reached behind her leg and wheeled around one of those small, hard case travel suitcases. It was black, save for the white outline of Hello Kitty with a bright pink bow cocked above one ear. The vampire was into the iconic cat for reasons Zoë would not question.

  “What’s that for?” Zoë asked. “You going on vacation?”

  “It’s for you. The big guy wants more next pickup.”

  “More?”

  “Dust. He said business is booming.”

  “Business? Well, that’s...”

  Awesome that her blend was being so well received. But that much more? The suitcase was six times the size of the lunchbox. She’d have to work on the blend every day until the next pickup.

  Business? She’d thought Mauritius was distributing her blend free of charge. Well, perhaps he had to charge a small price to cover expenses. Ichor wasn’t free—at least not in the form she required—and he did pay her for her work.

  “There’s cash inside to cover any additional expenses you might incur,” the vampiress said. “Can I tell him you’re on board?”

  “Uh...” She’d hate to disappoint. And she had developed an amazing blend. It felt good to be in demand. For once in her life, Zoë had accomplished something important. Her father would be proud. “Certainly. I, uh, I’ve never made such a large batch. But I’ll give it a try.”

  “You do that. Same time next week. I’d say it’s been a pleasure, witch, but that would be a lie.”

  Lunchbox tucked under an arm, the vampiress strolled down the sidewalk and across the street toward the waiting car. She always arrived via the backseat of a fancy limo. Zoë didn’t know her name. Only that she truly needed a stylist, because with a little work—and heavy metal removal—the woman could be stunning.

  “Vampires,” she muttered.

  But she didn’t follow with a scathing remark. She had many vampire friends. The very reason she made these Sunday morning meetings was for vampires.

  “They need me. And I won’t disappoint.”

  * * *

  The Order of the Stake headquarters was situated in an old cathedral that offered tours of the nave during the week to tourists who had no clue a secret order devoted to extinguishing vampires existed just beneath their footsteps. An Order employee had been hired specifically for the tours and to handle the affairs topside.

  While the Order dated back four centuries to inception, this building had been in use for a little over two centuries, and they’d had no problems with civilians discovering the truth bustling about beneath the stone floors.

  Kaz swiped his key card and entered a secret door a few buildings down from the cathedral. He descended the stairs to the underground passageway that led to the main Order rooms.

  It always gave him a shiver as he passed through the limestone passageway. It was cold down here and smelled like death, always reminding him of the labyrinthine network that ran beneath all of Paris. Hundreds of miles of tunnels that plunged down as far as seven stories. So much took place beneath the city proper it would stun, bemuse and even frighten most mortals.

  Here on the lower level were Rook’s office, a gym and training area and lockers. As well, the research lab offered computers that linked other worldwide Order posts with a massive database of the paranormal breeds. While vampires were their focus, they did like to keep tabs on other breeds, because interaction often led to discovery.

  The lab was quiet today. Kaz usually only ran into Tor down here. The Order’s spin master did a lot of research because his job required he know the breeds inside and out—as well as how their legend and myth had been formed in the minds of the mortals. Turning truth back into myth was a tricky job, but someone had to do it to protect the integrity of the organization.

  The Mac computer silently flashed a screensaver of circles raked into a Zen sand garden. Kaz entered his password and opened the database. He also connected his cell phone because the program would automatically update his mobile files and kill stats. He loved technology, and his phone was also hooked up to a funky security system for his home, and everything was Wi-Fi.

  In seconds he found a file on Switch that had been updated within the past few years. A vampire created roughly eight years ago, give or take a few months. Pre-vampirism, Switch had been known to work odd jobs, such as auto mechanic, tour barge operator and even a stint at the Moulin Rouge as a burlesque dancer. Once inducted into the league of longtooths, she’d never officially joined a tribe, but preferred to hang with some of the local tribes for months at a time before going off on her own again.

  Vail had mentioned something about her hooking up with tribe leaders.

  “The chick goes for the guy in charge. She’s not stupid,” Kaz muttered as he read further.

  She was a bruiser and known to cause problems. No human losses had been associated with her vampiric activity—a good thing. Kaz did not like to kill females, but he would, if necessary. Yet Vail had also mentioned she did wet work. Did she stalk her own breed? Maybe she had a thing for taking out werewolves? The two breeds, though supposedly in accord with one another, could never shrug off their ingrained hatreds.

  Werewolves were a breed Kaz avoided with a passion. When they shifted to their werewolf shape, he ran in the opposite direction. Most smart—and still breathing—knights did.

  A few final notes detailed her possible age at mid-twenties. Switch was most often found on the right bank, sixteenth through eighteenth arrondissements, so he assumed she must also live in that area.

  Zoë lived in the eighteenth. Too close to the area he’d targeted for investigation.

  Kaz sat back, closing his eyes from the screen strain, and smiled. “Cerulean,” he whispered. “Who’da thought I’d like that color?”

  His thoughts wandered, and the memory of Zoë’s stunningly intense kisses broadened his smile. Zoë with the bright blue eyes that seemed to look for things inside him even he wasn’t aware existed. Zoë with the mysterious scar dashing her cheek, which didn’t lessen her appeal, but
did make him want to learn how it had happened so he could crush the offender’s skull. Ex-boyfriend? He hoped not. Maybe it had been a car accident?

  Scars were plenty in his world; that was for sure. Kaz bore his own inner scars, and a few on the surface. He could fight vampires fist to fist and win, but a well-matched fight usually ended in a new battle scar. And a pile of ash. His kill count was high, and would remain so, because the damned vamps kept making more.

  He wondered if Zoë was aware of the paranormal world that existed around her, and then decided she was lucky to remain naive. Good thing he’d been able to avoid staking the vamps while she had been watching last night. He would have hated to introduce her to all things fanged and vicious in such an abrupt manner.

  Despite every molecule in his being that warned how difficult it was for him to commit to any kind of relationship, he definitely wanted to see her again. Because man could not survive by the fight alone. He needed kisses, and skin contact and all that messy, exciting stuff involved with sex.

  And how could the rescuing knight not return for the damsel?

  Yet could he manage it without bringing along the danger of the world he lived in?

  “Rothstein.”

  He hadn’t heard Rook enter the lab, and stood quickly to face his supervisor. Initially his teacher, Rook had also become Kaz’s mentor over the years. The man had a way about him. Stealthy and silent as the wind, Rook was a master of all martial arts. After Kaz had earned his trust and a bed in the Order’s broom closet to sleep after a long, grueling day of training, Rook had trained Kaz for a year before he’d been knighted by the founder, King, and officially accepted into the Order. At seventeen, Kaz had been the youngest knight to take vows.

  Live to serve. Serve until death. Die fighting. Words he lived by.

  “Afternoon, Rook.” The name was a moniker, he knew, and Kaz had no curiosity about his real name. In a job like this, a man had to protect himself with every measure available.

  Rook leaned in and read the computer screen. “What’s she up to? Is Switch involved in the faery-dust incident?”