Harlequin Nocturne January 2014 Bundle: The Vampire HunterMoon Rising

by Michele Hauf

  “No way! Uh...” The vampire bounced on his feet, but Kaz held him firmly. He was skinny, no match to Kaz, even unarmed. “I think it was in the fifth. Behind some kind of business building. I don’t remember. The windows looked kinda red when the sun glowed on them. The chick had pink hair.”

  The vampire slashed his long nails at Kaz, growling viciously as he would expect from a violent predator. It was a brave effort at survival, but not against a slayer who wielded a stake.

  “Pink hair? Excellent. Now, what to do about you?”

  “Give me dust!”

  “Dust, you say?”

  The vampire nodded eagerly.

  Kaz slammed the stake through the vampire’s heart. The creature ashed and landed in a thick pile of gray dust and melting clothing.

  “Happy birthday to me.”

  It had to be done. Had he let the creature go, he would have eventually torn at a helpless mortal wearing something sparkly in an attempt to feed his unholy craving.

  Catching movement at the end of the alley where he’d entered, Kaz rushed to the street and scanned both ways. He didn’t see anyone. Nor did he feel any of the weird sensations he’d noticed when first entering FaeryTown. Yet his heart raced.

  The rush of something big moved swiftly through the air above him, painting a shadow across the cobbled street beneath Kaz’s boots.

  A faery? Why couldn’t he see it?

  Pain suddenly pierced his gut. He gripped his hip, felt the hard, metal object that had embedded in his flesh, and forced himself not to cry out at the agonizing pain of it. Instead, his eyes tracked through the night in the direction from which he estimated the weapon had been shot.

  Nothing. No movement. Not even a stray tourist fumbling about.

  Had it been a fellow vampire keeping an eye out for his buddy? Maybe. But Kaz felt such a strange and unusual tingling in his wound he could only associate it with Faery.

  Eyelids fluttering, he fought to control his senses as the pain needled its way into his veins and traversed his nervous system. He would not pass out here in FaeryTown. He could not. Vampires may come after him.

  Or worse, faeries.

  Perhaps they already had.

  With thoughts of Zoë’s raspberry lips to focus on and lure him onward, Kaz stumbled into the street filled with humans milling before a jazz club, and brushed past the wings of faeries who gave him little notice.

  His hand slid down his leg, aiming for the iron blade in his boot, but he couldn’t bend far enough without crying out in pain.

  Too late for defense. His attacker was probably laughing as he flew off into the night like some kind of sparkly bat. Clutching his gut, he stumbled onward, knowing Zoë lived not far off, and hoping he’d make it.

  Chapter 7

  Concocting the blend was a lesson in marvel. Atoms made up everything in the universe, and understanding that, Zoe knew how to access the very molecules of a living substance and align them through use of verse and intent. Combine that with resonance, the key to all magic, and she could do amazing things.

  Zoë never forgot to give thanks to the universe for her skills and innate powers as well as for the years of study alongside her father, who had taught her unique magics. Through focus, and channeling her energies, her magic had become a well-honed instrument.

  Touching the goggles she wore, she ensured they were a good fit. Safety first. She’d experienced too many spells gone haywire as a teenager not to have learned that lesson.

  “Not a peep on how silly I look,” she commented to Sid.

  Sid curled his tail about his legs, his silence a possible agreement.

  Moonlight glittered across the marble worktable, dancing in the glass vials and alembics and doing a saucy tango with the contents that glowed purple and glinted with all colors.

  Faery ichor was a beautiful thing. It saddened her that it worked such horrors on vampires. Just so, though. Perhaps vampires should stay away from faeries. But since they did not...

  She chanted the transformative spell. The ichor settled at the bottom of the alembic and now it must rest for an hour before she could reduce it to dust. She set the timer.

  Pushing up the goggles onto her forehead, she eyed Sid and nodded toward the door. “You hungry? I could go for a late-night cup of tea and some cookies. I’ve your favorite Russian tea cakes.”

  Sid scampered down the stairs and to the kitchen before Zoë even flicked off the lights in the spell room.

  In the kitchen, she put on a kettle of water and dug out the cookies from a glass canister. Breaking one onto a plate, she set it on the floor for the cat, who eagerly went at the powdered-sugar-coated treat.

  The phone rang, and, with a glance to the clock—past midnight—Zoë hesitated answering. She got so many cold calls from salesmen. But this late? She owned a clunky, old, rotary-dial phone, so caller ID was out of the question. It continued beyond the polite four rings, so she picked it up.

  “Mademoiselle Guillebeaux?”

  It was Mauritius, the vampire who had hired her. She recognized the British accent. “It’s late.”

  “Not for me.”

  Of course not. Vampires were notorious night creatures. Did they ever sleep? She wasn’t tired herself, but the principle of such a late call miffed her. Without question, vampires had entitlement issues. She let it go. Not worth the argument.

  “Is there something I can do for you?” she asked. “I got the order for an increase in volume.”

  “Which you can handle?”

  “Yes, I think so. We’ll know for sure by Sunday.”

  “I trust you’ve the capability to produce. I’ve heard startling news regarding my liaison.”

  The pink-haired vampiress? “What’s that?”

  “She was attacked by a hunter last evening.”

  Attacked? More like Pink had sicced her henchmen on Kaz, while she’d stood back and watched the carnage ensue.

  “Do you have any idea who could have done such a thing?”

  “Why would I?” She wasn’t going to hand over Kaz’s name to a vampire who could erase him from the planet. Or, vice versa, alert a hunter to the vampire who was helping her to effect change in the vampire community.

  “The woman is annoying,” Zoë continued. “She probably looked at the hunter the wrong way and there you go. And that is what hunters do, isn’t it? Stalk vampires? Anyway, can’t she handle herself? Or is she dead?”

  “No, not dead. I’m looking into things. I like to keep a tight rein on business.”

  “Business?” There was that word again. “Are you distributing my blend widely?”

  “Oh yes, indeed, I am.”

  “I hadn’t really considered it a business. More like charity.”

  “Business, charity. We all use different terms for the same thing.”

  “Sure.” And all because Luc had hooked her up with Mauritius. “I haven’t heard from Luc for weeks. He’s not at his apartment.”

  “I understand he’s been staying with...uh, someone who can help him overcome his addiction.”

  “Do you have a number for him?”

  “Mademoiselle, as I’ve explained, your friend Luc doesn’t want to speak with you until he’s completely clean of dust. You understand? He wants to surprise you.”

  “Sure.” But still.

  It wasn’t like Luc to disappear, no matter the circumstances. Though he did like surprises. They’d had a terrible beginning, but once they’d grown comfortable with one another, Luc had revealed his mischievous side to Zoë with late-night flower-picking excursions in the park and trips to the nearest cemetery to help her collect items for her spells. But not even a phone call?

  “If you’re sure you’ve no information leading to the hunter?”

&nbs
p; “Don’t be ridiculous, Mauritius. I don’t cast a very wide net. It’s just me and the cat here, and we pretty much keep to ourselves.”

  “Yes, you do live in a bit of a bubble. Works for me. Good evening, Mademoiselle. I’ll be in contact soon.”

  She stared at the receiver after he clicked off. Why did her living privately work for him? The man was mysterious and annoying. But he was doing a good thing for his breed, so she overlooked the weirdness.

  Sid jumped onto the kitchen table and rubbed his cheek along her arm. “Another cookie? Fine, but on the floor, Sid. No cats on the table.”

  The cat obeyed, parking himself by the plate with the crumbled cookie. Not a flake of powdered sugar remained, though the black cat did sport a smart white mustache.

  * * *

  Kaz spied Zoë sitting on her back steps amongst a froth of tall flowers that transformed her backyard into some kind of midnight wonderland tucked amidst the sooted gray landscape of Paris. He stopped at the wrought-iron gate, slapping a palm on the flaking curve of metal. The pain at his hip challenged clear thinking.

  He considered turning and leaving. She hadn’t noticed him yet. It was late, and he should have gone home. But he didn’t think he could handle the trip without passing out on the Metro.

  The thing stuck in his gut had securely clamped onto flesh and muscle like a homicidal squid. He’d twisted on it while stumbling here, but it had hurt like a mother, and knowing nothing about faery weapons he decided against yanking it out. A careful removal was necessary. And someone who practiced witchcraft might know a means to remove it.

  Good thing she wasn’t already tucked in bed. For a moment, his thoughts cleared the pain and replaced it with a woozy, dreamy wonder. He bet her sheets smelled like her, all fruits, spices and flowers. He could imagine nuzzling next to her in the morning with the sun beaming over their skin, both of them exhausted from making love.

  Zoë challenged his need to walk away. Since meeting her he’d walked toward her every chance he’d gotten. And he had no explanation as to why. She knew what he did, and it didn’t frighten her. But that didn’t make it any less dangerous to invite her into his life.

  Wincing, Kaz fought a painful groan, but only succeeded by half. Eyes blurring, he blinked. The bitter taste filled his mouth and he wobbled, unsure which direction was up or sideways. When the pain rumbled up in his throat, Kaz’s tight moan prompted Zoë to scan her garden. When finally she met his gaze, he gave a little wave, then dropped to the ground on his knees, clinging to the gate as if that would keep him alert and conscious.

  “Oh, goddess!” Zoë appeared by his side, her boots clicking the path stones, and knelt by him, touching his cheek with her palm. “What happened?”

  Her touch spread warmth across his cheek. Damn, that felt good. Kaz winced and patted his hip. He didn’t bleed much, which was the disturbing part.

  “What is that?”

  He drew away his hand to reveal the crazy weapon attached to his hip. “I was hoping you would know. Hurts like hell. I was minding my own business and got shot by someone I didn’t even see. Probably a faery.”

  “Why would a faery— You must have pissed someone off.”

  “Always that possibility.”

  “This is a flechette. I’ve only seen these used by the sidhe. Get inside and take your shirt off. That thing will require some delicate surgery.”

  “Thanks, Zo—” Blackness toyed with his thoughts.

  The witch smacked his cheek, shocking him to consciousness. “Stay with me. You’re too big to toss over my shoulder.”

  Relief flooded his system with endorphins, and for the walk up the garden path and into her house, Kaz felt little pain. Or maybe it was following Zoë’s sexy sashay that distracted his thoughts. Yeah, he could follow this chick anywhere. Into her house, into her arms, into her bed...

  He trudged across the threshold and tugged off his shirt, which was bloodied at the hem, and it also sparkled. Wobbling like a drunk man trying to fight gravity, Kaz fingered the weird glitter. The cat swished about his ankles, nearly tripping him. He swung down an arm to pet him, but instead let out a groan and missed the feline entirely.

  A beam of moonlight spotlighted Zoë, who stood before a window. A slim-fitted dress hugged her curves. Black, ankle-high boots and gray wool tights gave her an appropriately witchy look. Something bright glinted in her dark and light hair. A rhinestone barrette in the shape of a bow. And at her neck hung a diamond pendant he’d noticed yesterday, as well.

  A dusted vamp would go crazy over those sparkly bits of decoration.

  Her raspberry lips curved into a bow and she said, “Go lie on the couch and pull down your jeans. I’ll be right back with some tools.”

  “Tools?” Kaz winced, imagining the wicked torture devices with which the witch might return. Then he admonished himself for acting the sissy. He should rip the thing out, let out a good scream and be done with it. “Tools. Peachy.”

  Head spinning, he unzipped his jeans and shuffled them down to expose his hips. The weapon had chewed off some of the leather, so the pants did not stick. Then he collapsed on the couch, relieved to put up his feet and not worry some winged creature might be tailing him.

  Wait.

  “Kaz, what are you doing?”

  He may have lured the faery to Zoë’s house. This had not been a well-thought excursion. Sitting up, he thought to zip and leave, but Zoë’s hand pushed him back down by the shoulder. He hissed at the pain of landing.

  “I shouldn’t have come here. I could have lured the faery who shot me to your door.”

  “Yes, you could have, but it’s too late now, isn’t it?”

  He winced and shrugged guiltily. “Sorry.”

  “Despite my not believing in the fair folk, I do have faery wards on this house. As well as wards for vamps and weres.”

  “Probably should consider putting up a ward against hunters, eh?”

  “Don’t be silly. I wouldn’t want to keep you away.”

  “Nicest thing a girl’s ever said to me after ‘pull down your pants and wait for me.’”

  “And look how well you take orders.” Her eyes skated over his hips and Kaz shyly swept his palm over his unzipped fly. Only his dark curls were visible, but still he felt the heat rise in his neck and behind his ears.

  “You said you don’t believe in faeries?” he asked.

  “Course not. I’m not foolish,” she said. “Didn’t you stop believing in faeries when you were a kid?”

  “Don’t think I ever believed in them. That was girlie stuff. Uh, until now.”

  “You shouldn’t.”

  “I don’t. I mean—wait a second. You just confirmed this is a faery weapon stuck in my hip.”

  “It is.”

  “Then how can you not...?”

  “Just because they exist doesn’t mean I have to believe in them.”

  Kaz was having trouble following her logic.

  “Belief grants them too much power,” Zoë explained. “Stop believing in them, and they’ve little power over you. Now, let me take a look at the damage.”

  He yelped as she touched the flechette, tilting it side to side for inspection.

  “It’s embedded deep,” she observed. “This weapon begins as a sort of ninja star when it’s shot, but the arms of it hinge to secure a good hold. Barbed on the ends of the prongs, for sure. I’ll have to pull away the skin and muscle and wiggle it out.”

  “Just yank it out quick,” Kaz said through a tight jaw.

  “And disperse the poison through your system?”

  “Poison?”

  “It’s rare a faery weapon is not infused with poison. I suspect it’s contained in a breakable tip. You wiggle it too much, you release the poison. Most likely it’s a nerve agent that i
nduces a slow and agonizing death. But if you want me to yank it—”

  “No, that’s cool.” He slid a hand over hers, giving her wrist a gentle squeeze. “Slow and easy works for me.”

  “Mmm, yes, slow and easy.” Zoë’s eyelids closed and she licked those soft lips. Then she shook her head, rising from her wandering thoughts. “I’m going to numb the area with a spell, so relax and take in the words I speak without resistance.”

  Kaz nodded and closed his eyes. “Give it to me.”

  As Zoë spoke, he fell into the gentle recitation of magical words. He didn’t understand them—they were probably Latin—but it didn’t matter. Her focus was on him, and that felt all kinds of right. It wasn’t often he got all the attention.

  She didn’t believe in faeries? Hell, he did. Unfortunately. But he also believed in this witch and the power of her healing magic.

  He could feel her fingers moving about the flechette. Surrendering to the pain by allowing it to disperse and move through his body lessened its impact, and he was able to concentrate more on Zoë’s sweet-smelling skin than the agonizing fire coursing through his muscles.

  As she bent over him with what looked like long tweezers, her hair dusted his arm and he wanted to clutch the strands and press them against his mouth. Inhaling, he drew in her essence and imagined it filling his lungs like a white mist of magic. It was a sweet magic that would never choke him, and instead lulled him further into relaxation.

  “Don’t breathe,” she muttered. “Ready?”

  Before he could answer, fire exploded at his hip. Kaz tightened his jaw and his fists to keep from groaning loudly and from moving. Immediately after his induction into the Order, he’d taken a bullet while tracking a vampire tribe in Germany. It had burned through his marrow like molten lava. This was a similar pain, but it seemed to spread out from each of the weapon’s prongs, prickling nerve endings all through his body.

  “Is it out?” Kaz opened his eyes to see the weapon.

  “I think this is Sidhe Cortège,” she said, holding up the small five-pronged flechette to inspect. Blood and sparkly stuff oozed down the crazy ninja-star-like thing.