Harlequin Nocturne January 2014 Bundle: The Vampire HunterMoon Rising

by Michele Hauf

  To the right, he heard sniffing. The dog. He clicked on the Fringe account. “Marc?” Van Bom.

  Toenails scratched over concrete. The dog was growing brave.

  “Where are you?” the older vampire asked. There were noises in the background. The vampire wasn’t alone. The screen, however, gave no hint as to where Van Bom was. The scene behind him was only a blank wall.

  Marc frowned. Van Bom wasn’t in the Fringe office, or, based on the flat white paint, in his home. The older vampire had more opulent taste than that. Marc doubted there was an unadorned wall in his mansion.

  “Where are you—?” Marc began.

  The smell of woods and wet leaves flowed over him.

  Not a dog. A wolf.

  Marc spun as the animal leaped. It landed on Marc’s chest, its teeth flashing toward his throat.

  “Delacroix!” Van Bom’s voice boomed from the computer.

  Marc grabbed the animal by the neck to keep its teeth at bay. Its eyes were amber. Its intent clear.

  He rolled, flipping the creature onto its back. It snarled and struggled, used its hind feet to push at him, but he held on, ignored the swipes of its canines over his face and chin. Ignored the blood that flowed from the wounds. He placed a hand on each side of the wolf’s head and slammed it back onto the concrete.

  The animal twisted and pulled itself free. It staggered to the side, snarling. Back on his feet, Marc snarled as well.

  Blood stained the creature’s gray fur. Marc didn’t know if it was vampire or werewolf, his or his attacker’s.

  “Silver, Delacroix. You will never beat him without silver. Use the stake.” Van Bom’s disembodied voice coming from the computer.

  The stake? How did Van Bom know he had found it?

  The thoughts sped through Marc’s brain, but he didn’t have time to pursue them. The werewolf had come back to itself.

  It leaped again.

  Marc swung and made contact with its snout. The animal went down. Its tongue hung from its mouth, but it stood again.

  Silver. Marc had silver—the caps he had taken from the vampire he’d left on the roof.

  He pulled them from his pocket and slipped them onto his fangs.

  The wolf growled with a new intensity. Then it tilted its head and raced past him.

  Marc spun, unsure whether to let the creature go or chase after it. Adrenaline raced through him. He wasn’t ready to give up the fight, couldn’t understand why the wolf had been either.

  A howl sounded from the street, from where he had left CeCe.

  Van Bom yelled from the computer, demanding to know what was happening.

  Marc ignored him, ignored everything except the burning instinct to get back to CeCe now.

  * * *

  CeCe’s blood flowed from her neck. Even without the use of silver caps, the vampire was weakening her. Maybe the stake was working against her, punishing her for not giving it what it craved.

  Or perhaps she was...did the damned thing care whether the blood it dined on was vampire or werewolf? CeCe guessed not.

  She tried to open her hand and drop the thing, but her fingers wouldn’t uncurl. The stake seemed to cling to them.

  Then suddenly she went down, the vampire falling on top of her. His fangs pulled from her neck. He screamed.

  She heard growls and smelled fur...wolf.

  She rolled onto her knees, and then staggered to her feet.

  A werewolf clung to the vampire’s throat, jerked and tore, seemed determined to rip the creature in two.

  The vampire fought him off, or tried to. He punched the animal in the head. The werewolf flew sideways, landing on its feet.

  Karl, come to save her. Karl, whom she had stopped trusting.

  The alpha charged again. And the vampire met that charge.

  The stake in her hand pulsed...laughed. The thing was enjoying this. It’s what it had wanted all along...what it craved.

  Blood and fur spattered the street.

  Both creatures were tired; both bled more than seemed possible.

  The stake pulsed...reminding her of what she held, the power she held. She could stop this. She could save Karl, but at what cost?

  “CeCe!” Marc raced toward her, his clothing torn and bloodstained too. But that isn’t what held her attention, isn’t what she focused on. No, her gaze locked onto his mouth and the silver caps that covered his fangs.

  The stake laughed again.

  Who can you trust, little wolf? Who can you trust?

  * * *

  CeCe stood in the street, her clothing soaked with blood. Marc raced toward her, relief blinding him to everything except the sight of the female he loved.

  She took a step forward and lifted her arm.

  Gripped tight in her hand was the stake. Indecision clear on her face, she took another step.

  “CeCe?” He slowed and looked past her, saw the wolf that had attacked him caught in a vampire’s embrace.

  The animal bucked and tore at the vampire’s arm.

  “You’re wearing silver caps.”

  CeCe’s words pulled his attention back to her.

  He moved his hand to his mouth, felt the caps on his fangs.

  “The wolf attacked me,” he said, not sure why he felt the need to explain himself, and not liking it.

  “It’s Karl. He came back for me, came to save me.”

  He’d come while Marc lagged. She didn’t say it, but he heard the censure. Knew the alpha had proven something to her, something important.

  “You’re his destined mate.” A fact, nothing more. If the alpha hadn’t given up his fight with Marc to save CeCe, Marc would have hated him all the more. As it was, that hate was turned inward, was another sign of how ill-suited he and the female werewolf were for each other. He hadn’t heard her cry; he hadn’t been drawn to her side. The alpha had.

  “I have to help him—I have to kill the vampire.” She took another step, but toward Marc.

  “CeCe?” He jerked the caps from his mouth and tossed them onto the ground.

  She took another step.

  Behind her a third werewolf appeared. It raced forward, but didn’t get far. A vampire dropped out of the sky, and then another. A line of them ran along the roofs of the surrounding buildings. One after another they launched themselves and landed in a crouch on the ground.

  More wolves appeared too, charged from the darkness, their fur bristling and their feet eating up the ground.

  The war had begun and CeCe was standing seemingly lost in the middle of it.

  Marc ran toward her. Her eyes were glazed, and her skin was pale. She lifted her arm and slashed downward, caught him in the shoulder with the stake.

  The void he’d felt when he’d touched the metal himself flowed into him, filled him, but multiplied tenfold.

  His fangs extended; a hiss left his lips. He spun, ready to attack, every instinct telling him to attack.

  CeCe stared back at him, her eyes empty and confused. “Kill,” she muttered.

  He fisted his hands and pushed back against the monster inside him, threatening to come out.

  This wasn’t CeCe. The woman he’d made love to couldn’t have acted that well; he couldn’t have misplaced his trust that thoroughly. It was the stake.

  She lifted the weapon again.

  He walked into her strike, grabbed her around the forearm and forced her arm above her hand. She fought back, her free hand swinging toward him, her nails scraping over his face.

  She snapped at him, her teeth even and white, 100 percent human, but her eyes slanting and all wolf.

  If she shifted she would drop the stake, but he guessed she would lose something else as well...her humanity.

  She took a step backw
ard and leveraged her body forward. The stake dipped lower.

  The broken vampire symbol caught his eye.

  Whoever created the thing had done so to break them, the vampires and the wolves, but that person had failed before. One vampire had stopped them before.

  Another could again.

  He had to get her to drop it. Had to force it from her hand.

  Knowing he couldn’t control whatever magic had been forged into the weapon any better than CeCe, he forced her arm straight...away from their bodies, so it looked as if they were engaged in a tango.

  CeCe snarled and tried to bend her arm. Marc held tight and jerked her closer to his body, until he could feel her heart against his chest, smell the shampoo she’d used on her hair.

  Then he bit her. Not the savage bite of a vampire unleashed. This bite was the seductive bite of a vampire intent on putting someone under thrall.

  Her werewolf blood precluded her from falling under his powers completely. But he hoped he was strong enough to relax her, to remind her he wasn’t her enemy.

  He just needed to get her to trust him once more.

  Behind them the vampires and werewolves continued their battle. Wolves screamed and vampires hissed. The heady scent of blood filled the street, but to Marc it was all background―his only focus, his world, was CeCe.

  She stayed stiff and unyielding at first, struggling against him, but slowly some of the rigidity left her frame and her body began to slump. He lapped his tongue over her skin, healing her wound, and hopefully, healing her, wishing they were alone and not stuck in this insane magic-created nightmare.

  Her head tilted and her empty hand crept up his back. She caressed his muscles. He pressed a kiss against her throat and murmured an apology for what he was about to do.

  Then eyes closed, he slammed her hand against the brick wall. She sucked in a breath and her eyes flew open.

  “Drop the stake, CeCe.”

  She stared at him, no comprehension of what he was asking on her face.

  He gritted his teeth and smashed her hand against the wall again.

  Anger flashed through her eyes and relief washed over him. The stake’s power was weakening.

  “The stake—”

  Her gaze shifted, her expression shifted, from anger to horror. Her hand opened and the stake fell, clattered to the ground, where it lay winking up at them.

  Luring them to pick it back up and continue the fight.

  CeCe bent. He wrapped his arm around her waist and jerked her backward.

  When he looked up, three wolves were bearing down on them, mouths open, muzzles stained with blood.

  He grabbed CeCe by the waist and slung her over his shoulder. As he did, the vampires moved in and one did the unthinkable, at least in Marc’s mind.

  He picked up the stake.

  Marc stared at him, memorizing his face and frame. “Drop it,” he yelled.

  The vampire rolled the thing over in his hand. His face creased. His mouth opened. He shook his arm, seemed to be trying to drop the weapon he had picked up of his own free will.

  Marc hesitated, remembering the feeling of death when he had touched the stake, thinking to help the vampire.

  A wolf knocked into the vampire. The male turned and his lips pulled back. He hissed and then he drove the stake into the canine’s back.

  The creature shrieked.

  CeCe murmured something, reminding him he had his own werewolf to protect.

  He glanced at the vampire one last time, then his grip on CeCe tight, he ran.

  The stake had won. The war was on.

  Chapter 21

  The world zipped past as CeCe hung upside down over Marc’s shoulder. She relaxed against him, strangely relieved to have the job of thinking, sorting out what was happening, taken away from her.

  But when they entered the woods, she knew she could go no farther. She pounded on his back with a closed fist.

  Without questioning, he set her upright on her feet.

  Their clothing was torn and they were both covered in blood. She wrapped her arms around herself. She’d attacked Marc. She’d seen him coming and something inside her had snapped.

  “You were wearing caps,” she murmured.

  He nodded. “And you were holding the stake.” His eyes were hollow. She felt the same, dazed and confused...lost.

  She stared past him, at a tree. “We both looked the part, didn’t we?”

  “Played it pretty well too.”

  She glanced at him, looking for some sign of censure, but his gaze was clear and honest.

  “I’m sorry. I saw you with the caps...I should have known—”

  He placed a finger under her chin and lifted her face to his. “It’s the stake. The stake is causing all of this.” He blinked as if clearing his mind. “I saw a vampire pick it up, saw him use it.”

  Her eyes widened. The stake was in a vampire’s hands.

  She doubted anyone, wolf or vamp, could resist its magic. The energy snaking around her wrist. She shivered.

  “Where is it?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Back there still in the battle.”

  She stepped to the side, ready to push past him. “We have to get it, destroy it.”

  His fingers wrapped around her arm. “Not now. Whatever damage could be done has been.” His lips pressed together. “Going back this minute will solve none of that. We have to think, and wait...for daylight.”

  “Daylight? What will that do? You’ve proven vampires can walk in the day.”

  “Some,” he corrected her. “The older ones, but older vampires aren’t what I saw tonight. They were all new, under twenty years turned. They will be hiding soon, or paying the price for ignoring the need.”

  “But the werewolves—”

  “Won’t find them.”

  “But you can?”

  “Of course.”

  “So, we’re going vampire hunting?” It seemed wrong to voice the question, but Marc was unfazed.

  He smiled, a grim pull of his lips. “Yes, we are.”

  * * *

  CeCe followed Marc into the woods. She knew where they were going—the cave. Her heart clutched at the thought, but still twenty yards from where they had left Russell, Marc veered another direction. They left the path.

  A gibbous moon hung in the sky, but the canopy of the trees was thick here and blocked most of its light. She hooked a finger through a loop on Marc’s waistband and let him guide her.

  “We have two hours before the vampires will be looking for a hideout,” he murmured. “The entrance we found is for a small cave, little more than a hole in the ground, but there’s another not far away, bigger and more tempting to vampires looking to hide from the sun.”

  A bigger cave would be better, less like the well she’d survived as a child. She could do this.

  She focused on the thought, did her best to convince herself, but she found herself walking closer to Marc and still stumbling. Her fear was getting in her way. She knew that, but despite that knowledge, she couldn’t control it.

  Twenty minutes later, they stopped. Marc pulled her around to face him and tilted her face upward. “It’s another hundred feet; you don’t need to go in. I can do this alone.” He pointed somewhere to their right. “I’ve been here before. There’s a path, it leads to a gas station on the highway. Take it and get a ride somewhere. Be safe.”

  “No—”

  Howls sounded. The hair on CeCe’s arms stood. “Werewolves.”

  Marc placed his hand on her back and applied pressure, nudging her toward the path she couldn’t see.

  “If the wolves are coming, the vampires will be behind them. You need to leave.”

  She shook her head. “I ca
n stall the wolves so you can get inside.” She gestured the direction he had been going, where he said the cave was located.

  “No.”

  More howls, but the howls aren’t what worried CeCe. Wolves didn’t howl when they hunted. It was the silence around them, the same stillness she had noticed the first time she stood in these woods when Marc, a vampire, first entered.

  Perhaps the forest sensed him again, perhaps that explained the quiet. Or perhaps there were vampires around them. Perhaps the war had followed them into the trees.

  She didn’t want to go into a cave and she didn’t want to face the vampires, but she had zero intention of doing as Marc asked, either. She wouldn’t leave him here, tuck her tail and run away. She would stay and face the vampires or she would go with Marc and face the cave, but she wouldn’t leave him here alone.

  “I can call the pack. I’ll be fine.” But the pack, she feared, might have already morphed into something she didn’t know.

  “CeCe.” Karl stepped out of the trees. He was naked and covered with blood. In his hands was a stake, not the stake, but another made of wood. “Step away from him.” He motioned for her to move to the side.

  Marc stilled.

  “Where’s the stake, CeCe?” Karl held up the one in his hand.

  “I—” She stopped herself from looking at Marc, but it didn’t matter. Karl cursed and spat on the ground.

  “You released him, didn’t you? Did you give him the stake too? A vampire? How stupid can you be?”

  Her jaw tightened. “What about you? What didn’t you tell me? You stole the stake from my room, didn’t you? Then when you used it, you wore gloves? Why?”

  “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m a werewolf. I thought you were too.”

  The barb hit, but didn’t hold. “Yes, it’s silver, but the handle is wrapped. Why the glove? Is it because you know what the stake does? Know about the magic inside it?”

  A new realization hit her. “My God, you left it so I’d pick it up, didn’t you? You meant for me to be taken in by its spell. You meant for me to kill...” She didn’t finish. She didn’t have to―all present knew what Karl’s intentions had been.