Harlequin Nocturne January 2014 Bundle: The Vampire HunterMoon Rising

by Michele Hauf

  She returned her attention to the coin. Vampire, not werewolf.

  Where was the werewolf claim to this treasure?

  She looked up slowly, raising her light as she did. The snake-embossed coins, the guns, the silver bullets and the fang caps were all vampire.

  But the stakes...those could be from either.

  What about the stake that had killed Russell? Which side had created it?

  She stood.

  Why had Karl sent her to Cave Vista? Had he known what she would find? If so, why hadn’t he told her?

  She spun and swiped her hand to the side. Coins and weapons cascaded to the floor. The noise was deafening. She stood still, letting the sound knock into her body. She made no attempt to stop the slide of gold and silver that flowed across her shoes, buried her feet. The treasure felt angry; she felt angry.

  Behind the disappearing stack, something moved...teetered.

  As the last few coins skittered to a stop, her beam shot up, into an alcove she hadn’t noticed before, and onto the death-hollowed face of a vampire.

  She sucked in a breath and leaped backward, out of the creature’s reach. Her foot slipped and she fell. The vampire fell too...on top of her.

  Her muscles clenched and her wolf jumped forward. She lashed out with her fist, ready to fight, ready to grab whatever weapon her hand touched first to survive.

  But the vampire didn’t move, didn’t hiss. He did nothing but lie on top of her, a dead—and she quickly realized desiccated—weight. He even smelled of dust.

  This vampire was dead and had been for a very long time.

  She closed her eyes briefly, willing her wolf to relax and her heart to slow. Then she pushed the vampire’s body off hers and scrambled to her knees.

  Light in hand, she studied him. It was hard to tell his age or how long he had been here, but, by the light weight of his body and the brittle feel of his skin, she guessed his death hadn’t been recent. She shone the light onto his face. His eyes had been closed when he died and his face peaceful, as if he had accepted, even welcomed his end.

  She shifted the beam lower, onto his chest.

  What she saw was both expected and shocking. His hands were positioned directly over his heart, or where his heart would have been, but they weren’t laid flat in the peaceful repose of death. Instead they formed two circles, one stacked on top of the other, as if he had been holding something—something large that had protruded deep into his chest...deep into his heart.

  The vampire had been staked, and by the angle of his elbows, CeCe had to guess, by his own hand.

  The question was why?

  Her hand shaking, CeCe placed her fingers lightly on top of his. His skin was dry and hard, giving no clue as to what had happened here, what had driven this vampire to take his own life.

  But CeCe didn’t need an explanation. There really was only one.

  The stake. It had to be. This vampire, whoever he was, had brought it and all these other weapons to the hidden part of this cavern.

  And then he’d killed the only being who knew where they were hidden—himself.

  She squeezed his fingers, wishing she could tell him how brave and right he had been.

  * * *

  “Van Bom.” Marc folded his fingers against his palm. “You’re watching over the young ones. That’s good.” He’d known an older vampire might be in attendance, but he was surprised to see the senior member of the Fringe.

  He glanced around, looking for any other familiar faces, but all the vampires passed out in the cave were strangers. He walked to one and stared down at him, checked the pallor of his skin, the rapidity of his heartbeat. As vampires aged they lost the glow of life and their hearts beat slower.

  The vampire before Marc looked as if he had just fallen asleep, and his heart thumped like a rabbit.

  He was freshly turned.

  How fresh?

  Careful to keep his suspicions from showing, he turned back to Van Bom.

  “I didn’t realize the Fringe was sending reinforcements.”

  The vampire moved his finger so it was no longer pressing on the revolver’s trigger, but he didn’t set the weapon down. “We haven’t talked...in depth.”

  “So, this...” Marc motioned to the sleeping vampires around them. “Was a recent decision?” There were twenty to thirty vampires in the chamber. Gathering that many of their kind quickly would be near impossible, unless you had a personal connection to each, unless you were tied by blood, had made each.

  Van Bom had been very busy, and not in a way the Fringe would approve.

  “The Fringe doesn’t always know what is best.” Van Bom flicked his fingernails against each other. His nails were long and curved at the ends, like a hawk’s talons. His eyes were like the predatory bird’s too, cunning and containing zero emotion.

  “Where’s the girl, Delacroix?”

  “The girl?” Marc slid his hands into the front pockets of his expensive pants. “What girl?”

  “The half-breed. Alfred’s bastard.”

  “Alfred?” Marc no longer had to act confused; he had no idea what the older vampire was rambling about.

  Van Bom waved the gun. “The idiot who hid the stake from me before.”

  The stake. Van Bom was after that stake. That Marc had expected. The rest... “You mean the vampire you told me about who hid the stake and other weapons after the war, who stopped the war.”

  “Yes, him...the hero.” Van Bom snorted. “His bastard. Where is she? You didn’t let the wolves get her too, did you?”

  “Too? What are you talking about, Van Bom? You’re making no sense.” But he was. Van Bom’s half statements were adding together, drawing a picture in Marc’s mind, one he would never have guessed could be true, knew CeCe would never guess either.

  “Yes, too. They took the stake. If they have both...” Van Bom waved the gun more.

  Marc wanted to ask about CeCe, confirm that she was the girl the vampire had spoken of, but he knew better than to tip his hand, to let the older vamp see their connection.

  “A vampire had the stake when I left.”

  “We...don’t you mean, we? The others told me you left with the girl.”

  So, it was CeCe. His unspoken question answered, he ignored Van Bom’s. “Where is the stake now?”

  “The wolves have it. The damn kit had it in his hands and he lost it. He couldn’t handle its power. He went berserk, attacked everyone around him, vampire and wolf.”

  “The vampires turned on him.” Statement, not question. When the scent of blood was in the air, young vamps had no control. Van Bom had been a fool to think his children would react otherwise.

  Van Bom sighed. “Yes, and the wolves moved in. The sun was coming, and down to the last man, they panicked.” He walked to one of the sleeping vampires and brushed a lock of hair from his face. “They weren’t ready.”

  He looked up. “But you have the girl. We can use her to get back the stake.”

  Marc held out both arms. “No, I don’t.” He glanced around the cavern, debating his best move. Obviously, the older vampire had to be stopped, but confronting him here, in front of his sleeping offspring, would be suicide. Even a freshly turned vampire would awaken if his sire called to him in this close proximity.

  Van Bom dropped his hand from the sleeping vampire’s face. His finger returned to the gun’s trigger. “Do the wolves have her?”

  “No—”

  Van Bom’s shoulders lowered and his head moved forward. He inhaled. “Wolf,” he murmured. He motioned for Marc to step behind a column.

  Afraid CeCe was about to enter the room, Marc hesitated. Van Bom lifted his lip, revealing his fangs. He pressed his will outward, toward Marc.

  Marc stiffened, but realizing his best move
was to keep the older vampire off guard, he slipped behind the column and waited.

  Ten werewolves crept into the space, all male and all wearing belts loaded down with stakes.

  No, Marc corrected himself, not werewolves...slayers.

  Across the cave, Van Bom hissed. Then he fired.

  A werewolf screamed and fell. He clutched his shoulder and writhed on the ground. Those with him cursed and dropped.

  Van Bom fired again.

  The space smelled of gunpowder and fear, whose, Marc wasn’t sure.

  One of the wolves shifted. A slow grinding process so unlike what Marc had seen CeCe go through at first he thought Van Bom’s bullet had struck him too, that the wolf was convulsing from contact with the silver. But then, fully transformed, the male stood on all fours and shook himself from tail to snout.

  Then he leaped.

  Van Bom fired again, but his bullet missed. With a curse, he spun and screamed, a harsh screeching noise that vibrated off the rock walls and shot through Marc’s core. Werewolves bent at the waist, or staggered to the side, and all slapped hands over their ears.

  The sound was unearthly and unmistakable.

  Van Bom had just called the dead to wake.

  En masse the sleeping vampires stirred.

  Chapter 23

  CeCe left the treasure as she’d found it. There was nothing there for her. Nothing she wanted to take back out into the world.

  She didn’t know who the vampire she’d found was, but she knew after feeling the magic...the poison...in the stake that he’d done the only thing he could to stop it.

  And even that hadn’t worked. Porter had found the treasure and carried the stake back out into the world.

  With all the gold and silver there, why had Porter chosen the stake to carry out? She was sure he’d meant to come back for the rest, but why take the stake first? Because it was obviously valuable, being heavy and made of silver? Because he’d found it buried in the vampire’s chest? Or because the stake wanted him to?

  She swallowed the unease that rose at the last thought and hurried her steps. She’d followed the path back to where she had left Marc, then turned, going in the direction she guessed he had gone.

  The path was crooked and uneven. She slipped in the dark and clawed her way back to a stand, but she didn’t stop and she didn’t turn on the light.

  She’d seen the power of the stake, knew now she had something bigger to fear than a simple absence of light.

  * * *

  The werewolf who had shifted landed on a vampire fifteen feet to Marc’s left. Before he or the waking vamp could move, the wolf had torn out his target’s throat and was leaping to a new body...a new victim.

  With a curse, Marc grabbed the two vampires closest to him and jerked them to their feet. “Run,” he urged. “Deeper into the caverns.”

  It wasn’t advice he would normally give another vampire, but these vamps were too young to fight unrested.

  The werewolves would slaughter them.

  Van Bom yelled, a sound that to Marc had no meaning, but the vampires he held reacted. They reached to the small of their backs. Pistols appeared in their hands.

  The weapons were old, the type used sixty years earlier, the type Marc had once used too...when fighting the vampire-werewolf war.

  Van Bom might not have the stake, but he had found the rest of the cache, and he’d outfitted his freshly made army accordingly.

  Bullets exploded from gun barrels. Werewolves shrieked and fell, but as quickly as they did another wolf was beside them tearing the bullet from their companions’ bodies and shoving the wounded wolves back to their feet.

  Half shifted. Half stayed human. Those in full wolf leaped forward, teeth bared and their brethren’s blood from ripping out bullets staining their muzzles.

  Van Bom fired again. The bullet whizzed past Marc’s ear and lodged into the dirt wall behind him. “Fight!” the older vampire yelled.

  But for the first time in Marc’s life he stood frozen and unsure. Which side did he defend, which did he try to destroy?

  There was no side here he believed in. No side that he wanted to win.

  Fire burst to life around the chamber—the werewolves tossing flaming flares into the chamber.

  The energy in the room exploded.

  The vampires hissed and covered their eyes, but the wolves had something to lose too. Smoke clouded the space. The werewolves coughed as it found its way into their lungs.

  Both were hampered, but both continued to fight.

  Marc stood to the side, still undecided.

  “Delacroix!”

  A wolf hit Van Bom in the chest and the older vampire went down.

  With a curse, Marc leaped. He might not agree with what he thought the vampire had done, but he was Fringe. Marc couldn’t stand by while he died.

  The wolf on top of Van Bam was huge, over two hundred pounds. Marc grabbed the creature by scruff and tail and flung him to the side. The wolf hit the cave wall with a thump, but barely seemed to notice...he jumped to his feet and raced back toward Marc.

  “The gun.” Van Bom, bleeding from the neck, motioned to the revolver he had held earlier. It was within Marc’s reach, but as the wolf barreled closer, he couldn’t bring himself to pick it up.

  He wouldn’t be part of this war, not until he was given no other choice.

  And the werewolf seemed determined to do that for him.

  The animal surged forward, his teeth bared. Marc stood with his hands open and ready to grab the creature around the throat. The wolf plowed into him, knocking him onto his back, but he kept his grip and arms locked, held the creature’s flailing teeth away from his face.

  “Karl!”

  CeCe had arrived.

  The wolf on top of him stilled.

  The alpha. Marc should have recognized him.

  “She’s alive, alpha. No thanks to you,” Marc pulled the wolf close and muttered in his ear. “What kind of alpha are you? What kind of protector? You let her fall...but then, that isn’t all, is it? What do you know of Russell’s death?”

  The wolf rose on two legs, taking Marc to a stand with him. The creature lashed side to side, his teeth dragging across Marc’s chest, digging into his flesh.

  Marc lunged forward and grabbed the creature around the neck, held on like a cowboy clinging to a bull. “Was it worth it, alpha? What did you hope to gain? What do you still hope to gain?”

  The wolf twisted; its teeth clamped on to Marc’s arm.

  Marc winced in pain.

  With Marc unarmed, the wolf had the advantage. His massive fur ruff protected his neck and his strength matched the vampire’s. The wolf landed on all fours, taking Marc down with him. His back smashed against the hard floor, but he held tight. The wolf twisted, tried to pull Marc’s arm from his body. Marc moved with the wolf, his free hand landing on the dirt, supporting his weight.

  His fingers touched metal...cold and reassuring...a knife. He picked up the blade and, praying it contained silver, plunged it into the wolf’s neck.

  The werewolf loosened his hold and Marc pressed the advantage. He twisted the knife and slammed his knee into the creature’s throat. The wolf let go and with the knife still shoved in his neck, he stumbled backward.

  Marc staggered to his feet. “Where’s the stake?” he asked. He knew if Van Bom had told the truth, if the werewolves had the stake now, Karl would know.

  The alpha snarled and shook. The knife Marc had shoved into his neck flew free. With a roar, the werewolf began to shift. Within seconds, instead of the moments it had seemed to take some of the other wolves, the alpha stood before him, naked and human.

  “You know nothing, vampire.” He turned and began loping away, toward CeCe’s voice.

 
Marc wouldn’t let him get to her. He threw himself on the werewolf’s back and sank his fangs into his neck. The werewolf cursed and his knees bent, but he didn’t fall. Five wolves descended on them and tore Marc from their alpha’s back. They dragged him across the ground, his heels leaving twin trails in the dirt with each step.

  “Drop him over the side. See if he is like a bat. See if he can fly,” the alpha called over his shoulder and loped away.

  Marc jerked against his captors’ hold, but there were too many of them. They held him by arms and feet and swung him back and forth.

  Then they let him go.

  * * *

  From a ledge overlooking the cavern, CeCe stared, shocked, at what was happening below. The chamber was filled with bodies, werewolves and vampires thrashing and snarling. Guns fired and spots of fire glowed. Smoke rose from the flames, clung to her hair and clothes, and worked its way into her lungs.

  Her gaze had jumped from body to body, searching for Marc, and then she’d found him...on the ground under the weight of her once-destined mate, Karl.

  At her call, Marc looked up. She couldn’t see the expression on his face, couldn’t say if he was glad at her appearance or enraged.

  At the moment, it didn’t matter. What did was stopping this fight.

  But she was twenty feet above the chamber, twenty feet from being of any help to anyone.

  Without pausing to consider what she was going to do, she turned and jogged back the way she had come. Then she turned again and raced forward, and seconds before running out of ground, she leaped.

  “CeCe!” She heard Marc curse.

  She didn’t look in his direction. She couldn’t afford to; she had to focus on where she was about to land...on top of three werewolves, all in wolf form.

  She hit them hard, knocking all three to the ground. Her jaws snapped together. She bit her tongue, and blood filled her mouth.

  The wolves she had landed on snarled and whipped around, their mouths open and their teeth bared.

  From the ground, she snarled back, balled her fist and smashed the closest in the snout. “Back off,” she yelled.

  The wolf pulled back, but she could see his indecision. He was lost in his animal and in the fight. She lifted her foot and kicked him in the side of the head. “Goddamn it, Robert. Back off.”