A Wicked Hunger (Creatures of Darkness 1)

by Fay, Kiersten

  “We’re going to visit that witch,” he announced.

  Her head jerked up in surprise. “What witch?”

  He gestured to the cluster of items he’d given her. “The one who sold me all that stuff. She’ll free us of these hexes, and then she can explain why I should let her live.”

  Cora shivered at his dark tone.

  * * *

  The dense forest of trees passed by as Cora absently gazed at the scenery, her arm resting on the ledge of the passenger seat window. Thankfully, the evening was warm. She had kept the white button-down on, adding to it her loose sweats, but the material of both were thin. She’d tied her hair up to keep the rushing wind through the busted window from played havoc with it.

  She shifted in the seat and noticed a tiny lump pressing against her thigh. She scooped out the piece of glass and tossed it out the window. Mace maneuvered around a natural pot hole in the dirt road, only to hit a smaller one, rocking the car. More glass from the back window cascaded along the trunk with the clatter of a hundred high pitched tinks. Some of it tumbled into the back seat.

  Cora couldn’t help but laugh at the destruction. Mace lifted a brow at her as though she’d gone crazy. He wasn’t used to hearing her laugh, she supposed. She wasn’t used to it much either.

  “What’s funny?” he asked.

  “I can only imagine what Cortez will think of his car.”

  One corner of his mouth curled up. “I don’t give two shits about Cortez right now.”

  “Me either.” She laughed again.

  Maybe she was going nuts. She felt more relaxed now than she had in months, and she couldn’t ferret out why. Mace was clearly worried by her suddenly buoyant demeanor. She didn’t want him to be, but there wasn’t much she could do, besides force a somber mood. She frowned, but her ploy backfired and she laughed harder than before.

  Mace pressed the gas, picking up speed. “Your emotions seem erratic. At the cottage you seemed nervous or anxious. Now you’re…I want to say happy? Tell me what’s going on inside that head of yours.”

  She leaned her head back against the seat. “I don’t know. I’ve been trying to figure it out myself.” She paused, saddened that she was actually growing serious. “I’ve been so worried for so long, constantly on edge, even before this mess with the blood, before you.” She glanced his way, then back out the window. “And now I’ve nearly died, what, twice? Three times? Four? I’m losing count.”

  That brought her laughter back, making Mace even more concerned…she could feel it from him.

  She sobered, for his sake. “There’s got to be a breaking point, don’t you think?”

  “Oh, god. I broke you?”

  “No, not you. It’s not your fault. I’m just…I wish I could explain this better,” she muttered, then added more loudly, “My life is totally out of my control. It has been for longer than I can remember. So earlier I got to thinking, and it hit me: I’m going to have to stop fighting myself and letting my fear and preconceptions get the better of me and just go with the flow already.” She shrugged. “Once I decided that, it felt like a mountain of tension lifted off of me.”

  “Preconceptions?”

  “Yeah. About you, mostly. Vampires in general, I guess.”

  “And when did you come to this epiphany?”

  “This morning.”

  “By chance is that when you put that necklace on?”

  She took the stone pendent between her fingers. “Actually, a little afterward.”

  Mace grumbled out a sound as if that confirmed his suspicions.

  Cora went back to watching the scenery. She didn’t feel like she was under a spell. But then, maybe that was the point.

  Chapter 19

  “What do you mean, she’s gone away?” Mace was livid to have found an arrogantly snotty teen in place of that wretched ancient hag.

  “Are you deaf?” The dark-haired girl behind the counter cocked her head, narrowing her blue eyes into slits. With thick black makeup smudged around the edges, they all but disappeared against her pale skin. “She’s—gone—away.”

  He perched his knuckles on the counter. “Well, where’d she go?”

  The girl pointed a whimsical finger at the side of her head. “Do you see information booth stamped on my forehead?”

  He leaned forward with contempt, his patience gone in an instant. Cora seemed to notice the dangerous shift and placed a hand on his bicep. Her touch was like a balm.

  Wisely, she took over addressing the child. “When will Ms., uh, what did you say her name was?”

  “Windshaw,” the girl replied, crossing her fishnet covered arms over a shirt decorated by black and red skulls.

  “Right, when is Ms. Windshaw expected to return?”

  The girl popped her gum. “Didn’t say. Said she needed to go on business, is all, and she’d call.”

  Mace grumbled, “She knew I’d be coming for her ass is more like it.”

  The girl curled her lip at him. “Hey, what’s your damage, bruiser?”

  As his muscles flexed to teach this brat a lesson in humility, Cora gave a tender squeeze of her hand and then placed herself between him and the little witch.

  “Okay,” she said calmly. “Then is there anyone else here who knows about…magic?”

  “Why are you whispering it like that? We’re in a magic shop. And yeah, I do.”

  “You?” Mace scoffed.

  The girl rolled her eyes. “What do you want to know?”

  Cora answered, “Right, okay then. We’d like to know if there’s a spell on this necklace.” She lifted the pendant a few inches off her neck.

  The girl reached out just as rudely as the old lady had the night before and pulled the necklace closer for examination, making Cora bend over the counter. A line of stainless steel skull rings decorated the girl’s delicate hand, each with sparkling eyes of various colors.

  What was with youth and their obsession with death? Especially when they all turn into a bunch of ninnies in the face of it.

  “There’s no spell on this,” the girl announced, letting go of the necklace, and Cora along with it.

  Mace snorted. “’Scuse me if I don’t trust the proficiency of an inept baby witch.”

  The girl pinned him with a hard stare. “There’s no spell on that thing, and any witch who tells you otherwise is looking to con you with an—” She made air quotes. “—anti-spell that’ll do more damage than good.”

  “And I suppose there’s been no spell placed on me, either,” Mace challenged.

  The girl scanned the space around him.

  “No, there’s a spell on you,” she replied blithely, surprising both him and Cora. “Both of you actually. But it’s not from that necklace.”

  “Wait, both of us?” Cora’s voice had gone up an octave. “What kind of spell?”

  “I’m not sure about him, but you’re bound tighter than a nut-job in a straitjacket.”

  “Huh?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Duh, your magic’s been bound.”

  Cora and Mace shared a look.

  “No way!” The girl said. “How could you not know? I would kill myself if that happened to me.”

  Cora placed her pointer and thumb over the bridge of her nose and mumbled to herself, “This is getting ridiculous.” To the girl, she asked. “How do I…unbind it?”

  “That’s tricksy. Not all binding spells are created equal, and yours is a whopper. Do you know who cast it?”

  Cora shook her head.

  “That’ll make it harder to figure out, but I can see now why you’re wearing that necklace.”

  “Why’s that?” Mace demanded, not liking any of this.

  “Did you hear something?” the girl said obstinately, staring at Cora with faux curiosity. “Sounds like someone’s talking, but I can’t quite…” She cupped her palm around her ear.

  Mace was contemplating the satisfaction of having his hand around the girl’s neck, but Cora’s amused smirk gave him p
ause. “You’re actually enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  “Just a little,” she replied, then muttered to him through the side of her mouth, “I think she’s looking for an apology.”

  “Apology? For what? I’m the one who’s been hexed by that old witch. And now I’m forced to endure this immature—”

  The girl interrupted, sneering, “Whatever Ms. Windshaw did to you, your punk ass probably deserved it.”

  “You little wench!”

  “Mason!” Cora scolded. She stepped away from him and crossed her arms tightly over her chest.

  He glanced at the set of her stubborn jaw. “Oh, come on. Seriously? That’s the line? That’s what spurs you to be angry with me?”

  She looked at him now as if he were the worst sort. The younger girl mimicked Cora’s stance, except her expression was smug.

  Mace gritted his teeth, wishing only to be out of here as quickly as possible. “I’m sorry.” It wasn’t as if they were getting anywhere, anyway.

  “Sorry for what?” The girl asked sweetly.

  “Don’t push it.”

  She shrugged. “Fine. The crystal in that necklace is used for wisdom and clarity. It helps to see what is true while stifling thoughts that muddle the mind, like fear.” The girl grew animated as she continued. “Which in turn can translate into anger, hate, self-loathing, or even prejudice. Aside from clearing the mind, this stone helps to let go of the old and anything that keeps you attached to old notions or ideals that no longer serve you.” She started ticking off her fingers. “Helps with intuition, healing, balancing energy. It’s a very powerful stone.”

  Cora’s eyes darted to Mace. “Huh.”

  Mace wasn’t sure what to think about all that. Could the stone be responsible for Cora’s changed behavior? And if so… “How is that any different than a spell?”

  The girl laughed. “It doesn’t force anything upon the wearer that isn’t natural. It only brings positive energy that encourages change.”

  The implication was too tempting for Mace to believe. For a brief moment in time, had Cora actually conquered her fear to see him as a man rather than a vampire? Is that why she hadn’t fought the lust that drove her into his all-too-willing arms?

  He chastised himself for his hopeful thoughts. Even if she had, his errant actions would no doubt reinforce the idea that he was not to be trusted, once she was free of this stone’s influence. Then she’d be back to flinching from him and averting her gaze like a caged animal.

  A part of him would rather she wear that stone forever. But that would be selfish, and he’d already demonstrated enough of that. “Can she remove the necklace without any adverse effects?”

  “’Course. Why couldn’t she?”

  He pulled at his collar, revealing a line of the barest discoloration along his skin. Both the girl and Cora leaned in for a better look.

  “What’s that?” Cora asked as the girl shrugged, looking clueless.

  “That old witch tricked me,” he sneered. “This is the evidence of her deceitfulness.”

  Cora reached out and ran her fingers over the mark. He tensed at her casual touch, so unexpected.

  She misunderstood and pulled her hand away. “Does it hurt?”

  “No,” he replied, letting his collar fall back into place.

  Her attitude toward him had done a complete one-eighty. Was it truly the influence of magic or some silly stone? Or was it more? Once again, he rebuked the flourishing hope in favor of logic. It had to be witchcraft at work.

  “That doesn’t look like any spell I’ve ever seen.”

  “Well, then, if a ten year old has never seen it—”

  “I’m seventeen, prick.”

  “So much better.”

  “Enough,” Cora chided, wondering why Mace was being overtly aggressive. “You’re both behaving childishly.” She turned to the girl, her tone subdued. “Sorry, what is your name?”

  The girl hesitated, her expression turning suspicious. “Saraphine.”

  “I’m Coraline, and this is Mason. I’ve just discovered I might be a…” Her lips morphed into a nervous grin and she flushed with embarrassment. “A witch, and I really have no idea what that means.”

  “So what do you want from me?”

  “You might be young, but I’m sure you have more knowledge about all this than I ever will.”

  The flattery worked as intended. Saraphine’s defensive shoulders relaxed a touch. Youthful conceit carved its way into her features. “Probably.”

  Mace snorted behind Cora, but she ignored him, keeping her focus on Saraphine. “To be honest, I’m not sure I even believe in all this witch stuff.”

  “You really don’t know anything, do you?” Saraphine replied. “Negativity like that harshes your magic. Not that it matters. You’re bound so tightly I’m surprised your eyeballs aren’t popping out.”

  “Can you help me to unbind it?”

  Suspicion returned. “How do I know you haven’t been bound for a reason? I get the sense that spell on you is seriously hard-core. Maybe your coven punished you for something heinous. You could be evil.” She eyed Mace with a sneer. “You consort with vamps, after all.”

  Mace bared his fangs at her. Cora censured him with another look. After a stubborn hesitation, he concealed his fangs with a frown. Then his expression turned repentant. It was mystifying that she was able to corral him at all.

  Cora faced Saraphine. “I don’t belong to a coven. I’ve been on my own since I was ten. That’s when I lost my family. I’ve never done anything more evil than steal some food when I was hungry.”

  “I’ve heard that sob story before,” Saraphine replied, though her voice wavered with shaky conviction.

  “So then you won’t help me?”

  “I didn’t say that. But I will need to make sure you’re not some psycho dark witch before I do.”

  Unease followed Saraphine’s statement. “How?”

  Saraphine smiled widely.

  Chapter 20

  “You can’t seriously be considering drinking this.” Mace glowered at the inky-liquid-filled chalice on the table, surrounded by five white candles.

  Cora offered him an uncertain glance from where she sat on the medieval-looking bench, wringing her fingers.

  Standing sentinel next to her, Mace had been working to bury a deep sense of foreboding ever since Saraphine had closed the store and escorted them to this eclectic back room where she’d begun brewing a mysterious concoction.

  The room was rather spacious, the ceiling vaulted. The back wall housed a nook with a large wood fire pit. Over that, flames licked the underside of a bulbous black cauldron hanging by a metal bar that had been stabbed into either side of the grey brick alcove.

  For the last two hours, he had watched Saraphine toss random ingredients into the boiling water. At first, all had seemed innocent: tea leaves, mandrake, honey. Then came the bones, dried tongue—hopefully from some kind of animal—and a white powdery substance before she had transferring a small amount to the metal chalice.

  The final ingredient was a drop of Cora’s own blood.

  Mace gritted his teeth as she blithely pricked her own finger and offered her essence to the chalice. He was nearly fed up with this absurd indulgence, but at his every protest, Cora insisted she see this through.

  “If I’m truly a witch, I should know for sure, shouldn’t I?” she reasoned, licking clean the small wound on her finger.

  Mace cleared his suddenly dry throat, struggling to erase from his expression all traces of desire to take that task from her. Hunger had been fiercely gnawing at him since this morning, as if he hadn’t eaten in a week rather than a day.

  “And I should have use of whatever powers comes with it,” she continued, eyeing the chalice warily.

  Saraphine took a seat on a tattered green armchair across from Cora. “This spell isn’t to unbind your magic, mind you.”

  “Then what the hell is it for?” Mace bit out.

  “I
t’s so I can get at the truth of the situation, so I can determine whether I should help her or not.”

  For the umpteenth time, and without checking his tone, Mace argued the judgment of placing their trust in this baby witch, only to receive the same impatient, scathing glare from both of them.

  “If she’s a baby witch, then I’m a fetus, Mace,” Cora said, rolling her eyes.

  Allowing a small amount of his insecurity to seep into his voice, Mace admitted, “My instincts are screaming to protect you from this.”

  She exhaled on a lengthy sigh, focusing a blank stare on the chalice. “I know. Sensing things like that from you seems to be coming easier.”

  He claimed the seat next to her and slipped his hand into hers. “Then don’t do this. You don’t need magic. I’ll protect you always.”

  Her features twisted as if pained, and his heart churned to retract whichever of his words had caused it.

  Her shoulders hunched. “I know you mean that, Mason, and I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but in my experience, I can’t rely on others. And magic, if it truly exists at all, could have saved me from some very painful situations.”

  At that, Mace relented. Cora was the definition of a survivor. She would use whatever means was at her disposal in the pursuit of self-preservation. He couldn’t blame her for that. It was the nature of all things to try and better the odds of survival, genetically imprinted into every living molecule on Earth.

  He couldn’t ask her to handicap herself if there was even a small chance magic might benefit her in some way. And yet, he couldn’t shake his apprehension.