by Ruby Loren
Death's Dark Horse
January Chevalier Supernatural Mysteries
Ruby Loren
Copyright © 2017 by Ruby Loren
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
British Author
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Dedication
Books in the Series
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Read on for the first few chapters of Death’s Hexed Hobnobs!
Death’s Hexed Hobnobs
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Books in the Series
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Also by Ruby Loren
British Author
Please note, this book is written in British English and contains British spellings.
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Dedication
For all lovers of mysteries and cake.
Books in the Series
Death’s Dark Horse
Death’s Hexed Hobnobs
Death’s Endless Enchanter
Death’s Ethereal Enemy
Death’s Last Laugh
Prequel: Death’s Reckless Reaper
Prologue
It wasn’t often that a vampire felt hunted.
He’d been told by his maker that there were always humans armed with stakes, the occasional werewolf pack, and - deadliest of all - there were other vampires. But being the quarry in a hunt was an unexpected experience, and it wasn’t one that Basil Brown was enjoying.
He was running faster than he’d ever run before. During his one week of new life, he hadn’t had a chance to test this particular ability, but he’d got the hang of it pretty fast. Nothing should be able to catch him now.
At least - nothing natural.
If vampires could sweat, he’d have been drenched. Instead, he was leaking fear. Basil could smell it exiting his pores and filling the air that rushed past him. He could almost sense the hunter sniffing the air and catching the scent. He was making it even easier for whatever was stalking him, but once that spark of fear has been ignited, it’s hard to put out.
“Witchwood!” He gasped and ran on in what he hoped was a north easterly direction. His sanctuary lay there with his maker. Unfortunately, he was probably still five miles south of the town. Even at the speed he could run, he wasn’t certain he could make it before…
Before what? What was it that was chasing him?
He tried to use logic to overcome the growing feeling of terror that was making his still-heart hurt - as the unsettlingly human emotion tried to make it pound like it had when he’d been alive.
He’d heard something crash through the bushes and then there’d been this feeling of certainty that it had come for him. He thought the thing had sounded like an animal. Perhaps it was his recent human past that made him still fear what lived in the dark, but this strange instinct he’d never felt before had told him to run, and he’d listened.
Now he was certain it was following. He didn’t dare slow his pace to listen again, but he thought he could hear the undergrowth being violently parted about half a kilometre behind him. Hell, that’s only 500 metres away! He risked a glance over his shoulder when he tore across a clearing, but the forest was too dense to catch sight of his pursuer.
If there actually was anything chasing him.
He forced down the blind instinct and reverted to logical thinking. He’d been a lawyer before he’d been turned, so it came easily.
What had his maker told him? There was nothing that could catch another vampire apart from one of their own kind. The thing he thought was following him was far too loud to be one of them. Plus, if it had been another vampire, he’d already be dead. Vampires didn’t mess around with meandering chases. They tore your head straight off.
This had to be some strange chain reaction of woodland noises that was making it seem like something was behind him. The thought took root in his mind just as he burst free from the tree-line and ran up a steep hill. He stopped dead, gazing down at the large town of Witchwood spread out before him at the base of the mound.
He’d imagined it.
The fear. The unknown creature. It had all been a trick of the mind.
He was angry with himself. He’d let the human part of him take over. He stood without breathing, his attention concentrated on listening to the sounds in the woods behind him.
There was nothing.
Wait.
He could hear an owl’s wing feathers fluttering as it alighted on a branch somewhere in the trees. But, definitely no sign or sound of anything hunting him.
Basil smiled, glad that no one could see him. “I guess paranoia doesn’t stop when you’re dead.”
A more experienced vampire would have kept running. They would have known that you never tried to argue with instinct. It was better to lose a little pride, and run scared, than to lose your life.
But Basil hadn’t had a chance to learn yet and his pride still mattered to him.
The embarrassed smile dropped from his face as his body lurched forwards. He didn’t even feel the pain. Everything was numb. He looked down and saw that he was suspended off the ground. A vain thought of being one of the few vampires that could fly crossed his mind, before he noticed the point of a sharp object protruding from his chest, having just nicked his heart.
Then the pain and the panic came.
“No, you don’t understand. I haven’t done anything wrong! I never killed anybody,” he said, twisting his head backwards to see what could possibly have the strength to keep him suspended in this way.
His face contorted in disbelief and his mouth hung open when he eyeballed his hunter. “This can’t be real…” he muttered and turned back to Witchwood - the town that could have been his refuge.
None of this made any sense.
He had been so close.
He was jerked upwards as the hunter tore through muscle, bone, and sinew, before finally carving into the still, dead heart.
Basil Brown exploded in a shower of bloody entrails.
1
January Chevalier would never have willingly walked into a pub like The Witch’s Wand, but tonight she stood a hundred metres away, watching all that was happening with great care.
She shivered with faint revulsion. Her arms went around her waist, hugging the white skater dress with its print of pale blue swallows. She’d come here straight from Charlie Rose’s summer barbecue. It wasn’t sensible attire for visiting a pub full of vampires - even if they were all pretending to be human.
Most of them weren’t very good at it.
Officially, vampires, shape-shifters, and other monsters, were still in the closet. That didn’t stop The Witch’s Wand from being surrounded by people who looked like they were attending an out of season Halloween par
ty. The explosions of black lace, torn up tulle, and too-tight corsets with bulging rolls of flesh hanging out everywhere, were an odd juxtaposition with the late-August mild air. It still smelt of summer.
January stiffened her spine and took a deep breath, running through her plan once more before making a move. It was simple: get in and get out as fast as possible without speaking to anyone.
She knew from experience that plans seldom go the way we intend.
She glanced down at her white dress, wishing she had known about this extra excursion before she’d gone to the barbecue. Then she might have worn something a little more… black.
That was the thing about emergencies - you never knew when they were coming.
As she walked across the street towards the pub, the practical part of her mind briefly considered dragging one of the vampire groupies into an alley and stealing their clothes. She was certainly strong enough to do it, but the thought of wearing a faux-goth outfit made her feel sick. Anyway, it wasn’t as if this was going to take long, and for once, she had no reason to blend in.
A female vampire with dark-red hair and striking blonde highlights stood in the entrance. She looked like a pin-up. Perhaps she had been when she was still alive.
January briefly wondered how humans didn’t notice the presence of the vampires. They all had the same flat look of skin stretched too tight, for too long - especially the older ones.
Then there was the smell.
“ID please,” the vampire drawled in a bored voice.
I bet this wasn’t the life you dreamed you’d have when you were turned, January thought.
“I’m actually twenty five,” she said, fumbling in her pale blue, leather bag, wondering if she even had her driving licence with her.
“Take it as a compliment, dear,” the vampire answered with an absolute lack of enthusiasm.
She looked intently at the card January finally handed over.
January glanced at the wall behind her and read the large sign asking customers to ‘rate them on social media’.
She didn’t buy the vampire’s excuse for a second. The vamps just wanted to know exactly who they were letting into their establishment. She stuffed her ID back into her bag, not bothering to conceal her annoyance. This visit was supposed to be off the record.
Now inside, it was immediately clear why the army of darkness outside had made this their hangout. The interior was wine red and huge church candles flickered in iron holders, dribbling wax everywhere and illuminating the cracked sandstone walls. There was even a rack of medieval torture instruments on the wall - presumably as a historical display, but January wouldn’t have been surprised if they’d been used a tad more recently.
She shook her head, telling herself to focus on her mission. This was no time for an interior design critique.
Her eyes roved the busy room.
Before she could make a move, a cold hand caught her bare shoulder and spun her around. January found herself face to face with something tall, dark, and dead. With his black wavy hair and surprising blue eyes, he was what many would call classically handsome, but she didn’t have time for this kind of nonsense.
“All alone? Why don’t you come and spend the night with me?” He flashed her a well-used suave smile, that presumably usually brought girls to their knees.
January started to feel the pull he was attaching to the words, before he recoiled when he caught her scent.
She didn’t smell bad.
She was even wearing a light splash of Coco Mademoiselle, but in the same way that she could smell decay on the vampires, he’d just caught a whiff of her other identity.
“You smell like a barnyard. What are you - a pig?”
Where did the charm go? January thought, with a bemused inner smile.
She noticed he was still inching closer to her.
“It’s a good thing you’re the only half-decent girl in the place tonight. I’m willing to make an exception.”
He just doesn’t stop with the compliments, January thought, sarcastically.
He breathed right into her face. Now it was her turn to flinch because he really did smell terrible. Beneath the thin veil of expensive aftershave, she could smell mothballs, mildew, and the overpowering scent of powdery decay.
She shook her head and turned her back on the vampire, hoping to offend him as much as possible. Unfortunately, she found herself face to face with him again. Her eyes automatically flicked left and right, checking if anyone had noticed. He was crazy to pull a trick like that in public!
“I’m really not interested,” she said and gave him a ‘don’t mess with me’ look for good measure.
She brushed past, but his hand shot out and held onto her arm, his nails digging in painfully.
“What makes you think I care about that?” He said, getting hold of her other arm and pulling her in close.
She silently swore and tried to subtly wiggle out of his clutches, while straining her neck to evade his approaching lips. This was exactly the kind of thing she’d wanted to avoid. If he didn’t let go of her soon, she would cause a scene.
It would be one no one would forget for a very long time.
His lips parted to reveal fully extending fangs. He’s not going to quit, January realised, desperately trying to resist the temptation of violence. Her plan of action lay in tatters. She was losing her temper and the air around her had started to shimmer the way it always did when she drew in the energy necessary for her to change.
“Put the little pony down, Sylver,” said a bored voice, filled with authority.
The shimmering stopped when January was released, and the angry energy dissipated.
The dark-haired vampire tossed his artfully dishevelled locks and swept off, as if he’d been intending to leave all along.
January was left with two bright red hand prints on either arm. They didn’t make ideal accessories for her dress.
Her gaze flickered over the other pub patrons, wondering how none of them appeared to have noticed anything out of sorts. She narrowed her eyes and thought she detected the faint golden shimmer of a strong glamour.
It was no wonder no one had acted. They were all mindless zombies.
Observation complete, she reluctantly turned to face her saviour.
He was over six feet of muscled magnificence, with medium-length dark blonde hair that had a slight wave to it. Two storm grey eyes concealed unreadable thoughts.
January had a sudden feeling that he wasn’t used to anyone holding his gaze. It would no doubt be one more thing he would remember about her. He’s just as dead as the rest of them, she reminded herself, realising her observations had halted when she’d reached his impressive broad shoulders. It was one rule she stuck to.
Strangely, he didn’t seem to reek of death. Instead, she thought she could smell salt and… perhaps the sea? She was left with no doubt that this vampire was in charge.
Her plan had been thrown out of the window, so she decided to take advantage of the situation she found herself in. “Thanks for giving me a hand with your friend,” she said, her insides twisting as she was forced to be nice to a head vampire.
He waved a hand, like it was nothing. She knew that he had just started a debt with her name on it. Vampires didn’t do a single thing for free.
Since she’d already racked up some debt, adding a little more probably wouldn’t make things much worse. “I’m here looking for my sister, Jo. I was told she might be here?”
“January and Jolene… your parents found a letter they liked and stuck with it.”
January’s lip curled automatically, and she thought that the big vampire might have registered it. It proved her earlier hypothesis about the reason they asked for ID. He even knew her sister’s full name. She wondered whether the boss vamp was as well-informed about everyone in his pub, or if she’d just attracted attention the moment she’d walked in.
It was probably the latter.
“I haven’t introduced
myself. I’m Gregory, the owner of this… establishment.” Something about the way he said it made her certain that he believed this kingdom was beneath him. He must be really old and really bored of hiding in the shadows.
“January Chevalier, but you already knew that,” she echoed the introduction but didn’t offer her hand.
Vampires never shook.
His grin got broader and she noticed his fangs were out. Bleurgh.
“Your sister’s over there in her usual place.” He waved a hand idly to show the direction, before making sure she was looking at him and turning on the charm.
January watched the gold threads of glamour wrap around her while he spoke his next words.
Gold threads that no one else in the world could see.
“She’s safe here. Why don’t you let her be and spend some time with me?”
January gave him a polite smile and then walked off towards where she could see her sister sat by the bar, surrounded by vampires. She didn’t have to turn back to know that the head vampire would be staring. It was yet another thing that would stick in his mind, and vampires had very long memories. This night couldn’t get much worse.
She pushed her way through the circle of vamps that the other vampire had so helpfully pointed out. Her well-formed arm muscles meant that it wasn’t a difficult task.
