by Jo Carlisle
“Why, I’m just the lowly priestess who can give you what you desire,” she said, blinking, the picture of false innocence. “Just as you can give the same to me.”
The bitch lied. Somehow she’d done the impossible and created a bond with him. Not a mating bond, but something similar. How? The female was more than she seemed, just as her bargain was much more than it appeared on the surface.
Smirking, she ran a fingernail down his cheek in a gesture he already hated. “Get dressed, my mate, and we’ll get to the first part of our deal—bringing your love back to you.”
Suddenly, he recalled an old short story called “The Monkey’s Paw,” in which the grisly severed paw granted the wishes of its owner, but did so in an evil way guaranteed to bring untold horror upon the unsuspecting fool.
Reaching for his jeans, Soren shivered, fearing that the consequences of what he’d just done might be a matter of life imitating art. Once they were dressed and seated again, she waved a hand at him.
“I’ll need something that belonged to Helena. A cherished item. A piece of jewelry or clothing. Something that was a gift from you is even better. I assume you came prepared?”
“Of course.” Hoping Leila didn’t detect the slight tremble of his hand, Soren, now fully dressed, reached into the inside pocket of his leather coat and withdrew a small, yellowed envelope. He handed it to her, and she opened the flap to peer inside.
“A cameo brooch?”
“My mating gift to her.”
“How cliché,” she purred.
“It fits your criteria,” he snapped. Damn, her snide tone grated.
“So it does.”
He leaned his elbows on the table, striving to look casual. It wasn’t easy with the anxious ball of hope and misery at war in his churning gut. With no little unease, he observed as she palmed the brooch and closed it in her hand, holding it suspended above the bowl of blood. Surely she didn’t intend to—
She let go of the brooch, and it fell into the bowl with a plop. Ignoring his muttered oath, she closed her eyes and held her hands palms down over the liquid and began a soft chant. After a few moments this ritual ended and she rose from the table, heading for a shelf filled with small dolls that all looked alike save for yarn hair of varying lengths and colors. Curious, he watched as the priestess selected a doll with long yellow hair and then proceeded to rummage through a chest, examining and discarding what appeared to be doll clothes, until she apparently found something that met with her satisfaction.
With unhurried movements, she worked a scrap of blue material onto the doll. A dress? Yes, a blue dress. Much like the one Helena had been wearing the night they’d met at a Council ball. A shiver ran through Soren. The long blond hair, the dress. How could the witch have known?
Stupid. Plenty of immortals knew what Helena had looked like, and it was clear the priestess made it her business to know things. And blue was a common color. He was being paranoid, letting his imagination run wild, thinking she had the talent to conjure those sorts of physical details in an instant. Wasn’t he?
She returned to the table and sat, laying the doll in the center of the table, and he put the matter from his mind. More pressing was what she would do next, how she’d make good on her end of the bargain. Reaching for a jar at her right hand, she unscrewed the lid, took a pinch of what appeared to be dark green herbs, and sprinkled them into the bowl. Next, she took a long-handled silver spoon and stirred the curious mixture, then lifted the brooch from the bowl with the spoon. The once-beautiful piece of jewelry looked gruesome floating in the puddle of crimson, but when she laid it on the doll’s throat, he had to swallow hard to keep from gagging.
Yarn became bloodied golden tresses. Cloth became flesh. Torn, mottled flesh where ivory skin used to be, dangling meat bisecting his mate’s delicate throat. Ripped out by the demon as she lay fighting for breath, poisoned by the bite. The cameo resting sadly there was a horrible reminder of love lost.
Soren bolted to his feet, sending the stool skittering backward to tip over with a noisy clatter. “What the fuck are you doing to me?” he shouted.
Desperately, he scrubbed at his eyes to clear them of the terrible image burning his retinas. When he focused on the doll . . . it was just an inanimate object again, presented in a gruesome parody of murder.
“I did nothing but what you asked,” she claimed with a shrug. “I called Helena’s soul back from beyond and back to you. How long until she arrives, time will tell.”
Another mistake on his part, not insisting she be specific on when his love would return. “If you’re fucking with me—”
“I’m not, vampire.” She smiled. “At least not yet.”
“Leila,” he began, his tone low with warning. “I’m serious. If you’re thinking of double-crossing me, I’ll make certain you regret it.”
“Threats before the honeymoon? How disappointing.” She didn’t appear concerned. “I’ll just pack a bag for now. Tomorrow you can send a few of your slaves to box the rest of my belongings and close the cabin.”
“We don’t own slaves,” Soren said shortly. “Though it’s perfectly legal and even economical, Aldric doesn’t believe in the caste system, and, frankly, neither do I.”
“Really?” She arched a brow. “That will soon change.”
With that cryptic statement, she went to gather her things, leaving him to scowl after her and wonder exactly what he’d gotten himself into. Already, he felt . . . different. The blood he’d drawn from her still tingled on his tongue, coursed through his veins like an illicit drug.
He craved more of it. Of her. And that need within him frightened him more than any dangerous enemy he’d ever faced. He couldn’t let it overwhelm him, couldn’t allow dark desire to obliterate his purpose.
Somewhere his true love waited. Soon he’d have her back.
Even if the price was far higher than he’d dreamed.
3
“You did what?”
Soren’s head throbbed as Aldric paced their large office at the resort, working himself up to an explosion of epic proportions. Luc caught his eye, mouthing, I told you so, and Soren shot him a glare in return.
Ever the peacemaker, Luc came to his defense, despite the fact that he’d tried to dissuade Soren from his course of action. “Hey, it won’t be so bad. So what if he has to fuck the witch’s brains out for the next sixty years? He’ll get Helena back, and all’s well that ends well. Right?” He tried an engaging smile on the fuming Aldric.
Which failed miserably. “Do either of you think I give two shits if Soren has to screw that vile woman until his dick falls off? He deserves it!” their older brother shouted. Whirling, he shook his finger in Soren’s face. “What I do care about is that you’ve played right into that scheming cunt’s plans and handed her on a silver fucking platter the very thing I’ve worked for the past four years to keep her from snatching!”
“The Council seat?” Luc ventured unwisely.
“Yes, the gods-damned Council seat! Where Leila will waste not one second lobbying—read: manipulating with every dirty trick she knows—to gain supporters until she has enough votes to pass whatever laws she sees fit for who knows what evil purpose!” He grabbed Soren’s shirt and yanked him close, so that they were nose to nose. “All so you can be reunited with that weak little mouse of a human.”
Soren had been fielding the abuse pretty well until then. His brother had very valid points and had every right to be angry, but throwing down insults on his dead mate crossed the line.
Rage descended in a crimson veil, and Soren lunged with a snarl. The suddenness and momentum of the attack took Aldric completely by surprise and propelled them both across the antique mahogany desk. Papers and pens scattered, and a lamp crashed to the floor alongside them. Soren’s strength, while great, was normally no match for his brother’s, but Aldric couldn’t shove him off. He tried bucking his hips, pushing Soren’s chest with both hands, but couldn’t budge him.
Finally, an inner voice hissed. It’s about time I got the better of you, showed you who’s stronger! I’ll make you pay for what you said.
On the floor, Soren spied something glinting in the morning sunlight filtering through the window. A letter opener from the desktop, the slender silver blade ready. Deadly.
Kill him. Do it and be free of his constant criticism, his unbending rules!
In an instant, the handle was in his grasp, the blade raised high as his older brother’s eyes widened in shock.
“Soren, no!” Luc yelled.
His younger brother slammed him from the side in a flying tackle, sending them down in a tangle. Luc grunted and slumped to his side, where he lay unmoving. Pushing to a sitting position, Soren reached for his brother, intending to throttle him. . . .
And then he spotted the handle of the letter opener protruding from Luc’s chest. The haze of rage vanished, releasing him from its foul grip. He stared in horror at what he’d done. His brother impaled on a silver blade. “Oh, gods! Luc!”
Scrambling forward, he gently rolled his brother to his back and gasped at the sight of blood oozing from around the wound. “Luc?” he whispered, gripping his shirt and shaking him. “Luc, please.”
Beside him, Aldric cursed and shoved Soren out of the way. Gathering Luc in his arms, their eldest brother stood and rushed from the office while shouting for help, leaving Soren to follow. He trailed after them in shock, unable to believe what just happened. They’d all lost their tempers with one another before, but never anything like the choking rage that had overcome Soren moments ago.
Upstairs, Trisha spread towels on Luc’s bed while another Chosen sprinted into the adjoining bathroom for washcloths and a basin of water.
Trisha wrung her hands, face scrunched in worry. “Should I get the healer? Or the priestess? Maybe she can—”
“No,” Aldric interrupted, voice and expression hard. “The witch has already done quite enough, and I don’t want anyone else to know what’s happened, especially the guests. Make sure the staff understands.”
“Yes, Lord Aldric.” Ducking her head, she hurried to obey him.
Leila? Had she somehow caused this? Again he felt that black thread running between them, strangling his heart, and wondered.... Guilt stabbed him in the chest, every bit as painfully as the blade in Luc’s. What disaster had he wreaked on his family by bringing that woman here? The bargain had seemed so simple. Surely a mere human wasn’t so powerful!
“Aldric—”
“Not now. Hold this, and press hard when I pull out the blade.”
Aldric passed him a towel and ripped open Luc’s shirt. Soren swallowed with difficulty and held the cloth ready as his brother took the handle of the letter opener and pulled. The instrument slid free easily, blood gushing forth, and Soren mashed the towel to the wound. A groan escaped Luc’s lips and he stirred a bit. His face was pale, too much so. Aldric smoothed a lock of blond hair off their younger brother’s forehead, his expression softening momentarily. Then he sat on the bed next to Luc and sliced his wrist open with one fang.
Using his free hand, he parted Luc’s lips and placed his wrist above the younger vampire’s mouth to allow a few crimson drops to fall inside. “Luc? Come on, kid. Here’s a taste, and there’s more where that came from.”
For all Aldric’s gruff exterior, Soren could hear the worry in his voice. Long seconds stretched out unbearably. A sliver of real fear began to writhe in his gut like a deadly snake, making him sick. If Luc died, Soren would follow him. Knowing that his bargain had caused his beloved brother’s death would leave no chance for him to ever be happy with his mate again.
Blood trickled from one corner of Luc’s mouth, and the towel in Soren’s hands became soaked with red. Gods, this can’t be happening! Please, no!
At last, Luc’s tongue flicked out to catch the droplets. Then he reached up and yanked Aldric’s wrist to his mouth, latching on and suckling like a newly made vamp starving for his first sustenance. Soren nearly fell over in relief, but the feeling was quickly tempered. The blackness inside him was a real presence, an unknown entity with barbed talons that had latched on to his core and had no intention of letting go.
What if next time he lost control and there was no one to break the spell?
There couldn’t be a next time. He had to speak with Leila soon. If he had to, he’d kill that conniving—
“Soren.”
Snapping back to himself, he gazed down at Luc, who was looking at him in concern. His throat tightened, because he didn’t deserve anyone’s worry, especially now. “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” he said hoarsely. “Stop blaming yourself. I can see the misery written on your face.”
He gave a bitter laugh. “Who am I supposed to blame? You tried to stop me from bargaining with that devil, and I wouldn’t listen. If you hadn’t stopped me, I might have murdered Aldric, and I almost murdered you instead.”
His older brother snorted. “You wouldn’t have killed me. You got the drop on me, but I was about to punch your lights out.”
“And I’m fine. See?” Luc mustered a weak smile.
Love for his brothers swelled, clogged in his throat. Even after near catastrophe, they protected him. He pushed from the bed, unable to look either of them in the eyes any longer. “Rest, all right? I’ll check on you later.”
He strode for the door and made the hallway before Aldric caught him by the arm and forced him to turn around. “Forgive me for what I said earlier. I understand that you did what you felt you had to do. I don’t blame you.”
“I blame me enough for all of us,” Soren said, shamed. He shook his head. “I’ll figure a way out of this, even if it costs me the chance to find Helena.”
Giving up would end him. He had not a single doubt. But for his brothers, he’d do it without hesitation.
“We’ll do it together. We’re going to learn what Leila’s game is besides acquiring the Council seat, because I suspect there’s something more she’s after. Then perhaps we can get rid of the priestess and bring back your mate. If there is any loophole, we’ll find it.” One of his big hands clamped down on Soren’s shoulder.
“And if there isn’t?”
“We’ll deal with that when we have to. And, brother?”
“Yes?”
“I’m ashamed that I disparaged Helena’s memory,” he said sincerely. “I never thought she was suited to our lifestyle, but I was fond of her.”
“I know you didn’t mean it.” He took a deep breath. “I’m not myself. Ever since I bit Leila, took her blood, there’s something terrible inside me, and that’s what drove me to attack you when I never would have done such a thing before. The violence roiling inside me is like a storm waiting to explode. . . .”
“We’ll fix it.” His older brother’s gaze was intense, his tone allowing for no other outcome.
“Thank you.” Soren nodded toward Luc’s room. “I’ll be back later to see about him.”
Aldric nodded and Soren took his leave, striking out in search of the priestess. The resort was rather large and spread out. But this early in the morning, the guests were still in bed, snoozing off their partying from the night before, so that should cut down the number of places she might be found. Unless she was off snooping somewhere, or was occupying someone else’s bed already. One could hope.
Exhaustion dragged at his limbs. He needed sleep, badly. But that wasn’t happening until he had it out with Leila.
After taking a look in her suite—he drew the line at allowing her to share his—he moved outside. A few minutes of wandering one of the many footpaths brought him to the pretty gazebo by the pond. Inside was the priestess.
Inside the priestess was Nikki, the cute kitchen boy who helped the cook by doing all the menial prep work. Well, he’d gotten an early start on his day and had certainly done some prep, but not in the kitchen. The twenty-two-year-old was waxing her pussy, driving several inches home, causing her to moan loudly whil
e she clung to the back of the bench he’d bent her over—proving he wasn’t such a boy, after all.
Soren mounted the steps and stopped in the archway. Normally, it took more than the sight of an attractive couple fucking to arouse him, but his damned cock had other ideas. The pungent scent of their sex reached him, and he steeled himself against the onslaught of lust that threatened to overtake his common sense.
Sexual creature though he was, pleasure was his business. He always had the ability to rise above his desires when the situation warranted caution. Yet he found himself a puppet dancing to Leila’s tune. He hated it.
“Harder, damn you! Fuck me harder.... Oh yes! Yes!”
“Gods, you feel so good on my cock! So tight!”
“I’m coming. . . .”
“Fuck, yeah!”
They reached a noisy climax, yelling their completion loud enough to awaken half the resort. When they were done, the young man slipped out of her and accepted her heated kiss as she turned and cupped the back of his head. There was a lot of tongue involved, and Soren wondered if one of them would swallow the other.
And as he watched with growing impatience, he noticed something strange. Where the priestess’s hands rested on Nikki, at the back of his head and on his bare arm, there appeared to be a faint bluish glow around her fingers. He squinted, thinking it must be his imagination, but no. The glow was there, so dim that a creature with lesser vision, such as a human, wouldn’t have noticed at all. What was more, the young man paled and began to sway on his feet.
Alarmed, Soren finally made his presence known. “What in blazing hell do you think you’re doing?” he practically shouted.
Nikki, misinterpreting the reprimand as meant for him, sprang back from Leila, his wide-eyed gaze finding his boss bearing down on them. In his fright, he missed the venomous glare the witch shot between them. But Soren didn’t.
“I-I’m sorry, Lord Soren!” he stammered. “I’m not on duty yet and I didn’t think you’d mind if I . . . well . . .”
