by Lola Taylor
He smiled, his eyes getting a slight sheen to them. “That sounds wonderful.”
She smiled back, reluctant to step away. “Good.” She paused, studied her mate. Only love shone from his eyes.
Love and hope.
Perhaps the rift between them wasn’t as big as she’d feared.
The creak of the squeaky board in the kitchen had her blinking, bringing her back to the moment. “Let’s keep looking. There’s no telling where this thing is buried, and we might not have much time to find it if Mistress Black comes knocking.”
A whole half hour passed before Verika started to get frustrated. After another half hour, she started to get pissed.
After casting three locating spells, all of which produced nada, she nearly screamed.
“Where the hell is that damn necklace?” She sat up and flipped her hair over her shoulder in frustration. She inhaled. A tendril of hair got sucked into her mouth. Spitting it out with a scowl, she stood and walked over to the journal. They had it flopped open to the drawing of her as a baby, the necklace sketched out in messy lines of charcoal around her tiny neck.
Elijah joined her, his brow dampened by a light sheen of sweat. With his unkempt hair, it was sexy as hell. She briefly imagined him wearing a construction hat, work boots, and rugged jeans—or nothing at all.
Elijah’s eyes stopped examining the drawing. Slowly, he turned his head to look at her, one brow arched in amusement. “You know, I can fulfill that fantasy for you sometime, if you like?”
“What? Oh hell.” Her face flamed, and she buried it in her hands. “I forgot I can inadvertently project my thoughts on you, if the feeling’s strong enough.”
“If the lust I’m smelling off you is any indication, then it certainly is,” said Elijah in a low voice, a wicked smile upturning his lips. He leaned in, tacking on, “Mrs. Johnson, you scandalize me.”
Her face nearly burst into flames. Flustered, and partly to reclaim her personal space, she poked him in the chest with a pointed index finger. “I’m not technically Mrs. Johnson, you know.”
“Not yet.”
She paused, studying him.
Elijah swallowed, shifting his weight about. “Ah hell,” he said finally. “Now’s as good a time as any.”
Verika watched with bated breath as he knelt and reached into his pants pocket. He took her hand, gently clasping it in his own, those big, rough fingers warming her to the bone. He looked up earnestly into her eyes, which had begun to heat with unshed tears.
“I love you,” he said roughly, smiling. He pulled out a plastic gold ring with a green, emerald-cut rhinestone. “And I know I don’t have much to offer you—”
“Oh, hush.” She seized his face in her hands and kissed him. “You’re the world to me, and always will be. I love you too.”
“So, is that a yes?”
“Of course it’s a yes. Now put that gorgeous ring on me.”
He had to pinch the plastic tongs of the band to make it tight enough around her slight ring finger, but it settled on her hand perfectly. She turned her hand this way and that, admiring the new proclamation of his love.
His cheeks flushed slightly. “I’ll get you something nicer when I’m able, I promise.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I love it.” And she did. For her, it didn’t matter whether the ring cost five grand or five cents. It was perfect.
This moment—he—was perfect.
And she wouldn’t ever let him forget it.
Enough happiness radiated from Verika to rival the sun. She was so dazzled by what had just happened, how surreal it was, that she nearly missed the paranormal signature walking through the front door downstairs.
Every drop of sunshine dried up in Verika’s aura. Hell, it seemed like all the color and light had been sucked out of the room as she homed in on the most decidedly unwelcome visitor.
Verika scuttled to the door, pressed her ear and palms to it. Elijah’s body warmed her back as he came up behind her, listening.
“Hello!” chirped her mother. “Please come in. So good to see you again, Rick!”
“Likewise, Mrs. Tate,” said the man coolly. “Watching a little football?”
Verika’s eyes narrowed slightly. His voice tickled the back of her brain. Why did he sound so familiar? She scanned through her memories, searching for a “Rick,” but couldn’t put a face with the name.
“You bet,” said Mr. Tate amiably. “The Dolphins are going to stomp the Seahawks. Care to join us? Can I get you a beer?”
Is he on crack? Elijah said. He sounds way too accommodating, like he’s ready to make this ‘Rick’ his son-in-law.
Sssh!
“No, thank you,” replied Rick. The wooden floors downstairs groaned as they walked around. “I won’t be here long. I’m actually here for your daughter.”
“She’s not here,” said Mrs. Tate. Glasses clinked, and the refrigerator door opened. She was probably going to pour him a glass of sweet tea. Verika’s mouth watered thinking about it. Hailing from the South, she still drank sweet tea whenever she could. Though she usually had to make it herself to get it to taste right. When she was feeling lazy, she’d buy a jug from the store, but it was never the same as homemade tea. She almost always had to add more sugar. And don’t even get her started on artificial sweeteners.
“Actually, she’s upstairs right now,” Rick said.
Verika and Elijah both froze.
Silence. “No, she’s not.” Mr. Tate laughed.
“Yes, she is,” purred Rick. His voice had taken on a rougher, darker quality. “I can smell her.”
“Don’t be absurd.” Mr. Tate paused a beat. “Hey! Who the hell are you? Get the hell out of my house!”
Verika didn’t stop to think. She threw open the door before Elijah could stop her, and ran down the stairs. Her heel missed the last step, nearly pitching her forward into the couch, but she caught herself on the wall and kept running. Thundering footsteps came from behind her as Elijah followed her through the living room and into the kitchen.
Verika drew up short in the entryway. Elijah stopped beside her. He bared his fangs, snarling at the tall, strange man who stood before them. His eyes blazed gold.
“Vampire.” He sniffed. “But not.”
Whatever shields had been masking Rick’s signature dropped, and Verika paled as she caught a heady whiff of him. “He’s half-demon,” she whispered, staring, paralyzed by fear.
Rick was maybe six foot five, with a lithe, muscular build and ruggedly handsome features. His head was shaved, and week-old stubble shadowed his strong jawline.
He had his fangs buried in her mother’s neck. Two lines of blood dribbled down her father’s shirt from the fresh bite marks on his own neck. Both her mother and father stared blankly ahead, staring right at Verika and Elijah without actually seeing them. Their eyes had glazed over, their mouths open slightly. Like zombies.
Verika watched, feeling helpless. Her knees began to shake, so she gripped the doorjamb to steady herself. “Let them go,” she said hoarsely.
The vampire-demon cast her a lazy glance. His eyes were almost solid red, glowing around pupils black as oil.
Something flashed across her mind, of a shadowy monster staring at her in the dream plane. “It’s you,” Verika whispered, eyes widening with recognition. “You’re the one who took Danica and Alara.”
Rick at last straightened, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yep.”
“But…that power, the Black Magic… I don’t sense it now.”
“You mean this power?”
It was as though a floodgate had been opened.
He unleashed the fury of his magic. Shadows radiated from him like black fire, the flames curling across the floor and stretching their black fingers toward Verika as if to claim her. Souls shrieked in the fire, crying out for help, screaming in pain or terror. Verika felt her own fear creeping up, like a cold trickle down her throat. The reek of sulfur was strong enough to make her
gag. His magic knocked the breath from her, and she stepped back from the force of its might. Beside her, Elijah grunted, steeling himself against the magical onslaught.
She took his hand, squeezed it.
I’m here. Do not be afraid.
She raised a hand. “Dimini!”
The flames flickered and snuffed out, as if someone had doused invisible water on top of them.
Rick laughed and applauded with slow, deliberate claps. “Bravo! I sensed the scope of your power in the astral field, but I didn’t think it would be…well, like that. Damn. And I thought I was strong in the Dark Arts. I can see why my mistress is so interested in you.”
“How did you hide your signature from me? Back at the manor?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know? No, seriously,” he said at Verika’s dour look, “it’s a variation of a simple cloaking spell. My mistress can teach you when I take you to her.”
“She’s not going anywhere with you,” Elijah growled, on the verge of transforming. Muscles in his neck and arms veined, and his fingers were curled. Black claws tipped each digit, and the skin was stretched tight across each knuckle. Verika sensed his bloodlust, his desire to rip this prick’s head off.
It was nearly as strong as her own.
Almost on a whim, Rick licked his index finger and rubbed the saliva on her mother’s oozing neck wounds. The puncture marks started to close, shrinking and vanishing altogether to reveal smooth, bloodstained flesh. He did the same with her father. Neither of them responded to his touch.
Rick examined both their necks and smiled in satisfaction. He rolled his eyes, that grin widening. “Almost forgot. Sometimes, I get a little caught up in the moment, if you know what I mean.”
Verika’s eyes flicked to the blood droplets that lay splattered against the kitchen floor. The metallic tang of blood soured the lemony freshness that permeated the air. “I know exactly what you mean. I got so caught up in killing Gerard in the most excruciating way possible that it didn’t dawn on me what I was doing until after he was dead. And you know what? I don’t regret it. I know I should, and perhaps that makes me a shitty person. But it brought me great joy to see him suffer after what he put my parents through. What he’s put others through.”
A flicker of fear flashed through Rick’s eyes as he paled slightly. One hard swallow later, and he was back to his old, grinning self. “Hey, I didn’t like Gerard either. Total douche.”
“At least we agree on that.”
Rick studied her, his head angled to the side as those dark eyes swept over her. “You know, I see a lot of potential in you.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “I bet you could even be more powerful than Mistress Black.”
“Leave. Now. While I’m still feeling merciful.”
He laughed. “You’re a piece of work, you know that?”
“And you’re about to be a pile of goo if you don’t get the hell out of my home.”
“Okay, okay!” He held up both hands. “Just take it easy. Calm down.”
“Ten.”
“Ah. We’re going to do the counting down thing, are we? Make me feel more intimidated?”
“Nine.”
“I see how it is.”
“Actually, I don’t think you do. Not yet. Seven.”
“Wait, what happened to eight?”
“Six.”
“Tch.”
“Four.”
He rolled his neck in exasperation. “All right, but just remember you didn’t give me any choice.” With a snap of his fingers, both her parents about-faced and marched to the counter. They each drew a butcher knife from the knife rack and held the blade to their throats.
The number two froze on Verika’s lips. “Monster,” she breathed, her eyes darting between them. “You glamoured them.”
“And you’re surprised? Come on,” he drawled, leaning against the countertop. “You had to have seen this coming. Then again, maybe not, considering you epically failed to prevent it.”
“Shut up!” Elijah barked. “I’ve had enough of your babbling.” He started forward, all menace and muscle and pissed-off werewolf.
Rick quickly straightened and backed away. “Ah, ah, ah!”
The blades against her parents’ throats began to move. Her mother cried out softly as the knife’s teeth split her flesh open.
“Stop! Stop!” Verika shrieked, taking a step forward and then quickly pulling back for fear the vampire-demon would command her parents to finish what they’d started.
Elijah barely restrained himself. He stalked back and forth in front of her, a caged animal working itself up into a rage.
If he snapped like he had at the house… Oh God, what would become of her parents?
All the happy times spent in this kitchen flashed before her eyes. Baking cookies with her mother and chattering excitedly about what she had learned in magic lessons, chopping an onion with her father and laughing over the tears streaming from both their eyes. Fixing huge mugs of steaming cocoa and watching the snow drift past the kitchen window.
Her eyes stung with tears. She’d thought about those happy memories many times over the lonely years since she’d left home. And the only thing that kept all those memories from becoming painful was knowing her family was still alive, waiting right here for her. If this madman took Mom and Dad away, then all she’d have were the memories, reminders of happy times long past. There would never be the potential to make new memories, at least, not on this side of the grave.
The request was on her tongue, buried in her heart. And the guilt made her feel ten times heavier for it. She wanted to send Elijah away. Send him out the door, away from all of this, before he could get them all killed.
Her stomach roiled with nausea for thinking such a thing. He was her mate, dammit. The one person she was supposed to believe in the most, even when no one else did.
And here she was, doubting his capacity to control his deep-seated anger. At the world, at Mistress Black, at himself.
You should help him.
When she’d mated him, she’d made an oath to be there for her mate no matter what. Through thick and thin, the good times and the bad.
So what kind of mate was she going to be? The kind who went back on her word at the first sign of tough times? Or the kind who strengthened her mate when he didn’t feel strong enough?
Take my hand, she said to him.
He kept pacing, golden eyes fixed on Rick’s smug face.
Verika stepped forward, took Elijah’s hands in hers, and forced him to face her. He reluctantly turned, craning his strong neck to eye his prey until Verika reached up and cupped his cheeks with both hands. Those terrible, golden eyes at last met hers.
Just breathe, she said, searching his eyes. You can beat this. You’re strong enough. You are in control.
He stared back, his breathing slowly growing calmer, the gold leaking from his eyes to reveal brilliant-blue irises.
He let out a slow breath, which was both a sigh of relief and a prayer of thanks. At the same time, all the tension drained out of their mate-bond, and the crackling anger faded away.
He smiled gently. You’re incredible, you know that? he said telepathically, reaching up to caress her cheek.
She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. Yes, the world she knew and loved was on the verge of falling apart around her. But she would give herself this precious moment in time to just close her eyes and remind herself she was never alone. To feel the strength of the love pouring off her mate.
Her future husband.
Hearing those words, even if only in her head, made her heart flutter, her hope soar. She would move heaven and earth for him. Brave the pits of hell, face any hardship.
Do you trust me? she asked.
Absolutely, he said without hesitation, never breaking her steadfast gaze.
“Helllooooooo? Earth to the witch and werewolf!”
Her teeth gritted. Add “kicking Rick’s ass” to her To Do list.
Elijah
let his hand slip from her face, trailing it down her side and to her hand. “I’m right here,” he said softly. “And I’m never going anywhere but with you.”
“Thank you,” she mouthed, her eyes burning. God, her emotions were a mess today. His love for her poured through their mate-bond, steady and true. The rock she would now use to lean on if she felt weak or scared. The enormity of his love was overwhelming. Now to prove herself worthy of it.
The strength of her resolve, of her love for him, gave her the courage to turn around and face Rick—and not magically rip his smirking head off immediately. No, she needed him. He served a purpose, this monster in front of her, as obnoxious as he was. He was proud of his power. It showed in the overconfident sparkle in his eyes, the swagger in his step. Like a spoiled child who’d been loaned Mommy and Daddy’s Lexus to parade around town. He probably had a drop of Black Magic of his own, to be sure, but it was nothing without Mistress Black’s amplifications. She was sure that’s what she’d meant by “he is only a pawn borrowing my power”—she’d amplified his innate powers, probably gifted him from his demon side, by infusing him with some of her own magic.
And amplification spells had limits. They always faded over time. Verika just had to be patient, wait for his power to dial down.
Then, as Elijah would say, poor old Rick here would be “shit out of luck.”
That made her smile. She knew there was frost in her eyes as she said, without blinking, without flinching, “Let my parents go, and we’ll go with you.”
Rick blinked, straightened up. He looked between them suspiciously. “You will?”
Verika nodded.
“Just like that?”
“Do you want us or not? Stop stalling.”
He pursed his lips, smushed them around and sucked them in before popping them loudly. “Well, I suppose I shouldn’t complain. I got a nice drink out of the deal”—he slapped her mother and father on the back—“albeit, I wasn’t even that hungry. The original glamour was wearing off, and I had to strengthen it with a blood tie. I mean, being a vampire’s awesome for that little ability alone, but come on! Guess if I was a royal, I wouldn’t have to redo my glams all the damn time. C’est la vie.”
