Dark Magic (Dark Series - book 4)

by Christine Feehan

  It was inevitable that someone would recognize her; it always happened. Gregori was surprised the press hadn’t gotten wind that she was somewhere in the city and had every tourist spot staked out waiting for her. He gave a little sigh as the first wave of fans swarmed them, pressing close to Savannah, wanting to get near her. Gregori instinctively placed his solid frame between her and the crowd.

  You are going to start a riot.

  She signed several autographs, a hard enough feat with Gregori acting like her bodyguard. Gary walled her in from the other side, recognizing the menacing glitter in the cold silver of Gregori’s eyes. Savannah paid no attention to the two of them; instead, she was sweet and friendly and entered into conversations with people.

  When their guide entered, a faint hush followed him. He was impressive, with his long, thick braid, his walking stick, and his dramatic appearance. Gregori raised an eyebrow at Savannah, but her fascinated gaze was on their host. He lit a candle, held his audience for a moment in a theatrical pause, then delivered a warning about the dangerous journey they would be undertaking. He made it clear that drinkers weren’t welcome and emphasized that it was not recommended that small children go on the tour.

  He’s good, this guy,

  Savannah whispered softly in Gregori’s mind.

  Hegrabs everyone right away and holds them. Good showmanship. He is a fake. This isn’t meant to be real, Gregori,

  she scolded it

  is fun. Everyone is here to have a good time. If you prefer not to go, I can meet you later. It isn’t as f it’s really dangerous. We aren’t going to meet any real vampires. Like hell I will meet you later. If I left your side, every man in the room would be swarming around you.

  Gregori knew the moment the two society members entered Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop. He felt the dark compulsion of the kill, knew they were searching for a likely target. He scanned the darkened interior of the bar. The vampire was alive and well, and his dark army was spreading out to do his bidding. No one else could have known they would be here. He sighed. He had not realized until that moment how important a night out for Savannah was to him. A single night without incident.

  He followed the group through the door, dropping money into the outstretched hand as he did so. Savannah was close to him, his hand on the small of her back. Three teenage boys were flirting outrageously with her, and her laughter turned heads and earned her the sudden attention of their host and the two society members.

  Gregori watched them shift into position, trying to work their way through the crowd to her side, but it was impossible. He concentrated on them, dulling the compulsion, fogging their thoughts so that they found themselves entering into the spirit of the hunt Savannah ended up with a sharpened stake and a conspirator’s grin from a fellow showman.

  They started walking through the streets at a brisk pace, and as they did so, the crowd stretched out into a long line. Their guide stopped at a home, perched on a fence, and began a dramatic tale of love and murder within. He wove the story brilliantly, putting in enough truth mixed with melodrama to make it credible. Savannah’s blue eyes were shining. As the crowd moved forward to follow the swirling cape of the fast-paced host, she bent down to fiddle with the strap of her shoe. Gregori felt her slip away from him and turned to wait for her.

  Savannah smiled at him, that sexy, mysterious smile that hardened his body and tripped little bombs off in his head. Her hair slid over her shoulder in a fall of cascading silk. The sight of her literally took his breath away. By the time she fixed her shoe, the two society members were right beside her. Savannah straightened, and that infuriating smile curved her soft mouth. “Where are you two from?” Her voice was beautiful and pure, a blend of seduction and music. “I’m Savannah Dubrinsky. Isn’t this fun?”

  They felt her impact immediately, the mesmerizing snare. Gregori heard their hearts slam unexpectedly, then begin to race. Her blue eyes caught and held their gazes, trapping them in the silver-star centers. “Randall Smith,” the shorter of the two answered eagerly. “I moved here several months ago from Florida. This is John Perkins. He’s originally from Florida also.”

  “Did you come here for Mardi Gras and just stay for the fun?” Savannah inquired.

  What the hell do you think you are doing?

  Mon Dieu,

  ma

  femme,

  you are enough to drive me crazy. I forbid this.

  Savannah fell into step between the two men easily, her enormous eyes wide with interest. Gregori felt the beast lifting its head, roaring for release. The red haze spread, and hunger beat at him.

  “We came here to help out a friend of ours,” Randall admitted. He began rubbing his suddenly pounding temples. His head was hurting and felt as if it might shatter.

  Savannah leaned in closer, her eyes holding his captive. The crowd had once more stopped while their host began his tale of ghosts and unexplained mysteries. His voice cast a spell over the group, adding to the appeal of the story, to the haunting illusion of the night. Randall felt as if he were drowning in her eyes, as if she had trapped him forever in the illuminating starlight. He wanted to give her anything, everything. His head said no, but his wildly beating heart and raging soul needed to confess his every thought to her.

  “We belong to a secret society,” he whispered softly, his voice so low that only the two Carpathians could possibly hear. He didn’t want his partner to know he was betraying the members. There was a curious buzzing in his head, like a swarm of bees. He broke out in a sweat.

  Savannah touched him lightly, a brushing of fingers across his arm. Curiously, she brought a refreshing breeze with that touch, one that cleared his head for a moment so that the oppressive pain lightened. Her smile sent a shiver of excitement through him, of such desire and need that he wanted to fall at her feet. “How exciting. Is it dangerous?” She tilted her head, an innocent seductress luring him closer and closer.

  Randall was aware of the smallness of her waist, the fullness of her breasts, the sway of her hips. He had never wanted anything more in his life, and her enormous eyes were focused only on him, saw only him. He swallowed hard. “Very dangerous. We hunt vampires. The real thing, not this nonsense.”

  Her perfect mouth formed a small O. She had beautiful lips, rose-petal soft, moist, pouty, kissable lips.

  Savannah, stop now. He is dangerous, whether you think so or not. His mind stinks of the vampire. I might find out where Morrison is. I said no.

  Gregori reached out and shackled her wrist, yanking her from between the two men to the protection of his body.

  I will not use you to find the undead. He will trace the path back to you. I have no choice but to destroy this one.

  Her face paled visibly, long lashes sweeping down to conceal her eyes.

  Why not heal him as you did the captain? I cannot heal what is essentially evil.

  His thumb feathered gently back and forth across the pulse beating so strongly in her inner wrist.

  He is a servant of the vampire, and you know it, Savannah. You knew it the moment you touched his mind. What you can find and trace, so can the vampire. And he is more adept than you. I cannot allow such a risk to you.

  Randall crowded close, wrapped in the thrall of mental compulsion. He perceived the hand on Savannah’s wrist as evil, a coiled snake dragging her away from her rightful place at his side.

  Gregori focused on the partner, John Perkins. The man’s mind was stronger than Randall Smith’s. The vampire’s hold on him was much blacker, as if Perkins had been in close contact for a longer period of time. He was staring at Savannah suspiciously. Gregori could easily pick out the dark lust, the jealousy that she chose Randall for her attention instead of him. Perkins was twisted inside, the vampire’s compulsion working on his already depraved mind.

  Morrison knew how to choose his servants. The vicious, ugly nature of malicious men, those without friends or relatives, those hungry for violence and depravity. He sent them among the c
urious, those like Gary, people with quick, intelligent minds open to the paranormal. People isolated by their very intelligence and open-mindedness. The vampire was able to use those intelligent men by luring them with false hopes, false promises, using them for research and the legwork needed for his legions of true servants.

  Gregori sighed softly. He was what he was. Guilt could not be a part of his existence. He was responsible for the continuation of his race and for Savannah’s safety. He thrust into John Perkins’s mind, past the vampire’s control, and planted the seeds of destruction. His hand on Savannah’s wrist tightened, and he quickened their pace to put distance between the society members and his lifemate.

  Once again their guide stopped them all and was weaving a tale of debauchery, and murder. The crowd was silent, captivated by the interesting history of the city. Gregori inserted Savannah into the throng, his larger frame protecting her from the impending violence.

  Out on the street, John Perkins stared malevolently at Randall Smith. “You always have to ruin everything, Smith. You always have to be the one to talk to Morrison. I’m closest to him, but you just have to prove you’re the big cheese.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Randall demanded, his gaze frantically searching the crowd for Savannah.

  Gregori was shielding her, the haze he created making it impossible to detect her in the night. Randall craned his neck, worked to get around his partner, going so far as to shove him out of his way. His heart was beating frantically, his one thought to find Savannah.

  “What are you doing, Gregori?” she demanded softly.

  Gary inched through the crowd of tourists until he managed to push his way to the Carpathians’ side. He was as enthralled by the storyteller as the rest of the crowd. He studied the building with its history of sexual misconduct, fire, and murder with rapt attention.

  Gregori bent his dark head down to hers. “I can do no other than eliminate the threat to you. The vampire has a clear trail leading straight to you from this one’s mind. It is a trap,

  ma petite,

  and we cannot afford to fall into it.”

  “You don’t mean

  we,

  ” she said, “you mean

  me”

  Perkins shoved at Randall hard enough to cause the other man to sprawl in the middle of the street. Randall erupted into obscenities, disturbing the storyteller. Their host paused for the best dramatic effect, heaved a sigh, and strolled toward the two combatants.

  Gary had noticed police patrol cars cruising the area often and wondered if it was a courtesy to their tour guide. It was possible he even had some way to signal them if there was trouble.

  Before the guide reached the two men, Perkins produced a gun. Everyone froze instantly. “You traitor. You were going to betray us all!” he screamed, his face a twisted mask of fury and hatred.

  The dark compulsion of the kill was on him, and on Randall, who retaliated with a gun of his own. The crowd ran in all directions, seeking shelter, hiding behind parked cars, and jumping to the other side of fences. Wild cries rose, and the air was thick with fear. Gregori shoved Savannah into Gary and toward the comparative shelter of a brick wall. He stood tall on the walkway, watching the drama unfolding before him.

  The guide, clearly torn between the need for safety and the need to protect his tourists, hesitated in the open. Gregori waved a hand to erect a barrier between the man and any stray bullet. The two society members were raging at one another, then Perkins fired a barrage of bullets to meet the ones Randall sprayed at him.

  A dark shadow passed across the sky, blotting out the stars, stilling the wind. Both men fell slowly, shirts splattered with what looked like red paint. They landed like rag dolls in the middle of the street, sprawled out, motionless. Their guns clattered to the pavement to look like harmless toys where they lay. The dark shadow hovered, as alarming as the sudden violence that had erupted.

  No one moved, no one spoke, no one made a sound. It was as if they knew the dark, sinister shadow clouding the sky was far more deadly than the guns lying so silent in the street.

  The large stain spread across the stars, then began to gather itself ominously into a smaller, much blacker and heavier cloud. Dense, compact, it moved slowly, as if surveying the group with an obscene red eye. In its very center a vein of jagged light streaked continually.

  Someone gasped. Someone else began a low prayer. After a moment, a few others joined in. The shadow darkened until it blotted out every bit of light above their heads. The lightning veins, jagged and threatening, increased in activity.

  Gregori realized the vampire was searching for them. He knew his enemies were near, but Gregori had automatically cloaked his presence, something he did without thought. The undead should have been able to detect Savannah’s presence, having followed the faint psychic trail through his servant, but Savannah had been busy, too. Running around so much in Gregori’s head, she had utilized the lessons he had learned through hard experience, through trial and error. She was masking her presence every bit as deftly as Gregori was able to do.

  It won’t make a difference, lifemate.

  Her words brushed softly in his mind.

  He means to attack and destroy all of those here in an effort to get at us.

  He felt a surge of pride at her ability to learn so quickly, to assess their enemy. Gregori stepped away from the huddled mass of tourists, putting distance between himself and the guide. He walked completely erect, his head high, his long hair flowing around him. His hands were loose at his sides, and his body was relaxed, rippling with power.

  “Hear me now, ancient one.” His voice was soft and musical, filling the silence with beauty and purity. “You have lived long in this world, and you weary of the emptiness. I have come in answer to your call.”

  “Gregori. The Dark One.” The evil voice hissed and growled the words in answer. The ugliness tore at sensitive nerve endings like nails on a chalkboard. Some of the tourists actually covered their ears. “How dare you enter my city and interfere where you have no right?”

  “I am justice, evil one. I have come to set you free from the boundaries holding you to this place.” Gregori’s voice was so soft and hypnotic that those listening edged out from their sanctuaries. It beckoned and pulled, so that none could resist his every desire.

  The black shape above their head roiled like a witch’s cauldron. A jagged bolt of lightning slammed to earth straight toward the huddled group. Gregori raised a hand and redirected the force of energy away from the tourists and Savannah. A smile edged the cruel set of his mouth. “You think to mock me with this display, ancient one? Do not attempt to anger what you do not understand. You came to me. I did not hunt you. You seek to threaten my lifemate and those I count as my friends. I can do no other than carry the justice of our people to you.” Gregori’s voice was so reasonable, so perfect and pure, drawing obedience from the most recalcitrant of criminals.

  The guide made a sound, somewhere between disbelief and fear. Gregori silenced him with a wave of his hand, needing no distractions. But the noise had been enough for the ancient one to break the spell Gregori’s voice was weaving around him. The dark stain above their heads thrashed wildly, as if ridding itself of ever-tightening bonds before slamming a series of lightning strikes at the helpless mortals on the ground.

  Screams and moans accompanied the whispered prayers, but Gregori stood his ground, unflinching. He merely redirected the whips of energy and light, sent them streaking back into the black mass above their heads. A hideous snarl, a screech of defiance and hatred, was the only warning before it hailed. Huge golfball-sized blocks of bright-red ice rained down toward them. It was thick and horrible to see, the shower of frozen blood from the skies. But it stopped abruptly, as if an unseen force held it hovering inches from their heads.

  Gregori remained unchanged, impassive, his face a blank mask as he shielded the tourists and sent the hail hurtling back at their attacker. From out
of the cemetery a few blocks from them, an army of the dead rose up. Wolves howled and raced along beside the skeletons as they moved to intercept the Carpathian hunter.

  Savannah.

  He said her name once, a soft brush in her mind.

  I’ve got it,

  she sent back instantly. Gregori had his hands full dealing with the abominations the vampire was throwing at him; he didn’t need to waste his energy protecting the general public from the apparition. She moved out into the open, a small, fragile figure, concentrating on the incoming threat.

  To those dwelling in the houses along the block and those driving in their cars, she masked the pack of wolves as dogs racing down the street. The stick-like skeletons, grotesque and bizarre, were merely a fast-moving group of people. She held the illusion until they were within a few feet of Gregori. Dropping the illusion, she fed every ounce of her energy and power to Gregori so he could meet the attack.

  The wind rose, whipping at Gregori’s solid form, lashing his body, ripping at the waves of black hair so that it streamed around his face. His expression was impassive, the pale silver eyes cold and merciless, unblinking and fixed on his prey. The attack came from sky and ground simultaneously; slivers of sharpened wood shot through the air on the wild winds, aimed directly at Gregori. The wolves leapt for him, eyes glowing hotly in the night. The army of the dead moved relentlessly forward, pressing toward Gregori’s lone figure.

  His hands moved, a complicated pattern directed at the approaching army; then he was whirling, a flowing wind of motion beautiful to the eye, so fast that he blurred. Yelps and howls accompanied bodies flying through the air. Wolves landed to lie motionless at his feet. His expression never changed. There was no hint of anger or emotion, no sign of fear, no break in concentration. He simply acted as the need arose. The skeletons were mowed down by a wall of flame, an orange-red conflagration that rose in the night sky and danced furiously for a brief moment. The army withered into ashes, leaving only a pile of blackened dust that spewed across the street in the ferocious onslaught of the wind.