by Karen Chance
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Acknowledgements
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
“Karen Chance will enthrall you with her world of vampires, mages, and a fair maiden tough enough to kick their butts.”
—USA Today bestselling author Rebecca York
Praise for Touch the Dark
“A really exciting book with great pacing and a huge cast of
vivid characters. This is one of my favorite reads of the
year.” —Charlaine Harris, New York Times
bestselling author of Definitely Dead
“A grab-you-by-the-throat-and-suck-you-in sort of book, with a tough, smart heroine and sexy-scary vampires. I loved it—and I’m waiting anxiously for a sequel.”
—Patricia Briggs, USA Today bestselling
author of Blood Bound
“A wonderfully entertaining romp with an engaging heroine. Here’s hoping there’s a sequel in the works!”
—Kelley Armstrong, USA Today bestselling author of Broken
“Exciting and inventive.” —Booklist
“Fast and heavy on the action, Touch the Dark packs a huge story. . . . A blend of fantasy and romance, it will satisfy readers of both genres.” —Fresh Fiction
“A very promising start to a new series, and an exceptionally entertaining first novel.” —Locus
“With Touch the Dark, Karen Chance takes her place along with Laurell K. Hamilton, Charlaine Harris, MaryJanice Davidson, and J. D. Robb to give us a strong woman who doesn’t wait to be rescued. . . . The action never stops. . . . Engrossing.” —SFRevu
“[A] plucky heroine with special powers dealing with the supernatural. . . . Exciting and fun.”
—The Weekly Press (Philadelphia)
“A fast-paced, entertaining adventure in the best tradition of contemporary supernatural fiction. . . . I look forward to seeing what Karen Chance does next.” —Emerald City
“A fast-paced action novel that never lets up. . . . Karen Chance is one of the most original voices in paranormal fiction. . . . A ‘do not miss’ novel for fans of vampires or fans of great storytelling . . . compelling, heart-racing, [and] erotic.” —Pink Heart Reviews
"Sexy vampires and interesting magical powers set up a thrilling and suspenseful environment in Touch the Dark. . . . Combines humor, action, and the paranormal into a scintillating story that will leave readers begging for more.” —Romance Reviews Today
“An intensely captivating paranormal adventure with a capable heroine who possesses great strength and a wry sense of humor. . . . Karen Chance has created a wildly rich and seductive world sure to keep many readers hungry for more.”
—The Romance Reader’s Connection
“A gifted author who pens a tale of vivid imagery [and] paranormal excellence, and draws her readers in. . . . A unique and awesome paranormal tale that sets itself apart. . . . Ms. Chance makes the genre her own with memorable characters [and] fast-paced action, and brings some of the best vampiric creatures ever created to life. . . . Readers won’t want to miss this one!” —The Road to Romance
“Entertaining [and] action-packed . . . a strong tale that will bring much acclaim to Karen Chance.” —The Best Reviews
"An entertaining romp.” —Romantic Times
"An interesting take on the vampire mythos that includes all kinds of supernatural forces and beings. Cassie is the perfect heroine . . . [and] her story is exciting and will keep you turning pages. . . . I’m looking forward to reading the sequel.”
—BellaOnline
ROC BOOKS BY KAREN CHANCE
Touch the Dark
ROC
Published by New American Library, a division of
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street,
New York, New York 10014, USA
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto,
Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices:
80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
First published by Roc, an imprint of New American Library,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
First Printing, April 2007
Copyright © Karen Chance, 2007
All rights reserved
REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) , without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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eISBN : 978-1-4406-3059-0
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks are due to Marlin and Mary for literally providing shelter from the storm. Katrina was a nightmare, but you helped turn that year into something positive. And special thanks to Anne Sowards, my editor, who saw this book through its many versions with unending patience. You deserve collaborative status for all the great ideas, but since they won’t put your name on the cover, I’ll put it in here.
Chapter 1
Any day that starts off in a demon-filled bar in a casino designed to look like Hell isn’t likely to turn out well. But all I thought at the time was that a brothel should be more fun—especially one for ladies only that was staffed by handsome incubi. But the demon lovers slumped miserably at their tables, holding their heads as if in pain, and completely ignoring their companions. Even Casanova, lounging across from me, looked unhappy. His pose was unconsciously seductive—a matter of habit, I guess—but his expression wasn’t so nice.
“All right, Cassie!” he snapped, when one of his boys suddenly began weeping uncontrollably. “Tell me what you want, then get them t
he hell out of here! I have a business to run!”
He was referring to the three old women who were perched on stools at the bar. They were giving the satyr serving drinks a wilt in a place rarely seen at anything but full attention on one of his kind. That wasn’t surprising: none of them looked under a hundred, and their most obvious attribute was matted, greasy locks—gray since birth— that streamed in a web of tangles to the floor. I’d tried to wash Enyo’s, whose name appropriately means “horror,” last night, but the hotel’s shampoo hadn’t made much of an improvement. I’d given up after finding what looked like half a decayed rat in a snarl under her left ear.
The hair did have the benefit of distracting attention from their faces, though, so you didn’t immediately notice that they had only one eye and one tooth among them. Enyo was currently trying to take back the eye from her sister Deino (“dread”) because she wanted to check out the horrified-looking bartender. Meanwhile, Pemphredo (“alarm”) was using the tooth to rip open a bag of peanuts. She finally gave up and stuffed the whole cellophane-wrapped package in her mouth, gumming it happily.
I had once assumed that the Graeae were merely myths thought up by bored (and fairly peculiar) Greeks a few thousand years before the invention of TV. But apparently not. I’d recently acquired—okay, stolen—a bunch of items from the Vampire Senate, the body that controls the actions of all North American vampires, and had been trying to figure out what they were. The first one I’d examined, a small iridescent sphere in a black wooden case, had started to glow as soon as I picked it up. A brief flash of light later and I had houseguests.
I couldn’t figure out why the trio had been imprisoned, especially in so grand a place as the inner sanctum of a vampire stronghold. They were as annoying as hell but didn’t seem particularly dangerous, other than to my room service bill. I’d brought the gals along because it was either that or leave them unsupervised in my hotel room. They had a lot of energy for old women, and I’d had a hell of a time keeping them amused so far.
I’d sat them in front of three nickel slots while I went on my errand, but of course they hadn’t stayed there. Like three ancient toddlers, they had very short attention spans. They’d wandered into the bar shortly after I did, carrying a load of no-doubt ill-gotten souvenirs. Deino, clutching a little red devil plush under her arm, had dropped a snow globe off with me before heading for the bar. It contained a plastic image of the casino that, instead of being surrounded by fake snow, had tiny flames that danced about whenever you shook it. I thought it would be just my luck to get arrested for shoplifting something that tacky.
Despite the annoyance of babysitting the weird sisters, the expression on Casanova’s face as he regarded them told me it might work to my advantage. I smiled and watched the flames of Hell consume the tiny casino again. “If you don’t help me, I may just leave them here. They could use a makeover.” I didn’t bother to point out how bad that would be for business.
Casanova winced and tossed back the rest of his drink, giving me a glimpse of a strong, tanned throat under the loose collar of his dress shirt. Technically, of course, he wasn’t the historical Casanova. Possession by an incubus demon tends to increase mortal life span, but not that much. The Italian cleric who was remembered for having unmatched success with the ladies died centuries ago, but the reason for his reputation lived on. And there was nothing to complain about in his newest incarnation. I had to regularly remind myself that I was here on business and he wasn’t even trying.
“I don’t care about your problems,” he told me fiercely. “How much to take them away?”
“This isn’t a money matter. You know what I want.” I tried to discreetly pull the tight satin shorts I was wearing into a more comfortable position, but I think he noticed. It’s hard to look intimidating in a sequined devil costume complete with pointed tail. Sinful Scarlett did not go well with my strawberry blond curls and whitest of white girl’s complexion. I looked like a kewpie doll trying to play tough guy—no wonder he wasn’t impressed. But I’d had to think of some way to reach him without being recognized, and borrowing a costume from the employee locker room had seemed like a good idea at the time.
Casanova lit a tiny cigarette with a brushed gold lighter. “If you have a death wish, that is your affair, but I won’t put my head in a noose by crossing Antonio. The man is psychotic about revenge. You should know.”
Considering that Tony, a master vampire and my old guardian, was at the head of the list of people who wanted me in an urn on their mantel, I couldn’t argue the point. But I had to find him, and the person I strongly suspected was with him, or the urn wouldn’t be necessary. There wouldn’t be anything left of me to require a funeral. And since Casanova had once been Tony’s second in command, it was a good bet that he knew where the crafty old bastard was hiding.
“I think Myra’s with him,” I said shortly.
Casanova didn’t ask for details. It wasn’t exactly a secret that Myra was the most recent person to try and help me shuffle off the mortal coil. It hadn’t been personal—more of a career move, you might say—until I’d put a couple of holes in her torso. It was safe to assume it was personal now.
“My sympathies,” Casanova murmured. “But I am afraid that is all I can offer. You understand that my position is somewhat . . . tenuous.”
That was one way of putting it. That Casanova had occupied such an important place in Tony’s criminal organization was unusual, to say the least. Demons are normally considered unwanted competition by vampires, but incubi aren’t exactly tops on the demonic power scale. In fact, most other demons view them as something of an embarrassment. Casanova was an unusual incubus, though.
He’d taken up residence in an attractive Spanish don centuries ago, thinking he was simply trading an aging host body for a newer version. He hadn’t realized until the possession was in progress that he’d actually invaded a baby vampire, one too young to know how to evict him. Before the vamp figured it out, they’d reached an understanding. The centuries of practice Casanova had in seduction helped the vamp feed easily, and having a body that wouldn’t age and die on him suited Casanova. So when Tony decided to organize the incubi of the States into a moneymaking deal for him, Casanova was the perfect choice to run it.
His Decadent Dreams spa is located in a monstrosity of a building adjacent to Tony’s Vegas casino, Dante’s. While vacationing husbands throw away the family fortune at the roulette wheel, their neglected wives take consolation in the extravagant spa treatments, among other things, on offer next door. Tony gets rich from the proceeds, the incubi get more lust to feed from than even they can use, and the ladies come out with a glow that lasts for days. It’s actually one of Tony’s less reprehensible businesses, except for being highly illegal—unlike some people seem to believe, prostitution is not okay with the Vegas PD. But then, vamps have never paid much attention to human law.
“What’s the penalty for slaving these days?” I asked idly. “Bet it makes that noose look pretty good.”
For the first time, Casanova lost his superior look. He dropped his cigarette, and hot ashes splattered his suit, leaving tiny burn marks on the silk before he could brush them away. “I never had anything to do with that!”
I wasn’t surprised at his reaction. Tony had been breaking both human and vampire laws by engaging in the very profitable but extremely dangerous trade of selling magic users. The Silver Circle, the council of mages who act for the magical community the way the Senate does for vamps, are violently opposed to the idea, and their treaty with the vamps specifically outlaws it. Ignoring the treaty risked war, and the Senate would have staked Tony for that alone, if they didn’t already have plenty of reasons to want him dead.
“You’ll have a hard time convincing the Senate of that if your boss tries to pin the whole thing on you.” Judging by his expression, Casanova felt that was a good possibility. He knew his employer as well as I did. “But if I find him first, Tony will be out of the picture and
you’ll be in the clear. It’s to your advantage to help me.” I expected that line to work—self-interest was usually the best way to get a vamp’s cooperation—but Casanova recovered quickly.
He lit another cigarette with steady fingers. “Why are you so sure that I know where he is? He doesn’t tell me everything. He has that Alphonse character to help him now.”
Alphonse was Tony’s current second in command and personal bodyguard. He was easily the ugliest vamp I’ve ever seen, and his personality was no more attractive than his face. But I much preferred him to his boss. Alphonse didn’t actually like me, but I doubted he’d hunt me down if Tony wasn’t around to give the order.
“Tony had to leave somebody in charge when he disappeared. I’m betting it was you, and that you know where he is.”
He regarded me through a haze of smoke for a long minute. “I’m in temporary control,” he finally admitted, “but only of Vegas. You want to contact Philly.”
I shook my head emphatically. That was what I definitely didn’t want. There were too many people in Philadelphia, Tony’s main base of operations, who remembered me less than fondly. Way less. “Uh-huh. They might give me something, all right, but it wouldn’t be information.”
Casanova’s lips twitched, and the amusement in those whiskey-colored eyes was even more attractive than his usual smoldering seduction. I swallowed and pretended indifference, which won me an actual grin. But no information.
“You know as well as I do that the family does not take disloyalty well,” he murmured. “That is especially true from a demon/vampire hybrid that most regard as a freak. And the fact that I have recently taken over temporary control on this coast hasn’t won me any more admirers. There are many waiting for me to put a foot wrong, and betraying the boss would definitely qualify.”
I hadn’t been prepared for candor, and it threw me. I stared at him as a surge of fear fluttered through my stomach and up to my throat. I tamped it down; I couldn’t afford to show uncertainty now. If I didn’t find some way to get Casanova to open up, pretty soon Myra would be doing the same to me—with a knife.
