Table of Contents
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
Epilogue
Blood & Magic
(Shadow Company – Book 3)
By Catherine Wolffe
Copyright 2018 Catherine Wolffe
All Rights Reserved
Discover other titles by Catherine Wolffe at www.catherinewolffe.com.
SMASHWORDS EDITION
Smashwords Edition License Notes
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ADULT CONTENT
In order to protect minors from viewing inappropriate material, please know that this book may contain language, situations or images inappropriate for children under 18 years of age.
Other Books by Catherine Wolffe
Salvation’s Secrets (The Loflin Legacy Prequel)
Comanche Haven (The Loflin Legacy Book 1)
Casey’s Gunslinger (The Loflin Legacy Book 2)
The Lady in the Mist (The Western Werewolf Legend #1)
Waking Up Dead (The Western Werewolf Legend #2)
Wolfen Secrets (The Western Werewolf Legend #3)
A Dance in Time (J.T. Leighton, Time Traveler #1)
Beyond the Veil (Shadow Company Book 1)
Deliberate Intent (Shadow Company Book 2)
Table of Contents
Blood & Magic
Preface
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
Epilogue
Excerpt
Books by Catherine Wolffe
Acknowledgments
When we do the acknowledgments, I want to include, Ally Thomas, Kay Burnsworth, Jane Aschtgen Bowen and Nola Arganbright.
Blood & Magic
(Shadow Company – Book 3)
By Catherine Wolffe
Preface
The pain was excruciating. J.T. Leighton never imagined every nerve his body burning simultaneously. For a former Navy SEAL to surrender to pain was out of the question. He had endured so much before as a member of Team Six. Hell, he even sought out the pain. The stimuli came with fear. Fear came with danger. A soldier endured all these and more as part of war.
In all his years of service, he had faced trepidation without hesitation. This time the sensation was different. The term took on a surreal meaning as he writhed in agony on the dank floor of the stone cell. If only he could escape. Mere feet away lay daylight. In days gone by, he would have bolted for the cell door and freedom. Not today. No, certainly not today. His body jerked, twitching reflex to the tune of a madman. The madman had taken his freedom away forever.
“You fight what is inevitable, traveler. My blood flows through your veins. A mere mortal such as you cannot resist my powers. You’ll be my loyal blood slave very soon.”
The sands of the Middle East blew across the dark figure of a man garbed in robes standing on the opposite side of J.T.’s cell. The man hurled those words at him as a cruel taunt.
“Soon, you will do my bidding without resistance. You will bring me what I demand.” Turning, the monster known only as the Sultan strode away.
“I’ll kill you.” The Sultan’s blood dripped from his mouth. J. T. knew the minute it hit his veins he was doomed. “That’s a promise with my dying breath. I’ll never call you master. Your days are numbered. Mark my words. Mark my words, asshole!” J.T.’s teeth clenched over the last syllables. As the venomous blood rolled down his throat, spit flew from his mouth, as his body jerked convulsively. The pain seared his brain with a fire so intense he imagined his eyes bulged from his skull. Clutching his head in his hands, he convulsed again before mercifully going limp. Glancing out at the jar on the other side of his cell wall, J.T. yearned for the contents. The vessel was his. All he had to do was reach out. A few feet away sat the jar filled with the unholy potion of the damned. He craved the contents like his next breath. Blood, all he could think of was blood. In his blurred vision, he saw a crimson river flowing mere inches past his cell bars. If he could only reach the bank. Snarling like a rabid dog, J.T. lunged for the bars. The skin of his bare back ignited in flames sending him cringing back into the shadows. The smell of charred flesh and ash hung heavy in the air. Twisting away from the sweet torture, J.T. cried out. A sound like he had never heard before left his throat. The jerking began anew. The heat within his body would surely melt him from the inside out. Driven to madness, he cried out in agony. “Please make it stop.” The whimpered plea testified to how low he had sunk. With his legs pulled close to his body, he formed a fetal position and rocked. He supposed it was the last-ditch effort of a fool.
J.T. blacked out before coming to with a jerk. How long had he been out? Not long enough. Once more the convulsion seized him as he writhed in his own private spot in hell’s deepest chamber. Drool dripped unnoticed down his quivering chin. God, he was tired.
The vessel appeared closer than before. The Sultan’s doing, J.T. was certain. It didn’t matter. His frantic eyes darted like mice skittering for the corners of his skull. If only he could get to the blood. In a furry, he clawed at his chest, crying out in anguish for help. The outcry purged him of the last of his strength. Falling into a stupor, he ignored the snot dripping from his nose. He had lost everything. His brain began to shut down. No relief was coming. No life jacket for him in this abyss. No Team Six could save him.
J.T. slowly, mindlessly drifted on a plain apart from his body lying below in the pitch black of the prison cell. A peculiar sense of peace filtered through the anguish. Seeping in like a drug, it coated the agony. Then his heart stopped beating. He had one last, coherent thought come to him. “No, not like this,” he whimpered into the emptiness. The end – he saw his demise in the dark. He was too weak to fight. Instead he floated, suspended in a gauze-draped limbo. In that ethereal haze, J.T. surrendered. The filmy cloak of death clawed at him until he went under.
Chapter 1
A milky fog slithered over the land. Without a moon, the night began with a bone-chilling dampness. December held Louisiana in her clutches like a hungry hawk grips a mouse.
J.T. had to admit. It was his kind of night. Oblivious to the cold that surrounded him, he moved unnoticed in such gloom. The lamp posts of the quaint little town held globes glowing yellow in the misty murk. No brightly colored leaves floated from the trees any longer. No crisp cool tinge to the air of Cheniere Station’s advance into winter. No, the cold resonated around him like a shroud. J.T. glanced up then down the deserted street with a keen eye for trouble.
Like most nights, he prowled the streets looking for a fix. Not t
he kind most vampires sought. No, he hunted other vampires. J.T. had been a professional vampire slayer since that fateful night in Afghanistan. The Sultan, a blood demon of pure evil, had turned him. He was J.T.’s master and the bane of his existence. The Sultan viewed him as a blood slave and his number one boy. The shadow walker saw J.T. as an asset. His go-to-guy for blood kills. The irony was the Sultan didn’t want the bodies for blood. He wanted them for their souls.
For the first year of his existence as a vampire, J.T. performed the duties of a blood slave. His instructions from the Sultan were to suck the victim’s blood until they were on the verge of death. Any more and the victim would die which made him useless to the Sultan’s plans. Any less and J.T could die at the hands of the attacked.
Thank the gods the Sultan’s hold over him diminished once he escaped the Middle East. Here, he exacted vengeance against all who killed ruthlessly and without remorse. His notion was killing them proved his way to even the score. J.T. sought justice for those who were turned yet continued to respect humanity.
“You have a death wish.” The observation was one he used regularly. Each time he confronted a fellow vampire, he taunted his target. A surprised vampire made for an easier kill. Plus, J.T, liked the thrill of a face to face encounter. Sure, a stake through the heart of an unsuspecting vampire was quicker. The fact was, J.T. liked the confrontation. If he was going to kill vampires for a living, why not enjoy the job? In his line of work, there was never a shortage of prey. It didn’t matter that he would never kill them all. J.T. liked to think of his nightly hunts as a way of leaving his mark. That’s what he did, too. To date, he had killed over a hundred bloodsuckers since returning from the desert. The job beat the hell out of wandering the streets at night with nothing more than thoughts of the woman he could never hold again.
The vampire whirled. His eyes registered the shock.
J.T.’s feral growl signaled an attack. A lunge off the ground sent him flying into space before dropping atop the shocked blood hunter. After all, vampires did not kill vampires. Laws against such were in place and had been for centuries.
The vampire’s weak punch glanced off J.T.’s chin. He grappled with the bloodsucker. Reaching out, he managed to grip the vampire by the throat. Wasting no time, he went for the jugular. Blood spurted as J.T. sank his teeth into the neck of his prey. His victim’s life fluid filled his mouth and throat as he drank his fill. Soon, the lifeless body lay crumbled at his feet. “Good riddance.” Wiping blood from his face, J.T. whirled at the scent of more vampires. They were close.
Their spokesman sneered, his fangs shining in the street light. “Gonna need a little bit of magic to finish us all off, traitor. You are a hunted man, you know. The high council has a bounty on your head. It’s a matter of time.” Sauntering sideways, the cocky fellow examined his advisory.
“That fact isn’t going to slow me down. You’re the next to die.” Before the trio could blink, J.T. materialized behind them. Wheeling, each, in turn, found their doom. The blade in J.T. hand dripped with fresh vampire blood. Quick and efficient, he wiped the blade on his jeans. “No need to waste their carcasses,” he mused aloud. “The werewolves can always make use of a fresh kill.” Satisfied with a glance about for witnesses, J.T. scooped up the headless monsters before taking to the sky. Dawn was approaching. He grew weary.
As packs went, the Cheniere Station werewolves were a good-natured bunch of shifters. Their simple vision was to remain anonymous while living in peace. J.T. saw their creed as noble if not naive for a gang of primal hunters. Sooner or later, you had to defend your own. The time was fast approaching when all fangs would receive a call to action.
Simon, the elder, watched J.T. land. Stepping forward in greeting, the burly man smiled companionably. J.T. dropped the kill at Simon’s feet. “I bring an offering. You can call it an appreciation gift.”
Simon nodded but said nothing.
J.T. waited. He noted the man’s muscled arms liberally covered in human hair. No weak link here, he mused. “You’d honor me by taking this offering.” A plain smile crept across J.T. face. He remembered the old ones speak of the feud between vampires and werewolves. Centuries earlier, vampires had used werewolves as slaves. Times changed he supposed. “You are revered among those who seek justice for all shifters and magic creatures of good faith.”
Simon issued a small huff before stretching out his hand.
J.T. relaxed a fraction. Simon’s grin was an attempt at peaceable decorum, J.T. supposed.
“Come, celebrate with us. We have gathered for a winter solstice feast. You are more than welcome to enjoy the celebration with us.”
Glancing past his host’s broad shoulders, he spied a number of shifters gathered around a bonfire stacked high in the night air. Music filtered on the crisp breeze as laughter rang out among those gathered for the festivities. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a young boy saddle up beside one of the bodies lying in a pile on the frosted canopy of dried leaves and pine needles. In the boy’s eyes, J.T caught a glimpse of the untamed nature of the werewolf. The boy was born a werewolf, not turned as his father had been. The lad knew nothing else but the ways of his clan. A sharp pain hit J.T. square in the chest as he stared at the boy.
His only recollection of becoming a vampire was one of torture and suffering. Forced to live the life of a loner, J.T. saw a light in the boy’s eyes he envied.
Something akin to the green monster of jealousy reared its head before J.T. could tamp down the sensation. “Thank you for the offer, but I want to get back before the sun begins to rise. Enjoy the fare and know I have your back.”
“As we do yours, my friend.”
Simon’s words held sincere emotion. J.T. noted his handshake was strong. Somehow, that surprised J.T. Nodding coolly, he turned. Before he made the mistake of thinking the man pitied him, he wanted to leave. The early morning mist whispered through his hair as he made his way home. Some of the tension of resentment eased. Flying gave him release. He smiled at the thought of the talent being one he appreciated as a vampire. Still, he’d trade soring untethered as well as living forever for one more night with Jessie.
The timing was off when he’d met her. She was the subject of a case he worked as a private investigator. Returning from his deployment with more baggage than a normal vampire needed, she became a cruel distraction. One he desperately wanted to indulge. Falling in love with Jessie proved a mistake. One he would regret for all eternity. Cursing low, he surged forward. Drowning his thoughts sounded like a plan. He could use some whiskey. “I’m tired. That’s all.” Longing for a glass of whiskey before sleep, J.T. didn’t see the streak of energy before it was too late.
Several moments passed as J.T. tried to focus. He was falling from the sky. Gauging the distance, he had dropped at least several hundred feet. J.T. wasted no time in surging upward in the dwindling night sky. A church steeple loomed too close for comfort. He leaned right, dodging the spiked metal sphere by inches. The scent of warming metal assailed his nostrils. “I could do without that pointed reminder,” he mused dryly. Wit was all he had time for as he fought to stabilize his world once more. The burning in his side signaled a problem. Finding a place to land was a necessity now. “Damn it. I don’t have time for this!” Below, J.T. spotted an empty rooftop. Landing without a sound, he twisted to examine the damage. A fist-sized hole rested below his ribs. The healing had already begun. Nothing to do but rest and recover. Glancing about, he decided to utilize his own version of speedwalking the rest of the way home. Another talent he valued, especially at a time like this one.
Weaving in and out of the dawning rays of the morning sun, he didn’t slow until he was safely inside. He leaned against the locked door of his office, J.T. Leighton Investigations. When he could move again, he stalked to the bath off the main lobby, before ripping off his ruined clothes and tossing them aside.
“Meow.”
“Yes, it’s me. Who’d you expect, Zodiac?” Glancing betwe
en his legs at the chubby charcoal tabby slithering against his skin, J.T. relaxed a fraction more. “I guess you need your feed, am I right?”
The purring grew in volume until J.T. was certain something was going to fall from the vibrations.
“Give it a break, dude. I’m coming.” Through another door, J.T. entered the kitchenette. No office was complete without a working microwave and coffee pot. In the cabinet, he found the cat food. “Here you go.”
Now the purring took a back seat to the crunching as Zodiac scoffed down his morning fare. After all, being a watch cat took energy.
The doorbell rang.
“We’re closed.” Without an effort at politeness, J.T. turned for the stairs. He craved his bed.
The doorbell rang again. When that didn’t work, the pounding on the frame started in earnest.
Muttering something vile under his breath, J.T. flew down the stairs, snatched a robe off the peg on the bathroom door and slipped it on. “What do you want?” he barked.
“Ah, J.T., it’s Duke. Hey, did I catch you at a bad time?”
J.T. muttered more obscenities under his breath and unlocked the door. “It’s open. Come in.”
Duke Taylor strolled in like it was a normal occurrence to come calling at six a.m. in the F’n morning. “Hey, buddy. How’s it hanging?”
“What do you want, Duke.” Deliberately turning his back on his unwanted guest, J.T. headed for the kitchen.
“You got any coffee made?”
Making sure the growl was loud enough for Duke to hear, J.T. stalked into the kitchenette. “I don’t have any made. It’ll take a few minutes.” Positive the look he shot Duke was lethal, he waited.
“That’s no problem. How about a bagel or something to go with the Joe?” Duke saddled up to the kitchen cabinet and made himself at home.
“Fresh out.” Now he made sure his eyes blazed red. A trick he’d recently perfected. A surefire deterrent, or so he had heard.
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