A Wicked Night (Creatures of Darkness 2): A Coraline Conwell Novel (10 page)

To the cat, she said, “Once we arrive in town, it will be easy enough to swindle the first passerby out of his life savings. Before long, we’ll be riding in style. I deserve nothing but the—”

She ran flat into a wall.

Invisible barrier notwithstanding, she expected to rear back on her ass, but, oddly, her body kept going, as if transmuting through glass. And yet, she stayed behind, viewing it from behind, as if her mind had been stunned in place and her body had yet to register that fact. It was the most disorienting sight Sadira had ever encountered. She watched her body stumble forward, straighten, and then half-turn to glance back …at her?

The pathetically confused expression upon a face capable of commanding armies by beauty alone could only belong to Cora.

It cannot be!
Sadira screamed.

The sound fell short.

She attempted to bang on the blockade, discovering she no longer had fists. In their place was a familiar dark transparent mist.

A soul-deep, blood-thirsty rage exploded in her mind, the power of it lost to the ether.

——

Cora sucked in sharp, adrenaline spurred breaths as she watched the dark, ghostly form that was Sadira writhe with fury on the other side of the enchanted demarcation. What an unbelievably lucky happenstance. Apparently Sadira was unable to cross the line that marked the edge of the protection spell surrounding the cottage, leaving her trapped within, potentially forever. Or as long as the spell held.

A sense that exceeded relief drugged Cora’s muscles. She slumped, placing a grateful palm over her racing heart. She braved a taunting laugh. “You think you’re the goddesses’ gift to the world? Now look at you. Powerless.”

The edges of the apparition morphed into what looked like angry spikes. Cora smiled, about to lower herself by doing a childish victory dance.

Meeka’s low growl gave her pause. The feline’s fangs were bared, and her shoulders bunched as if ready to spring…right at Cora?

What the…?

“Meeka, it’s me—”

“Finally,” A masculine voice sounded from behind her.

She whirled to see the light-haired man from Saraphine’s shop standing two feet away. He had his palm face up and laid out flat, directly under his chin. The instant their gazes met, he blew out a breath and a powdery substance clouded around her face.

She was instantly drowsy.

Meeka sprang at the man.

With a strange warping to her vision, Cora thought she spotted Meeka’s shadow bouncing off the tree trunks, but the angles didn’t make any sense. Cora swayed, squinting through the darkness in time to catch said shadow take form and plow into Meeka from the side, driving her to the ground. Two sets of sparkling green eyes along with two sets of sharp white fangs gashed at each other. Cora’s inebriated brain was whipped into a convoluted frenzy, struggling to make sense of the scene.

“Meeka, stop attacking yourself,” she slurred, moving to separate the two.

“They’ll be fine,” the blond man stayed her with a hand on her elbow.

She nodded on a slow blink. He probably knew better than she did. Everyone knew better than she did. Still, something made her want to argue. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Shadow-Meeka roared and bit into Real-Meeka’s jugular. Cora tilted her head. That didn’t seem right, but the man had said he was sure.

“Come.” He guided her away from the scuffle. “My master is already too impatient.”

“Alright,” she replied, allowing him to pull her along.

Mace dragged himself out of bed as the paralyzing pain finally began to diminish. He couldn’t sense Cora any longer. Had Sadira already taken her that far away?

Dammit! He could lose her yet.

He threw on his clothing from the day before, snatched his phone from the desk and Cora’s talisman from the floor, shoving both into his pants pocket, and then staggered down the stairs.

“You look like hell.” Knox appeared from within the kitchen, glancing around suspiciously as if seeking the source of the disturbance he’d probably gleaned from Cora. Finding nothing, his gaze landed back on Mace. “The witch must be a real tiger in the sack. You look like shit.”

“She’s gone,” Mace boomed, resisting the urge to knock him in the jaw. By way of explanation, He held up the talisman.

Knox frowned. “Why in the bloody hell did she take it off?”

“She didn’t. I…accidentally ripped it off.”

Knox reared back on his heels. “You oaf! What kinky Kama Sutra shit brought that about? And where did she get off to?”

“I don’t know, but clearly Sadira was too smart to go to you again.”

“Obviously.” Knox paused, looking thoughtful. “Hold up, I have a device that might be able to track her.”

He disappeared back into the kitchen, and Mace heard the soft swish of the hidden door. Moments later, Knox reemerged from the underground cavern clutching a small square device with a black dial and numbered gauge.

“EMF?” Mace choked out. “You’re screwing with me, right? You’re seriously going to track her with an electromagnetic field meter?”

“This is how I figured out which room Sadira’s dimensional cell was in,” Knox said. “You have a better idea? She can’t have gotten far, and this will start us in the right direction.”

“I already know the right direction,” Mace grunted. “It’s out the front door.”

With that, he rushed outside, and then halted, squinting through the forest. Damn! The wind had already swept away any hint of Cora’s scent.

“Now what, genius?” Knox clicked on his device and began swaying it in all directions until the meter spiked. He gave Mace a superior smirk. “After you.”

Unsure if Knox was jerking his chain, but with no other hint of where to start looking, Mace took off at a sprint in the direction the EMF meter indicated. Knox followed, keeping pace.

They didn’t get far.

At the edge of the property, they both skidded to a halt. A blotchy patch of mist stuck out against the backdrop of shadows. Its movements were that of slithering snake through the air, darting back and forth, reminding Mace of a wild animal pacing a cage.

Knox’s device jumped to the highest notch.

“That’s where the barrier ends,” Knox whispered. Looks like Sadira couldn’t cross through.”

“So if Sadira’s there, where is Cora?”

The wind picked up and they both caught the scent of fresh blood. Despair nearly dropped Mace to his knees.

“Look there,” Knox pointed.

They hurried toward an object huddled in the brush just yards away. Adrenaline fed Mace’s fear. He couldn’t stop seeing Cora’s blood-soaked face in his mind, her breath halted, her beautiful golden-brown eyes glazed by death.

It took him several heartbeats to realize the body he gazed down at was Meeka’s. The cat’s blood-stained throat was deeply gouged. But her ribs rose and fell with the slow intake of breath.

Knox leaned down to examine the wound. “It was something big, whatever it was.”

“Another animal?”

“That’s what it appears.” He stood and surveyed their surroundings. On one hand, Mace could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen Knox look nervous and he’d still had three fingers left over. Anything that could take down Meeka was something to fear indeed.

Together, they locked eyes and blurted, “Guns.”

They raced back into the house, splitting up once inside. Cora missing and danger looming meant Meeka would have to stay put for now. When they had time, they could tend to the feline, but finding Cora is what mattered most, and time was precious.

Mace gathered his Glock from upstairs and rendezvous with Knox in the front yard moments later, who clearly had access to a larger stash than he did. Strapped over Knox’s back was an assault rifle, at his waist, a sheathed knife, and in each hand, a set of matching semi-automatic pistols.

They exchanged nods, and then darted in opposite directions. This was a familiar drill, one he and Knox had performed countless times. It managed to calm him a smidge, helped his mind to focus on an objective rather than the horrifying images taunting him. Images of Cora, mangled and mutilated somewhere in the forest.

As warriors, their actions were automatic, born from years of fighting together in the vampire/human wars. Instinctively, they knew what the other would do, where he would be. Knox would sweep left, then south and around clockwise, circling the perimeter at least a mile out. Mace would mirror him, heading right, then north, till they met back in the middle, either with Cora in hand, or if nothing else, a lead on her possible direction. God forbid either of them found a body, cold and lifeless, unable, even, to make The Change. Once a heart stopped, there was no hope of brining someone back as a vampire.

Not that he or Knox would be able to accomplish such a feat were it an option. Trent was miles away and would never make it in time had they the need. And more likely than not, he’d refuse anyway. To Trent, changing an individual was done for the singular purpose of bettering the clan in strength, not just numbers. He was selective. More so than others.

Mace beat a path through the forest, tearing around trees and shrubbery, kicking up bits of dried leaves as his boots dug into the earth. The moonlight was enough for him to navigate without any problems, yet there was still no hint of Cora.

Suddenly, pain cut through his torso, serrating him from the neck down. He dropped to one knee. Brilliant blue-green light illuminated the area around him, originating at his neck. He reached for his collar, sucking in air like he hadn’t taken breath for hours.

Agony turned to a desperate need to keep moving. If Cora was mortally wounded, there might still be time to save her with his blood. But with every second, her chances dwindled. He couldn’t afford this delay.

He pushed the pain down, shoved it out of his mind and buried it underneath an ironclad determination. He wouldn’t fail her now, not like he had Elizabeth. He couldn’t. The devastation would kill him.

With sweat permeating over his skin, Mace forced his muscles into action and lurched to a stand. A few yards away, in a damp patch of mud, he noticed the distinct impression of large animal prints. Next to them, headed in the same direction, were two sets of prints, one of them bare and significantly smaller than the other boot-like impression.

The bare footprint had to belong to Cora, but who owned the other?

He followed the trail to the road where he caught the scent of motor oil. A car had passed by not long ago.

Had Cora been fleeing and managed to flag down a passerby?

Impossible. This road was way off the beaten path, the access point nearly hidden by overgrowth. Never before had a lost tourist stumbled upon it, or even a local nature enthusiast. And there were no dwellings within miles of the cottage, which was hidden by a powerful spell meant specifically to keep people away. Mace had never been certain, but he imagined anyone who might happen upon this particular location and looked upon the cottage would see nothing but forest mirrored in its place.

So then who had been here?

Saraphine?

She was the only outsider, aside from Cora, who had been invited to the cottage, making her the only other person who could find her way back.

He sniffed the air, not scenting the young witch. Damn this wind. It was swirling through the treetops now, as if a storm were coming.

The sky was dark even though high up birds had begun pre-dawn chirps. Late autumn cold nipped at his nose.

Cora, where are you?

His mind went to work.

He knew that if Cora was alive, she was nowhere in the vicinity. He couldn’t sense her through the bond.

If she was dead….

He clutched his chest to stave off the pain that had nothing to do with the curse.

If she was dead, he’d have found the body by now. He’d have sniffed her out like a damn bloodhound and then fallen upon her in a heap of blubbering incoherency.

No. She’d been taken.

He searched the area farther, seeking any clues that might have been left behind. From the jagged piece of a tree, where the bark stuck out sharply, he retrieved a bit of black fur.

A bear, perhaps?

After several more minutes of searching, he circled back and met Knox in front of the cottage. He was perched on the hood of the black sedan as if not a care in the world.

“Find the girl?” he called when he spotted Mace emerge from the forest.

As Mace approached, he wound his arm back and then slammed his knuckles into Knox’s cement hard jaw. Knox took the blow like a pro. He’d expected it—undoubtedly due to the rage flowing freely off Mace.

“Are you enjoying this,” Mace accused. “Probably think it’s my just deserts.”

Knox wiped away a smear of blood, his wound knitting together already. “Have you got that out of your system? Because you’ll want to be focused now. What’s our next move?”

Mace cocked his head. “Our?”

“I hate being weak,” Knox explained. “Without that witch, I’ll weaken in days until I’m as pathetic as you. I’d like to avoid that, and that means getting Cora back. Did you find anything?”

Mace held up the thatch of fur.

Knox took it and gave it a good sniff. “I don’t recognize the animal.”

“Me either. I thought bear, maybe, but the footprints were more like a large cat or dog.”

“You don’t think it was Cora’s own pet that made the tracks?”

Mace shrugged. “I don’t know, but it appeared as though a scuffle happened roughly where Meeka is.” He glanced around, looking for Meeka’s limp body.

It was gone.

Knox gestured negligently to the cottage. “The beast lies within.”

Mace sent him a bemused look.

“It was a sitting duck, so I dragged the thing inside. Get this, the little pain in the arse decided to go all small
after
I got her in there.” He huffed.

“The wounds. Are they mortal?”

“She’s a familiar, remember? She’ll heal.”

Of course she would. Mace recalled hearing there wasn’t much that could kill a familiar while its counterpart was still alive. At the thought, a mental sigh of relief chased away much of his pessimism. Proof that Cora yet lived.

“Did you complete your search?” Mace asked.

“Yes. There was nothing to find.”

He offered a clipped nod and then told Knox about the scent of motor oil in the air by the road. “I have to assume she was taken.”

“Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go after them.”

“We have no idea which way to go.”

Knox pushed off the hood and yanked open the driver side door. “We gonna sit here and debate it, or get our shit in gear? The longer we wait, the farther they get.” He folded himself in the driver’s seat and keyed on the ignition. “Get in.”

Mace claimed the passenger seat. “I have no idea which way the car had gone. We could very well turn right when they went left. I want certainty.” A sense of foreboding rolled out with his next words. “We need Saraphine’s help.”

——

Hurrying along the sidewalk, Sara tugged her coat tighter as a gust of wind hit her. Fall was well underway, and winter encroached ever closer.

It wasn’t even light out yet, though she was late opening the store. Too much partying slash drinking away her depression that Devon hadn’t so much as shown up to say “boo” since that night at The Pork and Bone, or offered her a note along the lines of
Hey, sorry I ditched you and left you with the bill. Let me make it up to you.

Nope. He had just disappeared.

Still feeling jilted, she’d been resigned to write him off completely, but then curiosity had her scrying for him last night. Turned out her scrying had failed, which wasn’t that surprising, since she wasn’t the best at it to begin with.