Keeper Chronicles: Awakening (17 page)

The kitchen door opened a moment later, and the two Hunters entered. Colette glanced around the room, one hand on her hip, and her eyes lit up as she noticed the food. “Got another of those?” Colette sat next to Gabe and tore off a leg. She took a big bite. “I’m starving.”

Grabbing a small sauté pan from the rack above the gas stove, the witch looked from Gabe to the Hunters then back to the chicken. “How about I make some burgers to go with your chicken?” She frowned and then exchanged the small pan for a much larger skillet.

Soft light from the sunset filled the kitchen as the three of them ate, casting everything in soft pinks and golds. The soft hum of noise from the other guests moving around the house was comforting, a reminder that people lived normal lives because of him. That everyone didn’t live a life of hunting and death. The professor, Nicholas, even loosened up after two burgers. The Hunters couldn’t keep their hands off each other, brushing fingers or legs together, the small kinds of caresses that speak of longing and deep attachment. They really were a cute couple. Too bad they were Hunters. No one lived long as a Hunter.

“Is everything ready for the spell tomorrow night?” Colette asked Mia.

The witch frowned. “Yes, but...”

“But what?”

“Are you sure about this? It sounds pretty dangerous.” She glanced over at Gabe. “The last time we messed around with forces like this, we summoned a demon. The Keepers had to tack and kill it for us.”

Colette gestured dismissively. “If this is some oblique American way to ask if we’re going to keep to our bargain and settle your debt with the Keepers, then yes. We will. I don’t promise things lightly.”

“What do you mean?” Gabe turned to the Hunter and yanked the burger out of her hands. “You can’t promise that.”

Her lips tightened into a thin line as she grabbed the burger back and took a bite. “We’re Hunters. We have the authority to do anything we deem necessary to assist in the hunt of a demon, especially a first-order.” She took another long, slow bite as the tension built in the room. “Your council has been informed of the arrangement, and they didn’t seem to have this much of a problem.”

“This is unacceptable. Mia’s needed here to protect -” He stopped himself from saying Rebekah. “Mia is needed to keep the civilians safe.”

Nicholas, who had remained silent up until then, spoke. “That’s a Keeper’s job. Your job.”

“And look how many there were today!” He stood.

Both Hunters stood as one, arranging themselves against him.

“Woa, now.” Mia, her black and orange hair oddly discordant, stood between them. She put her hands on Gabe’s chest. “Hold on there, cowboy. I didn’t say I was leaving, okay. Rebekah made me a partner in the b-n-b. It’s my home now, so even if the obligation is filled, I’ll be here.”

“What’s going on in here?” Rebekah asked from the doorway.

Gabe stumbled backwards, almost knocking over a china cabinet. “No...nothing,” he stuttered.

“We were just updating him on the case.” Colette smiled. “Remember you promised to show us around the lighthouse tomorrow. We’ll meet you there about dusk. Seeing the sunset from the tower is going to be so romantic, isn’t?”

Nicholas shrugged. “I guess.”

Rebekah crossed her arms beneath her breasts, looking over at Mia. “Have you started baking for tomorrow?”

“Two pans of brownies are done, and a third is in the oven. Then I’ll start on the cookies.”

Gabe backed toward the door. “I’ll just be going now.” He touched Rebekah’s arm. “Can I have a word with you?”

She shook her short, dark hair. “No.”

“It’ll just take a minute,” he insisted.

“I’m too busy. You can come back after the Halloween party if there’s something you need to discuss with me. Excuse me.” Rebekah left.

“So that wasn’t weird at all, was it?” Mia asked. “Is something going on I should know about?”

Gabe glanced over at the Hunters. “Absolutely not.”

Chapter Seventeen

He loved Halloween.

The humans were everywhere: dancing, laughing, talking, eating, drinking, teasing, forgetting.

The thrumming pulse of their blood vibrated through his body like the melody of a song. He inhaled, letting the savory aroma invigorate him. His human body responded. Tonight, he would kill again and feed his hunger. Right in front of the Keepers.

And there wasn’t a thing they could do to stop him.

If his time in human form had taught him one thing, it was that humans were remarkably oblivious. Every minute they walked in a world vibrant and dark, full of dangers and thrills beyond even their most wild dreams. Yet they knew nothing of this. Demons were but one form of supernatural hunter stalking the shadows and streets. Witches, fey, trolls—all these creatures and more hidden beneath a gossamer screen. Ask a human if there were such creatures and you’d get laughter or scorn, yet they thrill in the possibility of supernatural existence, orgasm money at the illusion of demonic dominance.

The truth of human nature—the one they all struggled so vainly to hide—was that they
wanted
to be dominated. Humans needed to bow before a greater, darker majesty so they could finally give in to desires so twisted they couldn’t even admit them to themselves. They denied the very creatures they so longed to exist; turned away from the concept of the supernatural beings who were their enemies and neighbors and friends. Humans needed to be controlled.

He felt only too happy to oblige.

After all, she was pregnant. The girl didn’t know yet, nor did anyone close to her, but his demonic senses were more finely attuned to the pulsing of blood, even in an embryotic state. Once the child within her had developed enough, he could use its blood to create a permanent link between the human and the demon dimensions. No more waiting for storms. No more hiding. His kind would again rule this place as they had millennia before.

First, he wanted to have a little fun. And what better place to do it than at a Halloween party?

“Why don’t I get us a drink?” he whispered in her ear, letting his fingers trail possessively over her hips. She wore a more conservative outfit than most of the other guests, choosing to dress as a medieval lady in a luscious green silk fabric belted at her slender hips with a silver cord. A sturdy pair of brown boots hugged her feet.

She seemed distracted. “I’d like that,” she said, scanning the fifty or so people milling about on the first floor of the little bed-n-breakfast. Was she looking for someone?

The thought enraged him momentarily, and the demon part of him wanted to rip her heart out right then for the insult and suck her dry. He forced himself to take a deep breath as a human would. Later. Her death, as inevitable as her breath, wouldn’t be long now. A month. Maybe two. Human-demon breeding rarely succeeded in bearing fruit. She needed to be protected, sheltered from stress until the child was ripe enough to serve his purposes.

If she saw through to his true nature or otherwise became injured, he’d have to start all over again with a new human. His patience, while greater than most other demons, wasn’t eternal. This had to work. Even if he had to lock her in a room and chain her to the bed.

That could be its own kind of fun.

The crystal punch bowl, guarded by the pigtailed witch, would be easy to spike. Normally, demon blood was so acidic it burned straight through woods or metals or human flesh. When ingested in small portions, however, it acted as a hallucinogenic. The humans here tonight wouldn’t be able to remember later what had happened nor believe the wonders their eyes showed them.

The witches and Keepers present, because of their link to the supernatural elements inherent in the universe, would be twice as affected by his blood.

He walked up to the bowl casually, smiling at the pigtailed witch who’d prepared the food. She, however, wasn’t paying him the slightest attention. Grabbing a cup, he held it over the punch bowl and used his fingernail to slice a small gash in his little finger, the blood spattering into the punch the same time he used the ladle to stir around the bits of fruit and decorative ice. Once his blood had been adequately mixed, he scooped some of the repugnant liquid into first one and then a second cup. Anything less thick than blood just felt wrong on his tongue.

When he found her again, she stood alone near the door, wiping her eyes. The lace curtains still shook slightly. Someone had just left. Someone who upset her.

“Hey, what’s going on? Are you okay?” he asked, handing her the spiked punch.

She nodded. “Yeah, thanks for this.” Taking the cup, she downed it all as if there were alcohol inside then stared at the bottom of the empty cup. “I’m so thirsty. I hate to ask this, but would you mind getting me another?”

“Of course, love. Anything you want.”

Her smile didn’t reach her eyes.

About half way across the room, he turned around to find that she’d left. Good. It’d make having fun with these humans all the easier. He didn’t bother returning to the punch bowl, instead handing his cup to a girl in a French maid’s outfit. She grinned at him, her eyes sparkling with lust. Nice. As her desire rose around him like a fragrance, he did a quick check around the room. The pigtailed witch had left, along with another three or four of the guests. The two foreign Keepers from the bar were gone as well.

Perfect.

He couldn’t have planned this night better if he’d tried. Offering the French maid his hand, he spun her around twice and started dancing. The words he spoke didn’t matter, neither did the way he touched her there and there and there; the magic of his blood was inside her. When she looked at him, she saw her heart’s deepest desire. Heard her favorite song playing on the radio. Around him, people began speaking louder, dancing harder, as his blood worked on them. He let it build, let the energy of their lust and greed sing to him as one by one they succumbed to his spell and yearned for more. Minutes faded into each other, time slowed, and the outside world ceased to matter at all.

Only the house mattered.

Only the need, the desperation, the hunger for something primal.

The French maid followed when he led her upstairs to one of the bedrooms. He didn’t pay attention as to which and began to undress. A glance sufficed to get her naked, her pale skin pulsing red in the darkness as her blood shone through. The delicious veins, waiting there beneath the surface, begged to be drained. Promised endless pleasure.

She should enjoy her last moments on this earth. So would he.

He made love to her slowly, the throb of music downstairs setting the pace, but really he was just tenderizing her like a butcher might pound a breast of chicken to size. Blood, heightened with erotic hormones and excited by exercise, tasted divine.

As he moved inside her, he fed her images, heightening the intensity of the moment and prolonging the release. She moaned and writhed beneath him, hovering on the brink of orgasm. He kept her there for as long as he could until his own hunger superseded every other concern. At the very moment of release for both of them, he severed her aorta with a quick slice and pulled it through her skin, his mouth suckling it like a child nursing at his mother’s breast.

The French maid’s scream was one of agony and ecstasy as he held her in his most intimate embrace. Memories flooded into him as she orgasmed and died in his arms. Her name had been Amanda, and she’d wanted to be an astronomer. As a girl, her father had taken her to the coast with his telescope where they’d look at the stars until she fell asleep in her sleeping bag next to him, a small fire keeping away the chill of the saltwater breeze. She’d had a sister a few years older than her who’d gotten pregnant and ran away. When the sister finally was found, she had a needle in her arm. It’d killed Amanda’s father. He didn’t speak anymore, barely fed himself and bathed. All he’d do all day was watch the television, whatever channel Amanda turned on, and waste away on the couch. She’d come to the party for an escape. A way out of the prison her home had become. Just her luck, she’d found him.

With a small shudder of pleasure he finished, then tucked the severed aorta back in her chest. “Thank you,” he whispered, and straightened the blankets around her, tucking her into bed. He’d cherish her memories as he did all the others.

His collection of dolls.

A speck of blood stained his hand, but it’d be lost in the frantic night.

From the first floor, the hum and pulse of energy reached tendrils up to him, begging him to feed. Need, desire, longing, lust, greed, sex—the promise of each sent a new shiver down his spine. Running a hand through his unruly hair, he sung Amanda’s favorite song under his breath as he dressed and prepared to find his next delectable morsel.

Chapter Eighteen

Colette hated few things in this life more than demons but waiting came a close second. “Where are they?” She paced the watch room of the lighthouse, her heels click, click, clicking against the metal floor. “The moon is risen. The sooner we can start the spell, the longer we’ll be able to track the demon’s energy trail. Those witches agreed to this spell two days ago. They better not have chickened out. I’m the one taking the risk, not them.”

Nicholas didn’t answer her question or rise to the irritation in her tone. They’d spent the last few days combing through every murder, death of natural causes, and missing person’s case for a hundred-mile radius around the lighthouse since the deaths first began. Her husband had a photographic memory, and time alone would allow his mind to process all the information and begin to find the patterns that would lead them to their demon. It’d always been his method of Hunting, and while she preferred a more direct route, she never complained, at least not about that. His record was among the highest.

So although she knew he wasn’t listening and instead sorted through data in his mind, she kept talking. “Rebekah barely spoke a word at breakfast this morning,” Colette mused, playing with the hidden panel where Gabe stashed his extra weapons. “It felt like she wasn’t really there. She could have been worried about the party, I guess. From the noise they’re making down there, it must be going well. Maybe they got trapped into a game or something ridiculous like that. Witches never take anything seriously. Well, except me. I’m always serious—”