Authors: Michele Hauf
T
he mindless drone of the television flickered in and out of Ravin’s thoughts. She sat on the couch, legs spread, head bent before her work on the coffee table. Images of army tanks and crying children flashed in her periphery. Some CNN news program.
After mixing up a potion to heal her torn muscles and mend any possible bone fractures, she’d slept the entire morning. This afternoon she felt creaky and her joints twinged with sudden movement, but nothing was broken. A few more days and she’d be at the top of her game. Physically.
Mentally, well that was another story. A book she didn’t want to study too closely, because the outcome would make her cry.
Yes, cry. That bastard vampire had done things to her. Made her remember what it had been like to actually care about another person. To know that to open one’s heart didn’t always bring pain. Happiness had proved a heady elixir, and she had become blind to the past and to the future she’d once believed would play out as had her past.
Everything had changed. The balance she’d thought so tilted toward the dark? Nikolaus had pressed a finger to the scale, bringing it closer to the light. Amazing.
She wanted life to return to what it had been like before she’d blasted Nikolaus Drake with her blood. Easier that way.
Or was it? With the memory of love so fresh, she had to wonder if it was even possible to go back.
She glanced to the television and recognized a familiar face. A gorgeous titian-haired female walked on the arm of a blond rock star at some award ceremony. The announcer reported the singer, Michael Lynsay, and his group The Fallen, were in Los Angeles for a homecoming concert.
“Jane Renan,” Ravin muttered, remembering her old and dear friend.
The montage of the singer and his band moved from a practice session to the stage. Raven studied each shot of the singer closely with her new eyes. She could see him. As she had never seen him before.
“She always told me she’d never date a vampire, or a witch.”
Though, now she thought on it, if Jane had seen goodness in a vampire, then why couldn’t others?
Ravin mouthed the name of the vampire who had declared his love to her. It felt like sacrilege to say it out loud, so she would not. The powers of invocation were not to be trifled with. But the way her mouth had to move to utter his name felt so good. As if he was sitting next to her, his strong, masculine scent overwhelming and seeping into her being. So gentle a man for his size. She still couldn’t understand the ease he’d had with her when, by rights, he could have snapped her in two with but a flick of his wrist.
I love you, Ravin.
And now he did not. Because he
should
not.
The world had been made right again. Vampires hated witches, and witches would continue to prove deadly to vampires.
But what did she feel?
The idea of getting dressed in her leathers and buckling on her weapons, and then psyching herself up to mindlessly seek and destroy—well, it just felt so wrong. While the urge to destroy a vampire filled her veins with a familiar rush, the
need
wasn’t as strong.
How long are you going to make the entire vampire nation suffer for something three vamps did to your family?
In all her decades, Ravin had never once had such a thought. Nikolaus had uttered it as if it were the most obvious conclusion. Surely the debt to her very soul had been paid by now?
She mouthed his name again. Closed her eyes. The trace of his lips gliding over her eyelids made her smile.
“Again,” he’d whispered, so many times. And again and again she’d given herself to him, as he’d given himself to her.
She had always chosen a man for what he could do for her, how he could make her feel. Now, with wisdom, she’d grown picky. She sought the confidence of the warrior vampire, the independence. One who could listen to her, and wasn’t afraid to ask her what it was that she wanted.
He gives you all of that.
Ravin sat upright, the motion so quick it eradicated her sleepy, wanting mood. A pinch at the base of her spine reminded her of her fall from the vampire’s trust.
“Don’t think about it. Sex is not love. It’s over. It’s…you’ll never see him again.”
At least, not in the mind-set she wanted to see him. If ever Ravin saw Nikolaus, it would be as he was—a vampire with vengeance in his heart for the witch who had once killed him.
“Aren’t you the weepy Wanda this evening?”
That voice. She knew it.
Ravin swung up and around. Standing in her kitchen, his arm propped casually upon the counter, her lover smirked. “Nikolaus?”
The dark-haired man tilted a moue at her. Long, gorgeous hair shone blue in the beams of summer sunlight. The strokes of color glinted and matched the blue T-shirt he wore, the sleeves straining across thick biceps and a hard, toned chest. No scars. Not a single mark that claimed her violence toward him.
She had given him that with the blood sex magic.
And he deserved it, if only for the enslavement her spell had forced upon him.
He strode past her and into her bedroom, a casual meander, completely oblivious to her concern. She followed him.
He posed before the full-length mirror, studying his visage. “Now, this is telling,” he said, in a voice that didn’t match the voice Ravin held of him in her head.
Brimstone crept up Ravin’s nostrils. Though the facade was perfection, the smell would ever give the bastard away.
Nikolaus Drake stood before her, clad in black leather and looking like the lover she could still smell on her sheets. But the devil grinned at her, exposing sharpened fangs.
“Bastard.” She stalked out of the bedroom. “Why do you have to do that?”
“It’s not my choice, kitten.” Himself wandered out, fluffing at his hair—so not Nikolaus—and plopped onto the couch. “Can’t help it. It is what you most desire.”
“I don’t desire him,” she argued.
Oh, yes you do.
The devil could be wrong, even if his appearance wasn’t something he could control. He had to wield some control over it. What if some nut desired a freak or an animal?
“Then I appear as a robust bull or sheep. Hey, it’s happened.”
“Don’t do that, either. Leave my thoughts alone.”
“And what have you done to speak to me so? A little respect, if you will. I did grant you the power to see.”
Right. Do not piss off the devil. It’ll come back to bite you in the butt when you least expect.
Like when you’re dancing in the moonlight with your vampire lover
.
“Of which I am most grateful,” Ravin offered. “And eager to complete the third obligation so I can get you off my back.”
“Seriously? You’re going to get yourself knocked up?”
Ravin could not suppress a shiver. She clasped her arms across her chest and closed her eyes. Nikolaus’s husky baritone shivered up her neck and planted itself in her breast.
Hold me now, lover
.
“Oh, yes, the witch does prefer the complete package. A vampire. Delicious spectacle. I can screw like him, too, if you wish. Won’t be as satisfying as if I gave it to you in my true form, I warn you.”
“I don’t understand why he can breach my wards so easily. Is it because we’ve a blood bond?”
“It is because he is a phoenix, idiot.”
“Yes, but the bond we have—”
“All the witches’ blood in the world couldn’t keep that vampire back now. He has survived death. He has taken the blood from generations of witches into his veins. As well, your magic. You, Ravin dear, have been successful in creating one of the most powerful vampires to ever exist. The phoenix.”
“But I—”
“Had no idea? Ha! Well, that is what he is. Though I wager the fool hasn’t realized his full potential so sick with love he is over you, eh?”
She plopped onto a bar stool. The world sat upon her shoulders. “I just wanted them to pay.”
“Your parents’ deaths were avenged that first time you took down the six vampires riding the high roads of France with your crossbow and blade. You relished the kill. I was quite proud of you.”
Six vampires, but not the ones who had actually murdered her parents. Would she ever find those three? Did they even exist?
When would she stop reaching for excuses?
“Let’s get back to what’s important,” Himself said. “You’re willing to hand over your firstborn, and I’m willing to play matchmaker.”
Ravin put up a blocking palm and squinted as if a severe migraine had attacked her sinuses. “No, thanks. I can handle the matchmaking by myself. And it most certainly will not be Nikolaus Drake.”
Would a sperm clinic be her best bet? No, if she were going to do this, then she was damned determined to enjoy it, at least for the few moments it took to perform the obligation.
An obligation. Having the devil’s baby.
“Now, there is an idea,” not-Nikolaus drawled. “Let’s do it!” He moved up to sit on the arm of the couch, Nikolaus’s long legs bending before him. “The two of us, getting it on. We’d make such a delightfully twisted rug rat.”
“I may have done some nasty things in my lifetime, but I will never sleep with the devil.”
He mocked a pout, fingers to his broad chest. “You wound me.”
“You’ll get over it.”
“As I already have. So!” Leaping up, he strode across the living room, too grandly for anyone but the lord of hell. “Do give me a holler when the blessed event is to occur. Will you have one of those baby parties? What do they call them?”
“A shower?”
“Yes, I’d like to send a pram and perhaps a rattle carved of werewolf bone. Wouldn’t that be precious?”
So precious she wanted to get sick right now. Ravin leaned over the kitchen counter and swallowed back her bile. She’d been getting sick regularly of late.
“Just go. Please. I’m sure you’ll be the first to know if, and when, I’ve gotten myself into this horrible obligation.”
“Indeed,” whispered right at her side.
He stood behind her, Nikolaus’s hands moving across her shoulders. Brushing aside her hair, he leaned in, the tip of his nose stirring up a shiver as it nudged her ear. “The vampire was exquisite, wasn’t he? And now he wants to burn your bones and dance about your ashes. Do keep a lookout for Nikolaus Drake, will you? And be safe. I’d hate to have the phoenix destroy my precious future in a flight of frenzied rage. Ta.”
Sinking to her knees in the center of her empty kitchen, Ravin choked back her rising bile and began a cry that segued to a wail.
H
e stood behind the roof door. It was cracked open to reveal the brilliant morning sun. Though he’d heard Gabriel coming up the stairs as he was walking the hall to the access door, Nikolaus had kept going
He was decided. Nothing could keep him back.
If he was supposed to be so powerful, then this would be the test.
Drawing back the door completely, Nikolaus stood in the cool shadows of the tiny access cupola. He lifted a hand, considering—palm, or just a few fingers?
But then Nikolaus Drake stretched up tall, proud and ready. He had once saved lives, made the sick well, given hope to the hopeless. He had been a god.
Could he have that power now?
“Don’t need it,” he muttered, and stepped outside.
He’d stood there an hour, maybe longer. It had been twenty years since Nikolaus had felt the sun on his face.
Sweet. Warm. Like home with his family during hot summers at the lake.
Tears had come to his eyes. The phoenix had risen, and nothing could take him down now.
But the delight simmered, and he stalked back down to his loft. There were things to do. He had a witch to hunt. Today.
Kicking in the door to his loft, Nikolaus smirked when he noticed the cracked Sheetrock from the doorknob hitting it so often. So he was taking out his anger on inanimate objects. The witch would appreciate his release of excess energy when he returned to finish the angry pummeling she deserved. All the pummeling in the world would have no effect, though—he needed but a matchstick to bring her down.
He peeled his dress shirt from his arms and shoulders, then balled it up and tossed it into the laundry room as he passed by. The shades were set in the living room. The house was cool and dark. Quiet. As it should be in the morning.
He flicked open the shades, then quickly closed them. Gabriel could still be burned. But wouldn’t his friend be amazed to learn Nikolaus could not get a tan?
What was that?
Following the soft echo of whimpers, Nikolaus stopped before Gabriel’s bedroom door. He was about to knock, but the sounds of pain were all too familiar. Charging inside, Nikolaus choked on a gasp at the sight of his friend splayed on the bed, clenching his stomach in pain.
He was clad in jeans, his thickly veined bare feet dug into the sheets, pushing up a mountain of comforter. His white T-shirt, though he’d apparently not removed it, had literally melted over his chest to fall away in a bloody slush.
“How recent?” Nikolaus asked as he inspected the wound. “An hour? Two?”
“This morning,” Gabriel managed to say. “Maybe three or four.”
“But you just got here. I—” Had heard him arrive. Hours ago. He’d stood in the sun—while his friend had lain below suffering.
The open wound high on Gabriel’s chest was wider than Nikolaus’s hand, perfectly shaped from the tip of the cross and out to the crossbars. Flesh bubbled and bloody seepage spilled down Gabriel’s sides. Nikolaus recognized the sweet chemical smell. Infection.
“It hurts like nothing I’ve ever known,” Gabriel said on a whisper.
“Hold tight, my friend. I’ll be right back.”
Racing to the bathroom, Nikolaus searched the closet for alcohol and some gauze. They had plenty of medical supplies, thanks to Gabriel’s tending Nikolaus’s burns for months, and what doctor—albeit formerly—could go without a complete first-aid kit?
He grabbed the plastic bottle of alcohol, but there were no medical dressings. Towels would serve, so he grabbed a stack.
Pausing before entering Gabriel’s bedroom, Nikolaus winced. A wound inflicted by a holy object meant death to any vampire who had been baptized—and Gabriel had been baptized. There was no easy healing. The wound could not be stopped from burning into the vampire and eventually eating him alive.
Gabriel let out a moan when Nikolaus poured the alcohol over his chest.
“Are you trying to kill me?” his friend cried. “That burns worse than the cross did.”
Obviously, Gabriel wasn’t aware of the consequences of his injury.
“It’s infected. I need to do what I can.” Nikolaus sopped over the wound with the towel, pressing the alcohol deep into the disaster. He stifled the ingrained reaction to order a nurse to slap a forceps and suture needle in his hand so he could begin stitching the wound. “Did the witch do this to you?”
“Haven’t seen the vigilant slayer for months. Just let me die, will you?”
“Suck it up, man.”
“
You’re
going to save me? You don’t do wounds, you were a brain surgeon.”
“Who tended wounds on the skull, brain, spinal column and everywhere else during internship and residency.”
Just because he’d had a specialty didn’t mean he hadn’t studied it all. Even a monkey could bandage a simple wound. But there was nothing simple about this preternatural havoc burned into his friend’s body.
“I don’t know—ah!” On the verge of passing out, Gabriel fluttered his eyelids. His fingers dug into the sheets, but he didn’t try to push Nikolaus away. “Is there anything you can do to stop it from eating into my chest?”
Nikolaus sighed and tossed a blood-soaked towel to the floor. “I don’t know. It needs to be…”
Cut out? He didn’t know how to fix this. If he cut it out before it crept too deeply into Gabriel’s chest, would that stop it?
His mentor’s joking warning abruptly sounded in his brain:
If the patient isn’t dead, you can always make it worse if you try hard enough
. To peer through the muscle and charred flesh, he did not see the lungs or heart. Yet. It hadn’t infiltrated organs.
Utterly helpless, Nikolaus felt his heart sink. Just moments ago he’d rejoiced in the sunlight, completely oblivious to Gabriel’s suffering. He should have known, have sensed his pain. He should have been there for him, leading him away from this—What
was
this?
Instinct raged to the surface in an animal growl. “If not the witch, then who did this to you?”
“T-Truvin. He wanted to send a message to you.”
Truvin Stone. The name ripped at Nikolaus’s intestines and tightened his fists. If the bastard had a problem with him then he should have come directly to him.
“I’m going after him.”
“You can’t!”
Slamming a fist against the door frame succeeded in splintering the hard maple. Nikolaus didn’t turn back to Gabriel.
What had come of Truvin’s promise to hand over the reigns without question? He’d asked for proof of Nikolaus’s alliances—which he intended to show them all.
“He said,” Gabriel gasped, “that you lied. That you hadn’t killed the witch. But you told me you did. Did you…”
He’d thought to be so careful when he’d discovered he was being followed. Damn.
“She’s as good as dead,” Nikolaus answered, hating himself for the original lie. And look what that lie had done to Gabriel.
“Stone said you were…screwing her. I laughed. You would never…”
“Just be quiet, Gabriel. You need…”
He needed…? Nikolaus wasn’t sure what the man required to heal. Blood and lots of it? His best bet was the blood from a fellow vampire.
For a moment he knew what he must do.
Nikolaus lifted a wrist to his mouth, willing his fangs to descend.
“You’ve powerful blood, my friend,” Gabriel offered.
Powerful, yes. Enhanced by blood sex magic.
Nikolaus removed his wrist from his mouth, unbitten. He couldn’t do this. His veins flowed with witch’s blood. One drop and he’d write Gabriel’s death sentence.
“What’s wrong?”
He couldn’t tell Gabriel he’d been playing moon-eyes to a witch the past few weeks. But what excuse to deny him the elixir Gabriel felt would help him?
“I’ve an idea. I’ll be back.”
“You can’t go out…it’s daytime!”
And Nikolaus walked out, abandoning his friend, his hand held out and pleading.
The digital code to enter the warehouse had been changed. No surprise. Nikolaus searched his memory for the six-digit code Gabriel had given him, and then punched it in.
The warehouse near the university was quiet, packed to the rafters with treasures collected, won or earned over the years and centuries by fellow tribe members. It was a safe for valuables, and a storage facility for belongings those who lived far too long wished to hang on to, but no longer had the room for. The tribe didn’t “hang out” here, they merely met, discussed any news, problems or issues with their constant rivals—the wolves—then parted ways.
There were no windows, all original window frames were fit with steel plates, so it was occasionally used as a safe house for those too far from home, and too close to sunrise.
Nikolaus’s boots cracked across the scuffed hardwood floor. In the file cabinet across the floor were ancient texts, grimoires stolen from witches, and rites of the vampire nation. Could there be something written down that may help Gabriel?
He was not alone. The smell of blood invaded his senses. Rich, fresh, perhaps splattered on clothing so that the molecules traveled the air. Who hadn’t made it home last night?
“I come in peace,” Nikolaus offered, so he wouldn’t alert a fellow tribe member.
“I accept the concession.”
Truvin sat in a beam of light, perched on the cream satin arm of a Louis XV divine, his own possession. A gaudy reminder to Nikolaus that the man was of a completely different generation than he. In essence, a different realm.
Head up and blood scent piercing the murky darkness, the smile in Truvin’s dark eyes hit Nikolaus right in the heart—as if a stake or misdirected spray from a blood bullet.
“I’ll assume you got my gauntlet,” Truvin said.
He stood and hooked his hands at his hips. His frame equaled Nikolaus’s broad shoulders and height, though he hid his brawn with the Italian suit. The two had once been a match in strength.
Nikolaus rushed the vampire, shoving him against the wall and pinning him by the shoulders. “You had no right! This is between you and me, Stone, it always has been. Gabriel should have never been—”
“Killed?”
Fisting his knuckles up under Truvin’s rib cage, Nikolaus took sweet pleasure feeling the resistance of his organs as they took on the brunt of his anger. Yes, he had lifted Truvin with ease, as if he were a child. If he wished, he could push a fist through his ribs, reach in and rip out his heart.
At such a macabre thought, Nikolaus dropped the man and paced away, but kept his awareness keen.
“Gabriel is not dead.” But he didn’t say “yet,” because they both knew death was inevitable. Smacking a fist into his palm, he swung around. “Let’s get this done with right now. You want control of Kila? You’re going to have to kill me first.”
“I—” Truvin spread out his arms in mock savior pose “—will allow the tribe members to decide. I’ve no desire to fight you, Nikolaus.” He flicked nonexistent dust from his shoulder “You must be working out, eh?”
Nikolaus fisted his open palm; the loud smack rang in the large room.
“Jake drop you off?”
“No, I walked.”
Truvin rolled that one over awhile.
“Got a tan,” Nikolaus taunted.
“You’re kidding me.”
“Shall we walk out and test your disbelief? Oh, what’s that? You’re stuck here until sundown?”
“I have my driver—”
“Enough small talk.” Nikolaus lunged for another attack, but this time Truvin dodged.
A kidney punch to his left forced Nikolaus against the wall. It hurt—for two seconds. He swung out and grabbed Truvin by the throat. They went to the floor, fists connecting with flesh and bone and animal growls enforcing their lacking humanity over the other.
Truvin gasped. “You are stronger, Nikolaus.”
The vampire was surprised. Good. Let him wonder what it was a phoenix truly took back with him from the shadows of the grave.
“So legend holds true? Strength, and immunity to the burning sun?”
“Believe it.” But did he believe it himself? Time to begin. “You are serious about allowing the tribe to decide who will lead them?” Nikolaus rolled away from Truvin and spat out blood.
“Of course I am.” Truvin knelt on all fours, huffing. His tousled brown hair obscured his face, but Nikolaus felt his ever-present smirk. “It is what is fair. After all, I was never officially declared leader after you left.”
“You left me,” Nikolaus spat. And then he regretted the accusation.
He could take care of himself. He would have done the same in the situation had it been reversed. All vampires knew when there was a witch around that fleeing was the only option.
And yet, if only someone would have reached out for him. Shown him a sign of compassion.
You’ve softened because of the witch. Don’t be a fool, vampire.
“Whomever the tribe chooses to lead, I shall abide.” Truvin stood and thumbed the edge of his mouth, removing his own blood. He walked to the center of the warehouse and turned to face Nikolaus. “I am not your enemy, Nikolaus. I want what is best for all.”