Kiss Me Deadly (20 page)

“You want death.”

“I want an impartial leader who has not become mired in humanity. Of course, I’m ever after the witches. Why has no vampire ever organized against them? Hmm? A simple bite, and they spit on us, and it is a cruel way to die. Through the centuries witches have aggressively hunted us. And yet, has a vampire ever hunted a witch?”

“Too dangerous. We usually hire someone capable,” Nikolaus said. The confession felt like a cop-out.

“Did you just hear what you said? We need to hire a capable party to do our dirty work. We are not capable of bringing down a witch? That pitiful bit of a thing who stalks this city alone, riding her big black chopper with an attitude that’s all show and no merit. There are no others. Just her. And we flee like rodents at her presence.”

“Until the Protection spell is lifted we must be cautious,” Nikolaus offered. “All predators have their own predator.”

“That has changed,” Truvin stated. “We’ve developed a means to capture witches. Myself and some new members of the tribe. You’ll meet them tomorrow. And that, my friend, is what I intend to concentrate on after you have returned to Kila.”

“Witch hunting. Sounds intriguing.” He could not allow Truvin to know he was against it.

But was he? He wanted the bloody witch dead, as well. But an organized hunt? Seemed medieval and against all he wished for Kila.

“A vampire as powerful as you should be a prime player in the hunt. You can now stalk the enemy when she least expects—during the day. You up for it?”

“I’m…behind anything that’ll bring down a witch,” Nikolaus said.

So why the reluctance?

“I should think so.” Truvin tilted his head, perusing Nikolaus’s face and neck. “Remarkable recovery.”

Nikolaus bowed his head. He was wasting time. “You deserve death for Gabriel’s death.”

“He’s been your eyes when you’ve been away. And I do respect him, if for the fact he is a close ally of yours. But…he challenged me.”

“Gabriel is not aggressive. He has no reason to challenge—”

“He’s been with my woman.”

“Oh, come on, Stone.”

“Gabriel is the sort, you know it.”

He couldn’t argue that. The vampire did go through women like wealthy men went through Cristal.

“Yes, but since when have you ever cared so much about a woman that you couldn’t drop her as quickly as your pants? It’s an excuse, and you know it. Your violence against Gabriel was willful and unnecessary.”

“And what of you, Nikolaus?” Truvin approached, blood creased at the corner of his mouth and a smear of crimson at his brow where his face had hit the stone wall. “Have you never had a woman that you would do anything for?”

“No.” Nikolaus drew himself up straight. He would not reveal his mistake in a blink or a sudden flash of enlarged pupil. Enough of this. “Until tomorrow night.”

“I wait with eagerness,” Stone called to Nikolaus’s retreating back. “Kiss her goodbye before you come, will you?”

Eerie foreboding trickled up Nikolaus’s neck. Truvin knew nothing about his love life. He was merely summoning guesses, trying to make him falter. There was no woman who would ever sway him from his path. No one.

As he charged out into the bright afternoon, Nikolaus hissed. She was not a woman, but a witch. Two very different things.

Briefly, he’d been bespelled.

His mind was his own now.

And yet, he could claim to be as the ancients—bewitched—thanks to the infusion of her blood and the blood sex magic.

Bewitched.

But only in body, never…his heart.

T
here was one other place he could try before returning to Gabriel. Nikolaus knew of someone who might be able to help, or at the very least, set him in the right direction.

The Dungeon was a Goth bar that featured live bands, yet dead-looking patrons. It wasn’t tops on Nikolaus’s list of entertainments, but it was the only known recreation for the snitch he sought.

Seating himself at the black-rubber bar between two pale-faced females who found sudden interest in the new patron, Nikolaus ordered a Guinness, to make it look good, but knew he’d no more than sip at it. Sure, he could take in liquids without getting a foul stomach—but he wasn’t much for beer.

Blood suited him fine. And oh, the marvelous, pulsing, pumping, gushing receptacles that sat in this establishment. Each one hot and so unaware. He hadn’t drunk human blood for weeks, and the taste of nasty witch’s blood still lived at the back of his throat.

Before he left this bar, he would find a hearty meal to slake his needs.

Shouting at the end of the long, sweeping bar resulted in one skinny fellow, limbs flailing and mouth slapping, being hauled from his stool and punched.

It was never difficult to locate Memori.

A fight put up Nikolaus’s hackles. The last thing he needed was aggression in the air. How easy it would be to lash out and join the fray. To beat out his anger upon the delicate bones and flesh of a mortal.

Some vicarious aggression was what he most needed. Either that, or he’d haul off and kill someone. But the idiot was doing a good-enough job all by himself. He was like a snake, slipping from one defensive set of punches and wrangling arms to the next. He was loving it, snapping back with infuriating comebacks, and taking his punches with a laugh and a sneer.

Finally the bartender’s shout got through to him. Surrounded by a bunch of huffing, stone-eyed Goths, the snake slithered away. Aggression salted the air. Nikolaus took a hearty swallow of beer to redirect his senses.

The snake’s shirt had been tugged up to his pits, and as he walked toward Nikolaus, trying to get it untucked, the marks on his chest were visible. Three lines, each with a slash through them.

Nikolaus had seen those marks before—on the witch. Himself got around.

Resuming worship over his foamy pint, Nikolaus drew in the hostile scent of the snake as he slid onto a stool next to him and slammed a fiver on the bar. “More!”

The bartender rolled his eyes but was obviously pleased to have the cash. He snatched the bill and replaced it with a murky beer. A drunken giggle preceded the snake dunking back the entire glass in one gulp.

“Impressive,” Nikolaus muttered.

“That ain’t so much,” the man slurred. “I can down a gallon in the same swallow.”

“I meant that you’re still upright. You’ve blood running down your chin.” Nikolaus pushed a black cocktail napkin toward him. The scent of the blood didn’t tempt him, because he knew this thing sitting next to him was tainted with some nasty essence. Sallow flesh and red eyes marked him inhuman; he could very likely be a demon.

The man wiped himself clean and tossed the napkin to the floor. “I’m ready for round two if you’re itchin’”

“I prefer to watch…Memori.”

“Not many know my name, mister.” The man tilted his head, viewing Nikolaus at a horizontal. “I haven’t got the Sight, but I’m guessing I know what you are.”

Both glanced about the room. Not wise to put it out there, and neither would. The man sobered instantly and huffed a breath through his nose.

“You know everything that goes on, up or down in this city, I’m told.”

“You’ve been told right. ’Course, I don’t give out nothing for free.”

Nikolaus drew up a roll of hundreds from his leather jacket. He placed two on the bar behind the empty beer glass. “Do you know of cures, spells or concoctions to help the wounded?”

“Just so.” Memori slid the cash into a pocket. “If I don’t have something to help you, I can point you in the right direction. ’Course, your kind should heal on their own. Must be something nasty.”

“A holy wound. From a cross.”

“Baptized?”

“Yes.”

Nikolaus wondered now how long Gabriel had. It had been but an hour since he’d left him alone, and dying. He should be home at his friend’s side, just…being there, offering his presence.

“There’s no reversing a holy wound,” Memori said in a low tone, his eyes constantly darting about the crowd. “Unless…”

Nikolaus shifted his arm along the bar and he placed his face right before Memori’s. He knew he looked imposing, and he was not against a warning growl.

Memori’s lower lip shook. He sucked it in and spread his gaze across Nikolaus’s neck. “Not many vamps have tattoos.”

Rarely did a vampire wear tattoos, unless they’d come by them
before
the transformation. Wasted pain.

“Keep your voice down. How do I reverse the wound?”

“That’ll be Himself you need to talk to. He’s the only one who can reverse the power of the holy on a vamp. He’ll be askin’ for a trade, of course.”

“Like those marks on your chest?”

“Precious, aren’t they?” The man spat onto the floor beneath the bar. “From Himself.”

Memori sucked back the remainder of his beer and slammed the mug on the bar to get the bartender’s attention. “Another!” He nodded toward Nikolaus. “He’s paying.”

“For performing three obligations?” Nikolaus wondered. He’d seen such markings twice now, and to see them in so short a time period? Curiosity made him ask, “Are you free of Himself now?”

“Ha! Free? I wish. The devil’s imp, I am.” The man slammed his palm onto the bar and shot Nikolaus a poisonous look. “Three strikes and I thought I was free. But no! Now I’m the bastard’s familiar for the rest o’ eternity. Kill me now, will you? Just haul out and slap my head from my shoulders. That’ll do it good. That’ll teach Himself.”

Nikolaus shook his head. “You performed three obligations for the devil, and after, he rewarded you by making you his familiar? Shouldn’t you have gotten your soul back?”

“Yes, well, the concept of reward is quite another thing when it comes to Himself and his rules, eh? Once you sign away your soul, it ain’t never gonna be returned, loan or no. ’Course, who would want it after where it’s been, eh?”

He slugged back another swallow. “What do you care, vampire? You thinking of forming an alliance with Himself? I’ll tell you right now, just run. Don’t look at the bastard, don’t fall for that sexy Pamela Anderson pouty-lips come-on, don’t even think of what turns you on when you get a whiff of brimstone, cause, buddy, that will be the end of you.”

“Yet here you are. Walking the mortal realm. Very obviously…free.”

“If you consider calling in lost souls and tracking vicious killers free, well then…” Memori lifted his mug and slugged back another round. He followed with a loud belch and a swipe of his shirt across his mouth. “That all you wanted, buddy?”

“Yes.” Nikolaus stood and took out another hundred dollar bill. He laid it on the bar and walked away.

Three strikes and Ravin Crosse would not be out, but forever indebted to the Old Lad Himself.

Nikolaus couldn’t decide which would be more satisfying, to know she had become the devil’s familiar, or to kill her himself, and feel her life wilt away in his own hands.

The moment she heard the crash, Ravin knew it was her front door. “A girl should just put in a revolving door.”

She stomped out from the kitchen to spy the tall, dark vampire standing upon the flattened door.

The urge to continue her pace, right into the man’s arms, was stalled by a sudden wariness. Nikolaus or Himself? She didn’t scent brimstone. Usually Himself appeared without the fanfare.

“We need to talk, witch.” Nikolaus stomped off the door and right up to her.

By the time he’d pinned her to the kitchen wall, Ravin knew it was the real Nikolaus Drake, likely come to end her days—as promised.

“Talk?” she squeaked out. His grip about her neck compressed it painfully.

“Talk first—” his sapphire eyes roved over her face. No hint of compassion in them, only a dark curiosity that belonged in the eyes of a predator before it lunges for the attack “—then death.”

“Ah. For a second there I thought you’d forgotten. Set me down, will you?”

His grip tightened. Ravin choked and kicked out. She managed to heel him on the knee, but he didn’t flinch. The vampire growled and gnashed his fangs in anger. His hair shook about him like a beast’s mane.

Ravin closed her eyes, for all she could wish for was another bite. A long, deep bite that would tease her into a mindless, wanting oblivion.

One last time. Please, lover, give me back your gorgeous, deadly bite.

“You know of holy wounds?” Nikolaus asked in a demanding, deep voice. “Look at me, witch!”

Ravin met his vicious urgency with her own defiant stare.

Nikolaus blinked, lowered his gaze and his grip loosened. He dropped her and spun around to pace away and out into the living room.

“There is little time,” he said. “I need your help. A friend of mine has been burned with a cross.”

Must have been hard, if not impossible for him to ask her for help. “A vampire?”

“Of course.”

“Gabriel?”

He turned and his eyes briefly touched hers, before slanting away. Could he not look at her? Did he understand how difficult it was for her to stand before him and
not
run into his arms?

“He was wounded five, maybe six hours ago. The wound grows deeper. I must help him.”

“A holy wound is irreversible.” She shrugged up the sleeves of her low-neck shirt, and while wanting to step up to Nikolaus and wrap her arms about him, Ravin maintained a ten-foot perimeter away from him.

He showed no sign he had ever once loved her. And he
had
mentioned he was here for her death. But while she instinctively knew her fate, her body responded to his presence of its own accord.

Crossing her arms over her hardened nipples, Ravin searched the floor, hiding her own needs. “The vampire is a loss. There’s nothing you can do.”

“You must have a spell,” he insisted. His vehemence made Ravin flinch. “Bring out your book. The one I know you keep above the stove. Get it!”

He demanded so intensely, Ravin moved as if on autopilot to retrieve the grimoire. She set it on the counter and began to page through it. Though she knew there was nothing inside on holy wounds, she would show Nikolaus that she was willing.

More than willing. How to make him understand she would do anything for him?

Yes, damn it, she loved this vampire.

Heartbeat pounding, Ravin turned another page. Aware Nikolaus had moved in to stand behind her, peering over her shoulder, she suppressed the shudder that shimmied up her spine and tickled across her breasts.

His breath upon her hair. His scent surrounding her. His very presence…

“Nikolaus, I…” Closing her mouth, she swallowed back the urge to bellow out a weeping insistence to his touching her. “Do you remember nothing of the past few weeks?” she whispered.

His fist slammed the counter next to the book, setting the hanging plants overhead to a titter.

“I remember your betrayal, witch. I remember—”

“That you loved me,” she quickly murmured, so quiet, perhaps he would not hear. No, she wanted him to hear, to
know
.

Another animal-like huff sounded at her left ear. Nikolaus pushed away from the counter and the sound of his boot kicking the fridge made her wonder if the stainless-steel appliance wasn’t now dented.

“Have you no spell?” he demanded.

“No, Nikolaus, I’m sorry, it’s not possible.”

“Then you will arrange for me to speak with Himself. Now.”

Now she did turn and clutched the counter behind her. “What do you want to speak to the devil for?”

“I will ask him for a reversal of the holy wound. I know that bastard can do it.”

“For a trade! Three obligations, Nikolaus.” She lifted her shirt and thumped her chest. “You know the sacrifice.”

“You think you know the sacrifice,” he corrected. “Out on loan?” His smirk ended in a muted chuckle.

“My soul will be mine—someday,” she said, choking on the last word. “But you! Even when you do get your soul back, you will forever know you served Himself. How can you live with that?”

“Oh, I know my soul will be gone, witch. You think you are free with your final obligation?” He shook his head, and as he bowed before her his hair veiled over half of his face. When he looked back up, a rarity of emotion shimmered in his rich jewel eyes. “Three strikes and you’re his, sweetness. You’ve been lied to. That is what Himself does so well, isn’t it? Lie?”

Ravin clutched her throat. She attempted to process what he’d said, but she couldn’t get past the word
sweetness
. He’d called her by the pet name he’d used only when he had loved her.