Moonlight and Diamonds & The Vampire's Fall (31 page)

Blade had briefly considered the implications. If Zen was demon then his faery could be a danger to her. That was, if he bit her and his ichor-tainted saliva got into her bloodstream. So he wouldn't bite her. Because one way or another, that bite would kill one or the both of them.

He shook his head and huffed out an exhale. The witch's expectant gaze brought up his defenses as if an invisible shield. He was finished talking.

“If you wish to help her, perhaps she should know about you,” Dez insisted. “All of you.”

“I don't see how that will help matters.”

“It's your choice.” Dez raised her voice so Zen could hear. “Perhaps your best source of knowledge might be Michael Donovan. He's a halo hunter. Knows a lot about angels. And I'm sure he'd pay a fine price for that halo.”

Blade gripped the weapon. “If angels are after Zen, the halo hunter will have to pry it out of my cold, dead hands.”

The witch touched him lightly on the wrist. “Don't lose yourself in this one,” she warned. “You already feel as though you've lost so much, but there is yet much of you that remains. It is the bold warrior within, Blade Saint-Pierre. Be bold, be bold, be not too bold.”

He didn't know what the hell that meant, but he wasn't in the mood for exploring his unlost parts with Zen sitting so close.

“Thanks, Dez.” He shook her hand, then grabbed the halo and headed toward the door. “How can I find this halo hunter?”

“I'll give him a call, see if he's in the States. He travels the world in search of halos. I'll let you know what I find out. As for you, Zen...” Dez approached the doorway. “Trust this man. But don't ask too much of him.”

Blade straightened at that odd warning. “She can ask me anything. If I'm capable, I'll do it.”

The look Dez gave him was more sad than warning. He shook it off and strode down the hallway, leaving Zen to follow after she'd thanked the witch.

* * *

Zen followed Blade down the six flights of stairs—he'd avoided the elevator—and out to his truck. He had left the witch's place in a hurry, and she suspected it was because the witch had asked him to tell her his truth. Much as they'd thought they'd been talking quietly, Zen had heard.

Did Blade have something against demons? Well, sure, he'd said as much. But it must be bad if it had shut him up so quickly. And if the witch had warned him that it was something he should reveal to her? Hmm...

She rubbed her inner elbow, wondering about the markings. Blade had fired up the engine and waited behind the wheel. Sidhe markings?
Could
she be faery?

Didn't feel right
. Though what
right
should feel like was beyond her. The most right thing she'd experienced since losing her memory had been standing in Blade's arms, falling into his kiss. And he didn't want any more of that romantic nonsense.

Zen sighed. All she really needed was a friend, and she wasn't going to get that from Blade, either. He was a challenging bit of mystery and darkness. But he was her only hope. Because if she was involved in all this paranormal hoodoo, a vampire would probably be her best bet at keeping her in the loop.

And did she want to be in that loop? When she thought about it she realized she did, and it didn't bother her as much as she thought it should. Consorting with vampires and witches? She, possibly an angel or even demon or faery? She could deal.

Really, she could. She just needed to process.

And she carried an angel's halo in her backpack. That was beyond cool. Unless it was hers. Because that would mean she was, or had been, an angel.

Why hadn't the halo fallen away from her when she'd fallen to earth, as Dez had suggested should have been the case? And had she really been on a walk around the world to gain knowledge?

“I do know stuff,” she murmured. “Weird, odd stuff.” All but the important stuff.

She didn't feel particularly angelic. The tug of wings between her shoulder blades was remarkably absent. And she'd already tried to pop out her faery wings. But what did an angel feel like? She had easily defeated the angel in the alley, but only because he'd been occupied with trying to choke the life out of Blade.

There were so many questions, and she was beginning to feel overwhelmed. The hot tub in her room at the inn sounded like a terrific escape from it all.

Once outside, the half-moon sat in the pale night sky, which was decorated with wisps of gray clouds. Opening the truck door, Zen climbed up and buckled in and Blade took off before she even got the door closed.

“You don't have to tell me what the witch asked you to reveal,” she offered when they veered onto the freeway that would take them back to Tangle Lake.

“There's nothing to tell. You already know I don't like demons.”

“All righty, then. For now, I'm going to stand on the side of not liking angels. One did try to kill you after all. I didn't see the demons who were after me at the old lady's house so I'll reserve judgment on that species.”

“It's a free world. You can do what you want to, think how you wish.”

“I think I'm hungry. Would you mind pulling through a fast-food drive-through on the way? I'll buy.”

The expected smile did move his mouth the tiniest bit. Because really? It was his cash.

Zen sat back, satisfied she may have softened his hard exterior just for a moment.

* * *

They sat on the grass below the red rooster statue before the inn. As vampire, Blade was not a voracious eater, yet he'd downed two hamburgers in the time Zen had finished a cheeseburger. The faery in him needed sustenance. A hearty meal usually dampened his vampire's urges, as well. The vamp in him got nauseated to consider drinking blood after a greasy meal.

The struggle within was always a kick. Blade had mastered it. Mostly. But the times his faery ruled without discretion—well, as he'd told Zen, there was nothing to tell.

“Doesn't halo hunting sound like a fascinating job?” Zen asked as she sipped from the milk carton and crumbled up her paper wrapper and napkin. “I wonder what breed he is?”

“Halo hunters are usually human. I hope Dez can contact the guy.”

“You're really interested in helping me.”

“I've said as much.”

“And yet, you push me away at every opportunity when we are just beginning to connect.” She tapped the toe of her sandal against his boot. “What does it take to crack your armor, big guy?”

“I'm not wearing armor. And do we need a connection to find your memory?”

“I don't know. I feel as though if we're spending time together, conversation and general niceties toward one another would be, well, nice.”

“We are conversing right now.”

“Indeed we are. And yet I'm not allowed to befriend you. Or kiss you. So many rules for a man of so few words.”

Blade grabbed the paper bag and crumbled it. “You were headed inside?”

“Right. I guess that's my cue to leave. Thanks again, Blade. For everything. But I can't promise I'm not going to try to crack that icy exterior of yours. I'm alone on a raft floating in the middle of a big ocean. I need contact. Connection. Someone to anchor me.”

She leaned over and quickly kissed him on the cheek. “And touch. Good night.”

She grabbed the paper bag and tossed it in the garbage can on her way toward the hotel lobby.

Blade touched his cheek where the brief warmth of her touch lingered. His fangs descended. Despite the hearty meal, his vampire insisted on blood. Something to quell the ache deep inside him.

And yet, the hunger he felt was a familiar one. One that called for demon blood. He'd tasted it once. Craved it again.

And Zen may very well have that wicked black treat gushing through her veins. Was that the only reason he was attracted to her? Hell, he was attracted to her, no denying it.

He just hoped it was for a better reason than to feed his craving.

Chapter 10

B
lade handed the lumber deliveryman the signed bill of lading and waved him off as he drove down the long gravel road away from the designated compound grounds. His younger brother Stryke was building a compound for his newly formed pack. Blade was tossing around the idea of being his brother's scion, or second-in-command.

He'd not accepted the offer when Stryke had made it last winter. He'd simply said he'd think about it. Because for as much as a loner he was—and he liked it—family was everything to him. And if he could stand by Stryke's side and help him to build a solid pack, then he was all for that.

But the pack building was going slowly. And that suited Blade fine. He still needed time. And things were working that way for him because Stryke wanted to select the pack members carefully. Yet also he wanted to expand beyond the family pack in which the brothers had grown up. He wanted to diversify, and if the prospective pack wolves were married to other breeds, they were more than welcome.

Hell, having a vampire as scion was radical.

Blade was behind Stryke's diversification goals 100 percent. Except when it came to demons. He would stand firm on his suggestion that no demons were allowed in the pack.

His brother strode across the cleared building site, rolled plans in hand, and slapped Blade across the back. “You're up bright and early, Dracula.”

Stryke was the only one Blade would allow to remain standing after such a tease. It had started when they were teens and Stryke had seen the movie on a late-night creature feature. Only then had Stryke begun to understand that his brother was different from him. Now, if Trouble used the moniker Blade would deliver him a swift fist to the jaw. And Trouble would love it. And then they'd fight. And then Stryke would have to break it up. And Kelyn would stand off to the side snickering.

Brothers. Can't live with 'em, but sure as hell couldn't survive without 'em.

“Had some things to do,” Blade said. “And it's going to rain today so I always get out early when I can avoid the sun. I signed for the lumber. When does the construction crew begin?”

“Next week. I wanted to get everything shipped to the site and ready to go. Let's go in and have some coffee.”

“You don't do coffee.”

“Yeah, but Blyss does. She likes it as dark as Beneath, just like you.”

Blade strode beside his brother up to the cabin-like house where Stryke had settled in with his Parisian wife. Yep, Stryke had gone all the way to Europe to find his werewolf wife. Thing was, she hadn't wanted to be a werewolf, and had taken pills to suppress her wolf, until she'd met Stryke, and he'd brought out the wild in her.

A very pregnant, gorgeous woman with long black hair stood in the doorway wearing a terrycloth robe and pink slippers that sported tufts of pink fuzzy stuff on the toes. She was 100 percent feminine and always smelled like candy. Trouble, who picked up a lot of French words from Grandpa Creed, said she had je ne sais quoi.

“Blade!”

He kissed Blyss on both cheeks—the French way—and startled when her belly nudged his hip. “What was that?”

“I don't know.” Blyss ran her palm over her belly. “I'm hoping it's a girl, but she kicks like a boy,
oui
?”

“Feels like there's a little bit of Trouble in there,” Blade teased, with a wink to his brother.

“Blyss, give this guy some coffee before his jokes kill us all.”

She poured a cup for Blade and herself, then kissed Stryke and excused herself with a wink over her shoulder at her husband.

“I haven't forgotten our date tonight, glamour girl,” Stryke called after his wife. “A hot tub and massage.” Stryke met Blade's wonky gaze. “What? Can't a man be in love?”

“My condolences,” Blade offered.

“Love will find you again some day,” Stryke said, “and when you least expect it.”

“I didn't come here to discuss something as stupid as love. Have you any knowledge about angels?”

Stryke whistled and sat on the stool next to Blade. The two men wrapped fingers around their mugs—Stryke drank chai, as coffee gave him the jitters—and gazed out the picture window over the kitchen counter that revealed the razed building plot framed by mature oak trees.

“Angels,” Stryke muttered. “What the hell have you gotten your hands into now, big bro?”

“I met a woman the other night.”

“Really?” Stryke turned completely toward him.

Blade did not miss his brother's inquisitive raise of brow. “It's not what you think.”

“What do you think I think?”

He wasn't going to say it. His brothers knew how he operated. He saw a pretty woman, he took her home and had sex with her—and usually a bite—then never saw her again. It was safest that way. For his damaged heart.

“She's in trouble, Stryke. Lost her memory. So she's in town to try to piece things together. In the past few days I've killed three demons and one angel, all of them in pursuit of her. And Dez doesn't know what she is.”

Stryke set down his mug. “The witch doesn't know? That's strange.”

“And she's got one of these.” Blade laid the halo he'd decided to carry on him at all times on the counter.

“What is this?” Stryke picked it up to inspect. He ran his thumb along the edge and blood oozed from the fine slice in his skin. “Ouch! Doesn't look as sharp as it is.”

“It's a halo. From the angel I killed. Or rather, Zen killed it while I distracted the bastard.”

“I'm not following. I know you're into the calm, meditative stuff, but when did you start practicing Zen?”

“Zen is the chick's name. And I don't want her to be demon. Or for that matter, an angel.”

There, he'd said it. And he knew exactly what Stryke was thinking. So let him assume the pretty chick with the copper hair and ever-changing irises meant something to him. She didn't. Hell, he hardly knew her. She couldn't mean a thing to him. Yet.

“Sorry, brother. I would have sent you to Dez for answers, but looks as though you've already tried that. Does Zen have wings? If she's got a halo that's a pretty big mark in the angel column. Don't angels have multicolored eyes?”

Blade knew that about angels. Only, he'd always thought that meant all colors at once. Not ever changing as Zen's eyes had displayed. “Shit. And her blood is blue, but then turns black.”

“Some kind of angel-demon mix? Blade.”

He shrugged off his brother's hand from his shoulder. Stryke was the one he and his other brothers always went to when they needed to talk because he listened and didn't judge and always seemed to offer some wise words. But he didn't want the emotional, reassuring touch today. It would mess with his determination to stand aside unaffected.

“Whatever she is,” he muttered, “I won't let this one bring me down.”

“It's always the ones you most want to avoid that you really need in your life, bro. Trust me on that one.” He smirked and sipped his chai.

Stryke also had a weird way of extolling advice in cryptic form. Blade decided not to question. He could handle this one.

And he would.

* * *

The long floral skirt with pink flowers on a white background felt sexy and looked great paired with the white T-shirt. A few cheap rhinestone rings twinkled on her fingers and a necklace flashed more bling as the sunlight landed on the stones. Zen slipped on the rhinestone-bedazzled sandals and twirled before the bathroom mirror. Felt good to have some things that fit her and which hadn't come from a smelly donation box.

And she owned a comb now! So she pulled her thick copper hair up into a blowsy bun and stabbed a few hair sticks in it. It worked for her. Before dashing out, she leaned forward, peering into her eyes.

“Blue,” she said and then wrinkled her nose. “They really do change colors. Beats contact lenses, I guess.”

But what she knew about angels was that their eyes were like kaleidoscopes, all colors at once.

“I can't be,” she said. “Don't feel as though I've ever had wings.”

The witch had suggested she could be sidhe. Again, where were her wings?

Though the halo was an interesting clue. She stuffed it in her backpack and headed toward the lobby, intent on getting some breakfast at the Panera down the road. The afternoon goal was to find the library and look up the newspapers from a week ago, see if they had reported the accident.

“Ma'am!”

She turned before pushing the glass door open and spied the inn receptionist dangling a key chain. “This was left for you by a handsome man.”

“Handsome man?” She took the key. The Mini Cooper logo was emblazoned on the black rubber fob.

“Guy had long bluish hair. He said you'd find the car in the parking lot. Is he your boyfriend?”

“Uh, no. Why do you ask?”

“Don't you want him to be? He's hot. All those muscles bulging under his shirt. He stood there like some kind of warrior.”

Zen searched her knowledge for the slang explanation of hot as related to a man, and had to agree. “He is, but he doesn't believe in friends.”

“
Uff-da
, you're going to have to change his mind about that one, sweetie. Have a nice day!”

“Thanks. You, too.”

Outside, the sun warmed her cheeks and the back of her neck. A breeze tickled the skirt fabric between her calves as she aimed for the little red car. It was an older model and the paint was matte instead of glossy. A dent creased the back quarter panel, and the silver trim was pitted in a few places. Overall, it looked roadworthy.

And she wasn't going to look a gift cow, er—she couldn't recall the proper animal for that one, so she dismissed the thought.

Sliding in and discovering it was a stick shift, Zen wondered if she could manage it. The truck had been an automatic. Just shift into gear, press on the accelerator and go.

Pulling the halo out of her backpack and hanging it from the rearview mirror as a sort of good-luck charm, she shifted and put her foot on the gas. And the car sputtered to a clunking stop.

A rap on the driver's window alerted her to the man who stood outside. Zen rolled down her window without thinking. “I'm not sure how to drive this—”

He shoved a neon green flyer inside the car. “Party tonight! Only the coolest are invited.”

She took the paper and glanced over it. “You don't even know me. How do you know I'm cool?”

Tall and blond, he looked Nordic, and Zen guessed him for a skier with his long lean lines and the athletic wear. Yet a beard didn't hide the tattoos climbing up his neck. “It's a guess,” he said. “You like to dance?”

She considered the question. “I'm not sure.”

“Come on, everyone likes to dance. We'll see you tonight, sure? It's just out of town. A map is on the back of the flyer. Come alone. There will be plenty of guys there to hook up with.”

“I don't think I need to hook up.”

“That's cool. Like I said, dance! It's going to be a blast.”

“A blast sounds...like a blast.”

“You betcha.”

And he strode off across the lot, looking back a few times over his shoulder at the Mini Cooper.

Zen studied the flyer. The picture depicted a mansion more resembling a spooky Halloween haunt than a dance club. The guy hadn't known who she was. And he would have said something if he had, right?

“Come alone?” she muttered.

She wasn't sure if she should be creeped out by the invite or excited for the prospects. She couldn't remember when she'd last had a blast. Certainly it must be overdue.

Hookups? Obviously she would get nowhere with Blade romantically. But did she need romance right now?

“A little dancing never hurt anyone.”

She set the flyer aside. She'd think about it.

Now to figure how to operate this vehicle.

* * *

No incident report was listed in the
Tangle Lake Tattler
, the local paper that was issued each Monday. The newspaper featured local news, which tended to be on the homey side. Mavis Butler had won best quilt design in the United States for the third year running. Red MacPherson was having a sale on taxidermy for the critters, including wolves.

Zen wondered what the local werewolves thought about that. And then she had to grin at her knowledge. How quickly she'd accepted that the realm of the paranormal existed.

She wondered if others were in the know. Probably not. If so, she would have never doubted Blade's confession in the first place.

She thanked the librarian for the use of the microfiche and headed back to the car, which she had finally figured how to operate after three dry starts in the inn parking lot.

Had the bus driver even been aware he or she had hit a person? Should she have stayed on the scene after being hit? Probably. But at the time she had felt like getting out of there, not causing a scene. Staying away from notice.

Weird to think that now. What instinctual part of her had reacted that way? Almost protectively of her origins. Whatever those origins were. An angel who had fallen to the mortal realm and wanted to keep her secret? Or a demon who perhaps couldn't shift to demonic form now because of the bump to her head.

Was her amnesia something that had resulted from her angelic fall?

Would certainly explain why angels are after me. But why demons?

While in the library she should have checked out the mythology section. Any details about the various species she could learn would be helpful. And yet, if she simply thought about it, mined the weirdly vast knowledge she seemed to possess, she knew a few things.

Angels did indeed fall, and most often it was to find their muse and procreate. Nephilim were the result. Nasty things, for sure.

Demons were a vast species, and while many occupied the mortal realm, many more lived in Daemonia. Zen wasn't sure what Daemonia was. Something similar to Hell or Beneath?