Sweet Ruin (13 page)

A vampire consumed my befouled blood.

He pierced the remnants of her bite with his claw tips, seeking to recreate a fraction of the pleasure—only to fail.

He’d reacted like a madman, couldn’t even remember what he’d said to her. He thought he’d spoken to her in Demonish. He knew he’d bellowed so loud his throat had stung.

Part of him was glad of his response. Hardly that of a deadened man whose fire had been extinguished! Rune had
felt
with Josephine. Some buried cinder must have lingered deep within him, because it was . . . sparking.

His reaction to her—and hers to him—made him ponder the most asinine and far-fetched possibility.

What if she was his mate?

What were the odds he would meet a female whose scent put him to his knees—and who also happened to be immune to his poison? She’d told him,
You smelled right.

No, no, there’d be no
mate
for Rune. Thousands of years ago, he’d concluded his kind didn’t get a fated one, were cursed to be alone.

He’d never met a mated dark fey, had never heard of a second generation of his species. His own solitary years had cemented the idea in his mind.

Even if he got a mate, Josephine the vampire wouldn’t be his. He’d reacted so violently to her and her bite because she’d mesmerized him.

Her scent enticed him more than anyone else’s simply because she had the most alluring scent. Other men on the street had responded with just as much heat.

None of the other Møriør had a mate. To take on such a glaring vulnerability would have to affect Rune’s standing. He’d be damned to the hells before he relinquished his spot at their table.

Plenty of immortals would sell their soul to take his place. . . .

By late afternoon, Rune headed to the Lore shop the nymphs had mentioned. It was a ramshackle store with a symbol of the Lore in the window. The shingle read:
Loa’s Emporium

Perhaps he could find manacles here. He could definitely pry for information.

Unshaven and wearing last night’s clothes, he strode inside. A bell jingled above the door. Mortal wares crowded the shelves. A Lorean market must be concealed in the back.

A woman sat behind the counter, engrossed in a book. Her nearly sheer white dress clung to her dark skin, revealing a voluptuous figure. Loa, the proprietress?

He raised his brows.
Well, then, this customer will be sure to return.

His response was yet more evidence he had no mate. If he’d found his fated female, then he wouldn’t be planning to bed this buxom shopkeeper at his earliest convenience! He asked her, “Where can I find handcuffs, dove?”

She didn’t look up from her book. “Back room. Aisles are marked.”

“I don’t suppose you’ve met a Lorean named Josephine? Brunette about five and a half feet tall.”
Unbelievable body, whiskey voice.
“Fairly blunt.”
Bit of a bitch.
“Wears combat boots and has piercings.”
Even secret ones.

The woman licked her thumb and turned a page.

“She lives in the city and prowls the Quarter. But she’s species closeted.” Josephine wasn’t the only one. When he recognized what Loa was, he hid a grin. He’d bet she wouldn’t want that known.

Without taking her eyes off the book—a tome on neuroscience—Loa said, “Too many beings to keep track of this time of the millennium. Accession calls them close. Ask the low creatures.” Her accent was lyrical and drawling. Josephine’s accent had been drawling as well, but in a different way.

“Among your wares, do you happen to have a lock of Valkyrie hair?” The nymphs had promised to be on the lookout for one, but he didn’t hold out much hope. Information from them in the heat of the moment was one thing . . .

“You’d have better luck orderin’ a Valkyrie head,” Loa said.

He hadn’t thought it would be easy. “Do you sell information?”

She finally glanced up. “By the looks of you, I’m thinkin’ you can’t afford the information I have in my catalog.”

No?
His wealth was so vast it was incalculable. He smiled at her, picturing all the relics he’d amassed over the ages, the ones that filled his private collection. Ah, the secrets he kept.

He found himself wondering how Josephine would react to his treasures. No doubt pure astonishment. How could she not be impressed? “Perhaps you’re right,” he told Loa, turning toward the back. He located the concealed doorway and entered.

Scents overwhelmed him. Every manner of Lore creature must have shopped here recently. Signs papered the walls:
“Accession Savings!” “Fire Sale!” “Mass Death = Estate Sales!”

Affecting every immortal in the Gaia realms, the Accession was a mystical event that occurred roughly every five centuries, bringing Loreans into contact with each other—for better or worse. Some immortals would bond; others would war. Usually most of the factions fought against each other.

Nïx was attempting to change the rules of the game, transforming what should be a drawn-out war of attrition into a great Lorewide battle between immortal alliances.

The Møriør—a brotherhood of killers with very few weaknesses—would prevail. They always did. To their enemies, they were the Bringers of Doom.

He headed farther inside. The aisles were marked
CONTRACEPTION
,
GLAMOURS
,
CONJURINGS
. . . . He raised a brow at
APOCALYPSE PREPARATION
. They were already planning on it? He turned down the
BONDAGE
aisle, then selected a pair of cuffs with a tag that read:

Those witches were a proud bunch, considering they’d never received permission from their overlady to start this colony on Gaia—and considering they’d never paid taxes to Akelarre, their source dimension.

Most Loreans would rather face a vengeful deity than a bureaucratic tax collector.

In the year of 937, you lot bollixed up. Allixta arrives forthwith
.

He examined the cuffs, assessing the magick in them. Not bad. He could customize them with his own runes, magnifying and steering the power, just as he did with his arrows.

Yes, if the little leech returned tonight, he’d capture her. Once he had her in his keeping, then maybe he could tear his thoughts from her and focus on his mission.

At the counter, he stowed the cuffs in a back pocket, then proffered gold coins. He’d made exchanges for these newer coins in the Elserealms, but they were still old. No choice but to use them.

As he tendered payment, his ears twitched. Something large was moving beneath the old floorboards of this shop, something . . . slithering. He despised snakes. He inwardly shuddered at the memory of the serpent shifter he’d been forced to pleasure. “Loa, do you keep a snake down there?”

She narrowed her amber gaze. “For dark fey askin’ too many questions.”

“I pass for pure-blooded fey. How’d you know?”

“Your canines. Touch too long. Says demon blood to me.”

“Ah, but I could be half vampire.”

“Plum-colored eyes.”

He grinned down at her. “Keen observations. And here I thought you were studiously ignoring me.”

“No threats escape Loa’s notice.”

She must possess a wealth of knowledge about her customers. Secrets for the taking. “How did you know about the eyes? You couldn’t have met many of us.”

The few dark fey he’d encountered had each been born of a different combination of fey and demon. Rage demon/ice fey, forest fey/smoke demon, and so on . . .

Their characteristics and level of toxicity had varied. But all of them had possessed plum-colored eyes.

Loa’s mien turned calculating. “Perhaps I’ve been seein’ a dark fey female in this very city. Perhaps she’s pretty to look upon.”

He straightened, quickly asking, “How much to buy a lead on her?” For some reason, Josephine’s ethereal face flashed in his mind.

“Why should I transact with you?” Loa asked.

Rune rested his forearms on the counter, leaning in. Catching her gaze, he raked one of his fangs over his bottom lip. “Why
shouldn’t
you want to do more with me, dove?”

Her pupils dilated as she focused on his mouth, her breaths shallowing. She blinked several times, then glared. “You’re a baneblood—with a healing
vampire bite
on his neck—who’s buyin’
restraints
with too-old gold. What could possibly be troublin’ there?” Despite this, she was definitely interested.

“It’s a funny story.”
Which I will never tell you.
“We should have dinner.”

An arched brow. “Should we, then?”

He lowered his voice to a murmur, “Yes, and while we’re there, I’ll convince you to
transact
with me. Over and over.”

Loa crossed her arms over her ample breasts. “I don’t think—”

“Ah-ah, dove. I know females, and I’m gazing at one who needs more than just coin. . . .” He trailed off, muscles tensing.

Over all the other smells of this shop, he caught a scent.

Valkyrie.

FIFTEEN

M
aybe I don’t have more pride than the nymphs
, Jo thought as she gazed into the mirror at her new dress.

A scarlet sheath. Strapless. Micromini length.

When she’d decided to return to the Quarter to confront Rune, she’d surveyed her clothes rack of vintage threads, but she’d found nothing as sexy as what the nymphs had worn.

Unacceptable.

So she’d dashed to a second-hand boutique for a bit of shopping. Or more accurately, for a bit of shop
lifting
. Then she’d heated a mug of blood to drink while getting ready. She frowned. The mug was untouched, the blood cold. It’d smelled off anyway.

As long as she didn’t expend too much energy, she could miss a meal.

She turned in the mirror, then back. She’d opted for a strapless pushup bra that concealed her nipple piercings and lifted her boobs almost to her chin. She’d blown her hair out into big curls and defined her eyes with smoky liner. Clear glitter nail polish made her black claws sparkle. After nibbling her lips till they were blood red, she’d slipped on strappy stilettos.

Her bullet necklace dipped toward her cleavage. A silver bangle circled one bare arm above her elbow. She’d chosen chandelier earrings to dangle from her lobes and her customary helix rings at the tops of her ears.

Jo had enjoyed all her piercings, even the one below the belt. Each bite of pain had proved she was of the earth,
incarnated
, or something. Her jewelry helped remind her of that.

Plus, any guy she’d been with had lost his shit when he saw them. It was a given that a tongue would make contact directly.

She smoothed her hair one last time and eked out a smile for the mirror. She didn’t expect Rune to take one look at her and think,
How could I have passed up that ass? Maybe I ought not to murder her?
But she hoped he would have a qualm or two.

Her gaze flitted to his bone thingy beside her bed. The one thing she knew for certain? It was anything but a
trinket
.

She had no pockets to store it, but was leery of leaving it behind. If other freaks had senses like hers, they could sniff out a hiding place. With a shrug, she tucked the piece into the safest place she could think of—the snug cleavage between her pushed-up breasts.

Because she’d never give Rune access to it.

As ready as she’d ever be, Jo “traced” to the Quarter, heading straight for the courtyard. Did she really want to see Rune up to his eyebrows in nymph? Maybe he’d still be trying to relive her bite, and then she could laugh at him.

Nearing the gate, she made herself invisible, but the courtyard was empty. After a survey of the surrounding area, she traced to a rooftop overlooking Bourbon. It was a busy Saturday night in the Quarter, but then, every night brought something different here: tour groups, bands, warnings to repent.

In time, a couple strolling arm-in-arm below drew her attention. The short, black-haired woman wore only one shoe. What looked like a
bat
clung to the back of her peasant blouse, peeking over a shoulder. The woman’s face was captivating, her golden eyes seeming to glow.

Definitely not human. Freaks were coming out of the woodwork!

Aside from the woman’s oddness, something about her put Jo on guard. Simply because she was paranormal?

Jo turned her attention to the tall man with her, but his cowboy hat blocked Jo’s view of his face. He wore shit-kicker boots and had a rolling, confident gait.

The female asked him, “Have you ever been bait? Well, besides jailbait.
Rowr
.”

“I can’t say that I have, ma’am.” Texan accent?

Jo cocked her head at his voice, at the grin in his tone. The couple turned the corner onto an empty side street.

In ghost-mode, she traced to another rooftop to get a better look at him. When she caught sight of his face, Jo’s mouth went dry.