by Lisa Kessler
“He was tall, maybe a couple inches taller than you, and he was looking for the same Mayan codex Richard wanted.”
“Wait a minute. Richard sent you after a codex?” She nodded, and Lukas cursed under his breath. “I need to warn the others.” He scrawled a name and number on a scrap of paper. “If you need me, you can reach me or Gretchen at this number.”
Muriah took the paper, her eyes scanning it before she glanced up at him. “Were you going to tell me that you and Gretchen are still together?”
“I wasn’t keeping it from you.” He sighed and set the pen down. “I have a lot to tell you, but it’s complicated.” A smile spread over his lips, and for the first time in her life, Lukas looked truly happy. “The short answer is: I love her.”
Muriah stood up and embraced him. “I’m happy for you. You deserve this.” She drew back, meeting his eyes. “I told you she could handle your secret.”
During the strange wave of suicides plaguing northern Mexico and into Texas and southern California, Lukas had asked Muriah to spend a day with his then-assistant Gretchen while the sun was up. He’d been hiding his true nature from her at the time, and after Muriah spent a few hours with the intelligent archeologist, she advised Lukas that he should tell her who and what he really was.
He’d resisted of course, worried Gretchen would consider him a vampire. It was a simple mistake; Night Walkers burned in the sun and had to drink blood to maintain their strength, but they were so much more. Descended from the Mayans, they also shifted into their spirit animal at will, and contrary to vampire legends, they had beating hearts, they breathed.
He tilted his head with a twinkle in his eyes. “You were right…this time.”
She stepped back, sliding the paper in her pocket. “I’ll call if I need you. Thanks.”
“You’d better.” He gave her hand a squeeze and headed for the door. “I’ve watched over the La Deaux family for too long to lose one now.”
“Yes, Dad.” Muriah chuckled, but her laughter died away when the door closed.
Alone again. And in spite of all her bravado, fear held her in a tight grip.
Zafrina stood on the balcony overlooking the ocean, but she didn’t stare out at the waves. Her full attention was focused inside the house, on Gretchen through the French doors. A large horned owl circled and landed on the balcony. Energy washed across her skin as the air charged around the owl. His body shifted until his spirit animal melted away, and Lukas stood beside her.
His gaze followed hers. “How is Gretchen?”
“She is not eating enough. She complains of nightmares, of immortals hunting for her and her child.” She turned toward the water, leaning on the railing.
“Remember our deal.” Lukas moved closer. “If it comes to Gretchen’s life or the child…”
“We spare her and take the child.” Zafrina prayed it wouldn’t come to making a choice, but Lukas had been adamant she swear to keep Gretchen safe before agreeing to allow her to accompany them back to San Diego. “Will your friend with the bookstore find the prophecy for us?”
“I didn’t get a chance to ask her.”
Zafrina straightened, meeting his eyes. “If the codex still exists, we need it. That prophecy will answer our questions about the child’s immortality.”
“I know, but her friend was murdered.” He glanced through the doors at Gretchen. “And someone else made contact with her.”
“Someone?”
He faced Zafrina again. “She thought he might be a Night Walker. Definitely not human.”
Her pulse raced. It couldn’t be another Night Walker or even another vampire. She would have sensed him. In order to keep Gretchen safe, she’d been mentally reaching out at each rising, her mind searching for the unmistakable thirst for blood.
The only blood drinkers were in this house.
She gripped the balcony railing tighter. If another immortal wandered the streets of San Diego, an immortal she could not sense, he must be powerful. She’d walked this earth for thousands of years. Whatever creature cloaked its presence from her had to be ancient.
Unease crept down her spine. How could they protect the child against an unknown threat with that kind of strength? They needed help.
“Go tend to her.” She glanced back at Gretchen. “Your touch calms her mind.”
Lukas left her without a word. Zafrina stared out at the darkness, listening to the waves rolling up the beach. With a deep breath, she closed her eyes and focused her mental call. Pain radiated at the base of her head, but she continued pushing further, reaching for the one Night Walker who could make all the difference.
The sleek jungle cat ceased stalking his prey. His ear twitched, searching for the source of a sound that whispered into his mind. A moment later, a dark-skinned man rose up onto two legs, the shift almost faster than a human eye could comprehend.
With his body infused with blood, Issa gave up the form of his spirit animal and opened his mind, allowing Zafrina’s mental call to reach him.
The child is in danger.
Issa took a deep breath, closing his eyes. Bring the woman back to the jungle where we can protect them.
Her name is Gretchen, and she is too weak to make the journey. We need you. The young Night Walkers will not be strong enough to fight this one.
Issa frowned, his ageless brow creasing. How can you be so sure?
For a moment, he wondered if she had heard his mental voice. Finally, he received her answer. Because he is not of our people.
How could he know about the child?
Agitation infused Zafrina’s mental call. You will understand when you get here. A jet will be waiting for you tomorrow night. Be on it.
Issa reached up to grip his head in both hands, struggling to keep his tenuous control over his sanity. In the past two months, he had spent more time in the form of a jaguar than a Night Walker. He was in no condition to travel to San Diego and face Ch’en, Kate as she was called in this lifetime, with her lover.
Each smile she offered Calisto ripped open the ancient wound in his heart.
But could he turn his back on his responsibility to protect the mortal world?
And his brothers. If the child perished, they would cease to exist, too.
“Ts’íikil.” He gripped his fists tighter until the muscles from his forearms to his shoulders contracted and ached, willing himself to be strong. “Ts’íikil,” he repeated.
But after thousands of years, how much longer would his courage hold out?
The monk in black moved swiftly from shadow to shadow. His right hand rested deep inside his pants pocket. Cold sweat dripped down his back, sending a chill through his entire body. His features hardened as he got closer to the beach house owned by Calisto Terana.
Calisto was a well-regarded philanthropist in La Jolla, but he was not what he seemed. Far from it. He sold his soul to the Devil centuries ago.
The man in black wiped his brow with his free hand, silently praying for his cause. He hated himself for showing fear. Fear was a weakness in his faith. The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob was stronger than the demon who owned this house. He rubbed his wet hand on his pants with a sigh. Faith hadn’t been enough to save the others who came to this place before him.
His monastery had sent watchers to this city for centuries, keeping the secret of the Night Walkers’ existence. It was passed down through the monsignors of their ancient sect. The dark secret, known only to the few monks back home in Spain, was that Calisto was once one of them.
His fist tightened around the crucifix in his pocket.
The monk raced into the foliage, careful to avoid the outside lighting. He withdrew his hand, carefully opening his fingers. The gold cross sparkled in the moonlight as he whispered his prayers. The soft Latin chant soothed his troubled soul. He placed a tender kiss to the center before sliding the crucifix safely back into his pocket.
The monsignor sent him with specific instructions not to confront the Night Walk
er or his newly immortal mate. He was merely to watch and learn all that he could. Ever since Calisto had passed his blood to the mortal woman, Kate, many of the brethren were plagued by apocalyptic dreams of days to come.
Two women passed by the window. He recognized one as Calisto’s lover, Kate, but the other was a mystery. Her skin looked pale. Too pale. Her long, red hair was a stark contrast to her fair coloring.
He strained to take in every detail as they talked near the window. Did the woman with red hair know she was in the presence of a blood drinker? He had no idea, and at once uttered a soft prayer that he would not be a witness to this young woman’s murder.
Kate moved closer to the red-haired woman, and he tensed. He couldn’t stand by and let an innocent be killed, but what could he do? He scanned the area around him for any potential weapon. Nothing would kill the Night Walker, but perhaps he might distract her long enough for the other woman to escape. He bent to retrieve a rock. Fitting it into his palm, he straightened and peered back through the glass.
The women embraced. Strange. Perhaps she was not going to feed. He settled back into the shadows, dropped the rock, content to watch. For now.
Chapter Four
Muriah closed the final set of shutters and went to double check the deadbolt and security chain on her front door. Satisfied she was safe from prying eyes, she ran her fingers along the underside of her dining room table, freeing the wooden slide on the hidden drawer. The box lowered into her hand, and she carefully placed it on top of the table.
The tattered bark cloth sat nestled in the cedar drawer. Neatly drawn Mayan glyphs covered the front page. The ornate pictures, depicting eagles, jaguars, and snakes meant nothing to her. But Richard had died because of these ancient pages.
Why?
Muriah swallowed the lump in her throat. She’d located the twenty-page relic a few days ago, but she hadn’t told Richard yet. At the time, she thought she’d tell him when she saw him on her birthday.
Too late.
Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes, preparing herself for the onslaught of visions that would assault her the moment she touched the codex. Her fingers trembled as she reached out to clasp the folded bark cloth.
The safety of her condo vanished. Instead, a thick jungle surrounded her. Oppressive heat suffocated her while she watched two Mayan scholars at a stone table bent over the pages, drawing and painting their story. The scenery shifted. Muriah’s stomach clenched, pain shooting through her head as the mental vise tightened.
Sunset. Hot rain pelted the dark man at the top of the pyramid. Darkness and shadows spread across the jungle as he stood, alone, his arms raised toward the heavens. Water ran down his tanned skin, and for a moment, she understood his language. He was singing—no, chanting, something about a dream. No, a prophecy. A child of night.
Immortal.
He turned his attention from the sky to meet her gaze. Raw pain etched his facial features, although his body was free of any wounds. In fact, his broad shoulders and chiseled arms showed no hint of weakness. His injuries were buried. Hidden.
Except from her.
The surroundings faded, her psychic vision wavering until she found herself in the middle of a lightning storm. The same dark-skinned man sat crumpled beside an altar. In the flashes of light, she noticed his hand covered in blood. It dripped from his fingertips. Another flash and his dark gaze cut to her face.
Muriah gasped, dropping the book into the drawer. Her stomach roiled. The psychic gift enabled her to see back through time, but it always came with a price. She stood from her chair, dizzy and light-headed. Stumbling to the kitchen sink on rubbery legs, she caught the edge of the counter to keep from tumbling onto the floor.
Blood dripped onto the white sink basin. Shit. She’d touched the relic for too long. Wetting a dish towel, she wiped the blood from her nose and rinsed it out again before wiping the rest of her face.
This was the relic the man with the strange snake tattoo was after. He wanted the prophecy. How did he know Richard had been looking for it? He said he couldn’t get inside her head. Maybe he’d gotten into Richard’s.
If she had told Richard about her find earlier…
It could have been her torn into pieces.
After a glass of water, she sat at the table again, staring at the codex. The vision of the dark man standing in the rain haunted her. His song still echoed in her mind. The Mayans believed spirits spoke to the living through echoes.
What was this man trying to tell her?
She shoved the drawer aside and rested her elbows on the table, waiting for her head to stop throbbing. Over the years, she kept her visions to a minimum. Latex gloves protected her skin from coming in contact with the ancient merchandise unless it became imperative to verify the authenticity of an item.
This had been a special case from the beginning. That was part of the reason she enjoyed it.
Richard told her he’d heard of a lost Mayan codex. Rumor among the black market treasure hunters was that the book had originally been discovered in the 1930s when the Mexican government found the inner pyramid underneath El Castillo in Chichen Itza. For centuries, the codex had remained untouched, protected from mass burnings by the Spanish priests.
But the codex never made it to a museum.
With only those details, she had hopped a plane for Mexico, met with a few of her contacts, and exchanged currency for a private viewing of some of the inner-chamber relics that never reached government hands. Alone, with a bottle of prescription strength Motrin in her pocket, Muriah held a few items in her hands until she caught a vision of the book and a man in a 1930s-era suit holding the codex. He could’ve been the original archeologist who discovered the codex or a private buyer. Either way, she was one step closer.
A few sketches and scribbled notes later, she had a lead on another independent artifact dealer.
The hunt was her favorite part.
During her search, it never crossed her mind why Richard wanted this codex. Had he known about the prophecy?
She doubted it. Richard was always on the lookout to turn a profit. The rare items brought in a faster, more lucrative sale. He wouldn’t have cared what the book said, only how quickly he could cash in.
Down the hall, Toto popped out of the Wizard of Oz cuckoo clock and barked five times, pulling her back to the present. No place like home.
And right now there was one person in her hometown who might be able to translate the glyphs. Gretchen. She was one of the leaders in the field at deciphering the Mayan written language. That was what brought Lukas to her door in the first place.
And unlike Lukas, Gretchen would be able to help her while the sun was still up.
Her head swam when she stood, but she made it to the kitchen counter where she found the number Lukas gave her. After a quick call, she had the address to a swanky house in La Jolla. Muriah glanced down at her cut-off denim shorts and white T-shirt. Her ensemble screamed Pacific Beach.
For a moment, she was tempted to change clothes, but dismissed it. She wasn’t there to impress anyone anyway.
She plucked a Trader Joe’s grocery tote from under the sink and grabbed a pair of latex gloves. If she never had to touch that codex again, it would be too soon. After wrapping the book in a clean dishtowel, she slid it into the bag.
Stepping into her flip-flop sandals, she tossed the tote over her shoulder. The sooner she found out what the weird tattoo guy was after, the better.
Issa quietly exited the plane, walking up the ramp and into the Lindbergh Field terminal. The evening air in San Diego felt dry compared to the rainforest of the Yucatan. The cool ocean breeze lifted his dark hair from his collar. Zafrina must’ve anticipated his primitive state, because when he reached the airport in Cancun, a crew member from the private jet company met him with a new ensemble of dark slacks and a light gray, button-down dress shirt.
The fabric was soft against his skin, masking the animal inside as if he could be tame
d through civilized clothing.
He scanned the airport until he noticed Zafrina lingering near an exit door. If she had been wearing sunglasses, he wouldn’t have recognized her. Her light brown, almost orange eyes were impossible to forget.
She straightened when their eyes met. Issa made his way toward her through the sea of mortals hovering around the baggage claim.
“Welcome to San Diego.” Zafrina glanced down at his empty hands. “No bags?”
“No.” Did she expect he would bring tailored suits? “You insisted I get on the plane. I did. Tell me what is going on.”
Zafrina turned, walking toward an escalator. “You stand still and the steps move…”
“I know what an escalator is.” His temper was short, but she should be grateful he came to San Diego at all. He made no apologies for his behavior.
The rest of the walk to the car remained silent. A driver stepped up and opened the back door for them. Zafrina climbed in, and he followed her into the cavernous black sedan. With a push of a button, a glass divider slid up between their seat and the driver.
“Gretchen weakens every day.” Zafrina stared at her hands.
Issa wasn’t sure what she expected him to do with that information. “You told me the mortal woman needed protection, not a doctor.”
“Her name is—”
“Her name is of little importance.” Issa crossed his arms. If he didn’t loathe flying so much, he’d turn around and go back to the jungle right now.
Zafrina hissed, flipping her long black hair over her shoulder. “I am aware you do not want to be here. Do you need to make this more difficult?”
“I only want to know why it was so important that I come. Who is threatening the child?”
“I have not seen him.” Her gaze narrowed before he could reply. “But he is not one of us.”
“How can you be certain if you have never seen him?” Anger burned in his gut. “Do you have any idea how much I loathe flying? I never should have come here.”