Magicstorm (Heart of a Vampire, Book 4)

by Amber Kallyn

  She stumbled over a loose brick, proving that she couldn’t. Brandon grabbed her arm, and drew her close to his side. She fought the urge to pull away. The alternative was potentially falling on her face onto the glass-littered ground.

  They continued into the shadows. There were no rooms, only concrete pillars. Some were beginning to crumble from the elements, but luckily they still looked sturdy.

  Finally, they reached a staircase leading to the higher floors. “Let’s go,” Brandon said, pointing. “More runes.”

  She shone her flashlight at the cement stairs. “I don’t see anything.”

  Frustration welled. How was she supposed to solve a case when she couldn’t even see all the evidence?

  “That’s why I’m here,” he quipped.

  The second floor was the same undivided expanse as the first.

  “Nothing,” he said, then glanced up at the ceiling. “But I smell blood up there.”

  “Let’s go, then.”

  They reached the third story. It had been renovated more than the others. Halls led every which way, broken by doorways. Most rooms lacked a door. The few that had them were locked.

  She didn’t bother breaking them down as Brandon tugged her along. Following the scent of blood?

  Then, she smelled it too. Rot, like a refrigerator gone to spoil. And over that, a coppery tang.

  They turned down another hallway in the maze. Rows of doors lined the walls. “Somehow, I don’t think the construction guys did the painting,” she whispered.

  On each black door, red runes stood out clearly, each one a different shape.

  “Freaky,” she said, staring at them.

  “Not quite the word I would choose.”

  Pulling her cell phone from her pocket, she started taking pictures. “What word would you use?”

  “Dangerous.” The roughness in his voice sent chills down her neck.

  ***

  She glanced at him. “You know some of these marks?”

  “Yes.” He swallowed against the tightness of his throat as dark magic flooded him. Unstoppable memories washed through his mind.

  The sorceress laughed as he knelt on the ground at her feet, surrounded by a circle of runes like those on the doors. Beside him, Eric cried out as one of the sorceress’ beasts ripped and bit at his skin.

  “No more,” Brandon pleaded helplessly, unable to move.

  “Then you will do as I say?” she asked sweetly.

  “Yes. Just leave him alone.”

  She lifted a sharply tipped fingernail to tap on her ruby red lips, her eyes sparkling with delight. “But the two of you are so much fun to torture.”

  “Leave him be and I will do it,” he replied, his heart aching for his brother. For himself.

  “I want the entire village burned. Kill them all, but for the young girls. Those, I can use,” she said.

  Brandon bit his tongue until he tasted his own blood against the urge to tell her no. As Eric screamed again, he lost the last piece of his soul, crying out, “Yes. I’ll do it.”

  Pain spread across his arm and he blinked, coming back to the present.

  Celeste stared up at him with wide eyes, her nails digging into his skin. “Hey!”

  “What?” he answered, though the word barely made a sound.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  Glancing around, he finally felt the trap in the air. It had snagged him, dragging him into the past, into nightmares.

  “It’s the runes. They’re powerful,” he said, louder this time.

  “Did you hear the noise?” she asked.

  The hair on his neck prickled. “What noise?”

  She pointed further down the hall. “It was like a baby crying. Come on.”

  “Wait,” he said, but she was already heading into the darkness. “Damn it.”

  The magic grew stronger. He could feel it in the air, grasping at him, trying to drag him back under. It was powerful, designed to rip one’s darkest memories out, make them relive it.

  The magic prickled over his skin, like a drug, but he refused to let it take him again. He would not leave Celeste alone in this place. He’d not leave her unprotected.

  He followed her down the hall, sliding Tyrfingr from the sheath on his back. Just in case.

  He caught up to her at the last door. At the sight of the rune, his gut clenched and a spot on the back of his right thigh flared with fire. The rune, a scythe that looked like a question mark with a thick black line running horizontally across the center, was all too familiar. One he could see anytime he chose, as it had been branded into his skin long ago.

  He wanted to tell her not to open that door. He didn’t want to see what was behind it.

  The sound of a baby’s cry came loud and clear. She reached for the doorknob.

  It felt like time slowed. The door creaked open an inch. Hot air blew over him, stinking of rotten flesh and dark magics.

  He tried again to speak, to tell her to wait, but she pushed into the room.

  His feet felt frozen to the floor. His grip on the hilt of his blade tightened until it dug deep into his skin.

  It took every ounce of control he could scrape up, but he followed her through the doorway and into the darkness that might lead to Hell.

  ***

  Celeste entered the room, blinded by the brightness of the sun shining through the windows. A slight breeze, carrying the flowery scent of her mother’s garden, drifted in as lacy white curtains swayed.

  A crib sat on the far side of the room. Above it, a mobile of angels turned. Rhythmic music played, like wind chimes softly ringing.

  She approached the crib and caught sight of the child lying inside.

  The poor girl looked starved, thin skin stretched over the bones beneath. Her face was red, as if she’d been crying for a long time.

  “Oh, baby,” she crooned.

  She bent over the wooden crib and reached for the child. Its eyes snapped open, completely black.

  The child cried again, inky tears flowing.

  Agony ripped through Celeste’s mind at the sound. Her body went numb, and she froze, halfway over the child.

  The girl smiled, showing a mouthful of sharpened teeth. Claws sprouted from its fingers. It reached for Celeste, as if begging to be picked up.

  Pain slashed over her wrists as claws sliced into her skin.

  She screamed.

  The infant wailed, the sound ringing in Celeste’s head painfully. Its claws dug deeper and the child began pulling itself up, gouging her arms, as if climbing her. It snapped its sharpened teeth, staring at Celeste’s throat.

  Hunger burned in that black gaze.

  A terrible hunger.

  And she was the food.

  Something hard and heavy knocked her back from the crib. She careened over the floor, falling to her knees, staring at the cuts over her arms.

  The light went out.

  A hand grabbed her chin, gently, and tipped her head back. Brandon’s voice was steely as he asked, “Are you all right?”

  She blinked, no longer able to hear the child. “What’s going on?”

  “I told you. Powerful magic. Black magic.”

  As the pain spread deeper over her arms, she replied, “I guess.”

  “I smell blood. Fresh.”

  “My arms,” she replied.

  He drew back. A second later, cloth ripped. He wrapped the pieces over her wounds. “Best I can do right now.”

  “What is it?”

  “My shirt.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Let’s get out of here,” he grumbled.

  She didn’t argue.

  He helped her stand, holding her arm as he led her through the darkness.

  “I don’t suppose you know where my flashlight is?”

  “You dropped it. That’s when I knew something was wrong.”

  They continued walking. Far too long.

  “Where’s the door?” she asked.

  “Good questi
on.”

  “The room can’t be this big.”

  “It can be whatever it wants.”

  “I’m not liking magic at all right now.”

  “I know the feeling,” he replied, his grip tightening as he held her close against him.

  They walked some more, the darkness never easing up. She was blind, being led by a creature of the dark.

  At least one of them could see.

  “I don’t know how much time has passed, but we need to be out of here before the sun falls,” Brandon said uneasily.

  “Magic is stronger at night,” she repeated one of his earlier comments.

  “Unfortunately.”

  “Wait,” she said, reaching for the phone in her pocket. She flicked the screen on, relief flooding her from the light.

  “I forgot about that,” he said.

  She glanced at him.

  His eyes were bright. “Let me see it.”

  Handing it over, she waited as he shone the miniscule light around them in a circle.

  “Ah ha.” Grabbing her hand, he kept the phone shining ahead as he strode through the room.

  Finally, a door appeared. She could have wept at the sight.

  He reached for the knob, but it didn’t turn. “Keep it shining on the door,” he said, handing her the phone.

  Then he stepped back, and kicked the door.

  Wood splintered, but didn’t open. He kicked it again, and again, each impact making the door give way a little more.

  Finally, he burst through.

  Brandon reached back for her, and pulled her from the room.

  She breathed a sigh of relief until he said, “Come on. We’re not out yet.”

  They headed back down the hall the way they’d come, then downstairs, letting the little light from the phone lead the way.

  Once outside, Celeste slumped against her car, basking in the rays of the setting sun. Brandon slouched next to her, staring at her arms.

  “Tell me what you saw in there,” he commanded, tightening the bandages.

  She glancing up, struck by the wide expanse of smooth, muscled chest, now bare.

  Fire rushed through her.

  They were safe. He’d saved her from God knew what. And he was a damn attractive man.

  She didn’t know why all of a sudden she wanted to wrap her arms around him and feel his body pressed to hers, taste that wicked mouth again.

  Hell, she wanted him with every fiber of her being.

  Instead, she turned away and fumbled in her pocket for her keys as she told him of the child. She got in the car, started it, then reached for her phone.

  Brandon slid into the passenger seat, a brow raised.

  “Who the hell do I call for something like this?” she asked. “It’s not like our crime scene techs can deal with it.”

  Chapter eleven

  “Let me borrow your phone,” he said.

  “Where’s yours?”

  His cheeks reddened. “I left it at your office.”

  She handed him the phone, then was left frustrated as she couldn’t hear both sides of his conversation.

  “Shane?” Brandon said.

  After a moment, he replied, “I don’t know what we have. I’ll send you the pictures soon. But I’m going to need your type of help.”

  Another minute paused and she tapped her foot.

  “Not demon. Sorcery. I’m certain of it, but I don’t know who or where. Their power is strangling this city.”

  She was about to demand he hit the speaker button when he hung up.

  He started texting the photos. “We need to get those cuts taken care of.”

  She forced herself to glance away from his muscled torso. “Who’d you call?”

  Brandon set her phone on the seat between them, but kept his hand on it. “A friend. He’s a Native Shaman up in Moss Creek.”

  The name finally clicked. “You mean the sheriff from the reports about the last murderer?”

  “Yes.”

  “And he’s coming here?”

  “He knows magic. He can help.”

  Shaking her head, she drove from the abandoned buildings, feeling as if this case was slipping out of her control. She already had to deal with Brandon. Now a shaman?

  She drove home, not wanting to go to the station covered in her own blood. In her apartment, Hercules rushed up to her, then meowed pitifully. Celeste glanced at Brandon.

  He looked from her bandage wrapped, blood covered arms to the cat, then picked him up. Hercules curled up in the crook of Brandon’s arm, purring contentedly.

  “You have a way with animals,” she said, something softening in her chest at the sight of the tough giant with a tiny kitten in his arms.

  “Not usually,” he replied. “Animals tend to shy away from Arcaine creatures. Your furball is strange.”

  Her lips twitched, but she held back the smile at his disgruntlement. Leaving them in the living room, Celeste headed for her bedroom. After opening her closet, she hesitated for a long moment, then grabbed one of the shirts from a box at the back. Once more in the living room, she handed the shirt to Brandon, her hand shaking a little.

  “Thanks,” he said, laying Hercules on the couch so he could put the shirt on. He glanced at Celeste. “Do you have many male visitors who need dressing?”

  His tone was curious, rather than censuring, the only thing saving him from the pain and anger rioting through her.

  She swallowed past the lump in her throat, seeing Brandon wearing the shirt. “It was my father’s. I kept a couple of his favorites.”

  Brandon’s eyes softened, darkening. “I apologize.”

  “No need,” she bit out quickly, then fled back down the hall. In the bathroom, she tore off the strips of Brandon’s shirt from her arms.

  Thankfully, the scratches were mostly shallow. She shouldn’t need any stitches. Still, she would need to rebandage them.

  Walking around looking part mummy wasn’t on her list of great ways to dress, but she had no choice.

  She washed her arms, then pulled out a plastic bin holding band-aids and an assortment of gauzes.

  As she was trying one-handedly to wrap one around her wrist, cursing at the struggle, Brandon stepped into the room.

  His presence made the already small bathroom seem tiny. Miniscule.

  He moved to her back, then reached around her, gently grasping the gauze. Trapped between him and the counter, she felt his body heat spread over her, trying to suck her into some sort of comfort.

  She spun, facing him. He took a small step back, but that didn’t stop the roiling feelings inside her. He was still too close.

  His eyes flashed right before he lowered his gaze to her arms. Gently, he wrapped the bandages around her cuts.

  “Thank you,” she said, unable to form any coherent thought.

  His fingers drifted over the back of her hand, and electric thrills shot through her. The sensations she’d felt outside the building rushed back.

  Desire. Lust. The need to feel alive. To feel him.

  He met her gaze, his eyes widening. The startling blue was ringed by a thin band of red. And they shone with the same desire rushing through her blood.

  Her mouth went dry and she licked her lips. His gaze snapped to the movement. His hands curled into fists at his sides.

  “Are you a witch?” he asked, so softly she barely heard him.

  “No.”

  “Then why do you have this power over me?”

  “I could ask you the same.” Her words came out husky.

  He met her gaze once more. Her heart rate sped, her body heating. Slowly, ever so slowly, Brandon bent closer until only a hairs breadth separated his lips from hers.

  “Do you want me to kiss you?” he asked, his voice strained.

  She should say no. Walk away. Kick him out.

  She couldn’t.

  Celeste closed the remaining distance between them, relishing the warm smoothness of his mouth on hers.

  A groa
n rumbled up Brandon’s chest and he grabbed her in his arms, pulling her against him. He kissed her, soft but with urgency.

  Then he became more demanding. Desire spiked through her, uncontrollable, like some deep primal urge.

  He tasted of smoke and spice, an irresistible combination.

  She ran her hands over his back, the feel of the strength beneath her fingers driving her lust even higher.

  He groaned as his canines descended. She felt them against her tongue, but he didn’t hurt her.

  Her mind went hazy. All she could think about was this man holding her, kissing her as if he wanted--needed--to slake a great hunger. As if she was the only one who could fulfill him.

  She slid her hands under the shirt, thrilled at the touch of his bare skin. The kiss turned frantic, a battle of lips and tongues.

  His heat, his scent, his taste, his touch, all combined to set her on fire. He pressed her against the bathroom counter, his hardness rubbing against her.

  She moaned, shivering as he consumed her. She drew back, yanking the shirt over his head, then reaching for the waist of his jeans.

  He grabbed her wrists, careful of the bandages. “Are you certain you want this?”

  Meeting his reddened gaze, she tugged her hands free and unsnapped the button.

  His eyes blazed, pure red, as she slowly slid the zipper down.

  With a growl, he ripped her shirt over her head, then froze, his gaze hot on her chest. “I saw you last night,” he whispered, trailing his fingers over her shoulders. “I came to make sure you were all right, and I saw you through your bedroom window, as you readied for bed. You wore only a lacy red bra and panties.”

  The idea should have been shocking, but it only thrilled her that he’d seen her nearly naked.

  He seemed hesitant, so she grabbed his hands and placed them on her breasts. His touch was hot enough to burn like a brand.

  Strange sensations whispered deep inside. Not just lust, but something else she couldn’t name. Some connection between them, more than a woman and a man. Its flames filled her, driving her onward.

  When his chest rumbled with a growl of desire, she leaned into his touch, easing her legs further apart to feel him everywhere.

  He cupped her breasts, capturing her mouth again, plundering as if he couldn’t get enough. He trailed his fingers down her ribs and stomach, undoing her trousers. When he stepped back, she nearly moaned at the loss of his heat.