When Wicked Craves

by J. K. Beck

  “Petra Lang is not like the others. She deserved more than to die in a dark alley with an assassin’s bullet in her back,” Tiberius said. “At least with an official conviction she could face death with some knowledge of why it was coming.”

  Dirque let out a long, harsh laugh. “You are a fool, Tiberius, to harbor any soft feelings for the human simply because of the role she played in saving your ass.”

  “The girl was a key player in proving that it was not shadowers who were murdering the humans in my jurisdiction,” Tiberius said. “Were it not for her, I would no longer be a member of the Alliance and we would not be having this conversation.” This time, he did incline his head. “I know, Chairman, how much that outcome would have disturbed you.”

  A slow burn rose up Dirque’s back, and he wanted to lash out at the vampire for mocking him. He pushed it down, though. Now was not the time, and there were bigger things to worry about. “What’s done is done. You are correct that the full Alliance convened the Tribunal, and a judgment has been entered. We can at least agree that the death order was accurate? The girl poses an unacceptable risk to the shadow world and the Alliance?”

  “We can agree to that, yes.”

  “I’m relieved to hear it.” He sat up straighter, blinking, and realized that his vision had almost completely returned. A knock sounded at the door, and both he and Tiberius turned to look that direction. “Enter.”

  The door opened, and a tall, lean man stepped inside, clad in a black T-shirt and camouflage pants. He looked like a soldier returning from a human war, rough and dangerous, and he approached Dirque’s bedside with a confidence that made Dirque proud.

  “Uncle,” the man said.

  “Tariq.” Dirque gestured toward Tiberius. “You know Governor Tiberius?”

  Tariq inclined his head. “Sir.”

  Tiberius acknowledged the younger jinn, then turned his attention back to Dirque. He said nothing, but stood as if waiting for an explanation.

  Dirque complied. “My nephew serves as a RAC team leader within Division 6,” he said, referring to the Recon and Capture team. “As of today, he is on temporary loan to the Alliance as head of Search and Recovery.”

  “Sir?” Tariq said, and his diamond-shaped pupils constricted with surprise. And with ambition. Good.

  “Perform your function well, and you may find yourself permanently assigned to the Alliance.”

  “Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”

  Tiberius stepped forward. “You have already begun investigating the escape?”

  “Yes. All available Division personnel have been put to the task.”

  “And what have you learned?”

  “The prisoner was aided in her escape by a vampire.” Tariq straightened his shoulders and looked Tiberius directly in the eye. “The poison that was released in the air in both the execution and staging areas was not shadow-made. We believe that is a significant lead, sir.”

  “I see,” Dirque said. “And do you have a suspect in mind?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Dirque held up a hand, silencing his nephew. Then he turned his attention from Tariq to Tiberius. “And you, my friend? Do you have a theory as to which of your kind did this thing?”

  For a moment, he thought his rival wouldn’t answer, then he saw the slightest straightening of Tiberius’s spine, the firmness in those cold dark eyes. “Do not mock the enmity that exists between us,” he said. “But yes. I have a suspect in mind.”

  “Who?” Dirque demanded.

  “Nicholas Montegue.” He spoke the name firmly, without hesitation, but Dirque heard the somber note of deep regret that colored Tiberius’s voice.

  He glanced toward his nephew, who nodded agreement, then turned his attention back to the vampire.

  “You call Montegue friend.” It wasn’t a question.

  “I did,” Tiberius said. “I still do.”

  “And yet you condemn him here today.”

  “You know that I have no choice,” Tiberius said, and Dirque had to fight not to shrink from the contempt in the vampire’s voice. “For too long we have been following the Oracle’s words. Destroying the monsters that have sought to rip apart the Alliance members. Searching out those who can create such beasts with little more than an ill-timed touch.”

  Dirque made no response. Most of the creatures had been located and terminated before their strength fully developed and before their minds formed enough to allow them a level of subtlety in their attack. In other words, the monsters had raged across the earth, and that made them easy to find and subdue.

  But centuries ago, before the Alliance fully understood the risk, one had survived long enough to catch Thurell off guard and rip the elder troll into so many pieces that even his own mate could not identify the remains. It had been hell keeping the true nature of the attack secret, and more hellish still destroying the monster. In the end, the Alliance had lost sixscore soldiers before they had killed the monster’s maker in a fit of fury and realized in doing so that her death restored the monster to a man.

  It was not a scenario that Dirque cared to see repeated, and the Alliance had suffered no qualms about terminating any female they believed possessed what had come to be known as the Touch before she could use such power.

  He saw the irony in the situation, of course. The females were human. And to a human, the shadowers themselves were monsters, and humans would hunt them down and kill them and believe themselves to be saving the world by doing so.

  Humans were fools. Certainly, they did not understand that which was truly monstrous.

  For more than fifty years, the Alliance members had slept soundly, believing that each of the females wielding the Touch had been swiftly and resolutely terminated. But then the Alliance had learned of one whose family line had remained hidden—and stayed hidden until the little bitch had thrust her curse upon Sergius. Sergius might be dead now—and as there was no path of destruction laid across the hills of Los Angeles, Dirque felt it was safe to accept the word of the Division 6 medical examiner, who had tested the remains and confirmed Sergius’s DNA—but the death of the monster did not remove the risk.

  “The girl doesn’t understand the full nature of her power, Dirque, and neither does Nicholas.”

  “That is no defense,” the jinn said.

  “No,” Tiberius agreed. “In fact it may even make them more dangerous. They do not fully fathom the fire with which they play.”

  “Then it is time to tell Nicholas exactly who and what he has taken on.”

  “I agree.”

  “And once he knows, will he surrender the girl?”

  “Knowing Nicholas, I fear not.”

  “What interest can he possibly have in keeping her alive?”

  “Nicholas’s interests are varied and eclectic. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn that he wishes to study the human, rather than terminate her.”

  “He is a fool.”

  Tiberius said nothing.

  “If he puts himself between the Alliance and the girl,” Dirque said, “you understand that your friend may die.”

  “I understand.”

  Dirque drew in a breath. “I am pleased you see the full scope of the problem, and that your actions are not stymied by either friendship or a false sense of obligation.”

  “My actions are motivated by survival,” Tiberius said. “My own, and the Alliance’s.”

  Dirque’s smile was slow and thin. “You’re wiser than I have ever given you credit for.”

  “Sir,” Tariq began, taking a step toward his uncle’s bed. “I’m not following. What about the girl? What power?” The two Alliance members exchanged glances, and Tariq felt a sharp tug of irritation. “You have tasked me to assist the Alliance, and I’m honored to do so, but I can be very little help without knowing exactly what you are concerned about.”

  Dirque remained silent.

  “He must know,” Tiberius said. “He cannot fight what he does not understand.”

 
; “Yes,” Dirque said, and Tariq saw what looked like fear sparking in his uncle’s deep yellow eyes.

  That, however, was impossible. The master jinn feared nothing.

  “Yes,” Dirque repeated. “Of course.” He drew in a breath and faced Tariq, all signs of fear gone. Instead, there was only the familiar strength and a cold determination. “For over two thousand years the Alliance has waited and watched, fearing the fruition of the prophecy spoken to us by the Oracle at Delphi.”

  “A prophecy?”

  “From the touch of Eve, destruction shall rise—a third, powerful and changed, who emerges from the earth, and who will fell the piers upon which the shadows rule, and take back that which was stolen.”

  Tariq shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

  “An enemy comes,” Tiberius said, moving closer. “Someone created from the touch of a woman, who will destroy the Alliance.”

  “The Alliance?”

  “The piers upon which the shadows rule,” Dirque said.

  “The Alliance controls the shadowers,” Tariq said, as the pieces fell into place. “And a pier—”

  “Supports,” Dirque said. “The piers of a house form its foundation. One falls, and the house cannot survive.”

  “And you think the girl is this enemy?”

  “No,” Tiberius said. “The girl is Eve. The enemy was Sergius.”

  Tariq frowned. “But Serge is dead.”

  “And as long as Petra lives, she can create another just like him.”

  Understanding dawned. “Shit,” he whispered. “It does fit. But what does the third mean?” Tariq asked. “The third try?”

  “You are not so young, nephew. How can it be that you are not familiar with the histories?”

  “You mean the mythology.” A whole bunch of bullshit stories about the way the shadowers came into being.

  “All myths begin with a kernel of fact.”

  Tariq looked sideways at his uncle. “So you’re telling me that vampires and werewolves and jinns and para-daemons all descend from two warring brothers? Seriously?”

  “Is that so hard to believe?”

  It seemed pretty damn absurd, actually. Two brothers who crossed over from another dimension and found the earth a vast paradise, with weak humans whom they could bend to their will, either enslaving or endowing with the powers of their world, changing them into creatures no longer human. A ridiculous origination myth, as silly as stories about Zeus or Thor or whatever else ancient peoples had put their faith in.

  But as ridiculous as it sounded, Tariq could see in his uncle’s eyes that the stories were not myth to him, but fact. And Tariq knew better than to challenge his uncle. For that matter, he wasn’t so naïve as to think that Tiberius would put Montegue’s head on the chopping block unless they were dealing with some truly serious shit.

  Maybe the stories were real and maybe they weren’t. But something was definitely going down. “Okay,” he finally said. “All right. But what’s the third?”

  “Who,” Tiberius said. “The proper question is, ‘Who is the third?’ ”

  “Over time, the stories have changed,” Dirque said. “They speak now only of the two brothers, fathers to the therians and vampires, the para-daemons and the wraiths. Fathers to us all.”

  “But there was another,” Tiberius added. “A third brother. The most powerful of all. And the other two killed him, stealing his power before burying him in the earth. It is the third from whom humans draw their power when they dabble in the black arts.”

  “You’re saying witches are part of the shadow world?”

  “We are saying the third brother will rise again,” Dirque said. “I’m saying that the girl can draw him forth. And when she does, he will seek revenge from those who destroyed him.”

  “The Alliance,” Tariq said, finally understanding. “Every member of the Alliance is descended from the first two brothers.”

  “So the stories go,” Dirque said. “But have no fear, nephew. As you said, it is only mythology.”

  Tariq paced the room, not sure what to think about this revelation.

  “For years, the Alliance has sought to prevent the Oracle’s words from coming to pass,” Tiberius said. “We have sought out those whose touch brings the change. We destroyed their lines, and we thought the job had been finished.”

  “We didn’t know about the girl,” Dirque said. “As long as she walks, the threat of the end of the Alliance walks with her.”

  Despite the absurdity, fear slid through Tariq, as insidious as a snake. But it was a fear tempered by ambition. And by the possibility of revenge as well. He lifted his head and looked the vampire straight in the eyes. “Montegue’s chummy with Lucius Dragos, am I wrong?”

  He knew Luke well. Actually, he’d tried to kill the bloodsucker in Munich almost six centuries ago, and that hadn’t exactly gone off as planned. He’d paid the price back then at Luke’s fists, and had continued to pay the price over time, bending over and taking it whenever Luke needed a favor. Frankly, he was getting damn tired of it, but Luke was not a man you wanted to cross.

  “Is that relevant?” Tiberius asked.

  “Might be,” Tariq said. “Luke’s mate works at Division. Montegue must have had help on the inside. Wouldn’t surprise me a bit to find out that Sara Constantine’s knee-deep in this shit. Hell, she may even know exactly where Montegue’s taken the girl.” He smiled, thinking that maybe, for the first time, he had Lucius Dragos by the balls.

  “You do what you need to do,” his uncle said, as Tiberius stood tall and silent, frustration rolling off him in waves. “Use whatever resources you need, conscript whatever personnel you want. But you find Petra Lang,” Dirque continued. “You find her, and you end this.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Her middle came back first, then her lungs, and she gasped in air, suddenly starved for oxygen. Her arms and legs came next, and although she was aware that she was being put back together, it didn’t seem strange. Probably because she’d never actually felt like she was apart.

  She had no idea how much time had passed, and the small, windowless room gave her no additional information.

  In front of her, Nicholas pulled off his hood, wincing as the movement irritated the knife wound in his chest.

  “You’re bleeding. Do you need … you know … to feed?” As a private investigator in the shadow world, she’d worked with vampires for years, but that didn’t mean she understood the various ins and outs of their nature. All she knew for sure was that he wouldn’t try to feed off of her—wouldn’t pull her close and press his lips to her neck. Not unless he wanted to become the monster.

  He didn’t even glance down at his wound. “I’ll live. How are you doing? The mist can be disorienting for a human.”

  The mist. She remembered, except it wasn’t a memory as much as a dream, something wispy and unreal and utterly provocative.

  They’d been twined together, body to body, blood to blood. The only time her body—albeit not her flesh—had ever touched anyone other than her brother, and even with him she’d only held hands, and the pleasure of contact had been overshadowed by the torment of the blue moon.

  Try as she might, she couldn’t recall anything specific about the contact with Nicholas, only the hint of sensation upon a breath of memory. Her essence remembered, though, and the heat that coursed through her made her wish all the more that she’d been aware throughout the transformation.

  “Petra?”

  “I’m fine. A little fuzzy,” she added, the lie meant to cover the burst of unfamiliar sensations.

  “I apologize. It’s not the ideal way for a human to travel.”

  “You got me out of there. I’m hardly going to question your methods.”

  She squinted at him, suddenly intrigued by Nicholas as a man, and not merely an advocate. For more than a month she’d met regularly with him as he’d briefed her case. She’d noticed his good looks—because how could you not? And she’d been impressed by how
damn smart he was. But she’d never thought about what it would be like to touch him. What would be the point?

  Her life was her life, and she’d learned to live with it. Having to go grocery shopping in the middle of the night when the crowds were thin. Avoiding opening night at the movies. The unyielding precautions, the constant awareness that even a gentle caress was impossible. All part of the parcel that made up her life.

  Most of the time she didn’t mind it. Didn’t even think about it, really, except sometimes late at night, when she couldn’t sleep, and the dark stretched out in front of her. Then she wondered what it would be like to share her life with someone else, someone other than her brother. Someone who’d chosen to be with her. Who loved her.

  Someone who could touch her, and whom she could touch back.

  On those nights, she’d hug her pillow tight and think about what she did have. A brother who loved her. A house with a flower garden. A job she was good at.

  And a long list of sorcerers and witches to track down one by one, with the fervent hope that one could remove her curse. Fight magic with magic. Bury it. Hide it. Change it. She didn’t care, as long as she was free of it.

  So far, she’d found no one with magic strong enough to change her.

  Until she did, she wouldn’t think about men.

  That had been her creed since puberty, and although she sounded like a commercial for a fish-without-a-bicycle philosophy, it really was the truth. Men weren’t on her radar. She hadn’t let them be on her radar.

  Apparently today her radar had decided to fight back.

  The mist. The twining had awakened something in her, and she didn’t know how to shut down what was now churning inside her. Honestly, she wasn’t sure she wanted to.

  “Lie down,” he said, his brow knit with concern as he examined her face. “You’re still disoriented from the poison and the transformation.”

  She shook her head, determined to find her center. “No. I’m good.” She lifted her eyes to meet his, felt a small shift in her gut, and pushed past it. “Where are we?”

  “Safe,” he said. “Right now, that’s all you need to know.”