When Wicked Craves

by J. K. Beck

  Press, again … again …

  Press, again … again …

  Were it not for the curse, his lips would close over hers, and he would use his functioning but unnecessary lungs to breathe sweet life into her. With Petra, he could only manipulate her heart and try to start it beating once again.

  Press, again … again …

  Press, again … again …

  Nothing, and the fingers of fear that had been clinging to him tightened their grip. He couldn’t lose her—not now. Not before their quest had even truly begun.

  “Dammit, Petra, come back!”

  “Holy fuck!” The voice came from the cabin, and Nick spared a look. A werewolf stood there, concern on his face.

  “You’re Gunnolf’s pilot?”

  “Yeah. Name’s Pyre. What happened?”

  “Get me a pitcher of water,” he said. “And then get us in the air.”

  Pyre did, and Nick doused her with it, the action equal parts instinct and anger. “Dammit, Petra. Goddammit, don’t you fucking do this.”

  Another compression … and another …

  And then a sound.

  So soft he almost didn’t hear it over the roar of the engine. Wouldn’t have heard it were it not for the preternatural hearing inherent in his nature.

  He stilled, listening again, every muscle in his body tense with anticipation. He needed her, and until he knew that he had not lost her, he couldn’t relax, couldn’t let down his guard or—

  She moved.

  “Petra!” He tossed the jacket back over her and gave a gentle shake as the plane broke contact with the ground and rose into the air. Beneath his hand, she shifted, and the surge of relief that flooded through him was so palpable he had to sit back, press the heels of his hands to his forehead, and say a silent thank-you to whatever power had decided to look out for him.

  Her eyelids fluttered, then closed again. Fuck.

  “Petra.” He leaned close. “Petra, can you hear me?”

  She made a low moaning sound, and Nick frowned, terrified that the damage within would drag her back toward death.

  “Petra,” he said softly. “Open your mouth.”

  She didn’t answer, but her lips parted slightly. It was enough. He lifted his wrist to his mouth, closed his eyes, and sank his fangs deep into his wrist. He couldn’t press the wound to her lips, but he let the drops of blood fall onto her lips, into her mouth. And slowly, ever so slowly, the color returned to her skin and her eyes fluttered open.

  “Nicholas?” She blinked, then turned her head from side to side, taking in her surroundings. “We’re on the plane? What happened?”

  “Your goddamn brother killed you. Your heart stopped and everything.”

  “What?” Her forehead crinkled in confusion and shock, and he forced himself to rein in his anger. Now wasn’t the time to rag on Kiril, especially when Nick was to blame as well. And now that the danger appeared past, he could afford to be generous to both of them.

  “It’s okay,” he said gently. “You’re okay now.”

  “Kiril?”

  “He didn’t realize, but that damn wind of his—I thought it was going to pull you apart.”

  She shifted, then propped herself up on her elbows with enough energy that he relaxed, realizing the blood had done its trick. “I did, too,” she said. “He would have, I think, if I hadn’t told him to stop.”

  Nick rocked back on his heels, her words not making sense. “If you hadn’t what?”

  “Told him.” She sat completely up, then lifted her fingers to massage her temples. He shifted, realized he was about to put his arm around her in a gesture of support, and pulled back.

  She licked her lips, her forehead crinkling as she frowned. “That’s blood. My blood? Or …”

  “Mine,” he said, then eased closer as she scooted backward, shaking her head in protest.

  “Wait a minute,” she said. “Wait just a minute. What the hell did you do to me?”

  “I told you. For a few seconds, you died. I did CPR—heart compressions. But it wasn’t enough. I—”

  She stopped, her body stiff, her eyes right on his. “Died?”

  “If I hadn’t given you some of my blood, you would have slipped back into death. What?” he asked, looking at her face. “What is it?”

  “Nothing,” she said, but she didn’t look at him as she spoke, and her forehead puckered slightly as if in question.

  “Doesn’t look like nothing.”

  “Just … I feel strange. Shivery.” As if in illustration, she trembled. “Probably just shock or something. I’m okay. Really.”

  He considered arguing, because he was certain she wasn’t being completely honest. It wasn’t something he had the chance to pursue, though, because her questions continued.

  “Am I going to change? Your blood, I mean. It doesn’t make me a vamp or anything, does it?”

  “No. It only helps you to heal, might possibly make you a bit stronger. Give you more energy.” That wasn’t entirely true, but considering how pissed she’d been when he got into her head, he didn’t think this was the time to tell her that he was now attuned to her. That he could find her in his thoughts. That he could lose himself in her emotions.

  “Nicholas?” This time she met his eyes dead on. A stray hair curled against her cheek, and he had to clasp his thumb inside his fist to fight the urge to brush it away, to feel the silk of her skin under his touch.

  “Yes?”

  She hesitated, and he wondered what she intended to say. When she finally uttered a soft, “Thank you,” he was certain that wasn’t what she had first planned to say.

  He chose not to call her on it. “Anytime.”

  She reached up and grabbed an armrest. “I think it’s standard to actually sit in the seats when on an airplane.”

  “Standard, but not nearly as interesting.”

  The plane had only eight seats, two sets of four, each set surrounding a table. They both took window seats facing each other, and as soon as they were seated, Petra pressed her hand to the shade. She didn’t move to lift it, though. The sun was dipping toward the horizon, but hadn’t sunk yet, and he realized that she understood what that meant for him as well as he did.

  Her mouth curved into a quick frown as she pulled back from the window. “Gotta admit, I’ve never been crazy about flying. It seems … unnatural,” she added, then grinned at him. “Kind of a crazy thing to say considering what I am and the world we live in.”

  “More crazy when you consider it’s one of the most natural things in the world.”

  She raised her brows. “Several tons of steel soaring through the sky is natural?”

  “The forces that make flight possible have been present since the dawn of time. Weight, lift, drag, and thrust. Just because it took men a while to recognize them and learn how to manipulate them doesn’t make the action itself unnatural.”

  “Point taken,” she said. “But that doesn’t change the fact that we’re thirty thousand feet in the air, and it’s a long way to the ground.” She leaned back in her seat and sighed. “Then again, it’s better than the alternative.”

  “The alternative?”

  “Duh. Mist. What do you think? That was the freakiest thing ever.”

  He recalled what she’d said about telling Kiril to stop, the import of her words suddenly hitting him. “Are you telling me you were aware?”

  She grimaced as she flexed her arms, then looked at him with a curious expression. As if he was either joking or an idiot. “Well, yeah.”

  “This time. But what about before? When we left the prison? When we traveled to your house?”

  “I’m getting the distinct impression that I’m freaking you out.”

  “You’re human. You shouldn’t feel anything when you’re mist.”

  “No? Well, that doesn’t seem fair. Although this last time I would have been happy to have been blissfully unaware.”

  He leaned back, his mind whirring with the possi
bilities. “You are human?”

  “Well, yeah. I mean, I’d know if I wasn’t, wouldn’t I?”

  “You felt me,” he said, thoughtfully. “Back at the warehouse. You realized that I’d gotten into your head. Most mortals can’t feel that, either.”

  She laughed. “And that makes you wonder if I’m mortal? Or are you just frustrated that you got caught?”

  He surprised himself by grinning in return. “A little of both.”

  “Not used to things not going your way, are you?”

  “I’m not.”

  “Stick with me,” she said. “I’ve got it down to a science.”

  She sat there, still unsteady, and yet self-assured as well. A woman who could take care of herself, who’d had no choice but to do exactly that. A woman with secrets, who was so much more than met the eyes. “What did you mean when you said you told Kiril to stop?”

  “Is this a trick question? I told him to stop. Screamed it. I couldn’t take it—he was ripping me apart. It was like all the bits and pieces of me were supposed to stay together, but he was messing that all up, and it hurt. Oh God, it hurt so bad.”

  “He was,” Nick said. “And somehow you told him so.”

  “And that bugs you?”

  “It may be a clue.”

  “To the curse?”

  “I don’t know,” Nick admitted. “But the more information I have about you—about what makes you and your family tick—the better.” He cocked his head, looking at her thoughtfully.

  “What?”

  “What’s the source of your power, Petra Lang? You say you’re human—that your family is—but if that’s so, then where does your power flow from?”

  “Are you saying I’m more like you than my next-door neighbor? Believe it if that makes you feel better, but I’m human. I can get sick, I can die, and whatever power I have is channeled through me. It’s not part of me.” She looked him up and down. “I haven’t changed into something else entirely.”

  “Interesting,” he said, more to himself than to her. He’d often pondered the nature of humanity. He’d started out human, and yet vampires were decidedly not. Still, though, he had retained his passions, his interests and fascinations. He was still capable of love, and an opera could make his heart swell to the stars.

  So wherein exactly did humanity lie?

  It was not a question to which he had an answer, and as his years on this earth ticked by, Nick had become acutely aware that he still had more questions than answers. What was the point of immortality if the most basic of mysteries were left unresolved?

  With Petra, perhaps he could explore at least some of those questions. “From where do you channel the power?”

  “First of all,” she said, “I don’t. I already told you. I pretty much suck.”

  “And yet you almost burned through that guard’s uniform and conjured a wall of fire.”

  “Score one for the man in the tight denim. I can manage a little. But not much.”

  “I’m not asking about volume,” he said. “I’m inquiring about the source.”

  “Mother Earth. Same as all witches. The earth. The universe. Power of nature.” She lifted a shoulder. “Whatever.”

  “Power of the earth,” he repeated. “Maybe we’re not as different as you think. Perhaps we have the same point of origin.”

  “God?” She spoke the word as if she’d just blurted out the most amusing of jokes.

  “Do you believe in God?” he asked, curious despite himself about the way this female thought.

  She exhaled, managing to make the simple puff of air sound like hell no. “Not in a benevolent god, that’s for sure. Look what he’s done to me.” She crossed her arms and looked at him. “You?”

  “I remain undecided.”

  “Yeah? I would have thought after all these years, you would have picked a side. Or maybe it’s not that interesting a question to you anymore?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, does it really matter?” she asked. “For someone who’s going to live forever, I mean.”

  “That’s the same as saying that simply because one won’t experience something that it holds no value. I would argue that your premise is unsound.”

  “You would, huh? I have a feeling you’d argue about a lot of things.”

  At that, he had to laugh. “Yes, well, you would be right about that.”

  “Bring it on.”

  He was tempted. It had been a long time—too long—since he’d gotten lost in the joy of arguing the nature of the world simply for the sake of arguing, but now was not the time.

  He stood.

  “Hey, wait a sec. You were going to tell me how we’re the same. Obviously the God guess was wrong.”

  He knew he should go. That he should let her sleep. That he shouldn’t get too used to losing himself in conversation with this woman.

  He sat anyway. “I wasn’t speaking of God. Not like you meant, anyway.”

  Her eyes narrowed, and she cocked her head. “What? That shadow mythology? The bit about the two brothers?”

  “There were three, actually,” he said. “Three brothers from another dimension who crossed over, and then did battle among themselves. The third was the strongest, and the other two coveted his power.”

  “They killed him,” Petra said. “Yeah, I remember this now. I heard some of those stories when I was doing a job a few years ago.” She pulled her feet up onto the seat and hugged her knees. “You believe all that?”

  “Not word for word, but is it any less possible than vampires or werewolves?” He conjured a smile. “Or soaring thirty thousand feet above the ground?”

  “Okay, you win. For the sake of argument we’ll say it’s all true. Family feud among the big guys, just like Zeus getting all gnarly with the Titans. But what does it have to do with me?”

  “Legend says that the brothers buried the third in the earth after draining his power. But they didn’t destroy his body, and the corpse housed its own raw power.”

  “Black magic,” she said. “Voodoo and all that stuff. It’s supposedly from the earth.”

  “White magic, too. Power is power; all that changes is the way it’s used.”

  She was nodding, her expression suggesting that she understood what he was saying. Believed it, even. “So all this Mother Earth stuff. It’s really Father Earth? Or Big Brother Badass Earth?”

  He cupped his chin to help suppress a laugh. “Something like that.”

  “It does make some sense. Kiril’s gifts focus the air, mine focus fire.” She rolled her eyes. “When I can make them work, that is. And my curse …” She trailed off, her forehead creasing in thought. “If it comes from the earth, too, then that would mean—”

  “That would mean that you turned Serge into nothing less than a force of nature. And a pretty damn pissed-off one at that.” He frowned as he spoke, realizing he’d just put voice to a theory that had been growing quietly in his mind.

  Petra’s eyes were wide. “Wow. You really think so?”

  “I don’t know,” Nick admitted. “I’m just articulating a hypothesis.”

  “If it’s right, though, then we really are going to the right place,” she said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “To find an alchemist. Because isn’t alchemy all about the earth and elements and stuff?”

  Nick grinned. “At its most basic, yes.”

  “Well, that’s what I’m saying. If my curse is earth magic and Serge is some earth monster, then getting help from an alchemist really does make sense. Maybe he can do with science what no sorcerer has been able to do with a spell.”

  “You doubted my plan?” He added a tone of mock shock to his voice.

  “Actually, no,” she said. She tapped her temple. “Considering what you’ve got going on up here, I’m not inclined to doubt you. Not about alchemy being the way to go, anyway.”

  “Then what?”

  “Is Ferrante going to help us? Back in Los An
geles, I had the impression you two had a falling out, and—”

  “He’ll help us.” He spoke firmly, intending to stop the conversation in its tracks. Petra, however, didn’t take the hint.

  “How can you be so sure?”

  He wanted to drop it. To smother her with platitudes and end the conversation right there. But she deserved to know whom they were searching for—and why their one, best hope might tell them to take a flying leap. “I’m not sure,” he finally said. “But as far as I know—as far as anyone knows—Ferrante is the only one who ever achieved one of alchemy’s ultimate goals.”

  “Immortality.”

  Nick nodded. “And with immortality comes the concept of the universal panacea.”

  “A cure for anything. So either he’s got a formula that will cure me—”

  “Or he has the expertise to find a way.”

  “And you worked with him?” she asked.

  “He was my mentor for many years.”

  “And then something bad happened,” she said, leaning forward, obviously interested in his story. “And you haven’t talked to him in hundreds of years.”

  “That is a very accurate summation.”

  “So what happened?”

  Nick closed his eyes, fighting the pain of those memories, the horrors of the past rising up to taunt him. He’d never spoken of it to anyone, not even to Lissa.

  “It’s okay, you know,” she said, sounding both reassuring and matter-of-fact. “We’re in this together, right? And think about who you’re talking to. As bad shit goes, I’m a walking worst-case scenario.”

  “I betrayed him,” Nick said, surprising himself with the words. “I betrayed him in the most horrible of ways.”

  She looked at him, and he was certain she was looking at the vampire, not the man, and at the daemon inside. “How?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “If this guy’s going to blow us away with a shotgun if we even get near him, then, yeah, I think it matters. You said ‘everything,’ and ‘everything’ isn’t just me, me, me. It matters.”

  “The why of it doesn’t,” Nick insisted. “But yes, it’s quite likely that he will be less than thrilled to see me. He should have no reason, however, to harm you.”