When Wicked Craves

by J. K. Beck

  “Left here,” Nicholas said as they approached an intersecting tunnel. “And then it’s not much farther.”

  She said a silent thank-you—her nose was going numb from the stench—and rounded the corner eagerly …

  … then drew up short when they were attacked by three huge guys: a jinn, a vampire, and a werewolf by the looks of them.

  The three leaped upon Nicholas, obviously trying to get rid of him and leave her unprotected. But she was so not letting them get away with that. She snatched a soda bottle out of the satchel, opened it up, dropped three tinfoil balls in, and then tossed it near their feet.

  “Nicholas!” she called, and watched as he threw himself to the side, while the other three, slower to react, got thrown backward by the force of the blast.

  A lot of force.

  She gaped at it, pretty damn impressed.

  Nicholas, meanwhile, had prepared another bomb, and threw it into the group. It exploded at the vampire’s feet, catching his clothes on fire.

  The creature transformed to mist immediately, the action itself extinguishing the flames, and Petra took one of the smoke bomb condoms, lit it, and tossed it into the mist.

  She had no idea if that would mess up the vampire’s navigational power, but it made her feel better.

  As she did that, though, the jinn had attacked Nicholas, knocking him to the ground. She ran toward them, planning to kick the creature off Nick, but she was pulled back by a tug on her arm. She stumbled toward the weren who’d grabbed her, and he held a hand out to stop her, his fingers brushing her cheek as he did.

  She froze, and so did he.

  And he didn’t change.

  She drew in a breath, realizing it wasn’t yet sunrise. It was still a blue moon. And that meant she could touch.

  With teeth clenched tight, she balled up her fist, got some power going, and slammed her knuckles right into the bastard’s nose—all while he was still standing there, shell-shocked, obviously wondering why he hadn’t turned into Monster Boy.

  She shook out her fist. It was sore, but damn it felt good.

  “Smoke bombs!” Nicholas said. While she’d sucker punched the weren, Nicholas had gotten out from under the jinn.

  A huge explosion rocked the area, and she realized he’d tossed in the last of his explosive bottles. Now he wanted to cover their tracks with smoke.

  She ran toward him, trying but not managing to light the things as they went. In the end, she passed them to him, and they dropped four. The bombs exploded in succession, leaving the intersecting tunnels a smoke-filled mess.

  “Hurry,” Nicholas urged, and as they ran, she heard the chirp of his cellphone. He didn’t answer it, not until they were sure they’d lost their attackers and were settled on the train heading toward the airport.

  Only then did he punch the button to retrieve voice mail. And while he listened, Petra leaned back on the molded plastic seat, breathing hard, but feeling alive. She looked at her punching hand. Alive, she thought, and kick-ass.

  Nicholas slipped his phone back into his pocket, and she was about to ask if he’d seen her first-ever punch. But the expression on his face stopped her. “What’s wrong?”

  “Serge is out,” he said, his tone flat.

  “He escaped?” She couldn’t get her head around it. “How the hell could he have escaped?”

  Nicholas just shook his head. “Luke was there with Rand and Lissa. Somehow, he just went through the glass.”

  She slammed her hand down hard on the seat beside her. “Dammit! He’s out there because of me, Nicholas. He’s going to kill because of me.”

  “We’re going to stop him,” Nicholas said, his voice firm. No nonsense. “Luke and Rand will find him. They’ll capture him. And we’ll cure him.”

  “Yeah? Well, here’s a question—why the hell are they even still alive?”

  That was a damn good question, Nick thought. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “Neither does Luke. Serge attacked, and he—well, apparently he stole their essence.”

  She stared at him. “Come again?”

  He explained, and when he was done she was still staring. “But … but are they okay?”

  “Luke says they’re both fine. Although it took hours, they got back to normal.”

  “Thank God. And he didn’t hurt them?”

  Nick hesitated. “Luke thinks he would have. But he stopped. Luke isn’t sure why. Said it looked like he had other plans.” He stared hard at her. “Your feelings. Petra, is there anything more you can tell me?”

  She shook her head. “No. I told you. It’s murky. Strange. I didn’t even realize he’d escaped. The connection just isn’t that tight.”

  Nick nodded, and even though that connection could help them, he could only be glad that among all her other burdens, she didn’t have to live inside the mind of a monster, too.

  CHAPTER 23

  Luke had seen a lot during his years on earth, but the bloodbath inside Dirque’s mansion was enough to make even his stomach roil. One of Dirque’s perimeter guards had discovered the body—or, rather, the pieces of body—less than an hour before at a shift change, and now the house was crawling with crime-scene techs and investigators, including Agent Ryan Doyle, a percipient daemon whom Luke had once called friend, and now tried not to call on at all.

  It was almost three hours until sunrise, and most of Los Angeles still slept. But not in this house, now painted, literally, with blood. The walls were splattered with blood, and in the carnage a finger had traced the word kill over and over and over. And everywhere, the simple number three.

  Amid the carnage, activity reigned, everyone as busy as possible, their minds focused on the job so they wouldn’t have to focus on the question that hovered silent in the air—who the fuck could have done this?

  That question wasn’t on Luke’s mind. He already knew the answer. Serge.

  Beside him, Tiberius stood still and tall, his dark eyes surveying the room. As the Los Angeles area governor and a member of the Alliance, Tiberius had been notified of the murder immediately. Tiberius, in turn, had called Luke.

  Across the room, the front door opened, and Tariq rushed in. He looked around, his glance stopping only briefly upon Luke, then halting on Tiberius. He stood straighter, shoulders back, and hurried to the governor. “Sir,” he said, and as Luke watched, he realized there wasn’t the slightest sign of mourning in the jinn. Only a desperate ambition so thick that Luke had caught its scent from halfway across the room.

  “It appears that my theory was right,” Tariq said. He stood facing Tiberius, but his eyes shifted sideways, taking Luke in.

  “That may be so,” Tiberius said, “but it has yet to be established. You are currently observing the girl’s brother? Should I assume by your presence here that you have lost him?”

  A deep red color began to creep up Tariq’s neck, and Luke knew that Tiberius’s arrow had hit home. “I was coming to report on that very subject when I got word of my uncle’s death.”

  “You have my deepest sympathies,” Tiberius said. “What of the brother?”

  “We followed him to the airport, and in light of his earlier actions, we believe it is safe to assume that he is traveling to meet up with his sister.”

  “Where?”

  Tariq cleared his throat. “He bought five tickets online before leaving his house, sir, on different airlines, all with essentially the same departure times.”

  Luke bit back a laugh. The brother was clever, all right.

  “I’ve tasked five agents, each with a ticket on one of the flights. They will remain at the airport until boarding just after dawn, and we will see which flight Kiril truly takes. That being said, I believe I already know his destination.”

  “And why is that?”

  “The tickets are for London, Zurich, Paris, Frankfurt, and Rome. Of all of those, we are already aware of a Paris connection.”

  “You wish to take that chance?”

  “I do,” Tariq said. �
��If I utilize a Division para-daemon as escort, my team and I can travel to Paris by wormhole and arrive prior to Kiril.”

  “And if he does not arrive at all? If he steps off a plane in Rome?”

  “Then at least I am already in Europe.”

  “I can find no fault with your reasoning. Go. And report to me upon your arrival.”

  Tariq inclined his head. “Sir,” he said, and then turned to leave, without giving Luke even a second glance.

  Tiberius looked at Luke. “You didn’t like him three centuries ago, and you do not like him still. Why is that?”

  “He is a snake.”

  “He’s ambitious. Is that a crime?”

  “He is a snake,” Luke repeated, and thought of Sara in her cell and his plan to free her. With luck, the opportunity would present itself here.

  Beside him, Tiberius was once again looking around at the carnage. “Tell me true, Lucius Dragos, not under the bond of friendship, but under the bond of kyne,” he said, referring to the secret brotherhood that served the Alliance. “Did Tariq stumble upon the truth? Does Sergius still live?”

  Luke considered lying, but abandoned the notion. No matter his misjudgments, Tiberius was his friend. More than that, to the extent he controlled his daemon, Luke had Tiberius to thank. The elder vamp had forced him into the Holding, had made him kyne, had trusted him with his life more times than Luke could count.

  He had kept the secret for Serge’s sake. But the monster was out now, and Dirque’s death was only the beginning. When he and Nick had captured Serge right after the change, he’d been wild and raging and strong, and that had seemed plenty bad. In the months that had passed, though, he’d grown exponentially stronger and had developed some pretty nasty new skills along with a significant level of control. Luke thought about the way Serge had pulled power from him. The way he’d taken on the appearance of a weren after stealing power from Rand.

  Most of all he thought about the way Serge had stood there with awareness on his face, his expression turned inward as if he were calculating or reviewing a plan of attack.

  Serge was something new and even more dangerous, that was for damn sure. Earlier, Tiberius had told Luke that Petra’s touch could bring about the end of the Alliance. Now he believed he understood what the master had meant.

  “Yes,” Luke finally said. “He lives.”

  “I see.” Tiberius stood tall and straight, power seeming to radiate from him, as if he was having to work hard to hold it in, as if one wrong word would make the whole world explode. “And yet we had no sign. The streets have been free of violence—of this level at any rate. It begins only now. Why?”

  “He was being held,” Luke said.

  Tiberius’s brow rose. “And you decided to simply let him go?” There was a hint of humor under his words despite the seriousness of the topic, and for that, Luke was glad. There would be retribution for him and for Nick, but perhaps the rift between them and Tiberius would not be permanent.

  “Not exactly, Excellency.”

  “And has it been confirmed that this is Serge’s handiwork?”

  “I don’t know,” Luke said, searching the room until he found Doyle in a corner, his face pale and his muscles slack. His partner, Severin Tucker, held Doyle’s arm and began to urge him toward the door. Luke moved to intercept, with Tiberius beside him.

  “A word,” Luke said.

  “I’ll give you two,” Doyle said. “Fuck off.”

  “What did you see?” Tiberius asked, apparently unperturbed by Doyle’s venom.

  “Ask him,” Doyle said, lifting his chin toward Luke. “Goddamn selfish bastard, going and getting his woman involved in this mess. Getting Sara tossed in a cell. You don’t deserve her, you fucking bloodsucker.”

  Luke stepped forward, hands clenched in fists of tight rage even as the daemon rose within. Only Tiberius’s hand upon Luke’s shoulder saved Doyle’s ugly face from becoming even uglier.

  “I am asking you, Agent Doyle,” Tiberius said.

  “Fine, goddammit.”

  “You were able to get a clear vision from Chairman Dirque?”

  “Yeah, we got lucky. The guard found him when he was still warm.” Luke knew that Doyle’s gift allowed him to take the last vision and emotion from a victim. To see it and process it. But once the death was cold and the aura faded, even Doyle’s gifts couldn’t coax out a vision. He looked between Luke and Tiberius. “I don’t think I’m telling either of you anything you didn’t already know, but in case you want to hear it all official-like, then yeah, our perp is Sergius.”

  Tiberius’s nod was quick and sharp. “Thank you, Agent. That will be all.”

  Doyle hesitated before succumbing to Tucker’s tug at his arm, and in that brief hesitation, Luke saw Doyle’s contempt for vampires painted all over his face, so clear he was certain Tiberius saw it as well. The governor, however, didn’t speak of it.

  Instead, he railed on Luke.

  “You did this for friendship?” he asked, leading Luke to a quiet corner where they would not be overheard. “Do you have any idea what horrors your friend can wreak?”

  A cold rage snapped within Luke. “I saw my wife today for twenty minutes, Tiberius, in a goddamned cell. A cell. Tell me what you wish to tell me, and do so plainly. Or tell me nothing at all.”

  Tiberius studied him, then nodded. “I told you earlier that it has been prophesied that Petra’s touch could bring the destruction of the Alliance.”

  “You did.”

  “It is through the monster that she creates.” He drew in a breath, and began to recite. “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.”

  Luke listened to the words … and feared he understood them. He turned, looking across the room at the wall covered with violent graffiti and the shape of the number three. “The third,” he said. “The third brother? You’re saying the third brother is manifest within Serge, and he will destroy the Alliance?”

  “The piers upon which the shadows rule, yes.” Tiberius swept his arm over the room. “It has begun,” he said. “And now I must call upon the obligation of friendship and upon your oath as kyne.”

  Luke tensed, listening. As kyne, he often undertook missions for Tiberius in his role as vampiric liaison to the Alliance, eradicating those who presented problems that the Preternatural Enforcement Coalition was unable to adequately resolve. Now he was afraid that Tiberius would send him after Serge. And even though he knew his friend existed no more, that was not an assignment he wanted.

  Even so, he drew in a breath and asked, “What do you ask of me, Excellency?”

  “You will serve as my bodyguard until this danger has passed.”

  Luke let the words—and relief—flow around him. He knew that he should accept without hesitation, but he didn’t. Instead, he was examining the chance that Tiberius’s request offered. A chance that Luke had been hoping for, but one full of risk.

  It was worth the risk.

  “I would be honored, Excellency,” he said. “Would you care to know the cost of such service?”

  As he expected, Tiberius’s eyes widened with both surprise and anger. “Cost? Are you not kyne?”

  “I am,” Luke said, keeping his speech formal and respectful. “And friend, too. But my wife is accused of treachery and even now sits in a prison. You can set her free.”

  “She assisted a prison escape.”

  “She was accused of such,” Luke acknowledged. “She was framed.”

  Tiberius tilted his head to study Luke. “Was she? By whom?”

  “Who can be certain?” Luke said. “But I do know that Tariq was charged with finding the person within Division who assisted Nick, a task he accomplished with remarkable swiftness considering the number of people on Division’s payroll. Ironic, isn’t it, that he arrests the wife of a man he despises.” He smiled thinly. “As yo
u pointed out, there is great animosity between us. A shame it had to spill over onto Sara.”

  Tiberius considered all of this, and Luke could see from his face that he was considering the true situation, and not simply the convenient lie that Luke was spinning. “I could insist that Sara go free. I can even urge Bosch to accept that she fell victim to a frame. I understand she has a promising career, and that should repair any damage to her reputation. But the evidence against Tariq is all circumstantial. There would never be a sufficient case made to convict.”

  “A pity,” Luke said, knowing that fact would ease Sara’s conscience. She would not be comfortable walking free while another paid for her crime. “Perhaps knowing that his attempt to frame her failed would be punishment enough.”

  “And you will remain at my side until this matter with Sergius is resolved?”

  “I will.”

  Tiberius nodded. “Then you have my bond. See me safely through this crisis, and your Sara will walk free.”

  Luke relaxed, careful not to let Tiberius see the depth of his relief. He had expected a more protracted battle and significantly more indignation on Tiberius’s part. That the master vampire conceded so easily was testament to the weight of his fear.

  Luke ran a hand through his hair, trying to organize his thoughts. That meant that the situation with the monster was worse than he’d imagined, and yet …

  He looked at Tiberius, voicing his thoughts as they became clear. “We agree that it is not Sergius who committed this crime, but the monster. The third.”

  “That is so.”

  “Then I tell you this as a friend. Nick is on a quest. He believes he can lift the curse and restore Sergius. If he does, will our friend walk free?”

  “Nick is with the girl?”

  Luke hesitated, weighing his options, and decided that truth was the moment’s best ploy. “He is.”

  “Then tell him to kill her. The moment he does, Sergius will be restored.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Luke and Tiberius stood unmoving inside Trylag’s temporary office within Division 6. The para-daemon liaison to the Alliance was pacing, his swarthy face red with frustration and anger and, Luke saw, with fear. Luke kept his position at Tiberius’s side, a massive tranquilizer gun strapped over his shoulder, an automatic pistol holstered at his side, and a knife sheathed at his thigh. Not his usual contingent of weapons, but necessary if he would have any hope of defeating Sergius. Even then, he was probably not well armed.