Blooddrinker's Prophecy

by Anna Abner

  “The Coven has been a thorn in our side for a while,” Connor told him. “They cursed Lukas with some kind of hex.”

  “Which I broke,” Roz called from the other room.

  Connor nodded. “They sent a double agent into our group who tried to kill me.”

  “But we killed her,” Roz shouted.

  “What I’m trying to say,” Connor added, “is the Coven is on a mission to make their witches top dogs in the supernatural world. Vampires, shapeshifters, and any other supernaturals aren’t welcome.”

  “So, I shouldn’t take it personally that they tried to kill me?” Maks snapped.

  “Okay,” Roz said, emerging from the dining room with her laptop in both hands, “first of all, fuck you, Maks. I want it clear to everyone here I’m not helping you. I’m helping that innocent victim in there.” She flipped him the middle finger. “Second, I found the prophecy. Hot off the presses, number one thousand eleven says, ‘The beautiful devil from Odessa will re-make the horde in his own image.’”

  Maks crossed the length of the room, turned on his heel, and headed back. “The Coven wants to destroy the horde. What better way than to take out their leadership? The only problem is, I’m not part of it. I tried to tell the Oracle I’m not leading the horde. Not even close. She wasn’t very receptive.”

  “She never is,” Connor grumbled.

  Roz dropped onto the sofa, her exhaustion obvious. Perhaps the spell she’d cast on Violet had been difficult for her, though he refused to feel guilty for yelling.

  “Maks,” Ali asked, “have you ever thought of taking over the horde?”

  “I’m a better lieutenant than I am a general,” he said. “So, no.”

  Roz spoke up. “I also found the curse they put on Violet. This is a site on the history of magic, and it’s pretty accurate. It says the best way to hurt a vampire is to cast a blood curse on them. The description of the curse matches.”

  “What does it do?” Maks asked, making another circuit of the room.

  “No matter how much blood a vampire drinks, they’ll keep starving.” She typed through websites. “Since Violet isn’t a vampire, I’ll go out on a limb and say no amount of food will satisfy her. In other words, she’ll starve to death.”

  #

  Ali perched on the arm of Connor’s chair, watching for changes in his color, his breathing, or expression. Having their home invaded by witches and foul magic must have maddened him, perhaps causing a reversal of all the progress he’d made since Monday.

  Connor glanced up, catching her eye. “Quit worrying about me,” he chastised. “I’m fine.”

  “I know.”

  He’d been drinking more and more from her since the fall. Something he’d previously been loathe to do was suddenly well within his comfort zone. She flipped one arm to stare at a bruise where not long ago he’d suckled from her.

  Startling her, he clasped the hand and squeezed. “I’m serious. I don’t want you looking at me like some fragile thing. Losing to Sergei was a setback. Nothing more.”

  She nodded, trying to shrug off her concerns, but it was damned hard.

  “In fact,” Connor said, frowning at his phone, “Markus is here to babysit the pit vampires.” He glanced up. “Want to get him?”

  “Yep.” Ali grabbed her ID and slipped out to press for the elevator.

  In the last couple weeks, Markus Hull had become a fixture in their suite. The son of the Las Vegas pack’s alpha had started as Lukas’ friend, but had quickly become an ally to the entire group. He may be young, but he was strong and strategic. Some of his attack plans rivaled Roz’s.

  In the lobby, it was impossible not to notice Markus Hull. As large as Lukas, he towered over other people and stood twice as wide as most men. A shapeshifter, he possessed strength, speed, and healing abilities that surpassed a vampire’s. But at twenty-two, he was still young and more than a little reckless.

  “Hey,” Ali greeted, waving him over.

  Markus lumbered across the tiled lobby floor, sweeping thick dark hair off his forehead. “Thanks,” he said, grinning. “What are we into today?”

  Ali chuckled. It was true. It seemed as if they were in some mess or another at least every twenty-four hours.

  “Witch attack,” Ali said, keying in their floor number on the elevator panel. “Want to check on the pit vampires? Make sure the witches didn’t do anything to mess with them?”

  Ali wasn’t super excited about the five remaining pit vampires Connor had rescued from the abandoned military installation they’d been buried under. The two men and three women were still recovering from being essentially mummified alive twenty years ago. And one of the females—Mercy, a pretty young blonde with delicate features—wouldn’t stop screaming.

  Two of the corpses they’d exhumed had remained just that. They’d been too far gone to save despite IV blood transfusions and lots of tender care from the doc.

  “Yeah, I’m in.” Markus crossed his arms and ducked his head as the lift soared upward.

  Leaning on a sleek cane with a silver rose handle, Connor waited for them in the hallway outside the elevator.

  “Hey, man.” Markus nodded at Connor, but didn’t shake hands. “I heard you jumped out a window.”

  “I was thrown, actually, but I’m healing.” Connor opened the door to the pit vampires’ suite, balancing unsteadily on his cane, and waved them in.

  From behind a closed bedroom door, Mercy’s screams could be heard over the rumble of conversation in the main room. Nothing quieted her, not the other pit vampires, not the doc, not drugs, not blood. Ali didn’t know how long Mercy could stay sane among the unstable infecteds sharing a room with her, but she held onto hope.

  Three upright, somewhat recovered vampires stood around the living room looking as anxious and jumpy as Ali felt.

  “Some witches caused trouble on this floor,” Connor announced, tapping his cane. “Did they bother you?”

  “I’d relish a visit from the Coven. Witches can be a shitload of fun,” one of the pits said, laughing bitterly. “It’s so boring in this place, I’m ready to tear my own hair out.”

  “TV’s good for boredom,” Connor told them all with a scowl. “I know you’re feeling cooped up, but we need to take it slow. There are a lot of people out on the streets, and it’s our job to protect them, sometimes from ourselves.”

  Caleb, a tall and dark figure with rage-filled eyes, threw a blood bag against the far wall where it splattered bright red on the cream paint. “I’m sick of these fucking bags,” he roared. “I need to drink.” His scary eyes flickered over Ali’s face. “From the source.”

  “We don’t do that,” Connor said.

  Markus edged in front of Ali. Rather than fight it, she shrank back a step. Caleb was big, loud, and mean. Ali had gifts, but the kind that evaporated entire bedrooms and everything in them. She’d rather not resort to mass destruction if she had another choice.

  “Fuck you,” Caleb exploded. “I don’t care what you do, but I follow the Destroyer, and he says take what we want from humans. No apologies.”

  Connor tensed. “The Destroyer’s dead,” he declared, his voice lowering, alerting Ali to his dwindling patience. “You follow me now, and if you want to stay in this group, then you learn to love blood bags.” His fierce gaze swept the crowded room. “Anyone want to leave? There are no locks anywhere in this room. Go. But hear this, if you’re not with me, then you’re against me, and any vampires killing humans for the fun of it will be put on notice. I hunt killers. If you murder innocents, then I hunt you.”

  None of the pit vampires moved to leave, not even Caleb, though he glanced pointedly at Connor’s cane as he silently fumed.

  “Good,” Connor said, his voice returning to its normal pitch. “Ali and I have an issue to deal with, but you should have plenty of blood in the fridge and a thousand channels on the television. Call me if you need anything.”

  Holy shit, Ali thought as she followed Connor and Mark
us out into the hall.

  “Don’t go in there without me,” Connor said as they crossed the carpeted hallway. “I don’t trust a single one of them.”

  “Me, either,” Ali admitted. “And I can solemnly swear to never go visiting without an escort. They’re all mad as hatters.”

  “You’re not going to check on Mercy?” Markus asked, hesitating in the hall.

  Ali looked him up and down. Since rescuing Mercy from the pit, he’d been preoccupied with the fragile blonde vampire. A germaphobe, Markus didn’t touch anyone. Except Mercy.

  Ali knew she shouldn’t encourage him since his father was not only alpha but staunchly anti-vampire. But Ali saw the way Markus cared for Mercy, and it affected her.

  “She gets a little better every day,” Ali told him gently. That was debatable, but Markus seemed relieved by her words.

  “I’m hoping this situation is only temporary,” Connor said as he pulled open the door to their suite. “With enough blood and sleep, they’ll all return to normal.”

  “What if that is their normal?” she asked, couldn’t help it. What if the screaming mad Mercy stayed that way? What if Caleb had always and would always be a raging dickhead?

  Connor shook his head, blowing out air in a frustrated gesture. “I honestly don’t know.” His right hand snaked over and clasped hers with a gentleness his size and strength belied. “But if I can, I want to help them.”

  #

  Maks frowned at the shadows around Violet’s sunken eyes and the lines bracketing her colorless lips.

  Roz wasn’t nearly as awe-inspiring as Maks had hoped.

  Another round of healing spells. Another protracted failure.

  Maks helped Violet into the living room with her IV stand, settled her into an armchair, and briefly met Markus, another shapeshifter. He, though, seemed more focused on a game of chess against Lukas than anything Maks was doing.

  Violet whimpered, and Maks’ attention snapped back to her. He wanted to ease her pain somehow, to wrap her in blankets or feed her hot soup, but he stayed at the opposite end of the room, too afraid to move closer. He wasn’t good with women, was long out of practice taking care of one.

  “What does the research say?” Maks asked irritably. “Cause the magic’s not doing shit.”

  “Sorry I’m boring you,” Roz returned, her voice dripping sarcasm.

  Ignoring them both, Ali slipped into a seat at the dining room table beside the shifters and read from a laptop as Maks repositioned himself over her shoulder. “According to Roz’s history of magic website, it’s a blood curse. Very powerful. Immune to magic. The word starve tipped me off.”

  “Is it similar to the hex I cured for Lukas?” Roz asked, suddenly serious. “Because it doesn’t feel the same.”

  “It’s not. It’s much worse.”

  “Am I going to die?” Violet asked.

  “Eventually, yes,” Ali answered. “It’s an ironic curse for a vampire. I’m sure the Coven got a chuckle out of the thought of him feeding and feeding and never ingesting enough blood to survive. For a human being, it’s pretty vicious.”

  “Immune to magic,” Roz said sadly. “That means I’m out. Even if I knew how to reverse it, I can’t.”

  Maks slammed his fist onto the smooth, glossy table top, rattling the electronics and chessboard spread upon it. “Not good enough.”

  “Can you bring down your level of rage please?” Connor snapped. “This isn’t fight club. We don’t lose our shit over every little stumbling block.”

  Maks saw red. “Her death is a stumbling block?” He surged forward to cause pain, to inflict physical abuse, but Ali stood and put herself between them, cutting off his momentum cold.

  “Stop it,” she snapped. “You’re supposed to be an adult. Quit flying off the handle like a fucking teenager.”

  He grit his teeth and bit back an angry retort. She may be right, but he didn’t like it.

  “So, what do we do?” Violet asked. “There must be a plan B.” She stared at each person in turn, saving Maks for last. “Right?”

  Maks was not well versed in magic or the doings of the Coven, but he’d been around a long time and seen a lot of things. One in particular came to mind. “I might have an idea.”

  “What is it?” Ali demanded. “Don’t hold back. Spit it out.”

  “When I lived in the Ukraine there was a woman,” he said, thinking back to his human life so long ago. “There was a witch rumored to live in a village in the mountains.”

  Roz’s forehead creased. “There are a lot of witches, but this spell is immune to magic.”

  “She’s not just any witch,” Maks continued. “She was called the First Witch.”

  “As in the first of us all?” Roz asked, shocked. “I don’t understand.”

  “If anyone can help us, it would be her,” Maks said. “She’s the source of magic, which to me means she can control all magic, even this.”

  “Is she still in the Ukraine?” Connor asked.

  “I don’t know. It was almost twenty-five years ago,” Maks said.

  “What’s her name?” Roz asked, taking the laptop from Ali. “I’ll search for her.”

  “Svetlana the First is the only name I ever heard her called,” Maks said. “She lived in a village called Rory in the Carpathian Mountains.”

  “You really think she can cure me?” Violet asked.

  Maks was afraid to tell her the truth, that there may be no way to save her. “She’s probably our only hope.”

  “Don’t jump down my throat,” Lukas interjected, still re-arranging fallen pawns, “but what if we go to the Coven and explain what happened?”

  “They can’t be trusted,” Roz said. “They’re the ones who came up with this spell. And there’s no guarantee they’ll even listen to us. Not after we turned Sara to dust and stopped Marta’s heart.”

  “I think it’s worth a try,” Lukas pressed, “before we fly halfway across the world to find a woman who may not even exist. Remember, the Coven isn’t innocent, either. They tried to kill me and infiltrated our group with a psychopath. Surely, they’d understand.”

  “You’re right,” Maks spoke up. “Let’s go.”

  “No offense,” Ali said, “but you’re the last person who should walk into a nest of witches.” She nodded at Roz. “Roz and I will go. And we’ll take Violet with us.”

  “They came after me and mine,” he explained coldly. “Now, they’ll learn the repercussions.” Maksim Volk didn’t sit on a pile of hay and sniffle and flap his hands at the unfairness of life. No. Maksim Volk got even.

  Chapter Five

  Violet couldn’t catch her breath, even after she’d lain down on her bed and closed her eyes. Something was moving inside her. It was nothing like carrying a new life in her belly. No, this was foul and wrong. It felt like fingers toying with her internal organs, like a nest of snakes burrowing into her bowels.

  It was going to kill her.

  And Maks was riding off on a white horse to the Coven tower to try to save her. She’d have to watch him carefully. After what he’d been through, he was emotional and unpredictable. She didn’t want him doing anything he’d regret.

  Roz slunk into the room. “Are you sure you’re up to a drive?”

  “I’ll be fine,” Violet said. “I’m just feeling a little overwhelmed. And hungry.” She laughed bitterly. “I’m always hungry.”

  “Try to stay calm,” Roz advised. “I’m going to cast a healing and strength spell on you. It’ll only take a couple minutes.”

  Roz began to speak then, chanting helpful words like heal and expel. Violet didn’t feel any different, though. The shadowy missile inside her jiggled, unaffected.

  Violet hadn’t meant to take a magic bullet for Maksim Volk. She’d been attempting to knock them both out of the way, but in a horrible twist of fate, she’d taken the blow, and he’d gone berserk. She’d seen him contemplative, pensive, wounded, and asleep. She’d never seen him murderous. And yet his hand
s had been gentle on her shoulders, and he’d cared about her modesty.

  Roz continued casting magic, something Violet had no experience with. It felt like a tickle under the surface of her skin. Not bad or uncomfortable, necessarily, but definitely foreign.

  The witch didn’t falter. Her voice continued as before, but something in the room changed.

  Maks had slipped in, she was certain of it. Something about the way he took up air, about the way he slunk around like an abused child, the way heat radiated off him. The sum of it always announced his presence. She turned her head toward him, and their gazes locked.

  When he spoke, though, it was to Roz. “Can you give us a minute?”

  Roz sighed as the magic in the room evaporated. “Whatever.” She strolled out, closing the door behind her.

  His aura seemed to expand, filling the empty spaces, giving him the feel of a twelve-foot tall beast.

  “While we’re in the witch’s tower,” he finally said, “stay back. I’ll handle them. You need to conserve your strength.”

  “You mean you don’t want me taking any more magic bullets for you?” Her attempt at a lame joke failed miserably.

  “You can’t do things like that,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m not worth it.”

  “I decide who’s worth my time,” she shot back.

  He smiled ever so slightly. “Fine. Far be it for me to argue with a lady.”

  “Fine,” she returned. Watching him, the full weight of her situation hit her like a rockslide across her shoulders. Her chances of returning to her son were currently nil. Even if she got to him, she’d only starve to death soon after. What kind of a victory was that?

  She’d finally escaped the horde only to fall into a completely different and yet equally devastating captivity.

  Violet dissolved into deep, wracking sobs, and Maks crossed the room to pull her into a tight embrace.

  “I’m going to fix this,” he swore, running his hands reassuringly up and down her back. “I swear to you, I’m going to fix this.”