Night Falls on the Wicked

by Sharie Kohler

  Snow had started to fall again in fat flakes. She lowered her face away from the cold kiss, blinking as the flaky white collected on her lashes.

  As they were led up the porch steps and inside the house, Darby stayed close to Pam and Aimee. The heat hit her, warming from the outside in.

  “Ah, you’ve returned at last.” A slender man who barely looked twenty unfolded himself from a sofa positioned before the great fire. He wore a thick black sweater and jeans. Clean-shaven, hair close-cropped, he looked collegiate. Not like a bloodthirsty beast of untold years.

  Age was deceptive when it came to lycans. She knew this. Knew that if this was their alpha, he had to be older than the others. The most dangerous of them all.

  His pewter gaze roved over each of them, lingering, assessing, before settling on her. “Ah, you’ve brought us something special it seems,” he said in cultured tones, overenunciating his words.

  He approached, appraising her carefully. That silver-eyed gaze made her want to squirm but she held her ground. “This is far finer than the usual fare you bring back. Good work, gentlemen.” The alpha brushed a lock of hair back off her shoulder and she flinched.

  “Yes. We got lucky, Cyprian. I find her interesting as well. This one might be worth keeping.”

  “The bitch did this to my face.” The lycan—Marcus—she struck with the two-by-four motioned to his almost-healed wounds, clearly disagreeable to the suggestion of keeping her alive. “I don’t want to keep her around.”

  Cyprian sighed and rolled his eyes. “Stop being such a child, Marcus. You’re fine. And we’re not exactly in a position to be choosy.” He waved a hand around them. “Our numbers are dwindling here.”

  Cyprian’s eyes narrowed as he studied her. “It has been some time since we’ve had a female in our pack.”

  “Yeah. They keep getting wiped out by—”

  Cyprian moved then. His arm shot out in a blur she could hardly process. All she knew was that Marcus was standing one moment and across the room the next. If Darby had any doubt that Cyprian was the alpha, it was gone. “Silence! Don’t speak his name. I told you, I don’t want to hear.”

  Aimee started to cry in earnest. No more soft weeping. Even with her faced buried against her mother’s leg, the wails came across loud and clear.

  Darby patted the girl’s back. Her mother seemed incapable, staring vacantly into space. It was like she was locked somewhere inside herself, unable to come out.

  Cyprian turned a gracious smile on Darby. “Pardon me, you shouldn’t have to see our squabbling. It’s really quite rude of us. We obviously need a woman’s touch to help tame our wild ways.” He turned his attention on Aimee. “Don’t cry, little one. This shall all be over soon.” He patted the girl’s head.

  Pam didn’t seem inclined to do anything except stare numbly into space. Darby pressed closer, hugging the child to her side.

  “You. You’re different.” Cyprian wagged his finger at her, smiling as if she were a mischievous child who’d played a prank. “What is it about you, hm?”

  Darby swallowed, knowing exactly what he meant, what he sensed about her, but not about to point out to him that he had a witch in his grasp. Especially since she didn’t mean to be in his grasp for long.

  Suddenly, his smile slipped. An intent look came over his face as he stepped nearer. He reached for her throat with thin, long fingers. She leaned back and swatted at his hand, but he ignored her, seizing her necklace. Somehow it had slipped out from beneath her sweater and lay exposed.

  “Interesting,” he mused, inspecting each of the three charms. “What do we have here? Milk and let me guess—holy water? And this third must be … salt.” His pewter gaze drifted back to her face. Lycans weren’t the only thing out there with certain aversions. Silver might repel them, but demons had their Achilles’ heel, too. And from the look in his face she guessed he knew this. “What ordinary female wears charms like these?”

  Darby held her breath, saying nothing.

  “So what? What does that mean?” Marcus grumbled, motioning to her necklace.

  “That she’s not your typical human.” Cyprian angled his head, his look growing thoughtful. “Can I even say human? Is a witch even human?”

  She flinched, even though she already knew he’d figured her out. “Yes, I’m human.”

  He continued to look her over as if she were a grand prize dropped in his lap. “A white witch, too. Tell me, dear, what is your power?” He waggled his fingers in an imitation of someone casting a spell. “What’s your magic?”

  She shook her head. The last thing she wanted to do was admit her ability to see into the future.

  “Ah, come now. I’m sure it’s something quite useful. Especially if you’ve chosen to live here in this frozen scrap of earth. You’re avoiding demons, are you not? Why else would you be here?”

  She shook her head, marveling at his insights. “Who are you?”

  “Ah, surprised at my knowledge?” He chuckled and moved several steps down into a sunken living area. “Well, I’ve been around for a good many years. I’ve run into your kind before. That lycans are here at all can be credited to witches. I should be thanking you.”

  “Don’t,” she bit out, glaring at him as he poured himself a healthy dose of brandy. “I’m not the witch responsible for creating you.”

  “Care for a drink?” he asked, all politeness, as if he were a host entertaining guests and not a predator hungry for human flesh.

  “No, thanks.”

  He took a sip and narrowed his gaze on her again. “Now. Do yourself a favor and tell me what your particular talent happens to be, my lovely.”

  She pressed her lips into a hard line, her hand tightening where she clutched Aimee.

  “Not talking then? Shame.” He snapped his fingers at the lycan called Marcus. “Take her to the master suite and lock her in.”

  Marcus didn’t disguise his displeasure. “We’re not having her?”

  “She’s too valuable,” Cyprian replied. “Sooner or later, we’ll learn of her gift … and how we might use it to benefit us.”

  Devon nodded, the motion not even bouncing one of his blond dreadlocks. “Good idea.” His handsome faced smiled at her. “And I rather like her. Wouldn’t mind keeping her around. She’s got spirit. That’s what we need.”

  “No,” she shouted as she was dragged, kicking and flailing, from Aimee and Pam. “Please! Let them come with me. If you harm either of them, I’ll never talk! Never tell you anything!”

  Marcus’s hand on her arm twisted cruelly. “Don’t be stupid. We gotta eat. Count yourself lucky that you won’t be the meal—”

  “Wait.” Cyprian’s hard voice stopped Marcus.

  The alpha moved toward the child, stroking the cloud of her brown hair. Aimee gazed up at him with unblinking eyes, wide as saucers, her little form frozen as if she sensed he was something else, something more than a man. Something worse.

  “Cute girl. I can see how you’re fond of her. You are, aren’t you?” His lips twisted in a cunning smile.

  Darby could utter nothing, only stare, beseeching him with her eyes.

  After a long moment, Cyprian thrust the little girl toward Darby. “Very well. Take her. She’s my gift to you. For now anyway. If you don’t come around, she’ll endure the same fate as her mother.”

  As Aimee was shoved into her arms, Darby looked in horror at Pam. She could do nothing. Nothing to save her. Not if she wanted to save Aimee.

  At that moment something came over Pam. It was like the woman woke from a deep sleep. She jerked where she stood, tossing her too-long bangs back from her eyes. She looked around, searching with wild eyes for her daughter.

  “Aimee!” she shouted, diving for the child. “Where are you taking her? Come back here!” She was instantly caught up in the arms of one their captors. She thrashed fiercely, her hair flying in every direction.

  Aimee struggled in Darby’s arms to reach her mother. “Momma! Momma!”


  Cyprian glanced at the window. Holding Aimee tight, Darby followed his gaze, her chest tightening, clenching painfully at the muted blue light suffusing the air.

  “Quickly,” Cyprian declared, waving a hand at Darby and Aimee. “Take them. Go. Before it’s too late.”

  “Wait, please, I beg you.” Her gaze slid to Pam, shrieking and fighting with surprising strength. “She’s her mother. Please let her come with us. I’ll give you what you want.”

  “Oh, you will. I have no doubt. But we have to feed. There’s no choice in that. As it is, we’re only left with her and she’s sadly thin. Hopefully, she’s enough and we won’t try to break into your bedroom.” Eyeing Pam, he frowned. “Now, unless, you want to lose your life as well—and the girl’s—you better get behind that locked door.”

  At that moment, Cyprian winced and bent himself at the waist as if he had a stomach cramp. When he straightened, his eyes were gleaming an even brighter pewter. “Go,” he rasped, his voice thick and garbled from teeth that looked sharper, longer than a second ago.

  There was no time for talking anymore, only time for survival.

  With a pained gasp, she swung Aimee up into her arms. Devon led the way, showing no signs of transitioning yet. Her legs worked fast, desperate to remove the girl from danger. Pam’s screams rang in her ears as she carried a sobbing Aimee into the bedchamber.

  Devon stared at her intently. The brightness of his gaze chilled her to the bones. “Be sure to lock the door. We might try to get in. Whatever you do, don’t unbolt this door until morning.”

  She squared her shoulders. “How do you know I won’t keep us locked in here forever?”

  “Because you’d starve. Also—” He flicked a glance to the hinges. “We can get some power tools in here and remove the door if need be. But you can bet that would seriously annoy Cyprian.” He shut the door then, the slam reverberating on the air, its solid steel sealing them in tight. She rushed to bolt it against them.

  The room was dark, its one window boarded up tight. The door was no ordinary door. She ran a hand over its length, feeling its cold, solid strength.

  Pam’s screams could still be heard, but quieter now, muted. The fight had left her. Probably the moment her daughter left her sight.

  Still holding Aimee in her arms, Darby flipped on the light switch. Light flooded the room, and she looked around. It was your standard room. Bed, dresser, a small connecting bathroom.

  “Where’s my momma?” Aimee whimpered against her neck, her breath a warm fan of air on her skin.

  “Shhh, honey.” Darby curled up on the bed with her, hugging her little body close. “Momma’s … gone.” Darby closed her eyes in a tight blink, miserable as she uttered the words. The guilt was there, a sharp pang in her chest. She felt responsible for all of this.

  “When she’s coming back?”

  “I—I don’t know.” Cowardly, she supposed, but Darby couldn’t say it. She couldn’t declare that Pam wasn’t coming back. Crazy or not, she still clung to hope—to the belief that there was a chance. To not hope was to quit.

  A strange silence pervaded the room. Even Pam had ceased to scream. Darby stroked Aimee’s hair and rocked her to sleep as she waited, listening. She wished she couldn’t listen, but she did. Her ears strained for the slightest sound.

  And then it came. A long, low howl. So close, so very near that she thought it could have been in the room with them. Several howls joined in, and she knew it was too late.

  They’d answered the moon’s call and shifted. She closed her eyes as the anguished howls rippled through her.

  Then the screams began. Different from before. These screams ripped the air, without volition. This wasn’t Pam fighting for her daughter. This was anguish. Terror. This was death.

  Darby fumbled a hand for the remote control on the nightstand and powered on the flat screen hanging from the wall. Clicking through channels, she found a cartoon and turned the volume up, hoping to drown out the sounds of what was happening in the other room. She crooned to Aimee and rocked her faster, hoping she still slept. As if they could outrun the reality of Aimee’s mother dying so brutal a death in the next room.

  Darby inhaled a shuddering breath. She doubted she would ever outrun this night. If she survived, it would stay with her all of her days.

  TWELVE

  They surrounded her, hideous creatures on every side. Darby sucked in a breath and ran, spotting a break through the thick press of bodies and bolting for it.

  They followed, running after her at a loping pace, toying with her, letting her stay just ahead of them but within range. Without any real hope.

  Still, she ran. She fought to live, struggling with Aimee’s weight in her arms. Her legs burned, lifting high in the snow. She stumbled and fell into a soft drift, the girl still clutched in her arms.

  They surrounded her. Their monstrous shapes towering, blocking out anything else as they leaned over her, jaws slavering, dripping the gore from their last kill… from Pam onto the snow-covered earth.

  Darby woke with a scream trapped in her throat, her chest heaving with deep, pained breaths as the cry lodged itself inside her like a heavy stone. She swallowed, fighting to keep silent as the vision faded from her mind—but not memory.

  She’d learned at an early age to hold back the screams, tired of waking her mother and then, later, her aunts. Sick of facing the worry in their eyes that her gift, her magic, was more than she could handle.

  She blinked against the thin blue light of the room. The television still blared loudly, an infomercial. She patted the bed around her, searching for the remote control.

  Darby found it and punched the mute button, killing the sound. She listened. No sounds reached them from outside the room. The carnage, evidently, was over.

  Aimee was curled against her. She never woke. Amid it all, she had slept and Darby suspected this was God’s gift so she could cope. Darby clicked the television off, instantly drowning them in darkness. The only light came from the bedside clock on the dresser, its red numbers glowing 3:45.

  She unwrapped herself from around Aimee, careful not to wake her as she slid off the bed. With silent steps, she approached the door and pressed her ear against it. Nothing. No more screaming. No more growling or howls or crashing furniture. They were gone. Or passed out. Or maybe they’d gone hunting for other victims. Either way, this could be her only chance—hers and Aimee’s. They had to get away.

  The fact that they had to escape beneath the lycans’ very noses, creep past sleeping monsters—that one misstep and she and Aimee were both lost, dead—didn’t change her mind. It was now or never. They might see the value in keeping Darby around, but Aimee would never be safe. It was only a matter of time before they went after the girl. Even with a fresh vision hanging over her head, a terrible harbinger she couldn’t quite shake free from her thoughts, she knew she had to take a chance and run for it.

  Suddenly a surge of warmth pervaded the room. An unnatural warmth. Like an oven door had been opened and a wave of roasting heat swept free. Shit!

  Darby whirled around, her hands clenching into fists, looking, searching, knowing what she would find.

  Not now.

  But of course, it would happen now. Now when she was her most vulnerable. Now when she most needed help. That’s always when a demon chose to call.

  A great shadow slipped beneath the door and crawled along the floor and walls until materializing before her.

  She had to tip back her head to meet its dead-eyed stare. This one was a beauty. The head of a serpent but the body of a battle-hardened gladiator. He leaned down toward her, his flicking tongue almost touching her nose.

  She braced herself, legs squared.

  “Shouldn’t you be somewhere else?” she demanded, forcing a show of bravado. This demon frightened her more than those lycans outside this room. Lycans could kill her, but this demon could own her soul for eternity.

  “There’s been a lot of activity in this area. Yo
u’re too hard to resist. Despite the abominable weather, I had to check you out for myself …”

  So her visions hadn’t gone undetected, after all. She was a fool to think otherwise. She knew how it worked. The same way it always had. Her visions attracted demons. Especially sucky since she couldn’t control her visions. She had long accepted that—why else was she living all alone here? She might not be able to control her visions, but she could control her environment. Relocating to an environment abhorrent to demons was the responsible thing to do. It beat following in her mother’s footsteps and taking her own life.

  “That was unnecessary,” she said.

  The demon’s slit eyes surveyed the room, his flat nostrils flaring wide as he lifted his face and scented the area. “Ah, lycans. You’re in a bit of trouble. Couldn’t you use some assistance?”

  “No. Get out of here. I don’t need or want anything from you.” Instantly, her mind drifted back to the vision of her and Aimee running through the snow, lycans surrounding them. If it held true, she’d soon need serious assistance.

  She shook the thought aside and reminded herself that she’d managed to beat out her visions before. Knowledge was power. Her visions could be averted. She’d simply make sure she didn’t take off on foot through the wilderness with Aimee. Because she knew what would happen if she did.

  “No? Not yet. You sure? Maybe I’ll stick around until you do …” At that moment the demon shuddered, fading back to shadow for a moment before managing to regain form.

  Darby smiled, knowing he was weakening in this cold. He wasn’t going to stick around much longer. He couldn’t. “I don’t think you’re staying.” She chafed her hands over her arms. “Brrr. My, my, isn’t it cold in here? You’d think they could adjust the thermostat. I think it’s as cold in here as it is out there,” she taunted.

  As if her words did the trick, the demon shuddered like rippling water before her eyes. “I’ll find you again.”

  “I don’t think so.” She’d managed to stave off visions for the most part these last few years. Once she managed to escape this nightmare, she’d move north again. Another town. Another lonely existence. But safe—she’d have safety again.