by Sable Grace
Ryker’s gaze locked with hers. He didn’t voice his knowledge that she was the perfect candidate to attempt such a task, but she could read it in his eyes. She could also see his compassion. He wouldn’t draw attention to her Vampyric skills, which gave her the ability to drink in a person’s memories when she fed, but he was sure as hell hinting about them.
“But you could do it, Kyana.” Haven said what Ryker wouldn’t. “Your skills will let you pull in Icky’s memories. Then you can relay what you see to us.”
Kyana grimaced, mentally impaling her friend’s heart with her glare. “I don’t want to be the one who bites the damned thing.” With a heavy sigh, Kyana nodded to the sentinel closest to her. “Release the gate.”
He did as Kyana ordered and quickly backed away. Artie and Ryker stepped back also, but Haven ducked inside. “Just in case it tries to eat you.”
Kyana handed Haven a dagger. “Thanks.”
Icky’s stench nearly gagged her, but if Haven could tolerate it, Kyana wouldn’t complain. The minute she moved closer to it, Icky scampered across the cell, bared its fangs, and hissed like a deflating balloon. Kyana leaped straight up and over the creature’s head, squeezing between Icky and the rock wall. Before it could turn on her, she wrapped her arm around its throat and pressed its back to her chest, locking it in place. Her fangs sank into Icky’s jugular, and it howled for mercy as the first drops of sulfuric blood spilled onto Kyana’s tongue.
Her brain turned to a curtain of fog and she could no longer see the inside of Icky’s cell. The high of feeding made her moan, made her forget the foul taste and drink until the fog lifted and the images inside Icky’s head became clear. The island. A tall, handsome man with ebony hair that reached his slender waist. A coven of other creatures who looked just like Icky, bowing to a group who looked like the human Vampyre Kyana had come to know.
She searched in Icky’s mind for its breed’s name, but found nothing. Only the hollow, haunting whisper that declared it was a she and her kind had no name, created when Vampyre bred with Vampyre, then left to die when their usefulness expired. This was why Vampyre weren’t meant to breed with each other.
Darkness. Humidity. The dank caves Kyana had traveled within. Pain seared through Kyana’s brain as she watched the long-haired man feed from Icky’s children. He raped them, bred from them more children to fill his stocks. The grotesquely horrific scene nearly forced Kyana to pull away. But she held on, dug her teeth in deeper.
Flashes of Vampyre feeding off the exiled prisoners, breeding with them, creating more like Icky and her family. These monstrous creatures were the first Vampyre. Kyana’s origin. In a sick sense, her family. She gagged as the thick blood coated her throat. It rushed so quickly, she couldn’t swallow fast enough to drink it all in. The image of the long-haired man dying, whispering promises to the beasts he’d created.
Then, Kyana herself. Creeping into Icky’s family lair. Snooping where she didn’t belong. The last image Kyana saw was of herself seizing hold of Ryker’s shoulder, and then the blinding light of Ryker’s port consumed her. Icky fell limp in her arms. She was dead.
“What did you see?” Ryker’s soothing voice filled the chamber. He looked as though he wanted to enter the cell, but wouldn’t chance it. Even dead, Icky might have posed a threat to the gods.
Haven took Kyana’s hand, helped her step over Icky’s body, and guided her from the cell. Kyana pushed out of Haven’s grasp, raced to the corner, and expelled the near-black blood from her belly.
When she collected herself, she quietly told them of Icky’s past, of how she’d come to be. “Cronos did this.”
She knew in her soul that the long-haired man had been Cronos.
“Did you see the key?”
Kyana shook her head. “No, just Cronos’s determination not to die. His disregard for the children he created. I’m not sure why, but I’m certain the key was never there.” She looked at Ryker. “He promised to return to them . . . when he was dying, he promised to come back. How can he come back?”
“He can’t.” Artemis pressed her hand to Kyana’s shoulder. “There are none left powerful enough to work that kind of magic.”
Though the goddess sounded confident, the doubt in her eyes did nothing to alleviate the fear that had filled the room.
Artemis had better be right. If Cronos came back, it would take more than a tracer and a few worn-out gods to save this world.
“Well, that was scary.” Haven sat on one of the stones leading away from the prison and back to Below.
Kyana sat behind Haven and Ryker, leaning her head against the exterior wall of the prison. She was still woozy and her stomach wouldn’t stop churning, though she was pretty certain it wasn’t the taste of Icky’s blood that caused her nausea. She and Icky were separated by only a few branches on the Vampyric family tree. If Kyana ever had children—
She shuddered. It was near to impossible for Vampyre to become pregnant, but the possibility was still there. The Order was right to have the no Vamp-on-Vamp law. The idea of birthing a creature like Icky was too horrid to contemplate.
“Don’t worry about it. Even if there was somebody powerful enough to bring Cronos back, he’d still be trapped on that island.” Ryker sat next to Haven. “He couldn’t get off it then, he wouldn’t be able to now.”
“Dead bones are one thing, but walking bones . . .” Haven shivered, her gaze drifted to Kyana. “At least we learned a little history.”
“History I could have done without.” Kyana tried to ignore their uncomfortable stares. All the things she’d loved about her race were now tainted, ugly. She could have gone another lifetime without ever knowing the truth.
Salt spray washed over them, pulling Kyana from her troubled thoughts. If possible, the mist intensified the odor of Icky and the shit hole and who knew what else that had covered them in the past day. She wrinkled her nose.
She turned to look at Ryker. His face was tan again, his eyes alert. Did whatever part of Kyana that resembled Icky cause him pain? Was that why he kept his distance from her? She doubted he’d ever look at her again without seeing what really lived inside her. “You okay?”
He nodded, his gaze drifting toward the moonlit sea. “I’ve never felt like that before.”
Kyana gingerly placed a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t flinch or brush her off. She was pleased. She was also pleased that being around him right now wasn’t renewing a decade’s worth of bitterness. “I wish Icky had shown me something about the key.”
“Yeah. Instead all we got was a scary promise of Cronos’s return.” Haven rubbed at a stain on her torn jeans. “What are you going to do with that ring, anyway?”
Ryker gave a halfhearted smile. “Give it someone who can keep it safe.”
“Who?”
“The less people who know, the better.”
Kyana didn’t care enough at the moment to press him to answer Haven more thoroughly. She was exhausted and a tiny bit freaked out by everything Icky had shown her. Besides, the ring wasn’t important. The key was. And they were no closer to finding it now than they’d been before.
“Think Geoffrey has that list of Cronos followers yet?” she asked, standing on tired legs.
“Who knows.” A strong gust of wind blew, and Haven wrinkled her nose. “I’ll go track him down for you after I shower. You two should do the same. We smell like butt.”
Haven was right. Kyana needed a shower. She was pretty sure if she’d been drawn as a cartoon, there would be little puffs of yellow stink clouding her character. “Go on. I’m heading home shortly. I’ll meet you there.”
“Okay, then. I’m off. See you in a bit.”
Kyana would have walked with Haven, but she wanted to make sure Ryker was all right before heading off for the night. A part of her felt responsible for what he’d gone through on that island. He’d begged her to go and she’d insisted on staying. She’d almost gotten him killed.
She stretched, wondering how to app
roach the topic of what had happened to him on that island. “You okay?”
“I’ll be fine once I shower and eat. You really should do the same. You look like hell.”
“Thanks.” She took his offered hand of assistance and let him pull her to her feet. Her chest bounced lightly off his, and her gut clenched. He didn’t stink. He didn’t smell like sunshine at the moment, but he’d somehow managed to not get ucky like she had.
Still, the dark shadows beneath his eyes worried her. “I know we’re not friends, but—?”
“I’m fine, Ky. Drop it.”
He shook his hand from hers and walked away. Kyana stood, staring after him for a long while before following. She was still harboring a lot of resentment toward him, so why did it bother her that he hadn’t confided in her? Did he have someone he could turn to? She didn’t want to know. But more than that, she didn’t want to examine why the possibility caused her heart to sit heavy in her chest.
She walked the streets, listening to Below come alive. Vamps pushed past her as she shouldered her way into Spirits to order a meal to go. She ignored the grimaces and stares of the other patrons and slid onto a bar stool.
The barkeep didn’t move toward her, but turned from the Mystics he was serving to glare. “Butcher shop’s down the street.”
Kyana tapped the shiny bar with a less than clean hand. “I’ll take a bottle of fifty/fifty. To go.”
“Only Marcus does that. He’s not here.”
“Great, then I’ll wait for him.” Several patrons stood, gave Kyana dirty looks, then left the café. If stinking repelled others, maybe she’d give up bathing altogether. She was due some alone time. “When’s he due back?”
“You’re costing me customers,” the man grumbled, fixing Kyana’s dinner and sliding it toward her. “Just take it and go.”
“Hey, I don’t smell or look this bad because I want to. I was out doing something about the mess we’re all in. How ’bout you?”
The barkeep’s face softened, and feeling his intent to apologize, she pulled out the little cash she had. He shook his head. “It’s on me. Just go.”
With a nod of thanks, Kyana grabbed her bottle and turned to leave, but stopped as her gaze fell upon Ryker striding by the window. Something in his stride was determined, not like a man on a mission to bathe, but maybe to confront. Hell. What was he doing? She waited a minute, giving him time to walk ahead, but watched from inside the tavern as he slipped through the portal and disappeared.
She should let him go. Whatever trouble he was looking to find, he could handle on his own.
She sighed, and followed the path he’d taken. She wasn’t going to stick her nose where it didn’t belong, but she owed it to him to at least make sure he wasn’t killed.
Ryker stalked down St. George Street, no calmer now than he’d been when he’d left Ky. The concern on her face was burned into his brain. Anger, self-loathing, and sheer frustration hummed beneath his skin, making him antsy. He sure as hell wasn’t going to beat himself up, but he’d find something to take his anger out on before he rested for the night.
It wasn’t just the helplessness he’d experienced on that island that had him so eager to crack a head or two, though, granted, that was a huge portion of the adrenaline rushing through him now. He’d wanted to take part in that fight so badly, keeping his distance had almost hurt more than the physical pain the Vampyre had caused. But while the anger over not being able to fight for the first time in his life was still palpable, it was Kyana that had his blood pumping more.
He had to have her. Soon. But how did he take what he wanted from her and still keep true to his beliefs?
Ryker jogged around a corner, passing a ransacked ice cream parlor, and kept on. With so many abandoned businesses, it was the perfect spot to look for trouble. Sunrise was a good half hour away. If he was lucky, he’d find a band of Dark Breeds looking for a place to sleep away the day. He’d take out his frustration on them with pleasure.
The smell of the urine hit his nose minutes before he spotted the small band of Dark Breeds breaking into a popular bar and grill. Grinning, Ryker crouched and softened his steps, quietly closing in on the demons as they threw themselves through a window.
It wouldn’t have taken any effort on his part to pick them off one at a time, but he wanted a fight. A long, dirty, someone-had-to-bleed kind of fight to release the pent-up emotions he’d held to so tightly since they’d entered that damned hellhole on Cronos’s island. Since Kyana had shifted back to Vampyre and had given him way more than a teasing glimpse of her body. He twitched, his pulsing blood making it difficult to push that image from his mind. By the time he finally managed, he’d given the demons just enough time to move away from the window. He entered behind them and blocked their escape.
Four sets of black eyes turned to face him.
The first thing he taught his men was to never take on even one lone Dark Breed on their own. They were too unpredictable, their powers never quite clear if you weren’t certain what breeds they consisted of. Better to come back with friends than have a search party sent to retrieve your body. Since he never asked his men to do something he himself wouldn’t do, he’d never broken that rule. Today would be an exception. “Looks like you picked the wrong building to break into.”
The biggest of the group let out a throaty growl.
Feeling cocky, Ryker beckoned the big guy forward.
The boss grunted to his minions. With a lethal-looking grin, he tilted his head back and revealed his retracted fangs. Sharp claws stretched from beneath the demon’s black-blue hands and its naked body shivered in delight as a set of nasty, thin wings broke loose on its back. It had gone from resembling a human to looking almost like Icky.
A Hatchling. Ryker studied it, unable to help his fascination. He hadn’t seen one of these since the turn of the century. The children of the dragons of Tartarus had almost become nothing more than legend.
When it looked at Ryker again, its black eyes had gone stark white. Feeding time.
Ryker could have fended off the demon with just a look, but he let it run until it was within arm’s reach. No weapons. No god powers. Just brute force.
He easily dodged the slow swings, taunting the demon before drawing back his fist. The sound of breaking bone brought only a moment of relief. He looked from the unconscious beast on the floor to his buddies, slightly disappointed that it had gone down so easily. “Is that the best you got?”
With growls of outrage, the second and third rushed him at once. The fourth stretched out its wings and flew straight over Ryker’s head to land behind him. Ryker pivoted, thrust his fist through the flyer’s face, pulling back bits of sinew and bone. The beast crumpled to the ground before the other two could even reach him. These, he would take down more slowly. Would make the fight last until he was too exhausted to think about weakness or women.
Ryker lost track of how long the fight raged on. The Hatchlings seemed to sense that Ryker was playing with them, seemed to know they should be dead by now. And knowing this seemed to intensify their fear. He could smell it on them as strongly as he could smell their urine stench. They watched him, waiting to see what his next move would be. He flexed his fingers, giving them time to decide if they wanted to continue the fight or run. Not that he was going to let them run, but still, it would be sweeter to kill them if they thought they might slip away.
One of the two left attempted to take flight. As it passed overhead, Ryker reached up and caught it around the neck. With a roar, he twisted. The sound of neck bones shattering filled the now silent restaurant. He dropped the body to the ground. Turning slowly, he faced the lone survivor.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Kyana’s voice spun Ryker around. She loomed in the broken window, her gaze darting from one fallen Hatchling to the next. The survivor took Ryker’s distraction as its chance to escape, and made a mad dash toward another window. The moment the glass shattered, Ryker sighed and sent i
t a searing glare. His telekinetic power sent the Hatchling flying back into the bar.
“You almost cost me a kill,” he said, stalking to the bar and leaning over the wannabe escapee. “Get out of here, Ky.”
“The hell I will.” She leaped through the window, knocking loose glass onto the floor.
Saddened that this kill would have to be a quick one, Ryker grabbed the beast’s head in both of his hands and gave it one hard twist. Another broken neck. Not nearly the satisfaction he’d wanted. He shoved the body from the bar, then vaulted over the stools and counter. A moment later, he turned back to Kyana, holding a near-empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s and a shot glass. He wasn’t a drinker. Looked like tonight was full of exceptions. Pouring most of the booze over his busted knuckles, he filled the shot glass with what remained.
“Are you still pissy that Icky affected you like he did?” Kyana stepped over body number two and eased onto a bar stool. Ryker glanced out the window to see the still-gray sky. No immediate threat of sunrise to spur her home. Damn his bad luck. She had a good twenty or thirty minutes before she’d have to leave him in peace.
Or shift.
Zeus, he didn’t want to go there again. If she shifted to Lychen, she’d eventually have to shift back. And when she shifted back . . . she’d be bare-ass naked to him again. Blood rushed to fill his loose jeans, and suddenly, they weren’t so loose anymore.
Ryker stayed behind the bar for cover.
“Looks like a mess of testosterone exploded in here,” Kyana said.
He shrugged. “I handled it.” He rubbed his knuckles and tried not to stare at the way her white tank top hugged her breasts. Even sweaty and dirty, he wanted her. “Thought you were going home.”
“Thought you were too.” She pointed to his bottle of booze. “Gods can’t drink. What are you doing?”
Her gaze fixated on his hands as he slowly turned the shot of Jack. “Half human, remember? Besides, gods can drink. They just . . . don’t.”