Death’s Kiss (NOVELLA)
(RAVEN’S CURSE SERIES)
McKenzie Hunter
Contents
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER 1
I leaned against the desk in my small office, which had been eclipsed by the overpowering presence of my new clients. Their narrowed eyes watched me with the same level of intensity with which I watched them. This seemed like a really bad joke: a shapeshifter, a mage, and a vampire walk into an office. But this wasn’t a bad joke; it was a bad situation, and the anger and frustration that inundated the room supported it.
I hated cleaning up messes. It was what people paid me to do, but sometimes I felt like telling people to clean up their own crap—this was one of those times. But it was a job, and I needed it.
“Gentlemen, who won?” I was having a difficult time tempering the sarcasm that threatened to color my words.
I directed my attention to the shifter: the light glow of his hazel eyes served as a caution that he was not amused. He ran his hand over his nut-brown–colored beard, several shades lighter than his hair. He was ruggedly handsome and aware of it. I wasn’t going to let that distract me from how lethal he could be—those looks were probably just another weapon in his arsenal. Slim, angled features mirrored his tall, well-defined physique: a wolf, stealth and deadly. He was standing next to a person who rivaled his lethality. While the shifter was solid muscle, as was visible through his shirt, the man he stood next to was wispier and I assumed, because he was a vampire, just as strong. He grinned, baring razor-sharp fangs, and onyx-colored eyes sharpened—a warning. I didn’t take it.
“Won what?” the amused vampire asked as he shoved his hands in his pockets, stepping closer to me with the grace and stealth typical of his kind. My trained reaction was to slide my hand close to my side to grab the knife there.
“The pissing contest. You guys whipped it out big-time.” I looked at the mage. His hunter-green eyes didn’t seem dangerous, but he possessed the same level of menace that his companions did. Most people didn’t realize it. I could feel his magic, and it took everything in me to stay in my spot and not get a taste. I closed my eyes for just a moment, inhaled it, and let it wash over me. Ignore it, I reminded myself. I knew just thinking about it was a slippery slope. When I opened my eyes again, my gaze landed on him. I couldn’t tamp down the curiosity, the desire to experience it. But experiencing it could get pretty bad for both of us—perhaps even deadly.
The mage gave me a charming smile that fit his classically attractive appearance. He had broad features, but his defined cheekbones reminded me of those of a statue. Kieran was a fire mage. My fingers tingled at the idea of feeling the sparks against them, of controlling something as incompliant and dangerous as fire. I was enthralled by his ability to master it and manipulate it to his will.
“I expected better from you, Kieran,” I said to him. His grin widened. “These two”—I directed my attention to the vampire and the shifter—“can’t help themselves. They just can’t help whipping things out for people to get a look-see, but you usually exercise restraint.”
“They came here for help, Erin, not a lecture,” said the deep, cultured voice of the man who emerged from the corner like an elusive wave. Ignoring his presence was easier when he was out of sight; now it overtook the room.
He inclined his head in my direction, his eyes focusing on me hard as they always did: a mélange of curiosity, aversion, and allure. Yes, they were definitely important clients, because he usually didn’t leave his side of the city, where the homes cost more than the building that housed my rented office.
He greeted each person as he languidly walked toward me. Dark eyes glinted, and his lips beveled into a wicked smile. Excusing us, he guided me to the opposite side of the room, away from the clients.
“Satan.” Aware of the vampire and shapeshifter enhanced hearing, I kept my voice low, greeting Mephisto in the same manner I did every time we met.
He closed the distance I had strategically placed between us. I put on a bravado that I didn’t actually possess when dealing with him. The unknown was always scarier than the known—I knew what every other person in the room was, but I had no idea about him. I could feel his magic, but I didn’t desire it as much as I did Kieran’s. The same curiosity that piqued whenever I was around magic was there, but my apprehension could subdue it most of the times I was near him. Skilled at controlling so many forms of magic, I wasn’t sure I could wrangle and manipulate his enough for it to be of any use to me.
There was something dark and foreboding about it. The ominous air that surrounded him made it seem even scarier, but I worked hard never to show fear. He struck me as the type who thrived on people feeling uneasy around him—I wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction.
A grin spread across his face, baring the edges of his perfectly white teeth. “I still prefer my name, Mephisto, but for you, I will accept ‘Satan’ as a term of endearment.” He looked at me in the appraising way he always did, and it seemed to please him. I hadn’t made an effort to look pleasing. Prepared for anything that might happen, I kept my dark-brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. His gaze lingered on my lips, which I knew were a little pink from trying to bite back my sardonic words, and then slowly over my curves, the few that I had. My tall, lean frame didn’t allow for the pleasing curves that many men adored. Long runs, constantly slipping into tight areas, and having to fight—often, for my life—had shaved off any voluptuousness that I could have possessed.
When he finished his assessment of me, he seemed more wolf than man. For years I’d thought he was a shapeshifter and was rather surprised to find that he was a mage—well, that’s what he’d told me. I suspected it was just an answer to stop my questions. His magic wasn’t remotely similar to that of any mage I’d encountered.
Mephisto was an award-winning ass, and wore the title as if it held the same prestige as being of the nobility. Despite my apprehension and at times dislike for him, I couldn’t deny he was a handsome man. Midnight hair with a light hue of indigo and a strong jawline, so sharply defined it could cut through metal. Winged cheekbones and clear, emotive eyes that twinkled when he smiled, which he did a lot.
I had tried to distance myself and restrict my interaction with him, but my business wouldn’t be able to thrive without him. It wasn’t like I had a line of people willing to give me a job. Most people steered clear of me. If I wanted to work, then I had to deal with him. I wasn’t his employee, but he often had more work than he could handle so I got his overflow.
But this wasn’t overflow. Occasionally he would send me a good client, but I was surprised he allowed me to handle working with these three. Then again, I had never failed before, which was why he was often trying to recruit me.
“I applaud your parents’ commitment to being unique. Why in the world would they name you after the devil?”
He leaned in, and his lips lifted into a smirk. “My parents didn’t name me Mephisto,” he offered in a low tone. “We’ve had this discussion many times.”
“Then what is your name?” For three years I’d worked for him, and not one time had he let his real name slip. Even payments were made from Mephisto.
Amusement played at his lips, and in seconds he had taken up all the space between us that I had managed to gather again. His tall, imposing body folded slightly as he whispered in my ear, “That’s something I only share with lovers and friends, and you are neither.” He took a step back and winked. “But I am willing to change that.”
“No thank you, I have enough frien
ds. I’m not looking for any more. And regarding the other thing, the amount of liquor I’d need would cause alcohol poisoning. You don’t want to be responsible for my death, now, do you?”
He continued to smile as he moistened his lips. He probably thought there was an implied “not yet” behind my denial.
He looked back at the group of men. “I wanted this job, but they actually requested that I set things up with you.”
Damn. I wished they had come to me directly; then Mephisto wouldn’t get his fee, and it might also pave the way for more direct clients.
“So play nice,” he cooed. He was still too close, and when he directed me to our clients again, I shifted, trying to avoid contact with his hands.
I wasn’t going to play too nice, because it was like petting an unfamiliar animal. I had to stay on my guard and not be dominated by people who were clearly used to doing just that.
“Landon, you lost a Dracon dagger. Why on earth didn’t you destroy it the moment you had it in your possession?” I asked the vampire. But I knew why. It was a powerful weapon against vampires. Staking a vampire didn’t really lead to death if feeding was possible, and good luck trying to sever a vampire’s head without them taking a chunk out of your neck. But being nailed by a Dracon dagger ensured death. It was a powerful tool against other vampires, which is probably one of the many reasons why Landon was feared.
Ignoring the look Landon gave me, indicating he was obviously unaccustomed to being called out on his behavior, I directed my attention to Alex, the shifter. “And you lost . . . ?”
“A moon ring,” he admitted in a tight voice. I gave myself a headache rolling my eyes so hard. Those rings were invaluable. They helped shifters prevent changing, which could be quite helpful around the full moon if they didn’t want to shift. Because there were so few of the ancient rings, one could hold a price tag close to seven figures.
And then my focus went to Kieran. His lips twisted and he took a long time to answer, which meant it was going to be a doozy. “Summoning stone.”
My gaze moved between the three of them. “You all do realize most people play poker with money, not priceless objects, right?”
“Erin,” Mephisto said from across the room, slipping back into the corner. It was a reminder of Satan’s presence or rather Satan’s helper’s, if my memory about German folklore served me correctly. I wasn’t sure if he was an assistant—Mephisto could probably subjugate Satan. “They understand the severity of it; that’s why they asked for a meeting with you. You are one of the best retrieval specialists I know.”
He made being a professional thief sound so eloquent. It did have a nice ring to it. I’d bet he called an assassin a director to the afterlife.
I should have known that the items were going to be priceless when Mephisto offered the job. He had his own company of investigators and professional thieves, or, rather, retrieval specialists. I wasn’t totally confident he didn’t employ afterlife directors.
I crossed my arms and rested against the desk, my gaze sweeping over each one of them before landing on Landon. His tongue ran over his fangs, and his hard eyes flattened. I ignored the way he kept eyeing the veins in my neck and wrist. Don’t even think about it.
“What happened?” I asked Landon, since he’d hosted that game. Apparently, when you’re a century-old vampire that’s what you did. You hosted poker games and bet with priceless magical objects like they were just junk you found around the house.
He shrugged and approached me slowly as if he’d forgotten he was in my crappy office and instead was strolling down the catwalk. I wished I’d asked someone who was a little less dramatic.
“It was a typical game, the stakes had gotten rather high—” The tone of his voice as silky and refined as the Italian suit he wore.
“Wait.” Again, I glared at each one of them. “You all just keep priceless objects with you for the hell of it?”
“I keep mine on me, yes,” Alex offered. That made sense, but it didn’t make sense that he’d been irresponsible enough to bet with it in a game. Maybe he’d had a hand that he’d been sure would win. Among the benefits of being a shifter were acute senses that could be used to assess others’ responses. He gave me a look and I figured he’d initiated the high-stakes bidding. I hated dealing with manipulative assholes, and I was dealing with three.… Wait, I forgot Mephisto. Four of them.
“Then what happened?”
“Lights went out, not even for a minute; a bright flare made things blurry, and when it cleared, everything was gone, the objects and the money.” Landon made a face. “They even took several bottles of 1850 Pierre Chabanneau.”
Yeah, because expensive cognac is what it’s all about. I started to point out that no one steals cheap cognac. Instead, I asked Alex, “You didn’t smell anything?” Not too many things got past a shifter. I didn’t want to question him too much—I was sure this was embarrassing for him. A hunter being preyed upon couldn’t be a good feeling.
“Magic?” I asked Kieran.
He nodded, but didn’t elaborate.
I considered all the information, then looked at Landon, from whom I’d garnered a great deal of attention. “I’ll be by your home later to check it out.” Then I addressed the others. “Give me a couple of days. I’ll get your items,” I said with a confidence I didn’t feel. This wasn’t just someone sending me out to steal stuff, or even to do a run-of-the-mill acquisition where they told me what they wanted and I tried to find it. Those jobs were easy. I just asked around and usually I could find it without much effort. Rich people who had more money than time paid me to find something of interest. Most of the time they didn’t mind if I found it in someone else’s home. Usually I could negotiate a purchase … and if I couldn’t, well, sometimes things got “lost.”
The thieves had managed to circumvent a shifter, vampire, and mage—they were good. And I wasn’t too arrogant to admit they were probably better than me.
“What do you think?” Mephisto asked once we were alone. The olive tone of his skin deepened his dark eyes. Like Landon, he enjoyed his suits. He usually wore black, all black. He’d changed a little for this meeting. This suit was a dark green, with a black shirt with one button open in an attempt to make him seem casual. There wasn’t anything casual about him.
“It would have been a great inside job. All the person had to do was up the ante. After all, he knew the type of people he was dealing with—men easily urged into showing how big their tools were and willing and ready to have a size contest. ‘Look, my priceless object is better than yours.’”
“Do you always have to do the eye roll?” He seemed amused.
“Do you always have to stand so close?” I stepped back.
Mephisto considered personal space an optional thing, invading mine regularly. His odd brand of magic teased me, prickling at my skin as if inviting me to test it. My curiosity started to get the best of me as he removed the distance. “You’re curious, aren’t you?” he whispered.
I moved back. “You don’t want me to be.”
He smiled. “It might be fun.”
“I can assure you, dying isn’t fun,” boomed a deep baritone from the door. My best friend’s voice was just as commanding as his size. Six-five, with thick, striated muscles that stretched the seams of his t-shirt. His dark-brown hair was cut scalp low. Tawny skin brightened when he smiled. His demeanor and overpowering presence definitely were reminders that he was an ex-Marine, but his gentle smile made it easy to forget. Our friendship had been forged out of convenience while I was learning to use my magic. He’d been the only one who managed to miss ending up on the floor unconscious as a team of people tried to bring him back from the clutches of death.
“Hey, you said it wasn’t that bad,” I said, grinning.
“It’s cleansing,” Cory teased. “Like being punched in the chest. It’s a reminder of how nice it is to breathe without it hurting. Every once in a while, people need a reminder of how good they have it.” H
e was still smiling as he took a position next to me, crossing his arms over his chest, mirroring my stance.
“Satan’s here, where’s the check?” he asked as he looked on the desk. Cory helped me a lot between work at his full-time job. When I knew I needed magic for the job, he was there to help and, worst case, offer me his. As a death mage, I could not only use the energy produced when someone was in a state between life and death; I could borrow the person’s magic as well. If the magic donor died, I had use of it, but only for a limited time. I didn’t possess my own, which is probably why the craving was so intense when I didn’t have it. It was common to want what we couldn’t have. And being able to hold the power, feel the surge of it, and control it, even for a short time, created a void. It was more than an empty space for me: it was a desire that I hadn’t been able to squelch. Some might go as far as to call it an addiction. Sometimes I felt like it was.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Landon, Kieran, and Alex had a moon ring, summoning stone, and Dracon dagger stolen during a poker game.”
“Most people play with money. Do they not realize that?”
“That’s the same thing I said.” I laughed.
Mephisto didn’t find this as amusing. He frowned. “As you were saying,” he urged.
“It just seems like it would be ideal for someone to plan this game only to have things stolen and claim innocence. What if Landon planned this?” I inquired.
Mephisto didn’t take a beat to consider it. “Something like that is beneath him. Despite the long-standing mythology, vampires and werewolves get along just fine, and Landon and Alex are friends. I don’t doubt that if he’d won the moon ring, he would have sold it back to Alex—of course at a hefty upcharge.” He grinned.
I dismissed my working theory that it was an inside job. Cory was the constant skeptic. “It’s really odd that they came to you, Mephisto, and not the police.”
Death's Kiss Page 1