Bite

by Laurell K. Hamilton, Charlaine Harris, MaryJanice Davidson, Angela Knight, Vickie Taylor

  He turned to look at her as she entered, one brow lifted, his eyes a smoky blue that gave his harshly handsome face a hint of the poet.

  All of which provided a marked contrast to the bottle of Jack Daniels he balanced on one knee.

  "You just sit around in full armor?" Damn, she'd kill for a can opener. "Doesn't it chafe?"

  "It's enchanted. I've worn less comfortable Armani." The swordsman squinted at her through the smoke curling from his thick black stogie. Instead of the usual cigar reek, it smelled masculine and exotic, a hint of magic giving the smoke a faint glow. "Don't believe I know you, kid. And I thought I knew every Maja in the Mageverse." White teeth flashed. "Most of 'em in the biblical sense." Flicking ashes into a crystal ashtray sitting beside his helm, he took another puff. His hand was big, square, and scarred, but his lips looked impossibly erotic as they closed around the cigar.

  She dragged her wandering attention away from all the carnal ideas that mouth gave her. "I'm Caroline Lang." And how was she supposed to explain the situation without sounding like an even bigger idiot than usual? "I'm new here."

  The swordsman stood to shake her extended hand. His touch did devastating things to her concentration. "Hell of a time to join the business." He nodded at the nearest chair. "I'm Galahad. Have a seat."

  "Galahad? The Galahad?" When he lifted an amused brow, she mechanically moved to take the chair he'd indicated.

  Gorgeous old tales spun through her memory. Sir Galahad, son of Lancelot and knight of the Round Table. So pure of spirit, he alone of all Arthur's knights was fit to find the Holy Grail, the cup of Christ.

  The legends had neglected to mention he was a vampire.

  They'd gotten the part about the Holy Grail wrong, too, according to the vamp who'd made her a witch. Assuming Count Rat Bastard hadn't lied about that the way he had about everything else. For one thing, it wasn't holy.

  According to Dominic, the cup actually belonged to Merlin himself, who used a series of tests to determine the worthiness of the knights and ladies of Camelot. Those who passed were allowed to drink from the Grail, which magically transformed them. The women became magic-using witches—Majae—while the men became warrior vampires, or Magi. Collectively, they were known as Magekind, the immortal guardians of Man.

  The Magekind were a fertile lot, but their children were born mortal. The Latents, as they were called, carried a genetic trait called Merlin's Gift that could transform them into Magekind.

  If, that is, the adult Latent made love to a Maja or Magus at least three times. Repeated sexual contact triggered the Gift, transforming the Latent in an explosion of magic. Without that contact, the child grew old and died like anybody else, except for passing the trait on to his own Latent descendants. Sometimes the Gift passed unused through so many generations, the Latents themselves forgot its existence.

  Which is how Caroline became a witch after meeting Dominic Bonnhome in a bar. He'd spent the next month romancing her—wine, roses, expensive dinners. She'd just lost her teaching job to state education cutbacks, and she was feeling all too vulnerable. Dominic seemed the perfect antidote: handsome, seductive, fantastic in bed. A dream lover who anticipated her every need and fulfilled each and every one of them. What more could a girl want?

  Then he told her he was a vampire. Didn't it just figure? The man of her dreams was a nutball. What was worse, he swore she was a descendent of one of the knights of the Round Table. She was getting ready to call the little men in white coats when he turned into a wolf.

  What a relief.

  So when he'd offered her immortality, measureless power, and a role in saving the world with him by her side forever, she'd jumped at it like the lovesick idiot she'd been. The next thing she knew, it felt like the power of the cosmos was pouring into her on the end of Dominic's dick. Suddenly she was a Maja, mistress of mind-blowing magical powers. Scary as hell, but what a kick.

  It only got better when he showed her how to create a magic gate to Avalon. She thought she'd died and gone to cheerleader heaven.

  Which was when her dream lover dropped her like a coyote-ugly sorority girl the morning after a drunken frat party. Ooops. Her Maja trainer later told her Dominic was a professional seducer whose job was romancing promising Latents. She'd been suckered.

  Now the latest vampire in her life was watching her through the smoke of his cigar. Sir Galahad himself. She could tell just by looking at him that he was going to be bigger trouble than Dominic.

  "Ninety percent of what you've heard about me is bullshit," Galahad told her.

  "Yeah? My trainer said you Round Table guys are stone killers who go through women like toilet paper." Keep your distance, Sir Fangsalot.

  He stuck the cigar between his fangs and grinned around it. "You got me on the first part. Not sure about the second." Puffing, he allowed an artistic pause to develop. "I've never used toilet paper. Last time I took a dump, Europe was sliding into the Dark Ages." Before she could think of a suitable response to that one, he flicked his cigar into the ashtray. "So what brings you to the Lords' Club, Caroline? You do realize the Ladies' Club is across the street, right?"

  Apparently Sir Galahad was a sexist jerk. That made things a lot easier. "I guess you didn't get the memo. Men and women are equal now."

  He gave her a long look that somehow made her feel like a bitch. "Maybe, but witches are better than everybody. Which is why there are two clubs. All that blood and sex is so distasteful."

  And maybe she needed to quit being so defensive before she alienated the only guy who could help her. "That's what I get for making assumptions."

  "I forgive you." He stretched out his long legs, mailed heels clanking on the hardwood floor as he studied her. "Mostly because of those shorts. Is that fabric, or just a layer of magical spray paint?"

  Caroline glanced down. She wore the same snug denim cutoffs and cropped T-shirt she'd had on when she sat down to watch TV. "I forgot I was wearing these. I came right over when I had the vision."

  "Yeah, I figured I didn't owe this little encounter to good Karma." He rolled out of his chair with a boneless grace that suggested he wasn't kidding about the enchanted armor. Caroline followed as he sauntered over to the bar and pulled a glass down from an overhead rack. "I assume this vision did not involve you, me, and a pair of fur-lined handcuffs."

  She had to admit she was tempted, Dominic notwithstanding. "If I said yes, could we pretend it did?"

  He looked up at her, lifting a brow. "I'd love to, but I get the distinct impression we have a more pressing engagement." Pouring two fingers of whiskey into a glass, he handed it to her. "Spit it out, Caroline. Who am I supposed to kill now?"

  2

  CAROLINE reached past Galahad to claim the glass of whiskey. She had the feeling she was going to need it. "Actually, I think they're vampires."

  "Figures. Geirolf's bunch?"

  "Who's Geirolf?"

  "You are new." He shrugged those impressive gold-clad shoulders. "It's complicated. Why don't you tell me what you saw?"

  She hesitated, not sure where to start. "Well, you're not going to believe this, but I think I saw the devil."

  "Big guy? Red skin, huge horns?"

  "I'm not making this up."

  "I don't doubt it, but that wasn't the devil. That was Geirolf."

  "You're kidding. Horns?"

  "He only had horns part of the time. The rest of the time, he looked kind of like Richard Gere." Galahad took another swig from his bottle and grimaced at the fire.

  "Both forms were probably illusions. He was actually an alien from another planet in the Mageverse."

  Dominic had mentioned Mageverse aliens, too. Apparently Merlin and his lover Nimue had also been from another planet; they'd come to Realspace Earth like old-style missionaries visiting Africa. After transforming the humans they'd chosen as champions, they'd jaunted off to the next world on their list. "Geirolf is one of Merlin's people?"

  "God, no." Galahad leaned a mailed elbow aga
inst the bar, armor creaking as he settled in to tell his story. "Geirolf and his kind—they're called the Dark Ones—are psychic parasites."

  Caroline snorted. "Sounds like Dominic."

  "Guy that turned you?"

  "Yeah."

  "I figured. You've got that skittish look. Court seducers don't have a whole lot of scruples when it comes to recruitment." He met her gaze. "Not all of us are like that, Caroline."

  Those blue eyes were so direct and level, she found herself relaxing. Maybe he could be trusted. "That's good to hear. So what's this with these killer aliens?"

  He puffed his cigar a few times, eying her thoughtfully through the smoke before continuing. "The Dark Ones came to Earth about five thousand years ago and started passing themselves off as gods. They'd con the locals into making human sacrifices, then they'd feed on the life force of the victims. When Merlin and Nimue showed up, they declared war on the Dark Ones and kicked their collective butts."

  She toasted him with her glass. "Yay, Merlin."

  He grinned and flicked his ashes into the crystal ashtray at his elbow. "After the battle, Merlin and Nimue banished the Dark Ones and imprisoned their ringleader, Geirolf, in a cell on Mageverse Earth."

  "Why didn't they kill him?"

  "Evidently they're not real big on killing. Personally, I think it's the only real way to thin the asshole population."

  Caroline instantly thought of a principal or two she'd like him to meet. "That could work."

  "Yeah, but they won't let me do it. Anyway, Geirolf stayed locked up for the next sixteen centuries before escaping a year ago. The bastard managed to create a vampire army before we killed him last month."

  "You sure he's dead? Because I saw him making magical cups in my vision."

  Galahad shook his head. "Nope, he's dead. You must have seen something that's already happened. I never heard anything about any cups, though."

  "Well, he made them. Three of them. He gave them to these… I guess they were his priests. They wore these really loud robes. Anyway, thousands of worshipers lined up to drink from those cups. As soon as they took a sip, they turned into vampires." She sipped her whiskey and frowned. "Some of whom were female. I thought only men became vamps."

  "Geriolf's vamps have different rules than we do." Galahad scratched his jaw thoughtfully. "So that's how he transformed all those idiots. We wondered. Sounds like he stole a couple of pages from Merlin's book."

  "Presumably. Next I saw him getting ready to sacrifice a naked man and woman on this stone altar…"

  "Right. That was a Magekind couple, Erin Grayson and Reece Champion. Geirolf intended to use their deaths to power a spell designed to wipe us all out."

  "Sounds ugly."

  "That's putting it mildly. We'd have all cashed in our chips if he'd pulled that spell off. Luckily Erin and Reece managed to kill him first. But before we could wipe out Geirolf's worshippers, his second-in-command scattered them all over the planet. We've been hunting vampires ever since." Galahad grimaced. "And what a pain in the ass that's been."

  "Oh, so that's what that was. I wondered what the hell was going on when I saw all those vampires vanish." Caroline sighed and took another sip. "Anyway, it's going to get worse."

  "Figures. Why?"

  "Geirolf's priests took the cups with them when they gated away. I saw this one in particular make his own little nest after looking up twenty of his followers. And since he's got his very own cup—"

  Galahad winced. "—He's going to use it to create more vampires."

  She nodded. "His own private army."

  "Jesu, that's all we need." He sighed. "Looks like we're going on a cup hunt."

  IT had always annoyed Galahad that Magekind vampires couldn't work spells beyond healing their own wounds or turning into wolves. If you needed anything magical done, you had to go to a witch, particularly for complex spells. However, for relatively simple ones—protection or communication, for example—you could get her to make you an enchanted object, like armor, swords or gems. You could then use that object to work that specific spell.

  Which was why Galahad was forced to put his helm on to contact Morgana Le Fay. When he closed his visor and called her name, her image instantly appeared in his mind.

  Normally, Morgana favored slinky lingerie or designer suits, but this time she was clad in a glittering suit of plate mail, heavily engraved with runes and set with enchanted gems. A chain mail coif framed her long-boned, elegant face. Even in her current grim mood, she was one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen. "Your timing leaves much to be desired, Galahad," she growled. "We found that nest in Peru, and I'm getting ready to lead an attack. I don't have time to chat."

  "Make time," he snapped, and quickly filled her in.

  When he finished, she cursed in a fluid, profane blend of a dozen dead languages. "Enchanted cups. No wonder there seem to be so many more of these Goddess-cursed vampires."

  "We've got to get that cup, Morgana."

  "Obviously. I'll want a look at it, if I'm supposed to create a counter-spell."

  "Then Caroline and I are going to need reinforcements. She estimates there were a good twenty vamps in that nest she saw."

  "Then you'll just have to figure something out, because I can't spare anyone." When he started to protest, Morgana held up a ringed hand. "Galahad, we're about to fight a force of two thousand with one barely half that size. Arthur has his hands full with odds just as bad in Turkey, and Lancelot and Grace are leading a force against a heavily fortified nest in Montana. Then we've got another hundred agents going after individual killers, with Merlin knows how many innocents at risk." She broke off. "Speaking of killers, I gather you tracked your assignment down."

  "Took him out just after sunset." He grimaced, remembering the carnage he'd seen. "Son of a bitch was lucky I hadn't found the bodies before I killed him, or I'd have gotten artistic."

  She winced. "How bad was it?"

  "Bad as it gets. I counted twenty kids, all under eleven. Did save three of 'em he had in a cage, though. They're going to need a Maja to do psychic repairs, or they'll be screwed up for the rest of their lives."

  Actually, he wouldn't mind being put under a spell or two himself. Otherwise he'd be seeing that pit full of little corpses in his nightmares for the next couple of centuries. At least until he saw something worse.

  Morgana sighed. "Let me get through this fight and I'll attend to it. What did you do with the survivors?"

  "Called the police after I killed the bastard. They'll see the boys get home."

  She stiffened. "You didn't let the mortals find his body?"

  "I'm not an idiot, Morgana. Nobody's going to find him. Ever."

  "Good." The witch studied his face, her own softening fractionally. "Before you go after that cup, get something to drink. And I'm not talking about that mortal poison you love. You look drained."

  Galahad gave her a taunting smile. "So gate on over. You know I don't drink that from a bottle."

  Morgana lifted an elegantly aloof brow. "I seem to have a prior engagement. Why don't you nibble on your new friend instead? She probably needs it as much as you do. By the way, be careful with her. She hasn't had combat training."

  He straightened. "Any? Merlin's Cup, Morgana!"

  "Why do you think she's not here fighting? We're so short-handed, I had to pull her trainer in. And I could hardly throw Caroline into a battle like this when she's only had about a week's instruction."

  "Let me get this straight. You left a brand-new Maja alone in Avalon with nobody to instruct her in the use of her powers? You're lucky she hasn't turned the city into a crater."

  Morgana snorted. "That kind of spell would require more knowledge and power than she has."

  "And you want me to take her into combat?"

  "Not particularly, but we don't seem to have a choice."

  "Morgana…"

  "What do you want me to do about it, Galahad?" she snapped. "Yes, I'm aware the situation is
far from ideal, but you're just going to have to make the best of it. Keep a close eye on the girl, kill as many vampires as you can, and don't let her blow up anything important."

  He was about to tell her just how asinine that order was when something boomed, almost knocking her off her feet. Morgana ducked with a vile Latin curse. "Take care of it, Galahad. I've got vampires to kill."

  The image vanished.

  Galahad glowered into his darkened visor. Perfect. Just perfect. Thrown to the wolves with no backup except a grass-green Maja who'd probably blast him by mistake. He jerked off his helm and cursed.

  "I gather they're not sending reinforcements," Caroline said.

  Galahad turned to see her sprawled in a chair, long, silken legs crossed at the ankle. The view was almost enough to take him mind off their current situation. "They don't have any to send. We're stretched too thin, and Geirolf's vampires seem to be creating new recruits. If we don't get a handle on this, we're screwed."

  "I was afraid of that. In my vision, I didn't see anybody else on our side." She flipped her long, silken hair off one shoulder. It reached to the center of her back, as mink brown as those big dark eyes of hers. They dominated her oval face, though that exotic full-lipped mouth did a good job of balancing them out. Add a round chin and high cheekbones, and you had a girl-next-door prettiness Galahad found more than a little intriguing.

  Caroline's body was just as mouth-watering, with a lean, elegantly muscled build that suggested she did a lot more than grade papers. Her cropped shirt clung to perfect breasts the size of brandy snifters, while those spray-paint shorts revealed long, sleek legs.

  Except… Galahad looked closer and frowned. There was a hectic flush across her high cheekbones, one he knew a little too well. "How long has it been since you were milked?"

  She lifted a brow. "Is that a reference to breast size? Because if it is…"

  "No, when was the last time anybody fed from you?" He hated that term. The Majae considered milk demeaning, but at least it didn't make them sound like Happy Meals.