Chosen by Fate

by Virna DePaul

  “Even with Knox and Felicia’s return,” he said, “my team is fracturing. Their hearts are weighed down with other concerns despite the happiness they’ve found. Knox is obsessed with keeping Felicia safe. Wraith is no longer the weapon she once was. Our enemies are growing bolder with every defeat they suffer. Just how do you expect me to stand for your children when you won’t give me full disclosure? Won’t be more specific about what it is we need to do?”

  “I am limited in what I can give. We both know I’m your creator but also that I am not, Mahone. I know what you speculate.”

  Her blatant admission shocked him. Worried him. What was behind it? “So you admit I’m right? There’s someone—something—more powerful we’re up against?”

  “All I can say is creation is quite complicated. It’s not as black-and-white as one would wish. Someone on your team will learn that quite well very soon.”

  Mahone felt his eyes round and imagined the comical picture he made. “Oh no. No. One of my team is pregnant? Who? Felicia? Wraith?” When Essenia remained silent, Mahone whispered, “Lucy?”

  “We’ve talked quite enough, Mahone. Rest now. You’ll need your energy for what’s to come.”

  “What are you—”

  His phone rang. He looked at it, then at Essenia. Watched her form fade in a flash of light.

  The phone kept ringing. Ringing. Ringing.

  Finally, with a soft curse, Mahone answered it. “Mahone.”

  “This is Dex. We’ve got a situation.”

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  ALL THAT BLEEDS

  Coming January 2012 from Berkley Sensation!

  AUGUST 2007

  Ican’t believe this is happening, Alissa thought. She whirled to face her bodyguard, Mr. Clark. His lean form was rigidly straight, his expression grim as she stepped forward.

  “We can’t just stand by,” she said in a low voice with another quick glance around the house’s panic room. Oatmeal-colored walls, a stocked refrigerator, plush couches, and a bathroom with a cavernous slate-tiled shower. A person could live in the panic room for quite a while and certainly nothing, not even a demon, could get through the magically reinforced steel walls that were as thick as any bank vault’s. Yes, it was safe and comfortable—if they were willing to ignore the slaughter happening in the rest of the house. The Arts & Innovation benefit had turned into a nightmare. Mr. Clark had pulled her down the hall to safety before she’d realized what was happening.

  Alissa took a deep breath. The sterile air had an almost metallic tang. She straightened to her full height and beckoned for Mr. Clark’s gun. He ignored her outstretched hand. She inched forward, her pink-champagne Balenciaga gown swishing over the carpet.

  Beyond the bodyguard’s shoulder, the giant screen showed the ballroom where an enormous demon nearly eight feet tall was holding a roomful of humans hostage. Dead security officers littered the dance floor like discarded party favors. The greasy, gray-skinned demon yawned, its toothless mouth as wide as a cavern. Would he swallow his victim whole? Like a snake? He had no weapon, but with razor-sharp claws and inhuman strength, he didn’t need one.

  How did the demon even cross into our world?

  There had never been an incident like it in Alissa’s lifetime. Or even in her mother’s time. For the fifty-four years since the muses had inspired mankind to defeat the vampires during The Rising, the world had not tolerated supernatural threats. In the twenty-first century, no vampires existed and no demons rose. Humankind wrote the laws that ruled the world. And everyone had been safe. Until now.

  “Mr. Clark, either go out and help those people or give me your gun so I can.” Her voice was as sharp as she could make it. She might have been only twenty-one, but, as a daughter of the House of North, in a time of crisis she was prepared to lead. She kept her arms tight to her sides in hopes that he wouldn’t see them tremble.

  “Unless Mr. Xenakis gives the order, that door doesn’t open until the creature is gone or dead,” Mr. Clark said.

  Alissa narrowed her eyes. Dimitri Xenakis, the Etherlin Council’s president, would never give an order that would put her in danger, but he also wouldn’t have locked the panic room when so many other people were still outside.

  “Mr. Xenakis isn’t here, but I know he would want us to help. Open the door. I’ll go out and distract the demon long enough for people to escape. You can get anyone into the panic room who’s too afraid or too slow to run.”

  Mr. Clark folded his arms across his chest, his black tuxedo jacket revealing the slight bulge on his left side where his holstered gun lay. “You expect me to use you as bait?” he scoffed.

  “Yes, because I expect us to do something,” she said, the irritation rising in her voice.

  A flicker of movement drew her eyes to the screen. The creature attacked again. The red-violet eyes were wild. And merciless. The victim’s bloodied body fell to the creature’s feet. Her stomach churned, and she had to swallow against its rising contents.

  Be strong! Don’t let Clark see weakness. She turned from the screen, clinging to her composure.

  She pushed back a strand of hair that had come loose when she’d raced down the hall. “We have to do something,” she whispered.

  “The silver and iron bullets bounced off it. The creature is invulnerable.” Mr. Clark shook his head. “I would still face him if you weren’t here, but you are. If I open the door and he catches the scent of your blood, he’ll be on you in seconds once I’m dead. You know a muse’s blood is irresistible to The Damned.” He paused. “Nothing but Mr. Xenakis’s direct order will make me open that door.”

  “But the demon could stay until everyone is dead,” Alissa argued, holding out a hand to implore him. “We can’t wait. Please. You have to let me try.”

  “No,” he said firmly.

  A tremor rocked the house, and they looked up at the screen. A figure in black strode into the ballroom. He shrugged off a black duster coat, letting it drop in his wake without slowing his stride.

  “Merrick,” Mr. Clark mumbled.

  “Who’s Merrick?” Alissa asked, staring at the dark-haired man on the screen who wore sunglasses despite the late hour. He stopped about twenty feet from the creature, then slid a knife from the sheath on his hip. He was tall and broad, but the monster was enormous.

  Mr. Clark leaned forward. “He can’t be serious. That blade looks like it’s made of ivory. It’ll crack long before it gets through a demon’s hide.”

  Merrick’s lips moved, and Alissa bent over the controls and pressed a button to un-mute the surveillance system.

  To the people, Merrick said, “Get out.” He nodded to the door, but when they inched toward it, the demon roared and they froze. “Go ahead,” Merrick said, even as the creature crouched, ready to attack them.

  Merrick clucked his tongue, drawing the demon’s attention. “Come, Corthus, I’m your dance partner.”

  “What’d he just say?” Mr. Clark asked.

  Alissa blinked, realizing that Merrick had spoken to the creature in Latin. She’d translated his words in her head without thinking. “He’s goading the demon.”

  “Not for long,” Mr. Clark said grimly.

  Without warning the demon sprang forward. Alissa gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Merrick slid away, and the demon’s claws smashed a chair but didn’t get a piece of the man who continued to taunt him. As he fought, Merrick’s unflinching confidence and strength amazed her.

  Nothing about his body had changed, but he moved like smoke, curling close and then away. The demon cocked its head and looked down. She saw it then: blackish fluid, spraying from the demon’s side. Merrick’s blade had connected.

  Merrick smiled at the demon’s startled expression. “Come on. That can’t be all you’ve got. I got up before noon to get here.”

&n
bsp; The demon roared and charged again. Merrick slashed and arced away, his motions fluid, almost acrobatic. The demon crumpled, moaning. Its guttural voice protested in Latin. “Impossible,” it said.

  “Apparently not,” Merrick replied. His weapon rested casually near his thigh for a moment before he struck again, sinking the makeshift blade into the demon’s skull.

  Alissa recoiled, her hands in tight fists. The demon stilled.

  He made that look easy when all the others couldn’t even wound it. Where did he come from?

  Merrick shook his head at the demon as its simmering flesh rotted rapidly into a lumpy puddle on the floor. “Not much of a peach after all,” Merrick mumbled. He turned then and looked around at the bodies before he glanced up into the surveillance camera. He seemed to be staring directly at them, though with his sunglasses on it was impossible to tell for sure. The corner of his mouth curved up.

  “You can come out now,” he mouthed.

  She blushed, embarrassed that he’d guessed that someone was hiding.

  “Bastard,” Mr. Clark grumbled.

  “How could he know we’re in here?” she asked.

  “He doesn’t. He’s just guessing,” Clark said, walking to the refrigerator at the back of the room. “It’s all over. Sit and have some water.”

  “No,” she murmured.

  Onscreen, Merrick turned and strolled to retrieve his coat.

  Alissa strode to the door and unlocked it, then darted out and down the corridor before Mr. Clark could stop her. The air from the ballroom smelled like asphalt and sulfur. She grimaced at the stench, but it faded as she reached the foyer.

  Merrick seemed taller up close. At least six and a half feet.

  Beautiful bone structure. Even obscured by whisker stubble, she could tell.

  “Mr. Merrick,” she said breathlessly. He smelled spicy and masculine. Unaccountably delicious. She was almost overcome by the urge to touch him. Was it the adrenaline rush that made him seem so attractive? She extended her hand. “Please accept my thanks—”

  Merrick’s warm hand closed around hers just as Mr. Clark’s voice boomed down the corridor. “No! Let her go, Merrick.”

  With his free hand, Merrick slid his sunglasses down, revealing eyes so dark they seemed to have no color at all, as black and gorgeous as midnight.

  “This is an unusual party. First a demon, now an angel.”

  “I’m not an angel.”

  “Me either, as it turns out,” he said with a slow smile, then opened his mouth slightly to touch the point of his tongue to the tip of a fang. Fear sluiced through her veins. Ventala. The byproduct of the vampires’ desperate attempt to save themselves by breeding with humans.

  In an instant, everything she’d learned in her World Studies class came rushing back. In the early 1950s, after their unexplained mutation, shape-shifting vampires in bat form had envenomated and drained millions. Initially, bats were thought to be the vector for a new strain of plague that was universally fatal.

  Eventually, the truth was suspected as un-mutated vampires hunted in the wake of their shifting counterparts. When the muses inspired the development of the V3 ammunition, humans began to fight back effectively. The tide of human fury had been boundless, and savvy vampires lacking the “Bat Plague” mutation had stopped hunting and tried aligning themselves with mankind by taking human lovers and having children with them. Ventala. It hadn’t saved the vampires; it had only created a new race of bloodthirsty creatures for the world to contend with. Beautiful, deadly creatures, like the one in front of her.

  Alissa studied him. Apparently amused by her surprised reaction to his fangs, Merrick cocked a mocking eyebrow. Alissa tried to withdraw her hand, but he held it. She blinked as the muzzle of Mr. Clark’s gun appeared, pressing against Merrick’s temple.

  “I accept your thanks, Miss—?” Merrick’s deep voice hummed over her skin. His breath smelled like mint leaves, making her breathe deeper.

  It’s a trap. Everything about him lures in his prey.

  “Miss North,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady as her heart beat a riot in her chest.

  His gaze flicked to her neck. She wondered if he could see her pulse throbbing there. Would he sink those teeth into her throat? Bleed her dry? He might, but he seemed so in control of himself. How was that possible if the ventala were just animals in the face of a muse’s blood? She knew she should draw back from him, but she didn’t want to.

  Innocence and mystery don’t last long in each other’s company. It was a quote she’d read long ago. She could taste its warning. Don’t forget what he is.

  “V3 bullets, Merrick. Unless you’d like parts of your brain leaking out of the holes I put in your skull, you’ll let her go,” Mr. Clark said.

  Alissa grimaced. She was grateful to have the bodyguard with her, but she didn’t want there to be more violence. “This isn’t how the night should end, Mr. Clark. We’re in Mr. Merrick’s debt,” she said.

  Merrick’s smile widened. “Beautiful manners to match the beautiful face.” His low voice sent a wave of heat through her. She was attracted to him. Still. Which was foolish and made her angry with herself. “I bet your boarding school education was expensive,” he said.

  Yes, very expensive. And where did someone like you get educated? Charm school for killers? Her lips were dry, but she didn’t dare lick them. She wouldn’t tempt him. Her blood alone should have been a temptation that he couldn’t resist. And yet he did resist, standing there so calmly. How? With a gun pressed to his head no less.

  She swallowed slowly. “If you returned my hand, I think it would ease Mr. Clark’s mind.”

  Merrick stared into her eyes. “Mr. Clark’s. Not yours, huh?” The corners of his mouth turned up in a mocking smile.

  Be still. He’s toying with you.

  “Too bad I was so late to the party, Miss North. If I’d gotten here earlier, I could’ve asked you to dance.” His dark gaze seemed to light her blood on fire.

  “It wouldn’t have made a difference. No matter when you’d arrived, I would have had to say no.” She cleared her throat. “Let go of my hand, please,” she said more firmly.

  “Not a peach to be had,” he murmured, letting her hand fall from his. He moved past her in an instant, leaving Mr. Clark’s gun pointing at empty air. When Clark noticed, he lowered it.

  Relieved, and yet inadvisably disappointed, Alissa turned to watch Merrick walk through the gaping hole that he’d blown in the front of the mansion to gain entry.

  “Why did he come to save us if he’s one of them?” she asked.

  “He didn’t come to save anyone here,” Mr. Clark said. “The demon was in the Varden last night, slaughtering them. Merrick came for vengeance. He’s an enforcer. A common killer.”

  Alissa stared at the velvety darkness into which Merrick had disappeared. Certainly a killer, but not common.

  Berkley Sensation Titles by Virna DePaul

  CHOSEN BY BLOOD

  CHOSEN BY FATE