The Kala Trilogy: An Urban Fantasy Box Set

by Teagan Kearney

  The damn vamp had been popping into her thoughts throughout the day, and as he came toward her, Tatya struggled to keep the link closed.

  He smiled as he opened her truck door, bowing with a gentlemanly sweeping motion of his arm. The link sparked, and his smile grew wider. “M’lady.”

  “You make me want to swear,” she snapped as she slammed the door and the link shut.

  He grinned at her. “But, alas, you’re too much of a lady.”

  She’d loved to have let rip a stream of swear words, and have the satisfaction of slapping his face. But she knew he’d see right through any game she played. She stuck her nose in the air and stalked passed him. “Would you care to come in?” she threw over her shoulder as she walked ahead. She wasn’t going to let him see he’d won.

  “How kind. I’d love a coffee.”

  Ten minutes later, Tatya handed Vanse one large strong black coffee, no sugar, as he lounged at the breakfast bar, long legs spread out before him, completely at ease.

  “I wanted to inform you that no unusual vampire activity has been noticed. I posted extra patrols and nothing. Something’s not right, but I can’t put my finger on it. The extra measures will remain in place till the sheriff deals with this current problem. Anything else I should be aware of?”

  “The dead woman was last seen at the Blue Pines bar. It’s the one nearest the hospital.” She let that sink in. “That’s why Bill wanted you to check on the vamps.” Tatya looked up when Vanse made no response.

  He sat staring into space, his expression blank.

  “Vanse?”

  He snapped out of whatever place he’d gone to and switched topic. “How’s Changing Sky? And no, I’m not having you followed, but when you’re near to him, a grating sensation runs over my skin. Don’t look surprised. I think it’s some kind of residue from when he and I linked. Remember?”

  Yes, she did. Too well. “He wants me to train with the idiot who’ll be the next tribal shaman.”

  “Idiot?”

  “A shape-shifting werewolf who’s so puffed up, he’s blinded by his whiskers.” She laughed.

  “You are aware of the antagonism between certain supernatural species, aren’t you?”

  “Vaguely.”

  “He won’t know what to make of you. Werewolves will sense the vampire in your blood, but they won’t recognize the demon. Your abilities and connections to the Bandrui and Changing Sky’s spirit guides will confuse him more. But the hatred between our species goes back a long way. I’ll fill you in on the history one day.”

  This wasn’t welcome news seeing as how she and this shape-shifting were would be spending time in each other’s company. But it explained his attitude toward her.

  “And I repeat, how is Changing Sky?”

  “Do you have information you’d like to share?” She dismissed the sudden notion that the shaman might be unwell. “He’s always refused to let me scry him, consequently I know nothing other than he’s getting older.” He had seemed frailer, but she’d put that down to age. Maybe on her next visit, she’d ask him to let her scry for any health problems. Unfortunately, scrying worked best when a person had already developed a disease. A shudder ran through her at the possibility of Changing Sky becoming ill.

  In a second Vanse was on his feet, pulling her close to his chest, offering comfort. “Don’t worry. It’s all right.”

  The demon warmth from his body consoled her. Why did she fight him? He’d always been there for her—literally for centuries… why in this life did she cling to her independence? She turned her face up to him, opened the connection, and the golden chain linking them sprang to life.

  He responded by tightening his hold, leaning down and kissing her, and the world dissolved as waves of exquisite pleasure thrummed through her body. Her heightened senses became alive to and delighted in every spot where his body pressed against hers, the strength of his arms around her, and his lips touching hers. Only he could offer her this. She wanted him.

  He pulled back. “You are positive about this?”

  The opening notes of Beethoven’s Fifth, soft at first then increasing in volume, filled the air.

  “My apologies. I have to take this.”

  Tatya watched in disbelief as he pulled out his phone, walked away and answered in a low voice.

  Oh, no. This wasn’t happening again. She’d show him. She grabbed his half empty cup and flung it at the wall above the sink.

  The surprise on his face as he stared at the dark brown liquid trickling down the white tiles to the draining board was priceless.

  “Should I book an appointment? I mean, isn’t this your modus operandi?”

  He looked puzzled.

  “The way you come on strong, guns blazing, and then leaving me hanging?”

  He spoke briefly to whoever had called and hung up.

  “Rain check?” Tatya’s voice was honey.

  He walked toward her, arms outstretched.

  “Oh, no, you don’t.” She backed away. “I’m giving you a warning. Third time and I don’t get lucky—you’re officially out of the running in this lifetime. Okay?”

  He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, she continued. “And don’t give me that waiting for lifetimes crap. I’m alive here and now. Newsflash. Those other lives are dead and gone. That’s it. Now go. Before I get really mad.”

  When the smooth purr of his car engine faded, Tatya calmed down. I’ve got to stop demolishing the crockery when he’s around, she thought, scrubbing at the mess on the wall. I guess a vamp master has a lot of demands to attend to, and possibly, just possibly, one or two might be more urgent than bedding the love of his life.

  As she stood in the bathroom brushing the tangles out of her hair, no amount of vampire and demon blood had sorted that problem, her imagination went into overdrive as she realized she was serious about a relationship with Vanse. She’d fought her attraction to him from the moment she’d set eyes on him, despite his actions proving how much she meant to him. He’d done everything within his power for her, saved her life after Angelus took it, put aside his race’s age-long fear of native shaman for her, put every ounce of his power, and that of those who owed allegiance to him at her disposal. Whatever needed to be done to save her from Angelus’s clutches, he’d done.

  When she’d walked away from Orleton for six months to grieve, he’d accepted that too. Wasn’t it time to face her feelings for him in this lifetime? She flushed at the memory of how pleasurable his kiss had been, how good it felt to be in his arms, surrendering to her hunger for him. What would it be like to wake up in bed next to him every day? When the connection was open, no emotion or thought remained hidden from the other. What would it be like to be in a relationship where there were no secrets? She shoveled the broken cup into the trash. On the other side, heightened physical sensations and emotions were a plus. She giggled and did a little dance.Yes, there’d be details to work out such as managing their daily lives. Would she move into his lair? She knew there was a ballroom, and she giggled a bit more at the image of an opulent wedding and official crowning as consort in one ceremony. But what about her business? On no account was she giving up her independence, nor the freedom to pursue her own interests.

  She squiggled down into her sleeping bag gazing at the bright square of moonlight on the bedroom floor. Looking out of the window, she was bewitched by the waxing moon, already bright and overshadowing the nearby stars. One kiss and I’m living happily ever after? I should get real. Those endings only happen in books. She’d been on an emotional rollercoaster today, with her emotions see-sawing from one extreme to the other. I’m no more than an object he’s desired for as long as he can remember, she reflected. He’ll sleep with me and move on when the fancy takes him. It’s common knowledge vamps don’t have a moral compass. But to be honest, I don’t care, I’m just going to ride this wave till it hits the shore.

  Chapter Six: The Northern Isles, 2800 BC

  Vanse loped dow
n to the shore, then dragged his coracle into the water, as spears of burning agony lanced through his body. All he could see with each tortured movement was the awful surprise on her face as the knife pierced her heart. Why had he stabbed the woman he loved? What was happening to him? He tumbled into the boat, the urge to escape propelling him on as more images flashed through his mind, of walking along the shoreline, the Bard’s arm over his shoulder, looking into the man’s mesmerizing blue eyes, being unable to move as he was laid on the sand, and staring at the sharp white fangs edged in blood.

  As the sea and the sky became one vibrating pulsating presence pressing in, squeezing him, he groped around the bottom of the boat, found the oar, and began paddling. Why had he fled when he had nothing left to live for? The villagers would have killed him, and he could have joined his love in the afterlife, begged her forgiveness and explained his heinous action. But he knew he would have fought to live, and more innocents might have died.

  The last memory before he passed out was watching a small red bead of blood appear after the Bard accidentally pierced his own lip with his fangs. He could still taste the bitter sourness from that drop as it burned its way down his tongue and into his gullet. When he next woke, it was in the Tomb of the Dead, and knowing instinctively the Bard planned to use her, he’d gone in search of his love and killed her.

  Within minutes the retreating tide bore him far out to sea. Without warning the pain increased, doubling him up into a ball as a million sharp knives stabbed and scraped his skin from the inside; his muscles spasmed, and he lay helpless on the bottom of the boat as his body arched and twisted in torment. He opened his mouth to scream, but his ravaged throat could only croak. Mercifully it wasn’t long before mental anguish and physical torture merged and darkness claimed him.

  Vanse remained in blessed oblivion, protected from his miseries until he woke to a pair of bright hazel eyes surrounded by a tangle of blonde hair staring down at him.

  “Ah, you’re not dead.” The woman’s hand rested on his arm. She bent close. “I’m a witch, and I know what you are. I can smell it on you.” She sniffed. “Vampire, and another taint I don’t recognize. Seeing as how your species can’t abide the sunlight, I’m confused. But don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”

  He tried to sit up but fell back on the sand. He had the strength of a newborn. “Where am I?”

  “You’ve washed up on the sands of Alba, and judging by your speech, you’re from the islands. Here, drink a little of this.” She pulled out a piece of flint, and with a quick movement, slit her wrist with the sharpened edge, thrusting the cut flesh between his lips.

  He stirred as a desperate craving, roused by the sweet scent of her blood, surged. He grabbed her arm, sucking greedily.

  “Enough. I said a little.” She whacked him on the head with the thick branch she was holding in her other hand.

  Stunned, he let go. As the warm substance flushed through him, his senses exploded. He saw every tiny feathered movement, heard every whoosh of their wings as gulls flapped to gain height before swooping and landing farther along the wide pale beach as the deafening waves crashed on the shore. He turned too fast, and rainbow colors shifted and swirled. Behind him lay a forest and his mouth opened in wonder as he felt the beat of life pulsing through the earth. He was more alive than he’d ever been.

  “Come.” She stood and without waiting for him, marched up the beach toward the forest, the branch in her hand leaving a trail in the sand. “If the local tribespeople find you, they’ll realize what you are, and they’ll burn you alive,” she shouted over her shoulder.

  Everything was different, changing. He understood nothing. Except she’d saved him. What did she want? He was weak and in a strange country. He hauled himself to his feet and followed her into the darkness of the forest.

  Her home was in a cave near the foothills of a mountain range, which rose to distant jagged granite peaks. As night fell, she let him drink again, keeping the stick handy, but this time he stopped when asked. Her name was Shakti, and she was the local Sagart and healer but preferred to live apart because of vows made to her Goddess in return for magical gifts.

  The next day a fawn separated from its mother stumbled out of the trees. The delicate creature was close to death. Shakti walked out to the animal, soothed its trembling with soft words as she steadied it against her legs. “Come. Drink this creature’s blood for you can have no more of mine. This is enough to sustain you. You’ll always crave the blood of humans, but getting used to this will stop you from killing others or doing to them what was done to you.”

  That winter he and Shakti became lovers. He couldn’t give her his heart, but when the nights became too chilly, she lay next to him, and he was glad of her warmth and slim supple body. In time they came together, not out of love but for companionship—the witch and the vampire—and found physical release and comfort with each other. During the long dark nights, she taught him how to satisfy a woman.

  Returning home from the hunt one day with a full-grown stag across his shoulders, he stumbled across a wounded man, a hunter, lying on his back, unconscious, blood pooling from a great gash in his stomach from a wild boar. Vanse hadn’t smelled human blood since Shakti rescued him, and, despite having drunk his fill of animal blood earlier in the day, the sweet metallic odor filled his senses. He dropped his kill, overpowered by a magnetically irresistible attraction.

  The injured hunter groaned, his eyes widening as he saw fangs protrude from the mouth of the creature bending toward him. He opened his mouth to scream.

  But Vanse gripped the man’s jaw, holding his mouth closed and silencing him as he drank voraciously from the wound. Afterward, satiated, he wiped his mouth and sat staring at the empty drained husk. He shivered as he remembered Shakti’s words and his promise, and dragged the corpse far away, tossing it into a steep ravine. A twinge of regret at his action flickered through his mind though the man would have died anyway. More important, he’d learned he didn’t have the strength to resist the pull of human blood when it was laid before him. He washed the blood off himself and his clothes in a nearby stream and waited till dark, hoping to hide his act from Shakti.

  She knew as soon as he entered. “What have you done?” Spoken softly and without anger, her words affected him more than if she’d screamed.

  He attempted to explain the hunter was already dying when he found him, but she paid no attention.

  “You don’t understand my people. They’ll find the corpse, no matter how well you’ve hidden it. I should kill you myself before they catch and burn you. Your race has no conscience. Since you have now drunk from a human, no promise can stop you from doing it again.”

  As Vanse relived the warm delicious relief from his enduring blood hunger, he couldn’t deny the truth of her words. He survived on animals, but they didn’t compare with what he’d experienced today. An icy indifference invaded his thoughts.

  “Don’t bother trying. You are no match for me.” She smiled, her lips ruby-red in the firelight.

  Despite his developing abilities, Vanse could never defeat Shakti. Although she looked no older than a woman reaching maturity, he knew she’d lived the equivalent of three or four normal lives. She kept her powers shielded most of the time, but occasionally, when relaxed after making love, she dropped her guard, and he glimpsed the extent of her capabilities.

  Later, she gazed at him with sadness, but spoke no more to him that night, and moved her bedding away from his.

  On the day of the winter solstice, the sky was heavy with leaden clouds and the promise of snow. Shakti had forced him to fast for the two previous days, and that morning she insisted he bathe in the freezing freshwater stream near their dwelling. Afterward, she bid him follow her without speaking. She headed for the mountains, and as they approached the tree line, she made him collect wood before setting off up a steep boulder strewn slope.

  Weakened by his fast, the air harsh in his lungs, the bundle of branches heavy
on his shoulders, Vanse slowed, and despite the bulky bag she carried, Shakti strode ahead.

  He’d no choice but to stagger after her.

  Snow, white delicate flakes drifted, and swirled around them as the trail zigzagged upward. The higher they climbed, the fiercer the wind became as it battered the mountain, hurling a blizzard of snow and ice at the two tiny figures as if personally insulted by their puny endeavors.

  Vanse labored as freezing winds pummeled him. Howling gusts tugged and jostled the load on his back almost pushing him off-balance. Keeping his head down, he thought of nothing but putting one foot in front of the other, and staying within touching distance of the mountain on his left, wary of the chasm he knew was there, though it was no longer visible, to his right.

  Shakti was somewhere ahead, but he didn’t catch up with her till he neared the top. Turning to the wall of granite behind them, she waved her hand, and a fissure appeared in the rock. She preceded him through a narrow passage into a larger cavern and ordered him to get a fire going. “Now we rest,” she ordered, before curling up in her furs, and turning her back on him.

  Night had fallen and the bright sparks of departed souls shone in the heavens when Shakti’s foot in his ribs nudged him awake. She looked at him, her head on one side, her hair tied back, her mouth creasing in a sad smile. “I don’t know how, but you touched my heart when I thought I was beyond such emotions. What happens here tonight will give you a fighting chance.”

  She led him to the rear of the cavern. ‘Stand there.” She pointed to a spot in the center of a large circle of differently sized stones. “You are our enemy, and we are your prey. Over time, your species loses the ability to control yourselves, your humanity diminishes, and eventually you are no longer able to experience human emotion. What is left is a creature whose life comprises nothing but killing to satiate a voracious blood hunger before the lack of it drives you insane. Or another vampire or humans kill you. Is that what you desire?”