The Kala Trilogy: An Urban Fantasy Box Set

by Teagan Kearney

  Did he want to forget his past? Become a beast, an animal, driven to kill in order to survive? A brute creature with no respect for the Gods? A monster who’d forget to honor the ancestors? His hatred of Angelus twitched awake. Everything happening to him resulted from that demon’s actions. He remembered his vow to his dead love. “No,” he whispered. “No. I must never forget. I need to keep that part of myself alive.”

  Shakti smiled. “Good. Let’s start. No matter what happens next, stay silent.” She placed the object in her hand on the ground behind her.

  Vanse looked at the items and realized they weren’t stones. They were bones, human bones of different lengths and sizes, from what looked like a baby’s finger to thigh bones of a man larger than him. Where once the sight of such objects would have evoked fear, he now observed them with detachment. They meant nothing.

  Shakti chanted, a soft dirge in an unfamiliar tongue that echoed and reverberated around the walls. The bone circle flamed into a wall of fire so bright it hurt.

  As he watched through slitted eyes, the flames licked out and covered Shakti.

  Still, she chanted, effulgent, glowing with a golden light. In the blink of an eye, she grew and stretched into somebody, something else. Shakti had invoked the source of her magic, and her goddess had answered.

  Not daring to look at her, Vanse fell to his knees in awe, bowing to the ground.

  “Rise.” The goddess’s voice chimed, a melodic pleasing sound. “Because my most dear servant has asked, I will grant her request.” She pointed a bejeweled finger at him, and a spear of fiery light erupted.

  A burning sensation scalded his skin, and he collapsed.

  The divine being disappeared, and as Shakti fell to the ground, the light from the shining bones dimmed and faded.

  Vanse stood and lurched toward Shakti. Despite the stinging soreness of his chest, he lifted her up, holding her close, and as he stepped outside the ring, the throbbing eased and Shakti stirred.

  “Shush. Rest easy.” He said, laying her near the entrance.

  “I’m cold.” she whispered.

  Vanse pushed her hair back, shocked at the wide streaks of pure white that had appeared, and the lines around her eyes and mouth that hadn’t been there before. Her body had shrunk and withered, and his heart sank when he saw how much she’d sacrificed for him.

  He built a fire, and the heat from the crackling wood warmed them.

  “Show me the sign,” Shakti commanded, but even her voice sounded older, hoarser, and more frail.

  He bared his chest. A deep red stain scored his skin where the Goddess had marked him.

  Shakti reached out and touched the spot. “It’ll fade soon,” she said.

  “What blessing did you ask that demanded such a high price?”

  “Later.” She smiled at him, her eyes soft with emotion, “after I’ve rested.”

  Vanse kept the fire burning while Shakti slept. The weather didn’t bother him much anymore; he adapted to heat and cold, comfortable whatever the external temperature, but without heat, Shakti could die. The divine spirit’s touch had rejuvenated him and he felt neither hunger nor thirst. He sat, staring out into the night. Evil had touched him when Angelus bit him, and a balance had been struck because tonight he’d been blessed by a goddess.

  Dawn arrived, a pale peach glow in the east, deepening until the sun rose and turned the frozen white of the snow to molten gold, reminding him of last night’s visitation.

  Shakti stirred as sunlight fell across her face. She looked rested, though she was still pale, and the change in her hair remained.

  “Can you tell me what gift the goddess gave?”

  “Ah, the impatience of youth! First, fetch my bag.” Shakti dug out a few dried strips of meat and as she ate, her color improved. “She revealed what you are.”

  “I’m a vampire. What more is there?”

  “I always sensed a difference in you that puzzled me. You didn’t know but the bard who killed you was a demon who became a part vampire to avoid banishment from this plane of existence. The demon aspect increases the potency of the vampire, and explains why he could turn you so easily. He is powerful.”

  “I’m a demon and a vampire?” He blinked, and shook his head, unable to comprehend what she was saying.

  “You had a chance of controlling your vampire side until you drank that man’s blood.”

  “But I drank yours.”

  “Witches are different.

  “Did she rid me of the demon part?” He kept his hope quiet.

  “No, that isn’t possible except by death. But without her benediction, your humanity stood no chance in the battle between your vampire and demon selves. She has, however, given you a way to keep your humanity. Heed my words. When it’s time for the spirit soul to leave this world, the heart stops. After the soul has left, a shadow of the life force remains and the heart gives another half beat. If you drink in that space, between the last full beat and the final half beat, you will not lose your soul. Oh, and you must not be guilty of that death.”

  Neither spoke during their descent, each absorbed in their own thoughts. Shakti, weakened by her ordeal, walked slowly, and once home, she sent Vanse out hunting while she slept and recuperated.

  As he returned, he thought about how Shakti would enjoy the wild boar he’d caught. He sensed a disturbance in the air as he approached the cave. Dropping the carcass, he ran inside. No fire, and no Shakti. He listened. The forest was quiet, except for voices whooping and yelling in the distance.

  He ran toward the commotion, slowing as he came near, and heard voices raised in anger. One man’s voice was loud and harsh and carried through the forest.

  “You have harbored a killer. A killer of our people, and you will pay for your mistake.”

  Vanse crept closer, and hid, peering through the bushes.

  The speaker was a tall, older man, hair, and beard wild, with power streaming off him. Shakti lay on the ground and he kicked her in the stomach. She uttered a cry of pain and curled up, using her arms to protect herself as blood dripped from a savage cut on her forehead.

  This had to be their Holy One, for otherwise, Shakti would have been able to defend herself. The men had stripped, beaten and dragged her to the center of a circle of standing stones. Women and children stood watching. This was the villagers’ place of worship and sacrifice. The place she’d warned him never to come near. Vanse waited, watching for a chance, aware he was powerful beyond the strength of any single human, but Shakti had taught him well. The humans’ advantage lay in their numbers, and they outmatched him.

  One man approached the leader, bowed and handed him a knife before scuttling backward. The Holy One stood over Shakti, and chanted, his voice sending shivers up Vanse’s spine. The villagers watched silent, unmoving as he continued to intone, his voice becoming harsher and more strident as he cursed Shakti. He raised the knife.

  Vanse tried to move, he wanted to attack, disrupt the hexing, and save Shakti, but his legs refused to obey him. Whatever spell had been invoked rendered him as immobile as the villagers. His heart knotted with rage as he watched the blade plunge into Shakti’s chest, helpless to save the woman who’d rescued him.

  Shakti lay still, as a dark wet stain spread across her chest from the killing blow.

  “We shall not give this witch any honor. Her remains will lie here till the animals have taken their fill.” He strode out of the circle and the people followed.

  Vanse stayed hidden till the forest was silent again before rushing over to Shakti. He’d stabbed his love, and today someone else had stabbed this woman. Bloody tears ran down his cheeks. He was cursed

  “Don’t cry for me.”

  He stared, almost unable to believe his eyes. Hope rose. She wasn’t dead. Maybe he could give her his blood, and rejuvenate her battered body.

  “Ah, you care. There is hope for you yet,” she told him. “But no. My magic is tied to this place. If I leave here, I die anyway.” She cough
ed, wincing. “You must leave and go south. Go. Far and quick and never return. The magus knows of you, and even as we speak, he uses his skills to seek you out, preparing men to hunt you.”

  He bent, kissing her forehead with tender lips. “In saving my life, you have lost yours.”

  She glared at him. “If you want to honor my memory, always remember my instructions.”

  He nodded.

  “Say it aloud,” she commanded.

  “I vow before Father Sun and Mother Earth, before your gods and mine, that when I drink human blood, it will be at the point of death. And when I do, I honor you.”

  “Good. Now go. Or I’ll return from the afterlife and teach you a lesson you’ll never forget if you break your oath.” She breathed out, a long slow breath, sending her spirit to the next world.

  Chapter Seven: The Devil’s Own

  Two figures merged into the dusky shadows on the far corner of the building. A group of nurses coming off shift, their laughter soft in the air, exited from a side entrance. As soon as they spotted the supernaturals, they gave the couple a wide berth. Medical staff knew a lair existed somewhere below the basement, a fact Personnel was legally obliged to disclose before hiring as government funding was tied into the agreement. Such arrangements constituted the norm these days, but that didn’t mean everyone had to like it.

  For vampires, legalization of their species resulted in endless sub-clauses on authorized access to blood banks. Hospitals had been the obvious choice as distribution centers and vamps collected their supplies at night. Otherwise, things got messy. Any deaths occurring in a hospital because of actions by vampires would result in the expulsion of the community. The majority followed the rules. There were always those who thought themselves above the law, but these were chased down and exterminated. Protecting the current status quo was the priority.

  The women passed from sight, the final visitor boarded the bus, and the quiet shroud of darkness descended. Nobody saw one figure place his hands either side of the other’s face and stare into his eyes before they parted company. One returned inside, the other strode toward the town.

  The red and black flashing neon sign appealed to his sense of humor. The Devil’s Own. He smiled, his sensuous ruby lips revealing pearl white teeth. Even with his fangs extended, his looks belied his intent.

  Withdrawing the tell-tale incisors, he nodded at the solidly built bouncer and pushed open the door, breathing in the sweat, perfume, smoke, and alcohol odors of the humans saturating the air. To an onlooker, he could be a traveling salesman passing through, looking for a little fun and company on the road. He ordered a bourbon on the rocks, told the middle-aged balding bartender with a paunch to have a drink on him, and sat at in a corner at one end of the bar where he could observe.

  Most of the booths were taken. Couples entwined or arguing, groups of friends getting loud and raucous as the night passed, a couple of loners cradling their drinks as if it were their last, and a few hookers with heavy black eyeliner and crimson lips hitting on the single men.

  The prostitutes didn’t interest him—innocence appealed, not experience. A group of students, young men, and women burst through the door, their noisy chatter drawing his attention. He sniffed, drew the shadows around him, and examined the new entrants.

  One attracted his consideration. Yes, she reminded him of her, except this one wore her hair in a single braid down her back. He hung around till after midnight, rewarded when most of the students up and departed leaving the one he was interested in and a young man sitting in their booth.

  One of her friends tried to persuade her to leave, but she shook her head putting her hand on her companion’s shoulder. By this time, the rest of the patrons were oblivious to their surroundings or had departed.

  Most vamps cultivated patience, a quality necessary for the hunt, and all he asked for was time. He didn’t have to wait long.

  “It’s my turn,” the young woman laughed, pushing the youth back into his seat. “I’ll get them.” And she walked over to the bar.

  “Let me pay for those.”

  She turned to see who had spoken, ready to protest.

  Velvet glamour slid across the space between them. “Wait here.”

  She nodded, compliant now to his will.

  He leaned forward as he paid, staring into the bartender’s eyes. “I was never here. You never saw me.” Carrying the drink over to the table, he stared into the young man’s eyes, telling him his girlfriend had changed her mind, and gone to catch up with their friends. One more time he spoke, repeating his orders to the bouncer. Humans were weak; they were prey and had no defenses against a true predator. With his arm around the girl’s waist, his head bent toward hers, he drew darkness around him and headed into the night.

  “Why is it quiet?” She looked around the woods. The trees were bathed in shades of gray. The moon had only just started to wax, but the cloudless sky and pale silvery light made it magical.

  She gazed up at him. “I know you, don’t I? You’re the…”

  He put his finger on her lips. “Shh.”

  She quietened.

  He tugged the band off her braid, freeing, and running his hands through her hair. “Yes, that’s more like her.”

  “Like who?” Her voice was dreamy.

  Grabbing her hair, he pulled her head back, exposing the soft white throat. Fascinated by the heightened beat of her pulse, he stroked her jugular, then unable to restrain himself any longer, he plunged his fangs into the yielding flesh.

  Chapter Eight: Warnings

  Tatya surfaced from a deep sleep and rolled over, burying her head under the pillows, not wanting to wake. Her dream dissipated, leaving broken images, a vague memory of bells and a feeling of contentment. She wanted to return to that place, certain Vanse had been with her. However, the bells weren’t a prophecy of things to come, it was her new ringtone, Tubular Bells. The bedside clock said five am.

  “I know it’s early, Tat, but can you get yourself over to the hospital? Another body was found in the early hours of this morning. I’m in the morgue, and I’d like to see what you can pick up.” Corwin paused. “But only if you’re up to it that is.”

  Ignoring the premonitory goose bumps shivering up her spine, and the image of a dead woman with her eyes closed, and red-brown curls arranged just so, she shoved off the duvet and stumbled toward the bathroom. “Give me half an hour.”

  “Try to make it in fifteen. I need you finished and gone before Jones from the local press gets wind.”

  Tatya swallowed. St. Raphael’s. Vanse’s domain. “Okay.” She grabbed a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt from the laundry basket. “I’m on my way as we speak.”

  Streets lights died as she drove through empty streets filled with the gray predawn light. The early morning traffic hadn’t started, and Tatya had a clear run. Reaching the hospital in record time, she pulled sedately into the space next to Corwin’s car.

  Glancing over at the woods, she saw a couple of uniforms guarding the entrance. Knowing the woods were the haunt of a killer gave them an ominous atmosphere. The trees looked darker, more forbidding. Whoever had committed these crimes was long gone, but she couldn’t help peering around as if they were going to jump out at her. Get a grip, she told herself, as she walked over to where Corwin stood with a couple of officers near the hospital building. I’ll be no help to anyone if I’m freaking out of my skin at every sound. Tatya locked her shields tight. Crime locations attracted all sorts of supernatural beings, none of them particularly benevolent, and severe disturbances in the ether from violence had left her on occasion with a heavy migraine.

  Recognizing some of the officers from previous cases, she gratefully accepted the coffee Corwin held out to her. She sighed in appreciation as the hot sweetened liquid hit her blood stream, even though she’d need more than one to erase feeling like a zombie on speed and more like a human being. Let alone detect the kind of information Corwin hoped she would find.

  �
�A couple looking to get lucky after the bars closed discovered the body.”

  “Why do they come to this place when a woman’s just been found dead here?”

  “These two were either too drunk or too horny to remember. Either way, they figured there’d be no one else around. There’s no understanding the where and why of human beings, Tat.”

  “Has she been—”

  “Yes, she’s been bitten.”

  She shivered, took a long slug of her coffee, trying not to spill it as she hurried to keep pace with the sheriff as he headed toward the main entrance. The morgue was accessed from inside the hospital by authorized personnel via a door with a security coded lock. Branton, keeping guard at the end of the corridor, stood up straighter when he saw his boss striding toward him.

  “Ready?” Corwin looked at Tatya.

  Despite having treated patients with terminal illnesses before, Tatya had never been in the morgue. She nodded and entered the room behind Corwin. It was clean, clinical, and white.

  “Bill Inoue will be in shortly to start the autopsy,” Bill told her as he walked over to a table where a body lay covered by a plain sheet. “Do you need to see her?”

  “Yes.” She breathed in, slow, focusing. “It helps.”

  Bill lifted the cover, leaving the face and neck bare. “Look at these.” He indicated the bite marks on her neck. “I bet they’re an exact match as the previous woman.” The two startling red bite marks on her neck stood out against the pallor of her skin. A surprised expression was frozen on her face.

  Tatya sucked in a quick breath, and her heart thumped louder in her chest as she studied the victim. The woman looked to be in her mid-twenties, similar height, look and build as the other victim including the shoulder length reddish-brown curly hair. As she stared at the dead woman, she blanched. No. It couldn’t be. But she couldn’t rid herself of the uneasy thought that she bore some resemblance to the body in front of her. A memory surfaced. His hand, an iron weight on her shoulder, turning her around. His voice. “Ah, Tatiana. How good to see you again.” Startling blue eyes and thick red-gold curls falling forward as he bent toward her neck and drank. A thread of suspicion wormed its way into her mind. No, no, no. It wasn’t possible. Angelus could not have escaped from Hell. Any similarity she bore to the deceased lying on the mortuary slab had to be nothing but a coincidence.