“That’s all we needed.” With a smooth motion, Dante was stepping between Abby and the imp, his entire body humming with danger. “Thank you for your time.”
The emerald eyes narrowed, but with a sardonic smile the imp was performing a deep bow.
“The pleasure was all mine.” He glanced over Dante’s shoulder to stab Abby with a knowing smile. “Still, I think it best you not return. My establishment possesses a few minor spells to dampen the more feral tendencies of my customers, but I don’t think anything could halt bloodshed if they caught scent of you, my precious.”
“We won’t be back,” Dante promised, hustling Abby from the room and into the back alley. Once the door was shut, he peered into the shadows. “Well, we have the information we wanted. Now what the hell do we do with it?”
The cellar was straight off the set of a horror film.
The floor was packed dirt and littered with the droppings of mice and rats. The worn stone walls were damp with a slick layer of mold. Even the air was heavy and filled with a dark sense of menace.
It combined to create an atmosphere that would send most people fleeing in terror. But Edra was made of sterner stuff.
She had no love for the shadows, but she was willing to use them for her own purpose. And after centuries of battling the darkness, she had at last accepted that only by directly confronting evil could she put an end to it once and for all.
Setting her candle on the large altar she had commanded built after being forced to flee the secret coven outside the city, she reached into the pocket of her robe and pulled out a small amulet.
The darkness seemed to deepen, and the candle flickered. A bone-chilling cold crept through the air.
Edra smiled. So much power.
Enough power to alter the world.
The soft scrape of the door was the only warning that someone approached. With controlled haste, Edra slipped the amulet in her pocket and muttered a few words beneath her breath.
The few remaining witches could barely conjure a binding spell let alone be sensitive enough to the dark aura that clung to the amulet. Still, she wasn’t about to take any risks. Not now.
Not when she was so close to success she could taste it.
With a groan, she forced her stiff joints to kneel before the altar and bent her head in prayer. It was not until she could sense the woman halt at her side that she at last lifted her head.
The intruder was thin with lank brown hair. She no doubt had a name, but Edra had never bothered to learn it. Most of those she had once loved were now dead and gone. The lesser witches in the coven were merely necessary inconveniences.
“The demon lives?”
“It lives, but her wounds are grievous,” the woman reported with a frown. “Sally was forced to heal her.”
“She shouldn’t have bothered. Soon enough we will have no need of the creature.” Edra didn’t miss the annoyance that flashed through the dark eyes, and she rose to her feet. Deliberately she allowed her power to fill the room. There were times when her underlings needed to be reminded that beneath her aging frailty was a will that would destroy without mercy. “You have something to say?”
The witch momentarily faltered before she was squaring her shoulders.
“You have promised for the past year we would be rid of the demons, but we are no closer to achieving our goals, and now too many of us are dead.”
“It was not my fault that Selena became greedy and used the spell books before I could assist her or that the wizard attacked without warning,” she snapped in annoyance.
“We should have been better prepared.”
Edra’s hand dipped into her pocket to finger the amulet. “Are you suggesting that I failed?”
“I suggest that we became complacent.”
“And you wish to challenge my authority?”
Perhaps sensing her imminent death, the witch took a hasty step back.
“No. I simply want to pull back and gather our strength. To continue with the plan while we are so weak is madness.”
“Impossible. All the signs are in alignment. We must strike while we can.”
“But we don’t even know where the Phoenix is. The Shalott failed us.”
A flare of anger raced through the ancient witch before she fiercely thrust it aside. She could not be distracted. Not now.
A cold smile touched her lips. “The Chalice is close. Even now she seeks us out.”
The younger witch blinked in surprise. “You feel her?”
“Yes.” A shiver of anticipation raced through her body. “Prepare the sacrifice. Our time is coming.”
“But—”
“Do not make me repeat myself,” Edra warned in a lethal voice. “Prepare the sacrifice.”
Not entirely stupid, the younger woman was hastily backing toward the stairs. “Yes, mistress.”
Dismissing her companion with a wave of her hand, Edra concentrated upon the vague awareness that was becoming steadier with every passing moment.
At last.
Despite all the grim setbacks. Despite the deaths. Despite the failure of her underlings. Her dream was about to become a reality.
“Come to me,” she whispered softly.
Chapter 22
“This is it.”
Squatting beside Dante in the overgrown hedges, Abby studied the house.
Set well away from the street and nearly hidden behind the hedges, it was an aging Victorian structure. Although aging seemed too kind a description. Crumbling to dust was more accurate.
Even in the shadows it was easy to spot the peeling paint and sagging porch. If Norman Bates needed a vacation home, she had just found if for him. Abby gave a shake of her head. Holy freaking cow. The only surprise would be if there wasn’t a dead mother hidden in the bedroom and a homicidal maniac prowling the grounds.
“Yow,” she breathed. “That’s . . . spooky.”
Dante was in full predator mode. With uncanny ease, he melted into the shadows and held himself motionless. There was none of her fidgeting, no muttered complaints of the hedge poking into his back. Hell, there wasn’t even any tedious breathing to stir the air.
If she wasn’t vibrantly aware of the tension coiled within him, she might have thought he had been turned to stone.
Shifting slightly, she closely studied the alabaster features that were almost unrecognizable. This was not the tender lover or roguish pirate. This was the warrior vampire who still sent a tingle of unease down her spine.
Feeling her gaze, he turned to stab her with his silver gaze.
“Do you sense anything?”
“Yes.” She absently rubbed her arms. The prickles racing over her skin had started the moment she had stepped onto the grounds of the house. “I just don’t know what it is.”
“Tell me.” His voice was a whisper of velvet.
“It’s like I can almost hear whispers in the back of my mind. I can’t make out the words, but I know they’re there.”
“The witches?”
“That would be my guess.” Her breath caught as the white fangs ran out and his hands curled to claws. The demon was in full force. “What was that?”
“What?”
“Did you just growl?”
“I don’t like this.” His gaze returned to the house, his tone flat. “It’s too quiet.”
“Hardly surprising they might want to keep a low profile after being attacked by the wizard. They’re not likely to be having a party.”
“And yet they have no spells to guard the house.”
“What of the Shalott?”
He sniffed the air. “It must be within. Or dead.”
Abby shivered. Or dead . . .
Those weren’t exactly words to bolster a girl’s confidence.
She licked her dry lips.
“Then I suppose there’s nothing to stop us, right?”
He slowly turned back to her, his expression grim. “There is one thing.”
Her head dropped
into her hands as she heaved out a rasping sigh. “I knew it. I just knew it. What is this thing?”
“This is a private home.”
“And?”
“And I can’t enter without an invitation.”
She jerked her head up. “You’re kidding me?”
“No.”
“You don’t live in a crypt and you can’t turn into a bat, but you have to have an invitation to enter a house?” Abby hissed.
A reluctant amusement softened the flat eyes. “You wanted me to be vampirish.”
“Not when it’s inconvenient.”
“Sorry.”
She wrinkled her nose, realizing just how ridiculous she was being. “No, this is for the best,” she forced herself to say. “Until we know what’s going to happen, I would rather you stay away from the witches.”
He didn’t so much as flick an eyelash, but Abby sensed his flare of anger. Great, just great. She had managed to rub against his vampire pride. A certain means to ensure he would bull his way headfirst into the nearest danger.
Sometimes her stupidity amazed even herself.
“You want me to hide in the bushes?”
“Dante, it only makes sense to split up,” she attempted to undue her unwitting damage. “I need you to be able to rescue me if I need help.”
“I’m not letting you go in there alone.”
She reached out to touch his arm. It was as cold and unyielding as granite.
“We don’t have much choice.”
His fangs flashed in the moonlight. Not the most reassuring of sights.
“The witches know you’re here. They’ll eventually come out to find you.”
That wasn’t reassuring either.
Especially if Dante was forced to retreat before the witches decided to make an appearance. She would rather go in now and know she had backup.
“We don’t have that long. Dawn will be coming soon.”
“Then we’ll come back tomorrow night.”
“Dante. I think—”
With a blurring speed, Dante had pinned her to his chest, the air shimmering and snapping about him.
“Dammit, Abby, I can’t let you go in there,” he rasped.
If she had a lick of sense, she would have been terrified. Mate or not, this man could crush her without effort. Or worse, rip out her throat.
But it was annoyance that stiffened her spine and brought a frown to her brow.
“I promise I won’t take any risks. I will meet with the witches and—”
“No.”
“Listen, Mr. Macho, I make my own decisions.”
The arrogant nose flared. “Not on this.”
Her teeth snapped together. “This argument is starting to get old, Dante. I’m not a child. To be honest, I don’t think I was ever a child. I won’t be dictated to, not by you or anyone else.”
He studied her flushed features with a steady gaze. “If you die, I die,” he said simply.
The wind was sucked efficiently from her sails.
She searched his hard features. “You will die because I’m your mate?”
“Because you’re the reason I exist.”
“Oh.” Abby set back on her heels, stunned by the stark beauty of his words.
It was hard to remain all prickly and independent when he was making her heart melt.
Damn him.
“Dante—”
His finger touched her lips to halt her stumbling words, his head turning toward the unkempt yard that surrounded the house.
“Someone is approaching,” he whispered directly in her ear.
Her fingers tightened on his arm as a sharp fear pierced her heart. This was why she was here, of course, but that didn’t ease the chill that clutched at her stomach.
These women were not the local garden club. They weren’t going to invite her in for crumpets and tea.
They were powerful witches who could chain a vampire with their spell and control an ancient spirit that kept the world safe from demons.
She would be a fool to underestimate them.
Ignoring the weakness in her knees, Abby forced herself upright. If nothing else, she would face whatever was coming on her feet. She didn’t hear Dante move, but she knew he was standing directly behind her.
Within moments, a thin, narrow-faced woman appeared from the shadows. Halting before Abby, she astonishingly bent in a deep bow.
“My lady, you have arrived at last,” she stated the obvious in somber tones.
Abby glanced at Dante over her shoulder. “My lady?”
“Selena never got over being a noblewoman. Obviously you inherited her title.”
“I wish that was all I inherited,” she muttered.
The witch cleared her throat, blatantly ignoring the vampire who stood only a handful of steps away.
“If you will you come with me, my lady? The mistress is waiting for you.”
My lady? Mistress?
The woman must have spent her summers working at the local Renaissance Fair.
Abby squared her shoulders. “Only if Dante is invited as well.”
The thin face briefly hardened with distaste. “Of course. The protector must accompany the Chalice. This way.”
Turning, the woman headed back toward the dark house. So this was it. Abby pressed a hand to her quivering stomach.
Without a sound, Dante was standing directly before her. “You’re ready?” he demanded.
For a moment she allowed her gaze to rest upon his impossibly beautiful features. Surely nothing horrible could happen as long as he was near?
“As ready as I can be,” she retorted with a grimace.
“Don’t let down your guard,” he warned. “And stay close to me.”
“I think I’m going to throw up.”
He took a deliberate step backward. “Then that staying-close thing was more of a metaphor.”
Grudgingly her lips twitched at his teasing. She knew he was attempting to ease the terrible tension that clutched at her.
“Love is supposed to be for better or worse.”
He lifted his brows. “Love only goes so far.”
“Thanks.”
His hands framed her face with gentle care. “You can do this, lover.”
Sucking in a deep breath, Abby gave a slow nod of her head. “Yes.”
The silver eyes flared. “Then let’s go make you human again.”
Viper carefully adjusted his lace cuffs before returning his attention to the wizard huddled in the corner. The smell of blood was thick in the air. The wizard might be ancient, but he bled like any human when his head connected with the stone wall.
Unfortunately, despite the delicious scent, he felt no urge to drain the pathetic creature. The wizard’s worship of the dark lord made his blood as tainted as his black soul.
Viper gave a flick of his hand as the wizard attempted a feeble ensnaring spell. The man had already been weak from his encounter with Dante. And oddly his few attempts to call upon his darker powers had been unsuccessful. Viper could only presume the Prince was not pleased with his disciple.
He had been no match for an ancient vampire.
“I think what we have here is a failure to communicate,” Viper mocked as he regarded the pasty features.
“Go to hell,” the wizard croaked.
“Eventually, no doubt.” Viper heaved a sigh. “I did hope to do this without undue violence. This is, after all, my favorite jacket, and getting brain tissue out of velvet is a bitch. Still, the pleasure of killing will be worth the effort.”
The once-proud man cringed in fear. “You’re a vampire. Why do you care what happens to the witches?”
“Oh, I have no love for the hags. They can rot in hell for all I care. My only interest is for the welfare of my clansman. You seriously miscalculated when you attacked Dante.”
“He is a pawn of the she-devils.”
“Wrong answer.” Faster than the mortal eye could follow, Viper slashed a deep cut in the man’s
cheek.
The wizard cried out, his eyes wide with terror. “If you kill me, then you will die.”
“You believe your god will avenge the death of a pathetic sycophant like you?” Viper curled his lips into a sneer. “He’s more likely to send me a fruit basket.”
The man held up a hand of surrender. “You must listen. It’s the witches.”
“What about them?”
“They intend to murder you.”
Viper narrowed his gaze. He had no trust for the human. Such a man would sell his soul if he still owned it to save his hide. But Viper could smell the sour desperation that oozed from his sweat. The wizard truly believed the witches were a danger.
“The witches intend to murder me? Why?”
“They want us dead. All of us.”
Slowly crouching down, Viper reached out to grasp the man by his throat. At the first hint of a lie, he would put an end to the miserable worm.
“Tell me.”
Dante smoldered with violence as he grudgingly followed the witch leading them through the shadowed house. They had barely crossed the threshold when the familiar scent of brewing spells, drying herbs, and darker, less palatable odors clenched at his stomach.
It was a stench he knew all too well.
The witches were preparing a sacrifice.
He intended to ensure that the sacrifice didn’t include Abby or himself.
No matter who or what he had to kill.
Staying close behind Abby, his senses swept the shadows. If you knew you were walking into a trap, was it still a trap?
Something to consider.
The rooms were large and empty with vaulted ceilings that gave the impression of space. The air, however, was close and thick with a cloaking heat that pressed uncomfortably on Dante. In his mind, it reeked of dusty cellars and prison walls.
Reaching what once must have been the formal drawing room, the witch paused at the doorway.
“Mistress, I have brought the Chalice,” she said in reverent tones.
There was a rustle in the darkness and a low chant before the softness of candlelight chased away the gloom.
With stiff movements, a small, almost frail woman lifted herself from a chair. At a glance she might have been a sweet old grandmother with her fluff of gray hair and lined face. It was only when one noticed the hard brown eyes that the cold, relentless power became obvious.
Supernatural Bundle Page 68