Most of the time, Cora remained in the sanctuary that was her and Mason’s room, fumbling around with magic. Both the dream spell and the truth spell required a subject, so every night, after he finished with his work, Mace would volunteer. In their room, she would spread her things out over the floor, light the required color and number of candles, and sit just as still as she was now, chanting quietly as Mace rested nearby.
Nothing had come of it, and a few of the candles were already half burned.
It didn’t help that she had no idea what to expect. Or what she was doing, for that matter. By the third week, discouragement ran rampant as she repeated the incantations over and over, feeling like an idiot.
When she was alone, like now, she focused mainly on the Breath of Life. She’d found the husk of an expired moth on the window’s ledge, and for three straight days, she attempted to breathe life back into it. A rainbow of lit candles surrounded the moth on the floor, flickering in the darkened room. Cora sat on her knees, inhaling and exhaling with an intentionally slow tempo as the text instructed. She was meant to enter a trance of sorts before she began the incantation.
Meeka was sprawled on the edge of the bed, watching curiously. Dancing candlelight refracted off her large pupils.
Once relaxed, mind focused, Cora began to mumble out the words. “Vi tres spiro vitam tuam. Tribus offero me in virtute. Unde profecti estis Spiritu ad corpora redituras.”
She repeated the words till they spilled from her automatically, till they ran together and rode the edges of her breath. Then, when she felt ready, she leaned forward, put her lips together, and blew out a light gust. Air caught under the dusty wings and the lifeless moth skittered stiffly along the carpet.
She straightened her spine. A heartbeat passed. Then another. Cora realized she was holding her breath, and her pulse was oddly speeding up with anticipation. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she’d felt…something that time. A burst of energy?
When the moth remained motionless, her shoulders slumped. She was almost ready to give up entirely.
Then…a single wing moved!
She waited. Could have been a draft.
The other wing fluttered…then both jointly. When the tiny antenna shimmied back and forth, Cora slapped a hand over her mouth, unsuccessfully muffling an exuberant cry.
Just as the moth leapt into magnificent flight, Mace entered and took in her expression. “What’s up?”
Rendered completely speechless, she could only point to the moth, flapping its way towards him. As it approached, he bowed backwards, and before she could explain, he swatted his palms together.
She gasped, “You killed it!”
He glanced up idly as he wiped his hands on his jeans. “What? That bug?”
She shot to her feet. “I brought it back from the dead!” Her pitch was high, her tone accusatory, and her outrage increased while he attempted to stifle a humorous grin.
“Let me get this straight. The first bit of magic you do is to zombify a moth and have it attack me?”
“It wasn’t zombified.”
“Didn’t you see it salivating as it lunged at me? It was terrifying.”
“It’s not funny.” She gritted her teeth against the traitorous smile playing along her lips. Determined not to be amused, she crossed her arms.
He made his expression contrite. “I’m sorry I killed your undead pet. Next time put a collar on it…with a bell maybe.”
Battle lost, Cora dropped her arms and allowed a giggle to roll out of her.
He came forward and pressed an apologetic kiss to her lips.
She pulled back. “Oh, goddess! What if it had been a zombie moth? What if it had bitten you?”
“Then you’d have one sexy zombie-vamp to look after.” He trapped her with strong arms around her waist and dipped his head to nibble along her neck, tickling her flesh with fleeting nips until she squealed with laughter.
When their humor died down, he said, “Come on, let’s go scrounge up some more insect carcasses for your minion army.”
Knox glared at the disgustingly happy couple as they practically frolicked out the door. Over the last few weeks, the witch’s emotions were growing more acute, invasive, burrowing into his brain. He was finding it increasingly difficult to block her. Although it was curious that whenever she noticed him in a room, her caustic emotions would cut off, like a door slamming shut on a chaotic mental cyclone.
Not that he was complaining, but it almost made him wonder what the chit was up to. What was she hiding from him? Furthermore, was she just as easily masking herself from Mace? Served him right if he was tangled in her snare. The idiot fancied himself half in love already. Typically, Knox wouldn’t give a damn about it if he hadn’t been caught up in this shit as well.
He made his way up to the love-bird’s room and paused in the doorway, sneering at the display of witchcraft along the floor. The recently extinguished candles still simmered with smoke. On the bed, the witch’s pet rolled over and looked at him with too-keen eyes.
“Keep your mouth shut about this, cat, and I won’t kill you just yet.”
The cat meowed. Then it stretched in an impossible arch before settling back down and closing its eyes.
The tattered copy of Pride and Prejudice was still sitting where Knox had placed it weeks ago. Apparently, she hadn’t touched it. He laughed at that. Didn’t care for the memory with which it was now linked, huh?
His search began with her dresser drawers. He was hoping to find something. But what? He wasn’t sure. A twinge of evidence that she planned to bond more than just him and Mace. Perhaps she had Trent in her sights. If so, the girl was a moron. There wasn’t a witch alive who could control that vampire.
Perhaps, despite her protests when Mace had informed her of Trent’s intentions with the underground compound, she was eager for their entire clan to relocate here.
Joke’s on her. Trent had put off the move till this thing with her and the black-market blood had been solved and ordered Mace to keep her here till then. She wouldn’t be crossing the path of another vampire any time soon.
Finding nothing of interest, besides the female’s undergarments—Mace always did like frills—Knox moved on to search Mace’s things, not really expecting to discover much. Neither of the two had much in the way of belongings. He noticed Mace’s phone on top of the dresser and began flipping through the texts.
He read one from Trent that had him grinding his teeth. “Son of a bitch.”
Cora was a descendant of the Conwell bloodline? Had they hid this from him on purpose? The phone groaned in protest against his hold.
Just then, the cat hissed at something in the corner of the room, her back arching. He followed her line of sight to a space that was unnaturally darkened by a writhing, sandy mist.
He’d been wondering why the spirit had finally ventured out of its impervious haven. Now he knew.
He lifted one corner of his mouth in a cruel smile. “It appears a relative has come for you at last. Don’t get your ghostly hopes up. I’ll kill her before she sets you free. The best you can hope for is that she’ll join you in hell.”
He couldn’t tell if the apparition understood him or not. It remained tucked in the corner.
Disregarding it, he turned back to the phone and swiped through the photographs. Cora was the subject of dozens—no hundreds—of shots. Cora at a coffee shop, smiling at the barista as she claimed a cup. Cora seated on a leaf-strewn deck, shaded by an umbrella. Cora in a park, walking, seemingly aimlessly, her expression far-away as if deep in thought. Cora kneeling in an alleyway, handing a small box to an elderly homeless man. And countless more images. In all of them, she seemed unaware of her photographer.
Looked like Mace was getting his PhD in stalker-ology. Pathetic.
Knox came to the last photo and stared at it for a long moment.
It was a snapshot of Cora perched on a motorcycle in a porn star pose, except her expression was naively clueless.
Tendrils of long damp hair clung to her neck, disappearing under the collar of a binding tan coat. The fuck-me boots hinted at a scandalous concealment. He turned the phone this way and that, enthralled.
Ugh. The witch was getting to him!
Furious, he tossed the phone aside and beat feet out of the room, noticing the apparition had vanished. The cat had once more calmed.
As he came to the bottom of the stairs, the front door opened. An exuberant Cora was laughing at something Mace had said as she entered. The sound cut off when her eyes landed on Knox. Anxiety spiked.
Your fear is wise.
As expected, the door to her emotions slammed shut. Yet then she raised a confused brow at him before averting her gaze entirely.
Out of the loop, Mace acknowledged Knox with the tip of his head and guided Cora up the stairs to do god knows what with her magic.
Idiot! You court your own destruction.
And he was blindly dragging Knox into the path of the wrecking ball. He could sense nefarious intentions in every move she made. An expert seductress if he’d ever seen one. She wouldn’t be satisfied till both he and Mace were drooling after her like lost puppies begging for scraps.
Hell, he was already ravenous for the chilled thermos of blood each morning, felt deprived when it was emptied. And that paled in comparison to the succulent memory of the warm stuff straight off the tap. He wasn’t one to beg, far from it, but he feared she’d have him on his knees in no time.
Clearly, Trent had resigned them to their fate, and it was time Knox took control of this situation.
Chapter 29
Drab grey walls boxed Mace in. The illumination coming from the computer screen bounced off his skin, bathing it lightly in a harsh blue tone. After so many days down here, he could almost understand Cora’s aversion to the place, even as his kind tended to prefer underground domiciles.
Going down the list Trent had provided, Mace typed in the name of the next suspect: Randall Pike. It was one of Cora’s old neighbors whose wife had recently and miraculously recovered from terminal brain cancer. Mace had already gathered intel on the man when first assigned to the case.
On the surface, Randall was an entrepreneur, investor, and wealthy restaurant owner with several five-star establishments to his name. His net worth was twice what Winston’s had been.
Behind closed doors, the stout, balding Randall was…boring.
He cared for his wife, was a devoted father, donated to various charities, appeared to be law abiding. And for a man of his stature, he was oddly polite to the help. Nothing like how Winston and some of his cohorts had been.
In fact, the only indication of Randall’s possible involvement with the black-market blood rested solely on his wife’s newly acquired good health.
Like the others, Mace checked Randall’s phone records, hacked his personal computers, scanned his emails, made backup copies of his entire hard drive, and then audited his finances, noting any large or unusual purchases. He also embedded a spy program before moving on to the next name on the list and repeated the process.
Heavy footfalls at his back indicated Knox’s approach. Mace glanced behind him to see the other vampire leaning against the door frame, clutching a mug. The sweet tang of Cora’s cooled blood tingled in his nostrils.
Jealousy flared as acutely as his hunger.
He hated that he had to share even a drop of Cora with Knox. And not only that, Mace hadn’t been taking as much from her so that she could provide for Knox, thus keeping the peace. Knox hadn’t been making any such concessions. The greedy bastard downed every last drop by mid-morning.
“Can I help you?” Mace returned his attention to the computer.
“Can’t a bloke come and visit his old friend?”
“Sentimental, are we? Drop the pretense. It doesn’t become you.”
“Not sentimental. Just curious.”
After a moment of silence, interrupted by the clicking of his keyboard, Mace took the bait. “Curious about what?”
“I’ve been thinking—”
“Ouch, do you need something for the pain?”
“Do you honestly believe the witch—”
“Coraline.”
“—to be clueless of her origins?”
Mace tensed slightly with guilt. Per their conversation with Trent, Knox was aware that, until recently, Cora had no recollection of her true nature, but Mace hadn’t informed him of Cora’s lineage. He was hoping to avoid that revelation as long as possible. At least until Knox’s hostility died down.
“I’ve had a lot of time to determine the genuineness of her claim. I believe she was bespelled by her mother to forget her birthright.”
“Right. And to forget her…family. For what purpose?”
“I don’t know, and neither does she.”
“Convenient.”
“She’s been alone all her life, struggling, living like a human.”
“Such a tragedy.”
Mace ignored the contempt in Knox’s tone. “She might be a witch, but I guarantee she’s nothing like what you’ve encountered. She’s kind and compassionate. There’s no underlying, devious plot for you to uncover here.”
“Of course. Just an all-around, bona fide witch…who just happens to be a descendant of the Conwells!”
Mace’s fingers halted over the keyboard. His shoulders cinched higher.
“Were you planning on ever telling me who she really is?”
He swiveled his chair to face Knox. “I’m not sure.”
“And you dare bring her here of all places?”
“You weren’t supposed to be here. I had no idea you’d been assigned to…whatever it is you’re doing.”
“And yet you stayed.”
“Like I’ve said, this is the safest place for her right now.”
Knox’s features contorted into a shallow grin. “You have no idea how wrong you are.”
“What do you mean?” Mace’s eyes darted to Knox’s hand resting on the edge of the heavy metal door, then to the blank re-enforced walls of the…cell?
As Mace came to this realization, Knox answered, “She and I are about to square things away. I think it’s best you stay out of the way.”
Mace lurched out of his chair as the door slammed shut, the grinding of a metal bar across the door’s front barricaded him inside.
* * *
Cora lay stomach down on the bed, head propped on her elbows and Quick Spells for the Witch on the Go sprawled out in front of her. She swiped her thumb and forefinger over her tongue and then turned the page.
Yesterday, she had tried well into the night to duplicate the Breath of Life, only to be left with a pile of decomposing insect remains. It didn’t help that the whole time Mace had lounged shirtless on the mattress, watching her with a smoldering gaze.
Today, she decided to find a spell that might be a little less advanced. Infusing Body Odor with Floral Scents appeared promising. All she’d need to do was hold an aromatic flower as she chanted a spell.
When Meeka sauntered across the bed and plopped her body under Cora’s nose, directly on top of her book, Cora decided it was time to take a break. “Are you hungry, cutie?”
Meeka meowed and began absently licking her paw.
“I suppose I should eat something too, huh? Don’t want all that pie to go to waste.”
Downstairs in the kitchen, she set Meeka near the newly designated cat bowl beside the fridge and filled it with dry food from the bag she and Mace had procured in town. Meeka happily crunched away.
As Cora dug through the fridge for herself, she got the uneasy sense of being watched. She straightened her spine and glanced around, seeing no one. Yet still, she felt ill at ease. “Hello?”
She ducked into the living room. Her heart stuttered when she spotted a shadowy figure across the room. It rolled and tilted what looked to be its head like a curious animal would. Its transparent body mimicked the eerie move.
She shivered.
T
hen the mist sank to the ground and crawled along the carpet toward the stairs before ascending to the second floor. It paused halfway up, and she got the impression it wanted her to follow.
Though it had startled her, she didn’t sense an open threat from the thing. It might not have even meant to scare her. Maybe that was why it wanted her to go to it, rather than coming to her. If it had approached, she would have headed straight down to the underground compound to find Mace. Phobia be damned.
If the apparition was sentient, it might have expected that reaction from her. Her fear could just be inherent, born of ignorance. Or perhaps not. She should have gone back and read that section on ghosts.
After several moments, curiosity won the debate in her head, and she started for the stairs.
As she skirted around the furniture, a hard wall of muscle plowed into her from behind, pinning her legs to the back of the couch. The quick motion thrust her torso forward and she braced herself on the seatback.
“Hello Coraline.” The dangerously deep voice could only belong to Knox.
Without thought, she cried out for Mace.
“He’s a little trapped by his work at the moment. It’s just you and me. Shall we cozy up?”
Thick fingers gripped her nape and drew her back against his chest. His warm breath whispered along her neck. She swallowed hard, feeling her pulse spike, which was probably what Knox was going for.
“What do you want?” She feigned bravado with all she had in her, but her voice still shook.
“We haven’t had a load of quality time to get to know each other,” he said darkly. “This is me, making time.”
“What have you done with Mace?”
“Relax, cher. He won’t be interrupting us this time.” Knox ran his nose along the curve of her neck towards her earlobe. With his lips an inch away, he said, “I think you owe my aching bollocks an apology kiss.”
A Wicked Hunger (Creatures of Darkness 1) Page 24