by Lisa Kessler
But the La Deaux family ended with Muriah.
“Oh please! Not now…” She pushed stools in along the counter grumbling to herself. This was not the time to start worrying about who would carry on the store.
“Stupid biological clock,” she muttered.
With all traces of the police investigation gone, the coffee area clean, and some of her nervous energy burned off, Muriah grabbed her purse to head out, locking the door behind her. If she kept moving, maybe the grief wouldn’t catch up to her.
She walked down the alley, head held high with her keys firmly in her grasp, giving a jingle with each step she took. She didn’t live far from the store, only a couple blocks away, but walking alone this late at night made her jumpy. It reminded her of those B-horror movies. The slasher films where you scream at the college coeds not to go outside. But they always did. And they always died.
Muriah walked faster.
When she rounded the corner to her condominium, a warm sense of relief washed over her. She made it home, no problems.
Except for the tall stranger standing on her steps.
She slid her hand into her purse, and gripped her cell phone. “Can I help you?”
“I believe you can.” He stepped down. Closer.
Was that a British accent? She wasn’t sure. Muriah took a cautious step back. “Who are you?”
The man walked under the yellow light of the street lamp and tipped his head in her direction. He stood over six feet tall with shoulder-length black hair, and his face looked pale compared to his dark eyes. His jaw was chiseled, along with the rest of his body.
Normally, she might have welcomed a chance meeting with a gorgeous man like this, but at four a.m., after learning someone murdered Richard, something about this man’s gaze bothered her.
He stared at her like a famished man drooled over a piece of meat.
In the dim glow of the streetlight, his eyes held her attention. It must’ve been the yellow tint, but his eyes seemed to lighten, gray, like a storm gathering. She blinked hard, and his lips curved, hinting at a smile. He was stunningly handsome, almost too handsome. Too perfect.
“Interesting.” His gaze narrowed. “What are you?”
“Excuse me?” She gripped her keys so two poked between her fingers like brass knuckles.
“I cannot read your thoughts.”
This guy was certifiable. Sadly, he was also still on her front steps. “In that case, here’s what I’m thinking. You’re trespassing.”
His deep laughter echoed in the empty alley beside her loft and silenced the moment he met her eyes again. “And you are stealing.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She shifted her feet into a fighting stance. Her self-defense classes flashed through her mind, and primal survival instinct flooded her veins with adrenaline. In spite of the urge to run, her knees turned to rubber. Managing a step forward might be risky, let alone a sprint in high heels.
Muriah stumbled backward, withdrawing her cell phone.
“I think you know exactly what I am talking about.” He tugged at his goatee, sizing her up. “Richard hired you to steal something for him.”
A black tattoo wound around his neck, drawing her attention. The lines slithered up from under the collar of his shirt. Was it moving? Muriah squinted, clearing her vision.
“I’m not a thief.” She unlocked the keypad on her phone, ready to dial 911. If she could just get around him to her door…
He took another step closer. “Did you find the relic?”
Muriah couldn’t fight her survival instincts any longer. She screamed and bolted past him to her door, like an animal escaping a predator.
A couple of windows lit up along the alley. She jammed her key into the lock, looking back over her shoulder, expecting him to be reaching for her.
But he was gone.
Her heart galloped at racehorse speed. The street was completely empty.
His footsteps never made a sound when he ran away.
He just vanished.
Chapter Two
Issa stood at the top of the pyramid at Chichen Itza. The thick humid air of the Yucatan jungle still carried the scent of the tourists’ blood, although the area below was now empty. The desolate ruins of his city welcomed him with open arms.
After banishing the Night Demon from this world, he’d planned to cross the ocean and retreat back to Egypt. He’d lived in that desert for centuries.
But it was never home.
Humans had a saying that home is where your heart is.
Issa had no heart left. Only his loyalty to his immortal brothers and his responsibility to the mortal world kept him going. Their final battle against Camalotz, the Night Demon, required Issa to sacrifice his own brother. He’d also found his only love Ch’en reborn and once again with no love in her heart for him.
Alone in the Yucatan jungle, Issa remained wounded. Emotional scars that his Night Walker blood seemed incapable of healing.
He stared up at the stars, and screamed to the heavens, a guttural cry of rage and bitterness. His voice echoed, piercing the night and roaring across the jungle. A single, unchanging voice trapped in a wilderness of life that continued around him, without him.
The air sizzled with energy, and Issa’s form shifted. His spirit animal came forth, taking shape until a large, jet black jaguar paced the top of the pyramid. The cat lifted its muzzle, scenting the air. He would feed well tonight, but no amount of blood could fill the growing void within Issa’s soul.
…
Zafrina rested both palms against Gretchen’s abdomen, opening her mind to the immortal child inside her womb. Her ancient Mayan fertility magic had enabled Mulac’s heir to be reborn to this human woman, but her magic stopped at conception. Now she waited to see how long Gretchen’s mortal body could incubate an immortal Night Walker.
If the child didn’t survive, it would mean the end of their entire race. Without Mulac to uphold the North, their world lost its balance, and their immortality would bleed away.
“Is he healthy?” Gretchen closed her eyes, lying on the sofa.
“He seems to be.”
Only four more weeks until the risk of a miscarriage dropped.
Of course, no one knew if Gretchen’s pregnancy would progress according to a normal mortal gestation. She wasn’t carrying a human child in her womb, and her abdomen already expanded. Soon it would be difficult to hide the pregnancy from prying eyes like those of the Fraternidad del Fuego Santo. The monks kept their distance for now, but they made their presence known during the daylight, leaving behind their threats and righteous admonitions.
Their premonitions of an immortal baby, an Antichrist, fueled the fanatical fire, and they strove to end the threat before the child drew his first breath.
For now, the monks’ prophecies remained unfounded, but soon, they wouldn’t be able to hide Gretchen’s condition. The Fraternidad would know which female carried the child, and she would be in even more danger.
Zafrina buried her concerns and smiled while Gretchen sat up. “The child is well.”
“Do you think he’ll understand he’s a reborn Mayan God?” Gretchen met her eyes, refraining from speaking his name. “Will he know who he was?”
Zafrina rubbed her thigh. “Long ago, our people had a prophecy of an immortal birth. The story, painted on bark cloth, is lost to us now, but I remember the tale. The child would unite and lead our people. He would be the first Night Walker born from a mortal womb with immortal blood. I believe the child will be a fresh start. Mulac’s memories will not be reborn, only his body, his blood.”
Gretchen’s hand rested protectively over her unborn child. Zafrina judged she would make a fierce mother. If she survived the pregnancy.
“Have you eaten?”
Gretchen shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”
Zafrina went to the kitchen and sliced up a banana with a few saltine crackers. After bringing Gretchen the plate, she sat besid
e her, burying her worry. “Your body needs feeding. Eat.”
Gretchen still required nutrients that her unborn child couldn’t tolerate. Already the sunlight blistered the woman’s pale skin, yet her body still ached for the warmth of the sun’s rays. Again, it was her unborn child who couldn’t bear the daylight.
How long could they coexist?
Zafrina wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer to that question. The Night Walker race now depended on this mortal woman for their existence. If the child she carried was immortal, it should survive a premature birth.
Maybe. Sadly, without the prophecy in hand, that was a question no one could answer with any certainty.
…
A muscle in his cheek jumped with frustration as he paced the length of his spacious suite at the top of the historic U.S. Grant Hotel in downtown San Diego. Normally he found a sarcastic glimmer of humor in referring to such a new structure as “historic,” but at the moment, nothing lightened his foul mood.
Nothing.
He had torn the mortal man apart piece by piece. What was his name? Oh yes, Richard. How could he forget?
Dick.
Now that brought a thin smirk to his ageless face.
How apropos that he stood on the brink of ruling this world for eternity, only to find a Dick blocking his path to power.
Apep glared at the flower vase, allowing the chaos to gather in his eyes. Across the room, the focused chaos he unleashed agitated the water at a molecular level, heat rising until the water boiled and the porcelain suddenly shattered.
His rage grew with each passing day, making the chaos harder to maintain. But he would manage. He had not spent the last millennia stuck in the world of man for nothing. This was his chance to change his destiny, and he would grab the brass ring with both hands.
He stood at the window overlooking the gas lamp quarter of San Diego, his arms crossed tightly over his broad chest. The woman carrying the immortal child was here.
Somewhere.
His serpents found her on a beach. But which beach? There were many in San Diego. Sending his enchanted tattoos through the shadows, independent of his body, sapped his magic, leaving him weak and vulnerable. A heavy trade-off for the valuable information they gathered.
But this information had the potential to offer him the world. Well worth it.
An immortal baby was to be born, a God among the Night Walkers. The key to their survival.
And he would steal it.
Already, Apep sensed the unborn child’s power growing. Each night when the baby awakened inside of his mother’s womb, Apep reached out mentally to the child, nurturing the fetus with a hunger for power, and a trust for a tall, black-haired man with pale white skin and stormy, dark eyes. His true father, or so he led the young mind to believe. The child already yearned for freedom, for blood.
Which led him right back to the Dick dilemma.
He needed the Mayan codex with the prophecy of the immortal child. The same one this Richard person searched for. The one he hoped the bookstore woman had found. But Muriah La Deaux escaped him.
He growled and stalked toward the door. He’d waited this long, he wouldn’t allow impatience to cause him to lose this opportunity. He would have the codex, and with it, the truth behind the immortal birth.
The birth of a God.
It was imperative that he recognize the signs of the coming delivery. He needed to be there before the Night Walkers could protect the child, but to rip the babe from the mortal woman’s womb too early might mean the death of the fetus and all the Night Walkers, which wouldn’t aid his plans.
He had no idea if the infant’s immortality began in the womb or with its first breath. It was a gamble he was not prepared to make. He would have only one chance.
There could be no mistakes.
He needed this child alive.
Chapter Three
Muriah’s head snapped up off her desk when she heard the door open. Did I fall asleep? The door closed. I locked it. I know I did. What time is it?
She started to pick up the phone receiver when a familiar voice called her name.
“Muriah! Are you here?”
“Lukas…” Relief flooded her entire body. “I’m in the office.”
He appeared in the doorway of her office, his keys still dangling from his fingers.
“What happened?” He gestured to the yellow police tape around her door. “Are you all right?”
Muriah shrugged, offering up a smile to the closest person to family she had left. “Can I get back to you on that?”
Lukas sat across from her. “I’ve got all night.”
She sighed, offering a weak smile in reply as she met his eyes. Lukas had the most amazing deep green eyes. It was way too easy to get lost in them. Side effect of being much older than he looked. Muriah had known him for over twenty years now, and he’d never aged.
Perk of being a Night Walker.
He’d been a customer of The Dimension’s Den since her great-great-great grandfather Girard La Deaux first pulled his wagon into the coastal village. Lukas had been a friend of the family ever since. He’d been her protector all her life, like an older brother.
“Richard’s dead,” she blurted out. Subtle. God she hated when her mouth spoke without her brain’s permission.
“What?” Lukas’ eyes widened as he moved to the edge of his seat. “How did it happen?”
“He was murdered.” Tears welled in her eyes. Saying the words aloud, hearing them in her own voice, made them real, and for the first time since she’d heard the news the night before, Muriah wept.
Lukas came around her desk, embracing her tightly. “I’m sorry, Muriah.”
She sobbed and then fought to contain her tears. Crying wasn’t going to bring him back. She was a La Deaux, and she wasn’t really in love with Richard anyway. Was she? No.
She’d never been in love with anyone. She was much too careful for that. Drawing in a deep breath, she pulled back from Lukas and dried her eyes. “Sorry about that. I’m pretty sleep deprived at the moment. He was a good friend, though.” Lukas gave her a knowing smile, and she shook her head. “Don’t look at me like that. We were just friends, nothing more.”
He glanced around the store. “So why were the police here?”
“Looking for more information on Richard.” She opened the drawer of her desk and withdrew the agent’s business card. “They wanted to know where he lives, stuff like that.”
“Did you tell them?”
“Not exactly.”
He raised a brow. “Not exactly?”
“No.” Muriah slumped back in her chair. “It’s messy. Richard Talley wasn’t even his real name. I can’t get myself tangled up in the investigation. I saw the news on television today before I came back to the store, and none of it makes any sense.”
“Maybe you should start at the beginning.”
“Can you keep a secret?”
“It’s my specialty.” Lukas leaned forward in his chair.
“Richard made a living selling and moving drugs. That’s how he paid for his fine art and hard-to-find book habit. He had a list of aliases. I only know a few of them.” He raised a judgmental brow, and she wondered if Lukas had any idea how much he looked like her mother when he stared at her like that. “Stop looking so shocked. I’m not a child. I knew what I was getting into with him. We were never going to get married and live happily ever after. We just enjoyed each other’s company. No strings attached.”
“Of course not,” he mumbled under his breath. Lukas stood and gestured toward the book shelves. “And now this shady friend has gotten you and your store mixed up in a murder investigation.”
Muriah straightened a little. “I doubt he did this on purpose, Lukas. Given the choice, I’m pretty sure he’d much rather be standing here with his head and hands still attached to his body.”
The judgmental stare melted away. Now he just looked worried.
Muriah nodded. “Ye
ah. The police failed to mention that part to me last night. I found out about it on the news this morning.”
“Do the police know about his ‘business’?”
She shrugged. “They probably didn’t before, but they certainly realize something about it now.” She met his eyes, leaning toward him slightly. “But I don’t think they’re right.”
“Okay, you’re losing me again. What do they know?”
“Apparently, they found a marking on Richard’s body…” She paused and took a sip of water to settle herself. This was messing with her insides. “And no blood. The news reporter said an anonymous source in the medical examiner’s office stated that it was a bloodless body.”
“If he was missing…parts, how do they know this body is Richard?”
She swallowed the lump in her throat and forced her voice out. “They found his head and hands in a dumpster, every fingernail ripped out. I forget how the newscaster said it, but basically they think he died of massive blood loss. Duh, right?”
Clearing her throat, she shook her head and went on. “The news report also mentioned that Richard appeared to be an addict. They said he had puncture wounds directly into his jugular vein.” She let that news sink in for a second. “Could a Night Walker have done this? Richard was a lot of things, but never a user. He told me once that the drugs were like a wad of cash. Using it yourself is like flushing your cash down the toilet. It was his number one business rule. You move the stuff, you don’t take it. And he’d never be stupid enough to put something directly into his jugular. You could bleed to death.”
Muriah waited, but Lukas didn’t reply. “Lukas? Are you listening?”
“I’m sorry.” He sat in the chair again, steepling his fingers. “I’m trying to put all of this together in my mind. If a Night Walker attacked him, I don’t understand why he would take his head and hands.”
“Maybe he wanted to slow the police down while he put some miles between himself and San Diego.” She lowered her voice. “Or to make his murder look like it was drug related.”