All she had to do was find a witch called Imogenia who was rumored to have information on Alterants, Tristan in particular, and the location of Tŵr Medb, home of the Medb Coven of deadly Noirre majik practitioners … where Tristan was being held captive.
A sick ball of regret rolled around in Evalle’s stomach. She’d left Atlanta two hours ago with Storm to hike up the side of Oakey Mountain in North Georgia. She wouldn’t have gambled the time spent coming here if she hadn’t trusted the source.
“Damned ghouls,” Storm grumbled as if lifting her thoughts, his deep voice ending in a growl. He didn’t read minds, but he was a powerful empath.
“Don’t blame him. Grady can only repeat what he hears.” Evalle shifted on the cold ground to find a comfortable position. She knew Grady’s limitations. He was a Nightstalker—just another homeless person who’d died ten years ago on the streets of Atlanta. Now he was her best source of intel. Usually.
“When we do find Tristan, I want ten minutes with him alone before you hand him over to Macha.” A muscle played in Storm’s jaw, the only sign of his frustration.
“I need him alive,” she reminded Storm, though she knew he didn’t mean to kill Tristan, but those two couldn’t stand in the same zip code without the threat of blood being shed. “I need every Alterant I can find. As it is, Macha is insulted that none have come forward to accept her offer. I have no idea where I’m going to come up with one other than Tristan.”
She released a long breath, disgusted. She’d been so sure this would be the break she needed.
“Grady said this was the place?”
“Yes. Imogenia had a meeting in the valley north of Oakey Mountain at the hour between Tuesday and Wednesday.”
“How specific was he on this information she has about the Medb?”
“That’s where Grady got vague. He said while he was eavesdropping, he started losing his corporeal form, which caused him to miss parts of her conversation. He did get that she mentioned something about Alterants and was going to deliver it to the Medb, plus she mentioned Tristan’s name specifically.”
“Maybe she’s here looking for more information she can sell to the Medb.”
Evalle considered that possibility. “I just hope she shows up and if she does know anything about other Alterants that I can convince her to trade with me instead of the Medb.”
“Think you have enough to outbid them?”
“I don’t know. Somebody in Imogenia’s Carretta coven wants to take over by using Imogenia as a blood sacrifice. A dark witch should be willing to sell her mother’s soul to get that name.” She checked the valley again. Something about the gathering sent bony fingers of anxiety clawing up her spine. What was going on? Evalle opened and closed her fisted hands, grumbling, “When we first showed up, I knew this location didn’t look like somewhere witches would meet, not in an area this exposed.”
“True, but I had hopes.”
“You’re really wanting that ten minutes with Tristan, huh?” Evalle teased.
He shifted around, using a finger to turn her chin to him. “You’ve been running on no sleep, little food, and frustration for the past two days straight trying to find one lead on Tristan. This is it, and digging up this tip was tough. I want to get that witch’s information tonight and find Tristan as much as you do.”
“Really? But—” She caught herself. Why am I questioning him? Storm couldn’t lie without enduring pain, a downside of the gift he possessed that allowed him to discern immediately if someone else lied.
He chuckled darkly. “Don’t misunderstand me. I still don’t give a rat’s ass about Tristan. He can rot in hell for all the times he’s let you down, but if there’s a chance that Imogenia does have any information on Alterants, we can’t leave until we know for sure she’s not here.”
“Agreed.” Between the frigid air and being immobile, she was losing feeling in her legs and butt. “Being still would be easier if it wasn’t so freakin’ cold up here.”
“This isn’t cold. You’d like it if you were doing something fun like camping or hiking.”
“No way,” she grumbled. “Anyone who’d hike up a mountain in the winter for fun would go to hell for a picnic.”
“It’s not even winter yet.” He tugged her around onto her knees and snaked an arm inside her jacket, pulling her to him.
She snuggled up close, welcoming the heat that surged off his powerful body. The man was a natural furnace and smelled like the outdoors and … male. Very male. He cupped her face and kissed her as if he had every right to do so.
As far as she was concerned, he did.
His lips played with hers, teasing, inviting her to do things her body wanted to go all in on. Her heart kept yammering at her to take that leap with Storm. Make a decision.
But her mind had not climbed on board with her heart yet.
He had more patience than a man should need. And to be honest, she was sick of letting her past rule her future. But she had good reason to hesitate, even though she knew Storm would be an amazing lover. Her worry stemmed from fear of losing control, which might end with her killing him.
A very realistic fear for an Alterant like her.
His fingers curled around her neck, softly massaging her tight muscles as he kissed her ear and chin. “Stop stressing over the small stuff, sweetheart.”
His endearment spawned a silky swirl of heat in her stomach, as if he’d planted it there with his kiss.
When he pulled away, he dropped his forehead against hers, his deep voice rumbling against her skin. “I miss having you wrapped against me in front of my fireplace. I want you back, and rested. I’m getting damned tired of sharing you to help a renegade Alterant, but I’ll do this to get Macha off your back. And when we find Tristan this time, he is coming in to meet with Macha, even if I have to drag his miserable carcass all the way there.”
That sounded more like the Storm who’d clashed with Tristan since their first encounter. To be fair, Storm only told the truth … if you looked at Tristan’s past actions in strictly black-and-white terms.
But her job often required dealing with the gray areas in between.
Such as right now, when everything about this situation had taken an unexpected turn. From the looks of that group below, this had trouble written all over it with blood for ink. She’d asked Storm to come only to use his exceptional tracking skills to follow Imogenia once the coven meeting ended, not to put his life at risk to help someone he barely tolerated.
How was it right for her to always accept the comfort and support he offered when she couldn’t even meet this man halfway to the bedroom?
A place any woman would rush to for someone as considerate, attractive and sexual as Storm. Raw masculinity that women ogled everywhere they went.
Like I’m doing right now. Mind back on business.
She broke the contact, twisting around to scan the growing crowd in the valley. He did too, but not before a light stroke of his fingers across her shoulder.
If Imogenia did show up, Evalle would not let the witch walk away without telling her how to find Tristan.
Storm tensed, leaning forward. “That’s got to be her.”
Evalle searched the odd mix of figures milling around for someone who matched the description and zeroed in when she found her. Torchlight reflected off a gold mask that adorned the face of a medium-height woman with white hair. Not silver, not blond, but white curls that fell past her shoulders. “At least the description I was given appears to be sound. But what has she got chained that’s standing next to her?”
“I’m thinking demon with its head covered and the metal collar, but I don’t understand why a witch would need to chain something if she has it under her control?”
Evalle fingered the top of her boot where she kept her dagger, the one with a spell on the blade she’d used more than once to kill a demon. “Does seem odd since he—it—whatever, looks puny. He can’t be six feet tall, and a skinny sucker the way his
clothes hang off his body. Think he’s a sacrifice?”
“No.” Storm rocked back on his heels, the movement hidden from the gathering below by the rocks they hid behind. “I need to stretch.” In one fluid move, he was on his feet, offering her a hand that she took. He walked backward, drawing her into dark shadows created by a stand of pine trees. “This changes the plan from observe and track.”
“Why? We can still wait for her to leave and follow her.”
“That was when we thought this was a group of witches getting together. Imogenia has been impossible to find up to this point and—” He paused, nodding toward the bright pocket of torchlight and the strange group below them. “That’s not a meeting of her coven, people she’d trust. With that many dangerous beings in one place, she probably has a way to disappear once she leaves so that no one can track her. Maybe not even me.”
That was saying something. Storm had tracked Evalle to South America when no one could find her. With the exception of someone who’d teleported, he could follow a majik trail across the globe.
Evalle assessed the scene again. “And you don’t think this is some sort of sacrificial ceremony?”
“No.”
“Then what’s your guess?”
“Don’t need to guess. I know what’s going on.” Storm leaned forward against a tree, stretching his calves.
“You do?” She would have been glad to hear his decisive answer if not for her empathic sense picking up on a sudden shift in Storm’s calm demeanor to one of tense anticipation, as if he expected trouble. “Why didn’t you say so earlier?”
“Because I didn’t figure it out until just now. Take a look.”
She flicked another quick glance down the slope and did a double take. Two males with humanlike bodies had entered the circle of torches. One had skin that was a putrid shade of green. He wore nothing but a sheath of gray material wrapped as a groin cover and he sported a tail that dragged the ground. His shorter opponent’s camo-green vest and brown pants were pulled tight over a squat bodybuilder physique bulging with muscles. He was the most human-looking of the two with his scraggly brown hair, except for the two short horns sticking out the top of his head.
Well, that and red glowing eyes she could see from this distance.
“Demons,” Storm said, without any question, and she agreed.
The two demons circled each other, bodies hunched forward, arms raised, ready for attack.
She shoved her hands in the pockets of her jacket. “What are they doing?”
“Fighting.”
“Why?”
“It’s a Beast Club.”
Her face must have shown her confusion when she looked at Storm to see if he was serious.
He explained, “Think illegal fight club, but with nonhumans.”
Now it all started to fit. People were crowded around the ring, already shouting like she’d seen on television when humans wrestled or boxed. “I’ve never heard of a Beast Club. How do you know what it is?”
“They had them in South America. The only way you found out was by being a sponsor … or a fighter.”
She wanted to ask more about when he’d lived there, but not right this minute.
The hurling scream of something in mortal pain echoed across the mountains.
Evalle snapped around in time to see the green-skinned demon rip the head off the one in camo, silencing his opponent. She hadn’t expected the big guy to lose—at least not so quickly.
Rubbing her neck muscles, she struggled to come up with a new plan. “I have to inform VIPER.”
“You contact them and they’re going to order you to sit tight and wait for them to raid this. If by some small chance that valley is owned by a person with diplomatic immunity from VIPER operations, the owner is technically within his or her rights to host the fight. By the time VIPER finishes busting up the party, your witch will be gone.”
As an agent with VIPER, a coalition of powerful beings who protected the world from supernatural predators, Evalle would be in trouble if this did turn out to be an illegal operation and VIPER found out she knew about it, but failed to report it.
Caught between her responsibilities to VIPER, her promise to bring Tristan in to Macha, and her commitment to the Beladors, Evalle knew her duty to the Beladors and Macha came first, which meant saving her own hide came last, as usual.
But that still didn’t solve her problem of talking to the witch if they couldn’t track her. “Crap. What’s the possibility of getting to Imogenia now?”
“Pretty good, actually. If she’s got a fighter entered, she can’t leave until her demon, or whatever it is, fights.”
“Then we need to get to her soon, but how?”
“That part’s easy. We just walk in.”
She didn’t like the I-already-have-a-plan-in-mind sound of that. “They aren’t going to notice a couple of uninvited people?”
“You don’t need a formal invitation to a Beast fight like that one. All you have to do is”—he paused, locking his hands behind his head and twisting, stretching his shoulders and chest—“show up with a fighter and you’re in.”
Grace be to Macha. She figured out what he was proposing. “No. I watched you almost die once. I’m not going through that again.”
He dropped his arms and stepped close, pulling her against his chest, and whispered into her ear. “I don’t know why there’s a Beast Club in North America, but now that I do and that witch is involved, I know better than to risk leaving here and you hunting for her later without me. I’m going down there to find Imogenia now. You can be my sponsor or you can wait up here.”
Continue reading for
FIRE BOUND
BY SHERRILYN KENYON AND DIANNA LOVE
A BELADOR Short Story
SIXTEEN MONTHS AGO …
* * *
CHAPTER ONE
“I hunt demons, not aliens,” Evalle Kincaid grumbled under her breath. She parked her GSX-R motorcycle in the heavy shadow of an abandoned gas station in … she had no idea what this rural area was called, only that it was an hour east of Atlanta. March apparently intended to go out like a lamb with a cool breeze in the mid-sixties. Stowing her riding gear that left her in a black T-shirt and jeans, she headed over to where four men waited inside the gutted building.
VIPER team, mostly Beladors.
Not a Men-in-Black agent among them.
So why send a VIPER team to investigate this particular crime? As a coalition that protected humans from supernatural predators, VIPER handled a lot of strange things, but cow killings?
That was so … Roswell.
She took every mission seriously, but seeing two particular men on this mission ramped up the significance: Tzader Burke, who was Maistir over all the North American Beladors, and, Vladimir Quinn, who oversaw the Belador investments.
They were two of the most dangerous men she’d ever met, and her closest friends. Much as she’d like to joke about looking for little green men, she was mentally prepared for something preternatural and deadly.
That actually raised her comfort level.
Also wearing black jeans, plus a matching long-sleeved Under-Armour shirt over a ripped body that was such a deep brown he was nearly invisible in the dark, Tzader paused in talking to the other three as Evalle walked up.
She was only a few minutes late and the traffic jam hadn’t been her fault, but she felt it necessary to explain. “I would have been here sooner, but—”
Reece “Casper” Jordan piped up. “We know, sunshine. You’re a fragile Alterant, too delicate to travel before sunset.”
Of the agents here tonight, Casper was the only non-Belador. The mouthy Texan had shared his body with the spirit of a thirteenth-century highland warrior ever since he’d been struck by lightning while in Scotland ten years ago. She’d heard stories about how he’d changed into a highland warrior during battle a few times, and at times the shift was accompanied by electrical or lightning flashes. Sweet.
&n
bsp; “Got your delicate in my boot, cowboy.” Evalle sent Casper a wry smile since he meant no malice. Yes, she was relegated to working only at night if she didn’t want to wear heavy protective gear due to her deadly reaction to the sun, the same reason her eyes were so sensitive to light. But as an Alterant—part Belador and part unknown—she had a few extra tricks even the other Beladors didn’t possess, such as natural night vision. She could see everyone here just fine in the tarpit darkness.
In fact, the barely-there moonlight seemed bright to her.
Having traded his signature Stetson for combat headgear, Casper had a night-vision monocular that gave him a cyborg-ish look. He wore a tactical moly vest with shell holders and had a wicked-nice customized double-barrel Stoeger shotgun hanging from a shoulder sling.
The three Beladors present—Tzader, Quinn and Trey McCree—didn’t need monoculars. They’d utilize her exceptional vision once they all linked powers, turning them into a dangerous fighting unit. Of course, that ability came with a downside.
If one of them was killed while linked, they all died.
“Everyone just got here right before you, Evalle,” Tzader said, then moved straight into the mission. “Listen up, team. We don’t know what exactly we’ll encounter tonight, but our people in local law enforcement will keep humans away while we stake out the kill zone.”
“Are they sure these cow attacks aren’t some creepy high school or college prank?” Evalle asked. She couldn’t be the only one thinking that.
Tzader nodded at Quinn who took over, speaking in his cultured British accent. “I’ve reviewed everything law enforcement has on the investigation and met with the farmer whose livestock was mutilated. He has an electric fence with a sophisticated security monitoring system around the pasture where the cows were killed.”
“Damn, son,” Casper crowed. “What kind of cows that boy got?”
Quinn merely quirked an eyebrow at Casper’s use of “son.” He was normally dressed in a custom suit—one that would cost more than Casper’s new Dodge Ram truck parked nearby—for a corporate business meeting, or in one of his many tuxedos, to attend the social event of the season.
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