by Anna Abner
“You’ve never seen a dead body before, häxa?” he guessed, looming over her.
She blinked up at him. “What’s a higsah? You from France or something?”
“Sweden,” he answered reflexively. “It means witch.”
“Aren’t you afraid of being infected?”
Her response confused him, and it took a second to understand her question or form a response. “Broken spine—no blood. And if I was really worried, I’d shift. Animals can’t catch the vampire infection. You don’t know a lot about this stuff, do you?”
“Then why didn’t you shift?” she countered, ignoring his verbal jab.
“My leg’s broken,” he reminded her.
“Shifting doesn’t heal you?” she asked.
“I heal faster than most people, but a broken bone’s a broken bone.” He eyed her up and down. “So, why does your boyfriend need another witch when he’s already got you?”
Finally, her eyes cleared, and some starch seeped back into her spine. “He’s not my boyfriend,” she snapped, “and I’m not a real witch.”
“You could have fooled me.”
“That doesn’t seem hard to do,” she shot back.
The dig about his intelligence stung. Suddenly, he couldn’t pull enough air in his lungs.
“Did I find your weak spot, bear boy?” she teased.
Lukas clenched his jaw, but the anger continued to boil.
“Let’s roll,” Connor’s voice boomed, breaking Lukas’ staring contest with Roz. “Before the highway patrol shows up.” He sent Lukas a glare that clearly read: get the fuck out of here and never come back.
Lukas smelled the other witch, the redhead, cross behind him. She started a motorcycle and drove off into the desert as Connor climbed into his big red truck. Lukas never took his eyes off Roz. Everything about her was infuriating, especially her tropical scent filling his nostrils.
She stared right back, not showing an ounce of fear. Was she stupid or reckless?
“What?” she snapped.
He lowered his gaze first. “Look, I don’t trust witches, but whatever you did to me—this morning was the first time in five days I didn’t hurt or bleed.”
She gazed at his white tee. “Five days?” Roz repeated. “What happened? Who hexed you?”
“I was tracking a vampire,” he said. “I guess a witch was tracking him too. She said I got in her way.”
“Wow. Brutal.”
She wasn’t reading his cues, and it annoyed him. “Back to you and me,” he said.
“There is no you and me,” Roz hastily corrected.
He clenched his jaw. “Can you break the hex, once and for all? Or at least do the thing you did before and keep the pain at bay?”
“Out of the goodness of my heart?” Roz countered. “What’s in it for me?”
Lukas shook his head in disgust. After everything these fools had done to him, he should be returning the favor. Drugs. Chains. Abduction.
“Just like a witch,” he grumbled.
“You want something from me. Let’s make a deal,” she said. “I’ll heal your hex—and I’ll even try to break it—but you have to answer my questions about shapeshifters.”
That was it. The last straw. These bastards had beat him, chained him, put him to sleep against his will, and given him medical treatments without his consent. Now the witch sought his hopes, fears, and dreams too?
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” he exploded. “You think I’d share my secrets and weaknesses with a witch?”
Roz blinked. “It would be for my own curiosity, nothing more.”
But he didn’t care about her curiosity. “Forget it. I should have known better than to trust you.” With a grumbled curse word, he stalked off away from the highway, away from their nonsense, away from her.
Chapter Six
Maksim Volk woke in a wet pit with a bunch of terrified human hostages, surprised to wake at all. Truthfully, he’d have been content to fade away and join his little bird in the great beyond.
“Sleepy’s up.”
He blinked and rolled onto his side, spitting fetid water from his mouth. His blood donor stood shivering and cross-armed beside him.
“How long?” he asked, groaning as he pushed into a sitting position. He was as weak as he’d ever been. She may have saved his life—he could tell she’d fed him by her pale cheeks and the metallic taste in his mouth—but it hadn’t been enough to return him to full strength.
“It’s hard to tell,” she answered with obvious reluctance. “A day?”
He couldn’t remember ever having a conversation with her before except a quippy remark now and then to annoy him. Despite the circumstances, he was enjoying it.
“Sergei?”
“No one’s come to check on us,” she snapped. “Welcome to being a blood donor.”
Ouch.
Maks stood on unsteady legs and walked his way around the hole, threading through clusters of stinking humans, to examine his current situation. Trapped in a cold pit stripped of any useful tools with a bunch of whimpering humans. He used to be a prince. He used to rule the horde. Humans groveled at his feet. Vampires lowered their eyes when he walked by.
How he’d fallen so far, he still couldn’t fathom. Just because Olek had disappeared?
In the waterlogged pit, there wasn’t much to aid him. Rough stone. A group of hunched-backed blood donors. If he was full strength, he could parkour up the wall like a monkey and escape for good. Run and never be found. Start over someplace new and let the horde hang itself. What did he care?
He glanced over his shoulder at his amber-eyed donor. She scowled back.
“Do you even know my name?” she demanded.
Maksim blinked.
“Of course not,” she continued. “Because human beings mean nothing to monsters like you.”
“That’s right,” he murmured, turning his back and kicking up dark water onto both legs.
“What did you say?” she demanded.
Louder, he said, “I am a monster.” After the things he’d done, he deserved the title and more.
“Lost your sparkle?” she taunted. “No snarky comebacks? Being thrown in a pit and drained of blood will do that to you.”
He’d had his ass kicked so many times in the last several months, he’d lost count. Rather than take the woman’s bait, he pulled weakly at a jagged bit of stone.
Months ago, he’d been trailing Oleksander on the Strip, doing his best to keep him out of trouble without being obvious about it. When Maks sensed the Destroyer choosing a victim, he distracted him with alcohol or a bawdy joke.
But then Maks had screwed up. A sexy, amber-eyed waif had been performing an impromptu hip-shaking dance at the bar, and Maks had stared a millisecond too long. Olek noticed.
The hunt was on.
They’d lingered near a bank of slot machines, waiting for the girl to leave the bar. When she finally did, alone, Olek herded her into a dark alcove between buildings and drank from her throat until she was too weak to fight. From that moment on, the girl was Olek’s plaything. Only when he tired of her, did he dump her at Maks’ feet. He knew better than to refuse a gift from his master.
“What’s your name?” Maks asked with none of his usual wit or charm.
“Do you know why you don’t know my name?” she asked with a disgusted snort. “Because you never asked me. You never cared. You see people like sheep, and livestock don’t have names.”
She may be on to something, but he didn’t have the energy to care now, either. He must escape first, re-think his life choices later.
“I need blood,” he said to his donor, and then raked his gaze across the huddled people. “With blood, I can get us all out of this hole.” When no one jumped to volunteer, he added, “Without it, we are at Sergei’s mercy.”
“You’ll take us with you?” A middle-aged man so thin his filthy clothes hung from his bony collarbones stood up.
Maksim nodded. Why not ta
ke the ragamuffins with him? He didn’t say he had to escort them far. Once he hit the top of the hole, it was every man and woman for themselves.
“Have some of mine,” the man offered.
“Me too,” a young woman added, “but just a little.”
Maksim salivated at the thought of their hot, life-giving blood at the back of his throat. He tried his best to be gentle when he tore into their flesh.
#
Early Thursday morning while Ali and Connor slept, oblivious, Roz woke with the sun, dressed in casual yoga attire, and rode their private elevator to the promenade at the lower levels of the Le Sort Hotel. She bought a biscotti and a large latte and chose a seat at a tiny wrought iron table with a view of light foot traffic meandering through orange trees imported from France. She pulled out her phone and scrolled her last couple dozen texts to Natasha—all unanswered. A glutton for punishment, she fired off one more.
I’m sorry. Please answer me.
In the past couple days, she’d been angry, annoyed, vengeful, and ambivalent about Natasha and her brother’s silence. She might as well try contrite.
After no immediate answer appeared, she set her phone aside in order to sip her latte.
A very large shapeshifter dropped ungracefully into the empty chair opposite her, startling her so badly she sloshed hot coffee onto her fingers.
“Goddamnit,” she hissed.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Lukas grumbled, looking preposterous trying to fit at the tiny cafe table, his leg cast making him even wobblier.
“Everything about you scares me.” Including his mad desire to murder vampires. Roz happened to like one vampire in particular. She grabbed handfuls of napkins to soothe her scalded flesh. “How did you find me?”
“I followed your scent,” he said, matter-of-fact. “You smell like spent fireworks.”
She wrinkled her nose. “That’s not a compliment.” Finished drying her hands, she stared at him. He was paler than yesterday and sort of blue around the edges as if he wasn’t getting enough oxygen. “God, you look like shit.”
He grunted in agreement.
It must be the curse under his arm. “It never stops bleeding, does it?”
He shook his head.
“It was meant to kill you,” she realized aloud. “If it weren’t for your accelerated shifter healing, you’d be dead already.”
Lukas took a long time answering. “I agree to your terms.”
“Huh?” She paused with her biscotti halfway to her lips, not sure if she’d missed a couple minutes of conversation.
He almost smiled at her. Almost. But then he was back to his grumbly shifter business. “You said you’d do your voodoo if I answered your questions.” He clenched his jaw, but from discomfort or annoyance, she wasn’t sure. “I agree to your deal.”
“Oh.” If he was in so much pain he’d actually agree to do something he didn’t want to do, then she could step out of her comfort zone too. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll heal what I can. Free of charge.” She wasn’t a monster, after all.
“No,” he countered firmly. “We had a deal. You take away the pain, and I’ll answer your questions.”
She didn’t argue, not when he looked so desperate and achy. “We can go up to my suite,” she said, finishing her coffee and abandoning the last of her biscotti.
“No,” he said, remaining perched awkwardly in his tiny seat. “Let’s go somewhere more private.” He scanned the veranda and the coffee shop beyond. “There must be a bathroom.”
She frowned down at him. Well, actually, he was so tall, even when she stood beside him, they were nearly eye to eye. “You want me to cast complex healing spells in a cafe bathroom?” Poor beast didn’t understand her magic was spotty. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. Add stress to the mix, and it was even less reliable.
But one look at his eyes rimmed in shadows and his pale cheeks, and she said, “Why not?” It was an act, of course. But she’d become a talented actress since living under the Las Vegas lights. Pretend she knew what she was doing? Pretend she possessed power? Pretend she wasn’t terrified ninety-eight percent of the time? No problem.
Finally, Lukas stood, rising for what seemed like forever until he towered over her five-feet six inches. He gestured for her to lead on, and she weaved through the tables in the busy cafe, headed straight for the restroom sign near the cash register.
She felt decidedly lucky when she ducked into the ladies’ room and it was warmly lit, tastefully decorated, and smelled like cinnamon candles. Also, it was empty.
“Okay,” she said, spinning on Lukas, and then bursting out with an undignified laugh. Lukas was absurdly out of place in the feminine-decorated bathroom, his hands clasped in front of him. He was too big, too masculine, too male.
“Something funny?” he barked.
“Nothing,” she assured, reaching around him to bolt the door.
Lukas flinched away from her touch. That’s when she grew serious. He hated witches, had been cursed by one, and he didn’t trust her a bit. For some reason, it struck a nerve.
“Can I see the mark again before we start?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow. “If you’re not too scared.”
Gritting his teeth, he pulled up his shirt and peeled back a thick gauze pad nearly bled through. Underneath, the oozing X reeked of magic. She stole a quick pic with her phone.
“What the hell are you doing?” He snapped his arm down over the wound, hiding it.
“Research.”
He looked ready to argue when she spread her arms at her sides and said, “Blessed is my power. I call upon thee.” Magic reeled about the small space, ruffling used paper towels in the trashcan and whipping her long black hair around her shoulders. “Heal his pain,” she said. “Break his curse.” She focused her energy on the wound under his arm. Surprisingly, the glow from the candles and the dim lighting helped her center and stay calm. “Heal.”
Someone knocked on the bathroom door and jiggled the handle.
“It’s occupied,” Lukas barked.
“This is the ladies room!” a shocked female voice shouted back.
“Find another one,” he advised.
Smiling faintly, Roz continued casting, unable to speak anything other than her spell without breaking it. She glanced at Lukas’ face briefly and got caught in the pull of his blue eyes. He was taller and broader than Connor, which she’d often thought was impossible. The infection had gifted her already tall and muscular best friend extra inches in all directions. He’d grown to pro wrestler size.
Lukas, though, loomed even larger. A giant lunk of a man with thick muscles in his chest, arms, and legs. Roz’s gaze drifted up and down his impressive figure, lingering on his bulging pecs.
Their eyes met again, she stumbled over her spell, and then closed her eyes in embarrassment. Normally, she wouldn’t be ashamed of checking someone out, but Lukas wasn’t anyone.
“You can stop,” Lukas said quietly.
Roz popped her eyes open and focused on Lukas’ exposed wound.
“You’re good?” she checked.
“It doesn’t hurt,” he said, straightening his clothes. “It stopped bleeding. So, yeah.”
“Oh.” Her power faded from her fingertips, and the wind died down. “I’m glad.”
His hand hovering on the door handle, he asked, “What’s your question?”
Oh, wow. There were so many. She wracked her brain before spitting out, “How old were you when you first shifted?”
“Fourteen.” He twisted the lock as if to leave.
“That’s it?” she demanded. “That’s all you’re going to say?”
Rather than answer, he asked, “You hunting tonight?”
“Uh.” Neither she nor Connor had discussed it, but it felt like a distinct possibility. “Probably.”
“Either way,” he checked his watch, “meet me here tomorrow at the same time.” Without a good-bye, he left in a hurry, avoiding a line of waiting women outs
ide the door.
Roz received several dirty looks as she followed him out. “Sorry,” she said, not really sorry at all, “he loves to do it in public places.” Smirking, she slipped back in the order line and bought a fresh latte.
#
Lukas ducked around a gilded gazebo in the grand palladium of the Le Sort Hotel and plucked his cell phone from his back pocket. He captured pictures of the witch strolling out of the coffee shop, and when she turned toward the bank of elevators, he trailed her, his cast thudding every other step on the tile flooring. He snapped shots until her elevator doors slid closed, sealing her from view.
He checked the pics, deleting most and finding the best one. She looked like a regular person, like a lot of other beautiful young women in the casino with long shapely legs and dark hair. There was nothing obvious to alert an innocent person about the power inside her. Nothing but the slight odor of spent fireworks on her skin.
Grumbling, he pocketed his phone and limped onto the crowded sidewalk along Tropicana Boulevard. The crowds in town hindered his ability to scent vampires. Due to their love affair with murder, they smelled like blood. But there was so much sensory overload with the piss, vomit, sour alcohol, and cigarette smoke, not to mention legitimate sources of blood, it was nearly impossible to hunt for them in the city.
Instead, he returned to the shitty room he rented in an ancient hotel called the Miner’s Delight way off the Strip. It happened to be under the shadow of the Coven’s tower and that was no mistake. Lukas took up his spot in a padded chair in front of the window facing witch central. He raised a pair of binoculars and spied on the main entrance, then the parking garage, and finally did a sweep of the street. Some tourists taking selfies and a few rundown business types slogging to work in the strip mall across the street showed themselves, but no traffic into the tower. He made a mental note of the time. He’d yet to tie down any witch’s scheduled arrivals and departures. Either they used a secret entrance or magic to cloak themselves. The only people he ever caught going in were visitors interested in a tour or a gift shop. In disguise one lazy afternoon, he’d already discovered the Coven offered neither.