by Amber Kallyn
He spoke of an unraveling truce and growing problems with the local pack of wolf shifters. An endless influx of dark Rogues. "A master vampire who utilized black magics came to Moss Creek a while back." MacDougal's fists clenched. The wooden arms of his chair creaked threateningly. "Best I can figure, Thomas Montgomery thought to overthrow me and take control here. While he and many of his creatures were quickly dealt with, a few remaining followers have managed to stay stubbornly hidden while continuing his work." His expression flushed with shadows of regret and self-castigation.
Once he'd brought her up to date on the most recent murders, MacDougal fell silent, staring at the banked fireplace. Long moments passed before he met her gaze. "All the recent problems have thrown the local Arcaine into a chaos we're still climbing out of."
Anca calculated a few things. "So you've been battling on two fronts, the pack and this dark vampire's leftovers?"
"Aye. And something tells me that there are more secrets waiting to surprise us. You know most of mine after reading the council reports." He studied her. "I do wonder what your exact orders are?"
She hesitated, but everything so far said she could trust this man. MacDougal was a Master, true. But he didn't seem to be one of those who'd become corrupted by power.
Instead of answering, she said, "Connor Gregory has spoken much of you and your clan. He told me you are trustworthy." A fellow Judge, Connor was also related to the king. A cousin or something.
"Why didn't you tell me you came with a recommendation from that old bastard?" MacDougal barked a laugh as he sat back, this time truly relaxing. He waved a hand. "Go on."
"The Council ordered me to eliminate the remaining members of Montgomery's clan. Connor added a secondary request."
MacDougal stiffened.
Anca pushed on. "He spoke of your sister's betrayal, and how, even after she was turned over to the Council, the security here is not what it should be."
His face could have been etched from the same granite as his home. "Does the Council know about the traitor within my clan?"
Having done as Connor asked and kept it quiet, she replied, "No."
MacDougal breathed a sigh of relief.
Searching for additional answers, she said, "Tell me of Leo and his sister."
"I won't bother to ask how long you were eavesdropping." He pinned her with a powerful look.
Though she didn't blush easily, for some reason, heat crawled up her cheeks. She'd only been doing her job. So why did his stern stare make her feel like she had long ago, caught by her tată while trying to be sneaky?
The King replied, "Leo and Luci are rare blood relations. They've been with me nearly a hundred and fifty years. The Rogues took Luci late last fall, while Montgomery was still alive. She's one of the few captured back then that we weren't able to find, to rescue." His shoulders slumped, the heaviness of responsibility he felt suddenly tripling in weight.
"How many of your people do they still have?"
"That we believe are alive? Three." His tone was low, weary. "Even one is too many."
"Why do you think they're still alive?"
"Because they haven't been dropped off in town, with signs of being killed in dark rituals, like the others."
The answer chilled her to the core. Hopefully, she'd be able to ease the burden for him. For his clan and all the other local Arcaine affected by the dark magics permeating this place. She was going to find these Rogues. Put an end to their depravities.
And there was the other matter. The personal favor for Connor Gregory. She'd try her best. But in order to do that, she'd need MacDougal's complete cooperation.
Would she get it?
Without looking away from him, she told him matter-of-factly. "If I cannot find your traitor before I leave, I will be required to report the breech to the Council." Laws were what they were, and they had to be followed. Even if it meant the Council would be forced to interfere fully.
MacDougal shot her a calculating look. "Of course."
Thoughts racing, she started a mental list of the many things she'd need to figure out how and where the Rogues were hiding.
And, there was one more person in town she had to speak with, sooner rather than later. "I need the statements from the recent killings. Your Keeper of the Peace should have them?"
"Shane Spencer. Also town sheriff. I'll have someone get the reports."
"Thank you."
He stood. "I'll have a room readied for your stay."
"I won't be staying here." Though it was protocol to be offered, in over four centuries, she'd never once accepted.
"As you prefer," he replied. "The town's inn then?"
"No."
Curiosity flickered over his face. "There's no other place to stay in town."
"I'm not staying in town." Whether she told him or not, he'd figure it out. He had a stubborn, must-know-everything type of vibe. "I'm camping in the forest."
On top of the uncomfortableness being around large numbers of people brought, towns weren't safe. Anyone could find out your location. In the forest, all Anca had to do was make certain no one followed her to the hidden camp she'd set up, complete with her own unbreakable protective wards, and she'd be quite safe.
MacDougal seemed put out with her reply, but only asked, "Do you need supplies?"
Knowing he was referring to a steady supply of fresh blood, she said, "I do."
"Our only blood bank is located in the hospital, first floor. It's on the south side of town. Just tell them I sent you, though as a Judge, you won't have any problems."
That wouldn't work with the slowly forming plan she had in mind. "I don't want to announce I'm a Judge."
He paused, assessing her once more. "What?"
"It would be better if I appear as a Rogue, unaffiliated with your clan. And I'd prefer that you tell as few of your vampires—and only those you trust explicitly."
"You're not used to small towns, are you?"
"Excuse me?"
"People gossip, is all. But I'll do my best."
"If there's anything else, you can contact me at—"
MacDougal cut her off with a laugh. "If I need to contact you, I'll find you. This is my territory, after all, lass." His power flared.
Anca tensed, but this wasn't the test of power she worried might come—a waste of everyone's time and strength. Instead, it was more a friendly warning that she was here at his allowance.
She donned a neutral expression and tipped her head the slightest bit.
Acknowledging his rule here.
Just not over her.
***
Matt Dixon sat in his chilly office, finishing paperwork for the surgery he'd recently performed. He ignored the crowd in the room, knowing that if he didn't pay them heed, they might go away.
Not likely. But might.
He slid another completed form neatly on the small stack at the edge of his desk. A second later, someone tapped on the wood. Matt glanced over. The papers were askew. He realigned the edges perfectly square before continuing to write up his notes.
The top sheet of paper flipped up into the air, tumbling over itself until it landed on the floor across the room, near the door.
Guess this uninvited guest refused to be ignored.
Matt looked over the handful of ghosts lounging around his office. His glare landed on the one messing with his paperwork and demanding attention. "George, your wife survived the operation. You saw her."
The old man, dead three months from a werewolf attack, stared mournfully. His wife of forty years had been Matt's most recent patient. Implanting her pacemaker had gone well, but now, the mortal woman needed to rest and recover.
At least with his wife in the hospital, George seemed to have decided to mostly appear as he had in life—a hearty, redheaded lumberjack of a man—rather than the usual lately, as he'd looked in death after the attack.
Most Arcaine believed seeing the dead was a powerful ability. One only a small percentage of
vampires acquired.
Matt considered it a burden.
Though he could see and speak to them, there wasn't a damn thing he could do to help. He didn't even know why they remained. Only that he'd only ever seen a concentration of ghosts in the same area where they'd died. Like George and the others wandering the hospital.
And like all spirits, ever voiceless, George picked up the paper and slapped it against the door.
Matt shook his head. "She needs rest. She'll wake in the morning and not beforehand. Be patient."
George shook his head jerkily, not caring for Matt's reasoning. The ghost flung the paper at the ceiling. It fluttered a moment before floating to the floor. George picked it up and threw it higher, again and again.
With a quiet sigh, Matt turned back to his notes. When he finished, he carefully slid the paperwork into the appropriate folder, crossed his office, and snagged the last sheet from the air in front of George.
Even though the ghosts couldn't be felt, at least not by anyone mundane like him, Matt stepped around George out of politeness as he left his office. In the hall, he slipped the paper in its proper place, then tapped the folder to exactly align the edges.
George followed, passing through the door to join the few ghosts in the bright, sterile hospital hall. The spirits eerily floated above the floor, wandering ever aimlessly.
Matt ignored them and headed down the corridor, George at his side, staring mournfully.
Moss Creek was fairly small, but with all the Arcaine living nearby, the hospital stayed busier than it should. With the wounded, and far too many deaths.
The handful of doctors who worked in town shared two secretaries. Inside their office, Matt dropped his folder neatly into the in basket on the first desk. Back in the hallway, he found George had left. Most likely off to look after his wife while she slept.
Matt returned to his office, but when he reached for the doorknob, a growing lethargy stopped him, leaving him blankly staring at his nameplate. Exhaustion rolled through him. He rubbed his face wearily. The letters of his name blurred and doubled, then cleared, before blurring again.
He should go home.
Get some sleep.
With all the recent butchery, thanks to the Arcaine Rogues trying to hijack Moss Creek, he'd spent far too much time working, and too little time sleeping. He checked his watch, startled it was almost eight p.m.
He'd been on shift nearly sixty hours between scheduled patients and emergencies. While he didn't need much sleep, he required at least some. He'd be no good without rest. In fact, he could be dangerous to a patient right now.
Unacceptable.
Decision made, he turned and headed for the blood bank that serviced the local vampires. He needed to stock up at home.
A few corridors from the always open bank, a sweep of power washed over Matt.
Unfamiliar vampire power.
The few ghosts in view stopped moving as if they too felt it. Almost as one, they turned in the direction of the blood bank.
He'd never seen such a reaction before.
Matt walked faster until he was nearly running.
He knew all the clan vampires.
This wasn't one of them. And if there were visitors for his King, he'd have been told. Which meant this might be one of the Rogues. His entire clan was hunting those damned Arcaine.
The luck to have one walk in here.
He careened down the last hall and around the final corner.
Magic crashed against him like a brick wall, freezing him in midstep.
Across the wide lobby, by the blood bank's glass doors, stood a tiny woman. Long raven hair, so black it had a glossy nearly blue shimmer, fell in a thick braid down her back. Dusty skin spoke of exotic blood.
The thick magic tightened like a noose around Matt's throat, his chest, his limbs. Magic that he couldn't place, other than the hint of a stranger. And vampire.
As if sensing him, the woman glanced back over her shoulder. Above a pert nose and bow-shaped lips twisted in a scowl, her eyes were a smoky blue.
Something inside Matt stirred when he met her gaze.
Desire. And...
A hint of fear?
Perhaps, though it made no sense.
She was just a tiny thing.
In an instant the overpowering magic fled.
Straining as he had been, Matt stumbled forward a few steps.
With a soft gasp, the woman turned to face him fully. The magic must not have been coming from her. She didn't seem all that strong. If he'd have to guess, she was maybe a decade old as a vampire, and that would be stretching it.
Exactly like reports about some of the Rogues hanging around.
Instinct rose. Matt growled harshly.
Stranger or Rogue, it didn't matter. She had no right to be in his clan's territory. But he'd solve that. An interrogation by his King would ferret out any secrets.
In less than a breath, he flashed across the wide lobby.
Her eyes widened imperceptibly, a ring of red bleeding around gray-blue irises.
Matt grabbed her shoulders. Slammed her back against the nearest wall. Before she could react, he shoved his power over her, a special type of sedative-like magic he'd perfected during long centuries.
The woman's eyes slid closed. She slumped forward against his hold.
Hefting her over his shoulder, Matt spun on his heel and left the hospital.
CHAPTER TWO
Outside in the long parking lot, Matt ignored the one wandering ghost to search the night for any additional threats.
He laid the Rogue on the back bench seat of his SUV and looked her over. She wouldn't wake any time soon. There was no need to use something as crude as ropes on this small woman, enemy or not.
Only after he moved her legs a bit more comfortably, found himself noticing how her hair glinted black-blue in the moonlight, how compelling her soft features, did he realize the gentle way he was treating his prisoner.
Shaking his head, he assured himself he'd get some sleep and soon. He drove west out of town to his clan's Scottish castle, hidden by a supernatural forest and a good deal of witchery.
Getting through all the recently increased security along their private road was a hassle. What had been a ten minute drive now took over twenty. Finally, cleared past each of the gated checkpoints, past the cameras and hidden sentries tracking his progress, Matt exited the trees into the enormous clearing around the fortress.
Stone towered above his vehicle, blocking out the mountainous horizon. Matt followed the wide circular driveway, around a grassy area with a flowing fountain, then stopped in the deep dark blanketing a parking area off to the side.
Picking the Rogue up from the back seat, Matt strode to the wide stone stairs leading up to immense double doors of thick wood. When he reached them, he realized he was cradling the woman to his chest. His hands and arms were full of warm soft curves.
A door swung open.
One of the younger castle guards, Leo Bjarnesen, waited on the other side. He looked at them, stepping back to let Matt walk in. "Security said you were on your way. King's heading down now. He'll meet you in his usual chambers. Who's she?"
Shaking his head, Matt hurried across the marble foyer and past the sweeping staircase. "Don't worry about it. Yet." He strode through the hallways to his King's private reception rooms.
Inside he laid the Rogue on one of the couches.
As he'd predicted, she showed no signs of waking. Dark lashes swept over flushed cheeks. Her pink lips were parted, relaxed in sleep. She looked so young. Innocent. Incapable of the atrocities committed by the Rogues.
Distant sounds drew closer, announcing Jordan's pending arrival. Matt forced himself to cross to the fireplace. He lit the readied wood, using a lighter to spark small flames.
His King strode inside. "Tell me there hasn't been another murder."
Matt straightened from the tiny, flickering fire and moved to the couch.
Jordan's eyes
widened at the sight of the unconscious woman. His gaze snapped back to Matt.
Clearing his throat, Matt said, "I found her trying to get into the blood bank. I don't know if she's one of the monsters killing innocents or not. Either way, a Rogue shouldn't be in your territory."
Jordan sighed. Rubbed his forehead for a long moment. Then his mouth twitched. "You found her at the blood bank?"
"I did."
"Well, now." He crossed to the bar and poured two glasses of old whiskey, then waved Matt to the antique chairs in front of the fireplace.
"Shouldn't we get her to the dungeon in case she wakes?"
Jordan shot him a sardonic glance. "I think between the two of us, we'll have no problems with such a bit of a female."
With a convincingly uncaring shrug, Matt sat down and accepted one of the glasses.
Taking a sip, Jordan stated, "Tell me every detail." The hardness in his voice struck Matt wrong, but he couldn't fully read it.
Starting with the wash of power in the hospital, Matt continued to the reaction of the ghosts. His glance strayed to the woman once more. "The magic couldn't have come from her. She didn't have that kind of power." He finished the explanation, studying Jordan, trying to figure out why the man kept almost... grinning? He had to be reading things wrong.
Jordan pinned him with a heated glare and Matt knew for sure he'd imagined any amusement.
"Mateo," Jordan said deceptively soft, using Matt's given name. "You saw a strange vampire, going into a public place, open to all. Instead of asking if she had permission to be there, you knocked her unconscious and brought her here?"
Well, when he put it that way... "She's not one of ours." Heat squirmed in Matt's gut and he found his attention once more drawn to the woman.
"Wake her up," Jordan commanded.
Matt crossed to her side, her dark, exotic beauty striking him yet again. For a long moment, he hesitated.
Jordan cleared his throat and spurred Matt into action.