Coldstorm (Heart of a Vampire, Book 7)

by Amber Kallyn

  But the struggles to survive the turning weren't the worst part.

  Because for the vampires who made it through found themselves under their Sire's control. The stronger the Master, the more control exerted. Until even a man once ruled by peace, would without hesitation take up arms against the innocent.

  "Coronado died in 1554, in Mexico City," Anca finally said.

  "Of consumption." His tone was bland.

  They both knew well their kind didn't die of illness.

  Matt would have been a vampire for just over fifty years. If he was truly as powerful as his King said, as she suspected, he could have taken out his Sire.

  To kill a Judge, even a Rogue, without approval of the Council was punishable by death.

  To kill one's maker was punishable by death.

  Anca had a feeling he'd done both. And she suddenly wondered about those other two Judges, who'd just disappeared after ravaging parts of Spain and Europe.

  A tight heat grew in her chest at the thought. She forced that line of thinking far away. Because if Matt had done such things, committed such crimes, wouldn't it be her duty to carry out the lawful punishment?

  The idea struck her cold.

  There were some recently who contested a few of the ancient Laws of the Arcaine. One happened to be the unwavering penalty for killing one's Sire. The protestors claimed that sometimes, there was a good reason for a vampire to do so.

  If Anca recalled correctly, the petition came from this very town.

  With a bloodthirsty Judge as one's sire and forced to do unspeakable things for his perverse pleasures, if anyone had a good reason to kill their maker, it would be Matt.

  She shoved such thoughts away and concentrated on the now. "I'm sorry for what you must have suffered. I assure you, none of it was sanctioned by the Magic Council. They had Judges on the trail of those who'd become corrupt."

  Matt's voice was hard. "If you say so. Are we done here?"

  At her nod, he strode away, keeping enough distance between them to insure quiet.

  It worked for her just as well.

  She didn't like the puzzling things stirring inside of her. The man was distant. Aloof. And irregardless of what he'd said, he harbored a dislike for her. For being from the Magic Council.

  Yet she'd felt the need to try and comfort him. Both with what she told him, but also, the inkling of an urge to draw nearer when the pain of his past slammed into her.

  One that matched the hurts buried deep in her heart. She understood him. His fury. His emptiness. The desperate aloneness in the back of his gaze.

  Caught up in her thoughts, Anca didn't realize where they were until the diner's parking lot loomed ahead, packed with a late lunch rush.

  Matt led her to his SUV. "We'll have to drive to the rest."

  They headed out of town, to a deserted farm with acres of scrubby fields around a charred husk of a building. Once a house, or a barn. From the appearance of the blackened frame, the fire had only happened a few months ago.

  Matt parked in shadows stretching from a forest to one side of overgrown fields. "This place," he told her, "was used by Montgomery himself, then more recently, a demon."

  Anca got out of the SUV. The moment her feet touched the earth, magic sprung up, closing around her and jerking her into the memories of the spirits living here.

  Exerting control before it swept her away, Anca watched the afterimages of a fuzzy, dark haired woman—a vampire based on the aura remnants—sneak across the field. She entered a dilapidated farmhouse, the image superimposed over the burnt shell.

  A taller man appeared, black hair, dusky skin, his aura one she'd seen earlier. He was clearer here, his magical imprint strong. So this was the Keeper of the Peace. Native American by the look. Now she understood the power of his aura.

  Shaman.

  The magic unfolding before her surged stronger. The scene changed. The thin layer of time continued to slip, showing her the more recent past.

  Demons and other dark creatures lay in wait throughout the field. The house still stood, an oppressive structure black against the night.

  Another female vampire came, panic and fury and hatred strong.

  The earth spirits' magic dimmed. They could only show her fragments from this battle, when the farmhouse had burned.

  Anca closed her eyes, breathing deep, ignoring the lingering stench of death and rot and decay.

  Finally, the spirits released her. Instead of the soft, soothing feel she normally received, the magic remained agitated, restless.

  And begging for help.

  Anca glared at Matt. "Why has this place not been cleansed?"

  He looked at her with confusion.

  "Dark magic was spilled here, again and again. It's seeped into the earth, is slowly strangling the spirits of this place. Why has it not been cleansed?"

  He shrugged. "Not my area of expertise. For that one, you should probably talk to the Keeper."

  Yes.

  The Keeper who was also a shaman.

  He should know better.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The number of ghosts wandering aimlessly around the old farm churned Matt's gut. All those who'd lost their lives here for the rampaging of evil.

  Anca continued to stare at the field and burnt farmhouse.

  Though she couldn't possibly see the ghosts, he could have sworn he saw sympathy in her smoky blue eyes.

  But he doubted it.

  Only the frozen hearted worked for the Council. It's what the bastards required most from anyone trusted with their secrets. Cold, unquestioning loyalty.

  He certainly didn't like finding out that the horrors of his past were stories told among the Council. And they claimed the Judges had acted on their own?

  Doubtful.

  Information that that would be well known through the Arcaine. Not even the Council could keep such things secret.

  No.

  It had to be an excuse, something told to new recruits. Perhaps as a boogeyman tale. The thought nearly made him laugh at the bitter irony.

  Him. A boogeyman for the Council and its Judges?

  But Anca believed the story. She certainly didn't condone the actions of the Judges, or Matt's Sire.

  That was something, he guessed. Though he wasn't sure what, or even why he cared.

  Anca brushed a few loose strands of long raven hair from her face, sighing as if some immense weight had settled over her. Her pink, bow-shaped lips moved silently. After a long moment, she headed back to the SUV. "All of this is too old. Besides, the magic overlaps. A great many evils were done here, over a long stretch of time."

  They continued down the list of sites, another hour passing in futility. His earlier hopes of being done with all this soon were distant memories. Yet he found he didn't completely mind.

  Anca laid her head back against the seat, her eyes closed. Shadows darkened beneath her eyes. She looked like she hadn't gotten much rest lately.

  He sympathized, knowing the feeling well.

  She'd seemed so confident at the start of this, but as he drove to the next site, she muttered, "They couldn't be shielding themselves could they?" Then she answered herself, "No. Not possible. No one can counteract magic from the Council."

  He didn't know how to answer. And he didn't like the urges wakening inside him, wanting to offer her comfort and support. That's not what he was here for.

  Besides, the prickly woman most likely wouldn't appreciate support from anyone.

  The next place on the list was south of town, a few miles out. The train station ran all hours of the day, mostly carrying a variety of cargo from the east coast to the west. Warehouses scattered a small distance from the station had long since stopped being used. Each year, fewer shipments were sent through Moss Creek. There were easier ways to get around the mountains.

  Matt pulled onto one of the narrow asphalt roads winding around the station. "This place should be the most secure. There were few people inside, other than M
ontgomery and his people. Only thing is, it's been about half a year since they used it."

  He parked near one of the buildings furthest from the station. They got out and approached the dilapidated building. Skylights dotted the roof with empty, broken panes. Matt opened the door and waved Anca inside.

  In deep contrast to the warm sunny day, inside, the building wrapped them in chilled darkness.

  Anca stopped, stiffening. "What the..."

  Her shrill screams rent the air.

  Matt's instincts flared. Tense, he stared into every shadow, searching for a threat. All he saw were a few wandering ghosts dressed in death.

  Something inside him thrummed with the need to keep her safe.

  His fangs descended. His blood pumped, ready for a fight.

  Anca shook violently, swaying side to side, then began to fall.

  He caught her and pulled her close. "Anca?"

  What the hell?

  She fought his hold, screaming louder. Her nails raked long scratches over his skin. Finally, he pinned her arms to her sides and held her to his chest.

  His rising instincts continued to rage with the need to protect. To stop whatever was harming her. He gritted his teeth against a boiling fury, unprepared for the extent of everything firing through him.

  Damn it. There was no threat he could see.

  "Anca, it's all right. Everything's all right." He shoved his limited power over her, trying to calm her. It bounced off uselessly.

  She continued to scream, the shrill sound exploding with horror.

  His gut churned. He bared his fangs, instinct continuing to ride him.

  But there was no enemy to kill.

  Not for the first time, he wished he had magics beyond only those which came from a vampire's age. He knew others with all sorts of powers that could figure out what was wrong with Anca. Help her.

  He tried to pull her outside, away from the building. She fought him harder as if desperate not to leave.

  Clutching her tight to his chest, he slid down the wall next to the door, keeping her on his lap. He rocked, crooning nonsense. Her screams, growing painfully hoarse, reverberated in his skull.

  Time drifted. He didn't stop.

  Her voice began to break, and still she screamed. After long minutes—one or two that felt like passing eons—the woman in his arms quieted, then stopped straining against his hold.

  Then she yelled, "Stop! Let him go!"

  "Anca, you're safe. There's no one else here." And yet that wasn't quite true, considering the dozen or so ghosts scattered throughout the building. Some appeared as they must have while alive.

  But most came to Matt gruesomely ravaged by untold tortures.

  Anca's magic flared, nearly burning him with its intensity.

  Once more he felt the extent of her power. No wonder the Magic Council had recruited her. Her strength almost flattened him.

  "Stop!" she screamed. Her body went stiff once more. "Not the child. Don't hurt the child." Her magic flared again.

  It was easy enough to figure out she must be caught in some sort of magic vision. And her first through was trying to save others from being hurt.

  With a surging fury, she tried to scramble deeper into the building. Matt held her, barely preventing her escape.

  "No. No more!" Her words were a shocking dowse of arctic water. The pain and horror and sympathy in her voice were real enough.

  His earlier musings came back. Perhaps she wasn't as cold as most at the Council.

  For some reason, the thought made him tense, as if another threat was rising that he must fight or run from.

  From one second to the next, Anca quieted. Stilled. Slowly, her eyes opened, her pupils enlarged and unfocused.

  "Anca? It's all right. You know me. Matt, remember? You're safe." He crooned the words the best he could, keeping his voice easy.

  She blinked, looking around. "What happened?"

  Realizing she was better now, relief filled him.

  She met his gaze.

  A humming buzz zapped between them. Sparks lit over his skin, turning his fear for her into something different, if just as primal.

  Hunger.

  She whispered, "Matt?" Her breath caressed his lips.

  "Yes. It's all right." He stared into her widening eyes, the smoky gray-blue ringed with red.

  "Matt," she said again, softer still.

  "I'm right here."

  "It doesn't sound right."

  "What doesn't?"

  "Matt."

  "Yes?"

  "No. Matt. It doesn't sound right. It's not the name you were born with."

  She made his thinking loopy.

  He spoke before he realized it. "Mateo de Dizzione. But I've been Matthew, and now Matt, for nearly three hundred years."

  "Mateo de Dizzione." She said his name as if tasting it, and enjoying the flavor.

  Without conscious thought, he closed the slight distance between them and brushed his mouth against hers.

  She gasped, but the tension holding her taut began to ease.

  He brushed her pink lips again. They were soft, smooth. Her eyes widened. She stared at him as if shocked by what he was doing.

  So he did it again, this time drawing in her taste. Wildness and heat.

  Desire sparked in her gaze. She moaned, trying to free her arms.

  He let go, expecting her to pull away.

  Instead, Anca laid a hand on his chest, above his heart. The warmth of her touch burned through his thin t-shirt.

  He cupped the back of her head gently, long loose locks flowing over his skin like satin. It had come unbound from her braid, and flowed freely around her shoulders.

  Need drove him, but slow and easy, as if they had all the time in the world to explore each other, get to know one another.

  He teased his tongue over her bottom lip. Anca moaned softly, pressing into his touch.

  A flash of thought, a question of her coherence, hit him. He started to draw back.

  She tangled her fingers in his hair and jerked his mouth back to hers.

  Desire surged into an inferno. Uncontrollable. Undeniable. He tensed, hard and wanting so much more than just a sip of this woman. He didn't know why—it didn't make sense. Not with someone from the Council.

  Across the room, metal clattered to the concrete ground.

  Matt jerked back, staring through the building, his protective instincts urgently aroused once more.

  One of the ghosts picked up a piece of metal and threw it. Again it rattled and clunked.

  Anca scrambled off his lap, breathing heavily. Her eyes were smoky sapphires glinting at him with things he couldn't read.

  His instincts remained alert for danger. Still, all he wanted to do was pull her close and continue to explore her mouth.

  Explore far more of her.

  He shook the thoughts away. What the hell had gotten into him? Anca wasn't his to protect. Or to ravish.

  She came from the Council.

  They were here to find clues to stopping the murders, not... whatever.

  "What happened?" she asked softly.

  His gaze jerked to her mouth. She licked her lips. Fighting the magnetic pull, Matt fisted his hands and stood up. He doubted she was asking about that mind-blowing kiss. "We came inside and you started screaming, then yelling at someone to stop hurting people."

  She glanced at him sharply.

  "You didn't react like that anywhere else." And damned if he knew why her reaction affected him so swiftly. So badly.

  "I usually don't get sucked in like that. It's only happened a few times before." She shook her head. "Sorry."

  He held out a hand, needing to touch her again and painfully unable to resist. After a long moment, she took it. He helped her to her feet, which she barely seemed to notice. The building had captured her attention once again.

  She pointed to some tables on the far side, caked with dried crimson stains.

  They moved deeper into the building. Th
e smell of fresh blood grew, though he knew it had to be his imagination. "This place was used by Montgomery to torture people, mortals and Arcaine."

  "Not just him," she whispered,. "What hit me was being unprepared for the recent depravities that have taken place here. Very recent."

  "Not possible. The clan and the sheriff have people watching every single place we know Montgomery used, including this one."

  She looked at him enigmatically. "Really? Then I suggest you question all who were responsible for watching this place. Because it has been used, and within the past weeks. Perhaps only days."

  Horror dawned at the realization of what her words meant.

  Because every last person assigned to watch this area had been a clan vampire.

  ***

  Anca closed her eyes, both against the press of dark magics, and the intense heat in Matt's honey brown stare.

  The man had kissed her.

  And she'd kissed him back.

  Eagerly.

  She'd snapped out of the visions—remnants of evil overtaking innocence—only to find herself pressed against the warmth of his body. He'd somehow kept the worst of the icy remnants away from her.

  Anca certainly didn't want to examine the wakening rush of heady needs from his firm mouth, his confident touch. Such passion he hid behind his uptight aloofness.

  She drove away the rambling thoughts. She didn't have time for this. She didn't have any desire for it, either.

  An aberration.

  That was all.

  With a decisive nod, she assured herself it would not happen again.

  Even if his rich whiskey taste lingered on her lips.

  Concentrating on reading the building around them, Anca braced herself, and opened her senses. She studied the room, the swirling remnants which, now that she was prepared, could no longer drag her beneath their drowning waves.

  The feel of the earth magic was weak here, and corrupt. Darker even than at the burnt farmhouse. Much blood had been shed.

  Too much death—of the slow and painful variety.

  She drew in a little more of the magic.

  Cold. So very cold.

  And oily. Like a slimy serpent slithering beneath her skin.

  This place had been used very recently. "I'd say your Rogues were here within the past few days."