Laszlo’s plan had worked, bringing his bloodsucking offspring to the very cusp of the enchanted water, which once claimed would guarantee Laszlo rule over that dark slice of Scotland and its people forever. Unfortunately for him, Alder de White had realized his folly too late—only when Laszlo had sunk his fangs into the proud English neck for that final indignity—his screaming promise of revenge seeming empty and futile.
When the archangel Michael and his Wild Hunt had descended upon the slaughter of witches, thwarting Laszlo’s near victory, and seized Alder’s body from the forest clearing, Laszlo had assumed that his unwilling co-conspirator was to spend a soulless eternity in hell.
But Alder had somehow escaped the Hunt after nearly a century, and returned to the highlands for what Laszlo could only surmise was revenge and retribution. The latter for the Levenach—to take her lifeblood in hopes of regaining his soul, and revenge on Laszlo, for sucking that soul from his mortal shell. Laszlo was not fearful of the White; more…cautious. As slave to the Hunt, Alder’s power and knowledge of things, usually unseen to mortals, had undoubtedly grown. Engaging the rogue vampire directly could be very, very dangerous, but Laszlo would not be intimidated by a beast of his own making.
No, Alder the White must die a permanent death this time, while Laszlo himself kept a safe distance. Laszlo suspected the White would use the Levenach, as Laszlo had used the White a century ago. And so Laszlo must find a way to rid himself of Alder before Alder could rid himself of Laszlo.
Hmmm…puzzling.
He thought of the ways those of his kind could perish as he extended each long, bony, alabaster finger: sunlight, stake through the heart, several herbs were certainly potentially damaging, and being bled dry by another vampire. All of those possibilities were too dangerous for Laszlo to carry out personally. He could set his children to chase, but there were barely two score remaining now, thanks to that bitch, the Levenach. Laszlo could not risk lessening their numbers if he was to have a proper dynasty.
The only other choice was to build their ranks. The thought of tainting their exclusive tribe with the stupid forest folk caused Laszlo’s lip to curl. But after Alder was dead, the undesirables could be pruned.
Laszlo thought of how close he had come to being rid of the Levenach—the oaf Dunstan had nearly done the job before Alder had arrived. Greedy, dense of brains, and ridiculously strong, the forest man would make the perfect grunt vampire. It was no secret that Dunstan disliked the female Levenach, and Laszlo thought it would be an easy matter to recruit the idiot. That task he would most definitely do himself, and with pleasure.
Laszlo’s blood started to hum in his veins—the sun must have set. As if to confirm his suspicions, the screeching and mournful howls of his tribe itched at his eardrums as they roused themselves from the recesses of the caves. Laszlo pulled his lanky form from the chair and at last stretched with a lazy, satisfied smile, eager to slip behind the heavy curtain of darkness. Perhaps the folk had given in to their human weakness for drink only a pair of days after attempting to kill the inn’s mistress, and in the next several hours would be staggering home to their pathetic woodland houses. It was very much like picking mushrooms—mortals were so unbelievably gullible when drunk. And quite tasty, as well. Laszlo would feed quickly and then retreat to the safety of his natural catacombs to plan.
He raised his face to the rocky and dank ceiling of the cave, stretched wide his thin gray lips, and let loose his own cry, the call that would gather his children to their bloody supper.
It was time to eat.
It was time to hunt.
Beatrix laid out the weapons on a table in the now empty and tidied common room while she waited for Alder to descend from the upper floor. She trailed a finger along the knotted embroidery of Gerald Levenach’s quiver, which held the supply of freshly sharpened stakes. She’d never hunted with anyone save her father.
Was Alder de White truly a killer of beasts? Would his presence be an aid or a deadly hazard?
Beatrix suspected the latter, being unable to take her eyes off the man’s muscular body and enigmatic smile for the past two days. He made her blood rush as if by magic—it sang and pumped through her veins and whispered to her in an old, old language things of heat and lust and naked moonlight. It was prophesied that the white wolf would come to save the Levenach, and he had already saved Beatrix’s life in the clearing, true. But what was to become of her heart?
As the last living protector of the Leamhnaigh, Beatrix had always known there was little chance of her ever marrying. Who would she pair with? A man of the forest? None had ever shown the slightest interest in her as a woman, and it was clear now that the folk did not trust her. She could not leave the Leamhan forest while it still crawled with vampires, and even should she rid the land of the bloodsuckers, to where would she go? The wild highlands were her home and she had no friends or family left either here in the black thickness of forest or anywhere else. And what man was likely to wander into this cursed part of Scotland, seeking a witch for a bride?
She shook herself from her foolishness and turned her burning face once more to the tabletop as Alder de White’s boots whispered against the stair treads. His approach was stealthy, but she could feel his energy press against her as he descended into the common room.
“I’ve brought out my father’s things for you to use, if you wish,” she said, not wanting to turn and look at him just yet, with her cheeks still heated from the mere thought of him. Instead, she waved her hand over or touched lightly the items she spoke of as he came to stand at her side. She felt as though the floor of the common room was tilting, swaying her body closer to his. She made a conscious effort to stand upright.
“His quiver and stakes.” Her eyes only flicked at his shirt. “You’ll likely have to tighten the strap—he was a bit thicker of chest than you. Here is a pouch of five finger grass, and a phial of blessed water. I also have his long staff, if you’re the sort who prefers a bit of a fight before the kill.”
Then she did turn her face to look at him directly, forcing herself not to retreat at the close scrutiny those black eyes placed on her as they skittered intently over her face, taking in her hair piled high atop her head and tied with thin twists of leather, then dropping deliberately to her shirt and breeches. His nostrils flared, as if picking up her scent through the thick, rough wool.
A smile quirked his lips suddenly and he blinked, as if just remembering she was there. “I see you’ve dressed for the occasion.”
Beatrix’s face heated once more. “I canna be stomping through the wood in a skirt now, can I? I’d be cut down in a blink.”
“Take no offense, Levenach,” Alder said smoothly. His cool smile widened and he leaned to the side slightly as if to peer behind her. “’Tis a wise choice of attire. I particularly admire the backside. You will be leading me through the wood, won’t you?”
Beatrix’s mouth gaped open for a moment at his bold teasing and then she broke into a laugh, feeling at once at ease. “Is that how you speak to your woman in England?”
“I have no woman in England.” Alder’s smile relaxed into something only slightly less predatory. “Perhaps you are volunteering to be my woman in Scotland?”
“I am nae woman, Alder de White.” Beatrix grinned and began to divide up the simple but deadly tools into their respective piles. “I am the Levenach. I am a hunter. ’Tis my only purpose, so you can roll your slick tongue back inside your mouth.”
“I can think of somewhere else I’d rather put it.”
At this, Beatrix did gasp, and she swung her face back to his.
“Too bold?” Alder challenged.
“Aye, too bold,” Beatrix insisted, although her legs felt weak and her nipples tightened beneath the rough shirt she wore. “I may be Levenach and therefore nae meant for the mundane life of a husband and family, but I do demand respect.”
“What I said was meant only with respect,” Alder argued mildly, and picked up the quiv
er. He seemed fascinated by it, turning it this way and that in the dim candlelight. Then his black eyes pinned her again. “Neither of us are innocents, by the very role we play in this evil. I am not offering you marriage or children.” Beatrix swallowed and Alder tilted his head, studying her now. “But I’ve wanted your body since the moment I saw you in yonder clearing. What say you to that?”
Beatrix wanted to swallow again but could not, her breath frozen in her throat.
And aye was dancing on the tip of her tongue….
She cleared her throat, picked up her own quiver, and slung it over her head to seat the strap between her breasts. “Why do we nae see if we’re compatible in the hunt first? Perhaps you’ll be of nae use to me at all, and I’ll be forced to banish you for your own safety.”
He snatched her against his chest before the last word had cleared her lips, and the contact of his hard muscles against her loose breasts caused an involuntary mew.
She gave a nervous laugh. “Ah…or mayhap my own safety.”
“You’re not safe with me, Beatrix,” Alder agreed quietly and the breath of his words stirred the tendrils of hair at her temple. “Indeed, at this very moment, you’re in more danger than you have ever been the whole of your life.”
Her eyes were fixed on his mouth and she couldn’t help but let her tongue slide over her own lips. She wanted to taste that mouth. She felt a humming in her core. “I know.”
“’Tis well that you do.”
He eased back from her and, after a quick adjustment to the knots, slipped the strap of Gerald Levenach’s quiver over his head. Beatrix twisted, picked up the pouch containing the herbs and water, and held it out to him, but he did not take it.
“I’ve…no use for those,” he said uneasily. “But I will take the staff you offered.”
“Very well,” Beatrix said, her heart still pounding. “’Tis in the kitchen. We’ll pick it up as we go.”
Beatrix Levenach did in fact lead Alder through the wood for the first hour of their hunt, and he very much enjoyed the sight of her round ass in the men’s breeches she wore. The night around them was pitch, but Alder’s vampire eyes illuminated the shadows as if subjecting them to a white flame. Each time the Levenach high-stepped over a downed tree, the wool pulled tight over her curves, revealing her body in a way that was somehow more erotic than nudity. Seeing the freedom of her limbs, scissoring, stretching, lengthening—Alder could barely concentrate on his surroundings.
Until the first vampire launched himself from the blackness with a hiss and fell atop Beatrix.
Before Alder could reach her, the Levenach had spun out of the powerful claws of the bloodsucker, swinging her arms in a wide arc, and without even a cry of effort, drove a readied stake into the undead’s chest with a wet chunk.
The entire confrontation was over within the count of ten, and it had been almost completely soundless. Beatrix Levenach stood over the now-sizzling corpse, her breathing barely labored. She looked up at Alder and the fire in her eyes caused him to squint.
Here then, was the true power of the Levenach witch. Perhaps Beatrix was not the only one in grave danger from the close company the two now shared. If she discovered Alder’s nature, suspected his unnatural hunger, he could very well find himself beneath her sharpened stake.
“That’s one for me, Alder de White.” She smiled at him, and the magic of her caused Alder’s cool blood to roil like floodwaters. “You’ll need be a mite quicker than that if you’re to keep pace with me.”
He answered with a bow, not trusting himself to speak. He wanted to seize her, strip her, drink from her, there in the black forest with the danger all around them. He wanted to confess his own evil to her while he did base and very mortal things to her body. His hunger was nearly out of control.
He had to feed—to quench at least a portion of his black appetite lest he lose all control.
The dead vampire’s corpse blinked into nothingness, and Beatrix nodded, satisfied with her work. “Well, then. Ready?” She turned and continued deeper into the forest.
Alder followed, his senses now tuned to the minutest signs of the wood around them. He could smell another vampire ahead and to the right and could barely suppress his howl. His eyes were all but blind with hunger, but before him, the Levenach glowed, taunting him. Should he not take this next kill, the witch—and perhaps Alder’s immortal soul—was doomed.
Beatrix passed safely by the clump of bushes where Alder sensed the bloodsucker lurking, and continued into the wood. Alder slowed, stepped from the rough path they had been following just before the stand of scrub. He slid the long staff between his shoulder blades and the quiver strapped to his back—Alder had no desire to play with his food at the moment. He was nearly deaf with the bloodrush in his sensitive ears, his nostrils full of the rancid smell of the vampire crouched before him, who followed the Levenach’s progress, readying to strike.
Alder let himself go. Moving so quickly, so quietly that even to himself his motions were a blur, he placed one hand on the vampire’s greasy head and the other on the cusp of his shoulder and pushed his palms away, the cracking of bone perhaps audible to the Levenach, some lengths away. Before the vampire could scream, Alder fell upon the man’s neck, crunching through the skin, his fangs sinking into cold flesh and setting loose the torrent of tainted but powerful blood. He drank and drank and drank….
“Alder?”
The call seemed a whisper, but Alder raised his head, feeling his eyes dilated to their maximum capacity, and he knew that should the Levenach have a chance to look upon his eyes in the light, she would see no white at all. His guts, his veins burned as though he had swallowed glowing coals. For an instant, he half rose, intending with all his instinct to continue his gorging on the redheaded witch woman who now sought him in the black wood. But his heart was slowing, his head clearing, his will reshaping itself into heady control.
She was nearly upon him now. “Alder?” Her tone was filled with alarm.
Alder let the melting corpse slip onto the leaves and then he skittered soundlessly behind a sheltering tree, dropping his head back against the trunk and taking enormous gulps of air. He scrubbed at his mouth, chin, and neck with his forearm, hoping that when she saw the blood on his clothes, she would attribute it only to the kill and not his beastly, quenched thirst.
He knew the moment she came upon the vampire by her anxious tone. “Alder! Where are you?”
He rolled to his feet and stepped from behind the tree on the opposite side of her, causing the Levenach to swing around, her stake at the ready.
“’Tis only I,” he said, his palms out.
“Eternal Mother!” Beatrix gasped and lowered her stake. She took a brief moment to catch her breath and then gestured to the faint, silvery imprint in the leaves, like the intricate trails of a thousand slugs. “You nearly took his head off.”
The vampire’s fortifying blood having sated him, Alder no longer felt that he was in danger of feeding from Beatrix Levenach, although the heavier desire to take her body still ran through him like a hot iron bar.
He smiled. “I could not let you best me.”
She laughed, seeming completely unconcerned that they were surrounded by a hostile wood littered with bloodsuckers. Her mirth and her ease caused Alder to stiffen completely in his breeches. What an odd combination of seasoned killer and soft woman the Levenach was revealing herself to be.
“The night is yet young,” she taunted. “And I’m nae accustomed to losing.”
Alder watched her forge ahead, leading the way once again through the darkness, and Alder’s eyes went once more to the silvery slime where he had drained the vampire of its tainted blood. For the first time, Alder wondered how he would ever bring himself to do the same to Beatrix Levenach when the time came.
Chapter Six
The Levenach, well-secreted away in the cellar, had spoken true—they were winning. Alder de White had been in residence for almost four weeks, and with his he
lp, seventeen vampires had been sent to their ready hell. Although Laszlo still remained elusive, Beatrix felt that they were drawing closer to that devil as well. Soon, the king of the vampires would have no choice but to come out of his hiding and face them directly or flee the Leamhan forest forever.
In the meantime, the vampires’ slaughter had been stanched and the forest folk were feeling more relaxed and hopeful, and most certainly possessed of a more charitable attitude toward the Levenach. The inn was crowded with village folk from wall to wall, and the atmosphere was easy, merry. Beatrix freely shared smiles with the patrons as she served her stew and poured pitchers of ale, marveling at the radical shift in her standing in the community.
Alder had helped with that as well, as the men were fascinated by this English stranger with the odd accent, and the women were sweetly enchanted. Although Alder boldly baited Beatrix nightly, never letting a hunt pass without some erotic comment or look—and lately, a glancing touch—he never encouraged the womenfolk’s attention. They simply seemed unable to help being drawn to the pale, intense man. Beatrix told herself it was not jealousy she felt when a woman engaged Alder in coquettish banter, simply annoyance. Alder would not risk their mission by dallying with a Leamhan woman when the folk were under the assumption that Alder was Beatrix’s intended.
Even though a lie, that thought always succeeded in making Beatrix’s stomach clench, and lately, she had allowed herself the frequent folly of imagining the lie as truth. She told herself it was but a harmless way to pass the time between kills and the washing up.
The only development that gave Beatrix cause for worry was the marked absence of Dunstan from the inn. At first, she attributed the brutish woodsman’s avoidance to the humiliation Alder had dealt him the day he’d rallied the folk in the clearing. But Dunstan was never one to stay away from merrymaking for long, and even the Leamhnaigh were expressing concerns for him and his meek wife.
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