by J. C. Wilder
A world where good and evil dwell…
Seeking justice for her murdered twin sister, Maeve finds herself trapped in a world of magic and deception. She’s discovered the key that will guarantee her success—a magical spell to control a vampire. Now she needs to locate a witch of pure intent to teach the spell to her.
Quinn Montgomery wants nothing to do with his birth mother, Mortianna, the most powerful witch in the world. When he discovers Maeve is his mother’s prisoner, he rescues the prickly immortal from imminent death. Determined to set things right, he returns her to the Scottish Highlands only to find that Maeve isn’t the only victim of Mortianna’s treachery.
Together, Maeve and Quinn reluctantly join forces to battle the forces of darkness as they fight their growing attraction for each other. Will Quinn teach Maeve the spell she desperately needs, or will she fall under his spell instead?
Warning: This book contains a kick-ass heroine, a Wizard hero to die for, copious amounts of throw-the-hero-down-and-jump-him sex, more corpses than you can shake a stick at, sleeping vampires, cranky witches and wee beasties guaranteed to give you nightmares.
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520
Macon GA 31201
Reckoning
Copyright © 2009 by J. C. Wilder
ISBN: 978-1-60504-841-3
Edited by Bethany Morgan
Cover by Scott Carpenter
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: December 2009
www.samhainpublishing.com
Reckoning
J. C. Wilder
Dedication
For Mom
Acknowledgements
Carol—My favorite Grammar Goddess and dearest friend—I adore you.
Bonnee—For proving that dreams are unlimited and making a few of mine come true.
Thanks Kia—we miss you
Prologue
Mikhail both frightened and fascinated her.
Gabrielle DesNoir paused with her pen hovered above her journal to watch the vampire through lowered lashes. Mikhail sat on his makeshift throne, his face hidden in the shadows, his long legs sprawled before him. Once a striking figure of a man, he now resembled, at best, an untidy pile of dirty clothing.
Dried blood splattered his tattered cream linen trousers. His white silk shirt had turned a mottled gray from stains left long unattended. His feet were shod in battered high-top sneakers, the laces undone. Draped across his lap lay an overfed black cat with emerald green eyes. The creature purred loudly as the vampire’s narrow, bony hands stroked its gleaming fur. He was but a shadow of his former glorious self.
When had things gone so horribly wrong?
Her fingers tightened on her sapphire-studded Mont Blanc fountain pen, one of the few remnants of her formerly glamorous life. It was a rhetorical question that chased itself in circles in her mind. She knew to the day, to the very hour when their luck had run out.
December twenty-first, winter solstice, at dusk, ten months ago.
Her lover had been one of the most powerful vampires in the preternatural world. Handsome, intelligent and completely ruthless, he’d been a great leader, admired by some and feared by others. As his consort, Gabrielle had held a coveted position in the hierarchy of the damned. Their parties were legendary, their friends plentiful. Life had been good.
Until Conor MacNaughten fucked everything up.
Her gazed shifted to the journal beneath her hand. A single drop of bright red ink, not unlike blood, marred the off-white linen paper. She dipped her finger into the liquid and smeared it across the page.
Years of planning that had gone into what should’ve been their most glorious moment had become the scene of their greatest defeat. At the stone circle with the majority of the Council of Elders in attendance, Mikhail invoked the Law of Seven, the preternatural law that allowed a non-Council member to fight for control of the Council. Instead of the victory they’d envisioned, they were now on the run like common criminals.
Alexandre Saint-Juste, the current leader of the Council, had placed a price on their heads. While he’d requested they be brought in alive, Gabrielle wasn’t fooled. His followers would kill them if given half a chance, and she was determined they not succeed. Inwardly, she sighed. The days of decadent parties, dazzling jewelry and servants at her beck and call were gone. For now, at least. A smile threatened to form, and she squelched the urge. Now wasn’t the time for levity.
After the edict had been handed down, their army had scattered, leaving only the weakest behind. Two Council members had been on their side, Edward and Cassiopeia. The vampire Edward was dead, killed by the were-cat, Renault, and Cass had vanished. Now there was only herself, Mikhail and a handful of lesser preternaturals to pick up the pieces. She stifled a snort of disgust. If she ever wanted to regain her former position in preternatural society, she’d have to see to the matter herself.
“Gabrielle.”
Mikhail’s voice, raspy and hollow, trickled over her nerves like ice water. She masked her unease at the sound of his ruined voice and fixed a serene expression on her face, one that he couldn’t see. “Yes, my love?”
“It’s time.”
Her lover didn’t have to explain himself as she knew what he was saying. He was ready to take the final, irrevocable step and call in one of the most powerful witches in the world.
Mortianna le Sans Cœur a.k.a. Mortianna the Heartless.
Her name alone was enough to awaken fear in Gabrielle. She was the most powerful witch on Earth and rumored to be terrifying to behold. As the de facto High Priestess of the witches, she was possibly the only one they could turn to. With the death of her only daughter, Bliss, she’d most likely join with them to bring down the two remaining Council members, Alexandre and the were-cat, Fayne.
A straight-laced, anal-retentive vampire and an overfed pussycat were the ones standing between her and her former life. They didn’t stand a chance.
Well, that and a powerful witch so deeply in mourning that it was whispered she’d lost her grip on reality.
“I understand, darling.” Capping the pen, she slipped it into her pocket. “I’ll leave at once.”
Rising from her comfortable armchair, she moved toward the door. She was more than happy to leave the underground bunker where they’d existed for the past few months. Her smile increased at the thought of fresh air and even fresher blood. As she reached for the doorknob, Mikhail’s voice stopped her.
“Aren’t you forgetting something, my love?”
Revulsion crawled down her spine even as she forced an easy laugh.
“Of course, how silly of me.” She turned and sauntered to him. “I’m so excited to put our plans in action that everything else flew out of my head.”
“Indeed.”
The scent of old blood and stale air reached her nose when she drew close to him. Her knee brushed his, and she leaned forward, her lips brushing the icy skin of his cheek before straightening. Without warning his fingers latched onto her wrist, the bones digging into her flesh. He leaned toward her. The harsh light illuminated the extent of his injuries he�
��d received ten months ago.
His once-beautiful face was now hideously scarred. Pale flesh glistened with newly healed pink skin, shiny from the powerful burns he’d received at the Druid circle. Half of his face was obliterated as if he’d been dunked in a vat of acid, the skin as smooth as wax. His ice-blue eyes were vacant with the empty stare of the sightless.
“Don’t fail me, Gabrielle.” His lips barely moved, and his words were slightly slurred.
Unease snaked down her spine. Even blind and in the proverbial gutter, Mikhail could crush most vampires with his powerful mind alone. Not even she was safe should he decide to turn on her. She’d seen what Mikhail could do to someone who’d disappointed him, and it wasn’t a pretty fate.
“My darling, I’ll not fail you.” She pressed her lips once more to his undamaged cheek, and he released his grip on her wrist. “I’ll bring us victory.”
Mikhail’s smile was twisted by the horrid scars. “See that you do.” He leaned back, his hideous face hidden in the shadows once more.
Forcing herself to remain calm, she retraced her steps to the door. Her hands shook, and her knees felt weak. After all the years they’d been together, he still scared her. No one knew the extent of his powers as he was one of the oldest vampires living, and should he get wind of what she was planning, he’d kill her without hesitation.
Exiting the room, she gave into the anxiety and ran for her suite, her mind whirling with delicious possibilities. Thanks to Bliss’s timely demise, surely Mortianna would join them and she’d help bring down the Council as her need for revenge was great. Gabrielle was more than willing to help the witch avenge the death of her daughter, in exchange for a favor that is.
Unbeknownst to Mikhail or Mortianna, victory would be hers and hers alone.
Chapter One
She looked good, for a corpse.
From the doorway of the solarium, Quinn Montgomery stared at his half sister through the glass lid of her coffin. Bliss lay on a bed of ivory silk surrounded by hundreds of pink rosebuds, which lined her eternal bed. Her golden hair framed her face in delicate ringlets while her skin retained the fragile blush of life. Her lips were rosy and full. Her thick lashes shadowed her cheeks. His little sister looked as if she were sleeping.
Witchcraft had accomplished this feat.
He’d been at home in the mountains of Washington when the news of her death had arrived eight weeks before. According to the missive, she’d been killed in Colorado and Mortianna’s minions had carried her body back to England. With her body bruised and broken, her head had been neatly severed from her shoulders, her life ended by a rogue vampire. Looking at her now, Quinn knew only witchcraft could’ve put her back together again.
Humpty Dumpty should’ve been so lucky.
He shifted his attention to the rigid figure standing by the coffin.
Mortianna the Heartless, otherwise known as dear old Mom.
With her pale brown hair lightly threaded with silver, she was dressed in black from head to toe. Her full-length velvet cape hung from her shoulders to the floor, shrouding her figure in its voluminous folds. The hem was littered with dirt and bits of grass. What sort of dark thoughts raced around her diabolical brain?
He moved into the room. His leather-soled shoes made little sound on the polished marble floor. The stone was inlaid with a massive brass pentagram upon which the casket sat on a catafalque draped in yards of pale pink silk. Fat white candles in towering wrought iron holders and overflowing urns of roses and lilies encircled the macabre display. Their cloying scent hung thick in the chilly air.
Overkill, anyone?
Surrounding the scene in a widely spaced circle were some of Mortianna’s minions. Quinn stifled a grimace of distaste when his coat brushed the robe of one of the little beasts. Mortianna’s personal army of demons only stood as high as his waist, but they were ruthlessly efficient killers. They could rip a human apart in seconds.
No one knew exactly what they were or where they came from. Many believed they were demons called from the depths of the earth and forced into reluctant servitude. He doubted that particular tale as they were completely loyal to their keeper and obeyed her every command even if it meant their demise. They were midget kamikazes willing to die at a crook of her finger.
They stood silent and still, their beady eyes glowing from the dark recesses of their hoods when he breached their circle. Ignoring the needle prick of malevolence that danced across his skin, he concentrated on his mother.
The scent of her perfume, dark and heavy, assaulted his nose when he reached her side. She was a beautiful woman, though it appeared she’d aged several years in the past twenty-four hours. Her skin looked papery and dry while fine lines bracketed her mouth and more radiated from the corners of her pale blue eyes.
He had her eyes.
Something shifted inside him. A longing he’d denied all of his life reared its head as he stared at her. Never had he dreamed this moment would come, that mother and son would be in the same room at the same time. Growing up, he’d always known this powerful woman had given birth to him, but they’d never met until yesterday.
According to his father, Keirgen, Mortianna had declared within moments of Quinn’s arrival that she had no use for a male child. After several more attempts at pregnancy, each one ending in failure, she’d expelled Keirgen from her life with baby Quinn tucked in his arms.
Now, years later, they were reunited. Mother and son. Only this time, he was preparing to leave on his terms, and he knew he would never return.
“You should rest.” He kept his voice low.
She stirred, turning her head sluggishly as if she’d been awakened from a deep sleep. Her gaze was flat. “How can I rest when my child lies in her coffin?”
“Standing here won’t change what’s happened. You cannot alter history, and you do Bliss no good. Already your magic fades.” He raised a hand to indicate the increasing threads of silver in her hair.
She turned away, her gaze fastening on her daughter’s face as if it were a lodestone. “I care naught for magic. I want only revenge.”
He knew well the price of revenge and the cost was too dear, even for the death of his sister. He shook his head. “Edward killed Bliss, and he’s but a pile of ashes now. What more do you want?”
“I want the life of the man who brought her to this.” She turned toward him, her hand raised in a fist. “I seek the life of Damien St. James in exchange for that of my daughter. He’s the one who took her from me years ago when he made her an immortal.”
Sinjin.
Quinn stilled. The vampire was well known in the preternatural world and something of an enigma. Rarely appearing in public, he lived in a massive castle in the northernmost reaches of Scotland. Among the preternaturals, he was rumored to be insane though Quinn had no idea if it was true. It wasn’t unusual for vampires to go mad as their longevity inherently led to their demise one way or another.
“Mortianna, you cannot go after an elder vampire.”
She whirled away from him, stalking around to the other side of the coffin. “Bah! I can and I have.” Her gaze met his, and he saw the rage and the pain boiling within her. “He dared to touch my perfect child and in doing so he sealed his fate. Bliss defended his appalling actions and made me promise to spare him, and for years I kept my promise and his life was spared. Now she lies dead before me and nothing will stop me from having my revenge.”
Awareness formed a hollow pit in his stomach. “That’s why you invited me here, isn’t it? You want me to help you bring Sinjin down.”
A soft smile curved her mouth. “I did indeed. My son, the writer and noted authority on ancient weaponry, would have the perfect excuse to contact him. Everyone knows St. James has one of the most extensive and complete collections of weapons in Britain. The best part is no one would ever link you and me together.”
Betrayal burned hot and thick in his throat. He struggled to quell the words that battled to burst f
orth. Never would he let her see the direct hit she’d just scored. “I won’t help you.”
Her expression turned cold, and she shrugged. “I knew within moments of our meeting you’d be unable to aid me.”
“Not unable, unwilling. There’s a difference.”
She waved her hand as if to dismiss his words. “Not to me. I’ll have my revenge with or without your help.”
“Your anger will destroy you.”
She laughed, and it was a bitter, ugly sound. “You’re mistaken, my son. My anger will be the death of Damien St. James. I’ve already sent the minions to bring him to me. It’s only a matter of time.”
“No good will come of this.”
“Tell that to your sister.”
Finally, he was gone.
Maeve stepped into the library, taking care to close the door behind her. Her leather-soled boots made only the faintest scuffling on the thick carpet as she walked toward the desk.
She’d been living in Sinjin’s remote home for almost a year, though the length of her stay wasn’t her decision. She was being held against her will, and she longed to return home to the United States. She’d originally come to the Highlands to concentrate on her training, and she’d stayed because Val and her host had decided it was too dangerous to let her return home. They seemed to think Mikhail would come after her in retaliation of the debacle last winter solstice.
While Sinjin might call her a guest—she snorted under her breath—a prisoner was more appropriate. Even though it was luxurious, this place was still a cage. His castle in the wilds of northern Scotland was as isolated as could be.
But it had served its purpose.
He was a thoughtful host when he was around. A recluse almost to the point of obsession, he rarely left the library and, when he did, it was only to visit the catacombs beneath the castle. It was rarer still when he left the confines of the house. Lucky for her she’d been in the upper gallery when he’d announced to the butler he’d be absent for several hours.