by Gaja J. Kos
He placed the amulet on the disc-like sensor of the machine and pressed a series of keys, the loud beep telling him it had started to run the demanded test. Given the process took some time, Nathaniel closed the cabinet door, straightened and, finally, met Rorik’s gaze.
The Perelesnyk was lounging in one of the swivel chairs, the sheer interest in those vivid blue eyes revealing he was far, far more than just a pretty face. Nathaniel frowned at himself. Of course the package was pleasing when the blond sitting before him was an incubus. How else were they supposed to secure a sexual source to replenish their energy, if not by good looks? And yet, despite knowing it was ancient magic that amped up the appeal, Nathaniel couldn’t shut down the stirring of desire coming to life within him. He blew out a breath and walked over to Rorik, claiming the chair opposite.
Bracing his elbows on his knees, he leaned forward. “Can you tell me anything else about the power that grants you immunity to the Upirs?”
“Only that it comes from the unique blend of who we are.” The Perelesnyk angled his lean body to the side and propped his chin on his hand. “Those who are only incubi or only dragons—though the latter, I believe, have died out quite some time ago—do not possess the immunity. Granted, they had come into existence later than we did, but I hardly believe that is a factor, since even newborn Perelesnyks carry the same trait as the ancients.” His smile was easy, his blue eyes clear as they met Nathaniel’s. “Yes, I fall into the ancient category, to answer your question.”
Nathaniel found himself smiling back. “Then I have to say, time has been very kind to you.”
“In this department”—Rorik motioned to his face, chucking softly—“yes. But when it comes to suppressing my essential self, I wouldn’t have minded if I could’ve taken to the skies at liberty. Spending centuries at a time without releasing my wings is…oppressive, to say the least.”
“So Sander never found the glamor stones?”
Rorik shook his head. “Though definitely not for lack of trying. The bronze charmer can be a pain in the ass sometimes, but he always goes above and beyond when he makes a commitment.”
Nathaniel huffed in amusement, remembering all the remarks the pack had made about the Koldun. Yet Sander had connected them with the Perelesnyks, and, as far as he could tell, he also had every intention to see things through to the end. Whatever that may be.
“Back to the problem at hand,” Nathaniel said eventually, fingers rubbing against his chin. “I agree that it’s safe to assume it’s the blend between dragon and incubus that grants you immunity to raw magic. However, I do have to correct you on one thing, though.” He smiled and gained an amused, raised eyebrow in return. “I believe age isn’t a dismissible factor, at least not as to why you have immunity while the younger incubi species don’t. Look at Rose, for example. Her bloodline comes from Mokoš, and that power is passed on from generation to generation. As far as she could tell me, the trait isn’t diluted throughout the ages, but rather remains a constant.
“And I think the same can be said for you. So even if a Perelesnyk is born into modern society, they carry the exact same imprint of magic that you were gifted with at the very start. Much like each new child in Rose’s line.”
“Not that there’s much chance of that happening,” Rorik cut in, his tone soft. “The females of my kind are all but extinct.”
Nathaniel angled his head. “So if you were to have a child with any other supernatural or human, they would have no chance of becoming a Perelesnyk?”
“None. They might exhibit some unique powers of their own, but any offspring born of such a union would never be a Perelesnyk.”
Eyebrows knitted together, Nathaniel leaned back in his chair. “Actually, as sorry as I am to hear that, the fact does support my theory.”
“How?”
“For instance, a lot of people carry a dormant werewolf gene. If both the mother and the father possess the recessive gene, there is a quarter chance that their child will be a were. Or, in my case—a human mother who was a carrier and a werewolf father—the chance is fifty/fifty.
“But if it takes two of your kin to produce a Perelesnyk child, that means your chromosome structure is, in its core, different. And given your age, given that you originated from a time when the world had barely begun to establish itself, that just might be the cause for the deviation.”
“Meaning we share some of the chaotic magic the Upirs have?”
“Exactly.”
Rorik whistled. “I have to admit it’s a little bit disgusting to think we have anything in common with those creatures.”
“I guess, speaking in very broad terms, it’s kind of like the Kolduny and the Vedmaks. Both species represent branches of the same magical core.”
“Don’t let Sander hear you.” Rorik chuckled. “He’s far too fabulous to be linked to the gruesome dark warlocks.”
Nathaniel laughed. “Trust me, I have zero desire of getting on his bad side.”
“So”—Rorik’s expression once more turned serious—“if we have raw, chaotic magic in our genes, how do you plan to snatch that essence?”
“I’ll do a couple of basic checks first, hook you up to a machine to check your vitals, then analyze a sample of your DNA. We’ll see where we’ll go from there.”
“For a drink, hopefully.”
Nathaniel tensed, his gaze meeting the bright blue of Rorik’s eyes. But the Perelesnyk didn’t acknowledge his reaction, simply pushed up from his chair and pulled off his white T-shirt, revealing a slender, yet muscular torso. Somehow remembering what he was meant to do, Nathaniel walked over to one of the cabinets mounted on the wall and fished out several disposable electrodes.
“You can lie down if you want,” he said over his shoulder, adamant to not let the Perelesnyk see his blush.
The sound of Rorik’s entrancing laugh washed over him. “Don’t you think resting on an autopsy table while you’re alive is kind of like inviting something bad to happen? I have far too many wicked plans for the future to lie down on that steel. Unless, of course, you join me.”
Nathaniel snorted. “You know using your incubus wiles on people isn’t exactly fair.”
Rorik walked over, coming so close the heat of his honed body was burning against Nathaniel’s skin. “I’m not. What you’re feeling… It’s all you.”
The Upir walked unhurriedly, weaving between the colorful groups of pedestrians occupying Ljubljana’s streets. Yet despite the easy demeanor, Zarja sensed the taunt lurking in the female’s posture, the slight hint of absolute awareness the bitch had. Adela—at least that was the name her human persona was using—seemed to be positive Zarja wouldn’t jump her in broad daylight. Not with so many witnesses around.
And Zarja had absolutely no doubts the Upir would be more than content to drag her around all day, without as much as giving her even a single window to attack, lest she was willing to risk exposure.
Only the two-souled asshole was giving her far too much credit.
With everything that had happened, she wasn’t above risking a few eyewitnesses to capture the bitch. And nor was the pack.
Tim and Dragan were already closing in from the north, with Sebastian swooping in from the side as soon as he reached the city limits. With his speed, it wouldn’t take the Kresnik that long to get here. All Zarja had to do was maneuver Adela into position.
Quickly, she crossed the street, blocking the Upir from moving any farther south, then continued at a steady pace. Block by block, she kept pushing the would-be human towards the northern edge of the city center, where the classical old buildings gave way to somewhat more plain, industrial ones, harboring offices and minor workshops. The hum of traffic grew louder, but as they crossed Gosposvetska Road, it slowly ebbed again. As did the flow of pedestrians.
With nowhere else to go, the Upir stalked farther north, just as Zarja had planned. She trailed Adela up the empty street, but before she could close in, Adela veered left between two buildings
and out of sight. Immediately, Zarja broadcasted her location to Tim, then sped up and skirted past a parked truck that briefly obstructed her view. As she turned the corner, mind in high gear and working on devising a plan to keep Adela in the isolation of the immediate area, the sight stopped her dead in her tracks.
There was no need to herd the bitch any longer.
Adela was standing in the abandoned parking lot, facing the entrance with her feet planted firmly on the ground, and arms resting by her sides. Only it wasn’t the Upir’s fighting pose that made a growl rise in Zarja’s chest.
It was the slight crawling of her skin, telling her Adela was on the verge of shedding her human form.
In the middle of the fucking city.
Swearing vehemently, Zarja threw herself at the creature, and held on to the fleeting hope that she wasn’t too late.
Chapter 19
As the front door shut behind her, Evelin squinted up at the blue skies and listened to the slightly muted chatter coming from the house. Judging by the voices, Nadia and Nikolai were getting along with the Perelesnyks just fine. She smiled.
Even before, when she had barely begun coordinating with Rorik, her stepparents had assured her having the incubi dragons staying at their place wouldn’t be a problem. They had meant it, too. But hearing them now, hearing the easiness of the words filtering through the air, Evelin was glad their peculiar cohabitation was off to a good start.
She reached for the bond, wanting to tell the pack that the task was done when the ringing of a cell phone broke the relative quiet of the street and snagged her attention. Somewhat surprised to see that the sound came from Sander, Evelin arched an eyebrow in silent question.
The Koldun shrugged as he pulled out the phone, but his lips curled up in amusement. “Even wielders of magic have use for technology every now and then.” He peered at the screen. “Speaking of which, it’s Serafina.”
“I’ll go ahead.” She angled her head towards the center. “I did mean it when I said I’ll need that beer.”
Warm bronze eyes met hers, appearing almost ethereal in the blazing midday sun, yet there was something else there, too. Something Evelin refused to acknowledge. She half-spun around, adamant to get her hands on that cool pitcher sooner rather than later.
“I’ll catch up with you,” Sander said and lifted the phone to his ear.
She gave him a quick, somewhat flushed nod just as he greeted Serafina, then walked down the street at a leisurely pace, her mind on the snippets of conversation she couldn’t help overhearing. Sander had been helping his coven sister master the depths of her abilities for a while now, and although Serafina was still reluctant to kill, spending as much time with Morana as she did was weakening her resolve.
Under any other circumstances, Evelin would never rejoice that someone as pure and untainted as the red-headed witch was parting ways with the path of light. But as it was, taking lives without hesitation was the only way to ensure the keeping of yours. At least for a while longer.
Pushing away the grim thought, Evelin picked up her pace, inhaling the scents of early summer that floated on the currents as she made her way back to the historical center of the city. The caresses of the sun fluttered against the skin her T-shirt and shorts left exposed, and, for a moment, she allowed herself to forget about the shadow lying upon their lives and Ljubljana alike. While all werewolves were attuned to the elements by nature, unlike most of her kin, she craved the summer heat. The normalcy of bathing in the strong golden rays eased the tension in her shoulders, as well as hushed the lingering thoughts of the bronze Koldun.
Every cell in her body recoiled at the idea of betraying Mark, at shattering the connection and care they had built. Yet she couldn’t deny that there was something there. An inexplicable closeness, blooming between her and Sander, and growing stronger, not weaker, with each passing day.
It lurked in the way he looked at her, in the attention he gave her. And, she had to admit, it echoed in the way she felt around him, so uncharacteristically at ease. Trusting, even. As if she wasn’t tucked behind years and years of carefully constructed walls. Shaking her head at herself—at the truth—she crossed the street and slunk into a back alley to save some time.
That beer really couldn’t be sitting in front of her fast enough.
Her feet padded lightly against the sidewalk, creating an easy, harmonious rhythm that soothed her mind and wrapped her in a blanket of temporary oblivion. She was almost to the end of the alley when her step faltered.
Unease prickled at the back of her neck, an odd sense of alarm kicking her senses into high gear.
She paused.
The scents in the air were undisturbed, nothing out of the ordinary embedded in the slightly sweaty fragrance of humanity and the few traces of werewolf she smelled among them. Noon in Ljubljana as usual. Except…
She didn’t know how long she had stared at her surroundings before it hit her.
None of the passersby were walking on her side of the road.
Trepidation slithered down her limbs.
It could have been a coincidence. It could have been the abundance of shade on the other sidewalk, compared to the blazing heat of where she stood. But given the sheer mass of the people out and about, she couldn’t just dismiss the oddity. Or the sense of wrongness vibrating in her core.
Staying close to the tightly knit stream of buildings on her right, she observed the humans, keeping her staring as casual as possible. Not that her precautions made any difference.
The passersby’s action continued to be perfectly normal. Save for one glaring concern.
None of them seemed to see her.
Stifling a gasp, Evelin stared harder.
Nothing.
Not even a single wayward glance her way.
Not a single indication that she even existed.
Muscles almost painfully tense and her senses open, she reached for the bond, silently cursing herself for not breaking down the seal sooner. But before those ethereal hands unlocked the channel, before she could send a thought down the path, a looming shadow cut off the sunlight and cast her into darkness.
She spun around, nausea surging through her in paralyzing waves as she saw the muscular figure land behind her. Her stomach churned.
It couldn’t be.
Not in broad daylight.
Not in the middle of the damned street.
But as impossible as it was, the creature was there, watching her with its inhuman, grotesque face.
A Keeper.
Vile magic invaded Zarja’s nostrils and lungs to the point where she thought she would gag. A thin, syrupy sheen of it clogged her pores, making them itch and burn, her entire skin crawling with the need to shake itself free of this intrusive presence. But as much as her body ached, the blow she delivered was strong, and it managed to shake the Upir well enough to hinder the change. Without losing a single second, Zarja unleashed herself on the female, claws slicing and teeth snapping, even as her eyes watered under the pressure of the raw, chaotic energy pulsing in the air.
If this was only a taste of what would come, she couldn’t afford to give the bitch the chance to transform fully.
Already Adela was watching her with pitch-black eyes, eerily reminding her of a void where no life could flourish.
Vaclav had been nothing, absolutely nothing compared to the strength of this female. Either he had been weak when the pack cornered him in the factory, or the bastard had concealed his true strength, paving the way for his kin to take them by surprise when the shit finally hit the fan.
Furious and disgustingly unprepared, Zarja swiped her hand across the Upir’s stomach. The female leaned back just in time to keep the lethal tips from piercing anything more than the casual dress clinging to her body. Zarja snarled as she sidestepped Adela’s attack, then came at her from behind.
Unsuccessfully, yet again.
Where the fuck are you?
She ducked beneath Adela’s blow, quickly
regained her balance, then twisted around and lashed out with a foot.
Two minutes. It was Tim’s voice that answered.
Her kick went wide. She composed herself, another approach already forming in her mind and echoing in her movements, but Adela was quicker. The Upir produced a mean-looking knife from a thigh sheath, forcing her to jump aside as the blade sliced through the air.
If she had been a just second slower, the bitch would have cut her open from breast to hip.
Make it faster, she snapped, the final syllable morphing into a growl as the vile presence in the air grew.
She suppressed a cough, tasting the sputter of blood on her tongue. Her body worked feverishly to heal itself, but against the Upir’s magic, it just wasn’t enough.
She was still struggling for breath when Adela lunged for her.
Zarja dropped into a roll, coming beneath the Upir, and sliced her claws across her calves. The female screamed, a high-pitched sound of absolute fury, and spun around, pinning Zarja with the full weight of her onyx gaze.
Fuck.
It wasn’t working.
While the fight slowed the change, the damn magic was still gaining in volume far too quickly. She needed to bury the bitch in an avalanche of attacks, not parry with her. Only she didn’t know just how much strain her body could take.
A menacing snarl tore from her throat, a battle cry that bounced off the tall concrete buildings surrounding the parking lot, and ran straight at her opponent. Light on her feet, the Upir waited for her, balancing the dagger in her hands, but Zarja didn’t move as the blade swung at her head. Instead, she caught the knife with her palm, ignoring the explosion of pain as it sank deep into her skin, and punched Adela with her free hand, the blow hard enough to take out a human for good.
The Upir’s head snapped back, blood running down her lips and chin. Zarja pried the weapon out of the female’s hand and turned it on her before the bitch had the chance to recover. The blade missed its mark as the Upir twisted to the side, hitting flesh just a couple of inches away from her poisonous, festering heart. But the shriek that rose into the sky was nothing if not satisfactory.