Harlequin Nocturne September 2014 Bundle: Beyond the Moon\Immortal Obsession (14 page)

“Then what is it?” he asked, circling around and delivering a high kick to the punching bag.

You know who it is.

Indeed.

“Yet you insist I keep her close. She is the key to finding my soul.”

So accept that tonight you were not in best form and move on.

“And what if I'm not in best form when Verity is again attacked? Keeping her close endangers her.”

There is something about her that we are missing.

“I don't understand.”

She is hiding something.

“You think? If I could read her, I would know if she was, but—hell, why can't I read her?”

Go home. Get some sleep. Tomorrow is a new day
.

Rook shook his head at the demon's optimism.

You do not want to put her out of your life. You did tell her you loved her.

“I—right.”

Had he meant it?

No.

You did
.

What the hell was going on with him? In four centuries he'd not fallen in love. Not since Marianne. He couldn't allow himself to know the luxury of love again.

Yes, you can
.

“Shut up, Oz.”

Rook marched out of the gym and toward the elevator. He'd drive home and meditate before going to bed. Anything to clear his mind of…her.

* * *

Posed before her spell table, her hair let down and her body skyclad to the moonlight, Verity traced her finger down the Latin words in the grimoire. This was the same spell she had attempted the evening she had been bitten.

Something hadn't worked that first time. It was difficult to admit to that, but she had no choice but to believe she had worked the spell incorrectly.

The dove in her hand squirmed, its talons scratching her wrist. She squeezed hard enough to settle it. The black candle near her left foot flashed its flame high, bending to reach for the flame of the red candle that sat near her right.

Grasping the hat pin that had once belonged to great-grandmother Bluebell, and with a fleeting glance toward the quilt on her bed—“Be with me,” she whispered—she knelt before the candles and began to recite the words. They must be repeated over and over, her voice finding a cadence, a resonance that matched the frequency of the dove's pounding heart.

With the final word, which she carried out in a long hum that vibrated in her chest and outward through her extremities, she stabbed the dove through the heart. Blood dripped onto the flood of red and black wax. The substance coiled and swirled, spinning the colors together.

Verity dropped both things she held and leaned over the swirling wax, panting, smelling…so much. The blood called to her as if a sweet treat. A macaron swirled in red and black, pleading for a taste. She lowered her head and dashed out her tongue but retracted it when it swept the congealed red wax.

“No.” She shuffled backward until her shoulders hit the base of the bed. Tugging on the quilt, she pulled it down and the blanket wrapped around her in a hug. “It didn't work. The blood—I want it!”

Chapter 12

T
he brown calico alley cat that had been scratching at Verity's back door sidled inside when she opened it. He pussyfooted straight for the pewter bowl she kept on the floor before the stove.

“I have your food,” she said, opening a can of something moist with chunks and gravy and forking it into the bowl.

The cat devoured the meal while Verity did a little straightening in the cupboards. The maid who stopped in every Monday always rearranged the goblets beside the bowls, and she preferred them above by the other glasses. She'd been jittery all morning. No way to know if last night's spell had been effective. And she wasn't particularly motivated to go in search of raw meat to test the efficacy.

Peering outside, she eyed the flowers growing in the backyard. “Poppies and thyme,” she said. “I'll have to cut those under the moonlight for my spells.”

And the thought of moonlight tugged at her gut. She clutched her stomach and winced at the sudden surprising pain. It squeezed like a hunger pang, and the feeling strafed along her esophagus and up to her teeth. It was four times stronger than the mouthwatering pang she'd gotten last night when spying the bloody steak.

“Not the blood hunger,” she whispered desperately. “Please.”

That would mean the spell had not worked.

The full moon was five days away. She could manage the hunger pangs if they never got stronger than this one. But she suspected this was only a droplet compared to the smack she was going to be hit with soon enough. And just because she could manage them did not mean they would go away.

The inevitable was upon her.

A twisted
meow
preceded the snapping of bones and the weird leathery sound of stretching skin. The bar stool on the other side of the counter toppled but didn't hit the floor. Instead, the calico-haired naked man righted it as he stood.

“That moist gravy stuff rocks,” he said. “Love the chicken flavor.”

“Morning, Thomas. Robe's on the wall.”

He claimed the blue terrycloth robe with the big gold T on the chest and threaded his arms through it, wrapping the tie tightly across his waist.

“I washed it for you.”

“I can smell that. Lavender. Did
you
wash it or did the maid?” He slid onto a bar stool.

Verity dipped her head and avoided his gaze.

“Thought so.”

The familiar was handsome. Average in height and with a head full of brown and golden tufts, he reminded her of a movie star with his big white teeth and sparkling green eyes. She'd almost swooned into his arms. The cat had a way about him she knew many women could not, and did not, resist. And that was good enough reason to leave him alone.

“So what's up, witchy chick? Haven't seen you for a few weeks, if you don't count your rude treatment of me the other night.”

She had been rude when Thomas had stopped in the other evening, but she'd had more important things in mind at the moment—namely, the sexy hunter.

“The usual. Shopping. Performing. Doing spellcraft. Getting chased by vampires. Meeting a sexy vampire hunter.”

She ran her fingers over the love hickeys Rook had left on her breasts this morning. Mmm…marked by the hunter. But what would he think if he knew there was a possibility she could become the very creature he hunted?

“Is that the guy who was sucking on your tonsils the other day? The tall glass of salt and pepper?”

“His hair isn't that gray. And I thought you liked women.”

“I do, but I can appreciate a handsome face. So, chased by vamps. Not good. Sexy vampire hunter. Good?”

“Very good,” she said, leaning onto the counter. The sky-blue Ladurée box sat nearby, and she teased the corner of it with a fingernail. The sneaky hunter had known exactly how to get her on his side. “Extremely good.”

Thomas toyed with the ends of her hair. It was a cat thing. “You sound like a well-fucked woman. And trust me, I know that sound.”

“The man does have his talents.”

“Meow.”

“Yes, but Thomas, the vampire who chased me bit me.”

“
Merde
. Did the hunter kill the bastard?”

“No, he got away.”

“Double
merde
.”

“But Rook is working on finding the vampire.”

“Rook is the hunter's name? Cheesy yet masculine at the same time.”

“I'm sure it's a code name. He's with the Order of the Stake.”

“One of the secret knights, eh? But not so secret as they like to believe.”

Thomas tugged aside her hair to inspect her neck where the bite wounds had healed, yet two red dots remained as if to insist she not forget her fate. “Does this mean what I think it means? The next full moon is in less than a week. Damn. Verity?”

“I tried a spell to stop the taint, but it didn't work. Twice. My magic is always effective. I don't know what's wrong with me. Thomas, I've been feeling hunger pangs. I had one just now when you were eating. Do you think the vampire taint is weakening my magic? Oh goddess, I can't let this happen. But I don't know what to do about it.”

“I suspect you didn't tell your hunter lover about it? You and that never-trust-a-man thing, right?”

“I think I'm getting over that. I want to, at least. I intend to tell Rook. He can kill the vampire and no more worries. But what if he doesn't find him in time? If I transform, then he'll have to stake me.”

“Exactly. You don't want the hunter to pencil you onto his list of most wanted.”

“But Thomas, I think I could love him.”

“Love? Wow. You're moving fast. Don't forget what happened last time you let a man into your heart.”

“Slater was an asshole. Rook is true. He has his secrets, but I know he'll tell them to me when he's ready. And speaking of Slater…there's a nasty little complication.”

“I thought you'd kicked that longtooth to the curb a long time ago. Hell, you moved across the city. Has he found your new home?”

“I'm not sure. I think he may have been the one to send the vamps after me in the first place. And now that he's aware Rook is after him, there's going to be a big mess.”

“Don't worry about anything between the Order and Zmaj. You focus on you. And try the spell again. I don't want you vamping out anytime soon.”

“I don't want that either. I nearly dove for some poor bastard's steak last night. It was bloody, Thomas. So horrible, but at the time I thought it smelled good.”

“
Merde.
Maybe you do need to fess up to the hunter. Sounds like he's the only one who can help you. Do you trust him?”

“I want to, but you know what my mother told me.”

“Yes, but I distinctly recall you telling me that your grandmother overruled your mother's entreaty not to trust any man.”

Verity caught her cheek against a palm. “I'm so confused. I'm not sure what or who to trust. I care about him, but…he
is
a hunter. Do I or don't I ask for his help?”

“You can tell a lot about a man by the way he treats animals,” Thomas announced and stretched back his shoulders. “I think I'll go have a sniff around this guy. See what he's made of.”

The robe deflated to a pile on the chair. The cat extricated itself from the fabric and leaped to the floor, heading toward the still-open back door.

“Thomas, stay away from him!”

Verity raced to the door, but the cat was already halfway across the yard.

“I can never tell that cat what to do. I hope Rook doesn't have allergies.”

* * *

Rook strolled out behind the cathedral the Order had retrofitted for headquarters and sat on the back step. Tucked within a populated area, the narrow alleyway hugged a row of four- and five-story walkups that also housed rental flats and tourist shops. The air always smelled like the Greek food from a restaurant on the other side of the block. He'd never admit it out loud, but he did like the shaved chicken gyros slathered with cucumber sauce and loaded with
pomme frites
.

He'd spent the afternoon going through computer records for local vamps, trying to place the face of the vamp who had bitten Verity. He'd gotten a good look at him last night and may have found a match. Clas Dreher. No location. But names carried weight, and he intended to go around asking after him tonight.

He needed to get to Clas before Slater brought the war to him. The only war he could imagine involved vamps coming at him in great numbers. Or vamps going after humans.

That was the war he did not want. This situation needed to be dealt with now.

Yet with thoughts of Verity dallying with his need to rush out and find the vamp, it had been difficult to concentrate on a plan of attack. Thus, the breath of fresh air.

“Meow.”

“Bonjour, Monsieur le Chat.”

The brown-and-gold-mottled tomcat sidled up to Rook's leg and rubbed a cheek across his leather pants. Rook scratched the cat between the ears, and the feline nuzzled up appreciatively.

“Aren't you a handsome fellow? I'd ask if you're hungry, but to judge that wide belly, you look well fed.”

The cat sat beside him on the step, and Rook marveled at the ease with which the creature took up place. Normally felines were more skittish around humans, especially the strays that scampered in every alley, nook and rooftop in Paris. But he knew animals could sense when a human was trustworthy.

It had been a long time since he'd thought about Acteaon, the grey destrier that he had ridden while serving King Henri IV as a carbineer in the household cavalry. By the time Louis XIII had formed the musketeers from the carabin troops in the mid-seventeenth century, Rook had already been demon-inhabited and missed serving in the ranks. That horse had served in battle and peace time and had never flinched from rushing the vanguard.

“You look familiar,” he said and wondered where he had seen this cat before. Could it be the same one who had so casually strolled into Verity's home as if he'd owned the place? “Are you—”

At that moment, a black Audi pulled up and King got out of the backseat. The man had never learned to drive, nor had he the desire to learn. It stymied Rook that anyone who had lived so long would not feel the call to learn all that he could about the modern world.

Of course, King still possessed the entitlement he'd been born with. Servants and drivers were
de rigueur
for him.

“Talking to strays?” King closed the car door. “Or recruiting for a secret four-legged tactical force?”

Rook scratched beneath the cat's chin. The feline stretched up his neck in delight. The car rolled down the alley to park but didn't drive away. “You have work here today?”

King approached but maintained his distance by about ten feet, hands in his pockets. “No, I saw you sitting out here and thought to stop and see when you're going to ask me for help.”

He could use the help.

The cat suddenly hissed at King. Its back arched, and Rook could hear its claws scratch the cobblestones.

“I don't like you much either, cat,” King spat.

“What is it about animals that they never like you?” Rook asked, though he knew the answer. “Remember the stallion in the eighteenth century?”

“Threw me thirty feet through the air to land in the Seine. Hated that damned horse. I should have had it bespelled.”

“They can sense your nature.”

“Get out of here, you mangy beast!” King hissed at the cat and sent it scrambling off with a hasty meow. “So what's up with the imminent war?”

Rook did not care for him referring to it as thus. “I got a name. Clas Dreher.”

“Never heard it before, but that means little. He going to lead you to Slater?”

“I can hope.”

“You want me to take the left bank and ask around?”

“And I'll do the right,” Rook agreed.

“You heading straight to work or going to stop in to see the witch first?”

“Work,” Rook said curtly, annoyed King assumed incorrectly.

“Good. That's the hunter I've known for more than four hundred years. Yet…”

Rook stood and splayed his hands in annoyance. “What?”

King squared his stance and shoved his hands in his pants pockets. He arrowed a serious summation over Rook. “What, exactly, does the witch mean to you?”

Rook shrugged, but he spoke the first word that came to mind. “Everything.”

“That's the most interesting word I've heard you utter in a long time. You like this woman?” King sat next to Rook on the step.

“I do. She's, hell…everything might be stretching it, but—I don't know. Maybe I want her to be everything. It's been so long. I'm not even sure what that means anymore.”

“Enough said. The occasional distraction is something you've earned. I've had a change of heart since our scuffle. You deserve this.”

“Thanks, but I won't use her as bait. I can't put her in danger like that.”

King sighed. Rook guessed that had been his reason for the sudden change of heart. A smart knight used any resource available to track his prey, including informants and friends. But Rook had never considered using someone he cared about.

“Does she know about Marianne?”

“No.”

“Will she know?”

“Don't know. It's still new with us.”

“Yet, new as it is, she has become everything to you.”

Was that a trace of jealousy? King hadn't dated for the long term in decades. Both had settled into a hunter's lifestyle, seeking their pleasure in one-night stands or weekend flings.

“I want to keep her alive,” Rook said.

“Another damsel in distress for you to rescue.”

“Fuck you, man.”

Truthfully, how many had he rescued over the centuries? A few, certainly. It polished a man's pride to help. Thus, much as he'd fought against pridefulness through Oz's yoga studies, he could never completely release himself from ego. Nor did he want to.