Heroes (18 page)

With one glance back, Eddie saw that Duke wasn’t the only strigoi that had gone into fang-and-muzzle hunter mode. His own jaw ached, hunting fangs trying to pop out, but he managed to get the urge under control. He had the feeling the ones who’d changed hadn’t done so to protect themselves from the Hunter. There was some bad magic doing some genetic tinkering all on its own. He wondered how Martina would try to explain that, and sincerely hoped she’d get eaten in midexplanation.

He didn’t look back again, but he heard the ominous snap and rattle as the chain separated from the wall. Duke was loose. A moment later someone screamed in agony. The smell of blood filled the air. Panicked mortals and vampires rushed behind him, bumping into each other. There was swearing and screaming, and Martina shouted for calm and obedience.

The lights came back on as Eddie reached the door. He still didn’t look back. He yanked the door open. There must have been a hell of a lot of soundproofing in place, because the guard in the hall looked surprised at the sight of Eddie. There was also blood coming out of the guard’s ears, so maybe he’d had a really bad reaction to the energy surge.

Eddie didn’t care. He was getting out of there right now. He only paused long enough to head-butt the guard and grab the huge gun from him as people poured out the door behind him.

Eddie figured that with a crazed Nighthawk and a few hunting vampires on the loose, having any kind of weapon might come in handy.

 
“That’s all very interesting, mortal,” Geoff said when Haven was finished. “Where did you get your information? How do we know you’re telling the truth?”

“I don’t answer to you,” Haven said.

They didn’t like each other. Valentine could tell. The pair were standing toe to toe in the center of the crowded sidewalk, hostile energy crackling between them. The two males were very much alike, both good-looking, one in a rough way, the other Hollywood smooth. Geoff was a bit taller, Haven a bit more muscular. Both were obviously dangerous, and thoroughly alpha. The pair occupied an invisible energy bubble, people instinctively staying out of their way no matter how crowded the busy tourist area was.

“His name isn’t ‘mortal,’ ” Char said after drawn-out silence became too tense for her to bear. She’d been pacing nervously while the two males faced off. She confronted Geoff now. “His name is Jebel Haven, and he’s on our side.”

“Is he?” Geoff wondered, voice soft as velvet.

Valentine was aware of the ebb and flow of energy crackling between the trio. There was a great deal of soap opera potential to the situation, and Val didn’t like it at all. She thought part of it might have to do with the general weirdness of the atmosphere. She chose to call it the Fraught Factor. Part of it . . . Well, she and Geoff would have to have a talk about birds, bees, and silver daggers that slid into your heart for making naughty moves on your sister some other time.

“Right now,” she said, “the night isn’t getting any younger, oh my children, and friends of the family.” She gave a long look at the scrumptious Mr. Haven. “Right now we need a plan, not a rumble between the Jets and the Sharks.”

“We?” Haven asked.

“Jets and Sharks?” Geoff asked, glancing at her over the top of his sunglasses. “Rumble?”

“Drive-by, then,” she amended, acceding to modern vernacular. “We still need a plan.” Haven was frowning at her. “Yes, dear?”

“Who died and made you Fearless Leader?” he asked.

“A lot of people,” she replied.

He smiled. “Thought so.”

He was fearless himself. She found that very attractive.

Char put herself between Valentine and Haven. “Well, then,” she demanded. “What do we do about Martina?”

“Hunt her down and kill her,” Geoff suggested.

“Works for me,” said Haven.

“There we are, then,” Val said, with an offhand gesture. “Sounds like a plan.”

“But . . .” Char looked totally baffled. Apparently the young Enforcer expected something more along the lines of a formal debate.

Valentine put a comforting hand on Char’s shoulder. “I bet you report to someone, don’t you?”

“Yes. Istvan.”

Valentine smiled with delight. “Really? He’s such a nice boy. Tell him Val says hello.”

“Istvan the
dhamphir
. . . a nice . . .” Char trailed off helplessly, and looked back at Haven. “He’s . . .”

“The meanest mother in the valley,” Haven supplied. “Or so I’ve heard it said,” he added when Valentine and Char gave him questioning looks.

“Val,” Geoff broke in sharply. “Could we get back on topic?”

“Martina hangs out at the Silk Road,” Haven said. “Her nest run the place.”

“Which means that marching into the hotel to tear out her heart might meet with some resistance,” Char said.

“Don’t you want to take out her whole crew anyway?” Haven questioned. “And get your hands on the scrolls? What I saw were Xeroxed pages,” he added. “No scrolls involved.”

“I’d definitely like to have a look at them, whatever form they’re in,” Geoff said.

“Destroy them, you mean,” Valentine corrected. “It’s forbidden to read them.”

Geoff balked at this. “Maybe for vampires. We’re Nighthawks. I want to know what’s been written about us.”

“It’s rude,” Val replied. “Very unflattering.”

“But is any of it true?” he wanted to know.

She wished he hadn’t asked. “It’s propaganda written to discredit the Nighthawks a long time ago. The scrolls were not written by Nighthawks, Geoffrey. How can anyone know what we are without being of our line?”

Haven spoke up. “Are we going to kill vamps tonight, or what?”

Valentine and the other Nighthawks stared at him. “We?” Geoff finally asked.

Haven produced a key card with his photo on it out of a coat pocket. “I can get you into any part of the hotel. I even know what this Martina looks like.”

“Mortals aren’t allowed to kill vampires,” Char said.

He gave her a hard look. “We’ve had this discussion before.” They glared at each other for a moment. He didn’t back down, but he did shrug. “Fine. You kill the nest vamps. I’ll take the slaves and companions.”

Char visibly relaxed. “Deal.”

“Wait a minute,” Geoff complained. “You can’t let this mort—”

“It’s against the Laws for mortals to be involved,” Val cut in smoothly, drawing their attention back to her. “You disapprove of the Laws, Geoffrey. I think the Council’s full of shit. You and I have no argument with Mr. Haven lending a hand if Char agrees to it.” Char gave Geoff a smug look. Val went on. “Of course, if we’re going to rescue Duke and kill us some bad vampires, the hotel’s probably not where we should be looking. For that, we need the airport.”

“Why? They’ve left town?” Haven questioned.

She ignored his sarcasm. “We need to find where Martina’s holding Duke prisoner. We have to look for an old, abandoned—”

When the energy wave hit, Val staggered back, words frozen in her throat. She heard vampires screaming up and down the street. Geoff was one of the screamers. Char fell to the ground, curling up in a fetal ball. Haven’s hands clutched his temples, while Val stared helplessly at them all. Lightning swirled through her brain, leaving waves of nausea and confusion in its wake.

“GoddessGoddessGoddess,” she murmured, aware it was both prayer and curse.

Then the light died—the flowing picture lights overhead, the casino signs, the shop lights, every light. Light died.

Power surge, she realized, brought on by a different kind of surge. Magic in the air. Loose in the city. Valentine stared into the natural darkness, hardly blind but not used to the absence of artificial light in this modern world. It was eerie, though it lasted only a few seconds.

The lights came back on, almost roaring back to life. A momentary outage. No big deal to the mortal crowd. There was a lot of noise, people loudly asking each other what had happened. Other sounds were buried in the crowd noise. But Valentine picked out every anomaly—feeling, smelling, and hearing every shout and scream. And the sweet scent of blood.

“Wake up!” she shouted at the Nighthawk children and the mortal man. She yanked Char to her feet. She shook Geoff to stop his screaming. All she had to give Haven was a stern look. “Calm down,” she ordered them. “We’ve got big trouble.” She looked around, and pointed. Shadows and strange shapes stalked across the landscape. Monsters moved among the huge herd of mortal sheep. “There. There. There. Go,” she commanded the Nighthawks and the human hunter. “Take them down.”

Chapter 16

IT WAS HARD to scream with his face turned into a fang-filled muzzle, but he managed to roar. It was impossible to cry. His vision was sharper, sensing light, shadow, and color in a way that was almost tactile. His hearing was sharpened, the range of sound much broader. Adrenaline pumped through him. And hunger was a spiritual need. Smell was enhanced, the scent of familiar blood everywhere. Much of it wasn’t blood anymore, but ash, residue, a by-product that stank of evil.

He understood evil. He kind of liked it. But this—

Clare had died at the whim of evil. She’d died to call up evil. Her death had been—an ingredient—in a spell. Nothing more or less.

Ben shuddered, and retched, the taste of vomit hideous to the highly sensitive taste buds in his Hunter’s mouth.

The memory of evil tickled at his mind. He could barely breathe, his lungs wanting to reject the charged, heated air. He had to get out of here. He had to get himself under control. He didn’t know how or why he’d changed shape. Maybe it had been an instinctive reaction to the darkness and the pain. Maybe a protection against the magic, or a by-product of it. Didn’t matter. He had to pull himself together.

He tried to change back.

All that did was send him howling in agony again. Thoughts tried to flee away from the pain, but Ben held on to himself, even inside this shape where it was all right to lose control and simply
be
the hungry nightmare beast that dwelled in every human soul.

“Monster.”

The voice cut through the heat and the pain, through the grief and fear. Ben concentrated on the voice, recognizing it. He’d loved that voice a few minutes ago. Now he used the voice as a chain that led him to the scent of meat fed by warm, rich blood. He’d loved the physical form wrapped around the heart that beat so strongly with excitement and triumph. Reese’s body was hard muscled. It would be tough and chewy, but relatively low fat.

Ben ran his tongue over his fangs. His mouth watered with hunger. His claws throbbed with the need to tear into flesh. His cock was swollen with the stronger, true Hunter need, to take and dominate, to feed on fear as well as flesh.

“You’re drooling. Disgusting animal.” Reese’s voice dripped with more self-satisfied triumph than it did sarcasm. The winner taking the time to gloat.

Ben looked into Reese’s face, and was almost blinded by the blaze of power that shot from the magician’s eyes. He had to throw his arm over his eyes. Even then the brightness burned against his closed lids.

Reese chuckled, aware of Ben’s pain. “You were going to make me into something like you, weren’t you? Stupid creature. I was going to be
your
slave? I don’t think so. You’ll make a nice pet, though. I’ll put you on exhibit. Let you feed on my enemies. Won’t that be fun?”

Ben opened his eyes, concentrated, and managed to finally banish the images of Morgan Reese as potential meal or power source from his mind. He made himself see Reese as an ugly, arrogant murderer standing over another victim, gloating. Ben accepted the murderer, being one himself, and having faced down murderers all his mortal and immortal life. He didn’t even mind the gloating. It was being a victim that was galling.

Reese looked at his watch. “Earlier than I thought,” he said. “But I still have to go. Still have a show to do. One more show. Then maybe another tomorrow night. Maybe not. Tonight I’ll use the real power on my audience. Some of them will belong to me by the time the show is done. I’ll burrow my will into their puny brains and have the beginnings of an empire. If you’re good, I’ll feed one of them to you.” He smiled at Ben with the pride of possession. “I’m looking forward to seeing how your kind kills.”

With that he turned and walked away. Ben looked after Reese, thinking,
You’ll find out soon enough.

When the door closed behind Morgan, Ben made himself look around, looking for a way out of the cage. It glowed now, with an icy blue light. Reese’s spell had increased the magical strength he’d already conferred on the flimsy stage prop bars. Ben couldn’t touch the bars. Beyond the cage, the room was growing hotter. Clare’s body was no more than a husk drained of every bit of the vibrant energy that had made her what she was. Reese had consumed her to work his spell. And the red jewel he used in the ritual was resting on the marble table again. It glowed like a piece of burning coal, and something evil writhed beneath the burning surface. It gave off very bad vibes. Ben didn’t know what Reese had done to the gem, but Ben didn’t want it anywhere near him.

Damn. The man was good. But magic wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. The physical world was the place where a person could really get things done. Ben turned slowly in the small cage, looking for a physical means of escape. He looked down at the cage floor. For some reason the prop was set on a slab of concrete. The material was cool and rough beneath his feet. He scraped the claws of one foot over the surface, and felt a monster’s smile bare his fangs. Ben dropped to his knees, and scrabbled his front claws into concrete. It cracked and crumpled as he dug. Making a hole deep enough to squeeze through wasn’t going to be the quickest way out of the cage, but it would do.

At least he didn’t think it was going to be fast work. Not until he heard the crackling, cracking sounds coming from across the room. He looked up from his work, and what he saw sent a bolt of terror through him. He had to get out! He had to get out now!