Magicstorm (Heart of a Vampire, Book 4) (16 page)

“What do you see?” she asked, blinking at the
walls. “Did you find it?”

“Yes.” He touched the wall, but still felt
only brick. The magic was strong.

He would damn well be stronger.

With a skip in his heartbeat, he glanced at
her, taking in her shining strength and her trust in him.

Then he reared back and slammed his fist
against the wall. A loud metal bang reverberated through the
basement room.

Celeste jumped, staring at the wall.

Brandon searched, but there wasn’t even a
small dent. The magic was stronger than he’d expected.

Then it wavered.

Someone was coming.

And he didn’t think he’d be able to get
Celeste out in time.

“When we get out of here,” he said, “run. Get
outside. Call Shane and let him know what’s going on.”

Her shoulders stiffened. “I’m not leaving
without my sister.”

The magic grew dimmer as whoever was
controlling it either approached, or played mind games with him.
The brick wall shimmered, disappeared, replaced by a thick iron
door.

“The only way we’ll get your sister out is
with backup.”

Her chin rose stubbornly.

“Do you want to save her?” he demanded, his
voice more harsh than intended from worry as the magic dimmed
further.

Her eyes narrowed as she glared at him.
“Fine. But he better get here fast.”

He reared back and slammed his fist against
the door again. With the magic so much weaker this time, the dull
thud left a deep impression on the metal.

“Here we go,” he mumbled. He drew back, ready
to bust through the door.

The magic disappeared completely.

Their time was up.

On the other side, a screeching laugh rose.
The door flew open, revealing only darkness.

Agonizing heat raced up his arm from the
handcuff, immobilizing him. He couldn’t scream as his jaw locked
from the pain.

“Kneel,” a voice commanded from the
darkness.

He strained against the order, but nothing
helped. He fell to his knees.

Celeste grabbed his shoulder, urging him back
up. He couldn’t turn his head to look at her, couldn’t find his
voice to explain. To tell her to do whatever she must to get away,
now.

“Such a good little pet.” The man’s voice
held a light, musical tone as he left the shadows and stepped into
the light.

Chapter
seventeen

Celeste stared from a kneeling Brandon to the
man striding closer. The same “Master” who’d broken into her house
and kidnapped Shana. His dark eyes brightened with an eerie
yellowish glow.

She tried to step forward, but the chain
holding her to Brandon didn’t have much slack. “Where’s my
sister?”

The man blinked, glancing at her, then
shrugged. “Andre, finish cuffing our Viking warrior here.”

The little man who’d been at the club with
Sebastian scurried forward, snapping another set of cuffs on
Brandon’s wrists, binding both hands behind his back.

Andre unlocked the chain holding her to
Brandon, then reached for her free hand.

Bastard didn’t see her move as she plowed a
closed fist against the side of his head. Stunned, he reeled back,
then surged forward. He crashed into her, sending them both to the
floor.

“Enough,” the master commanded. “She’s a
mortal, and a woman at that.”

Andre snapped his fangs at her face. She
relaxed her body, readying for another attack. Quicker than she
could see, he rolled to her side and stood up, bending over her. As
he reached for her hands, she jerked her feet up and smashed them
against his chest, sending the little jerk flying.

Then more hands were on her, yanking her to
her feet.

The master drew forward, his movements smooth
as if he were gliding rather than walking. The world wavered before
her eyes, blurring before coming clear again.

“Well, well. What have we here?” The master
leaned in, sniffing her neck. “You let the little pet share your
blood.”

Fear rushed through Celeste, some primal
feeling coming not from rationality, but a dark place hidden deep
inside. This man made her skin crawl from his very presence.

“Come,” the man said, spinning fluidly.

Brandon jerked up to his feet like some
puppet and began following the guy, shooting Celeste a pleading
glance, begging for her forgiveness.

The little runt, Andre, grabbed her hands,
yanked them behind her back, and cuffed her. He shoved her forward
with a sickening giggle of glee.

Celeste turned her head, pinning him with a
glare, promising retribution. That shut him up.

With a scowl, he pushed her forward again,
but without much strength behind it.

She strode forward, following Brandon to the
stairs, refusing to let him out of her sight.

There was no question in her mind what was
going on. The man in the robe had to be the sorcerer. He’d put
Brandon under some kind of spell.

What she wanted to know was whether Brandon
could break out of it, or if she was on her own.

She didn’t know if she could save them all by
herself, but she’d give it her damn well best.

“Where’s my sister?” she called.

The sorcerer shrugged as he continued up the
steep staircase.

A minute later, they left the stairs. They
were in the main club, behind the bar. Along the wall, a hidden
door silently slipped back into place.

The sorcerer led Brandon to the edge of the
dance floor.

A disco ball rotated eerily above, sending
refracted, disconnected light through the shadowy room.

The air was so cold, she could see ghostly
puffs of breath each time she breathed.

The atmosphere had been wiped of the recent
cheerful crowds of party goers. All that remained was a heavy
oppression that matched the gloom.

The sorcerer snapped his fingers. From the
shadows, hooded figures rushed to the edge of the dance floor and
pulled on the edges of the wooden platform. It split open down the
middle and slid apart a few feet. A mechanical buzzing began as the
two pieces of the dance floor rose like a bridge rising for a
passing ship below.

Under the platform was concrete. In the
center, a dais rose. The dance floor, now vertical, slid seamlessly
into recessed panels, sinking down towards the basement.

The hooded figures melted back into darkness
as the sorcerer approached the table. “Come,” he commanded.

Stiff-legged, Brandon took a few, staggering
steps forward. The muscles in his arms bunched, as if he fought
with every last bit of strength.

Celeste planted her feet and refused to move
as she glanced at the many, now familiar, runes painted on the
floor in what looked like blood.

“Bring the other girl,” the sorcerer
crowed.

A rustle came from the other side of the
room, then a sharp cry. Shana was pushed out onto the concrete,
wind milling her arms as she stumbled forward.

Self-control forgotten, Celeste raced to her
sister’s side.

Blue and purple blossomed over the right side
of her face. Dried blood hid some of the bruise, but not much.
Shana’s eye was swollen closed.

“You bastard,” Celeste hissed at the
sorcerer.

He winked. “Actually I am, bless my mother’s
sinful soul. But that’s neither here nor there.”

She took a step forward, putting herself
between Shana and this guy. “Wow. So strong, beating a helpless
girl.”

His mouth thinned, deep furrows etching into
his forehead. His voice grew harsh. “It’s not the beating I
enjoy.”

Her hands fisted behind her back.

“Come, darling girl.”

Behind her, Shana mumbled denial, but she
stood and walked around Celeste, heading for the sorcerer’s
side.

Celeste tried to grab her, but was limited
with the handcuffs.

Shana stopped in front of the sorcerer, head
down, hands trembling.

He grasped her chin, lifting Shana’s face to
bare her neck. He licked alongside her throat, staring at Celeste.
“Yum.”

He pushed Shana to the side and took a step
toward Celeste. “Have you ever tasted another’s fear? Not fright,
no. It must be bone-deep, from the darkest place inside the mind,
fear.”

She didn’t reply.

“It’s ambrosia.” His eyes flashed a glowing
yellow. “It’s life sustaining.”

“So, what, you’re like a vampire but without
the blood drinking?”

He grinned, flashing fangs. “Oh, no. I drink
blood too. But fear is so much better. So much more...
rejuvenating.”

His eyes brightened, and the world around her
wavered.

“Come to me,” he whispered, although his lips
didn’t move. His voice echoed, like it was coming from inside her
head. “Join me. You’re so strong, not like your weak sister.
There’s so much we could do. Together.”

Celeste fought his spell, but her foot slid
forward of its own will.

“That’s right. Come to me.”

“Celeste!” Brandon’s voice broke through the
haze in her mind.

Still, she inched forward, her body not under
her own control.

Fear rose, fear like he’d spoken about.

Chapter
eighteen

Brandon sank his fangs deep into his tongue.
The pain helped.

Celeste slowly drew closer to the sorcerer,
her eyes glassy, out of focus. The damn man had caught her in his
spell.

And Brandon knew what would happen when she
reached the man. He’d taste her.

Straining against the mind-hold that trapped
him into uselessness, Brandon’s anger rose and he realized the
power holding him had dimmed as the sorcerer concentrated on
Celeste. The guy might be powerful, but he still only had a limited
amount of magic.

He let himself relax, embracing his fury.

The world washed in pink, slowly darkening to
berserker red.

He fed his anger, thinking of the sorcerer
drinking from Celeste.

The red darkened, his ancestor’s instinct
taking over, pushing the dark magic from his mind and body.

With a roar, he surged to his feet and rushed
at the sorcerer, vowing to kill the man before he could harm
Celeste.

Everything went black, though he could still
hear, still feel.

The man’s voice whispered to him, “Such a
strong one. A great pet you’ll make for me, just like you did for
my beloved mother. Do you know how happy I was that they sent you
to find me? Although your weakling of a brother would have been
nearly as good.”

His vision came back, and once more, the evil
magic wrapped him tight, unmoving.

Disbelief filled him.

The sorcerer had stopped his berserker
instincts. He couldn’t even move his head, only roll his eyes to
glance at Celeste.

She blinked, coming out of the trance.

And he realized the sorcerer was using every
last bit of his concentration, his magic, to push back Brandon’s
rage.

He stared at the man, his thoughts tumbling
in a haze of confusion as the dark magic tightened. Across the
room, Celeste shook her head.

The sorcerer took a step closer, studying
Brandon. A slight smile curled his lips as his yellow eyes glowed
with pleasure. “Not so tough, are you?”

He bit his tongue again. The pain only
cleared his mind a little. Not enough.

Not nearly enough.

Celeste slowly slid to the ground, pulling
her handcuffed arms down her legs and around her feet. She held her
fisted hands in front of her as she stood once more.

Brandon jerked harder against the magic.

The sorcerer’s eyes widened, and a blaze of
fiery agony licked over his skin at Brandon’s fighting
resistance.

Celeste raced forward, slamming her fists
into the side of the sorcerer’s head.

He howled in rage, his concentration dipping
once more.

From the darkness around them, matching
screams echoed, piercing the air.

Hooded figures surged forward, surrounding
the concrete. The crowd parted as a woman strode forward.

The banshee half-breed.

She smiled at Brandon. Wolves howled,
slinking around her legs, staring hungrily at him with ice blue
eyes.

His arm twitched. His fury boiled.

The woman opened her mouth and screamed, the
sound drowning out everything else.

His head pounded as strength flowed into him.
He built his anger, letting his rage take control once more as his
berserker fathers had done thousands of years ago.

The chains of the handcuffs snapped. With a
roar, he jumped forward, plowing into the banshee just as his ears
were about to explode.

The sound cut off as they fell to the floor.
He jumped to crouch above her. She tied to scream again. Her wolves
surged.

Claws dug into his skin, teeth bit deep in
his arm and legs.

He reared back and, against all misgivings
about hitting a woman, punched her in the temple.

With a silent sigh, she passed out.

Brandon spun, hitting and kicking at the
howling pack trying to drag him from their mistress.

One yelped as his grabbed its ear and threw
it across the floor. He clamped his fist around a tail, and stood,
raising the wolf and tossing it after its brethren.

The others continued to circle, but held
back.

Near the dais, the sorcerer held Celeste to
his chest, his arm tight across her throat.

Shana slumped next to the raised table,
unconscious or trying to ignore everything, he didn’t know.

He only had eyes for Celeste. Her face, too
pale as she gasped for air and tried clawing at the arm across her
throat.

“No wonder my mother lost you,” the sorcerer
croaked, sounding weaker, tired. “But I’m much stronger than she
ever was.”

Brandon couldn’t breathe as pressure banded
around his chest, compressing his lungs. His mind slipped to the
past, against his will.