Moonlight and Diamonds & The Vampire's Fall (17 page)

Chapter 18

S
tryke muttered to his demonic cohort, “I'm going to need a weapon.”

“How about this?”

Stryke's left arm jerked as a medieval mace suddenly appeared in his grip. The spiked ball must've weighed ten pounds. He gave it a test swing and the spiked iron ball almost sliced his leg open.

“Something a little more modern?” he hissed.

Himself shook his head and grumbled, a rattly death thunder that birthed in his throat. The demonic denizen approached with caution.

A Lightsaber with purple beam appeared in Stryke's hand, startled him on his feet. He swung it and it actually made the noise it should. But seriously? “Are you kidding me?”

“Be specific, insolent!”

“Salt and a blade, if you don't mind.”

A pistol replaced the Lightsaber, and in his right hand manifested a long, scythed blade that he felt could take off a demon's head with but a slice.

“Nice.” Stryke eyed the closest demon, who sported enough hardware in his nostrils, ears and at his temples to make a punk rocker jealous. “Let's do this.”

* * *

Stryke's blade sliced through a demon's neck. The head toppled, only to reveal yet another demon standing behind him, snarling its wicked double rows of fangs and swinging the silver scepter—which happened to sport
Le Diabolique
.

“A little help here!” Stryke called.

Himself stood off to the side, by a cage, watching as Stryke had taken out half the denizen. At one point when Stryke had been held down on the dirt floor by a nasty demon drooling some kind of caustic saliva onto his neck, he looked up to see Himself studying his talons most intently.

“I thought you said you had this one!” Himself called back.

“I said I wanted to help! I thought I was doing the buddy sidekick role.”

“Ah. Always be specific.” The Dark Prince stepped into the fray and with but a slash of talon took out the demon wielding the scepter.

Stryke stumbled against one of the cages. The demon within grasped him around the neck. Pointing the pistol over his shoulder, he pulled the trigger. Loaded with salt rounds, it hit its mark. He felt the demon scatter into flakes behind him.

With a clap of his hands over his head, Himself stomped the floor. All standing demons dispersed into flakes of red-ember ash. Demon blood spattered Stryke's face and body. The room went black with the shrapnel. Stryke took aim at one demon standing near the doorway and fired the pistol. Right on target.

Himself turned and nodded acknowledgment. “Good one.”

Stryke returned the nod. “Are they all gone?”

The devil swept his hand over the piles of demon ash, and from beneath rose the scepter. And in the center of the room, up popped
Le Diabolique
. Himself snatched both. The scepter, he pointed toward Stryke.

“You want this for a souvenir?”

“I think I'll pick up one of those flashing Eiffel Towers when I get topside, if you don't mind.”

“Suit yourself. This is mine.” Himself eyed the diamond in the murky darkness. His crimson eyes glowed brightly. He popped the diamond into his mouth and swallowed.

“That's going to give you nasty heartburn.”

Himself's chuckle didn't touch levity. “One so heartless as I need not worry. But to show I'm not all treacle and brimstone, I do thank you for alerting me to this anomaly, Saint-Pierre. Ask for one thing and I shall grant it to you.”

“Like a wish?” Stryke scratched the back of his head where he was pretty sure demon blood had changed his hair color to black. He eyed the Dark Prince warily. “Are you for real?”

“I invite you to act as my sidekick and you still question me?”

Stryke shrugged.

“I've not the patience for your dally.”

Stryke didn't want anything the devil could give him, olive branch or not. Although...

“Can you give me something to make a werewolf completely human?”

Himself actually rolled his eyes. “The woman again? You don't know her very well.”

“So you've said. That's what I want,” Stryke insisted.

“Very well.” Himself gestured dramatically with a sweep of taloned, black-muscled hand, and a glass vial appeared in his grasp. He stretched his arm out over the vast piles of demon ash and the fine particles streamed upward, filling the down-turned vial. A cork stopper appeared in the vial's neck. Black wax melted about the rim. “Here you go.”

“This is filled with freaking dead demons.” Stryke caught the murky vial. A shake revealed the contents had turned liquid. Of a sudden the contents within the vial glowed red. “What the hell?”

“What is it they say in this abominable realm?” Himself said. “Have a nice day!”

The demon dispersed into ash that then swirled into a black smoke that followed the steel-walled aisle, which led up to the nightclub. And of a sudden Stryke wobbled, arms out to his sides, to catch himself from falling into the Seine.

Kir grabbed him by the front of the shirt and tugged him upright. “That didn't take long. What happened?”

Stryke stood in the aqueduct. No demons. No cages. No devil. Guess his job as sidekick was now officially over.

Edamite peered over Kir's shoulder. “Nice,” the demon said from behind them. “Thanks to you, I'll have a gang of pissed-off demons on my ass. Good going, wolf.”

Stryke spun about, catching Ed by the throat and slamming him against the stone wall. “I just did what you've been trying to do in a half-assed roundabout way with no success. I went straight to the source. And together we creamed those demons' asses, and the Dark Prince ate the freakin' black diamond. So now you've got what you wanted. No one is going to release Xyloda from the stone. And you're going to do as you promised for Blyss. She owes you nothing. You don't ever speak to her again.”

Ed raised his hands up by his face. “The deal was if she brought
Le Diabolique
to me she could have her pills. I don't have the stone.”

“But you've the same results.”

“Do as he says, Ed,” Kir said from over Stryke's shoulder. “Or you'll have to answer not only to Stryke, but as well, me.”

Ed fisted the air. “Fine! The things I do for family.” He nodded toward the vial Stryke held. “What's that?”

“It's for Blyss. She doesn't need your damn pills anymore. So I don't care if you are her half brother. Stay. The hell. Away from her.”

“Did Himself give you that? Is it for Blyss?” Kir asked.

Stryke stuff the vial in his front jeans pocket. “It'll do for her what the pills have done. Only permanently.”

“You really want your girlfriend to keep denying her true nature?” Ed blurted out.

Stryke slammed Ed's head against the wall. “None of your damn business, demon.”

“Actually, it—”

Stryke growled at the man, and he ceased protest. He turned and strode away, not caring if Kir followed. The deed had been done. The Old Lad would not have another powerful demon running amok on his turf. Of course, Stryke had no idea what to expect from the demons when they discovered who had narced on them.

“Bring it,” Stryke muttered. “I want to smash in some demon skull.”

“Then you'll need weapons,” Kir said as he joined Stryke's side.

“I've got a salt pistol.” The thing was still tucked in his waistband. Must have dropped the scythe in the chamber. “You didn't stay behind to talk to your brother?”

“Drop it, Saint-Pierre. You'll never understand how family ties can forge relationships. All may look peachy right now,” Kir said, “but you'd be wise to arm yourself. And stay close to my sister.”

“That I can promise I will do. I'm heading there right now. We've a date.”

“Oh yeah? Somehow I suspect the demon-blood look is not going to go over well with my sister.”

Yeah. He'd better head home and shower first.

Stryke's cell phone rang. “Hello?”

“Can you do a pickup?” Rhys Hawkes asked. “In an hour?”

“As soon as I can get to a vehicle I'll be there. Same place?”

“Yes. See you then.”

“You're not going straight to Blyss's place?” Kir asked as they landed the surface and the bright evening sunlight made them both blink. “I said you need to protect her.”

“I have a quick job to do for Rhys Hawkes. I'll get to her within two hours. You can go check on your sister, you know.”

Kir glanced back down the tunnel they'd come from. Stryke suspected he had unfinished business below.

“When you talk to the demon you be sure he keeps his promise to stay away from Blyss.”

Stryke wandered off in the direction of the Île Saint-Louis. A half hour later he'd showered, decided the salt pistol was a good accessory to carry with him and headed out to meet Tor for another pickup.

* * *

Blyss stood in the shoe closet vacillating over the crystal-laden Louboutins or the black velvet Viviers with the diamonds on the toes.

As a wolf, she'd ruin these precious things. If she shifted all the time, her hair would be a mess. She'd have to shave too often. Her fingernails would be ragged. She'd be a disaster.

Yet if she was a werewolf she could sense Stryke, go for a run in the forest with him. Have werewolf sex with him— What would that be like? Messy. Wild. Weird. Amazing?

She sighed.

“What to do?” She traced a finger along the Louboutins. “I love him. But do I love him enough to change for him?”

* * *

Tor presented yet another curious device to Stryke in a wooden box shaped much like a bread box.

“Is it going to jump out at me or otherwise attract demons?” Stryke asked, keeping his hands to his chest because he wasn't too eager to open the box after the surprises he'd found.

“It's
sidhe
related.”

“Faeries? So what's inside? A bunch of twinkly dust?”

“Actually, it is.” Tor opened the box top and tilted it toward Stryke. Inside, the contents sparkled madly. “It's the remains of a dryad. Can be used in magical spells, alchemical potions, and various rituals and/or occult ceremonies. Lots of power in this purple stuff. Tell Rhys to keep it under lock and key.”

Stryke accepted the box with some apprehension. “All that from a bunch of glitter?” He shook his head and whistled. “The things a guy learns. My brother Kelyn...” He suddenly had a desperate thought. “Is this what will happen to him when he dies? He's faery.”

Tor shrugged. “I'm no expert on the
sidhe
. Probably. Who knows? How'd you manage a faery in your family?”

“My mother is faery.” And then, wanting to see the man's reaction, he said, “Grandpa is a vampire.”

“Is that so?” Tor's brow arched.

“He'd never do a thing to attract attention from the Order of the Stake,” Stryke clarified. “He fights the good fight. Actually keeps his eye on the local packs who believe they've a right to pit vampires against one another in the blood games.”

“Ah. Creed Saint-Pierre. I've heard of him. Good blood.”

“Indeed.” Stryke tucked the box under an arm. “So that's it?”

The keening wail of something like an insect prompted both men to look toward the heavens.

“Ah,
merde
,” Tor muttered. “Demons.”

Chapter 19

S
tryke saw the demon's face as it leaped and soared toward him—missing the lower jaw. It was one of those nasty wraith demons. Now was no time to bemoan the thing's lack of polite introductions.

Delivering an undercut up into the creature's open maw, he sent it flying up and bouncing over the top of the van.

Tor dived into the back of the van. “I got something!” the Brit called.

“Just stay inside!” Stryke yelled as he bent to avoid the next wraith. Its talons cut through his short hair, sending a chill down the back of his skull. “I got this!”

Pistol in hand, he swung back his shoulder and eyed his periphery. Tor was digging around inside the van. One wraith climbed like a spider over the top of the van, the other—

He smelled the sulfur and turned to catch the demon square against his chest. They both landed on the cobblestones. Stryke kicked up his knee, but didn't land any particular body part. He grabbed for hair. There was no hair. Something viscous dripped onto his chin and neck. It was coming from the bottom half of the demon's face, which wasn't there.

“You ugly—”

The demon's screech drowned out his oath. And when it spoke the voice was garbled and bubbly. “You sent Himself after us.”

“You bet.” The Dark Lord had warned he'd let those who wanted the diamond know whom to blame for Himself's discovery of their plot. That was fast. “But if they could only manage to send two of you...”

“We are diversion,” his attacker garbled. A swipe of its talons cut across Stryke's collarbone.

Stryke shifted his hand, calling out his claws, and returned the slash with a hearty swipe that cut through the demon's chest and face, rendering it to a goopy, sputtering corpse. He rolled out from under the mess as it collapsed and looked up in time to see Tor dragging what looked like a chain saw down the center of the other demon. But there was no mechanical noise, save for the demon's screams.

The demon dropped in a messy pile and Tor stepped back, wielding the chain saw proudly.

“What is that thing?” Stryke asked, jumping up and leaping over the piles of demons. He shoved the pistol into the waistband of his jeans. “Looks like a chain saw, but it's silent?”

“Yep, it's modified. Easier to sneak up on the enemy that way. Picked this up from a witch years ago. It's especially helpful when attacked in the city and you don't want to draw human attention.” Tor cast a glance around and landed on the desecrated demon. “Salt rounds?”

Stryke patted his hip where the pistol grip stuck up. “Yep. But it was more satisfying to take the thing out with a talon.”

“I bet. Good thing no one spilled the faery dust. But I've still a sticky mess to clean up. Demon blood. It clings like tar.”

“Aren't there people you can call for that?” Stryke knew there were those who specifically answered the call for cleanup after a paranormal being was rendered dead.

“I'm that people.” Tor set the chain saw in the back of the van and grabbed a white hazmat suit from a hook on the interior wall. “When necessary, I can clean a crime scene in twenty minutes flat. This mess? I'll be finished in ten. A vacuum cleaner will do the job nicely. What do you think they were after?”

The question hit Stryke hard. He knew the answer to that one. Unfortunately.

“The wraith said something about a diversion. Hell. Blyss. They might be after her, as well.” He grabbed the wooden box full of faery dust. “I gotta go.” Turning and racing around the side of the van, he paused and backtracked. He tapped the chain saw. “Mind if I borrow this?”

“Go for it. Uh, and if you need cleanup? Give me a call.”

“Thanks, man!”

Stryke landed in the driver's seat of the car and tossed the wooden box aside along with the chain saw and the pistol. Bringing up the GPS on his phone, he hoped to find his way to Blyss's place before it was too late.

* * *

By the time Stryke landed in the lush garden courtyard before Blyss's apartment, the scent of sulfur filled his nostrils. Chain saw ready—and so strangely quiet—he sneaked up behind the demon who strolled through the hedgerow toward Blyss's front door. He stepped quickly.

The demon turned toward him. Same missing lower jaw. A wraith.

Stryke winked. Then he dragged the chain saw down the demon from head to gut. Black blood spattered him and the wall outside Blyss's door. But remarkably, the demon didn't shriek. If the neighbors had been watching... He glanced about. Curtains before all the windows.

“Paris. Whoda thought the city of love would be teeming with nasties?”

Tugging out his cell phone, he dialed up Tor. He could be there in fifteen minutes.

Stryke knocked and tried the door. It was open, so, leaving the chain saw dripping with black blood outside, he slipped inside the foyer and closed the door as Blyss's arms wrapped about his neck.

He turned to catch her kiss. “You're happy.”

“Because you're finally back. Oh. You smell like...” She tugged him down the hallway and into the kitchen light. “You have black stuff all over you. Demons?”

“Had a bit of a snag with a pickup for Hawkes Associates but it's all good.” And before that? She didn't need to know.

“Is it?” Her green eyes watered and he could read her apprehension in the wobble of her lower lip.

“You bet it's good because I'm here now and you are one gorgeous bit of glamour girl. Did you make dinner reservations?”

“I did. Really? It's...good?”

“Yep.” He hugged her. To tell her the truth would only worry her more.

“I think I have a shirt for you to borrow.”

Stryke followed her into the bedroom and tugged off his demon blood–soaked shirt while Blyss disappeared into the clothes closet. “Do I want to know how you always seem to have spare men's clothing?”

“Probablement pas!”
she called out.

He didn't know what that meant but guessed she'd told him to mind his own beeswax. He wasn't willing to explain about how his day went either, so he'd leave it at that. As far as Stryke was concerned, Blyss no longer had anything to worry about. Her world could return to normal. Or however she defined normal.

And he...well, he'd take each minute as it came and hope for the best.

Heading into the bathroom, he washed his face and squeezed the demon blood out of his hair.

* * *

Blyss sipped the white wine and admired its quality. Normally she would send back anything that wasn't exquisite. This wasn't even close to divine, but it sufficed. She hadn't expected much from this river cruise. Thus, her expectations had been wildly exceeded. She sat across the table from a handsome man who only had eyes for her. He wasn't even watching the landmarks they passed by as their boat cruised down the Seine.

“You're missing all the good stuff,” she said to Stryke, who finished his salad.

“The good stuff is right in front of me. And I'm not talking about the food. You look amazing tonight.”

She wiggled on the chair and touched her hair. She'd pulled it back into a chignon and tucked a diamond clip above her ear. She'd almost gone with the black silk dress but at the last minute had switched to a light pink, airy, summer chiffon dress with matching Louboutins covered in pink crystals.
Keep it simple,
she'd coached. Yet one must always include sparkles when possible.

“You clean up nicely, as well,” she said. “Your jeans didn't get any blood on them?”

“Not that I noticed.” He tugged at the borrowed tie—so she had a few men's shirts and ties in her closet—and Blyss again noticed the bruise on the side of his neck.

She'd wanted to ask him about his afternoon and the very obvious smell of sulfur on him when he'd arrived, but when he'd come out of the bathroom mumbling something about both of them having secrets to keep, she'd let it go.

Of course, she didn't want to keep her secrets anymore. She had to tell him about the missing fake, but right here on the crowded dining boat was not the place.

The waiter stopped by and served them coq au vin with steaming rosemary bread, and slipped away as quickly and silently as he had appeared. The evening was dusky, though the city lights shone along the shore and glittered on the river, vying with the bright beam of moonlight that dashed across the waters.

“Things didn't go well this afternoon with my brother?” she asked.

Stryke tilted back the remainder of wine, then poured another full serving before leaning forward, checking around that the other diners were all busy chatting and oohing and aahing over the sights, then said, “I called out Himself.”

Blyss gasped.

“I know,” he rushed out. “Not the sharpest knife in the bunch, this country hick from Minnesota. But at the time it seemed like the quickest way to get to the end point. We've been trying to find the demons who stole
Le Diabolique
. If the lair was found beneath the nightclub, then I assumed he was involved. So why not go directly to the source? But get this. It was news to him.”

“Stryke.” She placed a hand over his. “I have to tell you about what I found, or didn't find, today while searching the gallery records for info about
Le Diabolique
.”

“I wish you wouldn't have gone out. It's dangerous right now, Blyss. That demon by your— Er. Forget it. I'm still worked up over this afternoon. I don't think you have anything to worry about anymore. We talked to...you know, the big dark prince. He didn't want Xyloda released either. So...we took care of it.”

“Really? Wait. You said ‘we'?”

“Yeah, me and the dark prince are tight.” He chuckled and rubbed his jaw. “Kidding. I am so not friends with you know who. But it's over, Blyss. You don't have to worry anymore.”

“Then that clears up almost everything.”

“Almost?”

She sat back against the chair, no longer hungry. It was amazing that Stryke had found a way to ensure the demon never be released from
Le Diabolique
. That negated her worries about the missing fake. Because it was worthless to whoever had taken it, anyway.

But what was she to do about Edamite Thrash and her very obvious missing supply? The full moon was in two days.

“There's still Ed,” she said softly.

Stryke stood and took a step around to squat beside her chair. He clasped her hand and kissed it. His touch always lured her heartbeats to a slower, more relaxed pace.

“We ran into Thrash today,” he said. “Your brother has— Well, that's for him to talk about with you. Suffice, Ed's problem was solved today. He actually wanted to ensure the demon was never released. Can you believe that?”

She could actually. There was something about Ed that wouldn't allow her to label him
full-blown villain
.

“Thrash is satisfied,” Stryke said. “He's not going to bother you anymore.”

“But he's— Stryke, he is my supplier.”

“Yeah, about that. I've a surprise for you. It'll give you the human life you want.”

“I don't understand.”

“I want to hold off on the surprise. I'll explain it all later.” He stood and bent to tilt her face to look at him. “You're going to be fine.”

And he kissed her softly and lingered there, as if they were the only two on the boat. He was the only sustenance she needed, and she wanted to tell him that to show him how much he meant to her. But he stood and slid around to sit again. He forked in some chicken and smiled widely. The hero had saved the day. A job well-done, indeed. And she had done nothing to deserve such a favor.

“Thank you” was all Blyss could manage to say without crying and smearing her mascara and turning into a perfect mess. “I love you for that.”

He winked at her. “Tomorrow night is the night before the full moon.”

“Is that so?” She sensed his teasing tone and wanted to go with the playful mood instead of sinking into the worry that had been niggling at her calm. “I hear your sort require a lot of sex to satiate the need for...” She looked aside before leaning closer and whispering, “...your wild to come out.”

“True. Very true. Did I mention that Rhys Hawkes has given me the key to his country cabin for the next few nights? I was thinking of heading out there tomorrow night. Call it a vacation away from my vacation. You interested? Uh, I mean, for tomorrow night. I won't ask you to come along with me on the night of the full moon.”

She lifted her goblet and he met hers in a clink. “I'm in for tomorrow night.”

* * *

The dining boat docked below the Eiffel Tower. By the time they'd climbed up the concrete stairs to street level, the tower twinkled madly with hundreds of thousands of white LED lights and the crowd clapped and cheered.

“Wow.” Stryke clasped Blyss's hand and walked toward the massive Iron Lady, head tilted back to take it all in. “This is incredible. I suppose you've seen it so much it doesn't even register on your awe scale.”

She snuggled next to him and kissed his jaw where the stubble tickled her mouth. “I've never seen it with you. That makes this a special moment. Come on. Let's stand underneath it.”

“Cool. Can we go to the top?”

“Sure, if you want to wait in line.”

He stretched his gaze to follow the line that marked around two sides of the tower base. Easily four hundred people waiting, even at ten at night. Probably hours before anyone got to the top.

“Seriously? That's the line?” he asked, his eyes falling to her shoes. “I think I'll pass.” He eyed the underside of the tower. His hand clasping hers, he wandered to the left, then stepped back a few paces. “Right here. We're dead center underneath this monster.”

“I think you're right.” She tilted her head back and looked up into the intricate iron lacing that designed the monument. Exquisite artwork. She was thankful this monument had not been torn down, as was the original plan when it had been built merely as part of a grand exposition in the late 1800s. A breeze brushed the pink chiffon against her legs and tickled through her hair. Never had she felt so light.