Night Falls on the Wicked (11 page)

They were garbed in dark winter attire and walked with an animal stealth, their steps deceptively slow, silent as wind—but she knew they could spring like a lion in the grass. She knew because she knew what they were. She’d seen them in her head only minutes ago.

Even in the gloom of the alley, with distance between them, the eerie pewter of their eyes drilled into her, marked them instantly as the monsters she knew them to be.

There’d been four in her vision. She whipped around, seeing only these two as of yet. But she knew the others were coming. Her skin prickled. They’d be here soon.

“We have to go now,” she growled in a feverish rush of words, hoping, believing there was still a chance as long as the other two lycans hadn’t arrived.

Beyond all coaxing, she snatched Pam by the arm and forced her to move. Pam glanced at the menacing pair. Weirdly enough it seemed that
recognition flickered in her eyes. Even though she couldn’t suspect what they truly were, she evidently recognized a predator when she saw one.

With a fearful nod, Pam tucked her daughter to her side and turned with Darby to flee in the other direction.

They moved only one step before two more figures appeared at that far end of the alley, boxing them in. They were trapped. There was no moving ahead and no going back.

Darby’s pulse hammered fast and hard against her neck. Her fingers dug hard into Pam’s arm. She relaxed her grip when she heard her whimper.

“Who are they?” Pam demanded in a low voice. “What do they want?”

Darby glanced around, looking for a weapon, anything to use to defend them. A two-by-four with some nails jutting out one end was piled against the side of the building with other debris. She seized hold of it. It wouldn’t kill any of them—she knew enough about lycans to know that—but it was something.

She flexed her hand around the rough, splintery wood. Maybe it would be enough to injure one of the bastards … or at least make them work hard for their dinner. Time was of the essence. Lycans had remained undiscovered by
most of the world for this long because of their discretion and because they were good at what they did—kill.

She knew they wouldn’t want to mess around with them too long. Soon the moon would ride high, and they wouldn’t want to linger in the relative open once they transitioned and risk exposure.

She slapped the wood against her hand, trying to look tougher than she felt.

One of the lycans cocked his head and studied her curiously with his coldly handsome face. She was certain he turned heads and lured many to their deaths with those deep-set, mesmerizing eyes, freakishly silver or not. He pushed his hood back from his head to reveal a head full of dark blond dreadlocks. “Aren’t you the feisty one?”

Darby positioned herself sideways, looking back and forth between each pair. “We’re not going to make it easy. You better go find a meal somewhere else.”

The woman close to her head made a strangling sound, clearly frightened by Darby’s words.

“Meal?” Dreadlocks asked with genuine surprise. “What an interesting choice of words. Why would you say that? We’re just lost. Thought you could help set us on the right path.”

One lycan dove for her in a blur. Darby swung,
ready. He howled in agony as she met him upside the head with the nailed end.

He staggered back, clutching his bleeding face and screeching.

One of his brethren chided, “Oh, shut up, Marcus. You’ll heal.”

“That bitch!” he shrieked, pulling back a hand to stare at his blood there. “She stuck a nail in my face!”

Dreads continued to stare at Darby as if he didn’t know what to make of her.

“Better move on and hunt somewhere else. I’m just gonna drag this out for you,” she warned with more bravado than she felt. Adrenaline burned through her veins, keeping her alert, ready. “It’s almost dark,” she reminded, jerking the two-by-four in her hands skyward. “You don’t want to dawdle here, do you?”

Dreads shook his head and announced in a marveling voice, “You know who we are.”

“Yeah. I know.” She nodded. “So get the hell out of here.”

“Oh, no, I can’t do that. You’re much too interesting. Cyprian will want to speak to you.”

Before she could blink he was on her. He was fast. Faster than the other one. Too fast for her. He wrenched the two-by-four from her fingers and slammed her to the ground. Pain exploded in
the back of her head. Spots danced before her eyes and for one moment she thought she was going to black out.

The other three grabbed Aimee and Pam, slapping hands over their mouths to silence their screams.

Dreads pushed his face close, his lips grazing her cheek as he spoke. “Your scent … you don’t smell human. What are you?”

She grunted, struggling to break free.

“Hurry, Devon. We don’t have much time.”

Devon. Almost like
demon
. Fitting. These creatures weren’t that much different from the demons that wanted to claim her soul.

“Not talking? Pity. You will.” A warm chuckle puffed from his lips. “You will.” He hauled her to her feet in one smooth move.

She spit in his face, strangely not frightened. Not for herself anyway. She was tired of being afraid, she realized. Tired of running.

He smiled, wiping his face. “That’s not nice. Why don’t you like me?” His gaze flicked over her. “I like you. We’re going to be friends, you and I.” Her face must have revealed some of her revulsion. He chuckled. “Come.” He flicked another glance upward. “You’re right. It’s almost moonrise.”

T
hey were transported quickly, thrown into the back of a van without any windows—a lightless box. A relentless cold crept into her body from the hard metal floor, seeping through her heavy garments and into her very bones.

In the dark, Darby’s senses heightened. Her companions were close. Soft weeping floated in the tight space, and guilt stabbed at her. Maybe she shouldn’t have followed them. Maybe they wouldn’t have been taken if she hadn’t scared them into that alley. But then she shook her head. No. They were easy targets. These monsters would have spotted them and spooked them into some place where they could abduct them.

She hadn’t made this worse. She had to believe that. She couldn’t consider otherwise, couldn’t let the guilt eat at her. It would keep her from thinking a way out of this. For all of them.

The weeping belonged to Pam. Apparently she
couldn’t keep it together, even to keep her daughter calm.

Aimee’s small voice pleaded, “Momma, Momma. What’s wrong? Where are we going?”

Darby closed her eyes against her voice.

“Momma, I’m scared. Tell me, Momma. What’s happening?”

Pam only cried harder. Darby crept across the floor, stretching out a hand until she touched someone’s arm. She flexed her fingers, confirming that it was Pam. “C’mon, keep it together. We’ll be okay as long as we stay calm.” She didn’t know whether that was true or not, but she knew falling apart wouldn’t get them anywhere either.

The van slowed, bumping along an uneven surface. She tensed, waiting, turning her stare toward the double doors, waiting for them to open. For a brief second, she considered telling Pam and Aimee the true nature of what they were up against, but she didn’t want to deal with hysterics.

The doors opened and they were hauled out with rough hands. Marcus walked ahead of the other three with loose, confident steps. She scanned their new surroundings. There was a house, large and sprawling. Snow-shrouded trees crowded the log and rock structure. It was the kind of place a tourist would want to rent. A lovely snowbound getaway. Smoke curled from its chimney invitingly
like something on a postcard. She thought of the recent victims and wondered if this was where they had met their end.

They were no longer in town. From the thick press of forest around them that much was clear. But they hadn’t been in the van that long. They couldn’t be too far from town. She stared up into the sky. It was nearly dark.

Snow had started to fall again in fat flakes. She lowered her face away from the cold kiss, blinking as the flaky white collected on her lashes.

As they were led up the porch steps and inside the house, Darby stayed close to Pam and Aimee. The heat hit her, warming from the outside in.

“Ah, you’ve returned at last.” A slender man who barely looked twenty unfolded himself from a sofa positioned before the great fire. He wore a thick black sweater and jeans. Clean-shaven, hair close-cropped, he looked collegiate. Not like a bloodthirsty beast of untold years.

Age was deceptive when it came to lycans. She knew this. Knew that if this was their alpha, he had to be older than the others. The most dangerous of them all.

His pewter gaze roved over each of them, lingering, assessing, before settling on her. “Ah, you’ve brought us something special it seems,” he said in cultured tones, overenunciating his words.

He approached, appraising her carefully. That silver-eyed gaze made her want to squirm but she held her ground. “This is far finer than the usual fare you bring back. Good work, gentlemen.” The alpha brushed a lock of hair back off her shoulder and she flinched.

“Yes. We got lucky, Cyprian. I find her interesting as well. This one might be worth keeping.”

“The bitch did this to my face.” The lycan—Marcus—she struck with the two-by-four motioned to his almost-healed wounds, clearly disagreeable to the suggestion of keeping her alive. “I don’t want to keep her around.”

Cyprian sighed and rolled his eyes. “Stop being such a child, Marcus. You’re fine. And we’re not exactly in a position to be choosy.” He waved a hand around them. “Our numbers are dwindling here.”

Cyprian’s eyes narrowed as he studied her. “It has been some time since we’ve had a female in our pack.”

“Yeah. They keep getting wiped out by—”

Cyprian moved then. His arm shot out in a blur she could hardly process. All she knew was that Marcus was standing one moment and across the room the next. If Darby had any doubt that Cyprian was the alpha, it was gone. “Silence! Don’t speak his name. I told you, I don’t want to hear.”

Aimee started to cry in earnest. No more soft weeping. Even with her faced buried against her mother’s leg, the wails came across loud and clear.

Darby patted the girl’s back. Her mother seemed incapable, staring vacantly into space. It was like she was locked somewhere inside herself, unable to come out.

Cyprian turned a gracious smile on Darby. “Pardon me, you shouldn’t have to see our squabbling. It’s really quite rude of us. We obviously need a woman’s touch to help tame our wild ways.” He turned his attention on Aimee. “Don’t cry, little one. This shall all be over soon.” He patted the girl’s head.

Pam didn’t seem inclined to do anything except stare numbly into space. Darby pressed closer, hugging the child to her side.

“You. You’re different.” Cyprian wagged his finger at her, smiling as if she were a mischievous child who’d played a prank. “What is it about you, hm?”

Darby swallowed, knowing exactly what he meant, what he
sensed
about her, but not about to point out to him that he had a witch in his grasp. Especially since she didn’t mean to be in his grasp for long.

Suddenly, his smile slipped. An intent look came over his face as he stepped nearer. He reached for her throat with thin, long fingers. She leaned back and swatted at his hand, but he ignored her,
seizing her necklace. Somehow it had slipped out from beneath her sweater and lay exposed.

“Interesting,” he mused, inspecting each of the three charms. “What do we have here? Milk and let me guess—holy water? And this third must be … salt.” His pewter gaze drifted back to her face. Lycans weren’t the only thing out there with certain aversions. Silver might repel them, but demons had their Achilles’ heel, too. And from the look in his face she guessed he knew this. “What ordinary female wears charms like these?”

Darby held her breath, saying nothing.

“So what? What does that mean?” Marcus grumbled, motioning to her necklace.

“That she’s not your typical human.” Cyprian angled his head, his look growing thoughtful. “Can I even say human? Is a witch even human?”

She flinched, even though she already knew he’d figured her out. “Yes, I’m human.”

He continued to look her over as if she were a grand prize dropped in his lap. “A white witch, too. Tell me, dear, what is your power?” He waggled his fingers in an imitation of someone casting a spell. “What’s your magic?”

She shook her head. The last thing she wanted to do was admit her ability to see into the future.

“Ah, come now. I’m sure it’s something quite useful. Especially if you’ve chosen to live here in
this frozen scrap of earth. You’re avoiding demons, are you not? Why else would you be here?”

She shook her head, marveling at his insights. “Who are you?”

“Ah, surprised at my knowledge?” He chuckled and moved several steps down into a sunken living area. “Well, I’ve been around for a good many years. I’ve run into your kind before. That lycans are here at all can be credited to witches. I should be thanking you.”

“Don’t,” she bit out, glaring at him as he poured himself a healthy dose of brandy. “I’m not the witch responsible for creating you.”

“Care for a drink?” he asked, all politeness, as if he were a host entertaining guests and not a predator hungry for human flesh.

“No, thanks.”

He took a sip and narrowed his gaze on her again. “Now. Do yourself a favor and tell me what your particular talent happens to be, my lovely.”

She pressed her lips into a hard line, her hand tightening where she clutched Aimee.

“Not talking then? Shame.” He snapped his fingers at the lycan called Marcus. “Take her to the master suite and lock her in.”

Marcus didn’t disguise his displeasure. “We’re not having her?”

“She’s too valuable,” Cyprian replied. “Sooner
or later, we’ll learn of her gift … and how we might use it to benefit us.”

Devon nodded, the motion not even bouncing one of his blond dreadlocks. “Good idea.” His handsome faced smiled at her. “And I rather like her. Wouldn’t mind keeping her around. She’s got spirit. That’s what we need.”