Poking the Vamp (Knight Protectors #3) (12 page)

Next time Carac could do his own dirty work.
But I didn’t do this for Carac. Or at least, not
only
for Carac.

“Galla,” she glanced at her grandmother. “Did you kill the witch?”

“She was merely,” she waved her hand toward the downed woman, “a mortal.”

Like I used to be
.

“So you’re killing people, helping destroy the world just so you get your favorite play toy back? Really?”

“You are not a toy!” Galla’s voice boomed through the small space.

As they spoke, Jemshir paused, staying near but not yet attempting to take her. Why?

“You are my grand—”

Jemshir moved in a cloud of smoke, a shot of darkness across the stone flooring from one side of the room to the other with hardly a blink. His wispy hand slipped into Galla’s chest, a thick line of evil piercing her in a single strike. Her grandmother gasped, gaze traveling to the arm embedded in her chest.

“You talk too much,” Jemshir grumbled and then tugged, pulling Galla’s blackened heart from her chest. “And now you shall not.”

Her grandmother’s eyes focused on her, those orbs wide and filled with fear. “Dearling…”

Kate had never seen a vamp turned to ash, the way that skin transitioned from pale as milk to a light gray. The way the change slunk up their legs, skimming over their flesh in a soothing ripple. Or how it enveloped a body within seconds of a vamp’s second death.

One soft puff of air from Jemshir had her grandmother’s body crumpling to the ground in a pile of ash, Galla’s heart the last to succumb to the ravages of her demise.

He brushed off his hands on his pants, wiping his palms clean of her grandmother’s essence. “Now that we’ve rid ourselves of the unpleasantness, let us move along to more pleasurable things.”

Let’s not
.

When he reached for her, those evil tainted fingers extending as the darkness within him stretched for her, she realized she might not have a choice.

An ache consumed Joce’s heart, freezing the organ, stealing his breath. He clutched his chest and staggered, stumbling into the wall.

“Joce?”

“Dude!”

“What the—”

Voices surrounded him but he could only focus on breathing, on drawing air into his starved lungs and then releasing it before seeking more. Emotions filled him—his own yet not his own—and his mind spun as he crawled through them all. His vision dimmed, wavering and throwing his fellow protectors into the shadows as the sensation of dying overcame him.

“Joce.” Carac cut through the growing dark, his voice firm and unyielding. “
Joce
.”

The demand was there, but he wasn’t sure he could respond. Not when panic rushed into his veins, adrenaline forcing him to tremble with the restrained need to… flee? No, the need to fight. Fight and kill.

His fangs dropped, mouth watering with the craving for blood, the need for… vengeance?

“What’s going—” A hiss from Carac cut off the question.

His sovereign’s hands clutched his face and forced Joce to meet the elder’s gaze. “What do you see?”

“See?” He saw darkness. Dirt and grime. A dead body? The witch?

And midnight eyes, blackened teeth.

Carac shook him. “What do you see?”

It struck him then. The panic wasn’t his own. The fear, the need to run, the desperate need for blood. Not for sustenance, but for vengeance. “Kate’s in trouble. The witch is dead. Jemshir is free.” His fire’s gaze settled on a pile of gray powder. “Another vampire was in there. It’s ash.”

“Fuck.” Carac’s snarled curse surprised them all. The sovereign was their staid leader, the epitome of class and control.

Pain slammed into him, not emotional, but physical. Then there was blood. Blood flowing from his body as a split slowly appeared on his forearm. Then another. And another.

Four in total.

Their appearance told him the only thing he needed to know. “I need to go to her. He has her.”

Unacceptable
.

Carac simply nodded, voicing no objection, and moved to the wood panel. He fisted his hand and then relaxed, fingers moving in a rhythmic wave before reaching for the door.

“Wait!” Everyone froze at Tory’s voice cutting through the air. “Don’t touch it.”

Another cut appeared, more pain blossoming across his chest.

The red-haired woman shoved her way through the protectors that lined the hall. She paused long enough to dig in Simond’s front pockets. She was fast, he had to admit that, and withdrew a pack of cigarettes and lighter before the male knew her intent.

“Victoria,” Liam growled, but she seemed to ignore her mate. She ran forward, fingers digging into the pack and tugging cigarettes free.

Five of them.

She stuck them all between her lips and flicked the lighter to life, drawing on them until smoke rose and the tips glowed red. “Four of you, let’s go.”

Joce didn’t question the woman, not when he knew how much knowledge filled her mind. Tory was a lot of things—annoying, brash, obstinate—but ignorant wasn’t in her repertoire.

Unfortunately, Carac was not the same. “What are you doing?”

“The witch,” Victoria handed Joce a cigarette, her red eyes meeting his. “Keep it alive.” Then she returned to her conversation with the sovereign. “She was worried that something would happen and you’d need to get access to her quickly. Well, if you can’t get someone with magic here to unravel the spell on short notice, you can get someone smart easy enough. I’m the smarts.” She handed another to Trewe and then Tybalt, the brothers always working together, before placing the fourth in Carac’s hand. The fifth remained hers. “Pretend we’re flying a fighter jet, right? Well, this little bit of mojo is the eject button.” Her gaze slipped over each of them. “Four corners on the count of three.”

Then the young female took a puff of her own glowing stick, forcing the tip to burn hotter. Taking her cue, the four of them did the same. She placed her burning tip an inch away from the center of the door and he finally understood.

“You’re drawing on the four corners.” The power of a witch.

“And busting them wide open.” She nodded. “One,” his fingers trembled. “Two,” another bolt of pain struck him. “Three.”

He pressed his cigarette to the upper right corner, his other hand tingling with the need to shove the door wide. A flare of bright light illuminated the hallway, sliding over them and scraping Joce’s skin as the spell popped into nonexistence. He grasped the door’s handle and pushed. The others jumped back, scrambling out of the way as he dove through the portal.

The burning of his wounds consumed him, but it was nothing compared to the rage that churned in his heart. That anger—fury—flooded him with adrenaline and drove that bloodthirsty beast inside him insane with the need to commit violence.

Against the male who’d injured his fire. Against the male who cornered her even now. Against Jemshir.

The daeva’s back faced him, the male too focused on harming Kate, and Joce took the opportunity to survey his surroundings. It was obvious they were no longer in the manse, the uneven flooring, moss laden walls, and scent of rot pervading the space.

A glance over his shoulder revealed a shimmering surface of magic, an invisible film that sent him from the protector compound to… wherever he ended up. And Carac kept the other protectors at bay. He could not blame the male for saving the warriors. It was stupid to risk them all for one.

Joce would gladly risk himself for his
fire
.

He allowed his fangs to descend, fingers forming deadly claws as he approached. Katherine saw him first, her tear-laden eyes flicking to him a spare moment before Jemshir struck her once more, a new gouge now marred Joce’s collar bone. Pain consumed her eyes, the orbs disappearing as they rolled backward. He felt her agony, the sensations adding to his own and nausea struck his stomach.

The male would die.

He ceased his perusal of the room and grabbed the chair, hands clutching the sides in a firm grip as he lifted the seat high. Then he swung with all his might, heaving the solid, spelled piece of metal, and he struck Jemshir’s back. The daeva slid across the room, a snarl on his lips as he slipped over the slick, uneven ground. Jemshir didn’t allow the hit to slow him, the male immediately pushing away from the wall, jumping to his feet.

Then the fight began in earnest. Joce tossed away his impromptu weapon and flexed his hands, claws at the ready.

Jemshir rushed him, but Joce was ready. He caught the male’s weight and used the momentum to his own ends, flipping the male over his shoulder with ease. He moved with the shift of weight, following up and over Jemshir until he landed astride the daeva. He didn’t not imagine he’d hold the upper hand for long, but he took advantage of the position. One, two, three punches with a deep gouge into the daeva’s side. Then he was shoved aside, rolled until he lay under the male. Another shift of muscle, another heave that threw his opponent away.

They both climbed to their feet, Joce sporting no new injuries while Jemshir bled freely.

They repeated the moves, the attack, tussle and retreat, their strengths evenly matched. He flashed his fangs, threatening the male with a bite, the thing inside him craving the daeva’s blood.

Poison.
The thought tingled through his head, but it wasn’t his own.
Poi… son…
The words were breathy and weak. Labored. Fading.

Kate’s.

He spared a glance for his fire, quick enough to see her skin grayed and her eyes unfocused. A drip of black liquid stained her chin.

She’d tried protecting herself and that may have hastened her demise.

Rage. No, rage no longer applied. Fury, but more. Hatred and an all-consuming drive for death.

Joce snarled and attacked. He’d been intent on eliminating Jemshir before, but now…

The vampire inside him rose until he was the beast, the pure animal taking control and using his human body like a puppet. He was faster, stronger, and more powerful than any he knew.

Punch. Kick. Claw. Kick. Grip and toss.

The battle continued, the vampire never tiring, never slowing in its need for retribution.

Throw. Kick. Punch. Claw
.

It went on, the battle traveling the space of the small room, walls cracking and crumbling beneath their strength. The space would crumble soon, burying them all beneath ageless stone.

But not before a sylph appeared, fog-like elemental sliding through the rough cracks and slipping across the ground toward… Kate. His
fire
lay unconscious, eyes closed and head lolled to the side, temple resting against the trembling stone.

Then… the fog flared to life.

Not a sylph, a salamander. Not fog, but smoke. Smoke that burned gold, then red, then blue.

Elementals had joined the One.

Hottest of the hot, it sparked in the air and reached for—

“No!” Joce spun in place, lifting his leg as he moved, slamming his heel against Jemshir’s jaw. The male spun in place, momentum twirling him, giving Joce a chance to rush toward the burning creature.

But he was too late. Too late to stop the elemental from brushing his hand across Katherine’s injured chest, too late to halt the burn that overtook her skin and caused her flesh to boil and bubble. Too late…

Katherine dragged air into her lungs with a fierce gasp, body suddenly filling with oxygen and agony chased its heels. She was alive. She shouldn’t be. He’d cut and gouged her flesh, drawing blood forward, and it’d done… nothing. Her blood should have been like acid and yet it hadn’t hurt him.

Because it’s hard to burn smoke
. Right. Jemshir had struck out at her with that twisting, turning, midnight smoke, not a physical part of him.

So she’d fought back with her fangs and that’d been what nearly did her in. She got a hunk of Jemshir’s flesh in her mouth and her vampire genetics immediately rebelled against the taste. She’d spat out the piece of muscle and skin, but it’d been too late. Jemshir’s poison had already dug its claws into her blood and it snatched her life away in small increments.

She stayed conscious long enough to see Joce come to her rescue, to watch him battle Jemshir, and she’d attempted to warn him about…

Then came a wave of fog—smoke?—drifting over the ground and toward her. What had come to kill her? Didn’t the puppet masters know she was already dead?

The ball of fire started as a tiny spark, a small flickering flare that slowly grew to encompass the entire ethereal mass. The initial burn stroked the deep gouge on her chest, sealing it with the scorch of heat.

Then she
was
the fire. She became fire and light, a beacon in the darkness as whatever touched her consumed her. It sank past her skin, boiled her blood, and consumed her flesh. She felt herself falling to pieces, only to be put together again. She lost her limbs and yet they returned. Whatever attacked her reassembled her as well. Killing her yet saving her. The poison in her blood no longer hurt, no longer pumped through her body in time with her heart.

This fire took its place. It pulsed and… purified. It wasn’t trying to kill her—despite the pain telling her otherwise—it was healing her.

Burning away the infection the only way it knew how.

It. It, he, she, spoke as it worked to save her. Thoughts invading her mind.
Once darkness, now light. The raging fire will puri—

The whisper ended with a sudden jolt as cold hands wrapped around her biceps. They reached past the destructive fire and hauled her free of the tumbling mass. She recognized the scent of burning flesh, the char that came from skin fried by fire. She noted the flavors that lived beneath the aroma as well. Her body burned without pain, but she knew Joce experienced agony by touching her.

The moment she was free of the wafting mass of smoke and heat, she wrenched herself from Joce’s grasp. She gasped with the sudden freedom—freedom from his touch and the heat of the… salamander. An elemental. She knew it, but didn’t know how.

No. She got more than a recitation of the prophecy, she got present truths. The One wasn’t just coming, it had arrived.