Shadow Rising (36 page)

Warrior. Magic weaver. Vampire.

Rakshasa.

Tasmin heard the word from somewhere deep inside himself, whispered in a voice not his own. With that, the fog that covered his mind began to clear, and images from his past began to emerge from shadow. So many faces he had known, their voices rising and falling in the music of their native tongues.

Now… silence.

He sat up slowly, instinctively testing his movement, his muscles, and looked around. Though the darkness was absolute, he could see that he was in a small cave, only barely high enough for a man to stand upright in. There was nothing inside. Nothing but him.

He was alone.

And yet he felt something, some energy that lingered in the space like a dark and malignant visitor. Perhaps someone had been here to check on him. Perhaps it was the lingering feel of whoever had put him here. Again, Tasmin wondered what had happened that he should have been torn from his brothers and placed in a hand-hewn cave alone. Had he died?

We have slept
, whispered that odd voice inside his head.
Long enough to have the world change many times over. But we breathe again, and all the rest have gone.

He gave his head a hard, decisive shake to silence the odd voice. These thoughts, bubbling up from the depths of his mind, did not feel like his own. Echoes, he hoped, only echoes of whatever had been done to him here. He would find his brothers, and all would be well. How long had he slept? Months? A year?

It took him a moment to get his balance, with his feet now unused to supporting him. But when he did, his movement was as fluid and natural as it ever had been. There was only one direction to go in. This cave seemed shallow, only really large enough to hold himself. A hiding place.

Or a grave.

Unnerved by the thought, Tasmin moved away from the back wall, the fabric of his simple
dhoti
brushing against his legs. The stone was rough but not uncomfortable beneath his feet, beneath his hand as he trailed it along the wall. His senses were keen with newly awakened hunger. He felt wonderfully, deliciously alive as his heart resumed its slow and steady rhythm in his chest.

Tonight, he would celebrate. He and his brothers would hunt and feast. He would drink until he was gorged with life-giving blood. And after, they would hunt down those who had done this to him. An image flickered through his mind, of a brutal queen whose hatred of his kind was surpassed only by her love for herself. It was almost certain that the Ptolemy had bound him in that dark sleep, perhaps aided by some of the darkest of his bloodline, those who hid in shadow alone. He would avenge himself… soon.

But not yet.

The mouth of the cave was small, the ceiling grown so low at that point that Tasmin had to go to his knees to push
at the thick vegetation covering the entrance. Light, soft and faded as it always was at the end of day, began to filter through as the layers of vine parted. He heard the song of a bird, the whisper of the forest that had been his home for many years. Familiar sounds of the Gir, comforting.

When the first rays of dim light touched his skin, Tasmin drew his hand back with a startled hiss. Bright pain sent a shock up his arm, and he clutched his hand to his chest, confused.

Arre!

He had built up his tolerance well over the century he had lived, able to withstand even the brightest rays of the sun for extended periods of time if he wished. It was a gift of his line, one of many. He hadn’t been burned since he was a fledgling, young and untried. Even if he had slept for a year, it should not feel like this.

A laugh, like a soft rustle of cloth in the darkest depths of his soul.

Suspicion, rife with horror, bloomed slowly as he held his hand before him in the darkness, saw skin so ashen it was as though he had been drained of blood and covered in dust. A corpse. Smoke coiled lazily from the place where the light had touched.

And he knew. To sleep so long, to become this dead and wraithlike thing…

It had not been a year.

It had been centuries.

Tasmin began to shake with rage and fear and hunger, lost in this strange place, lost in whatever it was he had become. He opened his mouth, pulling back his parched lips to reveal long and gleaming fangs.

And in the voice of a lion, he roared.

chapter
TWO

Six months later

Tipton, Massachusetts

D
ON’T LOOK AT ME THAT WAY,
Grimm. We’re getting there.”

The big black Newfoundland gave her another lingering, mournful look before heaving a long-suffering sigh and facing forward again. Bay Harper smirked as she continued trimming his forelegs. Grimm might be put out now, but once they were back home, the big baby would be looking for cookies and affection in short order.

Thankfully, he was not a grudge holder. She had a few clients that were… but she didn’t have to live with them.

Bay worked, humming along with the music she played in the shop, glad she’d cleared her schedule for the afternoon so she could take it easy and work on her own dog. She hadn’t realized quite how much she’d needed a
break, however small. To say her life was full these days didn’t even begin to cover it.

She guessed that was what happened when your best friend turned into a super-powerful vampire and needed you for moral support. Not that she had anyone with similar experiences to compare with.

“Crap,” Bay murmured as her last conversation with Lily flitted through her mind. “I need to vacuum again. Lily’s coming over for a movie night tomorrow.”

Grimm gave a slight wag of his bushy tail at the mention of Lily’s name, despite the indignities he was currently suffering, and Bay smiled. The Newf might not be sure about everyone—and everything—currently residing at the Bonner mansion, but the owner was one of his favorite people.

That made two of them.

Lily MacGillivray, once Lily Quinn, had changed in some ways since discovering she was the sole heiress of an ancient vampire bloodline. The fangs, for starters. The permanent inability to sunbathe too. But the crazy supernatural stuff notwithstanding, Lily was still Lily. Kind, loyal, funny, and with a spine of steel. And she still loved a good action-adventure flick featuring superheroes in spandex.

Bay brushed absently at a big glob of black fur that attached itself to the front of her Scooby-Doo scrubs and blew a curly lock of blond hair that had escaped her ponytail out of her face. She worked quickly, focused as she drew sections of fur through her fingers and snipped with the shears. Grimm was, for the moment, incredibly soft, smelling faintly of the sugar-cookie-scented conditioner she’d used.

“Good boy,” she praised quietly. For a dog that had
been largely neglected for his first year before he’d come into rescue, Grimm had given her his trust quickly and completely. She figured spoiling the crap out of him probably had something to do with it. He made Bay wonder why she’d waited so long to get a dog of her own. He was a hell of a lot more rewarding than any of her boyfriends had been.

In the front of the shop, the bell above the front door jingled merrily as someone wandered in. Bay barely registered the sound, knowing it was either someone stopping by to make an appointment or to pick up something from the small selection of grooming supplies she carried. Shelby, the college student she had working the front desk part-time, could handle it.

Grimm turned his head again, but this time his deep-set eyes were focused on the doorway. An odd sound blended with the music, making Bay pause and tilt her head. It took her a minute to figure out what it was… and when she did, it surprised her.

She’d never heard Grimm growl before, not once in the six months she’d had him.

But he was sure doing it now.

“It’s okay, big guy,” she said, stroking a soothing hand down his side. His eyes never left the empty doorway. It was as though she wasn’t even there.

There was a crash, a high-pitched yelp from the front. Bay’s heart leaped into her throat as she clenched her fist around the grooming shears, a million terrible images flickering through her mind at once.

It’s the middle of the damned day nobody robs a store in the middle of the day it has to be a psycho oh God what if he has a gun oh God oh God oh God…

Grimm threw back his head and bayed, then launched himself off the table.

“Grimm, no!” she shouted, but he’d hit the ground running, vanishing quickly out the door. Bay chased after him, terrified that if someone had come in armed, they would absolutely shoot a dog that looked like a bear. If she just got robbed, Bay didn’t care… she would rather lose the money than lose the dog.

Bay sprinted out the doorway and around the corner, then skidded to a halt in the small waiting area. Grimm had stopped barking but moved quickly to place himself between her and the man on the floor, using his big, warm body as a barricade.

“Bay,” Shelby breathed as she hurried around the counter to join her, the pink streaks in her dark hair matching the shade staining her cheeks. “He just stumbled in here and passed out! Do you think he’s a druggie or something?”

Bay was silent for a moment, staring at the figure of a man lying spread-eagle in a wild scatter of shampoo bottles in the middle of the room. He’d taken out her new display in his fall. Even the quickest glance told her he was likely way too young for a heart attack, but then again, weirder things had happened.

The thought of him dying on her floor while she gawked lit a fire under her.

“Maybe we should call nine-one-one,” Bay said. She pushed around Grimm with effort, rushing to the man’s side and crouching down. He was on his stomach, and only his profile was visible. She knew instantly she’d never seen him before.

Grimm joined her, pressing against her shoulder as he
leaned down to give the man a wary sniff. His tail, always an indicator of his mood, was a stiff flag behind him. The dog gave a low, unhappy moan.

Bay leaned closer, inhaling. No booze—all she caught was an intriguing hint of spice that was very… male. Good cologne, she guessed, then pushed the thought away. Seeing his chest rise and fall slowly, the unmistakable rhythm of breathing, sent relief coursing through her along with a whole lot of adrenaline. He wasn’t dead. A junkie, maybe, though he didn’t have that look about him.

Or maybe he’s just sick.

Her eyes flickered over his face again, just quickly enough for her to register that he was far from sickly looking. Actually, he was gorgeous.

“Sir?” she asked loudly, shaking him by the shoulder. “Sir, can you hear me?”

A soft groan indicated he was coming to… she hoped.

“Sir, if you can hear me, I’m calling an ambulance right now. We’ll get you some help.”

She gestured to Shelby, who headed for the phone on the counter. Bay had only begun to turn her head back toward the man when he shot to his feet in a scatter of shampoo bottles, moving so quickly she barely knew what was happening. There was a whisper of air against her cheek, and then he was on his feet, backing away from where she crouched. His hand was at his temple, and he winced as though his head hurt.

Bay rose quickly to her feet, a protective hand on her dog as he once again put himself between her and the stranger with a volley of deep, threatening barks.

The man’s eyes moved quickly from the dog to the mess, and then to the two women staring at him wide-eyed.
He spat a word in a language Bay didn’t understand, then held out one hand as the other fell away from his temple.

“Please… a moment. I’m not going to hurt you.”

His voice was silken, a warm tenor no less commanding for its softness. His accent was a blend, faintly British but with an exotic lilt.

“You need to leave,” Shelby said, her voice shaking.

“Shelby,” Bay said softly, a gentle reproach. Whatever was wrong here, freaking out on their part was not going to help it. When she looked at her friend, however, she could see something was very wrong. Shelby had gone sheet white, her dark eyes huge as she stared at the man’s face.

“
Shelby
,” she said more sharply, hoping to draw her attention away. The look on her friend’s face wasn’t one she’d ever seen before… or ever wanted to see again.

“His…
eyes
…,” Shelby whispered.

Bay looked sharply at him, and when his eyes locked with hers, she finally understood.

The guy who’d just wrecked her shampoo display wasn’t human. Not even close.

His eyes were a bright, burning gold, more akin to molten metal than the more muted shades she’d seen among the werewolves who stayed among Lily’s dynasty. They were intense, mesmerizing. He stared at her for an instant that felt much longer than it truly was, and in her head, she heard his voice as clearly as if he’d been speaking in her ear. It was far too intimate, and still it made her shiver.

Be still. I would speak with you.

His gaze returned to Shelby, who was fumbling now with the phone. Bay heard Shelby’s terrified, sobbing
breaths even out instantly, heard the phone being clicked off, and then the gentle creak of the stool behind the counter as the girl settled herself on it. She said nothing.

“So you’re a vampire,” Bay said quietly, adrenaline still pumping hard and fast through her veins. Only Grimm’s reassuring presence kept her from running out the door, the urge to flee an instinct that her rational mind knew would make no difference. If he wanted to catch her, he would. She should have known what he was as soon as he’d gotten up—no human could move so fast.

“I don’t know how you’re out in the middle of the afternoon, but whatever you came in here for, I can’t help you.”

Bay was glad her voice sounded so steady, considering her legs felt like Jell-O.

The man said nothing, his expression guarded. And despite herself, despite knowing she was in the presence of a creature who had just thralled her employee into a happy stupor, a creature who was out during the day when there was no earthly way he should be, Bay felt the vampire’s physical appeal slam into her like a fist.