*Fiona’s knees shook when ten vampires joined their grand elder. With their black leather jackets, dyed black hair, and heavy eyeliner, they looked more like a Goth gang than vampires. Not at all similar to old Xavier who was more akin to Dracula.
Only one vampire was a female. From past experience Fiona knew they could be the cruelest. She might even be the one who’d step in the water to see if it was actually blessed.
Fiona concentrated on using her powers, trying not to dwell on what could happen in the next few minutes. She envisioned the alarm system inside the door, lifted her hand imagining herself setting the alarm. In her mind’s eye, she saw the green light blinking just inside the glass door.
She moved her arms to see if the sensors would pick up her presence. Vampires were invisible in mirrors therefore mightn’t set off the alarm.
Distracted, she hadn’t noticed the woman vamp with her knee-high boots step in the water and start toward her. Fiona bent down, cupped some water and tossed it at her. The droplets sizzled as they hit the vamp’s skin and she hissed and bared her fangs.
“You bitch!” said the female vampire. “I fucking hate witches.”
“Believe me, the feelin’ is mutual,” Fiona snapped.
Xavier smiled, probably knowing it was only a matter of time till they got to her.
He raised one grossly long fingernail in warning. “I will have her first and taste her before any of you have a turn.”
The other male vamps apparently weren’t displeased they’d have to wait. Some jeered; others licked their lips. Some even rubbed their crotches.
Fiona was not going to permit herself to be gang-raped and drained of blood by a vampire coven. She glanced at the rocks. Would she have the nerve to throw herself against them headfirst? Would it kill her?
“Who will drag the witch out of the water for your master?” Xavier asked in a hypnotic voice. “You’d get to feed from her straight after me…and copulate if that is your wish.”
They must be fully under his power, for they started toward her. As they stepped into the water, their legs began to sizzle. They didn’t appear to notice. They were behaving more like mindless zombies.
Fiona tried to use magic to keep them away, but it had little effect. She picked up a rock and threw it at them, but it didn’t deter them. The water splashed them, making the skin on their faces crackle. She could smell the dead flesh burning. Still, they walked forward. She picked up another rock and tossed it at the camera. That should set off the alarm, but nothing.
She heard a mournful meow. Charcoal’s spirit was aware she was in danger. He started yowling as though he were still alive. She heard the werewolves howling again, too. Closer now, she thought.
She finally used her powers to lift the largest rock and sent it crashing through the French doors. An alarm blared. Lights in the houses nearby turned on.
The vampires hissed with teeth bared. Would they remain if the police showed up? Truthfully, Fiona didn’t want the police there. Worst-case scenario, they’d likely be killed by the vampires. Best case, they’d scare off the vampires, but might search the house for intruders and find Lorcan’s armory.
Lorcan wouldn’t want to risk that—wherever the hell he was. He couldn’t sleep through this racket. It would be painful to demon ears.
She heard flapping wings and saw Xavier sneer before he, too, turned into a bat and they all flew off against the full moon, looking like a damn Halloween poster. Only a witch on a broom and a haunted house were missing.
Fiona finally dared to breathe and stepped out of the water, shivering, then rushed toward the house.
The noise was so loud she thought her eardrums would burst. She threw out her arms and used a blast of powerful magic to silence the alarm.
Unfortunately, the outside cameras exploded. Plastic and glass shattered on the ground. She went inside, her heart thundering. The security company was speaking through the monitor.
“Sorry, there’s been a mistake,” she explained breathlessly. “I was temporarily locked outside. There’s no need to send anyone.”
“Is Mr. Wright there? How do we know you’re not the intruder?”
“I’ll reactivate the alarm.”
She did, which apparently appeased them. She’d barely ended the conversation when she heard wings flapping again. Bloody hell! She’d maybe been hasty in not having someone come help, especially since the French door was smashed. But again…she didn’t want others killed.
Luckily vampires couldn’t enter a home without being invited. She certainly wasn’t planning to ask them in for tea. She saw Xavier peering through the jagged glass. His coven joined them.
They can’t get in unless they’re invited.
Then why did she have an ominous feeling?
Using magic, she flipped the large dining room table attempting to block the doorway, but the vampires transformed to bats and made it through the opening at the top. What the hell? That wasn’t included in Vampire Visitations for Dummies.
Charcoal’s spirit, accompanied by probably a dozen cats that must have answered his screeching, slipped in through the space at the bottom.
The bats hastily turned back into vampire form, for the cats were jumping, swiping, and hissing at them. The vampires hissed back and wore demented smirks as a few grabbed cats and sunk their teeth into them. Fiona tried to ignore their cries of pain and feeling responsible for their deaths.
She backed up against the counter, reaching for a knife from the block. They’d be coated with silver. Lorcan would’ve ensured that. Silver at least wounded vampires.
The scruffy cats that looked like strays continued leaping at the vampires. Most were easily thrown off, but the vamps were scratched, for Fiona smelled the rank odor and noticed drops of black blood on Lorcan’s marble tiles.
For Christ’s sake, she was a witch with powers supposedly only found in transcendent witches, surely she could find a way to defend herself.
She could almost always easily disappear and reappear somewhere else or make a portal to take her to another place or time, but she was having trouble focusing.
And Lorcan might arrive unsuspecting. She’d have to stay here to help because she believed the vampire coven would wait for him even if they planned to kill her first. Albeit she wouldn’t be a big help dead, unless she maintained any magic as a ghost.
She glanced at the basement door. She hadn’t been down there so couldn’t visualize weapons to summon them to her. Besides, Lorcan would have the door and wherever they were stored MB-proofed, likely even witch-proof.
When the vampires approached and surrounded her, despite the cats snarling and trying to help, she sent the sharp knives from the block flying at them. Vampires dodged and spun around. Some flew upward. She turned on the ceiling fan with her magic and it knocked the youngest vamp straight through the bay window.
More blood, more angry roars, more hissing from cats and vampires. Then Fiona employed her powers to open the fridge and cupboard doors. She sent food, cans, bottles, bowls, pots and pans, utensils, everything she could find…flying at the vampires who easily knocked them away.
A meat thermometer struck one vamp in the eye and he pulled it out…eyeball and all.
“Enough!” Xavier snarled. “Overtake her. There are eight of you.”
She’d killed one and the vamp, the one she’d sent through the window, hadn’t returned.
The female vampire looked back at Xavier with some defiance. Fiona glanced at the broken window and heard a commotion outside. She breathed a relieved sigh, thinking Lorcan was probably putting a stake in the vampire out there. He’d be prepared and not taken by surprise when he entered.
The two of them could fight off this many. But then she heard a familiar howl just outside.
Even the vampires turned their heads at the sound. The cats that remained alive rushed—some limped to Fiona like she might save them but she was barely saving herself.
When probably a dozen fully transformed werewolves leapt through the broken kitchen window, Fiona gasped. She was reassured when one nodded to her. It was Trevor and his pack. They must’ve sensed she was in trouble.
She dared to take a breath even though the fight was far from over. She was able to summon her katana from upstairs and she caught it in her hands.
That was precisely when Lorcan came rushing through the front door.
“What the fuck?” he hollered.
“Duck!” she commanded and Lorcan dropped to the floor exactly how they’d trained.
A vampire had rushed at Lorcan from behind; her katana now protruded from his chest. She held her nose, for the pungent scent of vampire blood was offensive.
Lorcan glanced at her, then observed the chaos. He leapt back up and reached inside the beaten-up satchel he called his toolkit.
“Fiona,” he hollered, tossing her a wooden stake and a mallet.
Meanwhile, he grabbed hold of the nearest vampire and slammed him to the floor. Fiona heard bones break.
When the female vamp flew at Fiona, she used her magic to send the stake straight into her heart. She bared her fangs one last time before falling to the floor in another pool of disgusting-smelling black blood, then turned to dust.
Vamps turned by an ancient either turned to dust when killed, or caught fire. The bodies of those bitten by vampires newly turned remained nearly human-looking bar the fangs and black blood.
Fiona retrieved the bloodied stake and used magic to send it back to Lorcan who repeated the staking with the vampire whose legs he’d broken.
A werewolf was presently ripping open a vampire’s chest and eating his heart. Disgusted, Fiona looked away and gagged.
The feral cats hissed at Lorcan, too, but Charcoal’s spirit herded them like a border collie. They jumped upon the windowsill and leapt out the broken window.
The only other vampire remaining, besides Xavier, grabbed Fiona’s nightie and she heard it rip. He wore a lecherous expression as he easily lifted her and dragged her roughly across the island, knocking the fruit bowl and knife block to the floor.
Was sex really still on his mind? Feckin’ males!
Fiona glanced at Lorcan. He was headed toward Xavier with his stake raised, but when he saw she was in trouble he turned on the vampire now assailing her.
She watched in awe—maybe in horror—as he literally ripped his head off and tossed it on the floor. The vampire’s headless body spurted black blood and she rolled out of the way before he fell to the floor.
The werewolves charged Xavier, but he threw an evil look at Lorcan and Fiona. Again he transformed into a bat and flew out the open front door.
“You’ve not seen the last of me, Demon,” Xavier’s eerie vampire voice called back, sounding like a cheesy horror movie villain.
Werewolf Trevor grunted to Fiona, motioned to his pack and they took the dead cats and vampire bodies that remained and lumbered off on all fours.
Fiona leaned against the kitchen island, heart pounding wildly. She slid down to sit on the floor, closed her eyes and waited for her breathing to quiet.
*
The last few moments kept playing over in Lorcan’s mind. He was shaking head to toe and had to get a damn grip. He’d been terrified all the way home, running faster than ever. Lucky it was still dark or someone might’ve caught him on camera and thought he was a mutant.
Then part way he’d recognized his alarm and sped up. He rushed into the house to see the French doors smashed, glass everywhere. Cutlery, pots and pans, dishes, tins and food scattered throughout the kitchen.
Fiona was standing in her nightgown, barefoot. Her legs and nightie were wet and there was blood on her hands and feet. She’d looked terrified. He’d heard hissing and growling, seen the vampires, the werewolves, a dozen scrawny feral cats.
She’d saved his life throwing her katana at the vampire behind him and he’d finally gone into demon mode. Still, during the havoc he had only one thought. Don’t let anything happen to Fiona. That was bloody dangerous to hold someone else’s well-being above your own because reflexes, intuition, and training were seriously affected.
With the others gone all that remained was smelly vampire blood, the destroyed table, and a shit ton of broken glass and disarray. He sat on the floor, too, catching his breath and wiping his bloody hands on his already bloodstained shirt. He winced and Fiona opened her eyes.
“You were scratched?” Her voice quivered. “But not bitten, right?”
“I wasn’t bitten.” He shook his head then rested it against the island.
He didn’t miss the worried expression she wore. “You’ll need to wash the wound and put some—”
“Yeah. I fucking know how to contend with vampire scratches,” he snapped and she looked away.
Why did fear always make him react angrily? He wasn’t pissed off at her, but at himself. He couldn’t stay home two nights in a row—couldn’t go without sex for that long? What the fuck was wrong with him?
Maybe he should take medication to fight these compulsions like a LAMB therapist once suggested. But most drugs messed up a demon’s physiology and the side effects were brutal. He was never going to lead a celibate life. Plus there were the other darker cravings to consider if he wasn’t having sex.
“Fuck! I need a drink,” he said. He winced, then grimaced trying to stand.
She glanced toward his bar and lifted her hand, sending him a full bottle of scotch. He caught it, nodded to her and took a long drink.
“Care to explain how we had another sequel to Twilight in my kitchen? With feral felines finishing the fucking free-for-all?” He had an affinity for alliteration.
He took off his shirt and wiped the scratches on his torso below his ribs and round to his back.
“Does how really matter?” Her voice quivered.
“Then why?” he asked, trying to keep his tone unaccusatory.
“Your past acquaintance, Xavier, wasn’t thrilled about you taking out his entire coven.”
“What?” He was suddenly nervous thinking she’d remembered what occurred on the last mission.
“Back in New Orleans,” she said.
“Yeah, I figured.” He hoped that sounded convincing. “But how did they get inside? Vampires have to be invited in. The security system wouldn’t allow anything to get past, plus the windows and doors are heavily warded by demon magic. No MBs can get in unless the alarm system is disabled or the windows or doors are open or broken. But an MB shouldn’t have been able to break them either.”
“I don’t know how they got in because I sure as hell didn’t invite them. But yeah, I turned off the alarm so I could go outside. And it was me who broke the doors.”
“Fuck, Fiona, you couldn’t stay in for one night? You should’ve been asleep.”
She snarled then, as loudly as those werewolves had.
“Obviously you couldn’t go without fuckin’ someone for one damn night!” she accused. “I will not be a bloody prisoner in anyone’s home. Not again!”
Her eyes were wild. He glanced at the blood on her foot. She’d probably stepped in glass, but she didn’t appear to have other wounds other than minor scratches and bruises.
She stood, limping, then reached for a paper towel and dabbed her foot, using magic to pull out a sizeable shard of glass.
“Even with the doors and windows smashed the vampires shouldn’t have been able to get in without invitation,” Lorcan huffed.
“I don’t feckin’ understand it either,” Fiona admitted, “because I did not ask them in.”
“A little ironic you were worried about leaving my kitchen in a mess this morning,” he groused looking at the wreckage. The fridge door, nearly torn off, hung half open.
“I’ll pay for the windows and doors, the fridge…and all this damage.” Her voice shook. “Plus the security system. I suspect I kinda destroyed it.”
“That’s a one-hundred-thousand-dollar system,” he said, likely sounding enraged, when he was just damn relieved.
She swallowed hard.
“Tell me what the hell happened. From the beginning.”
Going by the way she looked at him he undoubtedly seemed like he was talking to a child.
She rolled her eyes. “I was sitting outside peacefully listening to an owl hoot and the werewolves howl. Charcoal’s spirit came to me. I was petting him and was nearly asleep when Xavier showed up, intent on finding you. He decided he’d have some fun with me while he waited. Then he called his coven to partake.”
“How the fuck did he get out of LAMB’s vampire cell?” Lorcan wondered aloud.
“How would I know? I hope he didn’t kill any guards when he escaped. Are LAMB’s cells not as escape-proof as they believe? Maybe he turned into a bat and flew out an air vent or—”
“I’ll call Dalton and find out. What about the werewolves?” Again Lorcan tried to keep his voice calm.
She put her hands out palms up. “I dunno. They probably smelled the vampires. Maybe since Trevor and I are friends they sensed I was in trouble. Because we helped Tate, he might’ve thought he owed us.”
Lorcan nodded. “And the cats?”
“I honestly don’t know, Lorcan.”
“I thought you had like nearly infallible witch magic! You must have a theory.”
He knew he was being difficult but couldn’t stop himself.
“I believe Charcoal recruited them. All cats, even miogs, hate vampires almost as much as werewolves do?”
“Most murderous MB matchups,” Lorcan said.
“Scary supernatural arch-villains,” she replied, but without the usual smile.
Lorcan pulled his hand through his hair and saw her glance at his neck.
“Looks like you ran into some vamps, too, judging by those love bites.”
His fingers went to his throat.
“That’s hardly fucking important now.”
“At least I know why I couldn’t make you hear my telepathic messages,” Fiona said. “Not only were you not here, you were doubly busy. The redhead and her brunette friend, or maybe her girlfriend?”
Clearly Fiona’s intuition was bang on about some things.
“Why didn’t the security system work before?”
“I told you, I turned it off to go outside.”
But it still didn’t explain why the vampires came inside without being invited.
He shook his head and swore under his breath, moved to sit beside her, so close their shoulders touched, which aroused him despite all the chaos. He passed her the bottle of scotch.
It wasn’t her drink but she looked like she needed one. She took a hearty swig, made a face, and passed it back. Then she summoned his tool kit with her magic, and pulled out the potion used on vampire scratches. She held it toward him.
“You’re not going to do it for me?” he said. “They’re not in the easiest place to reach.” He glanced at his flank and she stared.
He’d never know if she would have rubbed it on for him, used her witchcraft, or declined, for someone else barged in through the broken glass door.
Lorcan was about to jump up when he saw it was a tall, blond, obviously distressed half-elven/half-Fae male with sword unsheathed and magical bow and quiver at the ready.
Prince Rohese.
His pale blue eyes widened as he looked at the pandemonium throughout the room. He stared at Fiona with her torn nightgown then at Lorcan without a shirt and scowled, looking jealous.
Did he think they’d just had wild sex and caused all this damage? Had it been that intense between him and Fiona when they’d been together?
“What, by the sacred scrolls of Terelwyn happened here? Fiona Maguire, you are bleeding!”
Rohese put his sword in his scabbard, kicked some debris away, dropped to the floor on the other side of Fiona and placed his arms around her. That seemed to startle her.
Maybe everything that happened earlier was finally getting the better of her. She put her head on Rohese’s shoulder and began to weep. He glared at Lorcan like he should have protected her.
He bloody well should have protected her.
Rohese kissed Fiona’s head and whispered something Lorcan didn’t understand but believed were elven words of comfort. The spirit of the miog must’ve heard their language spoken. He went to Rohese who gasped, looking gutted.
“Our miog has died?”
“I’m sorry,” Fiona sniffled. “I did try to contact you to tell you.”
“I discovered he’d been wounded when I went to your residence. I wasn’t aware the injury was so serious, Cailleach Bhan.”
Lorcan knew that meant white witch in ancient elvish.
“I saw the damage in your place of business and where his blood was spilled,” Rohese continued with a sigh. “I admit I was most relieved it was not your blood.”
She wept more at that. “How did you know I was here?” she sniffled. “Did you see Timothy at the shop?”
Rohese shook his head. “Henry Dalton said you wished to speak to me. Timothy Byrne wasn’t there when I observed the calamity at your domicile. I sensed you would…be with the demon.”
The elfae tipped his head toward Lorcan, sounding jealous. Did the prince think Fiona had feelings for him or just that they were sleeping together? He wouldn’t be happy about either.
“I would have thought he’d at least keep you safe.” Rohese threw another displeased look Lorcan’s way.
“Where the hell were you, Prince Elfie?” Lorcan asked. “Fiona couldn’t reach you. Dalton said you were busy, but wouldn’t elaborate.”
Did the usually unemotional elven prince just blush? What the hell was he hiding?