LUKAS drifted in a sea of pain as wave after wave of agony washed over and pounded into him. Every nerve cell in his system flashed liquid fire to the next in line while a smoky haze covered his vision, complements of demon venom.
He lay curled on his side in the small pool of water, agony contorting his body into a writhing vessel of torment. The cool liquid bathed the side of his face but gave no relief. On arrival and with what felt like the last of his strength, he’d rinsed demon gore from his leathers between his bouts with unconsciousness.
He’d remembered this grotto from his childhood and hoped the water and surrounding forest would camouflage his trail if only for a while. Comrades who’d fallen to demon venom took days to die depending on their age and regenerative abilities. There was no cure and no way to ease the pain. To stake someone infected with the poison demonstrated a supreme mercy he’d done for others and would himself appreciate if provided the opportunity. He didn’t have the strength to end his own existence.
Vague recollections of his battle with the demons flitted through his mind. Did I hallucinate hiding the large blood-red ruby? The bag which contained it might still be in his vest pocket—if he’d the strength to look.
There’d been a small scroll he’d fumbled with between uncoordinated fingers. Then, clouded vision prevented recognition of his own hand. Several times he vaguely recalled lying on the ground and looking at the sky. Maybe he moved, maybe he’d imagined that, too.
It mattered little now as long as he survived the night. Tomorrow, if he could hide the scroll and distance himself from it, exposure to sunlight would dispose of his body, a faster death than demon venom.
With his remains gone, the demons would be less likely to find the artifact. Humans should be safe. He prayed this sanctuary would keep him hidden tonight.
What prevented him from trying to destroy the scroll? Something about the texture, perhaps the type of treated animal hide…Surely some type of magick protected it. In his misery, he’d made a mistake in keeping it yet couldn’t bring himself to let it go. It probably wouldn’t burn when the sun charred then turned his body to ash.
Hallucinations, part of the death-by-venom process, plagued him. At one point, he thought he’d felt Gryffen’s presence. When he called out to his friend, the mirage disappeared.
Now, a presence unlike anything ever sensed pressed on his mind and energized his body. Had the demons found him? Damn, should’ve hidden the scroll, too.
* * * *
Marble streaked the limestone, dolomite, and gypsum walls in varying widths and configurations. Nature’s artwork dissected the shallow pools of water dotting the floor in ever-changing patterns, shapes, and colors. Their reflections outlining preposterous maps echoed back to the walls. Sariel’s imagination worked overtime, instilling the impression of the cave’s sides shimmering with despairing essences and adding to the oppressive atmosphere.
Twenty yards in, a large, fluctuating lump twisted and bowed in the shallow depths of water. The closer she tread, the more it approximated a man-sized shape, perhaps a steroid-infused, very large man, contorted in pain. She sensed both vampire and demon.
With a glance at Crystine, she sheathed her weapon, useless in close confines. Despite the evil stench surrounding the intruder, her inner alarms failed to blare a warning.
The brute lay curled on its side on the opposite side of the pool. Shoulder-length, dark hair matted with blood and demon gore floated on the surface. Its black shirt and leather pants didn’t obscure a strapping, muscular frame. Ambient light exposed part of a strong jaw holding tension.
With a few steps closer, she witnessed long lashes fanning out on angular cheeks while tiny lines bracketed tightly clenched eyes. Its right hand covering its left shoulder pinpointed the obvious source of agony.
“It smells of demon…Because he fought them or is part one? Looks like a man, but demons can be clever and have many disguises.” Crystine’s cautious words prompted further hesitation. “The demons couldn’t best us in a fair fight. Is this their second-string approach?”
Painful memories roused Sariel’s own reluctance in getting too close in case the lump faked this…“You stay here, Crystine. You’ve got the better throwing arm. If it’s old, it’ll be too fast for me. This is a vampire.” She crept forward, knowing that in the back of its mind, some part of this wounded animal would register a presence. The question remained, how far gone was it? “I’ll search it, see if it’s carrying this thing the demons want.”
The rhodium dagger from her waist sheath fit snug in her palm and lent small comfort considering this creature’s overwhelming aura. “Look at its tattered vest. It’s been splashed all over with demon gore, burned through his garments and skin. It must be in terrible pain.”
“No, Sariel, doesn’t matter, just kill it. Either way—it’s evil, demon or vampire. Consider it a mercy killing.” Crystine’s approach consisted of kill first and go party. “Better yet, stand aside; I’ll skewer it with my blade.”
“Wait. What if there’s any truth to what the demon said? If this vampire has information on some artifact that can affect all humankind, we must find and destroy whatever was stolen. If it’s not here, the vampire can tell us where to find it.” Standing on the narrow shelf at the edge of the pool put Sariel within arm’s distance of her quarry.
It groaned and half turned toward her.
Hopping back a foot sent a spray of water in all directions. In any other circumstance, wind milling her arms to maintain balance would induce laughter.
“Good stealth mode, kiddo. Nice to see I taught you well…”
Crystine’s sarcasm didn’t slow her traitorous pulse or cool the moisture beading her brow. Could this thing still sense both? Cornered animals were always more dangerous when wounded.
A breath to clear her mind.
A breath to stop her hand from shaking.
She gulped and clutched her weapon tighter.
Sounded like a man… “Either way, we need him alive to get the information. Looks like something bit him in the shoulder. Venom must be spreading throughout his body.”
“Sariel…Back away. I’ll take care of this thing. Then we can search it.”
From deep inside, Sariel felt a certainty, a sparkling clarity that this man, whatever species, meant no harm. Instincts had always served her well. She prayed that dark magick hadn’t subverted good judgment.
Crystine raised her to live by her intuition. No words existed to reassure her friend. Still—she’d trained most of her life to kill vampires, so remained wary.
“Sariel. Move away from it. Now!”
Crystine had spent centuries killing his kind, yet Sariel’s gut told her this creature lacked the festering evil so common in his species. She’d never acted with such rash determination as she closed the distance between them.
“Sariel. What are you doing?” The increasing volume and stridence in Crystine’s voice preceded the beast’s movement and another groan.
She sent up a silent prayer.
“Sariel, don’t block my shot with your body!”
Whether vampire or demon, it hears my heartbeat accelerate and smells my fear. Yet, some inexplicable force drew her forward in the shallow water to crouch by his chest. She could no more ignore or define the silent call than she could deny its presence.
With growing trepidation, she reached down and touched his face, her knuckles abraded by the stubble on his chin. “Crystine, I don’t think he’s evil. He’s been hurt by demons, hence the smell.” A silent appeal included a plea her instincts were correct.
Somehow she expected eyes blacker than hell when they snapped open. His pupils dilated and nostrils flared with her continued touch—also anticipated results of his obvious circumstances. Animal instincts would dominate reason or knowledge at every turn.
The look of mistrust crossing his handsome angular face—injured, in pain, and confused by demon venom—was also anticipated.
She didn’t expect those onyx eyes to develop a cerulean blue ring in the next second. She’d first seen eyes like this as a child, eyes that instilled abject terror from one heartbeat to the next.
“What the hell—” She didn’t get the chance to move.
By the time she recognized the blur of his hand firing toward her neck, he held her caged in his grasp, cutting her gasp short. Instinctively, both hands flew to her throat. The clatter and skitter of her dagger echoed as it slid out of reach.
He could snap her neck with a flick of his wrist, yet he merely held her in place with the steely bars of his fingers. Yes, his grip should’ve felt cold as well as brutal. Yet warmth emanated from his grasp. How was that possible? Demon venom?
He studied her through half-closed, glazed eyes. Seconds passed as she waited, captive, each breath a borrowed gift while he decided her fate.
Panic expanded inside to inflame an earlier memory of dangling from a vampire’s extended arm. The first time she’d seen a vampire resurfaced in her nightmares on a routine basis.
When his other hand pulled at her waistband and shifted their bodies so that she lay on top of him, a sob escaped her throat. Stubble from his beard scraped at her cheek with the insistence of pointing out her folly. Would it be painful to die by his bite? The terror of dangling helplessly as like monsters shredded her foster family rose fresh in her mind.
“What are you?” His blue eyes flared wider as he inhaled her scent.
The warmth of his exhalation teased the base of her neck to burn through rational thought. “Messenger of death…if you harm me, vampire.” The brush of her breath against his ear elicited a shudder in his large frame.
Crystine’s gasp provided a necessary diversion. Amid the roaring in her ears, Sariel heard her friend’s approach.
“No, Crystine, don’t.” Her heart thumped wildly as sweat trickled down her forehead to sting her eyes despite the cool cavern air.
Before her left ventricle contracted again, his massive strength pulled her tight to him, his mouth at her neck. Hot breath whispered over her sensitized skin to leave gooseflesh in its wake.
Panic filled her mind. Her mouth opened and closed several times with an inarticulate demand for freedom. No sound issued to break her paralyzed silence.
She groaned when he pushed her collar aside and the warm rasp of his tongue glided around the shell of her ear, down to the base of her neck and back again before he whispered. “I’m not going to hurt you, Engel. My wound is mortal and I have to complete this mission before I die. I cannot allow the extinction of humanity. I must have blood. Just enough to lend strength to finish this task.”
The brush of his fangs against her throat added a friction both frightening and carnal. Pressure of his tongue, lips, and fangs vacillated until her body writhed without conscious control. Unprecedented pleasure drifted along each fiber instead of the expected pain. How can he make me feel like this? A spell?
His face buried in her hair on another deep inhalation. “I won’t give you pain…only pleasure.” His gaze flared brighter when he pulled back to hold her with his unfathomable mood. “Do not be afraid. I’ve not contemplated my own death before. Yet holding you now makes me wish I could survive.”
“I do not fear vampires—I kill them.” Sariel forced gulps of air into her lungs, allowing an influx of foreign sensations to rush through her body. Never this close to a man before, she became aware of her own body’s softening in response to this intimate connection and his seductive touch as one hand roamed freely over her shoulder and back.
His firm hold on her nape radiated warmth that filled every cell with a languid heat to further soften her resolve. Tingling in her toes and fingers didn’t arise from restricted circulation. Her entire body felt heavy, needy.
“Please.” Her whispered word contained all the emotional turmoil she couldn’t define as she struggled to gain control over her mind and body. Though shrouded in near darkness, his touch left her raw, exposed, and burning with a need she couldn’t define. A tide of fractured emotions rushed through her, producing a fine mist covering her body and conflicting thoughts hurtling through her mind.
“Heaven help me, you smell better than anything I’ve ever known. I just need a little to close this wound, Engel. I’m not going to hurt you.” The brush of his lips down the column of her throat caused a viscous heat to overwhelm her senses and a similar rush of warmth to the junction of her thighs. In her mind, she knew the effects a vampire could produce if he chose to do so.
His groan echoed in his throat. The granite-like solidity of his chest forced an appreciation of her frailty within his grasp.
One hand in the center of her low back secured her firmly to the hard planes of his frame. With his other, strong fingers brushed her neck as they slid around to span her throat. When they lightly swept her collarbone only to return to the slim column he obviously hungered for, she couldn’t suppress the tremors slamming through her.
His fingers felt like heaven on her skin.
In the back of her mind, she remembered a different time a vampire held her and would’ve killed her if not for Crystine. This situation lacked the abject fear of her earlier experience. On a deeper level, she realized her memories instilled the fear, not the man holding her hostage.
Excitement, confusion, helplessness, and shame whirled and collided within like the debris cloud of a tornado. Part of her wanted to stay in his embrace and shut out the world, especially Crystine who stood only feet away, witnessing this epic shame.
Inner turmoil tumbled her battered and conflicting responses to leave her weak, unsure of herself.
Another glance at his face distilled her thoughts and narrowed her focus to one formalized and urgent compulsion—escape. His gaze, which had been initially ringed with a brilliant steely blue, now burned with a fully dilated, cerulean-blue iris.
Terror built inside, swelling until her heart beat wildly out of control, establishing a mindless thrashing creature of instinct.
Then, one caress gentled her fears, brushing lightly over her back and up her arm to leave a soothing warmth in its wake.
The mewl which escaped her lips couldn’t be defined or stopped. Even though his fingers spanned her neck, her panting stemmed from a more ominous source. His tenderness.
Poured honey came to mind as her body melted with his next caress. A mental shake didn’t extinguish or cull the unwanted weakness keeping her under his spell. Underneath the scent of demon, his essence called to her on a primal level as nothing ever had.
Nothing existed outside of him and the feel of his body. This has to be a spell, but vampires don’t normally deal with magick…
Could he smell her conflicting emotions? Dear God, how could this happen? He could kill her at any second and she was feeling this affinity with something one level up from demon?
He would discern her fear with the way her heart battered her ribs, not to mention the smell of it coating her aura, yet he didn’t pounce like a wounded animal seeking its last meal in hopes of a miracle.
Once more, she tried to take a deep breath of courage, pull reason into her mind along with the much-needed oxygen into her lungs.
Again, his tongue bathed her neck in liquid heat. The rasp sent a quiver to her core, which clenched in confused hunger. The inferno spread and inflamed every corner of her mind and body. Never before had these explosions rocked her senses and everything she stood for. Black magick?
“Sariel?” The whisper-soft sound of Crystine drawing her dagger snapped her back to reality.
When did she sheath her longer blades?
Sariel closed her eyes and prayed this creature hadn’t corrupted her instincts. “No, Crystine. Don’t. He needs blood. I’ll be all right. He’s not going to hurt me.” And I’m sure of that because…yeah, he said so. With every muscle locked tight, she waited. What the hell was happening?
When his fangs pierced her neck, pain flared for a heartbeat before sparks of the icy-hot heat dissolved into euphoric bliss. Her entire body went limp, the spasms in her legs released, her flaccid limbs dropped to the ground to cocoon his. Even his thighs were hard as tree trunks.
Ardent heat spread from her neck down to center in her lower belly. The virgin flesh between her thighs tightened unbearably as her hips rocked against him. It seemed her most sensitive tissues strained toward him, needing him. Insanity.
In simultaneous awareness, the tingling in her hands and feet spread inward until her entire body flamed with sensation. The friction of her chest expanding into his made her back arch. When his gentle touch glided down her spine, she shuddered violently with the carnal need rocketing throughout.
Like a hot brand, he cupped her rear and pulled her tighter as her hips cradled his. Thick, hard flesh, muffled slightly by clothes, pressed against her soft belly. Her moan bore nothing in common with pain.