“Not physically.”
Victor lifted his hand, holding it over the scar without actually touching it.
“I sense . . .”
“Power,” Uriel finished the sentence.
The silver eyes widened as Victor abruptly realized where Uriel’s sudden increase of power had come from.
“Ah.”
“Exactly.”
“I have to admit I wasn’t expecting that.” Victor slowly shook his head. “Of course, I wondered what had happened to increase your strength, but . . .”
“But you didn’t suspect that the Jinn had juiced me up?”
“I can safely swear that was at the very bottom of my list,” Victor dryly admitted. “I’ve never heard of a Jinn sharing his power with anyone, let alone a vampire.”
Uriel flinched at the memory of the white-hot pain that had drilled into his chest, spreading through his body like an infection.
“At the time I didn’t know what the hell he was doing. I assumed I was about to meet my well deserved end.” His lips twisted with a bitter smile. “Imagine my surprise when the bastard simply disappeared, leaving me with a pretty new tattoo.”
“Did he say anything?”
“He said . . .” Uriel hesitated, bracing himself for Victor’s response. There was the potential that his chief would consider the secrets he’d kept hidden worthy of a death sentence. Not the most comforting thought. “He said that I was to be ‘the instrument of his revenge’.”
Victor’s brows snapped together, his power slamming through the room with frigid force. Uriel hissed, struggling to keep his own powers leashed. The potential for violence quivered in the air, just waiting for the smallest provocation to erupt.
Uriel didn’t intend to be that provocation.
“Why didn’t you tell me what happened?” Victor growled.
“You had just rescued your new mate from the gaping jaws of death,” he reminded his chief. “You didn’t leave your private lair for over a month.”
Victor’s aristocratic features briefly softened. Like Pavlov’s dog, Uriel wryly acknowledged. Victor might be a fierce clan chief who enforced his laws with a brutal strength, but he melted at the mention of his mate.
“Ah yes,” the ancient vampire murmured. “Now that was a month to remember.”
Uriel refused to acknowledge his stab of envy.
What was the point?
Many of his fellow vampires joked that becoming mated was a fate worse than death (at least until they became mated themselves) but Uriel had secretly longed for the day when he would meet the female destined to stand at his side for all eternity.
Until he’d been cursed by the Jinn.
Now he accepted that he could never put his potential mate in danger.
Not if there was the slightest risk he could be forced to lose control.
“Besides, I thought the beast was amusing himself,” he continued with a shrug. “Like a cat with a trapped mouse. It wasn’t until days later that I realized he’d given my powers a dose of steroids.”
The silver eyes shimmered with anger. “And it didn’t occur to you that the Jinn’s mark might compel you to carry out his mysterious revenge?”
“Of course.” Uriel reached into the pocket of his jeans to pull out a wooden box no larger than his thumbnail. “That’s why I carry this.”
Victor hissed at the unmistakable symbol branded into the wood.
“A thana hex.”
Uriel nodded. It was a rare hex that could only be performed by imps with royal blood running through their veins.
The damned thing had taken him years to track down and cost over half his fortune to purchase, but it had been well worth the trouble.
One flip of the lid and he would be dead.
Quick, easy, and supposedly painless.
“Death in a box,” he said, returning the hex to his pocket. “If I ever feel myself being forced against my will I can end it before any damage can be done.”
There was the sound of approaching footsteps from the hallway and with a scowl Victor crossed to meet the young vampire at the door who handed him a cell phone. The conversation was brief, but the clan chief’s temper didn’t seem to be improved as he shoved the phone back into the servant’s hand and turned to glare at Uriel.
“I don’t have time to finish this conversation, but believe me, my brother, it’s not over.”
“Brilliant,” Uriel muttered.
Crossing back to his desk, Victor grabbed a sheet of paper and shoved it toward Uriel.
“Here.”
Uriel paused before reluctantly taking the proffered paper, his brows lifting as he realized it was a map of England.
“What’s this for?”
“I negotiated with the local coven. They cast a searching spell.” Victor stabbed a finger at the odd markings that were drawn at three spots on the map. “These are the locations that blocked their magic.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means someone with magical abilities is trying to hide something.” Victor moved his finger to the mark placed over the plain of Salisbury. “I would suggest you start here. The witches claimed they could sense black magic in the area.”
Stonehenge?
Bloody hell. Could the mage be any more cliché?
Belatedly realizing his chief was headed back to the door, Uriel abruptly lifted his head, a flare of panic twisting his gut.
“Victor.”
The older vampire halted, glancing over his shoulder. “Yes?”
There was an unmistakable warning in the silver eyes. Victor had given his orders. Now he expected them to be obeyed.
No matter Uriel’s reluctance.
Uriel gave a resigned shake of his head. “Nothing.”
Victor continued out of the room, his power still thick in the air.
“Don’t disappoint me.”
Chapter 3
Kata had lost track of how many years she’d been trapped in the dark, iron-lined cell that was buried six feet beneath Stonehenge. She knew it had to be close to two hundred, but the days had become a continuous blur as she lay on the narrow cot, held motionless in the mage’s spell.
At the moment, it didn’t really matter. Once she managed to free herself, she would tally the time she’d been held hostage and ensure Marika and Sergei suffered for every damned minute they’d stolen from her.
Marika . . .
A dark revulsion spread through her at the mere thought of the vampire bitch.
Amazing considering that four centuries ago she and Marika had been twin sisters and deeply devoted to one another.
The daughters of a powerful Romani elder they were openly prized for their dark, sultry beauty. Their hair was long, and as glossy as the finest ebony. Their eyes were dark and framed by long lashes and their pale features were delicately carved. Their sensuous lips had prompted epic poems and the sight of their lush curves attired in simple peasant blouses and skirts had inspired countless fights among the males of the tribe.
But Kata and Marika had never taken an interest in their beauty. From the time they were old enough to walk they had realized that their true power lay in their magic.
Although not witches, they both possessed the traditional magic of the gypsies. They could heal even the most grievous wounds, they could read the signs of nature to predict the weather, and of course, they could conjure curses that made grown men tremble in fear.
They could also speak to one another mind to mind, no matter how far the distance between them.
They had been destined for greatness until that fateful night that Marika had been called to heal an elder from a nearby tribe. Kata had stayed behind to tend to a child who had fallen and broken his arm earlier that day. If only . . .
No.
Nothing could have altered the fact that Marika had been attacked and drained by a vampire.
At first Kata had thought her sister dead. What else could it be? Not only was Marika missing, but
the sense of her that was always nestled in the back of Kata’s mind had abruptly disappeared.
Unfortunately, she hadn’t been able to leave well enough alone. One of her more persistent faults. She had continued to send out mental calls for her sister, unable to accept the inevitable.
And eventually Marika did return.
Only it wasn’t Marika.
The demon might have her sister’s face and they might still be psychically connected, but the demon who had murdered her sister was an arrogant, brutal predator who had hunted Kata down and caged her like an animal.
For two centuries Kata had been held as her sister’s prisoner, kept on a leash in her lair. Then two centuries ago the power-hungry Marika had joined forces with a Russian mage, Sergei. Together the two had plotted to use a child to resurrect the Dark Lord to this dimension.
The only problem was that the only child that they could use for the creepy resurrection was hidden in the mists between worlds.
A deal breaker for anyone with a claim to sanity, since the Jinn were the only known demons who could enter the mists, and no one wanted to negotiate with a Jinn. The powerful demons were cunning, heartless creatures who were as untrustworthy as they were beautiful. But, Marika’s profound lust for power outweighed something so tediously human as commonsense and with Sergei’s assistance they’d lured a Jinn into their trap using Kata as bait.
Kata’s mind instantly veered from the memory of being locked in the tiny cell with the Jinn. There were some things best left buried. But nine months later she gave birth to a beautiful baby girl, Laylah.
Well aware that Marika intended to use her half-Jinn daughter to enter the mists and retrieve the child, Kata had managed to smuggle the baby to a witch who had used her magic to keep Laylah hidden.
Infuriated, Marika had demanded that Sergei put Kata into her current prison. In retaliation, Kata had sought to curse the vindictive bitch. Unfortunately that had inspired the mage to wrap her in thick layers of spells that were even more imprisoning than the lead-lined cell that held her.
She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t even open her eyes.
If not for the fact that she maintained her connection to Marika to watch the world from a distance, she would have gone completely mad.
Not that being mentally linked with a psychotic vampire was a joy ride. Marika had a nasty temper under the best of circumstances. Once Kata had snatched away her means for ruling the world, she’d become downright surly, indulging her love for pain at every opportunity. Still, Kata had managed to stay aware of the changing world, and best of all she’d known that Laylah remained safely hidden.
Then fifty years ago, the damned mage had found Laylah and forced her to enter the mists to retrieve the child of the Dark Lord.
Laylah had swiftly managed to escape with the baby, but Kata had known it was only a matter of time before she was once again hunted down.
Which was precisely what had happened just a few days before. She’d sensed Laylah in England, and tried to warn her. She shared the same mind connection with her daughter as she did with her sister, but she’d been too late.
Marika and Sergei had discovered her presence and while Laylah had swiftly fled, they’d been hot on her trail.
Even worse, her psychic link to her sister and daughter had become oddly erratic, as if there was something blocking her powers.
While she was currently struggling with all she was worth against the spells that held her captive.
Laylah was in trouble, and she had to reach her.
Lost in her dark thoughts, she was distantly aware of the Sylvermyst who guarded the tomb where she was held prisoner. They never bothered her, but she didn’t doubt that even if she did manage to free herself from Sergei’s bonds, they would prove a difficult barrier to her escape.
A worry for later.
Then she stiffened as her senses picked up an intruder closer at hand.
Yannah.
She didn’t know who, or even what, Yannah was.
She had to be a demon, of course. No human, or even witch, could possibly pop in and out of the buried cell. But since Kata had been near comatose from Sergei’s spell she had no more than a vague image of a small creature with a low, musical voice who had fluttered about her unconscious form and soothed her when she was troubled.
Over the years she’d become accustomed to the female’s unpredictable visits, assuming that if she wanted to hurt her she’d have already done the deed. Not even the most patient demon spent two centuries fussing over a person before striking a death blow.
In fact, she’d begun to think of her as her guardian angel.
Caught in her frantic battle to free herself, Kata was unprepared when the spells that were holding her prisoner abruptly shattered.
With a strangled gasp she fell off the narrow cot. Still entangled with the shroud that had been thrown over her, Kata was incapable of stopping herself from smacking face first onto the hard floor.
Typical.
“Oof.”
“Are you hurt?” A small, heart-shaped face with the almond shaped eyes that were entirely filled with black suddenly appeared in front of her.
“Yannah?” she breathed.
“That’s me.”
Kata managed to roll onto her back, her gaze sliding over the female’s tiny body that was covered by a plain white robe and the fair hair that was pulled into a braid that fell past her waist.
She might have been mistaken for a child if not for the piercing wisdom that shimmered in the dark eyes.
And, oh yeah, the mouth full of razor sharp teeth.
Blessed mother.
Fighting her way out of the shroud, Kata rose to her feet, her hands absently smoothing down the thin white nightgown that fell past her knees.
“What happened?” she demanded.
The tiny demon wrinkled her nose. “The spell is broken. The mage is traveling through distant lands.” Her head tilted to the side, as if she were mentally searching for the missing Sergei. “Very distant.”
Kata shivered. There was nowhere distant enough.
Bastard.
But for the moment she was more interested in the stark void in the back of her mind.
“Marika?” she whispered.
Yannah smiled, revealing her pointed teeth. “Ding dong the witch is dead.”
Kata sucked in a shocked breath, feeling nothing but a savage flare of satisfaction. It had taken years to accept that the creature who walked around with her sister’s face wasn’t Marika, but instead the coldblooded bitch who’d killed her. Now she had no trouble rejoicing in the thought of the world without the evil vampire.
She did, however, have difficulty in believing she was really and truly rid of her.
“You’re certain she’s dead?”
“Quite, quite dead.” Yannah wrinkled her tiny nose. “A shame really.”
“Shame?” Kata’s fury (that had had four long, hideous centuries to stew) abruptly boiled over. “I hope the bitch burns in the pits of hell for all eternity.”
“Oh, I’m certain justice will be served.”
“Good.”
“But you aren’t silly enough to think your sister . . .”
“That creature was not my sister,” Kata hissed. “She killed my beloved Marika and stole her body.”
“Yes, yes.” Yannah waved an impatient hand. “Cue the violins.”
Kata frowned. “What?”
Without warning the small demon moved forward and poked her finger in the middle of Kata’s stomach.
“Shut up and listen.”
“Ow.”
Yannah was supremely unrepentant. “Do I have your attention?”
Kata rubbed her stomach. The poke hadn’t truly hurt, but it did smash her image of Yannah as a sweet, harmless creature who was only there to offer comfort. There was a power that pulsed in the air around her and a ruthless purpose that shimmered in the depths of her black eyes.
“Do I
have a choice?”
“Didn’t I say it was a shame Marika was dead?”
Kata remained wary, wondering if this was some sort of trap.
“You did.”
“Well, it isn’t because anyone will mourn her passing.”
“Then why?”
“Because she made a nasty provision in the event of her untimely demise.”
“Provision? I don’t believe it.” Kata’s lips curled at the thought of Marika’s flagrant conceit. “The cold-blooded creature was too arrogant to believe anything could kill her.”
“It wasn’t arrogance, it was strategy.” Yannah wagged a finger. “Tricky, tricky vampire.”
Kata sank onto the edge of the cot, her head aching and her stomach queasy.
Not surprising.
In the span of five minutes she’d been jolted out of a spell that had kept her imprisoned for centuries, she’d been violently stripped of her connection to her sister, and every muscle in her body was cramping as they came back to painful life.
“I feel like I am going to throw up,” she husked, “could you please speak clearly?”
Kata wasn’t looking for a plethora of sympathy, but she sure as hell didn’t expect Yannah to smack her on the back of the head.
“Use that brain in your pretty head. Marika was betrayed by Sergei. He was supposed to tell her the very second he discovered the location of your daughter and managed to kidnap her.”
“Yeah, I got that. She wasn’t a bit pleased when the bastard forced Laylah to steal the child of the Dark Lord and tried to keep the baby hidden from her. Do you think I was any happier? He tortured my poor girl.”
“What you felt is meaningless.”
Kata scowled at the tiny demon. Dammit. If Yannah was her guardian angel then she’d gotten ripped off.
Big time.
“What’s your point?”
“Marika realized her pet was a bad, bad boy,” Yannah said, as if Kata hadn’t been intensely aware of Marika’s fury when she’d discovered the mage had not only betrayed her, but had allowed Laylah and the baby to slip from her grasp.
“Yeah, her insane fury gave me a migraine for months.”
“It also made her realize that while she needed his magic for her evil plans, she had to make sure he didn’t decide that she was expendable. If he could get his hands on the child again, he might very well decide to keep the glory for himself.”