Apocalypse Happens (2 page)

Jimmy was the son of a vampire and a woman. He was very good at finding and killing bloodsuckers of any type. As a dhampir, Jimmy had mythical strength and speed; he could heal just about anything—although wounds made with a weapon of pure gold took longer, and they stung like a bitch.

My gaze went to the approaching cadre of varcolacs. Each of them now carried a weapon that glinted golden beneath the moon. Hell.

“What do you want to know?” I asked.

“Lizzy,” Jimmy snapped. He was the only one who called me that, the only one who dared.

“Doesn’t cost anything to ask,” I said, but I was just stalling. I wasn’t going to tell them jack. Jimmy wouldn’t either.

Just because he could heal didn’t mean he couldn’t hurt. Though I’d spent the past seven years hating Sanducci’s guts, lulled myself to sleep many a long, lonely night imagining ways to make him cry and scream, beg and bleed, times had changed. Now I just wanted him to forgive me, but I didn’t think he was going to.

“Sanducci and Phoenix, what a prize we have won.”

The varcolacs had returned to their human forms.
I’m sure it was difficult to perform torture with claws where your fingers should be.

“You know killing us won’t change anything,” I said.

“Killing you will change everything, seer. You are the leader of the light. If you die without passing on your power, all that power is lost.”

Well, there was that. What they didn’t know was that I was even harder to kill than Jimmy.

The head varcolac—a guy who resembled some minor pretty-boy actor on a stupid show with numbers for a title—crouched at my side. Another one—big guy, wide shoulders and teeth that reminded me a lot of the Governator before he’d had them fixed—hovered over Jimmy. They both carried sharp, golden weapons, and they appeared as if they knew what to do with them.

But really, how hard was it? Pointy end goes into flesh, rip and tear. The only difficulty was if hurting someone bothered you. These were demons. It didn’t.

“I’m going to give you one chance, seer. You answer my question, I will kill you . . .” He took the flat of the blade and ran it over my hip. Wherever it touched, I burned. “Quickly.”

In the depths of his eyes, yellow flames flickered. He wasn’t going to kill me quickly no matter what he promised. I wasn’t capable of dying quickly anyway.

The point of the knife, which was big enough to have been fashioned by Bowie himself, pressed to the throbbing vein in my neck. “Where is the key?”

“To what?”

He nicked my skin, and blood trickled. “What do you think, fool? To your house? Your car? Your heart?” His eyes twinkled yellow again as he lowered the knife.
“Ah, your heart. I always wanted to see what one looked like.”

He sliced me across the left breast. The blade grated along bone, and I gritted my teeth to keep from reacting to both the pain and that annoying noise. Wouldn’t do any good.

“She doesn’t know anything about the key,” Jimmy said.

I blinked. That sounded like
he
did.

The varcolacs exchanged glances. Pretty Boy lifted his chin, a signal to the other, and Jimmy grunted. I caught the scent of fresh blood.

“Leave him alone.”

The varcolac at my side snorted. “I don’t take orders from you.”

“Who do you take orders from?”

A few weeks back I’d torn their leader limb from limb, literally, so the forces of darkness should be in chaos. That they weren’t was more disturbing than I wanted to admit. Because if hell had flown open and all the demonic fallen angels were now free, that meant the one who’d instigated the rebellion in the first place was free too. And we all know who that is.

“Samyaza,” I said. Another name for Satan. There were quite a few of them. “Beelzebub is pulling your strings?”

His eyes flared. He was pissed about something. But what?

I shifted. I was tied pretty tightly, and any movement caused the golden chains to scrape my skin. The burn was excruciating, but I managed to brush my finger against his knee, and suddenly I understood. “Whoever has the key can command the demons. And you want it to be you.”

Dissension in the ranks. Gotta love it.

The varcolac shrugged. “I don’t take orders well.”

Most Nephilim didn’t. Which made me wonder how Satan planned to rule this rock. Simple answer—he was going to need the key too.

What I’m referring to is the
Key of Solomon
, a grimoire or book of spells, supposedly composed by King Solomon. In it are incantations used to summon, release and command demons—for starters. Over the years several translations had been made, but none of them were complete. What we were looking for was the original copy, which held everything.

Unfortunately, no one knew where that was. The last person to see it had been a rabbi by the name of Turn-blat. Wild dogs—code for shape-shifters—had killed him, and the key hadn’t been found in his personal effects.

I’d figured the Nephilim had it. How else had the damn demons flown free? But if they were asking
us
where it was . . . Well, that threw things into a whole new light.

“Where is the key?” the varcolac demanded again.

“Seriously, pal, we thought you had it.”

“Lizzy!”

My name ended in a curse as the other varcolac cut Jimmy again. He’d heal; hell, so would I, although I kinda hoped they wouldn’t notice. So far the Nephilim didn’t know all the things I could do, and I’d like to keep it that way.

“Why would we have it?” the varcolac asked.

“You killed Rabbi Turnblat.”

He grinned. “Not me personally.”

“Then you took the key.” He shook his head; I managed to shrug without moving my chains. “Someone did. You’d better start slapping around the minions.”

For an instant, doubt flickered along with the yellow flames in the varcolac’s eyes; then he scowled. “We know you have it. The key is with the Phoenix. That is what the rabbi said.”

I had a feeling the rabbi would have said just about anything when confronted with whatever Nephilim had been sent to kill him, maybe even the truth, but—

“I don’t have it. Swear to God.”

The varcolac hissed, and I rolled my eyes. The name of God didn’t hurt them. If it did I’d be singing hymns 24–7.

“You will tell us. I will make you.” He lifted the golden knife and tried to slice my neck, but the dog collar prevented it. With a sound of annoyance, he reached for the latch.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” I murmured.

He ignored me.

“Don’t!” Jimmy shouted. “She needs to have that collar on. Shit!”

I shifted my gaze. The muscle-bound varcolac had begun to hack at Jimmy in earnest. “Knock that off!” I ordered.

The varcolac nearest to me grinned. “And who will make us?”

“I might.”

He leaned closer, put his face right next to mine. “You are bound, seer. You will never be free again. You will tell us everything we want to know. You will watch us kill your ‘minion.’ ” His lip pulled back in a snarl. “Then we will satisfy ourselves on your body—all of us, and we are legion. If you are still in one piece, and this I doubt, then we will make you beg to die.” He licked my cheek, and his breath smelled of rot. “Where is the key?”

“Fuck you.”

He tried to nick my throat again—exactly what I was after. When his knife encountered my jeweled collar once more, he returned his attention to the clasp, fussed and fiddled, but eventually released it.

The breeze stilled. Jimmy murmured, “Uh-oh.”

The change came over me like a flash flood, a forest fire, a tornado—natural but deadly. The collar kept my inner nature contained. Without it, I became the new and improved me.

Not really a problem when I was killing demons. The trouble came when it was time to put the vampire
back
into the box. There were very few beings on this earth that were capable of it, and right now one of them was chained to the ground.

When Jimmy said, “Uh-oh” the varcolac had glanced at him; now the demon glanced back and his eyes widened. Mine must be bright red.

He tried to scramble away. Before he could, I ate his nose. He wasn’t going to need it anymore. Then I sank my fangs into his neck and drank. Nephilim blood tastes like candy, and the rush . . . pure sugar.

I tossed the varcolac aside with a flick of my head. He wasn’t dead, but he wasn’t moving either. I yanked my arms upward, my legs too. The stakes came out of the ground with a sifty, sandy shift, and I was free.

“Free.”
What a fantastic word.

The chains flapped about—striking me here and there, making me burn. I slid my fingers between the cuffs and skin, broke them off and tossed them aside. Sure, that stung a little, but it didn’t last long enough to matter.

The varcolac leader wasn’t dead yet, an easy fix. I picked him up and yanked his head free of the rest of him. He was ashes before the two halves hit the ground.

“Who’s next?” I asked.

“You-you-you’re a vampire,” Jimmy’s captor stuttered.

“What was your first clue?”

I breathed in, relishing the fear and uncertainty. When I was like this colors were brighter, smells so much smellier, sounds reached me from miles away as if they were right next to me. I could hear blood coursing through veins, the increase in the swish-swash signaling terror. Anticipating the flavor, I licked my lips.

I was so strong I could do anything. Kill anyone. I had no conscience, no morality, not a worry in this world or any other.

“I-I-I’ll kill him.” The varcolac had the knife to Jimmy’s throat. I reached out and snatched the fool by his Adam’s apple—in this form I was so fast my movements became a blur—and tore it out with one sharp yank. The blood washed over Jimmy like a warm spring rain.

“Sheesh, Lizzy.”

I licked my fingers. “You’re welcome.”

As I turned away, what remained of the varcolac burst into ashes, the remnants sticking to Jimmy’s glistening skin like feathers on tar.

I’ll give the varcolacs credit. They didn’t run. They came at me like an army.

But they didn’t stand a chance.

CHAPTER 3

When the only things left alive were Jimmy and me, I lifted my glistening arms to the moon and shrieked my triumph. Then I looked around for something else to kill.

My gaze fell on Sanducci still chained to the ground. Though Jimmy had given me this power, that didn’t matter to me when my demon was driving.

All those old wives’ tales about vampires making other vampires . . . not entirely true. Vampires are Nephilim, but they were created from the mating of a Grigori and a human. You can’t become one just by being bitten. You had to be born.

Unless you were me.

As far as I know, I’m the only sexual empath on the planet. In layman’s terms, I absorb supernatural powers through sex. In other words, because Jimmy is a dhampir, I’m one too, and dhampirs become vampires by sharing blood with them.

Jimmy hadn’t wanted to make me like him. He’d done everything to prevent it. He’d run away. He’d tried to hide. He’d even locked himself up in an enchanted Irish cottage, complete with a golden door and golden bars on the window. Didn’t matter. I’d found him, and I’d seduced him.

Jimmy was strong. He kept his vampire nature contained.
But once a month—beneath the full moon—it got free. And when it had, I’d been there waiting. Long before the sun rose, I was just like him.

Why had I done it? Because the only way to win this war was to be as ruthless as they were. The supernatural powers and extraordinary strength didn’t hurt either.

I inched closer to Jimmy, who lay naked beneath the moon. He was so damn pretty. My tongue darted out to wet my lips, snagging on my fangs, which cut the tender flesh. I tasted my own blood and paused for just an instant to enjoy.

For a vampire, sex and violence, blood and lust, are all rolled together. It’s hard to differentiate between them, and we don’t really want to.

My body tingled from the adrenaline, from the change, from the food. My skin cool, the blood beneath coursed so hot. Every sway of the breeze lifted the hairs on my arms, my neck, creating a delicious shiver. My shadow fell over Sanducci like a thundercloud.

His gaze met mine. “No, Lizzy.”

“Not Lizzy.”

He winced. “I know.”

I ran my hand over his perfect chest, his taut belly.

“Let me go,” he said. “You need your collar back on.”

“No.”

His sigh, full of pain, drew me in. I wanted to drink his agony slowly like a fine, expensive wine.

“So sad,” I whispered. “Broken inside.”

Jimmy’s mouth tightened; his eyes narrowed. “Not as broken as you think.”

I lowered my body onto his. Naked hip to naked hip, breasts to chest, his penis hot against my belly. “I can fix that.”

I kissed him. He might pretend to be human, but he wasn’t. He never had been. The violence called to him. He couldn’t deny its allure.

The thought of taking him on the blood-drenched ground, while he was tied, he was helpless, made me so aroused I writhed. In seconds, his penis was not only hot but also hard. He was unable to keep himself from kissing me back.

My hands glided over him. Down his arms to the manacles at his wrists, down his thighs to the restraints, then back up to the soft, tender flesh where his leg melded into his hip. I became fascinated with the skin there, the vein that blared blue beneath the silvery moon.

I licked it, and his breath caught. I gazed up his body. His face tense, torn, he wanted this, he wanted me, and then again he didn’t.

My teeth grazed the vein, my tongue pressed against it; the blood pulsed beneath, and I couldn’t resist. I drank from him.

He tasted both tart and sweet. His groan wasn’t pain or fear but lust. I lifted my head.

“Not yet,” I whispered, my breath brushing across him, making him shudder. “Wait for me.” Then I licked his tip, tested it with my tongue, traced it with just a hint of fang until he cursed and pulled against the chains.

“Take them off. Let me—” His head thrashed. I found myself intrigued.

“Let you what?”

He gave one final jerk against his bonds, and the stakes jiggled, but they held. The scent of burning flesh permeated the air. It reminded me of . . . hell. Not that I’d been there, but I could relate.