Magicstorm (Heart of a Vampire, Book 4) (7 page)

“You okay, boyo?” O’Grady demanded, staring
out into the dark night.

“I will be.”

“Hmph.” O’Grady looked him over, then glanced
at the dead wolves. “I’ll get someone to take care of the trash.
Come, you need to eat.”

He followed the man into the back room of the
pub, slouching into the first chair he came to and laid his
claymore on the table. He flattened his shaking hands onto the
wood.

That had been close. Too damn close. Where
the hell had this master she’d spoken of managed to dig up a
banshee half-breed?

What else did the “master” have in his
arsenal?

O’Grady silently handed him an open bottle
and Brandon gulped down the warm blood.

As he emptied it, a waitress set a plate of
food in front of him, with another bottle, nice and full.

He ate with gusto, feeling strength slowly
seep back into him and begin to heal his wounds.

O’Grady sat across from him, his eyes once
more human. “I ain’t seen one of them she-devils since I lived in
the old country.”

“You think she came from Ireland?” he
asked.

O’Grady shrugged. “Now-a-days, you never can
tell. She wasn’t full blood, though, was she?”

“No. Vampire.”

Shaking his head, O’Grady relaxed a bit in
the chair. “Thought so. If she’d been pure, we’d all be dead right
now. Not even my magic can compare to one of those bitches’
caterwauling.”

Brandon didn’t doubt it. This woman’s scream
had been powerful enough. He didn’t want to run into a full blood
any time soon.

“So, what’d she want with you?” O’Grady
asked, his voice hardening.

“She says I killed her brother, and her
master didn’t like it.”

“You think she’s involved with these new
murders?”

“If not, it would be too much of a
coincidence.”

O’Grady’s eyes narrowed. “You gonna keep
bringing riff raff to my place?”

“Might. You going to keep renting me that
room upstairs?”

“Aye. Won’t kick you out. Just try to keep
your business away from here. Scares the clients.”

Brandon hid a grin. “I’ll try.”

“Good.” As O’Grady stood, he said, “You can
bring that cute little thing from this afternoon back in,
though.”

“She’s a cop,” he replied.

“Aw, hells.” O’Grady’s eyes narrowed. After a
long moment, he added, “Well, if she’s with you, I guess she’s
still okay.”

He watched the man stride away, his thoughts
on Celeste. The sudden urge to check on her hit hard.

What if the banshee and her wolves headed for
Celeste next?

They’d known where to find
him
, even
if O’Grady’s might be more than obvious.

He left the bar, forgoing his bike and
instead flashed through the streets using his vampire speed. He
reached her apartment quickly and sniffed the air. There was no
scent or sign of danger.

On top of the office building across from her
complex, he studied her apartment, and the window to her
bedroom.

The room was dark, but light from the hall
lit the doorway. He hunched down, searching the shadowed
streets.

After a half-hour, no one had shown up. He
was about to leave when her bedroom light blinked on. He froze as
Celeste walked into her bedroom, the kitten in her arms.

She stopped at the foot of the bed, rubbing
her cheek along the furball’s back, then set it on the bed.

It looked up at her, meowing, and she
laughed. He could barely hear it through the closed window, but the
musical sound flooded him with longing. He sank a fang into his
tongue to clear his unstoppable thoughts.

When she reached up and drew her shirt over
her head, revealing an expanse of creamy skin covered only by a
lacy, red bra, his lungs stopped working.

He couldn’t breathe. His hands shook.

He felt as frozen as when the banshee’s
scream had held him.

She tossed the shirt somewhere, then
unsnapped her jeans and tugged them down long, smooth thighs.

His blood fired at the sight of her standing
in nothing but two scraps of matching red lace.

She was beautiful, a warrior’s form hidden
beneath her womanly curves.

She was perfect.

When she reached to unhook her bra, he
finally found the strength to turn away. He couldn’t sit here and
leer at her, like some Peeping Tom.

He left the roof, trying to forget what he’d
just seen, but it was impossible with desire racing through his
blood.

After checking around her apartment one more
time, he stood on the street, watching her now-dark window.

Sighing, he headed back to the pub to get
some sleep of his own.

The dreams came fast and hard. He was a young
boy, on his parents’ farm. He and Eric were working in the field,
bringing in the sheep for shearing.

A giant ship sailed up the fjord along their
land, a strange ship unlike any they’d ever seen before.

His mother called for him to come to the
house as his father strode to the dock with two of his warriors to
meet the ship. Brandon and Eric ignored their mother’s calls,
hiding in the tall grass, watching the ship’s arrival.

A tall woman came down the plank, wearing a
shimmering, nearly transparent gown. He and Eric stopped at the
sight, unable to look away from the nearly naked woman.

Their father spoke, his words unclear. The
woman smiled, her green eyes bright.

Monsters descended, crawling over the side of
the ship and onto land.

The woman waved her hand towards their
father. He screamed, a soul-destroying sound Brandon had never
before heard, and had never forgotten.

His father’s body erupted in flames that
quickly jumped to his two warriors. All three slid to the ground,
writhing as they burned.

Near the house, his mother screamed as she
saw what was happening.

Brandon jumped from his hiding place. With
Eric at his side, they raced for the house, to protect their mother
and siblings inside.

He’d found a scythe near the barn, grabbed
it, then faced the beasts rushing down the docks.

He’d fought, Eric at his back. But the
creatures didn’t stop, were never ending.

The beasts clawed, bit, snapped.

All too soon, his energy flagged. Behind him,
Eric cried out and the crack of a bone rang in the air.

His anger burned at what had been done to his
father, what was happening to his brother. What he refused to allow
to happen to his mother and other siblings.

From deep inside, flames sprung up, rushing
through his blood. His anger sharpened, molten, ready to be forged
into a most dangerous weapon.

Everything grew drenched with red.

Strength filled him and he somehow fought
harder, faster, no longer feeling pain or exhaustion.

The woman called out, and the beasts
stopped.

But he didn’t, until the air wrapped around
him, freezing him in place.

The woman from the ship approached, her eye
lit with eagerness. “A berserker. How interesting.”

From behind him, Eric shouted, rushing
forward to attack the woman. She waved her hand, and he too froze.
The woman looked at them both. “Twins? And both with the powers of
the ancients.” She turned her head and called out, “Gaston, bring
them both. But first, let them watch.”

Brandon tensed as he found himself watching
the scene not as himself, but an observer. He wanted to close his
eyes, but couldn’t as the woman and her beasts ravaged his mother
and sisters, killing them all, then burned down the house.

He and Eric were dragged to the ship.
Helpless. Unable to save anyone.

The dream drifted away and though usually, he
went back to the sorceress’ dungeon, this night he found himself in
Celeste’s bedroom.

She lay on the bed, in her lacey red
underthings, watching him. “You’re in pain. I feel it,” she
said.

He jerked back as her eyes flickered from
brown to the green of the sorceress. She smiled, but there was no
malice in it.

“Let me make you feel better,” she said
softly. “I cannot change the past, but I can help you now.”

She opened her arms to him. Emotion, hot and
heavy, rushed through his blood and all he wanted to do was go to
her, let her comfort him, push away the soul deep pain of the past,
which refused to let him go.

Lust, sex, hot and heavy, to drown out the
memories.

But something about her struck him. Magic.
Sorcery perhaps.

And it didn’t feel like this was his dream
any longer.

Chapter
seven

Celeste woke abruptly to her phone buzzing.
She sat up and stared around her bedroom. The light of dawn shone
through the window.

Rubbing her eyes, she thought back to the
dream. It had been weird.

She’d been lying in bed, telling Brandon to
join her.

The phone rang again, insistent, and she
pushed the dream from her mind. “Wilder.”

She didn’t recognize the voice, only the
words. “There was another murder connected to yours last night. The
guy didn’t call in this time. We just found the body.”

Sitting straighter, she replied, “Give me the
information. I’ll be there shortly.”

She hung up. Two in one night? As she dialed
Brandon’s number, she started to dress.

He answered, his voice gruff and strained.
“Yeah?”

“You were right. There was a double murder
last night.”

He cursed, then said, “I can be there in ten
minutes.”

“I’ll be ready.” She hung up, pretending
there were no flutters in her belly from his voice, or that her
heart hadn’t skipped a beat at the thought of seeing him soon. That
she hadn’t been wanting to sleep with him in her freaking
dreams.

When he arrived, she was outside,
waiting.

He barely looked at her. “Get on.”

She slid on the back of his motorcycle,
strapping on the helmet, then leaned back as far as she could while
he drove.

When they arrived at the scene, it was
already processed, the body ready to be loaded into the coroner’s
van. Ignoring the prickles on the back of her neck and the way she
kept finding Brandon staring at her with anger in his eyes, she got
down to her job.

By the time she was done, most of the other
cops had gone. She glanced at Brandon.

He leaned against the far wall, still
scowling at her.

“You want to tell me what I did to piss you
off?” she asked. “Or can we get on with work?”

He blinked, jerking back. Finally, he
straightened and began searching the scene for invisible runes. He
found the first and drew it for her on a small notepad. Brandon
walked around the crime scene, finding and drawing three more
strange symbols--none of which she could see.

By the time he finished, the tension in the
air was at least bearable, if still strained and uncomfortable.

“Do you dream?” he asked out of the blue.

She turned to look at him. “Why?”

“I’m curious.”

“Everybody dreams,” she replied, ignoring her
throbbing temples.

“What do you dream about?”

“Unicorns and rainbows,” she said
sharply.

His eyes finally lightened a bit. “We done
here?”

“Yes.”

As they got back on his bike, he asked,
“Where to next?”

“The station. I need to see the coroner’s
reports from the last two bodies.”

He drove silently, parking in the back by her
car.

She sent an unspoken thank you for having her
own vehicle near so she wouldn’t have to deal with the overpowering
feel of touching him again.

Inside, she ignored the censuring glares and
the mumbled comments from Kurtz about how she was screwing up the
case and headed straight for her office. Brandon closed the door,
then leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. One of
the reports was on her desk and she grabbed it, then headed for the
door.

Brandon didn’t move, blocking her way.

She met his gaze, feeling the warmth of him
pressing against her, asking her to let him in.

“What now?” she asked.

“What do you dream about?” he replied, his
voice tense.

“Nothing.”

His jaw tightened.

“You want to move?”

Finally he turned, opening the door and
waving for her to lead. She did, but could feel his gaze burning a
spot in the center of her back.

In the coroner’s office, she found Frankie.
“What are you still doing here?”

The woman glanced up tiredly. “Your killer’s
keeping us busy. Doesn’t seem to care we need sleep, at least some
of the time.”

“Yeah. Is the post for this new victim
done?”

“Just finished typing it up.”

The printer hummed and Celeste read the pages
as they came out. “So nothing new?”

“Not that I could find.”

“Great.” She turned to Brandon. “Ready to go
back and check the first couple scenes?”

He nodded and, with a quick thanks, they left
the morgue.

Outside, she headed straight for her car,
raising an eyebrow at him when he stopped at his bike. “I’ll
drive.”

He shrugged and got in the passenger side.
The drive to the first scene was heavy with tension. Neither of
them spoke.

She was aware of his presence on so many
levels it would have been annoying if it wasn’t so uncomfortably
stressful.

When she finally pulled up along the alley of
the first murder, she shut off the car, waited for him to get out,
then leaned back in her seat with a sigh of relief.

She watched him until he disappeared between
the buildings, trying to talk herself into getting out. Her mind
kept whispering she didn’t need to. It wasn’t like there was
anything she could do. It was all up to him.

But it was her job and she was no coward.

Resigned, she pushed her door open.