Rise of the Blood (35 page)

“Very funny.”

“I feel funny.” I couldn’t hold his gaze. It was just too intimate. His eyes were aqua and glowed like the sun reflecting off the Mediterranean. They made me think of skinny dipping and the power of the surf, surging. I cut that thought to the quick. “Seriously, though, thanks for coming,” I said reluctantly. “I wasn’t sure you would.”

“What, and miss the chance to make you beholden to me?”

“Think again, buddy. In my book, this just makes us even.”

Apollo tapped a finger on his lip, pretending to consider, but not putting much effort into making it look sincere. “Really? By my count, that makes twice I’ve saved your life and you’ve—oh wait, you have yet to reciprocate.”

“Damn you and your scorekeeping. Tell you what, you let me know when you’re going to throw yourself in front of a train, and I’ll be there to stop you. No, really.” Two could play at sincerity.

Apollo’s eyes rolled upward as if he could spot the heights of Olympus right through my ceiling. “It doesn’t work like that.”

I sighed. “Fine.” I looked down to be sure I was decently clothed, unlike the last time I’d woken in a bed with Apollo, and started to rise. Apollo looked regretful, but didn’t try to keep me there.

I was pleased that all my parts seemed to be in working order. It was the first day in what seemed like forever without the shakes. I didn’t have to
pretend
I was fine. I wanted to give a rebel yell, but that would be undignified. And heavens, having built up my skid row junkie image, I didn’t want to blow it all in one fell swoop. “I need to wash the stink off, and I need food, not necessarily in that order. The least I can do is offer you something.”

I wandered into the kitchen and started opening and closing cupboards, as if elves might have stocked them while I was out. “Um, how about omelets? As long as you don’t like anything in them. More like scrambled eggs, really. Or, I make a mean cinnamon toast.”

He followed me in and lounged against my cabinets. He looked good standing there, and my brain tried to remind me that bedrooms weren’t the only places for fun and games, but those thoughts were by now used to being ignored.

“I’m not hungry, thank you,” Apollo announced as he watched me play at domestication. “I left a…supply…for you in your refrigerator. I suppose you’ll have to let me know when you need more.”

“So, what’s the catch here? What do I owe you?” Rather than look at him, I went about getting the fixings for scrambled eggs and toast. Normally I’d opt for cereal or a Power Bar rather than actual home cooking, but I felt the need for something hot and filling. Besides, I was bursting with excess energy I needed to channel.

“Dump your detective.”

Armed with a tub of butter and a spatula, I whirled on him. “Just because you saved my life doesn’t mean you get to dictate how I live it.”

“Are you yet on a first name basis?”

“Yes.”
Most of the time
. I dropped everything on the counter and attacked the butter with a vengeance, tossing a glop into my pan and barely waiting for it to heat before adding the eggs. “Anyway, it’s none of your business.”

“He’s not for you. I have seen—”

“What do you know about the dead bodies on top of Mount Lee?” I asked suddenly. I didn’t want to know my future…or Nick’s. I’d read enough of the myths to learn that knowing the future often led people to play right into their doom. The whole self-fulfilling prophecy bit. The only thing to do with that power was mark it “return to sender”.

“The ones in the news?”

“I sure hope there aren’t any others.” I chopped the eggs to within an inch of their lives before sliding them onto a plate and carrying my feast to the table. Apollo sat down across from me. It was such a strange homey scene with the morning light streaming through the windows. All we needed were steaming mugs of coffee and newspapers to help us ignore each other.

“They are related to the earlier trouble?” Apollo asked.

I froze, first bite nearly to my lips. “Trouble? No euphemisms before coffee. Anyway, I think they are. There’s the location for one. Plus, the remains of all the bodies would barely fill a chum bucket, so I’m doubtful it was your average man off the street who whacked ’em. Oh, and the Feds asked me some pretty oddball questions. Wanted to know about biological warfare.”

Apollo’s face went all over strange before tightening into a mask.

I swallowed the bite in my mouth. “What? Does that mean something to you?”

“Maybe. Can you tell me any more about the attack?”

“Not…really.” Not except for that strange dream
with the gnashing teeth and slashing claws, the details of which were already slipping away from me. And anyway, it was
just
a dream. A vivid, terrifying, heart-pounding dream, but still. Unless…

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” he wheedled.

I eyed him. “I’ve seen yours.”

Saving the love of her life could mean letting her inner darkness out to play.

Blood of an Ancient

© 2013 Rinda Elliott

Beri O’Dell, Book 2

Beri O’Dell is on a mission. She has to rip back into a hell dimension fast, but needs two things first—the blood of an ancient and a fix for her friend Blythe’s magic, which careened out of control after the battle with the Dweller. 

Finding ancient blood isn’t easy when the old ones are rare and unwilling to donate. She needs to find Blythe’s former mentor…except the woman has lost her mind and joined a traveling band of singing witches.

That’s not the only magical monkey on her back. Nikolos is imprisoned, and after a screwed-up spell lets her witness the horror that has become his life, her fear for him grows by the day. Now there’s another problem—a powerful being unleashed during the battle with the Dweller likes her gluttonous new existence, and will kill anyone who threatens it.

But Beri has a few tricks up her costumed sleeve, even if it means mining the darkness of her soul to set everything right…and get Nikolos back in her arms.

Warning: Sleazy ancients. Random fires. Nosy teenage hackers. Hints of off-screen torture. Battles with...Beri doesn't know what. And one scary boyfriend who keeps inching toward insanity.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Blood of an Ancient:

Later in the day while Blythe packed, I rummaged in a greenhouse I discovered behind the house. It was obviously under construction because no actual plant life resided inside, just a lot of boards and tools. I assumed Nikolos planned to build more of the long tables he had in here. There were two.

The sprite was still sleeping—I hoped—in the windowless bathroom, but I needed something to put him in for the trip. I wasn’t letting him out of my sight. Who knew when we’d find another ancient?

I ended up building a kind of rudimentary mini-coffin. It wasn’t pretty, but I glued the hell out of every corner so I was sure no sunlight could get inside. We couldn’t just keep him wrapped in shirts the whole way.

I was wondering if vampires could suffocate later as I watched Blythe pull up a search engine. Dooby and Castor had grocery shopped, so Blythe and I made a quick dinner of sandwiches and chips before settling in front of the computer to find this band.

“The witch who answered the phone said the band is called Staglina.”

It wasn’t hard to find them. They must have been popular because they came up on the first search page. Their website was a dark, serene blue with an image of the moon hovering over an ocean. There were no concert locations, no band member biographies…nothing but a link to a video. 

Blythe clicked and sat back with a thump against her chair when the music started. So did I. My heart pounded harder, warmth filled my chest. Women’s voices raised in a harmony like nothing I’d ever heard filled the room. Castor and Dooby left the table where they’d been poring over the ancient spell book translations and approached the computer.

We all waited until the last note played, then I released a shaky breath. “Whoa.”

Blythe shook her head. “Sophie can’t be in that. This is magic.”

“Of course it’s magic—they’re witches.” I managed to stop myself from rolling my eyes. I was trying not to do that so much around Blythe with her habit of stating the obvious. I did catch Phro’s eye roll in my peripheral vision. The goddess couldn’t care less about the little witch’s feelings.

Castor leaned over my shoulder and used the mouse to restart the video. He turned the speakers down. “Look at their faces.”

I squinted at the small video. All I saw was a blur of women in blue dresses. “What faces? This is obviously a poorly recorded phone video from a concert.”

“And Staglina linked to it?”

I shrugged. “Sure. Why not? That song alone would pull a lot of people to their concerts.”

“Nothing around them is blurred—just their faces.”

The stage, the trees behind it, everything else showed up sharp and crystal clear. “Creepy.”

“Suspicious,” Blythe replied. “Wonder what Staglina means?” She clicked back to the home page. “And why wouldn’t they have a concert listing? I was told Sophie called them from Alabama. Some small town near Birmingham.”

“I think Staglina is Norse.” I searched the memories of my stint with an obsessive Norse mythology fascination. I’d been trying to find a troll and got completely caught up in the old stories. I wouldn’t be telling Aphrodite this, but I never got quite as fascinated with the Greek myths. “I’m sure Nikolos has some books on Norse myth in his library, but I think I remember it having something to do with a chain and anchor.”

Blythe clicked on another page. Empty again. “I don’t get it. What kind of band has no useful information on their site? How are fans supposed to find them?”

“See if you can find a mention of their concert.” I took a bite of the ham sandwich, enjoyed the extra kick of sharp cheddar. “Maybe someone who went to the last concert blogged or something.”

An hour later, all we had was the location of the last show in Alabama and that came from a small news piece on cops being called out to break up a concert they couldn’t find.

Blythe sighed and stretched her neck back and forth. “I’ll stay on this and read comments on the video page. There were hundreds.” She picked up a potato chip and crunched it.

“Have fun with that. Comment sections on any website never fail to sap at my belief in the general goodness of human beings.” Grimacing, I reached for the mini-coffin I’d built. “I’m too tired to deal with that little creature in the bathroom tonight. Have Elsa or Castor… Wait.” I turned to Dooby, who’d gone back to the book. “You have power over the dead, right, Dooby?”

He looked up. “Yeah, but vampires aren’t technically all-the-way dead.”

“Do you think you could figure out how to feed him so he doesn’t starve before we can get to the spell?”

He shrugged. “Sure. Give me the little coffin.”

I didn’t trust that ornery expression but I walked over and gave the box to him, then walked to the door. “Hey Blythe, don’t stay up too late. We have a long trip tomorrow.”

“In the car?” Blythe avoided my gaze.

Suspicion gave me sudden goose bumps. “I think taking a vampire sprite on an airplane would be a bad idea, don’t you? Why?”

“Nothing. I just don’t like long car rides. But before you go to bed, I want to try something.”

I waited for her to go on. Tapped my foot when she didn’t.

“I think I know how you can see Nikolos again. I have some yerba santa. If we pour boiling water over it and pour it over your ankhs, I think he might come to you in your dreams.”

Even the thought had my heart pounding hard. “Let’s do it then.”

It only took a few minutes to boil the water and strain the concoction over my necklaces. It took me forever to fall asleep because I couldn’t help wondering if it would work. I wiggled so much the sheets tangled about my legs.

When I finally slept, I realized that once again, Blythe had gotten a spell wrong. Instead of Nikolos coming to me…I went to him.

Some mistakes can literally come back to bite you.

The Mountain’s Shadow

© 2013 Cecilia Dominic

The Lycanthropy Files, Book 1

First it was ADD. Then pediatric bipolar. Now the hot behavioral disorder in children is CLS, or Chronic Lycanthropy Syndrome. Public health researcher Joanie Fisher was closing in on the cause in hopes of finding a treatment until a lab fire and an affair with her boss left her without a job.

When her grandfather leaves her his multimillion-dollar estate in the Ozarks, though, she figures her luck is turning around. Except her inheritance comes with complications: town children who disappear during full moons, an irresistible butler, and a pack of werewolves who can’t seem to decide whether to frighten her or flirt with her.

Joanie’s research is the key to unraveling the mysteries of Wolfsbane Manor.  However, resuming her work means facing painful truths about her childhood, which could result in the loss of love, friendship, and the only true family she has left.

Warning: Some sexy scenes, although nothing explicit, and adult language. Also alcohol consumption and food descriptions that may wreck your diet.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
The Mountain’s Shadow:

“You’ll catch your death of cold out here.” The tone was mocking. I turned to see Leonard Bowman leaning against a lamppost. He wore a black leather jacket over an open green polo shirt and khaki trousers, and although his posture was relaxed, he seemed like a compressed spring ready to uncoil at any moment.

I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “I just had a conversation with your brother.”

“Did he try to charm or threaten you?” A smile tugged at his lips, and I noticed he was the antithesis of his pale brother with his wavy dark brown hair and black eyes. More intense too. The image of him in Galbraith’s office came to mind.

“A little of both, but mostly threaten.”