The Vampire King (14 page)

But in the sleeping confines of the ancient witch’s mind, there were voices. They spoke to her in jumbled masses, their whispers and words a mixed-up mess that she could not understand. She floated in a strange darkness as something blurry and blue took shape up ahead.

There was a table, black and smooth as an onyx plane. It reflected some unknown light, and atop it was a.…

A chess board.

Lalura floated toward the board, ever closer to the object of her imagination. As she neared it, shapes materialized upon it, taking up the squares beneath them with a regal purpose. Lalura counted them. One, two, three….

Thirteen kings. Different colors, all tall and gleaming beneath the magical light, all with a waiting majesty.

Lalura stepped forward, her feet now firmly planted on the ground, the vision around her now solidified. The room was empty other than the table and chess board. She moved to stand beside the table and looked down at the pieces.

There were twenty-six now.

Thirteen kings.

And on the opposite end of the board, their smaller forms huddled together as if to hide from her sight, were thirteen queens. They were slightly different, all of them. But they were still indistinct, and there was that frustrating feeling about them; Lalura knew that if she tried to reach out to touch them, they would disappear.

She squinted at them, noticing that one was separate. It was further forward on the board – as was one of the kings.

With a sudden start unhealthy for one so old, Lalura woke from the telling dream and sat up in her feather bed. Her fine white hair waved about her face like a wispy halo. She exhaled a shaky breath and the hair around her face danced.

A snow plow rumbled by outside her window. Lalura’s stark blue gaze narrowed with irritation. The noise was disturbing, but the sound was a secondary annoyance. What really troubled Lalura was what she had just seen.

Roman felt her presence drawing near. He always did. But he made no move to acknowledge her this time. He did not rise from where he sat beside Evie’s unconscious form, and he did not take his eyes from her sleeping face.

“Well, I hate to be the one who states the obvious,” Lalura said as she came up behind him, her steps slow and labored, as usual. She came up beside him and looked down at Evie as well. “But you seem to have found her.”

“Tell me what’s wrong with her,” Roman commanded softly. He could no longer make it past Evie’s barriers in any fashion, and she wouldn’t wake up. As the minutes and the hours passed by and the sun rose higher in the morning sky, his thoughts turned darker. He was considering things no vampire had been allowed to consider for thousands of years.

Beside him, Lalura made a harrumphing sound and he could feel her sharp eyes land on him. “You don’t know?” she asked, clearly bemused by the idea.

Roman shook his head.

“Then I assume you can’t scan her or read her or whatever it is you boys call it?” she asked, putting two and two together the way he knew she would.

Again, Roman shook his head.

Lalura fell silent. Then she nodded and he watched as she raised her hand over the woman’s sleeping body. She spoke her own cryptic words, releasing tendrils of her magic that curled like wisps of white smoke from her palm to Evie’s form.

The magic surrounded Evie, enveloping her in a shroud of glowing curiosity. Finally, Lalura lowered her hand, and the magic disappeared.

“I suggest you tell me everything, Roman D’Angelo,” the old woman said. “And start from the beginning.”

Roman gently brushed a lock of Evie’s beautiful hair from her forehead and secretly marveled at its softness. Behind her eyelids, her eyes moved, just for a moment, as if she were dreaming. Roman took a deep breath and nodded.

“Very well.”

He told her everything, from the rescue on the intersection to the way he’d studied Evie for two days, to the incident in the coroner’s morgue. He even told her about the cavern – not that he told her where it was.

When he’d finished, he realized that he hadn’t moved from where he yet remained on the edge of the bed. The bed was a king sized bed that he hadn’t slept in for some time; the room was only one of the master bedrooms he possessed around the world. This safe house had simply been the one nearest to the hospital when he’d transported from the morgue.

He realized then that he’d come here instead of to the cavern because he’d known that Lalura would come looking for him. He’d felt it in his bones. And he desperately wanted her help.

Lalura processed the information in silence, and then asked, “You said she smelled coffee?”

“Yes. That’s what she said before she fell.”

“Interesting.” She paused another moment more, and Roman turned to glance at her. The old witch’s expression was deeply contemplative. Roman could tell at once that she knew something he didn’t and that for some reason, she wasn’t sharing.

“Lalura, tell me what you know.” He didn’t want to make demands around her. He didn’t want to come on strong with Lalura Chantelle. But there was a desperation burning in his veins. It felt like fire, spurring on a hunger he barely recognized, and the scent of Evie’s magic blood wasn’t helping.

He needed answers yesterday.

Lalura’s eyes cut to him. “What I know?” she repeated. She cocked her old head to one side and pursed her wrinkled lips. “I know that coffee sounds good, but quite frankly I’ve always preferred tea.”

For once, Lalura did not wait for Roman to provide their refreshments, but instead turned and muttered her own words of magic into the chamber’s still air. On the coffee table on the other side of the room, a tea set shimmered to life. The pot was steaming.

Lalura moved away from the bed to make her way to the sitting area. “Roman, come and sit down and share a cup of tea with me,” she said.

Roman stayed where he was, watching as the witch took a slow seat on one of the padded chairs and exhaled a tired breath. “We need to have a nice, long talk, you and I,” she continued, “and there’s no way in hell I’m doing it on my feet.”

Chapter Thirteen

It was the strangest holiday shopping Dannai had ever experienced. As “The Healer” and one of the more powerful witches in her coven, normally at this time of year, Danny, as she was called by her friends and relatives, would be preparing for the Winter Solstice. She would be baking, humming happy tunes, and creating fabulous, glittering decorations with a bit of magic. This had always been her favorite time of year.

This
year, however, a dark cloud hung over her world, casting what would otherwise be a joyous occasion into shadows of doubt. The Hunters were on the loose again, this time led by a man who apparently possessed magic powers of his own. And now she wasn’t only a witch – she was a werewolf.

Danny glanced at her reflection in the shop windows they passed. She was three months pregnant but had yet to show. The image that reflected back at her – tall, slim, dark tanned skin, long black hair and multi-colored “kaleidoscope” eyes simply looked more healthy than it had in a long time.

To her right, her best friend Imani walked by her side. The African American goddess was several inches taller than Danny and looked like a model. She was a witch as well, and the herald of their coven. On Danny’s other side walked “Charlie,” or Claire St. James, another werewolf. Charlie was their physical opposite in skin tone and hair with a very fair complexion, a slight smattering of fetching freckles, and long, thick strawberry blond hair.

The three of them looked very different, but together they were a formidable team for good, and normally they were accompanied by two other werewolves who rounded out them out perfectly – Lily Kane, a “seer,” and Katherine Dare, the “curse breaker.”

These girls knew how to take care of themselves. But since the Hunters had reformed and grown almost exponentially in numbers, the werewolf council overseer, Jesse Graves, had put into effect several new rules.

No important member of the werewolf community went anywhere any longer without at least one enforcer in tow. The werewolf enforcers were the biggest and the strongest that alphas had to offer. Graves had been one himself at one time.

Danny looked over her shoulder now and spotted the four enforcers that had been assigned to watch over her and her friends. The large men tried to hang back and blend in, but it was hopeless. They looked like weight lifting models, bulging out of their jeans and t-shirts, their thick hair and dark glasses all-too conspicuous.

But then maybe that was part of the point. If the Hunters saw them first, maybe they would ignore the girls.

“Oh, I want to stop in here,” said Charlie, breaking their companionable silence. The three girls stopped in the hall and looked up at the Hot Topic sign. “Remember that girl I told you about who was having a hard time in school since getting her werewolf powers?” Charlie continued, taking Danny’s hand and pulling her inside. “She’s way into Robert Pattison in white face paint. I’m gonna see what they have left here.”

Danny shrugged and went along with it, and Imani followed behind. Charlie was a drummer in a band called Black Squirrel. As such, she was a bit of a role model for quite a few teenage girls, and since Katherine had unwittingly broken the werewolf curse that kept female-born wolves from having the same supernatural powers their brothers and fathers shared, a lot of those girls had been writing to Charlie via email and through snail mail to ask for advice.

Charlie, of course, was thrilled to be able to give that help and more. A few of the girls, Charlie had sort of taken under her wing. It was one of the things Danny loved about her. Charlie was the toughest woman Danny had ever known. She’d been through so much pain herself, and yet she didn’t hesitate to assist others whenever possible. In fact, maybe it was
because
of that pain and not in spite of it that she fought so hard to keep others from suffering. She had empathy – more than a person should have to have.

“Oh yay,” said Imani in a droll tone. “I love those really pasty white boys.”

“Liar, liar,” came an incredibly deep voice from behind them. “Pants on fire.”

Danny jumped and spun, as did Charlie. They hadn’t noticed anyone coming up behind them. But Imani couldn’t turn around, because Jesse Graves was standing at her back, and his arms had slid around hers, holding her in place.

Imani looked up at the massive black man who curled over her and pinned her with his stark amber eyes. She blushed furiously, which was impressive for her dark skin tone.

“Jesse!” Danny said, exhaling a relieved breath. “What are you doing here?”

The Overseer looked up, not moving from where he held the coven herald in his strong grasp. “Proving to you that you are not in fact capable of taking care of yourselves,” he said softly, raising a single brow.

“Oh?” said Imani, despite her obvious flustering. “I could turn you into a soft, cuddly chinchilla right now.”

Jesse looked down at her and smiled a bright white, predatory smile. “Baby, if you want to cuddle with me, all you gotta do is ask.”

He and Imani had been dating on and off for a few months now, and Danny was sure Imani knew all about “cuddling” with the man. Imani elbowed him in the gut, to which he just chuckled, but he did let her go. Then he smoothed his button-up shirt and straightened to his full, impressive height.

Jesse had almost always played an important role in werewolf society. He was the Overseer now, the head of the werewolf council, and the most important position in the werewolf world. However, before becoming Overseer, he’d been a Sentinel. Sentinels were very rare, very highly trained enforcers used to guard VIP’s of werewolf society. Enforcers, in and of themselves, were the strongest and fastest of the werewolves. Jesse was the crème of the crop.

The former Overseer had been Charlie’s grandfather, Alexander Kavanagh. Kavanagh had died destroying a very evil man, and in his last will and testament, he’d called for Jesse to take his place.

Jesse wasn’t much for suits and never had been. While he was a Sentinel in the werewolf world, in the human world he’d worked as an attorney prior to becoming Overseer, and even then he’d only worn a suit when actually in court. But the role of Overseer called for at least a semi-formal dress almost all the time, so he wore the most expensive sports coats and slacks money could buy.

Danny had to admit he looked good in them, too.
Really
good.

“And there’s also the fact that neither Cole nor Caige would allow me to give you three permission to go out on your own unless I’d promised to check in on you myself,” Jesse told them.

Danny’s eyes widened. The three girls spoke at once. “They
what
?”

Jesse held up his hands in placation. “You all know the risks right now. You’re lucky you have this time. Don’t argue with me.”

Danny’s mouth shut with a snap. She felt furious just then, but that could have been hormones, and anyway she could definitely see Jesse’s point. “Cole” was Malcolm Cole, the famous author, the rather notorious werewolf, and Charlie’s fiancé. “Caige” was Danny’s husband. Naturally, the men were worried. The Hunters had been ripping a jagged hole in the supernatural world for the last few weeks.

Just a few days ago, they’d injured a few fledgling female borns so badly that the girls hadn’t known how to heal themselves adequately and Danny had been called in to do the mending. She possessed the unique ability to heal wounds by simply placing her hands on a wounded body and visualizing it as it once was. As far as they all knew, she was the only one among them with this talent.

Jesse’s gaze squared on her. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

Danny was carrying Lucas’s twins. The pregnancy was throwing her for a bit of a loop, in all honesty. The last time she’d used her powers to heal had been more difficult for her than usual. She was drained, as every pregnant woman was. She hadn’t wanted to let on that healing someone had caused her weakness, but Lucas had simply
known
. And he’d begged her not to do it again.