The Warrior Vampire (2 page)

“Where have you been lately, Naya?” Paul's voice scolded, despite his calm, level tone. He hadn't gone by “Paulo” for many years. Naya guessed he thought the Americanization of his name helped him blend in. She didn't have the stones to tell him he wasn't fooling anyone. “For weeks no one has seen you, and Joaquin says you haven't been at your apartment. You know you're supposed to stay close to the circle when you're not patrolling.”

“I work all night. It stands to reason that I might not open my door during the day because I'm sleeping. Wouldn't you agree?” She tried to keep her own voice as calm as his. “I haven't been hiding from anyone. Just busy.” His silence was as good as a string of curses shouted in her ear. “It isn't necessary for me to check in all the time,” she continued, wondering why she kept the conversation rolling. “Besides, you know I always get the job done. Santi has the box.”

Over the dead air she heard the sound of a low growl, a jaguar, and she suppressed a shudder. Apparently Paul didn't appreciate her
pop and drop
system. “It shows lack of faith that you separate yourself from your people,” he said in a strained voice. “Do you forget that you have vowed to serve not only the tribe, but our pod?”

How could she forget? The bastard reminded her daily. “I never forget a vow,” she said as she hung a sharp left. She pulled the phone off the cradle and turned off the speaker function, putting the receiver to her ear. “I do what you ask, damned efficiently I might add. So don't ever call in to question my loyalty.”

“Others would disagree.” Gods, she hated it when he got all high-and-mighty. “You are bound to serve the elders until the time of your pairing. You should be happy to interact with the members of this pod. Attend tribal functions.”

Fuck you. I'd like to see you try and make me go.

“I'll make you go if I have to.”

Son of a bitch, she hated when he did that. Just as she opened her mouth to give her thoughts a voice, he ended the call. But not before she heard that warning growl one more time.

Naya drove out of downtown Crescent City ready to put as much distance between her and tribal business as possible. Every member of their pod lived on the same square city block of property, including her. Well, sort of. A few months ago, she'd decided that she'd be damned if she lived every day of her life near Paul and his antiquated bullshit, and rented a house ten or so miles out of town. That way, when she needed space—like tonight—she had a secret haven in which to lay low. Only Santi and her cousin Luz knew about the house and that's the way it was going to stay. Naya could trust them to keep her secrets.

With the switch on the back of her steering wheel she searched for an appropriate radio station. She found one that echoed her mood, all deep bass drops and screaming techno beats. Against the backdrop of night, blue and red lights flashed, reflecting off the wet street. A group of greasy-looking guys sat on the sidewalk, handcuffed, their heads hanging and water dripping from their lank hair into the gutters at their feet.

Criminals, more than likely.

And they deserved whatever those cops dished out.

Didn't they?

The voice of reason scratched at the back of her brain,
Yes. They did.

Naya brought her hand up and rubbed her sternum, wondering at the sudden twinge in her chest. Probably nothing more than a little residual mojo left over from the repo. The pain increased from mild annoyance to sharp, pounding,
fuck me
pain. And then, the music began to play.

Not the radio. But the music only she could hear. The siren song that was the essence of magic in use. Only a
bruja
could hear it. And it wasn't an acquired skill. All of the women in her family had heard the sounds of magic since their birth. As fate may have it, she was one of only two living females in her family line. Which was why Paul had such a bug up his butt about her skipping tribal functions. In fact, she had a sneaking suspicion he was antsy to get her good and mated. And breeding a new generation of “ears” for their pod.

Lilting notes tugged at her chest, high, tinkling, and delicate followed by deep, hollow echoes. Whoever was using was close. And packing. Definitely not an amateur like the woman Naya had killed earlier in the night. This user had street cred and enough power to make not only Naya's chest ache but her ears ring also. She lost focus of everything around her, the magic enveloping her senses until only the ringing cadence of its presence remained. Her vision blurred, the wet pavement becoming nothing more than a smear across her eyes.
Shit
. Those cops weren't too far back; they'd notice if she swerved all over the rain-drenched road.

She eased her foot down on the brake, slowing to a cautious but not suspicious speed. Nostrils flared, she dragged in lungfuls of breath and expelled them slowly through parted lips. In through the nose, out through the mouth. She focused on the act of breathing in a futile attempt to curb the sensory deprivation caused by the magic's song. Tears sprang to her eyes at the beauty of the tune. So perfect and pure, only to dive into a raucous, offensive noise that made her brain pound in her skull.
What in the hell is going on?

By small degrees her vision cleared and the road came back into focus. Two repos in one night—almost unheard of—especially so close to each other. She'd popped the first mapinguari in a back alley not far from here. Maybe two or three miles.

Alarms sounded in her brain, caution flags flying high. The possibility for disaster imminent. But the power seeking her out was too great to ignore. No way could she turn her back. Not because she had any great sense of responsibility. But because if she ignored it, an innocent might be hurt. And no matter how divided her loyalty to her pod had been lately, she couldn't allow another demon to be born of malicious magic tonight.

As soon as she was sure the cops couldn't see her, Naya flipped the car around in the middle of the four-lane road. Right in front of a
no U-turn
sign.
Heh.
She retraced her route for a block and when her vision began to blur again she knew she was close. Pulling into an empty parking lot, she killed the engine and gripped the steering wheel while she took a few more deep breaths and centered her own energy. No use going out half-cocked. Trouble was, no matter how she focused, the meditation didn't bring her an ounce of calm. She slipped out of the car, stumbling in the parking lot as she felt her way to the hatchback. As she pulled the latch, the door silently glided up and another wave of crippling sound caused her muscles to lock up. If she didn't get to the abuser soon, the magic could level the entire block. Unchecked power had a way of backfiring in the wrong hands. Or causing a shit-ton of chaos in the right ones. Either way, it was a lose-lose situation.

She shook off the paralyzing effects of the magic's influence and dug through the case she kept stashed in the cargo area. No way could she have hauled all of her gear in a little coupe. The case was more like a shallow trunk, with drawers and removable trays. At the very bottom of her arsenal, Naya found the ammo she'd been looking for. Though she wasn't opposed to using real bullets when the situation called for it, the SIG had been modified to shoot rubber slugs. Great for stoppage. She didn't shoot to kill, especially if she didn't have a clean shot. That's what the dagger was for.

The blade pre-dated history. Glowing citrine bright and ever sharp, it disappeared into an obsidian handle wrapped in old, oiled leather. Like an extension of her arm, the dagger was precisely balanced as if forged specifically for her height, weight, body construction. And when she held it in her hand, Naya felt a surge of power that nearly knocked her off her feet. It was a killing weapon, a ceremonial tool, and the only thing that could extract the magic from the heart of the thief. Magic was a fickle bitch, and if you didn't follow every rule to the letter, well, you might as well kiss your ass good-bye.

She tucked the SIG into her waistband and held the dagger with a death grip. The target wasn't far off. She sensed a wave of power from the far side of the parking lot toward the rear of the abandoned retail space. A row of floodlights had burned out, no doubt from the surge of magical energy. Perfect for a sneak attack. Not so great for the thief.

Water pooled in the uneven asphalt and soaked through her Nikes and the hems of her jeans. But she didn't have time to worry about her soggy socks or the fact that she'd left her umbrella in the car. The notes drifting from the source of power pulled at her heart, no longer corrupt but almost pure. Why?
How?
She could think of nothing else, the melody urging her forward like a trail of bread crumbs. Looked like she wasn't going to dodge the elders tonight. They'd see her at the banishing after all, perhaps with one more gold box to add to their collection.

Rainfall masked Naya's approach in this asphalt and metal jungle. Her prey had no idea a hunter lurked in the shadows. Just the way she liked it. A surprise attack was so much more efficient than a mad rush. If the thief had already surrendered his humanity for magic, there was no question in her mind as to what had to be done. This would be a quick kill. A clean kill.

Disable. Disarm.
Her instincts flared as she crept closer to the source of power. A steady beat, trilling, then deep, sang in the well of her soul, awakening her own seat of power that coursed through her veins like quicksilver. She'd never heard anything so … right. How could the music be so corrupt one minute and speak so strongly to her soul the next? Pulse racing, heart pounding, her body kept pace with the sound of the magic that increased in volume and tempo until it threatened to crash over her in a crescendo of raw energy.

Her prey was in sight.

As he leaned against a lamppost, his tawny hair fell gently across his brow, dripping with a steady stream of water. He was huge, with cords of bulky muscle that flexed with each shuddering breath he took. He ripped at his shirt, tearing the fabric from his body, and a feral growl echoed above the rush of rain. He kept his head bowed low over his upturned hands as shallow breaths caused his powerful shoulders to heave.

She had no idea why, but magic always pooled in the hands of the experienced and inexperienced alike. Amethyst light leached from his pores like sweat, dripping thick and sludgy before pooling at his feet. His fingers curled and Naya could tell from the set of his jaw that his teeth were clenched tight. This wasn't the typical theft-gone-wrong she was used to seeing. The magic's tune was now in perfect pitch, the purest melody she'd ever heard. But despite that, this guy was in serious trouble. Scared shitless or at the very least hurting like a sonofabitch.

Crouching low, she continued toward him. Her eyes watered from the power leaching out of him. She'd never felt anything like it in all her life. And she'd been around the block a few times. Her heart pounded in her chest and emotion swelled like a rising tide: anticipation, excitement, and …
tenderness
. A moan escaped his lips and he fell to his knees, dropping his hands onto the wet asphalt. The glow of magic spread out around him in a perfect circle like he was bleeding the stuff, and he threw back his head while he panted like a wounded animal.

Holy shit
. What in the hell was she looking at here? Before she could answer that question the mystery guy hopped up from the ground like his ass was on fire. And made a beeline straight for her. May the goddess forgive her … she stood there like an idiot and just watched him advance.

Time seemed to slow and she saw the whole damned thing as though she were nothing more than a spectator. Water splashed out from beneath his feet, his head tucked down as he ran. He hit her in a football tackle, shoulder to her stomach, arms wrapped tight around her waist. It barely registered when he spun, cradling her against his chest as he took the brunt of the fall. Shit, she was dazed out already by the power the guy was throwing off. Forget keeping her balance. Her eyes opened slowly after impact, her lids dragging across her eyeballs, which felt as though they were floating around in her skull. She met his gaze nose to nose, his bright green eyes boring into her with an intensity that stole her breath.

“Protect. You. Naya,” he gasped before losing consciousness right on top of her.

 

CHAPTER

2

Fuuuuuck
. Hangovers were a bitch.

But the way he felt wasn't the result of going out and getting shit faced the night before. No, this was something else entirely. His lids dragged across his eyes, the room swimming in and out of focus. Where was he? The last thing he remembered …

Shit.
What in the hell
was
the last thing he remembered?

As he shook off the dregs of what had to have been the most hard-core bender of his fucking life, he pulled his shoulders forward and met with resistance. Panic surged within him as he realized that his wrists were bound, his arms stretched high above his head and secured to a sturdy metal headboard. The flesh at his wrists, encircled with silver cuffs, was burned, and raw. He was so godsdamned weak that lifting his head from the pillow took more effort than he had to give.
Son of a bitch
. Nothing like waking up in the middle of your worst nightmare.

The low thrum of his pulse rushed in his ears and his vision darkened at the periphery as he was overcome with an emptiness that pressed his spine right down into the fucking mattress. Endless and dark, the sensation sucked at the center of his chest like an open wound. And on its heels, a burning thirst scorched the back of his throat. Fuck, he was going to pass out again. A haze clouded his brain, and for a moment nothing mattered more than abating the thirst and want that consumed him, causing his body to tremble.