Ravenous tdf-1 Read online

  Alessandro clenched his teeth, sitting hard on his instinct to fight Omara's pragmatism, to ride to the rescue. As little as he liked it, she had valid points. Still, he wasn't letting this go.

  "Is that how the changelings became imprisoned in the Castle?" he asked. "They were captured by the guardsmen?"

  "That's not the only possibility. A few modern sorcerers know how use the place as a cosmic garbage can for their troublesome enemies. Your witch's ancestor, Elaine Carver, used a portal to rid Fairview of a demon over a hundred years ago."

  A puzzle piece fell into place with a cynical snap. He finally saw Omara's plan. The bitch.

  Alessandro turned in his chair. "Of course. Witches do their magic by manipulating energy. You need Holly for more than necromancy. You need her help to control the portals!"

  Omara smiled.

  He felt his heart give a single, desperate thud. "That portal killed Elaine Carver."

  All the vulnerability in Omara's expression was gone. Her eyes mocked him, because she knew she had struck his tender place. Dread—or perhaps it was a premonition—rolled over Alessandro. Hot fury rushed in behind it. He was starting to understand a great deal, or at least to make some good, ugly guesses.

  "So you remember your history," Omara said quietly.

  No! There was no way he was going to let Holly start down a fatal path. His thoughts scrambled, seizing on one horrible realization, then another. He made one last leap of logic.

  "You've had me watching Fairview for over a hundred years, monitoring what you said was strong, unstable coastal magic. Was that the whole reason you wanted me here, rather than at your side, where a champion ought to be?"

  She looked amused, as if waiting to see what trick he might perform. "Whatever do you mean?"

  He felt his lip curling back, revealing fang. The old loyalty that bound him to his queen was hanging by an unraveling thread. "A mere surveillance job could be handled by any reliable hireling. You didn't need a warrior here, unless there was something big that might need fighting."

  Omara's chin jerked just a fraction. He'd hit the target. "Do you have a point?"

  Alessandro hesitated, but ultimately let the words go.

  "You worked with Elaine Carver when she banished the demon before. You expected that demon to find its way back out of the portal. You just didn't know when, or how it would manage it, but you knew it was coming. You've had me watching for it."

  "And if I did?" Her eyes were bright and hard. "What does that matter now?"

  "Why the secrecy? Why pretend you have no idea what is going on?"

  "Up till now, I did not want to admit that, despite my magic and the Carver witch's sacrifice, the portal might reopen. To say such a thing would be to invite accusations of weakness."

  "But now the demon is here, and yet still you say nothing. Why not?"

  A long beat passed, and Omara's expression crumpled into a rictus of agony. She buried her face in her hands, her body collapsing into itself.

  What now? What more could she possibly be hiding? Alessandro scrambled to his feet, automatically offering comfort, but she waved him away, hugging herself.

  She lifted her face. Her eyes were dry, but her expression was raw. "I pretend ignorance for a good reason. I cannot say I know about the demon and then do nothing to stop it. I've been waiting to see what your witch can do. I must be sure of my resources."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I don't have the power to stop the demon anymore." She stood up, her arms folded across her body. "When my Seattle apartment was ransacked, the thief took my grimoires, all my magical tools."

  "What?" Omara had lied to him in Sinsation. An utter lie. His stomach was a lump of granite. "You said none of those things had been taken!"

  "They were all taken. Every tool I need to perform the smallest shred of sorcery. Every magical instrument that I took decades to attune to my power. It will take me a century to replace a tenth part of it all."

  The queen angled her back to him, staring out the window at the nightscape. She dropped her arms to her sides, her breathing heavy and slow. He could see she was deliberately, brutally forcing her emotions under control. "No one knows I am powerless. I've been pretending for weeks. Stalling. Bluffing."

  Alessandro's mouth went dry with shock. "The Book of Lies?" He named the tome of demon magic that had won Omara her throne.

  "Gone." The word came out like a curse.

  It was Omara's best weapon. Indescribably deadly. Full of violent secrets. And it wasn't as though she could order another from Evil4U.com. She had stolen it from a demon herself, a bold stroke that had nearly cost her everything.

  Omara looked nowhere near so victorious now. Her fires banked, she seemed small and frail. "I have enemies that would tear me to pieces if they knew I've lost the book. You're right about Clan Albion's ambitions, and they are just one name on a long list. I cannot be exposed. That's why I need your witch's help so badly. She must work the magic that I cannot."

  He touched her shoulder with his fingertips. She flinched as if they were red-hot, but did not shake him off.

  "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, fear for her pushing aside his earlier anger. "You took me in when I had no clan. You are my queen. You know I will always protect you."

  "Because I can't even defend my throne from other vampires, to say nothing of demons. Your loyalty, brilliant flame though it is, cannot protect me from everything. It was information I could not afford to share. Not with all the work I have done. I've made too many gains with the human lawmakers to lose my seat halfway through the game."

  She spread her hands in a gesture of despair. "I've been trying to hold on, to find a solution before my weakness is made public. There is no one with my skill and patience willing to negotiate with the humans."

  "I know. We have everything to lose. Who took the book?"

  "More important is where it is now, and how I can get it back." Omara lifted her head, pride warring with a look of numb misery. "I'm afraid."

  Alessandro felt his body go cold and still. There was something else, something neither of them wanted to say. There were no ex-monarchs among the vampire clans. Crowns were always taken by a combat to the death. It was the one fight where champions weren't allowed.

  Without her power, Omara was as good as dead.

  Chapter 16

  Holly experienced an acute sense of déjà vu. Here she was again, following a medical emergency crew, her male companion of the moment felled by a mysterious evil. Even one of the ambulance attendants was a repeat from the Flanders house.

  Maybe dating immortals has its merits, she thought, fighting off a wave of grim hysteria. At least the Undead are hardy.

  She tailed the ambulance in her Hyundai, trying to steer while hitting a speed dial on her cell. She had no idea what she was dealing with and wanted backup. So far tonight she was batting zero. First she'd failed to identify Mac's malady. Then she hadn't been able to tell the ambulance attendants what they needed to know about his medical history or even his emergency contact numbers. The hospital would have to call the police station for his personnel file. Now Holly had to figure out what—and how much—to tell the doctors. Supernatural illnesses were a matter of hot debate in the medical community. Some doctors refused to treat such cases altogether.

  Alessandro's phone went to voice mail. Whoever had called him away had him fully occupied. Damn. She closed the phone without leaving a message. She was going to have to handle this one on her own.

  It was nearly midnight when she skidded through the doors of Emergency, her high heels sliding on the bare tile. She blinked and squinted, the bright light surreal after the darkness of the streets.

  "I'm looking for Conall Macmillan," she said to the nurse behind the admitting desk. "He came in by ambulance a few minutes ago. How is he doing?"

  "You a relative?"

  "Sally Macmillan. I'm his sister." Goddess forgive me a white lie.

  The nurse typed
something, glancing at the computer screen as it refreshed. Her expression never flickered. "Can't tell you anything one way or the other. There's nothing here. The doctor admitted him, but that's it."

  "Why not?"

  "It's busy tonight."

  Holly bit back a protest. "Can I wait with him? Where is he?"

  The nurse pointed down a hallway to the left, her attention already on somebody else. Holly headed past the cluster of chairs filled with walk-ins waiting their turn for attention. She stripped off her wrap, feeling grossly overdressed. The air was hot and antiseptic, a dying ballast flickering the fluorescent lights overhead.

  There was little to see anyway. The hallway was painted a muddy yellow, but little bare wall was visible. Filing cabinets, metal storage lockers, and even desks crowded the corridor, making impromptu offices. Narrow rolling beds filled any spare hall space, the occupants waiting for the doctors. Not enough staff, not enough room. Fairview was growing faster than its hospital funding.

  The chaos made it harder to find Mac. He had been rolled headfirst into a narrow linen closet, his feet still poking into the hall. Holly grasped the metal rail at the foot of the bed, feeling as if she had found the prize in a treasure hunt. He was unconscious, pale but otherwise normal—probably the result of a sedative. At least he wasn't in pain.

  "You with him?"

  Holly looked over her shoulder. A young nurse in pink scrubs was making the rounds, checking on the overflow patients.

  "I just got here," said Holly. "Can you tell me how he is?"

  The nurse stopped and wedged herself in beside the bed long enough to check Mac's pulse and write a note on the chart hanging at the end of the metal bed frame. "You'll have to speak to the doctor."

  "When will that be?"

  "Hard to say. Three people from an MVA came in." The nurse paused, looking at Holly's shoes with a mix of envy and amusement. "You might want to go get a coffee and try again later." With that, she moved on.

  Holly edged her way into the closet beside Mac's bed. Out in the hall a phone rang and rang, none of the staff hustling by taking the time to answer it. Holly put her hand over Mac's. The skin was cool and dry, almost normal. The strange waves of energy that had rolled off him earlier had stopped. Now he had barely any aura to detect.

  Guilt bowed her head. Why didn't I see this coming? She wove her fingers through Mac's, studying his face. His breathing was light, lips slightly parted as if to speak. He had a handsome face, dark-lashed and strong-boned. A lot of women would be grateful to wake up to a man like Mac.

  He had come to her for help, and she had totally screwed up.

  Queasiness rolled through her, half emotion, half a reaction to the hot, stuffy, disinfectant stink of the ward. Holly released Mac's hand and leaned against an open shelf stacked with towels. Her movement must have penetrated his sleep. Mac turned his head, brow contracted. Holly trailed her fingers over his forehead, smoothing out the tension. She hadn't been able to help him so far, but that didn't mean she wouldn't keep trying.

  Okay, what do you know? she asked herself.

  Alessandro had picked up on something, but all he said was that Mac didn't smell right. She'd put that down to male rivalry. Could have been more.

  The diagnostic kiss had been deceptive. For one thing, she'd hoped Mac could distract her from wanting Alessandro. That had kind of skewed her concentration. Sure, that was her fault, but maybe it wasn't the whole story. Grandma had said that demons could conceal their true natures, even while sharing magic. Could the same be true of their spells? Maybe she'd missed whatever magical germ Mac had picked up for the simple reason that it knew how to hide, waiting for the right conditions.

  Is that even possible? Am I jumping to conclusions?

  The only firm clue she had was the girl Mac called Jenny. That encounter seemed to be ground zero. What kind of supernatural cooties get passed on in a kiss? How long would they hide in a person's system? Had Holly's kissing Mac, pushing her own magic into the mix, somehow kicked the bugs into action?

  Her range of diagnostic tests was limited to one. Holly unzipped her purse and rummaged for the antidemon charms she'd picked up from Grandma earlier that day. Physically, they were tiny silk bags of herbs and feathers, hung on a string so they could be worn around the neck. The construction was basic, but the magic packed inside was powerful.

  Should have thought of this sooner. She should have already been wearing one, but had thought Mac's dinner would be safe. That says so much about my social life.

  Following the natural law of handbags, the wad of charms had sunk to the bottom of Holly's purse. She pulled them out, untangling the pendants until she could work two free. She slipped the fine leather thong of one over her head, tucking the small bag down the front of her neckline.

  The charms worked only if there was a demon on the scene. If the area was clean, nothing would happen. Holding her breath, Holly slipped the second charm over Mac's head. Rippling energy raised the hair on her nape. Holly fell back as Mac sat bolt upright with the smooth motion of a puppet pulled by a string. His eyes opened, shocked and sightless.

  "Mac?"

  Clawing at the bag, he began to scream.

  "Stop! Don't!"

  "What do you think you're doing?" came a new voice.

  Holly wheeled around, expecting to see the young nurse. Instead there was a blond woman in jeans. This time Holly's witch senses hit a home run. She's the demon!

  And not bothering to hide her power now.

  A brilliant flash smashed Holly against the wall.

  Mac was incredibly cold. He was dreaming of Jenny. She was kissing him again. He was hollow, empty as a bowl, and she filled him up with hot, greedy wanting. A burning sensation made Mac shudder, as if he trembled from a fever. It was beyond fleshly desire, beyond mere friction and release. This hunger was piercing and its satisfaction far beyond flesh.

  He was dissolving into a black mist. That part was weird.

  And then it was over. There was nothing but a fleeting moment of completeness, and then a wrench as she pulled away. Flooded again with pain, he tried to scream, but could only float, disconnected, his cry a wisp of thought inside his head.

  Then the pain impaled his chest like a stake through the heart. His scream became a solid thing, a stream of red-hot fire leaving his throat with the force of a spear. Suddenly he was sitting up, his eyes open. Where the hell am I?

  The dream dissolved, but the pain still flamed in his chest. Gasping, he scrabbled at his flesh, his fingers stiff claws.

  "Stop! Don't!"

  Someone. Female. Holly. White-hot pain subsumed every thought, and she was the cause.

  He screamed out his agony in gouts of inhuman rage. A dozen hands held him down. A prick in his arm was followed by a soft cloud of euphoria. His mind rolled sideways, capsizing into seas as warm as blood.

  Someone ripped the burning thing from his chest, and he surrendered to velvet oblivion.

  When Mac woke, something fundamental had changed. He had no idea what it was, just a bad, bad feeling.

  The logical part of his brain still stood, like the steel ribs of a burned-out building. He was in a different place now. White walls with white curtains around the bed. The room had the all-time, no-time light of hospitals. He wondered how long he had been there. He couldn't tell whether he was hungry or just sick to his stomach.

  Then he saw she was there. Not Holly, but Jenny.

  Jenny? Instinct made him want to hide, but he couldn't take his eyes off her. Uneasiness stalked him, circling like a hungry cat. He wasn't sure how he knew, but his future depended on what Jenny chose to do now. Right now.

  He was afraid. She was evil, and not human. Don't need superpowers to figure that one out. So he watched, barely daring to breathe, belly-up and flat-out like a goddamned sacrifice. She was waffling about what to do with him. There would be pleasure for both of them, but part of her pleasure meant his destruction. Her will was bleeding into him, killing h
im drop by drop.

  He had no idea how he knew that. He just knew.

  Mac tried to move his arm. Restraints. That surprised him. What the hell happened? Did I hurt somebody?

  "You put on quite a show, Detective," Jenny said, as if she had heard his thoughts. Probably had.

  She shifted her position on the visitor's chair, uncrossing her long legs, crossing them the other way. Dark jeans. High-heeled boots. Scarlet hoodie. New clothes all around. The evil-entity business must be improving.

  "What did you do to me?" Mac barely recognized his own voice. Every syllable vibrated in a raw, parched throat. Vaguely he remembered shouting. Hurting. Both that memory and the present were surreal, as if he were floating along in a theme park ride and events were just murals on the wall.

  Jenny heaved a bored sigh and wound a lock of long blond hair around her forefinger. "Hard to explain what I did. What I am. What you're going to be. A bit like telling a baby how to walk. It'll all make sense soon enough."

  "Spare me the supervillain crap."

  "Don't knock it till you've tried it." Rising, she crossed to the bed and rested one hip by his knees. The mattress dipped, and he felt the warmth of her body through the covers.

  Bending forward, Jenny began unbuckling the strap that held his right wrist. Her hoodie was only half-zipped, showing a skimp of black tank top beneath. He got an eyeful of warm, white, round flesh that looked as soft as goose down. Oh, yeah.

  She seemed to be taking a long time with the strap. The blanket over his belly stirred, his mind backpedaling but his body stupidly game.

  "In case you're wondering," Jenny said, "I sent your friend on her way."

  Holly. He had a fleeting image of Holly's face looking down at him. That snippet was followed by other, harsher sensations. Sickness. An ambulance. Pain. Mac blinked, the recollections quashing his body's reaction. "Is she all right?"

  Jenny kept working at the stubborn buckle. "Of course. The charm she wore limited what I could do in the few seconds before hospital security came running in answer to your screams. She won't remember being here, though. Nothing, in fact, after finishing the dinner you made. She has great memories of that meal, by the way. Your culinary skills made quite an impression."