Stalk the Darkness, page 3
Marco spun away. Dammit. He’d been so focused on his tangled emotions that he hadn’t allowed himself to consider the price his club was paying for his foul mood. Not just the physical damage, but the destruction of the atmosphere he’d carefully cultivated. This was supposed to be a place of electric excitement, where everyone went for a good time.
Like Vegas for demons.
“And how do you suggest I do that?”
“Do you want written instructions or a demonstration?”
With a low hiss, Marco headed for the door. Enough was enough. He was going to find Satin and…
Actually, he didn’t know what was going to happen once he found her. He’d worry about that when he was standing face-to-face with the aggravating leech.
“Take care of the club. I might be gone a few days,” he called out as he jogged out of the office and toward the nearby stairs.
Once he was outside, he halted in the shadows of the lodge and tilted back his head. With his gaze locked on the star-spattered sky, he called on his inner magic.
Hot, searing pleasure jolted through him. A combination of pain and ecstasy as his bones popped and his muscles stretched. There was nothing that could compare to shifting into his wolf. It was a primal force that expanded from the core of his soul and exploded through him.
Seconds later, his human form had been transformed into a large wolf with dark fur and golden eyes. With a howl of sheer relief at being out of his office and on the hunt, Marco put his nose to the ground and headed toward Chicago. Satin would no doubt be at the Viper Pit. But he’d taken less than a dozen steps when he slowed at the realization that he could actually ‘sense’ Satin. Not by the usual means. He couldn’t smell her or feel the cool wash of her power. No. It was as if there was a mental connection between them that was tugging him in the opposite direction.
Marco briefly hesitated. What was happening? A trick of his fevered obsession? Or something more nefarious?
Impossible to know until he finally managed to track her down. Turning to the west, Marco released another growl and began to lope in pursuit of his delectable prey.
* * * *
The small town in central Oklahoma appeared oddly trapped in time. The redbrick buildings lined the cobblestone sidewalks with old-time saloons and mercantile shops. The focal point, however, appeared to be a large white temple. Bertha had no idea what it was used for, and she had zero interest in finding out. Instead, she headed toward the edge of town.
Walking along the narrow creek that was bathed in moonlight, she at last stopped next to a dead tree trunk that had been weathered to a pale gray. Lifting her hand, she pressed against the layer of magic and slowly stepped through the illusion.
Instantly she was standing in the hidden demon bar. Like the nearby town, the taproom was trapped in the past. The large wooden building had an open-beamed ceiling and worn floors with roughly carved tables and chairs scattered through the narrow space. It smelled of stale ale, wet fur, and what she suspected were troll farts.
Wrinkling her nose, Bertha halted in the center of the floor. She’d been in worse places. Then again, she’d been in better ones. Much better. But it wasn’t the stench or the sense of decay hanging heavy in the air that caused her to turn in a hesitant circle, her brow furrowed with confusion.
She was still turning when a male voice intruded into her bewilderment. “Are you lost?”
“Hmm.” Bertha considered the question as she aimlessly wandered toward the back of the room. The imp looked vaguely familiar, although most of the fey looked alike. This one had flame-red hair that he wore in a short, spiky style and a pale, narrow face with large emerald eyes. He was dressed in black leather with a wide gold band around his neck. Like a dog collar, only studded with emeralds. “I haven’t decided,” she told her companion as she crawled onto one of the high stools.
The male blinked. “You haven’t decided if you’re lost?”
Bertha placed her elbow on the smooth wood and planted her chin in her open palm.
“I suppose it depends on your definition of ‘lost’,” she pointed out.
“Is there more than one definition?”
“I don’t know where I am,” Bertha admitted. “But then again, I’m not sure where I’m going.” She’d been quite happy spending time in Chicago. At least as happy as she could be in her current form. She’d been indulging in various entertainments around the city, including a strip club called Sophia’s Menagerie, which had the most delicious pure-blooded Were dancers. Then a strange voice had started to whisper in her mind. It insisted she had to leave Chicago and travel west. At first, she’d ignored the stupid thing. She didn’t want to go west. If she ever decided to leave Chicago, she would go to Paris and visit her family. But as the voice had become more and more insistent, she’d been unable to sleep. And then her appetite had disappeared. That was unacceptable. Life was not worth living without cheesecake and roasted pork and deep-dish pizza. Mmm. Pizza. At last, she’d given into the inevitable and began her long, tedious trek. Anything to shut up the voice. So now she was standing in this remote bar with no idea why. “If I don’t have a destination, can I actually be lost?” she concluded.
“I…” The male seemed to struggle for words, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to say. That happened a lot. Bertha assumed that other creatures were dazzled by her deep thoughts and unique philosophy. Finally, he cleared his throat, his gaze skimming over her. “This isn’t a place for a female like you. Not once the nearby fighting pits are closed and the crowd comes here to celebrate their victory. Or more likely, to drown their sorrow. There’s another bar in Tulsa you should check out. They serve lots of fruity punch in coconut shells with umbrellas.”
Bertha frowned at his suggestion before heaving a sigh. She forgot she wasn’t currently a seven-foot-tall gargoyle covered with gray skin coated in moss and leather wings that had a span as wide as this bar. Instead, she was smaller than the majority of demons, with a delicate structure that made her appear as fragile as a dew fairy. Her pale gold hair was twisted into wild spirals to her shoulders, and her eyes were a misty gray. Only the faintest outline of ephemeral wings revealed that she was something other than human. At the moment she was wearing a sheer gown with rhinestones that floated down to her ankles because she liked the sparkles. She hadn’t bothered with shoes.
“I don’t like fruity drinks.” She pointed toward the iron vat that was brewing over an open fire in the far corner. “Get me a grog.”
“Grog?” The imp appeared shocked by the request. “Are you sure?”
“Please stop asking me questions.” Bertha pressed a finger against her temple. There was a pain directly behind her right eye. “I really need that drink.”
The scent of gingersnaps laced with granite swirled through the air, and the imp hurriedly backed away. Clearly, he could sense her thunderous power despite the fact she was doing her best to keep it leashed. It occasionally leaked out. Like the gooey marshmallow in a s’more when you bit into it. Mmm. S’mores.
“One grog coming up,” he muttered, grabbing a tankard and dipping it into the steaming vat.
“Make it a double,” Bertha called out. If one was good, then two was better, right?
The imp did a second dip of the tankard before returning to the bar to set it in front of her. “Double grog.”
“Thanks.” Bertha grabbed the tankard and downed the contents in one gulp.
The fiery liquid seared down her throat and hit her stomach with an explosive impact. Bertha parted her lips to release a belch that sent flames flying, accidentally melting the empty tankard. She dropped the lump of bronze on the floor as the male hissed in shock.
“What are you?” he demanded.
She belched again. This time it was thankfully fire-free. “A gargoyle.”
“Gargoyle?”
“Yep.”
The imp blinked. Did he have something in his eye? That was always a drag.
“You don’t look like a gargoyle.”
“Right?” Bertha glanced down, giving a sad shake of her head at the sight of her pathetically weak body. “I don’t know what happened. I fell asleep on a mountain in Nepal. I think there was an earthquake. Or maybe I was magically attacked. Whatever the case, I woke up a century later buried beneath a ton of rubble and in this human shape.”
“Gargoyle…” The male studied her in disbelief.
Bertha shifted uncomfortably on the stool. “Are you going to stare at me all night?”
“Nope.” Holding up his hands in an apologetic gesture, the imp backed away. Most fey creatures were terrified of gargoyles. With good reason. “I’m just going to stand over here until you need me.”
“Probably a good idea.”
Bertha drummed her fingers on the bar, impatiently waiting for the urge to move along to hit her. That was how it’d been happening. She felt an odd tug that led her from location to location. Sometimes she would stop for an hour or so to eat or drink. And, of course, during the day she would rest in a spot with plenty of shade. She might not look like a gargoyle, but she would turn to stone in the sun. But as soon as she woke, she would be moving again.
“Well?” she at last snapped.
“I didn’t say anything.” The words came from the imp, who was now plastered against the back wall.
Bertha glared in his direction. “I wasn’t talking to you.”
“Oh. Right. Okay.” The male forced a stiff smile to his lips. “Carry on.”
With a click of her tongue, Bertha swiveled on the stool until she was facing the door. She didn’t want to be distracted again.
“Hello. I’m waiting,” she said out loud.
“For what?” This time it was the voice in her head.
“To go.”
“Not yet. You need to get ready.”
Bertha scowled. She didn’t like this place, with its smell of troll farts. Especially now that she could feel a sharp chill in the air. It was causing goose bumps to crawl over her too-delicate skin.
“Get ready for what?”
“That.”
The word whispered through her mind at the precise moment the door was shoved open and a tall, slender vampire with black hair pulled into a braid and pale features set in lines of grim determination entered the bar. Bertha whistled in appreciation as she allowed her gaze to skim over the female’s red leather vest that laced up the front and the stretchy yoga pants. If she was going to be stuck in this body for more than a few years, then she was going to need to develop a kick-ass style. Maybe this female could give her some tips.
The vampire narrowed her cognac eyes as she caught sight of Bertha. “There you are.”
“Am I?” Bertha glanced down. “I suppose so,” she conceded, glancing back at the female. “Although it’s all a matter of perspective, isn’t it? The reality of existence.”
The female made a sound of impatience. “You’re Bertha, right?”
“Yes.” Bertha tilted her head to the side. “Do I know you?”
“I’m Satin.” She cast a quick glance around the room, as if searching for potential enemies. Only when she was satisfied that there was no one lurking beyond the imp in the corner did she move forward. Bertha silently applauded her caution. A woman could never be too careful. “Styx sent me,” she informed Bertha.
“Styx?” Bertha searched her brain. At last she hit on the most reasonable guess. “The band?”
It was the leech’s turn to be confused. “What band?”
“You said that Styx sent you,” Bertha reminded her. “I’m sure the river to the underworld didn’t send you, so it has to be the band. I’m not stupid.”
The female rolled her eyes. “Styx is the Anasso.”
“Oh.” Anasso was the official title to the King of Vampires. The last Bertha had heard about the Anasso was that he’d gone bat-shit crazy and was hiding in some cave near Chicago. Of course, now that she actually thought about it, one of the king’s most trusted guards was named Styx. He’d obviously decided to give himself a promotion. “I must have slept through the overthrow of the previous king. No matter.” She waved her hand in an airy motion. “What does he want?”
Satin shrugged. “Something to do with your nephew.”
“I have several dozen nephews. Perhaps hundreds. Who keeps track?”
“Levet.”
Bertha heaved a sigh. When she’d left Chicago, she’d placed a protective spell around herself. Until she knew exactly who or what was leading her around like a puppet, she wasn’t going to put Levet in danger.
“I should have known,” she muttered. “He is quite special to me, but he can be annoyingly persistent.”
“So I hear.” Satin jerked her head toward the door. “Let’s go.”
“Go?” Bertha arched her brows. “Go where?”
“I just told you.”
“No, you didn’t. You said that Styx—who isn’t the band or the river to the underworld—sent you and that it was because of Levet. But you never mentioned going anywhere.”
“I’m taking you to Chicago.”
Bertha slid off the stool. An argument was brewing. And since vampires were nearly as stubborn as gargoyles, there was a better-than-average chance things could get ugly.
“Yeah, I don’t think so.”
The temperature in the bar dropped by several degrees. “This isn’t a debate. Styx wants you in Chicago, and that’s where you’re going.”
Bertha folded her arms over her chest. “No.”
“I’m not leaving here without you.”
“Then you’re staying, I guess. I’ll warn you, there’s more than a whiff of troll farts in the air.”
Ice crawled over the wooden floor. “Why are you being so stubborn?”
“Because I’m on a mission.”
“What mission?”
“I’m not sure yet.” Bertha wrinkled her nose. “But I think it might be important.”
Satin glared down at her, the line of her jaw hardening as she revealed a hint of fang. “This is bullshit. I don’t have the energy to argue.” She reached down as if intending to grab Bertha by the arm. “Let’s go.”
Bertha hurriedly darted to the side, holding out her hand in warning. “Stay back. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“As if you could.”
“Not a ‘female in your condition’.”
“Just come with me and…” The annoyed words trailed away as Satin absorbed Bertha’s words. “What do you mean? A female in my condition?”
“You know.” Bertha leaned forward, whispering in case the leech didn’t want anyone to know her secret. “The baby.”
Satin blinked, and Bertha sighed. Yet another demon blinking when she was talking to them.
“Baby?” The word fell awkwardly from the female’s lips.
“Oui. Le bébé. Pequeño. Il bambino,” Bertha clarified.
“I understand the word baby,” Satin snapped. “What I don’t understand is what it has to do with me.”
It was Bertha’s turn to blink. Was this a joke? Was the vampire truly oblivious to the fact she was pregnant? Or was she attempting to pretend ignorance to fool Bertha? A waste of time, of course. Bertha had detected the presence of the child the moment the female had walked through the door. She could not only hear the heartbeat, but it was a soft ball of warmth in the center of the icy leech.
“I’m referring to the one you’re currently carrying, of course. There’s no use in pretending it’s not there. Not with me.”
“Did you hit your head?” Satin demanded, even as she lifted a hand to press it against her gently rounded stomach.
Bertha gave the question serious consideration. “Numerous times. Would you like me to list them all?”
“No.” Satin released a hiss of annoyance. “I’m a vampire.”
“True. What does that have to do with hitting my head?”
“Vampires sire offspring with their bite.” Each word was slow and concise, as if Satin assumed Bertha was too stupid to comprehend what she was telling her. “They don’t have actual children.”
Bertha boldly strolled forward to touch the hand that Satin cradled over her stomach. “Then why is there a baby in here?” Bertha’s eyes widened in surprise, suddenly realizing why the baby was putting out such a fierce heat. “Oh. A ‘Were’.”
The female’s lips parted in shock. “Did you say Were?”
“Pureblood.” Bertha pursed her lips to whistle in admiration. The kid was already more powerful than many full-grown demons. “And very strong.”
Satin knocked Bertha’s hand away, her fangs fully exposed. “Impossible.”
“You can keep saying that, but it doesn’t change the fact that you are expecting a baby.”
“It has to be a spell,” Satin muttered, speaking more to herself than Bertha. “Some sort of illusion.”
“Non, not an illusion. The baby is very real.” Bertha paused, abruptly noticing the energy that pulsed around the vampire. She hadn’t sensed it until she forced herself to directly concentrate on the female. As if it was deliberately deflecting attention. Hmm. Odd. “But there is magic,” she murmured.
Satin appeared predictably unnerved. Vamps hated magic. “What kind?”
Bertha lifted her hands in a gesture of confusion. “I can’t tell, but I suspect that it’s connected to the evil presence that’s shrouded around you.”
“The…” Satin struggled to get the word past her stiff lips. “Baby?”
“Not directly.” Bertha couldn’t sense evil in the child. It was attached directly to the vampire. “It’s seeped into your very essence,” she said.
Satin jerked. “What the hell does that mean?”
“Perhaps a curse,” Bertha suggested. “Or a demonic possession. Or a…” Bertha lost her train of thought as the familiar voice spoke directly into her mind.
