A Wicked Hunger (Creatures of Darkness 1) (27 page)

“I suppose I should eat something,” she murmured on a sigh.

“Then right back up here,” Mace said.

Downstairs, Cora found the kitchen filled with treats. Many that a year ago, she would have risked her life to pilfer: fruits, vegetables, pastries, whole milk…pie!
Several kinds by the looks of it. She might not be hungry, but there was always room for pie.

Mace took a seat at the table as she pulled one of the delicacies out of the fridge and placed it on the opposite island counter. Then she grabbed a plate from the cabinet and transferred a slice onto it. Cherry filling seeped out of the flaky cocoon like a miniature rockslide.

Mace watched her with the same adoration as she scavenged for a fork. Next to him, the kitten lapped from a saucer of milk he’d set out.

“Would you like a piece?” she asked Mace, suddenly feeling awkward.

“Later, maybe. I’ve already had my dessert.” He smiled suggestively.

She blushed furiously.

Just as she pulled a fork from a drawer, Knox appeared in the doorway. Mace tensed, and she froze, her eyes darting nervously.

“Well,
cher
? You going to offer me any?” As always, Knox’s deep tone verged on a threat.

She didn’t respond. Wasn’t sure she could have even if her throat hadn’t grown thick with unwanted panic. That powerful feeling had fled faster than a minnow in sea of piranha. Frustration mingled with her fear. She wanted to question Knox about Ms.
Windshaw’s accusation, about what he may have done to Saraphine. But like a coward, she only stood there as Knox idly slid the fork from her two-fingered grasp. Her teeth gnashed at his mocking expression as he bypassed her single serving and claimed the entire tin. Then he dug the fork straight into the middle and shoveled a heaping portion into his mouth.

“Knox,” Mace chastised. “That’s for Cora. You don’t need it.”

“You’re right,” he replied easily, not taking his eyes off her. “What I
need
has yet to be provided. We had a deal.”

“And what she needs is to regain her strength.”

His gaze languidly traveled over her. “Looks healthy enough to me.”

She paled, and he smirked. He enjoyed her discomfort! A small fraction of her fear morphed into indignation. She couldn’t allow him to continue his purposeful intimidation. Or, at least, she couldn’t let it show. Not if she and Mace were going to corral him into behaving more reasonably.

Before they’d left the room, Cora had asked Mace, “I don’t understand why we remain here with him.” She’d witnessed vampires kill each other over something as insignificant as a childish argument, though she hadn’t informed Mace of that.

He’d simply replied, “It’s complicated. Besides, this is the safest location for you right now, even with Knox, and I’m sure he will calm down…eventually. ”

Feigning bravado, Cora turned and retrieved another fork from the drawer. Then she snatched her pie and crossed to join Mace at the table. She was sure the desert was savory and sweet, but to her, the first bite was like powdered chalk. For effect, she crossed her legs and tried to appear at ease.

After a moment, Knox transferred his gaze from her to Mace. “I just spoke with Trent. He wants you to get to work on his list of suspects, or whatever. I’ve set up an office for you down below.” 

“And what will you be doing?”

He spread his arm out as if to say, “You’re looking at it.” At Mason’s glare, he said, “VEA business is your bag, not mine.
Got my own shit to do. And no, we’re not going to gab about it like adolescent girls.” He dug into the pie again.

Cora was on her third bite, and she thought she was actually starting to taste it. It would be a shame to down the whole thing with no enjoyment. She used to love food…when she could get it.

After her marriage, Winston had introduced her to all manner of wondrous delicacies.

Honestly she didn’t care that she was no longer hungry. It was actually a relief not to feel the effects of starvation. She just wished her taste buds were in working order.

When she took another bite, flavor exploded into her mouth, and she jumped at the unexpected punch. Two sets of eyes swung toward her.

“What?” Mace asked.

Instead of answering right away, she eagerly tested the pie again.

Delicious!

“I think…I think I just did magic or something.”

Whereas Mace seemed instantly curious, Knox appeared horrified. Before she could explain, he tossed the leftover pie onto the counter and stormed out of the room.

With that somewhat trivial, yet profound, mystical evidence of magic existing within her, Cora became ravenous for information. Over the next few weeks, she delved back into the books Mace had provided. She read and reread the pocket book of spells, all the while attempting to access
her powers again. Unfortunately with no noticeable luck. The book was mostly filled with superficial spells, such as increasing energy, helping with slumber, beauty remedies. Much of it was holistic in nature. There were a few in the back that claimed her interest. A spell called The Breath of Life, another dubbed Access to the Realm of Dreams, and another simply called Truth.

Her kitten, which she’d named
Meeka, remained near and followed wherever she went. If she ventured downstairs for a light snack, Meeka would bound down after her. After a while, Meeka had taken to riding on Cora’s shoulder, earning her amused looks from Mace.

She came across a bit of text that suggested
Meeka might be her familiar, a witch’s spiritual ally. As Cora read on, she found familiars were used to maintain a rapport with nature, a reoccurring theme, she discovered. Familiars were also considered companions and often assisted witches with their magic. The timing of Meeka’s arrival was Cora’s greatest affirmation that this was the case.

All in all, things settled down, as Mace had predicted. Cora had begun a regiment of bloodletting. Each morning, she would fill a thermos by carefully slicing her wrist under Mace’s supervision and place it in the fridge for Knox. If she weakened or grew chilled from the loss of blood, Mace offered her his vein to replenish her energy and his body to warm her. She never took more from him than was necessary.

And though she never caught Knox drinking—he was thankfully keeping his distance—the thermos was always emptied by morning. Even if the means was distasteful to Cora, the resulting peace was priceless. She’d happily bleed as long as was necessary.

Mace began to relax as well, becoming more comfortable with leaving her from time to time. He often disappeared to a subterranean complex that reminded Cora of an elaborate bomb shelter.

He’d shown it to her once. That’s when he’d discovered her unique phobia. 

Quickly growing lost as he led her around the many rooms and corridors, she’d begun to shake and panic for the exit. The familiar sense of claustrophobia combined with the terror of being trapped crawled over her. It was almost as if she could feel the weight of the mountain above pressing down on her. The walls seemed to constrict, twist, and close in around her. When he’d brought her back out into the less confining cavern, he’d held her till her quaking ebbed. He hadn’t suggested she venture down there again.

Most of the time, Cora remained in the sanctuary that was her and Mason’s room, fumbling around with magic. Both the dream spell and the truth spell required a subject, so every night, after he finished with his work, Mace would volunteer. In their room, she would spread her things out over the floor, light the required color and number of candles, and sit just as still as she was now, chanting quietly as Mace rested nearby.

Nothing had come of it, and a few of the candles were already half burned.

It didn’t help that she had no idea what to expect. Or what she was doing, for that matter. By the third week, discouragement ran rampant as she repeated the incantations over and over, feeling like an idiot.

When she was alone, like now, she focused mainly on the Breath of Life. She’d found the husk of an expired moth on the window’s ledge, and for three straight days, she attempted to
breathe life
back into it. A rainbow of lit candles surrounded the moth on the floor, flickering in the darkened room. Cora sat on her knees, inhaling and exhaling with an intentionally slow tempo as the text instructed. She was meant to enter a trance of sorts before she began the incantation.

Meeka
was sprawled on the edge of the bed, watching curiously. Dancing candlelight refracted off her large pupils.

Once relaxed, mind focused, Cora began to mumble out the words.
“
Vi tres spiro vitam tuam. Tribus offero me in virtute. Unde profecti estis Spiritu ad corpora redituras
.”

She repeated the words till they spilled from her automatically, till they ran together and rode the edges of her breath. Then, when she felt ready, she leaned forward, put her lips together, and blew out a light gust. Air caught under the dusty wings and the lifeless moth skittered stiffly along the carpet.

She straightened her spine. A heartbeat passed. Then another. Cora realized she was holding her breath, and her pulse was oddly speeding up with anticipation. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she’d felt…something that time. A burst of energy?

When the moth remained motionless, her shoulders slumped. She was almost ready to give up entirely.

Then…a single wing moved!

She waited.
Could have been a draft.

The other wing fluttered…then both jointly. When the tiny antenna shimmied back and forth, Cora slapped a hand over her mouth, unsuccessfully muffling an exuberant cry.

Just as the moth leapt into magnificent flight, Mace entered and took in her expression. “What’s up?”

Rendered completely speechless, she could only point to the moth, flapping its way towards him. As it approached, he bowed backwards, and before she could explain, he swatted his palms together.

She gasped, “You killed it!”

He glanced up idly as he wiped his hands on his jeans. “What? That bug?”

She shot to her feet. “I brought it back from the dead!” Her pitch was high, her tone accusatory, and her outrage increased while he attempted to stifle a humorous grin.

“Let me get this straight. The first
bit of magic you do is to zombify a moth and have it attack me?”

“It wasn’t
zombified.”

“Didn’t you see it salivating as it lunged at me? It was terrifying.”

“It’s not funny.” She gritted her teeth against the traitorous smile playing along her lips. Determined not to be amused, she crossed her arms.

He made his expression contrite. “I’m sorry I killed your undead pet. Next time put a collar on it…with a bell maybe.”

Battle lost, Cora dropped her arms and allowed a giggle to roll out of her.

He came forward and pressed an apologetic kiss to her lips.

She pulled back. “Oh, goddess! What if it had been a zombie moth? What if it had bitten you?”

“Then you’d have one sexy zombie-vamp to look after.” He trapped her with strong arms around her waist and dipped his head to nibble along her neck, tickling her flesh with fleeting nips until she squealed with laughter.

When their humor died down, he said, “Come on, let’s go scrounge up some more insect carcasses for your minion army.”

Knox glared at the disgustingly happy couple as they practically frolicked out the door. Over the last few weeks, the witch’s emotions were growing more acute, invasive, burrowing into his brain. He was finding it increasingly difficult to block her. Although it was curious that whenever she noticed him in a room, her caustic emotions would cut off, like a door slamming shut on a chaotic mental cyclone.

Not that he was complaining, but it almost made him wonder what the chit was up to. What was she hiding from him? Furthermore, was she just as easily masking herself from Mace? Served him right if he was tangled in her snare. The idiot fancied himself half in love already. Typically, Knox wouldn’t give a damn about it if he hadn’t been caught up in this shit as well.

He made his way up to the love-bird’s room and paused in the doorway, sneering at the display of witchcraft along the floor. The recently extinguished candles still simmered with smoke.
On the bed, the witch’s pet rolled over and looked at him with too-keen eyes.

“Keep your mouth shut about this, cat, and I won’t kill you just yet.”

The cat meowed. Then it stretched in an impossible arch before settling back down and closing its eyes.

The tattered copy of Pride and Prejudice was still sitting where Knox had placed it weeks ago. Apparently, she hadn’t touched it. He laughed at that. Didn’t care for the memory with which it was now linked, huh?

His search began with her dresser drawers. He was hoping to find something. But what? He wasn’t sure. A twinge of evidence that she planned to bond more than just him and Mace. Perhaps she had Trent in her sights. If so, the girl was a moron. There wasn’t a witch alive who could control that vampire. 

Perhaps, despite her protests when Mace had informed her
of Trent’s intentions with the underground compound, she was eager for their entire clan to relocate here.

Joke’s on her
. Trent had put off the move till this thing with her and the black-market blood had been solved and ordered Mace to keep her here till then. She wouldn’t be crossing the path of another vampire any time soon.

Finding nothing of interest, besides the female’s undergarments—Mace always did like frills—Knox moved on to search Mace’s things, not really expecting to discover much. Neither of the two had much in the way of belongings. He noticed Mace’s phone on top of the dresser and began flipping through the texts.

He read one from Trent that had him grinding his teeth. “Son of a bitch.”

Cora was a descendant of the Conwell bloodline? Had they hid this from him on purpose? The phone groaned in protest against his hold.

Just then, the cat hissed at something in the corner of the room, her back arching. He followed her line of sight to a space that was unnaturally darkened by a writhing, sandy mist.

He’d been wondering why the spirit had finally ventured out of its impervious haven. Now he knew.

He lifted one corner of his mouth in a cruel smile. “It appears a relative has come for you at last. Don’t get your ghostly hopes up. I’ll kill her before she sets you free. The best you can hope for is that she’ll join you in hell.”

He couldn’t tell if the apparition understood him or not. It remained tucked in the corner.

Disregarding it, he turned back to the phone and swiped through the photographs. Cora was the subject of dozens—no hundreds—of shots. Cora at a coffee shop, smiling at the barista as she claimed a cup. Cora seated on a leaf-strewn deck, shaded by an umbrella. Cora in a park, walking, seemingly aimlessly, her expression far-away as if deep in thought. Cora kneeling in an alleyway, handing a small box to an elderly homeless man. And countless more images. In all of them, she seemed unaware of her photographer. 

Looked like Mace was getting his PhD in stalker-ology.
Pathetic.

Knox came to the last photo and stared at it for a long moment. 

It was a snapshot of Cora perched on a motorcycle in a porn star pose, except her expression was naively clueless. Tendrils of long damp hair clung to her neck, disappearing under the collar of a binding tan coat. The fuck-me boots hinted at a scandalous concealment. He turned the phone this way and that, enthralled.

Ugh. The witch was getting to him!

Furious, he tossed the phone aside and beat feet out of the room, noticing the apparition had vanished. The cat had once more calmed.

As he came to the bottom of the stairs, the
front door opened. An exuberant Cora was laughing at something Mace had said as she entered. The sound cut off when her eyes landed on Knox. Anxiety spiked.

Your fear is wise
.

As expected, the door to her emotions slammed shut. Yet then she raised a confused brow at him before averting her gaze entirely.

Out of the loop, Mace acknowledged Knox with the tip of his head and guided Cora up the stairs to do god knows what with her magic.

Idiot! You court your own destruction
.

And he was blindly dragging Knox into the path of the wrecking ball. He could sense nefarious intentions in every move she made. An expert seductress if he’d ever seen one. She wouldn’t be satisfied till both he and Mace were drooling after her like lost puppies begging for scraps.

Hell, he was already ravenous for the chilled thermos of blood each morning, felt deprived when it was emptied. And that paled in comparison to the succulent memory of the warm stuff straight off the tap. He wasn’t one to beg, far from it, but he feared she’d have him on his knees in no time.