A Wicked Hunger (Creatures of Darkness 1) (30 page)

After stepping out of the car, Cora approached the building and read aloud the note taped over the door to Wicked Wares. “Due to a tragedy in the family, we will be closed for the next several days. Check back soon.” She knocked anyway and then turned to Mace. “I hope they’re okay.”

“As do I.” When no one answered, a shadow crossed over Mason’s face.

“
What’s that look for?”

“Not sure. Suspicious timing, I guess.”

“You don’t think…Knox?”

Mace only shrugged and then guided her back to the car with his palms on her shoulders. Though she was disappointed to not have been able to begin training today, she felt a deep sense of compassion for the
witches loss, whoever it may have been. She knew all too well how terrible it was to lose loved ones.

Back home, Cora bided her time by continuing her own form of training. She was still unable to replicate the Breath of Life.

She also took to exploring the grounds and was perplexed to find the vegetation nearest the cottage to be completely different from the vegetation farther out. It was almost as if the cottage was encased in a bubble. In a state of suspended animation. Flowers never wilted, that she could tell. Trees remained lush and full of leaves, yet their growth stunted when compared to the more massive surrounding forest with its thick, tightly packed trunks and towering reach.

How odd.

She immediately attributed it to whatever magic had been placed on the cottage. It only made sense. Whoever had concocted this remarkable spell must have been a powerful witch indeed.

After a heated conversation with Trent, Mace returned to his investigation of the missing vampire and black market blood. Trent was unhappy about Knox’s imprisonment and had ordered
his immediate release till an investigation could ensue. Mace refused, which Cora understood to be unusual. The orders of a sire didn’t often go unfulfilled.

Mace frequently checked on her, clearly disliking that he had to leave her alone, but for now, she refused to venture back down into that
dungeonous maze. And unfortunately for Mace, the cottage was not fitted for Internet access.

Every morning for the next three days they returned to Wicked Wares, finding the same vague note and no sign of
Saraphine or her grandmother. On the fourth day, Cora hadn’t expected anything different.

However, the note was removed.

Tentatively, she tried the knob, and the door creaked open.

“Hello?” She entered, setting off the retro bell chime that hung just above the door.
Was that new?

Mace followed behind her.

The storefront was empty, but after a moment, Saraphine stepped out from the back room. Cora took in the girl’s gaunt appearance, unkempt hair, and dark stains under a pair of shockingly makeup-free eyes. Her outfit was still goth-girl-chic, although there were fewer embellishments than the last time Cora had seen her. Most heartbreaking, Saraphine appeared younger, yet she wore the wearied expression of someone twice her age with the weight of premature responsibility on her shoulders.

The moment
Saraphine saw them, her face went impossibly pale. She dove behind the counter and retrieved a shotgun from under the counter, pointing it in their direction. The barrel appeared to have been sawed off.

Cora’s hands flew up while Mace dragged her behind him.

“What’s this?” he demanded.

“Is that bastard with you?”

“Who, Knox?” he replied. “No. It’s just us. Lower your weapon.”

Cora peeked around Mace, seeing the gun barrel shaking slightly,
Saraphine’s eyes watering.

“What happened?” she asked in a more subdued tone than Mace had used.

Saraphine hesitated.

“Please,
Saraphine, we’re friends. I promise.” Cora stepped out from behind Mace. He moved to put her back in place, but she dodged the attempt.

“No. It’s your fault,”
Saraphine accused. “She died because of you.”

“What?” Stunned, Cora allowed Mace to pull her back into the protection of his body. Her legs fumbled on the way. “Who died?”

“My grandmother.”

Cora’s heart dropped like a cannon blast to the pit of her stomach. “Ms.
Windshaw’s dead?”

“She was murdered.”

Tears threatened. “Oh, goddess, I’m sorry…but why because of me?” Had Knox gotten to the old woman to prevent her from teaching Cora?

Saraphine’s
next words were like a kick to the solar plexus. “That other vampire you brought here. Knox? Murdered her in cold blood.”

The tears that had previously remained captured escaped
her lower lids, cascading down her cheeks.
Should I have foreseen this?
Could this have been prevented somehow? If she hadn’t worked so hard to avoid Knox, would she have sensed his malicious intent?

“I’m so sorry,” she repeated absently.

“You saw him do this?” Mace asked.

“No,”
Saraphine replied harshly, “but her body was found in the same alley where Knox tried to compel me to sabotage Cora’s spell.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “When was she found?”

“Six days ago.”

Cora cocked her head, and began mentally counting back. Exactly how many days had Knox been under lock and key?
Six? Seven?

Mace told
Saraphine he’d been locked up for seven.

Could there be a chance Knox hadn’t committed this crime? For some unfathomable reason, Cora truly hoped that was the case.
Perhaps because if he were guilty, then in some abstract, roundabout way, Ms Windshaw’s demise really was her fault. Not that his being innocent would redeem him in any way. He’d still attempted to compel Saraphine not to help her, or possibly even kill her, and then later attacked her. Plus, if it turned out he wasn’t the culprit, it would mean a murderer was on the loose, whereas at least Knox was already imprisoned.

Finally,
Saraphine lowered the weapon. Mace relaxed a bit.

“I don’t know how long she was there. It could have been a couple of days. She had her throat ripped out.”
Saraphine squared her shoulders, attempting to project a hard-as-steel demeanor, but the quiver in her lip was telling.

Mace cursed to himself and then offered his condolences. “I had no idea he would take things so far. I’ve never seen him so out of control. Except…” Something akin to guilt flashed across Mason’s face.
“Never mind. If there’s anything I can do—”

“Bring him to my Coven. We demand justice.”

“You know I can’t do that. I can have him charged with a crime, have it investigated by the VEA, but any consequences will be doled out by my clan.”

“Vampire law is a joke. I
will
have justice.”

“Don’t confuse justice with revenge,
Saraphine.”

Saraphine
lifted her chin defiantly. Cora received the dreaded impression that the young witch wasn’t about to back down on this matter. Cora couldn’t really blame her.

The drive back to the cottage was silent, with Mace seemingly lost in thought. He kept tilting his head this way and that, scrunching his lips together into a tight line. His mood seeped into her slowly, like oil dispersing over rough terrain. It was dark, yet defensive, with an underlining desperation. She was about to ask what was going on inside his mind when he finally spoke.

“I’m going to need you to do me a favor. You must come down with me to interrogate Knox.”

“Why?” Anxiety colored the word.

“Through the bond you can help determine if he’s being honest with me.”

“I have a harder time reading him like that.”

Mace swept a confused glance her way. “You do?”

“Yeah.
It’s like he has a way of blocking me.”

“Huh. Well, I’d still like for you to try.”

She hesitated. Then, with a relenting breath, she nodded. She could try for Mace and for Saraphine. “Do you think he did it?”

He didn’t speak for so long, she wasn’t sure if he would answer at all. “Do I think he’s capable of it? Yes. But…no, I don’t believe he’s the culprit.”

“Why?”

“When Knox kills, it’s done with precision, clean. He doesn’t rip out throats.
Too messy, too much evidence.”

“So he has killed before?”

“Of course. Most of us have.”

Cora gasped at his casual tone. Although
, why was she surprised to hear that Mace held human life with such little regard?

Mace frowned. “Don’t look at me like that. Tell me how you fight a war without shedding blood?”

“War?”

“Yes. When the humans revolted against our kind, they were ruthless, killing without discrimination. Knox,
myself, and most of our clan were called to arms. We don’t kill without cause, Cora. Not usually.”

“Oh.” She felt her cheeks warm. “But Knox has cause?”

Again Mace went quiet, his jaw tightening. “Admittedly, yes, he does.”

“Me,” Cora sighed, crestfallen.

Mace offered a remorseful nod. “But it’s not just you.”

They arrived at the cottage then, and before she could question him further, he was out of the car, heading inside. His precarious mood had shifted towards regret.

Cora nervously glanced around Knox’s small cell. The computer and desk had been replaced by an uncomfortable-looking cot shoved against the far wall, probably found in a well-stocked storage area buried somewhere within the complex.

She fought the shortening of her breath, the sensation that air was limited, the imagined bowing of the ceilings. It was all illusion, she reminded herself. All in her head. Mere residue from a tragic childhood experience. She could overcome.

She already was, to some degree.

Maybe because she was with Mace and Meeka. Or perhaps the repetition of coming down here was desensitizing her. Or had she managed to conquer a bit of her fear while stumbling through the complex hopped up on frantic adrenaline. Whatever the reason, traversing these halls hadn’t been as harrowing as before.

Still, she’d had to take it slow to get this far.

Mace placed a palm on her shoulder as if sensing her discomfort. The movement parted the fabric of his coat and the butt of his holstered gun flashed into view.

She brought in a deep breath and steadied herself.
Meeka’s soft fur under her left hand helped a great deal as well. Upon their return from speaking with Saraphine, the clever feline had changed to her larger form as if she somehow knew they were intending to confront Knox. Now she sat sentinel by Cora’s side.

On the cot, Knox was the epitome of relaxation with his back against the wall and his arm dangling over
his folded knee. His expression was an unreadable mask, almost void of emotion. Except when his eyes fell on the silver thermos in Mace’s hand. His nostrils flared, and she thought his jaw might have clenched. Besides that small display, he betrayed no other emotion.

When was the last time he’d eaten? The routine bloodletting had ceased the day of his attack. Yet he didn’t really look worse for the wear. Was it that he didn’t need to feed as often as he had
been, or had Mace somehow been providing an alternative source of nutrients?

Knox’s dark eyes slid from the thermos to her, and he smiled, not bothering to conceal a pair of elongated fangs. “Tell me this is a conjugal visit.”

Strengthening her fortitude, she responded with an unabashed glare, setting her chin.

“Sorry, I don’t swing that way,
” Mace replied.

Cora eyed
him at the jest.

Knox smiled crookedly, the tension between them oddly broken. He lowered his foot to the ground and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “And yet you can’t stand to be away from me. Watch that you don’t make the female jealous.”

Cora was flabbergasted. How could they behave so companionably toward each other after all that had happened?

It was then that she came to a glaring realization.

She was the anomaly in this trio. The outsider. How long had the two known each other? She hadn’t bothered to contemplate it before, but their features were rather similar, both with dark hair, grey eyes. They could be blood related for all she knew, with decades of background and an unyielding loyalty she had no knowledge of. Hadn’t Mace commented on the complicated nature of their relationship? Moreover, Mace was here to question Knox in the hopes that he was innocent. They acted like they hated each other, but neither, it seemed, would seriously harm the other.

W
as that only because their sire had forbade it?

“Ms.
Windshaw is dead,” Mace blurted to Knox, losing his humor.

Knox paused for a moment. “Guess the old witch didn’t see that one
coming, did she?” He laughed, courting Cora’s fury.

He stopped abruptly and pinned her in hard stare. She raised her jaw a fraction, staring daggers at him.

Seconds later, cold comprehension dug into the lines of his face. “You think I killed her?”

“It has been suggested,” Mace replied. “She was found in an alleyway you’ve frequented as of late. Apparently, her throat was ripped out.”

Knox rolled his eyes. “Does that sound like me?”

Through their exchange, Cora was trying to open herself fully
to Knox, mentally diving into his emotions. Again she felt blocked. It was like jumping into a pool that had been iced over. Even though she broke through fairly quickly, she was already lost below the surface, floundering. And what she did glean was confusing, complicated, and difficult to decipher. Not to mention there was a good chance regular emotions, like, say, guilt, didn’t plague him in the same manner it might a sane man. Hell, he might not even understand the concept.

She did manage to pin down a couple of things, however.
Indignation. Resentment. Deeply bottled rage. But nothing that spoke of his authenticity, or lack thereof. Finally, she admitted to herself she was getting nowhere, so instead, she tried to scrutinize every change in his expression, as if she would discover the truth there.

Mace listed off Knox’s many indiscretions, adding, “You have to admit, it doesn’t look good for you. The witches will demand justice.”

“Then they’d better look elsewhere. Honestly, Mace. If I were going to kill the old witch, there’d only be two ways I’d go about it. The first would be with every intention of making a spectacle, without repentance, brokering no doubt that it was me. Luckily, I’m not so stupid as that.” He tilted his head up, resting it against the wall.

“And the second?”
Cora brazenly demanded.

Knox looked at her. She thought she might have surprised him a little, but his features remained stony.

In a dark, hollow tone, he replied, “No one would have ever found the body.”

A shiver battled its way up her spine. “You clearly don’t care that she’s dead,” she accused, unable to stop herself.

He shrugged. “True enough. Doesn’t mean I killed her.”

“But you’re happy about it. You didn’t want her teaching me.”

“Ah, but,
cher
, are you so easily disabled that a single witch’s demise could prohibit you from learning your inherent craft? If so, I commend whoever took out your only chance.”

She raised a brow
at that. “You could have done the deed just before you trapped Mace here and then tried to kill me next. You can’t deny you made the attempt.”

“Is that what it appeared I was doing? That’s not the way I recall it.” His eyes glistened with remembered lust, and she blinked away.

“Aside from attacking me, you verbally threatened my life.”

Knox laughed again. “I verbally threaten everybody.
Par for the course.”

“I suppose now you’ll tell me you had no intentions of killing me, even though you said as much without batting an eyelash.”

“I haven’t decided yet,” he replied flippantly, as though discussing something as inconsequential as which hairstyle looked best on howler monkeys.

And if that was the most honest thing he’d said thus far, Cora couldn’t tell. She turned to Mace. “I’m getting nothing. This is a waste of time.”

Mace glanced between them both. “How is he keeping you out?” Hope lit his features. “Maybe you’re not fully bonded…if at all.”

“Don’t I wish,” Knox grumbled.

Cora shrugged. “I couldn’t say. But I have sensed his emotions on occasion.”

“That could be your magic manifesting,” Mace continued. “Ms.
Windshaw mentioned something of that nature.”

Knox shook his head.
“Grasping at straws, mate. Her blood’s all that sustains me. I’ll be weak as a babe without it. Look at me.” He lifted limp arms. “Already I’m wasting away.”

Though he played at humor
, his gaze darted toward the thermos. In an unguarded moment, she sensed his gnawing hunger.

Stupidly, she softened.

As if he could tell, he slashed her with a glare. He greatly disliked it when she read him. If nothing else, that was obvious.

Finished with his questioning for now, Mace set the thermos inside the door and then locked Knox in once more.

On their way out, Cora mused, “I’m surprised he didn’t try to escape.”

“I don’t think he’s sure what to make of
Meeka. And besides, he knows I’d have shot him if he tried.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t really stop your kind.”

“Hurts like hell though. Especially when the bullets get stuck and we have to work them out on our own. And a straight shot to the brainpan would have dropped him for a decent amount of time.”

When they made their way through the kitchen passage and the hidden panel slid closed behind them, disappearing seamlessly into the wall, Mace said, “Thank you for trying.”

Before them, Meeka slipped into her kitten form. Strangely, it was like watching a balloon deflate. Then she trotted to her empty food bowl and planted her little butt expectantly.

“Do you believe him?” Cora asked Mace as she retrieved a small tin of cat food from the cabinet, pulled the tab to open it, and filled
Meeka’s bowl.

He paused thoughtfully. “I’d like to say I believe him, but…I’m not sure.”

She hesitated. “Why do you want to so badly? What’s up with the two of you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I feel like there’s a history here I should know about.”

His eyes tightened and something inscrutable slid behind them. Again, that guilt trickled out of him and into her.

“Let’s just say I owe him,” he said simply, and then turned away.