Coldstorm (Heart of a Vampire, Book 7) (23 page)

Her magic flickered. Darkened a few more shades.

Opening its mouth, the siren screamed furiously.

Powerful waves of magic punched into Anca. Washed over her like a wildfire of devouring flames.

It knocked her back, spun her around. She crashed into the two men.

Snapping forward, Jordan slashed his large longsword. Between Anca's magic and the siren's protection, his blade couldn't touch the creature's pale skin.

Anca gripped the hilt of her sword tighter.

The siren screamed again.

Magic slashed and gouged at Anca's protective barriers, causing cracks, then chinks. On shaky legs, she struggled not to drop to her knees.

Matt and Jordan both gripped their heads. Their shields were more damaged than her own. Their hearing not protected, not enough, any longer.

Behind them, the Keeper remained mostly unaffected, though a glassy sheen to his dark golden eyes said he was fighting the creature in his way. His protection wasn't due to Anca and Jezamine's failing barriers, but his own.

A ghostly image of a giant bear on its hind legs stood in front of Shane. Keeper and shaman. He continued to pour magic into the containment spell. It helped, but even he'd run out of strength. As would the rest of them.

Jezamine fared the worst, having given too much energy to the trap. The old woman's eyes bled red tears down her wrinkled face, though she was no vampire. She stumbled, almost fell. Shane and Dalia grabbed her arms, held her protectively.

Matt lunged for the siren. None of the magic stopped him. His fist crashed into the creature's stomach. The naked female doubled over. Her song fell to a low hum.

With a sly smile, the siren sprung. Somehow managing to break mostly free of the Council magic, she clawed long nails at Matt's throat.

He blocked her again, and again, but as the Council spells weakened, nearly fell, the siren grew stronger, unbelievably faster.

Anca had to end this now.

In a blink of a moment, she closed her eyes and said a swift, silent blessing for both of their souls. Anca raised her razor-sharp sword, called her
tată's
magic, and swung forcefully.

The blade hit the siren's throat. Hard scales stopped metal. Anca shoved her power into the
saif
.

Her father's old world magic rushed forward. It tasted the siren's blood. Surged. The sword eagerly ate through the remaining resistance.

Like the last few grains in an hourglass, magic fell out of the air. Shimmering drops splattered onto the earth a second before being absorbed.

The thud of the creature's head falling to the ground echoed loudly in Anca's heart. A heaviness that, though her actions were necessary, brought a regretful guilt.

With the siren's life force extinguished, the pressure in the clearing disappeared. In an instant, its body crumbled. Small currents of air stirred a few lingering piles of dust.

For long moments, Anca couldn't look away from all that remained of the Arcaine creature.

A light hand fell on her shoulder. She didn't turn.

"Ye of good heart. That will never be in question." Jezamine, looking only inches from passing out from exhaustion, pulled her away and to the others.

Dalia rushed to MacDougal, her aura singing with worried tension. She stood on tiptoe to press her palms to his cheeks and look him over. Though the woman was much smaller, she ordered the vampire King around, searching for injuries.

Finally relief flooded Dalia's eyes. She jerked MacDougal's head down with fistfuls of his hair, and kissed him thoroughly.

Matt watched Anca with an enigmatic hooded gaze.

She ignored the sudden idea of Matt kissing her again.

He didn't speak, just continued to quietly shadow her as she removed the wards and dismantled the trap. He stood back, yet his gaze remained on her, as she, the witch and the Keeper cleansed the area, dissipating the residual dark magics lingering from the siren's death, from the Rogues still out there, perhaps even nearby.

Anca wondered if they knew yet their pawn had been destroyed. The Rogues had killed in town yesterday as a warning to her. And the Magic Council.

And she had to wonder—and worry—what they'd do in retaliation and how she was going to stop them before something even worse happened.

How the devil she was to do that, with barely a hint of a clue to go on was the aggravating question.

Two hours later, Jezamine left with the Keeper. MacDougal and Dalia gathered their men and disappeared into the forest, out to meet others from the clan, searching for the Rogue's lair.

A hunt Anca was invited to join after the stern command to find some food, take a nap.

The Queen added the idea of a relaxing bath, along with a
thank you
for Anca's bravery in saving the woman's family and home.

A comment Anca didn't quite understand. She hadn't saved anyone yet.

Once they were alone, and Anca stilled with nothing left to do, Matt stepped from the edge of the clearing where he'd silently waited.

His tone was flat, abrupt. "Ready to go?"

The lack of sleep and the drain of her energy made the sun, climbing above the tree tops, an offensive glare.

Matt drove to the hospital. In the blood bank, they both accepted large thermoses they drank down, along with two large packaged supplies of bagged blood for later.

Feeling a little stronger and less dead on her feet, Anca agreed when Matt offered to swing by the diner. They ate in weary, if companionable, silence. By the time Matt dropped her off at her campsite, the sun hung high above the mountain peaks on the horizon, warming the late morning.

Anca managed to put everything away before she fell onto her cot, sliding into a deep, recovering slumber.

***

A
fter leaving Anca's camp, Matt drove further into the forest, to the area the clan was searching.

But he couldn't get the woman off his mind.

Walking away had been nearly impossible. Exhaustion had rolled off her in waves. She'd walked off in the light in slow pained movements. He'd wanted only to take her into her tent and tuck her in, make certain she got some rest.

He snorted at himself and tried turning his thoughts to something else. Yet they looped around to Anca again and again.

This time, to the way she'd fought. Without hesitation. Like any of them, Anca could have been killed.

And she'd done it to protect Matt's home, his clan.

Even if she was from the Council.

Matt wasn't quite certain why the thought didn't bring his usual rage. But he realized the slippery slope beneath his boots. One he was in danger of falling off.

Along one of the narrow, dirt roads weaving through the forest just outside of town, he reached a wider area filled with cars belonging to vampires from his clan. Matt parked and got out. His mind felt fuzzy, his thoughts disjointed. He needed sleep.

There wasn't time for him to sleep. Not right now.

And there sure as hell wasn't time to mope about the Council woman who disturbed him on so many damn levels.

He strode through the forest , feeling the return of darker thoughts. A whisper in the back of his mind grew louder, questions of facades and hidden evils refusing to let him go.

His hate and anger at the Magic Council no longer struck with ferocity when he thought of Anca. But he still wasn't certain he could trust her. Not knowing who she worked with.

Shane Spencer's words came back to Matt, to judge Anca on her actions, on who she was, rather than who she worked for.

And yet...

Didn't the whispers wonder if, perhaps, she'd killed with a startling ease? She'd seemed barely disturbed at ending a life, holding tight to that damned cold stone, slightly pleasant, mostly disinterested, neutral expression of hers.

And that same voice from the dark pits inside him asked, if killing the siren wasn't tainted by the Council. But hell, if it had come down to it, he'd have killed the creature himself.

It didn't follow logic to blame Anca just because of who she worked for.

Yet part of him stubbornly held tight to the thought, worrying over it like a dog with a juicy bone.

The woman had saved him.

Now his clan and home.

And yet, he couldn't let go of the idea that in the end, she'd be his enemy. That all of this was nothing more than a ruse before she revealed a hidden dark truth.

He brooded over his thoughts until he caught up to some of the clan vampires searching for any hint or sign that might lead to the Rogues. At Matt's questioning, they directed him further ahead and to the east.

Twenty minutes later, he caught up with his King's group, which included the kid Robby and a handful of Jordan's guards. The Queen had been ordered home to follow the same advice given to Anca. Like the other groups, they hiked through the wilderness, leaving about twenty feet between pairs of vampires.

Robby walked next to Leo, their heads bent and whispering. It was a good thing to see, with the depression Leo had sunk into with his sister held captive.

Hurrying past them, Matt reached Jordan's side.

His King was quiet for a while, before finally asking, "Has time changed how you think of the Council's investigator?"

Taken aback by the abrupt question about the very things on his mind, Matt could only stammer, "Wh-what do you mean?"

Jordan shot him a sharp look, then a knowing smile. "Like that is it? Well, now. So do you believe she can be fully trusted?"

No matter his thoughts, Matt couldn't deny that doubts persisted like a sharp blade in his gut. But he had to give his King an answer, as fair of one as he could. "She's saved the lives of those in town, and in our clan. She's saved my life. What would she have to gain by betraying us now?"

As if deliberately needling the wound inside Matt, Jordan continued, playing devil's advocate. "Her first duty, of course, is to the Magic Council, not us. You think?"

"Of course," Matt replied. Yet he felt uncomfortable with the easy agreement.

"Hmm." Jordan scanned the forest floor, the trees, every rock and nook and cranny they passed.

"What does
hmm
mean?"

"She comes with a recommendation from Connor. That's not to be taken lightly."

"You seem unable to make up your mind," Matt replied, disgruntled.

Jordan's blue gaze was hard. "Nah. I know whether I trust her or not. If you recall, my question was,
do you
?"

"Maybe." It felt right to trust her, on one level. Far too dangerous on another. "I don't know."

With a curious look, Jordan nodded, then concentrated on the forest around them once more. "When's your next shift at the hospital?"

"I called off for the next few days. You ordered me to help Anca." He had some patients he needed to check on personally, though, soon.

Jordan asked, "When's the last time you slept?"

"I'm fine," he replied vaguely. Thinking about it, he realized he'd technically gotten a few hours last night after Anca knocked him out. Hadn't been very restful.

"Go home." Jordan's voice rang with a command. "Rest. Recover. We have enough men out here, for all the good it's doing."

"But with the siren, we have a starting point. We might finally find something—"

"Aye. And if we do, I'll send someone to get you. Until then, or whenever you'll be meeting up with Anca, go home and sleep." His King's bright eyes flashed red. "Some real sleep. You need it."

Matt argued a few more minutes. He didn't want to go home. There was nothing to do there but continue chasing his thoughts like a dog circling for his tail. He didn't want to sleep. He feared more dreams of the past.

"You look like shit." Jordan stopped and blocked Matt's way. "Go home or I'll have some men take you to Dalia. She'll sort you out."

In exhaustion-laden defeat at the threat, Matt turned back to his car.

And he realized there was no planned time for him and Anca to meet up again. With as much magic as she'd used, and as tired as she'd seemed when he'd dropped her off at camp, the woman would most likely sleep the day away.

In the parking lot, he settled behind the wheel of his vehicle, then tiredly drove home. The only ghosts he saw on the way were those of his lost clan. Like a stake driven over and over into his heart, the failure to save those he considered his pierced deeply.

When he got home, he stumbled inside, his mind unable to focus. Thoughts came, but connecting them got more and more difficult. Exhaustion became unavoidable.

Giving himself six hours to sleep, he set an alarm to be up in time to reach Anca's campsite by dusk. But even as he laid down, she filled his mind.

Until he irresistibly sank into dark horrors.

Catapulted centuries back through time, the past unfolded like a shaky, homemade movie. As if he were one of the lingering ghosts, Matt floated above a small village, buildings of wood and brick and mud. Nestled in a verdant valley along a river that flowed year round, the simple place gave off warmth and welcome.

A shadow rushed from the tallest hill to the east, hidden by predawn darkness. It descended upon the town. With a flash of flames, every building, every person fleeing from the Council's Judge, turned to black ash.

Matt's heart beat faster as sooty snowflakes rose into the sky. Voices he hadn't heard in hundreds of years called, begging him not to forget.

He would never do such a thing. The faces of those he'd once loved dearly remained branded on his soul.

His family. His sons. His daughters.

His very reasons for living.

The familiar waves drowned him in guilt. At his inability to save them, to protect them, as had been his duty. Guilt for not dying alongside those he'd held so dear.

Everything faded.

Replaced by the cruel, bloody visage of Cortez, his eyes shining vampire crimson, his fangs long and sharp as they descended to Matt's throat.

Then the fire of agony filled his veins, turned to a desperate hunger in his stomach. And a darkness in his soul.

***

T
he shrill alarm he'd set for late afternoon jerked Matt from the depths of sleep. Groggy sluggishness lingered even after a quick shower and coffee. Still, according to plan, Anca's tent came into view just as the sun began its descent behind the mountainous horizon.