Devoured By Darkness (9 page)

Her lips twisted with fury.

The rumors had been true enough.

She’d instantly been able to detect the lingering female scent in the tunnels.

But she’d been too late.

The Jinn was gone. Seemingly vanished into thin air.

Turning from the counter that was overflowing with a variety of nasty ingredients used in his spells, Sergei frowned at her entrance.

“Did you find her?” he stupidly demanded.

“Does it look as if I found her?” She threw her arms wide. “Twit.”

The mage shrugged off his protective cloak, revealing the elegant gray suit beneath. “You said the Jinn was scented last evening,” he said, crossing to stand directly before her. A display of his sheer arrogance considering her foul mood. She’d been known to rip out throats when she was slightly peeved. “She can’t have disappeared so quickly. Not unless …”

Her eyes narrowed. “Unless what?”

“Unless it wasn’t the Jinn we’re searching for.” He grimaced. “Or she possesses far more Jinn powers than we originally suspected.”

“You should be intimately familiar with the female’s various talents considering you held her hostage for months,” she hissed.

“I kept her locked in an iron cell that muted her powers.” He abruptly glanced over his shoulder, as if searching for an unseen watcher in the shadows of the attached pantry, then with a shake of his head he turned back to meet her icy gaze. “Besides, she will continue to gain powers for the next five hundred years or so.”

A frigid blast of energy swirled through the kitchen, stirring Sergei’s silver hair and tumbling clay bowls and copper pans from the shelves.

She’d wasted years searching for the Jinn bitch and the babe she was hiding, constantly denied the power and glory that should be hers.

And now, just when she had been teased with the promise of her scent, she’d once again been denied.

Her bloodlust was at a fever pitch.

“Assuming she lives that long,” she growled.

Sergei lifted his hand, as if he intended to touch her, only to hastily step back at the sight of her fully elongated fangs.

“Marika, don’t forget that for now we need her alive,” he attempted to soothe. “At least until we get our hands on the child.”

With a flick of her hand, the drying plants crumbled to dust. “Don’t you dare presume to lecture me.”

Sergei’s lips tightened at the loss of his rare ingredients, but he wasn’t suicidal enough to complain.

“I merely want to prevent any mistakes you might regret later.”

“Regrets?” She had wrapped her fingers around his throat, squeezing until his face turned an interesting shade of puce. “My greatest regret is ever choosing a treacherous mage whose only contribution so far has been to deceive me.”

Sergei wheezed, his blue eyes darkening with a mixture of pain and impotent fury.

“If you will release me I can try to scry for the female,” he choked out.

“You’ve tried it before only to fail.”

“She’s obviously lost the veil of protection that has kept her hidden from me.” He struggled to speak, a hint of genuine fear beginning to perfume the air. Tasty. There was nothing like terror to whet her appetite. “If nothing else I might discover a trail that will lead us to her.”

Distracted by his words, Marika tossed the mage aside, her violent fury morphing to curiosity.

“Yes,” she said slowly, “why would she be so careless after so long?”

Sergei straightened, his hand instinctively smoothing his black silk tie.

“Perhaps the greatest question is what brings her to London,” he muttered.

She smiled with mocking amusement, the fey blood she’d consumed earlier still bubbling like champagne through her veins.

She’d intended to find a partner at the Opera to screw her senseless while she was still high, but watching Sergei squirm was almost as fun.

“Ah. Poor Sergei.” She clicked her tongue. “Are you worried she’s come into her powers and decided to seek revenge on the mage who tore her from her Sunnybrook Farm and kept her caged like an animal?”

He again glanced over his shoulder, rubbing the back of his neck.

“She couldn’t possibly know I’m here. I kept my scent disguised while she was in my care.”

“In your care?” she drawled. “I doubt she recalls your hospitality so kindly.”

Sergei shifted uneasily, returning his attention to Marika.

“I also shrouded myself in illusion when I allowed her out of her cell. She has no means to recognize me.”

She lifted her hand to toy with the perfect strand of pearls about her neck.

“Something brought her to London.”

The mage abruptly tensed. “You don’t suppose …”

“What?”

“Could Kata be calling to her?”

“Laylah,” Marika breathed. “Is that the female’s name?”

“How would I know?” He waved a dismissive hand. “I never bothered to ask.”

“Such an idiot,” she snarled, longing to drain the fool dry.

It was bad enough that Sergei’s greed had put her plans to return the Dark Lord and stand at his side as his reigning queen on hold, but his brutal treatment of the female had ensured the mongrel would go to any lengths to avoid being found.

“Kata’s connection to the girl is remarkable,” he hastily said, anxious for a distraction.

“Yes,” she agreed. She’d sensed Kata’s ability to speak mind to mind with her child from the moment the brat was born. Unfortunately Marika had been left out of the loop, despite her own lingering connection to Kata. “And the only reason dearest sister is still breathing.”

“If she thought her daughter was in danger she might be able to summon the necessary strength to shake off the spells that hold her,” Sergei said, scowling as Marika tilted back her head to laugh with rich amusement. “Did I say something funny?”

“I was savoring the irony.”

“Irony?”

“Kata has endured centuries of torture to protect her precious daughter.” Anticipation warmed her dead heart. Kata’s stirring. The scent of Jinn. The growing unrest among the demon world. Surely they had to be premonitions that her glorious destiny was at hand? “How brilliant would it be if she were the one to lead her straight into our hands?”

“It would be even more brilliant if the female has the child with her,” Sergei muttered.

“It doesn’t matter. Once I have her in my hands she will reveal the location of the babe. I can be …” She glanced down at her long nails painted the rich color of blood. “Quite persuasive.”

Sergei grimaced in memory of what those nails could do to tender flesh. Then, with a tiny shudder he moved across the room to a locked cabinet protected by a series of symbols etched into the wooden door.

He waved his hand over the heavy, old-fashioned lock, muttering soft words that made Marika’s skin crawl.

“What are you doing?” she snapped. The mage knew she hated having spells performed in her presence.

“I need a piece of the female.” He opened the cabinet to withdraw a small, cedar box. Flipping open the lid he pulled out a strand of crimson hair he’d clipped from the mongrel’s head while he kept her as his prisoner. “This should be enough for a simple scrying.” Arrogant bastard.

Whirling on her heel Marika led the way to the lower cellar. Soon, she tried to soothe her irritated nerves. Soon she would have her niece in her clutches and her need for the mage would be at an end.

She intended to savor his slow, painful death with a bottle of 1787
Chateau Margaux
she had hidden in her private lair.

In silence they moved down the narrow stairs, crossing the cellar to the back chamber. Marika gave the altar a wide berth, halting beside the shallow depression in the floor.

Sergei followed her, bending down to toss the hair into the depression, watching as the crimson strand floated on top of the water.

He did his usual hand waving and muttered his strange words, his handsome face settled in lines of concentration and his silver hair floating about his shoulders as his power filled the air.

No doubt such a sight impressed the hell out of the Russian Czars who’d kept Sergei in luxurious style before Marika had decided she had need of his services. She, however, wanted him to be done with stupid mumbo jumbo and tell her where the hell she could find the Jinn mongrel.

“Well?” she gritted.

Sergei straightened, a smile curving his lips. “Your niece has been here. Recently.” Marika clenched her hands, her nails drawing blood that dripped onto the stone floor.

Close. So close. “Where is she now?”

Sergei shrugged, pointing toward the water. “That’s where she disappeared.”

Marika leaned forward, studying the image that had formed on the surface. It took only a moment to recognize the tunnels.

“Victor’s lair.”

Sergei cursed, his face paling. Every creature in the demon world knew it was easier to escape the pits of hell than the clan chief’s dungeons.

“That makes no sense,” he rasped. “Why would she seek out a vampire?”

Marika shrugged, headed toward the door. “It’s more likely that Victor realized a Jinn had invaded his territory and took steps to capture her. It would explain why I lost track of her so swiftly.”

Sergei hurried to keep pace beside her. “Where are you going?”

She entered the outer cellar and headed toward a door hidden by a spell of illusion. Victor wasn’t the only one with private tunnels to move about the city.

“There’s only one way to discover if our beloved chief is holding the female.”

“And if he is?”

She tossed her companion a cold smile. “Then you’re going to make certain my property is returned to me.” Sergei’s face went from pale to downright gray.

“Shit.”

Laylah stepped from behind the stairs as the scary mage and even scarier vampire disappeared through the back door.

Halting in the middle of the damp cellar, she absently rubbed her aching temples.

It seemed to be an evening for shocks, she ruefully concluded.

First had been her astonishment at the sight of the elegant vampire she’d followed into the town house. Juliet hadn’t been exaggerating. The two of them could have passed as twins. Well, except for the other woman’s long, dark hair. And the lethal fangs. And the psycho temper.

And then, of course, had been the shock of being so close to the mage who had brutally kidnapped her from her foster mother’s home and held her captive in Russia. The arrogant son of a bitch. It had taken every bit of her willpower not to charge into the kitchen and rip out his black heart.

Laylah shivered, trying to concentrate on what she’d discovered.

It wasn’t every day a girl found out she had an aunt who was a vampire and that the bitch was not only in cahoots with the mage who had imprisoned her for months, but that she was still on the hunt for her.

Her thoughts, however, kept slipping away as she was distracted by the soft sound of her name being called.

Where the hell was it coming from?

Barely aware of her surroundings, she headed toward the room where the vampire and mage had so recently left.

“Laylah, there is some ridiculous saying about ‘getting out while the getting is good,’ “ Levet muttered as he hastily followed in her wake. “I believe this is an appropriate moment for the getting out part.”

“Don’t you hear that?” she asked, grimacing as she entered the adjoining chamber to catch sight of the stone altar that dominated the dank space. Were those bloodstains?

She circled around the disgusting object, the voice still ringing in her ears. “Hear what?”

She frowned. Levet couldn’t hear the voice? Which meant she was either going mad or some unknown creature had zapped her with a Vulcan mind-meld.

Neither option held any appeal.

“Someone’s calling my name.”

Levet’s tail snapped and twitched with growing agitation. “I can tell you from painful experience that a mysterious creature calling your name inside your head is never a good thing.”

She ignored his warning, slowly approaching the pool of water in the floor that shimmered with a strange glow.

“I have to know.”

Levet stomped to stand at her side. “Of course you do.” “Laylah,” the soft voice crooned. “My beautiful Laylah.” Halting at the edge of the pool she glanced into the still water, her heart jerking in shock at the image of a woman stretched on a cot in some sort of dark cell.

For a mystified moment she thought it was Marika.

Understandable.

They could have been clones, until the woman in the image abruptly opened her eyes.

The eyes might have matched in shape and color, but there the resemblance ended.

Marika was a cold, cunning predator without conscience.

The woman reflected in the water possessed dark eyes that smoldered with the heat of her fierce emotions.

“Who are you?” Laylah breathed, ignoring Levet’s dire warning of speaking to strange women who magically appeared in water.

“Kata,” the woman offered, her lips moving as her voice left Laylah’s head and filled the cavern. “Your mother.”

Mother.

Laylah licked her lips, her heart ricocheting painfully around her rib cage.

Of all the scenarios she had envisioned of meeting her mother, this one had never popped into her mind.

“What’s happened to you?” she managed to rasp. “Are you being held captive?”

Kata shook her head, her body trembling beneath the shroud as if she were struggling against unseen bonds.

“It doesn’t matter, you must listen to me.”

“I can help you.”

“No.” Kata gave a frantic shake of her head. “You must protect the child.”

“Child?” Levet squeaked. “What child?”

Laylah waved a silencing hand toward the gargoyle. “He’s safe, I promise. But you …”

“My fate has no meaning,” the woman protested.

Laylah unconsciously sank to her knees beside the small pool of water. “It does to me.”

“Oh, my darling daughter.” Kata’s expression softened and Laylah would have sworn she could feel a warmth settle deep in her heart. “I knew you were destined for greatness from the first moment I held you in my arms.”

Yeah, right.

Laylah knew she could be gullible, but she wasn’t stupid.

“Then why did you throw me away?”

The dark eyes softened with distress. “Never,
kicsim.
It broke my heart to leave you in the care of Sadira.”

Laylah frowned. Sadira was her foster mother. A gentle witch with a messy thatch of silver curls and round face that was pretty in a grandmotherly sort of way.

She was the one person in the entire world she truly trusted.

Now she was supposed to believe that she’d lied to her?

“How do you know about Sadira?”

“She was my dearest friend when we were both just children in the old country.”

Laylah didn’t know or care what the hell the ‘old country’ meant. She was far more interested in the implication that she hadn’t been tossed out like rotting trash.

“But …” Laylah was forced to clear her throat. “She told me that she found me abandoned in the sewers of London and that she knew nothing about me or my parents.”

“I know, and I’m sorry for that,” the woman said, her voice thick with regret. “I made her swear never to tell you anything about your past.”

“Why?”

“I could not risk having you come in search of me. I had to keep Marika and her pet mage from using you to bring evil into the world.”

Laylah jerked in pain. Even accustomed to people assuming she was a cross between the boogieman and Rosemary’s Baby, it hurt.

“I’m not evil.”

“No, of course you are not. Anyone can sense your heart is pure,” her supposed mother protested. “But you are blessed with the ability to enter the mists.”

“Oh.” Comprehension slammed into her. “The babe.”

“Yes.”

She stiffened, a wave of emotions zigzagging through her. Fear, possession, and a shockingly maternal need to protect.

“But he’s an innocent. I swear to you.” “He possesses the blood of the Dark Lord.” Oh … shit. “His son?” “His vessel.”

Levet leaned forward. “Vessel? Are you certain?” Laylah shot him a suspicious glance. “Do you know something?”

“I know you never want to be a vessel for an evil god,” the gargoyle stated the obvious. “Very bad karma.” Laylah tilted her chin.

She didn’t care what blood might flow through her baby. Or why he’d been created.

She would kill to keep him safe.

“The babe is trapped in a spell, but I refuse to believe he’s evil,” she said. “I can sense his purity.”

The woman hesitated, as if troubled by Laylah’s obvious concern for the child.

“Not evil, but … empty.”

“I don’t understand.”

“He has been created by magic to be filled with the soul of another.”

Laylah bit back her words of protest. She didn’t intend to share her intimate knowledge of the child.

Not with anyone.

“The Dark Lord’s soul?” she instead asked.

“Yes.” Despite the invisible bonds that held her, Kata shivered in horror. “A genuine rebirth that will shred the veils between worlds and allow hell to spew forth.”

“Mon Dieu.”
Levet poked her on the leg. “I particularly dislike hell spewing forth. Laylah, you must do something.”

“I’m working on it.” Her gaze never wavered from the vision of her mother. Gods. She’d always sensed the child was important. Perhaps even dangerous. But she’d never thought he was an apocalypse waiting to happen. “What can I do?”

The woman stared toward Laylah with a desperation that was nearly tangible.

“You must keep the child out of the hands of Marika,” she said, her eyes flashing with a fierce intensity. “She will use him for her own vile purpose.”

“Really, Kata, is that any way to speak of your only sister?” a cold, horrifyingly familiar voice sliced through the chamber.

Laylah stumbled to her feet, turning to watch the elegant vampire cross the room to peer at the water. “Laylah …” Kata cried out.

With a terrifying laugh, Marika used the toe of her Manolo to stir the water, dissolving the vision of Kata. “Toodles, dear sister.”

There was the scrape of footsteps and Laylah turned to watch the mage stroll to join the vampire. She reminded herself to breathe as her gut clenched with an age-old fury.

The bastard had caged her like an animal and forced her to enter the frozen Siberian cave without giving a damn if the spell that protected the entrance would kill her.

Thankfully her stark, raving fear overcame any ridiculous urge to seek vengeance on the man who’d caused her such misery.

“I told you that I sensed a rat spying from the shadows,” Sergei drawled, his pale blue gaze lingering on the gargoyle at her side.

“A rat?” Levet sputtered.
“Sacrebleu.
I shall turn you into …”

Laylah hastily grabbed a delicate wing to keep her companion from becoming a pile of gravel. “Levet, no.”

Sergei laughed with cruel amusement. “Did you have him shrunken or did he come in this size?”

“Now Sergei, it’s not polite to mock our guests.” Marika flashed her pearly fangs, stepping forward. “I have waited so very long for this family reunion.”

Laylah grimaced.

Had she actually been stupid enough to pray she would one day find her relatives? Yeah. That was a mistake she wouldn’t be making again. “Stay away from me.”

The woman continued forward, reaching out to run a crimson nail down Laylah’s cheek. It might have been affectionate if she hadn’t used enough force to draw blood.

“Surely you’re not afraid of your auntie?”

An icy dread clutched at her stomach, her latent powers stirring at the unmistakable threat.

“Yes.”

Sergei reached out to lightly touch his companion’s shoulder.

“Careful, Marika, we don’t yet know the extent of her powers.”

The dark eyes narrowed, the slender nose curling with a fastidious disgust.

“True. She has the look of her gypsy mother, but her blood stinks of Jinn.”

Laylah wiped away the stinky Jinn blood that dripped down her cheek. “You knew my father?”

Marika’s sharp laugh echoed through the cavern. “No one is foolish enough to actually become acquainted with a Jinn, but we did have a brief encounter before Sergei locked him in the room with your mother so he could impregnate her. He was …” She deliberately paused, a reminiscent smile curving her lips. “Delectable.”

Outrage overwhelmed her fear. She never doubted for a moment the mage was without conscience or morals. But Marika obviously took the prize in being an evil bitch.

“You trapped your own sister in a room to be raped by a powerful Jinn?”

Marika shrugged. “Who can say what happened behind closed doors? It was,” she paused, glancing toward the smirking mage. “What do they say in America, Sergei?”

“Don’t ask, don’t tell.”

“In any event, you were born nine months later.” She waved her slender hand. “That’s all that matters.”

She took an impulsive step forward. “You are …”

Icy power lashed through the air, striking Laylah like a sledgehammer to the chest.

“Careful, Laylah, I sometimes allow my temper to get the better of me,” Marika purred, her eyes glowing with a lust for pain. “Neither of us wants me to forget I still have need of you.”

Damn. Laylah rubbed her cracked rib. That hurt.

“What do you want of me?”

Marika regained command of her composure. “The child, of course.”

“To sacrifice for the Dark Lord?”

The vampire appeared genuinely startled by the blunt question.

She glanced toward the obediently silent Sergei. “Obviously brains do not run in the family. A pity.” She returned her attention to Laylah. “Why would I destroy my perfect means of ruling the world?”

Levet snorted. “Your aunt might be a raving lunatic, but at least she is ambitious.”

Laylah gave his wing a warning pinch. Did the silly creature have a death wish?

“Levet.”

“Lunatic?” Marika gave a throaty chuckle. “Geniuses are always misunderstood.” Seeming to relish being the center of attention, Marika strolled across the cavern, her hand running over the expensive material of her designer gown. “For centuries the Dark Lord’s disciples have sought to return their deity to the world. Altars have run red with the blood of sacrifices and mages have grown rich beyond their wildest fantasies as demons seek their services to part the veils between worlds.” She halted to toss her pet mage a condescending smile. “Is that not true, Sergei?”

The man shrugged. “Fools.”

“More than fools,” Marika countered. “They offer their blood and magic and most precious possessions, all in the hopes of summoning a god who will reward their loyalty with a brutal death.”

Laylah grimaced. It’d never been a secret that the Dark Lord was a bad guy on an epic scale. Thankfully, the scary ass Lord of Demons had been banished beyond the mists centuries ago. And while his minions, along with his minion wannabes, were constantly trying to bring him back from the other side, so far they’d been batting zero.

So what the hell was this crazy vampire and her slimy sidekick of a mage up to?

“So you don’t want the Dark Lord returned?”

“Of course I want him returned, but not as a pissed off, fully functioning deity who is anxious for revenge,” Marika snapped. “I want him … malleable.”

“Mon Dieu.”
Levet’s wings quivered as he pressed against Laylah’s leg. “Have you ever met the Dark Lord? He is even less malleable than my great Aunt Zepharina who hasn’t budged from Notre Dame cathedral since 1163.”

Marika moved to stand directly in front of Levet, her expression sending a jolt of revulsion skittering down Laylah’s spine.

Reaching out, the vampire stroked her fingers over Levet’s stunted horn, her power altering to become something far more lethal than mere brute strength.