Firestorm: Heart of a Vampire #5 (2 page)

Jordan and Dalia didn’t move, didn’t seem to hear anything amiss.

Eric stared at his king, realizing that while he might be awake, his sanity was lost.

* * *

Two Weeks Later

In the impossibly cold March night air, Cathrina Bienville raced through the edges of the bayou, outside her beloved city of New Orleans. Even with her vamipiric speed—the trees and miniscule glimmers of light from distant plantations flashed by—there didn’t seem to be any way she could win this race.

Behind her, the baying of the chasing wolves grew louder as they closed in.

She tripped over an exposed root and fell, splashing face first into a puddle of bitter brackish swamp. Spitting grit from her mouth, she rose. Snowy mud dripped down the front of her dark sweater and jeans. Appropriate spy attire, she’d figured earlier.

Running once more, Cat tried to breathe deep. The growing ache in her chest screamed from a deeper pain. She prayed her fall hadn’t damaged something internal.

A branch sliced across her cheek, ripped at her long red hair falling from its bun. Strands tumbled in her face, obscuring her vision. She shoved it back, leaves and twigs poking from the tangled mass.

Freezing sweat dripped down her face, stinging her cuts and scrapes. The heady scent of blood surrounded her.

The howls drew ever nearer, making her stomach lurch.

What was supposed to have been simple—checking out a deserted plantation for her missing coven members and hopefully finding her sire—had turned into a dark, breathless flight from at least six wolves.

All of them out for her blood.

Not good odds. Not in her favor anyway.

At least she’d eaten recently. Right before the alarm had sounded, she’d come across a wolf in his human form. Just as he’d swung his blade for her neck, she’d whispered her precious command. Fire rose from the ground around his feet, distracting him long enough for her to sink her fangs into his delectable throat.

The magic from the shifter’s blood, the only thing sustaining her desperate flight, was fading.

She flashed through the trees, dodging claw-like branches that seemed to surge out and try to capture her in their grip. The ground sucked at her shoes with each step.

The scent of magic drifted to her on the icy breeze. Her plantation, and the wards creating a barrier around it. Almost home, yet still seemingly so far.

Howls rent the air. They were so close now, she could hear claws scrabbling over the ground. She tried to push herself faster still.

The world became a blur, filled only by the sounds of her labored breaths, her thundering heartbeat, and the baying of the hounds at her heels. She caught the stench of wolves, wet fur mixed with decaying meat and blood.

The trembling in her legs slowed her pace.

Howls echoed as the pack sensed their prey within striking distance.

She broke through the last line of grasping branches. A few hundred yards ahead, a line of trees stood sentinel at the edge of her land, marking the boundary of the magical barrier.

A wolf snarled, slamming into her back, sending them both tumbling. It snapped its toothy muzzle at her neck. Fetid breath washed over her face.

She punched it in the throat. Clawing its fur, she shoved her last shreds of power into the command. “
Incendium
.”

Flames erupted from her palm, hungrily spreading over the beast. Its yelp escalated into a screeching wail of agony.

Shoving it aside, Cat rose to her knees. Not twenty feet away, the other wolves crouched. Bulky shadows glared at her with glowing, ice blue eyes.

She raised her arms, though the effort made her dizzy, and held her hands out, palms facing them.

The wolf beside her stilled. Burning hair and flesh wafted on the cold air.

The rest of the pack howled, the sound ear splitting. Then as one, they fell silent, watching her. None advanced.

Not giving them a chance to realize she had no strength left, Cat stood, trying to hide her shakiness. She walked backwards until she reached the barrier.

As she stepped through, magic swept over her skin in a tingling warmth. She lowered her hands and leaned against a tree. The pack approached the fallen wolf, their anguished howls resuming. Cat turned and stumbled over the stretching fields, towards her home.

She’d failed.

Again.

New Orleans had never been normal, not since the long ago days when her father had claimed the area for the King of France. But lately, dark magics were running rampant through the city.

Dark enough to take out her sire, the leader of their local coven. Jacques Gervais was the most powerful vampire she’d met in her centuries of life. Not only was he missing, so was Cat’s best friend. Just a girl—it had only been a hundred years since her turning—Abby Cameron was still nearly as weak as a mortal. She didn’t know how to use her vampire powers well. If Cat didn’t find the two of them soon...

As she climbed the porch steps to her front door, her head bowed, her shoulders drooping from the heavy weight of worry, she had to admit she was lost and sinking fast. With the mystery of the missing and murdered vampires, the sudden arrival of so many wolves,
and
the dark magic flooding the city, she needed help.

She couldn’t solve this by herself.

Not with her life intact.

An errant thought hit her. That of a young vampire she’d once helped and befriended. Niki DeVeraux had ended up in some small town in Arizona. More importantly, she’d been taken in by a huge coven of vampires.

Cat wasn’t comfortable reaching out and explaining her problems to others—she’d been brought up to be a proper lady who kept such things to herself—but perhaps they’d be able to help. She had to do something, or her sire and best friend would certainly end up dead... and she’d end up murdered, right along with them.

Chapter Two

A
s the sun finally sank beneath the far horizon, Eric drove through the city of New Orleans. He didn’t pay one whit of attention to the sights tourists flocked to see.

His back and ass cramped from being stuffed into the too-small-for-his-size SUV during the twenty-five hour journey from Arizona. His eyes burned from driving non-stop. He’d ignored the weakness that hit while the sun was up. And his head ached from the voices and visions constantly bombarding him.

He still couldn’t believe his king had sent him to babysit some old friend of Niki’s. The woman wasn’t even part of their clan, though Eric wasn’t privy to the details of the arrangement between Niki and Jordan.

After recovering from his... whatever... he’d known his twin brother was in trouble, but he hadn’t been able to go find Brandon, make sure he was safe. Jordan threatened to chain him back in the dungeon if he dared leave the castle. Yet here he was now, driving across the country to go help some woman who happened to know Niki.

Last he heard, Brandon still hadn’t checked in. His brother wasn’t dead. Eric knew that much at least.

He’d have felt it, just as he’d felt his brother’s pain in his dreams.

The moment Jordan had given him the SUV, with orders to follow the GPS to Louisiana, Eric had been tempted to drive the opposite direction and search out his brother.

As if reading his mind, Jordan had stared at him, expressionlessly. “You will keep the woman safe and help sort out her problems.”

He’d never told his king no. Nor would Eric ever go back on his word. The man had saved his life, as well as Brandon’s.

Which was why he hadn’t mentioned to Jordan he was hearing and seeing things. That he was crazed. Another laugh echoed in the car. He probably needed to be put down like a rabid dog, before his madness drove him to the depths of darkness.

He felt too close already.

The GPS beeped, its too-cheerful androgynous voice instructing him to turn down a dark, tree-lined, gravel drive. With a scowl, he followed the direction. What in all the hells was he supposed to do here anyway?

“Help her as needed,” he spat, repeating Jordan’s last command. One would think a vampire could damn well take care of herself.

The gravel lane wound through towering trees. Mist drifted over the narrow road, obscuring the edges.

Fine. He’d solve this female’s problems, whatever they were—Jordan hadn’t been specific. Then he’d get back home, make sure his brother was all right, and finally sort out his madness. He’d be... his mind hesitated on the word “safe”.

Disgust welled, bitterness coating his throat.

He could admit he was most likely insane. Another childish giggle came from the back seat, his invisible travelling companion rising to the fore. Fiery pain flashed down his back. All as if to agree with his self-assessment.

But damn. He’d never be able to live with becoming weak... a coward.

And if he couldn’t even figure out how to deal with these imagined memories, how the hells did he think he’d be able to help anyone else?

A black wrought-iron gate rose from the mist, blocking the road. He slammed on the brakes, fishtailing slightly. To the side of the gate stood a metal call box, nearly obscured by thickening fog.

He shoved open the car door. Ice-cold air hit him, nearly stealing his breath. Out of habit, he grabbed his battle-axe from the passenger seat, drawing it from its custom leather and steel sheath.

He shivered from the cold as he approached the gates. The Deep South should be warmer than this on a March spring night.

Hitting the button on the call box, he studied the fence, half-tempted to either drive through it, or climb over the damn thing. After a few minutes of silence, his impatience led him to the gate. He reached for one of the bars, but a force stopped him a few inches short. The hair on his arms rose from goosebumps. Magic prickled over his skin, prodding and poking, denying him entrance.

He’d been sent to help a vampire who consorted with sorcery? No way in all the hells. Magic was evil. It could never be trusted.

The mist swirled around him, rising higher. Laughter, sweetly innocent, yet promising enduring pain, surrounded him. To his left, the sorceress appeared, wavering into focus from a ghostly outline to a solid form.

She seemed so real.

So alive.

She looked him up and down, tapping one long nail on her blood-red lips, as if considering how to torture him next.

“You’re not really here,” he whispered hoarsely.

She met his gaze, her green eyes alighting with amusement. Her laugh washed over him, though her mouth didn’t open.

Damning the vision, and the voices shouting in his head calling him weak, he took a step back. He fisted his free hand, digging his nails into his palm hard enough to send the sharp tang of blood into the air, as he fought the overpowering, cowardly, impulse to run.

It wasn’t real. He knew it.

Yet streaks of fire flicked up his back, feeling more real than the freezing night air.

A crackle came from the call box. “Hello?” a woman asked in a soothing Southern drawl.

The sorceress scowled and disappeared.

He didn’t want to respond to the velvety voice. Didn’t want a thing to do with magic of any sort. Not ever again.

But damn it, he had his duty. He was a warrior.

Eric turned in a circle, making sure the sorceress had actually left, before approaching the box. “I’m looking for Cathrina Bienville.”

“How may I help you?” The words were welcoming, but her tone was wary.

His temples throbbed and his muscles ached from tension. “My name is Eric Wulfgar. Niki DeVeraux sent me.”

A long moment of silence passed, then she said, “I’ll be right down.”

Eric barely felt the cold anymore. He slowly realized it was because he was turning numb. The mist seeped into his clothes, the air nipped at his skin. Glaring at the box and the gate, he climbed back into the SUV. Laying his axe across his thighs, he slammed the door shut, then flipped on the heater to thaw out.

Five minutes passed. Ten. Finally, on the other side of the gate, a small bobbing light appeared.

He left the warmth of the car to meet the approaching figure. The flashlight shone in his eyes, blinding him for a second before turning to the ground. A woman stopped directly in front of him on the other side of the gates.

He flinched at the sight. The green eyes, the sweet smile so like the sorceress’s falsely innocent grins. Long red hair fell around the woman’s shoulders to her waist. A shudder worked down his neck.

Her soft voice captured his attention and he realized she was talking on a cell phone. “I’m here, Niki. What is the Eric you sent me supposed to look like?”

With his vampire hearing, phone calls never entered the realm of privacy. On the other end of the call, he heard Niki reply, “Six-six, long blond hair. Muscular. Tell him to show you his axe.”

Before the woman—presumably this Cathrina he was supposed to be helping—could convey the command, Eric raised his battle-axe.