Louisiana Moon (21 page)

She summoned her wolf’s strength and twisted the rod hard enough to yank the soldier from its feet. He flipped then hit the ground a few feet away, near an old cypress. Under her soles, the ground shook violently enough to send her staggering from the shockwaves. She had little time to collect herself before she was faced with the dragon. She ducked under the attack as the fire breather flew overhead. A look of surprise framed its stone face before it overshot her and smashed into the same tree as the soldier.

With those two out for now, she whirled, looking for the free Soulscape just in time to see it dive into the sidewalk, buckling the slab. For a second, all was quiet then with the crack of breaking cement, the Soulscape drove through each sidewalk slab like a train, heading straight for her.

The energy of the demon’s path, combined with the force of the breaking cement, caused the ground to heave, nearly tossing off her feet. As she fought to maintain her balance, her gaze caught on the pair by the tree. The soldier had gotten to his feet and ran toward her, the point of the spear lowered to her midsection.

Oh shit.
One to the side and one in front. Think, Kris, think!

The sound of wood splintering filled the air. The cypress tipped and fell forward, seeming to reach for the advancing soldier. The huge, old tree struck the soldier, obliterating the statue to fine dust. The sidewalk dance slowed for a brief moment as if the demon recognized the surprise of the attack. She understood that emotion.

Yet, another out-of-host demon searched for cement then dove into the sidewalk on her right. Terrific.

“You need help?”

At the familiar voice, Kris turned and stared at the vampire standing near the fallen tree. Ryant held a miniature Big Bertha that still had smoke drifting from the barrel opening.

Never happier to see him at such a pressing time, she nodded. “What do you think?”

In a flash, he was by her side. He picked her up by the waist, spinning her away as the two sidewalk demons closed in. They smashed head first into the exact spot where she’d stood, then fizzled out of the cement in black smoke. Setting her to the side, Ryant held up mini Bertha and burned the demons to a crisp. Fire, being the only way to destroy a demon and only when it was out of its cement shell.

Relief filled Kris—until the soldier from the apartment stomped around the corner. Its eerie green and glowing eyes, filled with the intent to kill, stared at her. Jaws ground together, the crunching sound loud in the continuing, and shocking, silence in the apartment complex. The shining gaze switched between her and Ryant as if the creature tried to evaluate who was the biggest threat.

Ryant flung his hands down and fingernails sprang out razor sharp and ready to slash even cement and stone into tiny bits. Snarling, Kris crouched low as she circled the Soulscape. It shook the spear in her direction.

With no warning, the soldier leaped and thrust the spear at her, nipping her shoulder. The gash seared pain across her nerve endings. She dropped the rod and jumped back, holding her hand over the open wound.
Damn it, that hurt.

From behind her, Ryant flashed and jumped on its back, slashing his nails down the statue. The sound of wicked nails slicing into cement screeched through her ears, making her cringe. Big block hands grabbed handfuls of Ryant’s hair, whirled him overhead then released him into the courtyard, leaving her alone to fight
mano a mano
.

She stepped to the left to view Ryant. He lay mangled, curled around a pole. When the soldierscape came at her, Kris forced the rod overhead and crashed into the spear. The force of the blow made her arms and muscles tremble but failed to knock the metal out of its hand. She swore and saw Ryant stir, only to collapse again.

As the statue charged, she sprang into the air. In an elegant landing, on her feet, thank you, with one hand on the ground, Kris held the rod up, fending off the spear before it plunged into her back. Thrusting, she pushed off the host.

A white noise sizzled overhead and Ryant appeared. With fingers crooked into claws, he dug at its face as Kris smacked it with her rod from behind. Not giving the Soulscape a second guess what hit it, she kept pummeling it until the demon started staggering under their combined attack. She then rushed the metal tip into the statue’s gut.

A crunching, clashing noise spewed from the host. Black embers spurted from the hole. As she closed her eyes to shield them from the cinders, she shoved harder, twisting the rod deeper. The nasty charcoal scent clogged her nostrils, threatening to suffocate her. While she didn’t feel it, the force of Ryant’s attack, shattered the statue and she stumbled from the rubble. Her breath sputtered through her wide open mouth as she exhaled and inhaled, taking in welcome oxygen.

A tug on her shoulder made Kris look into eyes she knew all too well. Ryant dragged her into his arms, hugged her close to his hard chest. He kissed her on the forehead, his lips tender and warm. For a moment, she sagged into his embrace before reality dragged her back then she disengaged and looked around.

Several people stood around the outer edge of the grassy area that now resembled a battlefield. Now, they’d shown, but they needed to return to their homes. At any moment, she just knew the cops would be called if they hadn’t been already. Even secretive people drew the line at mass destruction. She and Ryant had to get out of there. Fast.

Tossing him a look over her shoulder, she hurried to her car knowing he would follow. Before climbing in, she glanced at him from overtop the car’s roof. His head hung low and his shoulders were slouched. The defeated look didn’t seem right on him. Even as she felt a slight twinge of guilt, she’d made a promise to Darin and planned to keep it.

After she got into her car, she peeled out of the parking lot. It didn’t take as long as it should have to reach her vine-shielded fence. But the whole ride she thought of Ryant. When she drove the snaky road toward her house, the car headlights beamed into the carport. And there stood Darin on the drive, leaning against her house. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. He should not have left the house.

She parked, turned off the ignition and got out. Kris knew she looked a mess with torn clothes, grass stains and tousled hair. Her shoulder still hurt, not as bad, but bad enough for her to think she might need stitches. Again.

Darin came to her side as fast as any human could. “Are you all right?” He reached for the wound then yanked his hand back. She figured he didn’t want to hurt her worse than she already was. Nice guy.

“What happened to you?” His eyebrows creased as he examined her arm. Carefully, he peeled her shirtsleeve away from the wound and winced. “Shit. That looks bad. Come on.” He took her by the elbow and led her indoors.

Kris smiled. Let him coddle her; at least there’d be no lecture about her lateness. Inside, after Darin made sure she was comfortable on the couch, he turned to jog off to the kitchen. He returned with her first aid kit—the same one she’d used on him not even the day before. This was becoming a habit.

“Where’s that box? The box with herbs in it?” He set the first aid kit on the couch, next to her leg.

“My room. Under my bed.” Darin left her side, and she snuck a peek at the cut. The deep gash shone with dark blood. The impulse to stick her finger in the hole to stop the bleeding almost overwhelmed her.

He returned and began digging out the bottles.

“I’ll take it from here.”

The movement of his hands stopped. “Why? You healed me. I’ll heal you.”

“It’s okay. I’m capable of healing myself. I’ve done it, alone, for years.”

With one hand, he slid the box over to her. Neither said anything as she administered to her wound, cuts and scrapes. She felt his gaze on her the entire time. Uneasiness crawled under her skin. She was just not used to having anyone around. Maybe she ought to rethink this whole keeping him with her plan. Then, maybe not. He’d be V fodder the next time the sun set.

After she doctored herself, he put the medical supplies away and returned to the couch. “Tell me what happened.”

She did. Afterward, it occurred to her she actually liked sharing the events with someone.

21

Ryant paced the length of his room. He needed to create a plan, be closer to Kris, but how? What would work?

He halted in the center of the room his stocking feet sinking into the plush Italian wool rug. The Knight Lost Loves fundraiser would be tomorrow night. He’d attend the dinner. She would never expect him there. Yes, that would be the perfect plan.

Sparky, attend me.

Ryant continued to pace as he waited for his minion. As he eyed the drink mixes in the corner, he considered the formulated blood. It wouldn’t be enough to tide him over. The blood hunger he possessed intensified, running like flame through his body. But if he drank too much human blood, his powers would increase and he couldn’t let that happen and risk them leaking again next time he saw Kris.

He’d be gentle and take from one human. No more. One human would be enough to appease the thirst that plagued him. The hunger coiled tight, a lump in his chest, to the point of bursting. His throat dried like desert sand, thirsting not for water, but for a lot of blood.

A faint knock came at the door.

Ryant waved, opening the door to allow Sparky to enter. Offering him a smile, Ryant gestured for him to take the seat behind the corner desk.

Sparky walked over and sat. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Yes. I have a pressing issue and require your help taking notes.”

Pen in hand, Sparky waited.

“I need you to go to a location I believe may give more information about what Kris is searching for—a house out in the swamps. The address is 1409 Peaks Drive. It’s right outside of New Orleans, about a thirty minute drive northwest of here.”

“Okay. What will I be searching for?”

“Kris inherited the house. You’ll find more information on her family. Family I’m positive she never knew she had. Locate, but leave vital papers out for her to find herself.”

“Why?”

“She is stubborn.”

Sparky nodded. “Anything else?”

“Yes.” Ryant stopped in front of the bookshelf, ran his finger along the legacy book. “I need you to search for Stanley Adams on the net, see if anything new on him has leaked. Call the Throne members. Tell them we have proof, and to visit as soon as they can.”

Sparky turned to the laptop and waved his hand. The machine powered up. One of his unique abilities was to manipulate electrical currents with his mind. He hacked into Kris’s account and searched the criminal database. “Anything specific I should look for?” He stared at the screen.

“No, keep looking, and when you’re done, find me the best suit for an event I plan to attend. I need you to cover for me while I’m with Kris.”

“I see a sheriff has asked for her help on finding Stanley.”

Ryant froze. Kris hadn’t mentioned the assignment. “Good. This means she’ll be searching for him no matter what. No more excuses from her.” He strolled to the window to look outside. Darkness overtook the city; time to feed. “Keep looking. I’ll be back in a few hours. If anything else shows, contact my friend, Syth Zaky, in Texas.”

After leaving his quarters inside Club Fifteen, he exited the building in search of blood.

* * * *

Kris arose early with the sun and showered as normal, taking her time around the wound. The hole had shrunk to the size of a writing pen tip. Wouldn’t be long before it was gone completely.

With a lot of business to take care of before the foundation event this evening, she went straight for her closet. She fingered a bright, royal blue dress, imagining the color would go great against her tanned complexion and make her blue eyes pop. She wanted to look nice.

Concerns about the event floated through her mind. Had she given enough time and effort to make it a success? The day pressed on with thoughts of how tonight would go down as she finished last minute preparations.

Night fell fast, and as more people poured into the event venue, Kris grew antsy. The love deep inside her heart ached for the people who’d lost loved ones in Katrina or in any other tragic way. Beyond happy with the turnout filling the room to near capacity, the outpouring of funds to help her continue made her ecstatic.

As she sat behind a table with a huge banner reading Knight
Lost
Loves, she wrote receipts for those who asked. Everything had turned out beautifully. She couldn’t have asked for a more productive event. She was going to have more than enough money to keep going for the next three years at least.