Deadly Devotion - Redgeandlilly - Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter (2024)

Chapter 1 Chapter Text

I was going to throw up.

Scratch that. I was going to scream, cry, and then throw up. The prospect was just too awful. I couldn't do it.

"We can leave," Ronnie reminded me gently, brushing the hair away from my neck. A cold sweat had beaded on my skin, and she wiped the stuff away with a discreet grimace.

"No," I whispered. "We can't. So just do it already."

I stared myself down in the mirror, willing myself not to send my fist through the pane, turning my reflection into a million glittering shards. Ronnie's sigh in reply ruffled the hairs at the nape of my neck, despite the elaborate styling. I'd thought there was enough hairspray in there to choke a herd of elephants. I'd been wrong. A few curls were going rogue, and I wished I could follow their example. I knew plenty of guys on the force. I could probably get away with streaking down the street in just a slip.

Ronnie tugged on the laces of the built-in lilac corset that went with this ruffled monstrosity, sinching the bodice so tightly my breasts threatened to pop out of the top. I felt like the Pilsbury dough boy, parts of me oozing out of the dress in a thoroughly unpleasant fashion. If I had my way, this thing would never have come near me, let alone hugged my figure like a kid with attachment issues. This dress had been Connie's pick, so I had to at least try it on before I vetoed it. The girls had taken my no white dresses edict seriously, but that was the only rule they had to abide by. This was their party, not mine. I owed them that much after getting their parents killed.

Well, technically I'd only gotten their mother killed. I hadn't been able to stop a rogue necromancer from using her as a human sacrifice to raise one of the most evil voodoo practitioners I'd ever met. Their father was currently on death row, awaiting his sentence. I was doing everything I could to delay the inevitable. He had one last appeal before he was killed by lethal injection and promptly cremated. He'd asked that I take some of his ashes to turn into jewelry, so that he could walk his daughters down the aisle someday, if only in spirit.

My eyes stung, and scrubbed discreetly at the side of one eye, careful not to smudge the makeup. I hated having to be dolled up for every one of these appointments, but Jeanette had insisted. I supposed the human servant of the newest Council member couldn't be seen looking shabby while preparing for the wedding of the century.

Ronnie gave my bare shoulders a squeeze and turned me to face her. She examined my expression, lips pursed. "Just lie to them, Anita. Tell them you got called into work. They'd buy that. Bert is always overscheduling you."

I laughed bitterly. "If only. I'm off for the next six months. Bert okayed the time the second he heard I was engaged. Jeanette is a household name now that she's taken over Belle's company. He considers this a huge PR opportunity. Give me a 'generous' leave to plan my wedding, and a few months to enjoy my new marriage. Trust me, I'll have more raisings than I know what to do with when I get back. Months after I'd actually like to do them."

I was raising one corpse a week if I was lucky, and it was never anything that might strain my abilities. I counted myself lucky if I got a corpse that was a decade old. Bert didn't want me to show up with dark circles to an event he planned to use to schmooze. It left me with too much time to myself. Too much time to contemplate what was coming for me in only a few months.

Marriage. I was going to be married. I'd be someone's wife. The last time I'd tried that, it hadn't worked out well for anyone involved.

Ronnie sighed. "Rats. And here I thought that Bert being a scumbag might be a good thing for once."

My laugh sounded more like a strangled gasp. Between the corset and the lump in my throat, it was hard to breathe. I didn't want to leave the dressing room looking miserable. This seemed to be helping Manny's girls. I'd grin and bear it for their sake. I was technically going to be their mom as soon as we could get approved for adoption through foster care. I'd been as good as their guardian for months now, making sure all the mundane little details parents had to deal with were taken care of.

I was really good at the administrative details of parenting. I was f*cking hopeless at the emotional stuff. I barely had my emotional house in order. How the hell was I supposed to do it for three traumatized kids? Funnily enough, Jeanette had been a hell of a lot better at it than I was, stepping into the role of emotional caretaker like she'd been born for it. It gave me a peek into what she might have been like as a mother all those centuries ago. And I...liked it. I'd never wanted kids, but to see Jeanette that happy...well, it made me wonder. I had forever. Maybe I wasn't as steadfastly against them as I thought. Just steadfastly against bringing them into my bullsh*t.

"I know, right?" I finally managed. "I'd kill to have lawyers and clients brawling over an open grave right now."

Ronnie's smile was cautious but genuine. "Was that the one where the guy who lost the case broke his nose when he faceplanted on the casket? Or was he the one where the daughter tried to strangle the dad when she found out she'd been written out of the will?"

I laughed, and it felt good. It was the first time I'd found anything funny in...a while, actually. I'd been walking in a kind of numbed haze since Rosita's death, unable to feel much. The doctors said it was a severe case of dissociation, and that I'd come in and out of it. I preferred the numbness, personally. It was nice not to hurt so much.

"The guy who broke his nose. Spilling new human blood made a spike in the power, and I ended up raising another zombie and it joined the dogpile on top of him."

Ronnie threw her head back and laughed. Her eyes were a solid, serious grey most of the time, but when they shone, they shone. I hadn't seen her happy for years. I wished I could feel it with her.

"You never told me that part."

"It was early on and I was embarrassed. You're supposed to keep a tighter grip on your abilities than that. And Bert really chewed me out for raising a freebee zombie. It ended up coming out of my paycheck in the end."

"Bastard," she said, but couldn't keep the laughter out of her voice.

"Nah, I think I might have deserved that one. The new zombie managed to dislocate someone's shoulder. Liability insurance is a bitch."

Ronnie shrugged. "Still."

I seized the ruffled lilac skirt and spread it out for her inspection and whispered, "How do I gracefully demurr out of this one?"

"The color," Ronnie said automatically, giving the dress a curt nod. "Between your skin and your hair, pastels are a no-go. You'll want jewel tones. Red. Green. Royal blue. Plus, the v-neckline is too much. It looks like someone could get lost in your cleavage. There's a line between tasteful and tawdry and you're dancing on it."

I smiled at her and meant it. Her face softened and she turned away before I could see tears well in her eyes. She'd confessed one night she was sure she'd lost me, and how much it hurt. I could have said a million nasty, hurtful things back. She'd been the one to sabotage our friendship, not me. But what I'd ended up saying was, "I missed you too." It had made her cry. She'd heard the unsaid offer to bury the hatchet permanently. And for once, she'd taken it.

"Thanks, Ronnie."

"You're welcome, Anita."

Chapter 2 Chapter Text

I tried on over a dozen dresses before the girls were satisfied that we wouldn't find the one today. I wasn't sure who was more relieved by the break, me or the saleswoman. We'd been at this for hours and were still no closer to finding a dress. It was mostly me being a pain in the ass, with Mercedes as a close second. Consuela had opinions about the beading and accessories, more than the style itself. She spent most of the fitting putting together a Pinterest board of potential necklaces and glittering tiaras rather than glance up at the dresses Mercedes was insisting on. Though that might have more to do with the locale we found ourselves in, rather than true apathy about the proceedings.

Dead Diva's Bridal was a small boutique that catered to supernatural weddings in the tri-state area. To my knowledge, it was one of the few of its kind that had kept its doors open despite an influx of hatred from the right-wingers. It was a niche market, and enough sustained pressure could make a business like that fold. The insurance alone was steep since the likelihood the place burned down at some point was high. Dead Diva might have followed suit if not for the flood of cash they'd received when Jeanette became a silent partner. For the past three years, they'd been able to grow their business. Now Jeanette was coming to collect, putting them at the girls' beck and call. Connie was wary of vampires, inheriting some of her father's learned hatred of them. It was lessening now that Jeanette had shown herself to be trustworthy, but it would take years for her to get over it completely. I should know. It had taken Jeanette almost that long to prove that not all monsters had to be monstrous.

"Are you sure we can't do that last one?" Mercedes said, a bit of whine in her voice. "The Belle Morte piece looked so good on you."

No. Absolutely not. I'd rather walk down the aisle buck naked than wear a Belle Morte piece ever again. But I couldn't explain the reasons why without retraumatizing them all over again. There were some things you just didn't want to explain to your quasi-daughters and rape at the hands of a fashion icon was one of them. I didn't care how pretty the thing was. I wanted to burn it. Maybe I'd tell Jeanette that I didn't want any of her designs stocked. She'd put Elinnore in charge of things in New York, and I'd wear those. But her portfolio was at least a year from completion. In the meantime, they were releasing Belle's planned designs.

"I'm not a ballgown kind of girl," I said, shimmying the thing down my hips, ignoring the wince from one of the shopkeepers. "Anything that requires a hoop skirt is a no. I'll spend the whole time making Gone With the Wind jokes and Zerbrowski will never speak to me again."

Mercedes finally cracked a smile. The pair had actually laughed until they cried when they learned that Zerbrowski's first name was Ashley. His mom had been an avid fan of the movie, and not especially concerned if her kid got bullied as a result.

"Okay, that's fair I guess. But what about the black one?"

I raised an eyebrow. "You'll have to be more specific. The A-line one? The Mermaid dress? The one with the empire waist? I know there were more, but I've lost track of all the special names. The key dress?"

"Keyhole neckline," Connie corrected primly, not looking up from her phone. "We decided you had too much cleavage for that one."

"It made me feel like Lara Croft," I muttered. "And not in a good way."

I'd been spoiled by the genius of Elinnore's designs. She'd managed to find a half dozen ways to store weapons without ruining the line of a dress. Dead Diva's selection was woefully lacking in places to store weaponry. I was convinced I'd take my chances and stuff the Browning into my garter. There was no way I was going to go into my wedding unarmed. My lack of preparation had cost lives the last time I'd been a bride. At this point, walking down the aisle in booty shorts and a crop top sounded appealing. At least a costume wedding would make everyone else feel as on edge and ridiculous as I did.

Ronnie dutifully returned the poofy green ballgown that Mercedes selected for me to the saleswoman. She'd introduced herself as Mary Thompson. She looked around eighteen, but there was something in her eyes that let you know the soul lurking inside was a hell of a lot older. Perhaps she'd grown up in an age where the names I considered feminine were commonly used for men.

There was a certainty in her gait when she attended to brides that told me she'd been a lady in waiting, once upon a time. It made me peg her as Jeanette's age, if not older. If I asked for her history, she'd give it to me. I was a Council member's human servant. There wasn't a whole hell of a lot I couldn't ask that she wouldn't bend over backward to do. And that scared me.

A motion in my periphery drew my gaze to the corner where our guards lurked. I knew who I'd see before my eyes locked with his. The blue of his hair was too distinctive. Only one of my personal guard dyed their hair that shade.

Haven met my eyes squarely, and it was impossible not to feel the heat emanating from him. I hadn't seen the blue of his eyes since New York. When we were near each other, it was always lion amber. Despite my best efforts, I couldn't always keep my shields locked in place around him. Jeanette thought it was due to the nature of the bond. I'd been desperate, holding tightly to Haven's flagging soul until Ellen's magic had cut me off from him. He'd had just enough left in him to shift. It had taken a few hours for him to regain consciousness and limp back to Auggie's side, but he'd pulled through. Lillian was sure the clip of .45 caliber hollow point, hybrid silver ammo Nicky was packing would have killed him without the energy he drew from me and every other servant I had. It meant he was bound as tightly to me as Jamil, keeping his beast close to the surface whenever we were near each other. He'd asked me to be his regina and I'd turned him down. I had enough responsibility as it was.

But when he looked at me the way he was now, sometimes my conviction wavered. He and I hadn't had sex yet. I had to add on the yet because I was certain it was coming. We made out like teenagers on any handy surface when we got the chance. We couldn't do anything now, because he was on duty. An hour before dawn, he'd go to the Circus and make his way down to Jeanette's room to repeat a ritual we'd had since almost the first night he'd set foot in St. Louis.

One of the fun powers Jeanette had been hiding from me since discovering her new power level was the ability to do virtual nookie with other people, not just the ones she'd formed metaphysical connections with. So long as she was touching Haven, she could bring him into my dreams. It was just as satisfying as feeding the ardeur in person, and she could do it for the pair of us. No more forced proximity. I could swear off sex in the real world for years and never have to fear the consequences of the ardeur. It came at the cost of one wet dream per night, and every party consented to the threesomes....foursomes...and sometimes moresomes that resulted.

Haven was the first person besides Jeanette that I'd found that I truly wanted inside me since that awful night in New York. It was incredibly cathartic to be able to distinguish what I wanted from the ardeur-driven hunger. Rediscovering my libido separate from the succubus was exactly what I needed. Now, it didn't mean that the choice was smart. Haven was a knee-breaker for the Chicago mob and was known as an especially ruthless enforcer. I wasn't sure if I needed that energy in my life. Unfortunately, I didn't have much choice now. He was here to stay.

Haven lifted my phone up for inspection. He'd been in charge of my things during this visit and tossed the phone underhand when he caught my attention. I managed to capture it before it could hit the ground and brought the receiver up to my ear, praying that it was Bert. Please let there be some corpse only I could raise and a dollar amount too high to refuse. Most of the time, I hated Bert's unabashed greed, but I'd take a healthy dose of capitalism right about now.

But the voice on the other end of the line wasn't Bert's. It wasn't even male. It was an eerily familiar female voice. The tone belonged to a woman with a pleasant alto, but the inflections belonged to a deeper, more accented voice.

"Hello again, mija."

I froze, goosebumps sweeping like painful pinpricks down my arms. A hard knot formed in my stomach when realization struck home. I walked stiffly toward the back of the shop, ignoring an employee-only sign. It wasn't far enough away to escape a vampire's hearing, but it would conceal the conversation from Connie and Mercedes' ears.

When I was alone, surrounded by a bulwark of puffy skirts and beaded bodices I hissed, "How the hell did you get this number, Senora?"

Chapter 3 Chapter Text

My fingers tightened around the phone. Some unthinking, violent impulse wanted to reach down the metaphysical line that connected us and snuff the animating spark I'd channeled into her body. She was just a zombie now, despite the addition of a soul. It would be just as easy as laying any other zombie to rest. Hard to explain how Ilsa Benington's charred body turned up someplace it shouldn't be, but if that was all I had to deal with, it would be worth it. If anyone deserved to be ruthlessly snuffed out of existence, it was Dominga Salvador.

Of course, if it was that simple I would have done it months ago. I wasn't sure what magic Dominga was employing to block my perception of her, but I hadn't been able to locate her since the night she left with Maximiliano. I admitted, if only to myself, that some pretty part of me hoped that Max had been forced to cave his mon's skull in when she tried to tear his throat out.

"How's Max doing?" I asked, putting as much venom into the words as I could.

I didn't care that baiting her was a bad idea. I blamed her for Rosita's death as much as I blamed myself. She'd raised the evil bastard who orchestrated it. It was her rituals that he'd used to rape and torture dozens of people.

If the pointed comment hurt Dominga, she didn't let it show. I hated her calm reserve when she spoke. I wanted to have a screaming match. Wanted to curse her name and take back the sacrifice that animated her new body.

"I imagine he's nursing his wounds at the moment," she said dryly. "He was more powerful than I anticipated. He managed to escape me and used my own spells to obfuscate himself ever since. The search has been fruitless, thus why I'm calling you. Your resources are more plentiful than mine these days."

I rose into a half-crouch when I spied someone in the doorway. It was Haven, looking concerned by my swift flight. I raised a hand for silence and addressed Dominga instead.

"If he was that easy to catch the FBI would have put him on trial by now. He might even have had a warrant of execution placed on his head."

Her tone was a little sharper than before when she said, "And you would delight in putting a bullet between my child's eyes."

"After everything he's done? Hell yes. But that's not why you're calling me, is it? You need something. Something only I can do for you, or you'd have done it yourself."

Unhappy silence followed the statement, which told me I was on the right track. I was tempted to punch the end call button and let her swing in the wind. She'd deserve it after everything she'd done. But I stayed on the line, listening to the unnecessary breaths she pulled into her borrowed lungs.

"The loa made my return conditional. I'm to instruct you properly. Tell you all the secrets I have sacrificed for. There are things you must know before she takes human form and visits destruction on our world."

A disbelieving bark of laughter escaped me. "You're supposed to tutor me? What makes you think I want to know all the evil sh*t you came up with in your career?"

Dominga laughed too, and it sounded caustic. "Do not be a hypocrite, mija. I have seen your pet zombie. You lead him around by the soul. How is it so different from what I've done in the past?"

"I didn't kill anyone to raise him, for one," I shot back.

"Then you have gown powerful indeed. I ought to have killed you the moment you stepped into my foyer all those years ago. You were and are a risk too great to be tolerated."

Unfortunately, I was beginning to think that she had a point. I was on the way to being the most powerful necromancers alive. If the Mother ever gained possession of me, she'd be unstoppable.

"Just try it. You know I'll have you by the soul the second you get close. Whatever you're doing to conceal your location from me can't last forever."

Dominga sighed. "Si, mija. My strength wanes. I have perhaps a month to put some distance between us. That's why I'm making you an offer. Listen to my tales. Learn my secrets. Let me instruct you once a week, and I will give you what you want."

"And what is that, exactly?" I snarled. "What the f*ck do you think you can use to bargain with me? Because as far as I'm concerned, you're just living on borrowed time."

I could practically hear her smile when she spoke. It gave her voice an almost oily quality. "I am a zombie in a nubile body that will never rot. I still maintain my magic. Enough to compel someone if I have their nails or hair."

"So?" I demanded. "Get to the point."

"I can seduce a guard. Once I have his hair, it will be child's play to free Manuel from his prison. I can save his life."

I froze, breath catching as I considered the possibilities. Manny, alive and on the run. They'd never be able to settle in the U.S. but there were plenty of places in the world without extradition treaties with the States. He might be able to make a life somewhere. He'd never be a father to the girls again, but it might bring them peace to know he was out there, alive and possibly even happy, even if he wasn't with them.

No choice, really. I wouldn't rob the girls of a parent, even if he couldn't be present in their lives.

"No killing," I decided. "If you kill anyone trying to get to him, I will consider the deal null and void."

"Done," Dominga purred. "Expect my first call when the job is done."

And then she hung up, leaving me staring at the lock screen. It was a picture of Jeanette and I at our engagement party, beaming when I officially slid the ring onto her finger.

Dear God, what had I just signed onto?

Chapter 4 Chapter Text

I must have looked worse than I felt when I left the back room of Dead Diva's Bridal because no one argued when I said I had to go. Ronnie covered for me, smoothing it over as a consultation for the police so the girls wouldn't get their feelings hurt. I was glad. I wasn't sure what I would have said to any of them if they asked probing questions. My heart was pounding so violently in my throat I thought I'd choke on it.

I'd just bargained with a woman willing to commit filicide for Manny's life. Some part of me that held on to illusions of being an upright lawman shattered in that one instant. There were lines I'd sworn I would never cross. Supernatural politics had forced me to dance on those lines over and over again. But this was only the second time I'd willingly stepped across one of my own lines. No, I hadn't just stepped over it. I'd sprinted over it. There hadn't been a thought in me. No doubts, no regrets, even knowing it could shatter my newly rekindled friendship with Ronnie. Knowing I was allowing a monster to live in order to further my own wants and desires. I hated myself for it.

And it wouldn't stop me.

Haven and a young blonde werelion named Kelly followed me out. On outings like this, Kelly usually took the backseat while Haven rode shotgun. There'd be additional security tailing us in a discreet blue Taurus. But when I circled around to the driver's side, Haven stopped me, holding his hand out for the keys. I clutched them more tightly, folding my arms over my chest.

"I can drive."

"No, you can't," he said. "You're putting out all kinds of stress hormones right now. I'm not going to explain to Jeanette how I got her human servant killed by letting her start a six-car pileup when she has a panic attack. Gimme."

I wanted to stuff the keys into my back pocket, just for spite. But if I did that, Kelly would pluck them out easily and toss them to Haven underhand. I might have been the Master's human servant, but he was her Rex. I didn't have any authority over Kelly unless I agreed to be the Regina of the pride.

"I'm not about to have a panic attack."

Haven rolled his eyes. "Oh please. I know what happened after they took you away from me, Anita. You deserve to have a panic attack if that was who I think it was. You're impaired. It won't kill you to let someone else drive. Don't be stupid."

From anyone else, that last might have taken it as an insult. But Haven had joined the ranks of a select few men with whom I communicated almost perfectly. Agent Doucette and Larry were the only others whom I might take that tone and word choice from. I held onto the keys stubbornly for a few moments longer, trying to reason my way past his point. But ultimately, the safety fanatic in me won out. The keys jangled once before I set them none-too-gently into his palm.

"Thank you," he said.

I grunted in reply, not entirely willing to be the mature adult in this situation. I felt a sulk coming on. And after everything I'd gone through today, I thought I deserved it. Haven laughed, far from being offended, and leaned in to steal a kiss. I turned my head in time, so his lips only brushed my cheek. If we kissed here, we wouldn't stop, and I was not going to mount him in public like an animal in heat.

I stared glumly at my reflection when I closed the passenger side door and buckled myself into the seat. Kelly slid in behind me, a silent shadow that I could never shake these days. I understood the extra security, in theory. Jeanette had taken a level in badass when she'd destroyed Belle's empire and rose from the ashes unscathed. It had earned her many admirers and a plethora of enemies. Any servant she had was fair game for assassination attempts now. Still, the need for it chaffed. I didn't like being the guardee.

My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I reached for it rather than glare at the side of Haven's face as he pulled out into traffic. He was right, even if I hated it. I was emotionally compromised and too lost in my own head to pay attention to the road. When I checked the caller ID, I stared.

Malcolm, the face of the first mainstream vampire religion, was calling me from his private number. That alone made my scalp prickle with unease. I received regular calls from his personal assistant, a bubbly human redhead named Sharon. I'd started speaking with Malcolm once a week, alongside secular therapy with Gwen. I didn't agree with Malcolm on a lot of things, but just talking about my experiences and doubts had been cathartic. Most of the people in my life had a complicated relationship to faith, so it was nice to talk to someone outside of my circle about theology. Sharon was usually the one to call from the public number to remind me I had an appointment near midnight.

I could count on one hand the times I'd been forced to speak with Malcolm on a private line, and the subject was never pleasant. I considered letting the call go to voicemail. I still had a cake tasting and jeweler's appointment to attend with Jeanette.

Then again, I'd had just about all the wedding bullsh*t I could handle for today. I answered the call with a curt, "Blake here."

There was a rustle of fabric on the other end of the line. I had a moment to hope he'd called by mistake, performing the vampiric equivalent of a butt dial. But when I prompted him with a more tentative greeting, he answered.

"I'm sorry to be calling you so late, Miss Blake," he said in that crisp, formal tone he'd taken with me in the beginning.

I frowned at my phone. "What's with the courtesy title, Malcolm? You've watched me empty a tissue box before. I think we're a little past formalities, don't you?"

There was the faintest of sounds from the other end of the line. It took me a second to realize he was laughing because there was no mirth at all to the sound. The utter incongruity of it made the hairs on my nape stand on end. I'd heard Malcolm laugh before, and there was life in his voice. I didn't know how a dead man could evoke that much energy in his laughter, but he did. That laugh was as disconcerting as hearing a kindergarten teacher curse.

"That's high praise coming from you, Executioner."

My grip tightened on the phone. He was scaring me now, and I didn't like it. I'd been spooked once tonight. Twice was pushing it.

"Jes...uh...Geez, Malcolm. What's gotten into you? Is Anita really that hard to say?"

"I am bringing a formal matter to the human servant of the Master of the City, and a member of the esteemed Council. I'm afraid cannot be familiar with you on this phone call, Miss Blake. Titles only."

Well, that was a gold mine of information. He wasn't calling to offer me a sympathetic ear and his own version of thoughts and prayers. He was coming to me for help. Calling me cut through a lot of the bullsh*t Jeanette's aides would put him through, which probably meant the issue was urgent. sh*t.

"Okay, Reverend. I'll play. What reason am I supposed to give the Master for your call?"

"It's of a highly personal nature. I'm seeking a private audience with the pair of you."

I sighed. "C'mon Malcolm. I have to give her a clue. For all she knows, this could be the prelude to an assassination attempt. She needs to tell her guards something."

Malcolm thought about that and seemed to come to a conclusion quickly. "If I tell you even a fraction of the tale, I need an assurance from you, Miss Blake. Do not call your authorities in until you have given this case your utmost attention and exhausted all other avenues for help."

Ice formed in my gut. Had it only been an hour or two ago when I'd been praying for a little undead action? I'd gotten it, just not from the avenue I was expecting. Be careful what you wish for, I guess.

"Okay," I began slowly. "What's happened?"

"Retrieve your master and come see for yourself. I will text you the address."

And then he hung up on me, leaving me staring dumbly at the lock screen. A few seconds later, an address popped up in a text window. It wasn't one I recognized. It wasn't even in St. Louis. I checked the clock. If we skipped the jewelers, we might be able to make it to the address before dawn. We'd have to rent a hotel room and stay indoors for the day, but I could think of worse ways to spend the time.

At the jewelers, for instance.

I glanced at Haven. He sighed and took a turn slowly. "Late night?"

"Looks like it. Sorry."

Haven gave me an appraising look, and a smirk tugged at one corner of his mouth. Just a quirk of lips made things low in my body tighten. Which only made the smirk tic up a notch.

"Somehow, I think you'll find a way to make it up to me."

Chapter 5 Chapter Text

If I ate one more slice of cake, my top button was going to pop off and go zinging into a shadowy corner in the patisserie.

No one had told me what the difference between a bakery and a patisserie was, but Jeanette insisted there was one. It was all just sugar to me. I liked a slice of Devil's Food as much as the next girl, but I felt like I'd eaten a bite of practically everything on the menu. The neon colors of the macarons in the case were going to give me a headache if I had to stare at them for another hour. The tiled floor was done up in pastel blues and pinks, making me feel like I'd somehow been lured into an oversized Easter egg for teatime.

Jeanette was trying and failing not to ogle the newest offerings to emerge from the bakery. She looked at the chocolate cake with raspberry ganache the way I would admire a particularly beautiful woman. She hid it well, but she was a hedonist in most senses of the word. It took effort to sate her many appetites.

The soulful look in her midnight eyes when she turned to me almost compelled me to continue. She looked doll-like with her hair done in perfect black ringlets, styled in an elaborate updo. Her makeup was minimal today, serving only to emphasize just how striking the eyes were, fringed as they were with long lashes. The mint green tea dress the girls had selected on a recent shopping trip only reinforced the look. I would have found it cute if she weren't asking the impossible of me.

"Ma petite, could we..." She gestured hopefully at the line of small sample cakes. The pastry chef stood a little to one side, watching me. I hoped I didn't look as nauseous as I felt. The girls liked this place. I didn't want to offend the staff.

I shook my head. "Not tonight. Get a cake to take home if you want but I can't eat another bite right now. If I'd known how much dessert I'd be eating I'd have skipped dinner."

I was regretting the hamburger I'd eaten before the dress fitting immensely. It had been my spiteful little protest, a way I could control something about my life, even if it was only what I put in my body. I refused to be the bride who dieted for six months to lower the number on the tag. Jeanette had more money than God at this point. She could buy me a bigger dress or hire a personal trainer if she was really that worried about it. Of course, I hadn't expected her to stuff me full of absolutely every carb she could get her hands on either. So I might have to cut back on the burgers if only to accommodate her sweet tooth.

But it wasn't just the greasy indulgence that had my stomach churning. I couldn't stop turning over the conversation I'd had with Malcolm over and over in my head. The man had gained nearly a cult status among a certain sect of religious people. If he weren't such a decent man, I might have worried about him abusing the power he had. Worship had a metaphysical weight, and the vampiric version of Billy Graham had gained power since starting his movement. Not enough to challenge Jeanette, but enough to be scary. He'd also made his stance on his people clear. He'd leave us alone if we'd promise the same. The fact he was coming to Jeanette spoke to just how dire the circ*mstances really were. I'd avoided police work like the plague since Rosita's death, unwilling to deprive the girls of another parental figure if I could help it.

Jeanette sighed, but there wasn't real disappointment in the sound. She had to have known I was reaching my limit with the marks open between us. It had been tricky, but I'd learned to shield my private thoughts from her and allow her only sensations. If I let her in fully, she'd be treated to a diatribe about how stupid and pointless I found all the wedding trappings. It was important to her and Manny's kids. She knew I was unhappy, but clueing her into just how unhappy I was helped no one. She knew how hopelessly in love I was, but no one felt desirable if they heard enough snarky complaints from their partner.

Andria reached across the table and held up the silce of icing-slathered cake up for inspection. I could admit it was gorgeous, even if the thought of eating it made my teeth ache in protest.

"Want me to eat it and give you a review?" she offered. "I know you can't taste it, but I've read some studies in my psych courses that say even the act of watching others eat can be cathartic."

Jeanette smiled gently at Andria. She'd been a late addition to the appointment, tagging along with Jeanette while Richard put Honria down for bed. Andria normally took the day shift with their one-year-old while Richard watched over her at night. I couldn't blame her for wanting to get out and have some adult conversation for once.

"Oui, I would like that very much."

Andria seized the fork, keeping it poised above the slice. Her hand shook once, but she didn't bring the fork down. She glanced up and seemed to steel herself, plunging the utensil into the gooey cake at the same time she blurted, "I need you to let him go."

Jeanette blinked once. "Pardon?"

"Richard. I know you've broken bonds between masters and servants before. I need you to let Richard go. He'll lose the ardeur. It's the only way I'll know for sure."

"Know what for sure?" I asked.

"If it's real," she whispered. "If I really love him or it's a metaphysical lie. I want my daughter to have her father. I want him to be in my life. But I have to be sure. So I'm asking...no...begging you, Jeanette. Please. Let him go."

Chapter 6 Chapter Text

The cake tasting wrapped up quickly after that. Andria had all but fled after making her hasty demand. Judith had taught her better than to make a spectacle of herself, and Andria had decided to do it anyway. The impassioned speech was too damned juicy for the staff at the patisserie to ignore. I'd be shocked if the topic wasn't leaked to a tabloid. People paid handsomely for stories and pictures of Jeanette these days. She'd achieved full celebrity status as the heir to Belle's empire and her Council seat. Papparazis were almost as common as assassins these days. It was enough to make a girl's trigger finger itchy.

Jeanette stared silently out the window of the Coupe. Haven was driving, the address Malcolm had given me loaded into the GPS. I still hadn't found a graceful way to segue into a new topic of conversation. She looked troubled enough already.

"Did Andria piss you off?" I said, unable to take the quiet after a few blocks. Traffic was thick, and the monotony of our surroundings didn't offer respite from the tension.

Normally I was content to sit in companionable silence, but I found the statue routine vampires did unnerving. She hadn't breathed, blinked, or moved since she'd settled into the backseat with me.

Animation trickled into her masklike features. One moment, she was as lifeless as a garden decoration, and the next she blurred into vibrant life. There was someone at home in those midnight eyes once more. It took her a moment to sort out her expression, but she settled on a weary smile.

"No, ma petite. I am not angry with Andria. Richard is the father of her child. It is perfectly natural for her to form an attachment to him, and to regard any tie he has to me as a threat to the sanctity of their union."

Put that way, it was hard to blame Andria for feeling insecure. If Jeanette were my competition I would have melted into a paranoid puddle. There was no way that I'd want a boyfriend tied to someone so captivating. I had enough trouble believing that she found me attractive, and we were engaged. She was a literal goddess of lust and love. No mortal woman could compete. Andria didn't even want to try, and I couldn't fault her for it.

"It might be natural," I began slowly. "But it still bothers you. Why?"

Jeanette was silent long enough that the light turned green. Haven guided the car forward, sliding neatly into the right lane. We'd need to take the next exit if we wanted to reach Malcolm's mystery scene before dawn.

"She is asking me to divorce myself from a third of my power base."

"That sounds perfectly logical," I said. "Now, how about telling me the truth? I know it isn't because you'd lose power. You've absorbed enough of that through me that the loss would hurt, but it wouldn't cripple us. If we looked long and hard, we could probably find someone who could take his place."

Her lips twitched into the pale echo of a smile. One word would make the faint possibility evaporate into nothingness. She looked especially fragile in that moment, eyes cast down at her pale, nimble fingers rather than looking at me.

"Am I that transparent?"

"Not really. I just know you too well. What gives? If you really think it's reasonable, you wouldn't be sulking over there."

I fought not to smile when she straightened and turned affronted eyes to me. Needling her was a dangerous pastime for most. I personally found it fun to tug the tiger's tail from time to time, just to keep her on her toes.

"Sulking, ma petite? You wound me."

"Fine. You're being awfully contemplative for someone who understands where Andria is coming from."

She sighed. "Oui."

"And?"

Chapter 7 Chapter Text

I used to find the vastness of a star-spangled country sky comforting. When I'd been old enough to feel wonder without fear, I'd seen those stars as a map of infinite possibilities. A place I could reach if I tried hard enough. It was the comfort of knowing that we weren't alone, despite our seeming smallness in the grand scheme of things. Learning about the Fermi Paradox had been a real bitch. But even that hadn't been enough to quash my hope that there was intelligent life out there somewhere.

It was Marmee Noir who had convinced me that if there was life out there somewhere, it wasn't going to exist long enough to gain sentience. The more I grew in power, the harder it was to keep her memories from seeping into my nightmares. I understood why the Harlequin had sniped every single necromancer they came across. No matter how strong I thought I was, human will was finite. She wasn't. The vampire I'd interacted with thus far had been just one facet of what she really was.

She was an eldrich abomination in almost every sense of the word. Lovecraft had barely scratched the surface of just how sh*t-your-pants scary that was. He'd only glimpsed her. I'd touched her. She'd tasted me. That alone bound us closer than any of the other necromancers still living. Georgia's body might be easier to obtain, but mine was more powerful. Some fluke of fate had bound me to the only vampire-mimic hybrid in existence and created the only thing in the world that had a chance in hell of forcing her back into her cage. It satisfied some darkly ironic urge in her to destroy me and take all that power for herself. If she managed it, the world was doomed. Not overnight, but the end was inevitable. Within months to years, the earth would be a lifeless ball of dust, like so many others that she'd destroyed. She wanted the strongest vessel she could get for the coming confrontation, so she was willing to wait for the right moment. She had forever, after all.

When Haven finally guided the Coupe to a stop, the sky was overcast, storm clouds roiling overhead. Summer was its hot, sticky self, the humidity forming a film over my skin when I stepped out of the car and onto the gravel road we'd been coasting down for the last half hour. Dust billowed in a fine white cloud behind us, further cutting our line of sight. I could barely make out the cornfields that stretched into the distance. The address we'd been given was halfway between St. Louis and Springfield, in one of the blink-and-you'll-miss-it towns that rarely made it onto maps. There were only three landmarks that I could see at a glance. A run-down gas station, a post office, and a church.

Coryville's Church of Eternal Life was situated in the valley between two hills. Its whitewashed walls were almost painfully bright juxtaposed against the dark line of trees just behind it. Paranoia had me scanning those shadows for gunmen or hostile shapeshifters. I didn't really think Malcolm would lure us into a trap on purpose, but you only had to trust the wrong person once. Just ask Ceasar.

The church was small, probably only suitable for a hundred or so parishioners. It looked like the perfect cookie-cutter chapel, sans the ordinary trappings of Christianity. No cross cast a moonlit shadow from on high. The stained glass was done in abstract designs, rather than telling one unified story. I wasn't sure I bought Malcolm's new-agey remix on the Christian faith, but I appreciated the chance to talk theology nonetheless.

Malcolm was sitting opposite the church, apparently alone. The amber glow of the streetlamp he sat beneath made his hair shine like burnished gold. The piercing blue of his eyes seemed a hell of a lot less human than I was used to as he stared unblinkingly forward. He'd always made it a point to appear human to me, in hopes he could somehow bring me across to his point of view. I wouldn't ever trust him completely, but it wasn't personal. I didn't like human megachurch pastors either.

He didn't look up until we were standing nearly toe-to-toe with him. The well of stillness he sat in broke, animation flowing over his face with a suddenness that made me gasp. He oriented on that sound, some emotion I couldn't decipher rippling just over the surface before he could arrange his expression into something placid.

"Ms. Blake," he said stiffly, rising to his feet as though he'd been pulled by strings.

It was very B-movie Dracula and would have made me tease any other vampire who'd done it mercilessly. But this was Malcolm. He seemed to view vampirism as a tool, as much as it was a form of salvation. Living forever was a blessing, because it gave mortals just a sliver of insight into the mind of an eternal god. Malcolm wasn't above using his vampire tricks if he had to, but he preferred to persuade, rather than control. Most of his impressive abilities were left by the wayside on purpose.

"Malcolm," I said slowly. "What the hell is going on here?"

Malcolm winced, and I fought the urge to roll my eyes. To me, profanity was just a linguistic seasoning, there to spice things up and nothing more. There was nothing wrong with a f*ckless conversation, but I preferred my interactions to be laden with them. It was a matter of taste, not conviction. But Malcolm felt differently, so I tried to respect that. It was easy to forget that both Malcolm and Jeanette hailed from eras where damning someone or wishing hell on them was worse than screaming "f*ck!" in a crowded elevator.

"I was wondering that myself, mon ami," Jeanette said pleasantly, sidling up beside me. I'd have snapped my ankles if I tried to walk across the gravel road to him in a pair of stilettos. She made it look as easy as gliding over flat ground. She made even Malcolm look graceless in comparison, and the man was as smooth as the silk pocket square in his suit.

I expected him to turn toward her and bow at the waist. It was the standard greeting most Masters gave her now. She was Council, which made her damn near untouchable. You didn't piss someone like that off with disrespect. Especially when that person's first act as a sourde de sang was to depose the vampire who'd made her in a truly spectacular fashion. But he didn't bow. He didn't even turn. He kept those intensely blue eyes fastened on my face. The only hint he'd heard her at all was a slight flinching around his eyes.

Jeanette stopped a few feet away from him, noting that he was edging back by inches, unwilling to stand too close to her.

"Do I frighten you, Malcolm?" she asked quietly. "Is that why you refuse to look my way?"

There hadn't been any malice in the question, but Malcolm stiffened all the same. He looked like a frightened rabbit, ready to dart into the cornfields if it sensed the hawk coming.

"I would be a fool not to have a healthy respect for your power, Miss Davenay. Or is it Mrs. Blake, now? I heard you were planning to marry."

"I am still a miss, unfortunately. Weddings take time to plan, especially if you have an image to uphold. It is tiresome at times, but necessary. But you didn't call me out here to discuss wedding venues, did you?"

Malcolm went eerily still again. Whatever bug had crawled up his ass was in there deep, because I'd never seen him act like this. Every careful pretense he'd ever put on was gone, and it left me staring at...well, a vampire. I knew Malcolm was undead better than most. He was like a metaphysical heavyweight in my head. Before Jeanette's little show in New York, I would have said he was one of the only vampires who stood a chance of ascending to the Council in the next few centuries. He was gaining power through his Church, one convert at a time. He tried hard to appear human for the good of his flock. That he'd dropped the act, even if the witnesses were few, was chilling.

The wind tossed his hair, giving the illusion of movement. The scent of ozone was heavy in the air. The storm was only a few miles away now. I could taste the destructive potential of it on the back of my tongue.

"No," he said finally, only his lips moving. "I did not."

Jeanette sighed. "I am not a queen demanding your obeisance, mon Frère. I appreciate frank conversation. You needn't avert your eyes."

Malcolm shook his head, just the barest of movements. If I hadn't been watching him closely, I wouldn't have caught it.

"I must."

"Pourquoi?"

"It is not personal, Miss Davenay. I refused to look upon Belle as well. Now that you have assumed her throne, I must take the same precautions. I made a promise to God. The only place I will allow myself to desire a woman is within the context of marriage. I am open-minded, but I still have beliefs. You are not my wife, and to look on you would be to commit adultery in my heart. If you insist I make eye contact, I will do so with your servant."

I wondered if I should have been offended, but ultimately decided to let it go. I cleaned up nicely, but in terms of sheer physical attractiveness, I didn't compare to most of Belle's most prized children. Besides, Malcolm was the closest thing I had to a spiritual counselor. It was enough of a professional barrier to keep the what-ifs and daydreams to a minimum.

The justification seemed to make sense to Jeanette. It didn't make a lot of sense to me. Yeah, I'd grown up a good little Christian, but time and a lot of hard lessons had taught me that the stories I'd grown up believing weren't black and white. God existed, but so did a lot of really powerful beings. I was set to marry one of them sometime in the next year.

"Very well. Why did you call us out just shy of dawn? I will not make it back to the safety of the surface before the sun rises."

"I can offer you accommodations," he said automatically.

"I don't want accommodations," Jeanette said with a bite of impatience. "I want answers. You risked my displeasure by going through my servant. You abused the connection you have formed with her to get to me. You would not breach that trust lightly, especially knowing I could punish you for ignoring the rules."

Malcolm grew impossibly paler. He looked like a hyperrealistic statue, not a person. The last person Jeanette punished had ended up with her heart outside of her chest. The tale had grown in the telling, which was saying something. It had been gruesome enough to watch the real deal.

"That's true. I'd ask that you allow Anita to look inside the church first if you truly intend to destroy me. I want justice for my flock before I move onto the hereafter."

"Justice?" I asked. "You're talking like they're dead." I paused. "Well, more dead."

"They are, Miss Blake," he said, and the pain in those four words was indescribable. "Every single member of the Coryville congregation blipped out of my awareness last night while I was flying in from Chicago. They're gone. All of them. And I don't have a clue what did it."

Chapter 8 Chapter Text

"Is this truly necessary?" Malcolm said in an undertone, trailing just behind me.

I'd taken point, wading through the overgrown grass that waved softly at the edge of the lawn. The shadows were deepest as we circled the back of the church, and I swore I could practically feel the cold, grasping fingers on my skin despite the summer heat. St. Louis had been experiencing record highs, even at night, but I still felt icy for the time it took to make a circuit around the church.

Some enterprising churchgoers had planted night-blooming jasmine in flower beds outback. The scent of them was overpowering, clogging my throat as I skirted their beds. The smell was even more concerning when I realized that the flowers were dry and brittle, wilting underneath the oppressive heat. They weren't in full bloom, as I'd first thought.

Marmee Noir was watching. I wasn't sure from whose eyes, but she was nearby. I didn't get the sense that she was hostile to me at this instant, but the mere knowledge she was aware enough to take an individual interest in me was enough to squeeze my heart into a painful rhythm.

"Yes."

I didn't glance sideways to see if he'd pinched his nose, but I had the sense he was annoyed with me. Some people got that way when they didn't understand the metaphysics. A vampire he might be, but he'd never thought about magic in the context of the wider world. He only worried about it if it concerned himself or his flock.

"Why?" he asked. "I assume there's a reason we're touring the garden instead of going inside?"

"I needed to see how far it goes."

"It?" he echoed hopefully. "You know what did this?"

I shook my head. I wasn't even sure how to explain what I was feeling. It made no damn sense to me. Every theory I came up with was quickly discarded in favor of another. How did you break down an experience that felt completely unconscious? Telling him no felt too much like a lie, though. Something in me knew but refused to share with the class. If I had the time or emotional bandwidth to meditate or lucid dream, I might turn up the answer sooner, but I couldn't force it to the fore.

"It's complicated. I don't know, and that's the best I can give you. And to answer your question, I need to see how far out the effect goes. Whatever happened started at the altar and worked its way outward."

"How do you know?" Malcolm asked.

Because that was where the light seared brightest. The thing that had come for Malcolm's people had been so bright and otherworldly that it had left a sunspot on the metaphysical plane that any psychic would spot in an instant. It was like a split-second portrait carved like a grisly memorial into the fabric of reality. The light was multifaceted, throwing prisms against my eyelids. The intensity was enough to scald the mind. Malcolm's people hadn't suffered for very long, but they had suffered. The heat thrown off by the creature's presence had been enough to flash-bake everyone in the room.

We had to walk almost a mile before the light was no longer visible. I didn't dare step into the line of gnarled oaks to escape the blistering psychic presence that had descended on Malcolm's flock. I wanted to. I wanted to wrap a blindfold around my eyes and crouch in cool darkness for a little while. Just being near the site was causing psychic damage. If you'd asked me a few years ago, I wouldn't have said a soul could be sunburned. Now I wasn't so sure. How much worse would it be when I was inside? Was it possible for the soul to curl up and burn like paper?

"Jesus," I muttered.

"Miss Blake," Malcolm said in a tone of strained patience.

"Sorry, Reverend. It's just..." I shook my head. "Whatever hit this place is powerful. It took this long for the light to fade."

"Light?" he echoed.

He was doing that a lot, and it was beginning to piss me off. Mostly because it felt redundant to ask questions. There were no anwers. I had no f*cking clue what had appeared inside the church and killed dozens of humans and vampires attending a weekday service.

I waved a hand at the air in front of me. I could make out the faintest of prisms captured in the air. It was like a phantom of the rainbow reflections inside the church.

"It's an aura or third-eye thing, I think. You either have one or you don't. If you were a null in life, you won't be able to see sh...uh...crap, in death either. You have an academic and abstract grasp of metaphysics. You can't see the way I can. If you'd been inside the church, all you would have seen was an instant of light. You would have felt a nanosecond of pain, and then you'd be...gone. I've never heard of anything that can kill a vampire that fast. Even sunlight takes a few minutes. And the sun wouldn't have killed the human parishioners. The worst UV lamps would do is give them a sunburn. It's like they were all burned, but whatever did it cooked them from the inside out."

Malcolm was silent for a horrified second, processing that. "Are you saying that it burned their spirits, Miss Blake?"

I nodded. It was a gross oversimplification, but it was the best I was going to get. I couldn't shove the visuals into his head and force him to see it. Honestly, I was glad he couldn't. Watching the instant that sealed the fate of his congregation would haunt him for the rest of eternity. It was easier for me to bear. I hadn't known these people. I hadn't held them in my arms while I brought them over. I hadn't been tasked with their health and well-being. If Malcolm thought anything like I did, the failure to protect them alone was torture. I was glad he didn't have an illustrated guide to just how nasty the end had been.

"What happens if a soul is burned from its host?" Jeanette wondered aloud, speaking for the first time since we'd begun walking. She'd draped an arm gingerly around my waist, supporting me when the metaphysics made me woozy. "Does it still reach paradise?"

Or eternal damnation went unsaid. The fear of hell stayed with you, whether you were a believer or not. Just the thought of a realm of infinite torture scared the bejesus out of anyone sane. We'd all been raised to believe in it to some degree or the other.

"I don't know. I just don't know. I think it has to exist in some form. Can't escape the laws of conservation of energy. The energy has been transformed somehow, but the conversion process is way above my pay grade. You don't need a necromancer. You need a psychically gifted chaplain and a team of researchers out here to figure out what did it. The only thing I can tell you is to treat it like a fire hazard. Get everyone out of the area as soon as possible. This was like a bomb. The blast radius might get bigger next time."

"I've tried sending in an academic from my flock, Miss Blake. She is currently in the hospital suffering from heat stroke."

"Yeah, the weather is a bitch."

"You don't understand. Only a few hours ago, the air inside the church was too hot for any mortal to survive. I had no idea what would happen when she opened the doors. It hit her like a physical wave and only the first mark saved her life. It would have taken less than a minute to completely dehydrate her. And that was after the power had a chance to cool."

I glanced up at him, lips parted in shock. The last time we'd talked about it, he seemed utterly uninterested in taking a human or therian servant. To mark someone on a whim wasn't like him. We both agreed on one thing. For most humans, life bound to a vampire was hell. It took a special sort to survive all the politicking.

"You took a human servant?"

Malcolm's expression was pinched with worry. "A therian servant. Angela is a weretiger and yes, I did. I had to. I was the one who sent her to investigate. I couldn't approach. I thought perhaps someone was wielding faith or necromancy to keep me out."

I would have found that tidbit absolutely fascinating if not for the current circ*mstances. I supposed I'd never considered what animal Malcolm could call. He was theoretically powerful enough to do so.

"And a therian is proof against most things," I said quietly. "I wasn't aware they could even die of heat-related illness."

"She nearly did. If I hadn't done what I did..." He shook his head. "I need to find who did this, Miss Blake."

"I agree. Whatever it is is too damn dangerous if it can kill even a therian in a second with just its magical backwash. We have to stop it from doing this again."

"For a third time," Malcolm said. "This is the second time this has happened. I was in Chicago to investigate another incident. The police were baffled when the staff setting up for a youth group meeting were reduced to nothing but salt."

I had a bad feeling I knew where this was going but kept my ideas to myself until we reached the front doors. By the time I stepped through, sweat was beading on my upper lip, the magic squeezing the moisture from me with obscene ease. This incident wasn't fresh, and the magic was still so thick that I could barely breathe around it. To my surprise, Jeanette was able to approach with me and only looked mildly uncomfortable hovering near the door as I explored the interior of the church.

The decor had probably been beautiful, once upon a time. Now everything was coated in a layer of fine, white salt, washing all color and shape from the room. It was a sea of white, with just a few grains here or there distinguishing one body from the other. I could tell that they had been humanoid once, which was a marvel in and of itself. I would have expected a pillar of salt to collapse in on itself at once. But it was the blackened shadow burned against the far wall that really caught my attention.

"Oh my God," I whispered. Because just the shadow offered a huge, ominous hint. I could barely swallow around the pulse in my throat. No way. There was no f*cking way this was happening.

Jeanette tilted her head, considering the shape. It was enormous, the outline of its wings perfectly imprinted into the altar and abstract religious iconography. Six of them.

"I think you meant to say, seraph, ma petite."

Chapter 9 Chapter Text

Jeanette preferred to sleep in the nude, and only donned silken or sheer nighties at my insistence or if we were planning to have company. Company was currently taking a long, hot shower in the spacious hotel room we'd rented for the night. Haven wouldn't be wearing much when he came out. I still hadn't decided if I wanted what little he did put on to come off. Funny how I could have hot monkey sex with him in the confines of my own head, but couldn't hide my blush when I saw him naked in real life.

Jeanette traced the sweep of one cheek with the tips of her fingers, savoring the warmth that bubbled just beneath my skin. She seemed to find it endlessly amusing that sex still embarrassed me. Time and Belle's training had stripped her of any shame where nudity and sex were involved. Those fingers came to rest just above my lips, a small smile gracing the edge of her mouth when I shivered. Let her see just how much this one touch meant to me.

"You aren't on call to do anything tonight, ma petite," she said in an undertone. "I've been with your Rex many times. We can carry on as we have if it pleases you."

It was really tempting to take her up on the out she was offering. I didn't owe Haven in-person sex. Or sex at all, really. It would be easy to close my eyes, drift off, and enjoy a little dream sex. It felt too intimate to have Haven's hands on me in real life, tracing the dips and curves he'd only explored in dreams. In reality, Jeanette was usually the one doing the sex, allowing me to live vicariously through her. I could lay down and enjoy a quickie before she died at dawn.

It also felt cowardly. I knew exactly why I wanted to check out, and it had nothing to do with Haven. But this topic was a lot easier to broach than what we'd seen in the church.

"He's not my Rex," I said.

The words had become automatic at this point. Nearly every vampire and shapeshifter I came across addressed me as Haven's Regina, even though I'd never formally fought for the position. I was pretty sure my reluctance to be with Haven in truth had been the only thing keeping would-be challengers from throwing the gauntlet at my feet. If I won, it cemented my claim, and none of them wanted that.

Jeanette raised a perfectly plucked brow, lips pursed. It was a chiding, almost maternal expression that instantly raised my hackles. "I knew you had a talent for self-deception, ma petite, but this...how do Americans say it? Takes the cake?"

"He's not my Rex," I repeated more firmly.

"He is your lion to call, regardless. You have a claim on him and you will have to address it sooner or later."

I drew back, leaving her fingers hovering inches above me. She seemed surprised by the retreat, and couldn't hide a flicker of hurt. I wrapped my arms over my chest. The robe I wore was silk and my only concession to her insistence on lingerie. It was the only style of shopping I regularly enjoyed. But wearing it most nights in my dreams had made me feel like her slu*tty Barbie doll. I'd insist on fuzzy jammies on the honeymoon, just to get her back for the increasingly inventive negligee she'd shoved me into.

"It doesn't mean that I have to head his animal group," I shot back. "There's a Coalition for that now, thanks to Micah and Amber. I so do not want to be pulled into Pride politics. It's bad enough I'm the honorary lupa for the werewolves and the Nimir-Ra of the leopards."

"Oui, but you may have no choice in the end. Haven is their leader, and he is bound to you. Haven is not totally his own creature, which instills doubt in the less faithful members of the Pride. Introduce yourself to them, at least. Show them you will not force your will on them through your servant."

I clutched myself tighter, digging my nails into my flesh so hard I drew bloody crescents into my arms. Servant. I'd made Haven my f*cking servant. Feeding him my life force to heal a mortal wound came at a cost. It compromised his will, to an extent. I couldn't control him outright, but having even a little bit of someone's soul at my beck and call freaked me the hell out. At least with Jamil and Verity, I could claim ignorance. Metaphysical accidents were rarely logical. I'd chosen to take Haven. He didn't seem bothered by the turn of events, but I was. A lot.

"I hate that word," I whispered.

"What word?"

"Servant. I hate that I have three of them. I know you're always pleased as punch to get a new one, but I'm not. I did it on purpose this time. I made him mine, and he didn't have a chance to tell me no."

"He wouldn't have," she argued.

"But I don't know that for sure! The connection is weighted unfairly in my favor. He might feel compelled to lie to spare my feelings."

Jeanette rolled her eyes. "Oui, because Haven is a timid mouse trembling in fear of my fearsome black kitten. Do you truly think he would put up any less resistance to you than Richard if he found your commands onerous?"

I grimaced. Richard and I were on almost friendly terms now, but the months after our breakup had been...rough. We'd gone into the bond knowing it meant we'd never be free of each other. That had seemed like a good thing when we'd been in love. When you resented the hell out of your ex and couldn't help but announce it through the marks? Well, that was a special kind of f*cked up.

"You're doing a bang-up job at this whole reassurance thing," I said, fighting to keep a sour note out of my voice.

Jeanette sighed and let her hand drop to her lap. She'd stripped down to reveal that the black garters connected to the equally black lace of her panties. On any other night, I'd already had my hands wadded in the lace, pulling them down her long shapely legs with all the impatience of a horny teenager.

"Perhaps I should slip into the shower with Haven," she said, more to herself than to me. "I can feed the ardeur for us both tonight. I think you should rest. It has been a trying day."

For so many reasons. I wasn't sure which bothered me more. The endless wedding preparations or the shadow of a seraph burned into the altar of a small country church. One was certainly more disturbing than the other, but if you gave me a choice between monsters and a stack of wedding invitations, I'd take the creepy-crawly every time. Guilt gnawed at my guts. I'd rather deal with Malcolm's heavenly problem than plan my own wedding. And from the look on her face, she knew it too.

"I'm sorry," I said. My voice was squeezed down so tight it hurt. I could barely breathe around the lump in my throat. "I'm being selfish."

She gripped my chin, lifting my face so she could examine my expression. Her eyes softened a moment later. I sniffed back tears when she brushed a chaste kiss over one cheek.

"Non, ma petite. You are being very selfless. You are forgoing your own comfort to support two traumatized teens during what is likely to be the worst time of their lives. You are doing an incredible thing. But that doesn't mean it won't be difficult. They aren't the only ones who lost a parental figure that night."

One tear escaped my careful control. Manny had been more of a father to me over the years than my own. Rosita was a bubbly presence in the background, friendly and well-meaning, but never a mother to me. He'd lied to the cops, claiming he'd cut her throat. He'd done it to save me from scrutiny. He was in jail because of me. It was my fault. All of this was my fault.

"We don't have to do this," Jeanette said. "The girls will understand. We can postpone or scale down-"

"No," I said. My voice was so thick that the word was barely intelligible. "I said they'd get to plan it. I'm sticking to that. I'm sorry that I'm being a bitch. I know I'm ruining everyone's fun but..." I sucked in a deep breath through my nose. "I can't keep doing this day in and day out. I know you guys are having a ball, but if I see one more ruffle I'm going to scream. I need something other than all of this."

Jeanette lapsed into a thoughtful silence. I used the reprieve to gather myself. Control your breathing, and everything else had to follow. I imagined the crystal clarity the moment before I fired during target practice. The lull between breaths seemed to last an eternity. My heart was a metronome. It was a pure, perfect experience that you never had during combat. Close-quarters melee was messy. In the controlled environment of the range, you could appreciate the calm at your center.

"You need a distraction."

"Yes."

I couldn't tell her the whole truth. That I didn't want to do the wedding period. That the runaway bride looked more and more reasonable to me with every passing day. The pomp and spectacle of it got more and more intimidating the longer the girls had to plan. I'd have to draw a line at some point, but I hadn't reached my threshold yet.

"I believe you should help Malcolm with his problem if you need something else to focus on."

That finally drew my eyes up to her face. It was a mistake. Her eyes were deep enough to drown in. I wanted to undo the garters and peel her stockings down her legs. I wanted to tease her through the lace of her panties. Wanted her writhing under me when I pressed two fingers inside her.

"What?" I managed after a second. My reality swayed momentarily, threatening to spin off its axis. Her eyes had the ability to compel me now, though she was careful not to use that particular ability unless circ*mstances were dire.

"Malcolm," she explained patiently. "If anyone knows how to handle his problem, it is you, ma petite."

"I thought you'd tell him to get lost. I mean, his flock isn't exactly shy about their dislike for you. They're convinced you're going to force Malcolm to blood oath to you at some point."

"It is what Belle would have done," Jeanette said, tone stiff with distaste. "The Council has a reputation for their cruelty. It will take time to convince less powerful Masters that I do not intend to follow in their footsteps."

It was a technically true statement, but I could still taste deception on the back of my tongue. I scooted a little closer to her. "That isn't the only reason. If you were just doing it for PR you wouldn't be sending me in. You put up with my duties, but you don't like them. You sensed something at the scene that I didn't. Spill."

Jeanette sighed. "Tiger, ma petite. I sensed a male tiger. Powerful, but not one I could call."

"Could it have been a parishioner?"

"Non. I smelled nothing but salt inside. It is the...feel of the tiger in my head that tells me he survived. He was perhaps the epicenter of the incident. I cannot say how he managed to pull through unscathed when everything else was reduced to so much metaphysical char, but it is the truth. If there is a therian in my territory displaying abnormal powers or summoning beings it shouldn't, I trust the Executioner to handle the threat."

So she wasn't sending me out as her servant. She was sending me as an assassin. Something powerful enough to scour life from a room in less than a second had to be killed swiftly and without mercy. It would be only too easy for the rogue creature to turn its firey wrath onto her Kiss.

"You're...what? Asking me to bring this to the police? Get in on an investigation? I swore that off for a reason."

"You need a distraction and I need answers. It seems like a net benefit for us both, non?"

Touche. I'd been the one who'd asked for an assignment. And there was just no telling how many dress fittings I could weasel out of during a murder investigation.

I leaned in to press a soft kiss to the edge of her mouth. "Thank you."

"De rien, ma petite."

Chapter 10 Notes:

CW: NSFW. Kinky sex. Power dynamics, dominance, and submission. Possession sex. blow j*b, spanking, and hair pulling.

Chapter Text

Kink was a lot of different things to a lot of different people. But for me, there'd always been a link between sex and shame. Sex and doubt. Sex and guilt. It was apparently a common enough problem that people with psychic abilities to do with healing often gravitated toward psychology on reflex. In a Puritanical culture like America, you were bound to get sexual dysfunction.

Narcissa said that had been the foundation for the massive barrier I'd drawn up between my body and mind. The rest had been a maladaptive coping mechanism. Dissociation had been a favorite tactic of mine. Deny the bad thing happened and it can't hurt you. Both my nature and nurture had sucked. Dad had murdered a man shortly after losing his wife, and Judith had spent nearly a decade of her life trying to escape the notice of her abuser. Andria had suffered literal brain damage. I'd lost my mother at a tender age, and been told grieving publically was unacceptable. Only Josh was anywhere close to mentally healthy. Hurting people hurt people. You withdrew to survive.

The staticky white room I went to when things were too much had a price. You had to shove the excess emotion somewhere. My brain had decided to tie it up with intimacy. It had given me so many issues in my dating life that I'd almost given up the thought of having a partner by the time we met. No one short of a saint would be able to put up with all of them, let alone help me unlearn them all.

"Are you comparing me to a saint, ma petite?" Jeanette asked, her voice seeming to emanate from the very walls. The edge of laughter in that sibilant whisper should have made the voice eerie. It didn't. It just felt like a caress from the dark.

For just a moment, I could see her as she was. She'd used the beige walls of the motel to her advantage, using the drab monochrome to make herself pop. In her mind, she'd swapped out the lingerie for a silk blouse and pencil skirt She'd draped herself over it like the model she was, displaying every delicate dip and curve to its best advantage. So beautiful that I wished I had enough skill to commit her to paper.

"The patron saint of lust, maybe?" I said, voice coming out on a breathless gasp when Haven nipped a trail down my throat.

"There are several associated with lust," she said, and the edge of amusem*nt thicker. She was trying very hard not to laugh at me. The fact she found my pout adorable was the only reason I didn't aim one her way. Of course, she found the spite precious too. Sometimes you just couldn't pick a fight to avoid intimacy when your fiancée was a centuries-old vampire.

"Is there a patron saint of 'god-f*cking-damnit my girlfriend is too f*cking hot and I don't f*cking deserve her?'"

Admitting to insecurity made me feel like I was gargling battery acid. I hated showing weakness to anyone. I'd been hurt too many times not to flinch away. I felt like a feral thing backed into a corner anytime emotions entered the picture. Only years of constant reassurance had allowed her near, let alone past my wall without a fight. She couldn't shatter it without shattering me. It had to be taken apart one brick at a time.

"Would you like me to be anything less than what I am?" she asked, a careful lilt to her voice.

Chapter 11 Notes:

CW: NSFW. Sex scene.

Chapter Text

Nightmares came for me almost every night. With Jeanette's careful shielding, I could usually avoid the worst of them. This one had started as the more generic 'wedding slaughter' and moved swiftly on toward a more hellish venue without any warning.

Heat wrapped me like a blanket, dyeing the inside of my eyelids red. For a moment, the light was so bright that I staggered forward, blinded to all other sensations. Rainbow prisms burst behind my eyelids, reminding me oddly of the only time a god had healed me. Maya had been forced to part with a lot of power to do it, and I'd never been sure if the illusion my mind conjured to cope had been her idea or mine. Was she a prism of rainbow light somewhere, or was that a bit of fevered imagining on my part?

The world came back into focus in increments, the light reflecting off the craggy faces of red mesas so brightly they glowed like neon. The grains of sand that rolled beneath my clumsy gait were white, bleached of all color by the sun overhead. In my mind, it seemed to dominate the sky, bearing down on Earth like the unforgiving wrath of God.

My parched throat was screaming for water. I wanted to sink onto my knees and retch, but it would make everything worse. My skin felt as rough as sandpaper, my tongue as fat and fuzzy as a caterpillar. I was like a cloth someone had wrung out and hung to dry. But the agony of stopping wasn't the only thing that kept me running. I knew, without being sure how I knew, that Olaf was behind me, his tiger form much more suited for the arid terrain than my pathetic human self. If I had the strength, I would have shifted into a larger, more capable form. But at this point, I didn't think I could bear even another mile on foot, let alone summon the strength it would take to do magic. Besides, the only form I had that would do well here was no match for a beast so large.

It was one of those slow-motion horror cliches. I couldn't seem to run fast enough to escape, nor could I turn to watch the tiger's advance. Which was all wrong. I'd been learning a lot of new techniques in the last few years, including the ability to lucid dream. Realizing I was dreaming was usually enough to allow me some control over the environment. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't make the dessert one iota less hot and bright. I couldn't shift, couldn't turn, couldn't shoot. It felt like someone had seized me in a burning fist and was squeezing until I popped.

I kept running. It was my only option. I wasn't sure how the hell he'd gotten into my head, but I was almost ninety percent sure that it really was him. There was a terrifying realness to his presence. I wasn't sure what psychic he'd tortured into doing a sending, but I was going to track them down. If it had been done on purpose for profit, I would kill them. There were some things you didn't do, and selling someone out to be raped and possibly murdered in their own mind was one of them.

If they were being held hostage, I'd spring them and kill the bastard for daring to invade my body. It felt especially hideous after Belle's attack the year before.

I wanted to call out to Jeanette, but knew on some level that bringing her into this place could be deadly. It wasn't just Olaf that had a concerning amount of metaphysical weight in my thoughts. It was this damn heat. The moment I'd focused on it, I could begin to pick apart the magic that had gone into keeping it locked in place. It was a shield of some kind, designed to keep me in and burn me alive if the tiger didn't tear me apart first.

"Not f*cking happening," I panted. "I am not dying in my own f*cking head."

Olaf could take my life, but like hell I'd let him take my dignity. I forced myself to breathe in the heat and slow my pounding heart. I still couldn't manifest a gun, but I didn't need ultimately need one as long as I used my brain. I had other weapons. Other connections than the vampire in the coffin at the foot of the motel bed.

I could sense Haven distantly, like a waft of cologne from a man who'd just passed by. It smelled like baked grass and rich earth. It smelled like golden sunshine on the Savanna. It felt like a drop of rain after the intensity of the heat Olaf had somehow summoned. Haven's beast was used to someplace downright balmy in comparison, and he brought it with him as he surged from sleep into full awareness. I couldn't see him press his body against mine in the real world, but I could feel it. He was hard against my ass. Ready.

Normally the idea of aiming the ardeur at Olaf even obliquely would have made me sick. Now, I had no choice. No other weapons. The psychic he'd picked was good. I'd been locked down almost completely. But the power stuttered in confusion when it met the ardeur. It was a power they couldn't understand. Jeanette's spin on it was a singularity that should never have existed, and it threw the caster completely.

"Anita," Haven said, voice gone rough and growling.

There was a question in his tone, and it made me like him a lot at that moment. We were bound tightly, and I'd thrown the marks open to let him in. He knew that we needed to f*ck to escape whatever mental preserve I was wandering through. In spite of that, he asked for consent. It said something about him. Something I found intensely appealing.

"Yes," I said. "Do it."

Haven didn't have to be told twice. He sheathed himself inside me without warning, making my body bow outward in a silent spasm of pure pleasure. The slam of his hips against my ass sent shockwaves up my spine and destroyed all semblance of rational thought. His hand in my hair felt like a steel cord dragging me slowly from the dream. It felt like security, not kinky foreplay.

The surge of his body inside mine was so hard, so fast, so intense that it didn't leave room for any other thoughts or sensations. The oppressive heat evaporated, my skin slicked with sweat not from heat but from the exertion it took to ride out those thrusts. I realized dimly that he'd reached around to palm my sex, stroking expertly over my cl*t with his thumb. My thighs quivered around his hand as he brought me, the bone-cracking intensity of my org*sm shattering what was left of the dream.

When I could finally blink the spots out of my eyes, I found myself staring at the wall, Haven's body still riding mine. It took a few moments for him to understand me when I ordered him onto his back. It was his turn to groan when I lowered myself onto him, rocking my hips at just the right angle to drag him along the top of me. Breath hissed out from between his teeth.

"f*ck, Anita. Don't do that. I don't want to come inside you."

"But what if I want that?" I asked, leaning in to whisper it over his mouth. My voice sounded thicker and sweeter somehow. If I'd been more in my own head, that might have scared me.

Haven shuddered as I eased myself down, then up to the tip, leaving only the barest hint of him inside me. The scent rolling off his skin was intoxicating. His head lolled backward when I leaned forward to set the edge of my teeth into one nipple. He bucked upward, almost without permission.

"That's the ardeur talking. I'm not going to have you pissed at me when this wears off," he said, wrapping large hands around my waist.

Rather than slam me back down by force, as I wanted, he lifted me off of him entirely, rolling away from me before I could stop him. There was a crinkle of foil and a split second later, he was on me again. Haven seemed to sense, just like I had, that the ardeur wasn't done with us. It had shattered the sending that had been trying to bake me to death, but that power came with a price. I needed his release to complete the circuit and keep them out of me.

Haven rose above me, forcing my legs apart with his knees. He half-lifted me, arranging my legs around his waist so that the latex of the condom rubbed against my thigh. The ardeur didn't like it, but some rational part of me could have kissed Haven for his foresight. My IUD was good, but no birth control is a hundred percent. I could not afford to have a child, especially one with a man I'd only met a few months ago.

He helped me ease onto his length, pressing our bodies as close as they could go. My arms ended up around his neck, while his hands settled at my waist, moving me in a slower, softer rhythm than before. It had taken brute force to break out of my dream, but now that I was free, he seemed keen to take his time, exploring my body as he rocked himself inside me, taking his pleasure one easy thrust at a time. It felt too much like making love for my taste, but after the threat of Olaf's impending violation, I needed gentle handling. The fact he understood that scared me. I didn't want to love anyone new, especially not someone I'd bound under duress.

Haven brought me once more before he was through. He laughed when I collapsed against his shoulder, breathing hard. He'd barely broken a sweat. Stupid therianthropes with their stupid stamina. I could never keep up.

"What the f*ck was that back there?" he asked, voice low.

"I don't know."

He looked skeptical. I had a reputation for knowing a lot about magic and monsters. In this case, I was stumped. I'd never heard of anything like this. But what I didn't know, I could always find out. I knew people and monsters who hoarded knowledge like gold.

"I think it wants you dead," he said.

I sighed. "At this point, who doesn't?"

Chapter 12 Chapter Text

The ardeur washed out, and a wave of embarrassment flooded in. I'd dressed hastily, grimacing when I found he'd shredded my underwear. I hated going commando in the fancy sh*t Jeanette bought me, but I hadn't packed anything but the lingerie. We were only staying until sunset. Maybe I could outpace the mortification trying to broil my cheeks with a nice, early morning jog.

I made it to the hall before Haven reacted, following me out. He'd struggled into his jeans a lot faster than I had but approached sans a shirt. I guess even therian reflexes had limits. He was lean, with the defined muscles of an MMA fighter. He'd grown up boxing and wrestling because Auggie enjoyed both sports. He wouldn't tell me much more than that. Family was a sore spot for him, and I tried not to pry. Lord knew I hated people poking the hornet's nest that was my family drama. I wanted to know how he'd ended up as a ward of the god of love at fifteen, but not enough to start a fight over it.

"Where do you think you're going?" he demanded.

"Out."

Haven's sigh was audible in the relative quiet in the hall. He seemed to drag the sound up from his toes, so utterly put upon that it instantly raised my hackles. I spun and marched toward him, jabbing a finger right into Cookie Monster's furry face hard enough to make Haven grimace.

"Don't huff at me, asshole. And I don't want you tagging along. I need air."

I had to fight to keep my voice level. If I shouted, I'd scare someone's kid, and depending on how reactionary the parents were, the cops could be called. The last thing I wanted to do was involve the police in this whole embarrassing affair.

"I knew this was going to happen," Haven shot back. "I heard about you from Auggie long before we met. He's the closest thing she has to a best friend, so they talk. You take one step forward, and then two steps back. Don't punish me for doing what you told me to do. I don't care how embarrassed you are, you can't go out alone. Wake up Kelly if you don't want me following you, but you're not leaving without an escort."

I wanted to slug him. Mostly because he was right. I couldn't leave without a bodyguard at my back, which pissed me off all over again. Jeanette was more relaxed now that she'd ascended to Council status, but it came at the price of notoriety. She didn't think my death would ruin her power base, but it would wreck her personally. But I didn't want to have a witness to my breakdown. I could feel screams building, and I needed to go to pieces quietly out of sight.

Haven extended his arms, giving me a clean shot at his chest. "If you want to go, I'm game, Executioner. I just thought you'd done more therapy than that."

"I f*cking hate you," I gritted out from between my teeth.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "No you don't, and that's what's bothering you. You think you should and it offends your justice-loving soul that you don't. Liking and f*cking a man with a rap sheet longer than your arm bothers you."

That was part of it, but not the main reason I wanted to pop him in the face. It was tied up in the fact I'd done this against his will. That the first time we'd had sex without Jeanette orchestrating it in some way was during a metaphysical emergency. I didn't trust myself around sex and psychic sh*t. The ardeur was enough of a nightmare on its own. We didn't need to be bound any tighter than we were.

"Just go back into the room," I said, unlenching my jaw with difficulty.

"After you wake up Kelly."

The lioness rose inside me in time with my anger, a surging mass of sleek muscle and tawny fur. She rubbed against my insides in a move so alien that it made my thoughts stutter. I knew if I just concentrated, I could take that form and bowl him over. It would also summon the cops, but the longer he talked, the less I cared about that.

Haven's wide baby blues bled to lion amber as the power climbed. He seized my arm without warning, drawing me into his body, and caging me there. It was like dunking myself in a sauna. The heat prickled over my skin in an almost painful fashion as his power responded to mine. I'd give myself a fighting chance against Haven in most circ*mstances, but not physical combat. When opponents were equally skilled, the larger combatant came off better in almost all cases. I didn't try to fight free of him as he held me fast.

"Let go," I said under my breath.

"Is that an order?" he said, speaking into my curls. The moist tickle of his breath against my ear made me squirm, and not all of it was discomfort. "If I understand it right, you can force me if you try."

But I wouldn't, and he knew that too. I hated that I'd bound him without his consent, and I wouldn't compound the hypocrisy by ordering him around. He was more than a bodyguard. He was mine in a way so fundamental that it transcended words like 'friend' or 'lover.'

"Bastard," I spat.

His laugh rocked me against his chest in a thoroughly pleasant fashion. I could still remember what he felt like beneath me. What he felt like inside me. If there hadn't been so many potential witnesses, I might have explored the planes of his chest with my tongue. He had a few novel piercings that I wanted to explore.

"I think this hotel has a small gym. If you want to hit the heavy bag for an hour, I can watch your back, but I can't let you go out without one of us."

I wasn't sure what tactic I might have used to refute his point, and was saved the effort when my phone rang. The noise was so unexpected that it made me jump. In my hurry to get out, I forgot that I'd stuffed the phone in the back pocket of my discarded jeans from the night before. It took me a second to compose myself enough to answer.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Anita," Zerbrowski said. Even his voice sounded tired. I hadn't checked the clock, but my senses told me it was still early. Early enough that most people were still in their hotel rooms, not out wandering the halls.

"Zerbrowski," I returned cautiously. "You sound like sh*t. Have you been up all night?"

I received an under-caffeinated grunt in reply. I spoke male and cop fluently enough to translate it as, "Of course I have, you dummy."

"Fine, fine, be grumpy," I said. "Why are you calling me at the ass end of morning?"

"Because one of the bad guys asked for you by name. We got a message with your name and an address. I've got preternatural SWAT on the scene. Arnet says she smells blood inside. A lot of it."

A chill ran up my spine. The scene in my dream felt a lot more ominous with this new insight.

Olaf was here, in my town, I was sure of it.

"I'll be there in an hour."

Chapter 13 Chapter Text

"Take a deep breath," Kelly ordered. "I'm about to have an anxiety attack, just standing near you. Tell me what's wrong before you burst an artery."

It had been cowardly of me, but I'd opted to take the werelion I hadn't just f*cked to the crime scene as my bodyguard. Part of it was embarrassment, yeah, but a lot of it had been good old-fashioned pragmatism. As Haven had cheerfully pointed out, he was a criminal, and that wasn't the sort of person you dragged to a murder scene with you. Cops would clock him as an immediate threat, whereas the comparatively petite and blonde Kelly wouldn't raise eyebrows. It might earn me some teasing, but definitely not a side-eye. I'd already warned Kelly she might be the butt of some gay jokes. She'd calmly informed me that they were giving her too much credit. She'd never be brave enough to approach a woman like me in a bar. And that had effectively ended the conversation. As pretty as she was, I didn't need a new woman in my bed. The women I had there were complicated enough without adding a new dimension to our polycule.

"The fact we're driving to a murder scene isn't enough for you?" I managed past the pulse pounding in my throat.

Kelly shrugged. It was easy to forget she was a werelioness and a guard when you looked at her head-on. The muscle wasn't immediately apparent under the guard's standard uniform of black on black. It was only when she made distinct movements shrugging that I could spot all the definition in her arms. I wanted to ask why she wasn't taken already. Why hitching her wagon to my extremely long love train seemed appealing. But I didn't. I couldn't let anything but what was coming dominate my thoughts for long.

"That isn't enough for either of us, and you know it," she said quietly. There was no rancor in the tone. She wasn't accusing me of anything, just stating a fact. We'd seen and done enough that your standard murder scene wouldn't faze us anymore. Sad, but true.

I sighed. "I hate perceptive people."

That earned me a brief flash of very white teeth. It made her look younger, more like a co-ed than the thirty-something I could sense she was. "Me too. Spill. What kind of sh*tshow am I walking into? I can't protect you if I don't know what I'm facing."

"You won't have to protect me at a crime scene. That's SWAT's job."

"It's always my job," she said shortly. "I'm only letting you join SWAT because I know Arnet will be watching you. I trust her judgment, not yours. No offense."

"Some taken," I said dryly. "And since when do you let me do anything? I'm your boss."

"No, Claudia is my boss. Jeanette is her boss, and it's her name on my paychecks. So if she thinks you need to be wrapped in wool and shoved into a closet, it's ba-ba black sheep time, bitch."

I would have probably shot back with something irate if she hadn't added the last. It was so odd that it jolted me out of the press of anger and into hysterics. I started laughing and couldn't stop until I was gasping for air. The laughter felt cleansing somehow, letting me take a deeper breath than I'd been able to manage since waking from this morning's nightmare.

"Okay, I guess I get that. I'm not happy about it, but I get it."

"Your displeasure is noted, ma'am," she said, somehow managing to wring her voice of all feeling until it came out drier than mine. She didn't give a f*ck whether or not I liked her on a professional level, and I found that endearing as hell.

I settled back into my seat with another laugh. I let myself bask in the feeling, rather than the cold-sweat-inducing aura of what I feared Olaf had done. I was finally present in the car, instead of trapped against a car hood, with Olaf's weight pressing me down.

"So?" Kelly prompted. "Why is this crime scene different?"

"Because, if I'm right, it's the work of a serial killer who has a hard-on for me specifically. He's already used a hostage situation to get me alone. The sniper I had in place kept him from raping me, but if a single thing had gone wrong, I would have been found dismembered in the desert, not having this conversation with you."

"sh*t," she breathed.

"Yeah. I've faced more powerful bad guys, but when I have nightmares, he's the one I see."

"And you're still going to the crime scene?"

"Yes."

"That's f*cked up."

It wasn't funny. Honest. But I laughed until I cried. Kelly pretended not to notice when the hiccups dissolved into heaving sobs, and finally, a silence so deep it carved a canyon in my head. I sheltered in that silence, and let myself dissociate just this once. I couldn't face Olaf if I had time to think. You only had a split-second to face down a tiger, if that. I couldn't let fear lock me in place.

So I retreated. I let myself go to the place where I felt nothing at all. I pulled forward the predatory mind of the nixe, the purity of their sociopathy. I donned sunglasses to hide the unbroken black of my predator's eyes.

The best way to catch a monster like Olaf was to think like him. Serial killer vs Serial killer, rather than Spy vs Spy. I'd gotten a lot more powerful than he knew in the time between now and then. He was strong. I was stronger.

"What the hell was that?" Kelly asked, sliding her gaze toward me involuntarily.

The temperature on my side of the Coupe was several degrees cooler than hers. She felt the glide of water over her skin, the frisson of fear that even predators felt in the vicinity of water. It was strong enough to pull you down, and treacherous enough to hide beasts that might eat you in its depths.

"Nothing," I said in a voice utterly devoid of feeling. "Keep driving."

Kelly shuddered as the cold crept higher. I could track her anxiety from the slow march of goosebumps. The fear called to the nixe and the part of me that had absorbed the power of a night hag. Power fed on itself, and I had to force myself not to swallow Kelly whole. The fusion of this beast and my power was dangerous. I'd have to be selective when and how I used this form. It was only too easy to become a monster of mythic proportions.

"Yes, ma'am."

We both pretended her voice hadn't come out as a squeak.

Chapter 14 Chapter Text

Zerbrowski met us at the solid line of police tape that blocked off the entrance and exit of Windsor Terrace Lane, much to the displeasure of its residents. Everyone was effectively trapped inside a few blocks, unable to come and go until the crime scene had been thoroughly documented by a forensics team. State and local authorities weren't taking any chances when it came to a prolific serial killer. The look in his eyes had confirmed my worst fears.

Olaf was in St. Louis. He'd killed someone I'd sworn to protect, knowing it would draw me into an open confrontation with him. I couldn't just stay home and pretend this wasn't happening. Not if I wanted to live with myself. I'd always play his game, which meant he had the advantage over me. An honorable foe was predictable, which meant I couldn't act like one if I wanted to beat him.

"It's him," I said, voice dead.

Zerbrowski winced but nodded. "Yeah, it's him. There were tapes. They matched the ones you provided for the investigation in New Mexico. Witnesses there gave a solid ID. I'm sorry, Anita. I wouldn't have called you in at all, but..."

I wanted to scream, but the nixe's mind was like a press of water, keeping the horror pressed into the depths. I could feel the emotion without it paralyzing me. If a reaction wasn't useful, I could dismiss it. I couldn't keep it up forever, but long enough to see me through most of the crime scene. Maybe it would save me nightmares.

The nixe's eyes could see the answers as clearly as if they were written on his face. I could understand intrinsically what Olaf had done, and why Zerbrowski looked so grim.

"But you're not sure if it's safe to go in. He's former FBI and he knows how law enforcement thinks. He might take advantage of that to cause a mass casualty event. He's claimed there's a bomb on the premises. You want me in on this because he won't hurt SWAT if I'm mixed in with them. He wants that kill to be personal. An explosion just wouldn't get his rocks off."

Zerbrowski blinked in surprise. I feel his attention sharpen, focusing on me, instead of what he'd seen inside. He might have acted like a cheerful letch, but beneath that teasing exterior, he had the mind of a detective. He hadn't become the head of RPIT by chance. He was as capable as I was of reading people. In another universe, he might have been my partner for real. Some universe where I hadn't met Jeanette and wasn't a necromancer. But this was reality, and he wasn't my partner. He was a cop, and he could tell something was up just by looking at me. If things had been less dire, he might have broken the guy code and asked. He seemed to view me as a kid sister at times.

"We've already viewed the tapes, Anita. We don't need you to watch any of that sh*t. I'm just asking you to back up SWAT."

I had another insight, an unpleasant peek into Olaf's sadism. "But if I watch it, he's going to unlock the doors remotely and let you in. He knows I won't do it unless the potential loss of life is worse. Which means he left someone alive in there."

Zerbrowski mouthed in shock for just a moment before turning a glare on the cops lining the street. He seemed to be speaking more to himself than to me when he muttered, "Someone blabbed. Goddamnit, I told them to let me break the news."

"No one blabbed. I just know how this guy thinks. I was getting way too close to catching him for his comfort. It's why he acted out the way he did in New Mexico. It was a break from the pattern because I'd become the new fixation. It forged a new pathology, and essentially a new kill method. It was like being a new serial killer again. He made rookie mistakes. Now he's had time to refine his new technique."

Zerbrowski looked faintly green. "I wouldn't call it technique. What happened in there was butchery, plain and simple. It's bad, Anita. I don't want you to watch it. I didn't want to watch it."

But he'd ask me to do it anyway. He knew this was Olaf's taunt. A blueprint of exactly what he'd do to me if he managed to get his hands on me. He wouldn't ask me to do something like this in a million years if there wasn't a life on the line. If the shoe was on the other foot, I would have done the same thing. We hadn't gotten into this job because we wanted the nightmares that came with it. We'd gone into it willing to have nightmares so others wouldn't need to.

"I'll set up by the front doors," I said. "You can show me there."

"Why there?"

"Because he's going to have a camera on the door, no matter what. If he was going to blow the place, he'd want to see it happen, at least. If he's going to remotely disable the explosives, he needs to see that I'm watching his home movie. Either way, I need to be out in the open."

Where a serial killer could watch my every microexpression. Even dissociating was a win for him. It proved he'd hurt me badly enough that I needed to retreat mentally. The motherf*cking son of a bitch had staged it so that no matter how this played out, I was going to suffer. I'd let him think it. If he thought I was too wounded, he might go for the kill prematurely. Then we'd see who was better. One of us would walk away, and by God, it was going to be me.

"Are you sure about this?"

"f*ck no, but we're doing it anyway. The longer I sit on my hands, the less chance the remaining victim has. We need to get into the house as soon as possible."

"I still don't think you should go further than the lobby," Zerbrowski said quietly. "The video will be hard enough. You don't need to see it in person."

My stomach churned, despite the careful rein I had on my emotions. "Why?"

"Because you know the victims."

My eyes closed briefly. Of course I did. I muttered a brief prayer for help before asking, "Who?"

"Hannah and Willie McCoy and the six other vampires they'd invited over for game night."

Not two victims then. Eight. Eight people I knew of, at least tangentially. Eight people who'd been targeted because of their proximity to me. Whose lives had been snuffed out, just to taunt me.

My words came out slow and measured, instead of the scream I wanted to give voice to.

"Show me."

Chapter 15 Notes:

CW: Brief descriptions of rape and torture.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

"You know we're going to get so much sh*t for this, right?" Zerbrowski said, pacing back and forth in front of me. He hadn't stopped wearing a pattern on the polished wood of the gabled porch.

I sighed. I knew. He was going to have to defend every action he made in court if Olaf wasn't accommodating enough to die resisting arrest. I'd worked with the department long enough to be a known quantity, even if I'd given up the badge. Kelly hadn't earned that. The legal system really hated letting civilians into their investigation.

"Do you have to hold hands with your girlfriend to watch these?" he asked.

"She's not my girlfriend," I said, tone sharper than I'd intended. It made Kelly flinch. I gave her hand a brief, reassuring squeeze in way of apology. "But I still need her."

"Why?" Zerbrowski demanded. "Why do you need to be holding hands to watch this sh*t? It seems really f*cking creepy if you ask me."

I might have said something scathing in reply, but Kelly jumped in, rubbing her fingers over my knuckles. I felt a corresponding roll from her beast like a lioness adjusting her pose on a rock. It immediately quelled the simmering anger. The energy was Haven's, and because Kelly was one of his lions, it was like holding hands with my animal to call by proxy. Haven couldn't actually see what I was seeing, but he could absorb the emotion. He could be my buffer if my careful control slipped.

"Lions are social animals. We don't do well alone. Touching is important, culturally. It's very soothing for us to be with one another. Think of me more like a therapy animal. I'm here to prevent a panic attack, nothing more. There will be no obnoxious PDAs, I promise."

Zerbrowski gave us both a suspicious look. Maybe it should have offended me that he thought I'd make out with Kelly on the job. Even if we'd been an item, I had some decorum. I wouldn't stick my tongue down her throat at a grisly murder scene.

"Therapy animal, huh?"

"I guess you could also describe me as a comfort object. I'm telling you the touch will ground her. It doesn't have to be holding hands. I could put a hand on her shoulder if you'd rather, but we need to be touching."

"Do that."

I preferred Kelly's gentle grip on my hand but didn't argue when she shifted it to my shoulder. To anyone watching, it would look like she was keeping me upright. God knew I had enough reasons to faint right now.

I'd been seated in front of the ring cam. I announced it when I pushed play, just to be sure Olaf knew to be watching and listening.

At first, the footage was shaky as the camera settled. I assumed he was using a tripod of some kind, based on the angle. I'd known enough film students to notice that he'd paid close attention to the staging of the room. He'd put thought and production value into this little charade, compounding the torture by letting the victims know it was for someone else's viewing pleasure.

Willie's living room wasn't as ostentatious as the outside of the house. The McMansion was more Hannah's speed. She was the epitome of a sophisticated lady, and her recent promotion in Jeanette's organization had made it possible to put a down payment on this house. I used to joke that Willie was the only untidy thing she let inside her world. He was flamboyant and cheerful, a bright splotch on an otherwise sterile white tablecloth.

When the camera finally focused, I saw Hannah's pale, drawn face. The pain and fear in her eyes made me want to bolt in the opposite direction. She was naked and unmarked, a sure sign he hadn't done much to her yet. But the look of fear on Hannah's face was so goddamn heartbreaking that it threatened to break me long before the rape happened. Because I was certain one was coming. Olaf was a sexual sad*st. He couldn't even get it up unless someone was in pain.

Kelly's fingers dug into my back just a little too hard as she reacted to the drama playing out on screen. She didn't have as much practice marshaling her fear and disgust into careful blankness. The sight disturbed her and it showed. I leaned into the harsh touch. The lioness in me understood Olaf was a predator, but not his cruelty. Most animals killed for specific reasons. Only man killed something slowly in order to hear it scream.

Specific visuals leaped out at me, but I committed the details to memory, instead of letting them wash over me in a chorus of blood and screams.

I noted when Olaf came on screen, dragging Willie behind him. Watched him fasten Willie's head in a silver alloy collar he'd installed at the table's edge. He forced Willie to watch him rape and torture Hannah until her healing factor ultimately gave out. I knew when she'd passed not because she stopped breathing, but because the luminous hue of her skin dimmed and discolored as true death took its due with interest. Only then did he put a sobbing Willie out of both of their misery by decapitating him. I looked away, rather than watch his body tumble limply to the ground. But I still heard his head hit the hardwood with a dull thump.

I swallowed back bile as the film continued. I recognized Betty, one of Jeanette's personal assistants, from the few times we'd met. I didn't know the third couple, but vaguely recognized the fourth as staff at the Circus of the Damned. Each met a similar fate. Rape, torture, kill, decapitate, and repeat. By the last member of the party, the numbness was cracking, threatening to give way to gibbering screams. I bit my tongue until I tasted blood. I would not give Olaf the satisfaction of hearing me scream.

"This vamp is the only one he left alive," he said, tapping the screen when Olaf dragged the final pair to the table and began his macabre ritual again.

I realized he must have supercut the footage together, giving me the highlights. In reality, this had taken place over many torturous hours as he came, recovered, and got hard again. He'd gone several rounds with each woman, letting me know without saying it aloud that he could stretch my humiliation over days or weeks if he wanted to.

The vamp in question was blonde and so battered that he wasn't immediately recognizable by his profile. I couldn't make out much of his face behind the blood sheeting over his face from a cut above one eye. Olaf had hit him hard enough that he probably wouldn't recover the use of that eye without a very deep feeding. I couldn't tell through the raw hamburger texture of his skin whether or not Olaf had used holy water. The man should have been in agony, but he didn't give Olaf the satisfaction of showing just how much moving hurt. He did let most of his weight rest against the table when his head had been secured, too exhausted from torture and blood loss to keep up the tough guy act for long. I could just make out the side of his face as Olaf attacked the unknown vamp.

I focused in on the man, rather than listen to the woman plead. It was callous of me, but I knew he wouldn't leave her alive. That meant the survivor was blondie. But why? Every single vampire had been roughed up, some burned for good measure, but only this one had been extensively tortured. Why? And why hadn't he healed better than this right now?

"Are we sure the blonde is a vamp?" I asked.

He was certainly pale enough. I'd thought so at first glance. But plenty of caucasian humans would be just as pale after a lot of blood loss. It would explain why his power hadn't kicked in and tried to do damage control. He didn't have those kinds of supernatural reserves.

"What do you mean?" Zerbrowski asked.

"You're assuming he's a vamp because he's pale and he was mixed in with a group of vamps. Until you see him up close, you can't be sure that he's not human. At the very least he isn't a vampire or a therian. Don't you see the collar? There should be a skin reaction when the silver rubs against his neck. I don't see it, just ligature marks. He was strangled, but he wasn't affected by the silver like the others."

"sh*t," Zerbrowski whispered. "So we have even less time than I thought."

"Yeah. How much longer on the video?"

"Eight more minutes." He raised his hands defensively when I gave him a hard look. "I wouldn't make you watch it if I didn't have to, Blake."

I sighed. "I know. Sorry. I'm grumpy."

"You're entitled to be."

I forced myself to breathe, lean into Kelly's touch, and watch the last eight minutes. Olaf left his message on the flat, ivory planes of the female vampire's stomach. He dipped his finger in the blood and wrote in neat letters, Der Tod ist nicht tot.

"Death is not dead," I muttered under my breath.

Zerbrowski's breath came out on a relieved exhale. "You know German. Good. I was afraid I was going to have to wait another half hour for the unit's translator to get out here."

"I only know enough to have a brief conversation and ask for things in emergency situations. I'm not a native speaker. Have someone else confirm, but I'm pretty sure that's what it says."

"Death is not dead," he mused. "That's poetic, I guess. Too poetic for a guy like this. Most of the serial killers I've encountered aren't exactly thespian types. Does that have any significance to you, Blake? I can't imagine he means it literally."

Unless he did. The breath froze in my lungs when the implications hit home. Death as a concept was unkillable, which could always have been the intended double meaning. But I knew a more literal, more mortal Death too.

"Oh my God," I whispered before I could stop myself. "It's Edward."

Notes:

Sorry guys, I completely dropped the ball about trigger warnings in this chapter so I added one, sorry if you went in without it and it caused distress.

Chapter 16 Chapter Text

"Sit the f*ck down," Zerbrowski muttered, though there wasn't much life in the words. This was the umpteenth time he'd said them. "You're making me dizzy."

"Then close your eyes," I snapped, making another circuit around the waiting room. I detested the University Hospital's decor. I'd seen the ultramodern sensibilities once too often in the past few years. Everyone I cared about kept trying to die on me.

"I second the motion," Kelly said quietly from the other corner of the room.

She'd moved away from me not long after I arrived. It wasn't personal. My energy was running hot and cold, which was sure to rile her lioness. Magic as large and uncontrolled as mine could be the metaphysical hurricane and animals knew to hunker down when there was an incoming storm. I was trying to get a handle on it for her sake, but I could barely think past the panic clawing at the inside of my skull.

Olaf had taken the most capable man I'd ever met, the closest thing I had to a best friend, and reduced him to a broken husk. There was evidence of severe torture done over the course of months. He'd lost over a hundred pounds. Not a single bone had been left unbroken. Olaf had put out his eyes and amputated several toes. If it weren't for the traces of therianthropy in Edward's system, he wouldn't have lasted as long as he had. And in the end, he'd tried to put a bullet through Edward's skull to end it before I ever arrived at the scene. Make me watch his horrific home movie and then rob me of the reward he'd promised. If it weren't for the metal plate fused to Edward's skull from a previous assassination attempt, it might have worked. Instead, the bullet had skimmed the inside of his skull and exited in a bloody but non-lethal wound.

The shot had missed anything critical in his brain, but it wasn't a guarantee he'd live. The traces of the virus in his blood were high enough that it would have turned anyone else, but Edward was in bad shape. He had to survive long enough for the disease to spread if he was going to pull through. The doctors weren't optimistic that they could keep him alive long enough for it to work.

"Sit, Miss Blake," a voice ordered from just behind me.

I turned quickly at the sound of a familiar voice, hand flying to the grip of my Browning before I could stop myself. I wasn't even consciously aware of why the intruder's voice spooked me so much, but when I took in the figure standing just a few feet away, I understood. Some things weren't about logic. They were gut instinct, a primal need to survive the predator coming for you.

Arthur Van Cleef wasn't a tall or well-dressed man. He looked like any of the detectives crowding the hall around Edward's room. He'd chosen a green button-down to compliment the strawberry blonde of his hair. He had the broad shoulders of a college linebacker but the temperament of a lion in the long grass, just waiting to pounce.

Kelly seemed to sense it too, because I caught her edging away from the man on reflex. It wasn't as violent a reaction to the man as mine, but that was only because she didn't know him. Only a small network of people knew who he really was, and of that network, I was one of only a handful who'd met him in person.

Van Cleef flashed me his trademark smile, all superficial charm devoid of any real meaning. We'd taken the measure of each other in New Mexico. He scared the sh*t out of me, even when he was on my side. Van Cleef just seemed amused and a little indulgent where I was concerned. At the moment, he didn't feel like calling me back into service, but the request was coming. Olaf's presence here changed things.

Zerbrowski tensed, coming out of his chair as Van Cleef approached. If anyone else in the room had a better radar for bad guys than I did, it would be Zerbrowski. He hid his intelligence and insight behind jokes and inappropriate come-ons. I suspected he'd be too intense without that facade.

I forced myself to move my hand away from my gun and repeat the reasons why shooting him was a bad idea. It didn't help Edward. It would probably get anyone within earshot of us killed. OIaf was still out there, and I couldn't help his victims if I was dead or in jail for shooting a federal agent. I wasn't sure who he was masquerading as today, but he'd be someone important.

"I don't work for you anymore, Arthur," I said, trying to keep my tone as respectful as I could make it. It wasn't an effort I'd have put on for anyone else. But Van Cleef scared me enough I could force a level of politeness.

The smile only broadened. "You never stopped working for me. I'm just giving you time and space to come to terms with that."

Zerbrowski came level with me after a moment and cast a cautious look my way. "Do you know this guy?"

I was saved the effort of trying to figure out what to tell Zerbrowski when Van Cleef stepped forward and offered a hand.

"Arthur Van Cleef, though for the purposes of this mission, you may simply refer to me as Van Cleef. You haven't earned a first-name basis with me. Few ever do."

I stared at him, bug-eyed. I'd been expecting to do a game of awkward side-stepping to weasel out of Zerbrowski's questions. The truth may have set me free, but it had also shoved me into a pile of dog sh*t as I made my way out the door. Why the hell had Van Cleef given his real name? Wasn't he afraid of someone overhearing? Of the cameras picking up on the conversation?

The lines around Van Cleef's eyes fanned out in amusem*nt when he caught me rubbernecking, praying no one was around to see or hear what he'd just said. The last time he'd introduced himself, he'd done so in the privacy of a hospital room with the door closed. Now, anyone could overhear.

"I have men stationed at either end of the hall impeding traffic long enough to have this conversation. I will keep things brief. I'm here to apprehend Pestilence. He's not only tarnished the name of my organization, he has profaned our sacred duties, and has injured one of my most prized warriors. If I need your expertise, I will call you in, but until then, I want you out of it. I won't lose another Horseman to this senseless slaughter."

"Warriors?" Zerbrowski echoed. "Duties? Pestilence? What the hell is he talking about, Anita?"

I realized with a sinking feeling that I was about to have a long and unpleasant conversation with Zerbrowski soon. It had been difficult enough to have the talk with Doucette, an FBI agent I'd known a relatively short amount of time. With our history, telling Zerbrowski just how compromised I'd become would be a special kind of hell.

"What am I allowed to tell him?" I asked, my voice tight with the tension I wasn't allowing myself to show. "I'm not getting him or his family killed because you didn't specify just how detailed I could be."

Though he didn't say anything to that, I could feel the weight of Zerbrowski's suspicion like a millstone around my neck. Whatever happened next was going to hurt, I just knew it.

Van Cleef considered it with another of those benign smiles. It failed to reach his pale eyes. Zerbrowski was practically vibrating with tension beside me. He knew a psychopath when he saw one. Paired with his zealotry, it made him a downright chilling enemy to have. He was a man who didn't see people as people. He saw people as pieces to be sacrificed to attain a greater goal. Zerbrowski was smart enough to be afraid, but not aware enough to pack up his kids and flee the state.

"The organization's goals and personnel pertinent to this case will be enough. Anything else would need to be negotiated. He doesn't meet the standards to join."

"Join what?" Zerbrowski burst out. "What the hell are you two talking about?"

I sucked in a deep breath and thought about how to phrase it before settling on, "Van Cleef runs the bastard child of a mafia and a black ops team. He works with various governments and militaries to dispatch troublesome supernatural creatures or threats. To fund themselves, they sometimes take regular hits. He won't have a file. Officially, he doesn't exist. But if you try to interfere, he can ruin you in less than an hour. He's not our boss's boss. He's basically our senator's boss. If we don't work with him, he has the power to make us pay for it."

"So this bastard is blackmailing you into his...what? Cult?" Zerbowski demanded. I wanted to shush him. Though he wasn't talking loudly, it felt like a shout inside the sparse confines of the waiting room.

"Something like that," Van Cleef said, smile never budging.

I wasn't sure why he was lying for me, but I'd take it. Having Dolph witness my moral decay from the hereafter was bad enough. I didn't want to lose another friend to my bad choices. One day I'd tell Zerbrowski the truth. One day I'd let him know I was sorry. But not today. Not while Olaf was at large and Edward was lying in a hospital bed barely clinging to life.

I needed one goddamn friend. So sue me.

"Take him somewhere private for the rest of the talk, Blake," Van Cleef called, turning his back on us. "The walls have ears, you know."

I had a feeling I could have shouted the explanation to Zerbrowski then and there and he'd still have found a way to keep things under wraps. But why tempt fate?

"Let's get out of here," I muttered, seizing Zerbrowski's hand, and dragging him toward the lobby. "I need some goddamn coffee."

Chapter 17 Chapter Text

"Stop cranking up the AC," Zerbrowski snapped, slapping my hand away from the dial. "If it gets any colder my balls are going to turn blue and drop off. You'll have to explain to Katie why two of her favorite parts are gone."

I could have made a snide comment about that but kept any uncharitable thoughts to myself. If I found out that Zerbrowski was living a double life and hadn't clued me in, I would have been pissed. Especially if I thought he'd been forced into unlawful actions by coercion. He was a good man and a dedicated cop. It would offend his personal sensibilities that I hadn't come to him when I was in trouble.

"It's too hot in here," I replied, tugging at my collar.

Sweat was gathering in my collarbones, as though God had cranked the thermostat up to ninety, just for me. I would have thought I was having a hot flash, but I was about thirty years too early for menopause, and not on medications that should cause them. Kelly didn't seem bothered by the temperature, and Zerbrowski kept insisting he was cold.

"Are you kidding? It's a deep freeze. Leave the dial alone or so help me I'll throw you in the back and cuff you."

Again, I stayed silent. I felt like a heel for lying to him. I just couldn't lose another friend at this juncture. I'd sort of counted on him and Ronnie to be my buffer for all this wedding stuff, happily mocking the corporate bullsh*t that came with the industry.

I sank lower in my seat, staring at the iced coffee he'd bought like it held all the answers to life's questions. What it really held was too much sugar and an unhealthy amount of espresso shots. Zerbrowski's steaming cup sat in the holder between us, pouring heat over my elbow. As if I needed to be warmer. It really was hot in here.

Zerbrowski sucked in a deep breath and held it, screwing his eyes shut when we reached a red light. He massaged one temple, keeping the other hand on the wheel, much to my relief. He let the breath out just as slowly and finally said, "Talk."

"You're going to have to be more specific," I said.

Yes, I was hedging and I knew it. I hated lying. I hated being indirect and I hated doing it to my friends most of all. No matter what Van Cleef said, I still thought revealing this was a bad idea. It could drag Zerbrowski into a compromised position. It could cost him his career or even his life. But he wouldn't let this go, now that he was aware of even a sliver of what I'd been up to.

"Don't bullsh*t me, Anita. The dash and body cams are off. Tell me the truth. All of it for once."

I eyed him narrowly. "Isn't turning off the cameras illegal?"

"It's frowned upon," he agreed. "But not as taboo as working with an extra-governmental body to kill American citizens. How the hell did you get involved in that in the first place?"

I didn't think telling him I'd been scouted like a promising athlete would go over well. Edward had appeared in my life at the behest of Van Cleef years ago. He'd trained me. Helped shape me into who I was today. In a way, I owed my current lifestyle to Van Cleef. If I hadn't become the Executioner, I wouldn't have been half as appealing to Jeanette. I wouldn't be her servant. I'd probably be six feet underground many times over without her marks.

"It's a long story and we don't have the time for it today. I know it sounds like a cop out but trust me. There are parts you just don't want to know. And I haven't been killing American citizens. Most of my jobs were in Mexico and Central America. A lot of high-ranking members of the cartels."

The people I had killed on American soil had been monsters, people I would have had a warrant for if the law even knew they existed. But again, it wasn't a nugget of information that would sway Zerbrowski, so I kept it to myself.

He snorted. "Oh, so just an international incident then. No biggie."

"You're being awful cynical, Zerbrowski."

He laughed. There wasn't a lot of life in it. For once, he almost sounded bitter. It would have been more Dolph's speed, but he wasn't here. That was my fault too. I'd gotten him killed. I wanted to keep Zerbrowski out of this, just in case history was tempted to repeat itself.

"Why on earth would I be cynical? It's not like I found out one of my friends has been blackmailed into being a goddamn assassin for a cult that uses code names and infiltrates governments. Why the hell would I be worried about that?"

I wished the scenery outside our window was more picturesque. I'd have a reason not to look him in the eye. I forced myself to do it because it scared me. I'd been to enough therapy to know I had an avoidant personality. If I could have skipped this, I would, but Zerbrowski deserved better than that from me. He deserved as much of the truth as I could tell him.

"They call themselves the Order of Lyonesse," I said. "Apparently, the secret society can trace its roots to pre-Saxon England. They were a mixture of early Christian beliefs and pagan rituals. They used seals to trap the old gods, clearing the way for monotheism in most of Europe and all the places they colonized. Anything they couldn't bind or kill, they've been trapping in special containment units. Remember the snake that threatened the city? That was one monster that they captured."

"And they did a bang-up job containing it," he muttered. He definitely sounded bitter. I couldn't blame him. Everyone lost someone during Apep's brief reign of terror. There'd been over a hundred casualties in the St. Louis supernatural community alone.

"I don't think they factored in a million-year-old hom*o erectus vampire into the equation when they made the cage. Oliver called snakes. It would have come to him no matter what, or kill itself trying."

Zerbrowski shuddered. "It creeps me the f*ck out the way they can do that. I had a vampire swarm me with rats once. They just started pouring out of the alley, the storm drains, and even some nearby businesses. I thought I was going to go out being eaten alive by rodents. What a f*cking sh*tty epitaph, right?"

I nodded, seconding the motion. I was grateful Nikolaos had never tried that trick on me. She could have. Rats were her animal. I'd be forever grateful that Jeanette called wolves. There just weren't enough of them in the area to form a mob and kill people. Asher's animal was even rarer in these parts. I dreaded the day when I faced someone who could call something comparatively mundane, like rats or bats.

"The point is," I continued. "Their main focus seems to be on eradicating monsters that prey on humans. I can kind of see their point on that one, but I don't approve of their methods. There are better ways. The problem is, I don't think it's the kind of job you leave. It's like the mafia. Once you're brought into the family, the only way you leave is in a hearse."

"Jesus," he breathed. "What the f*ck does he have on you?"

The lives of everyone I cared about. Olaf would keep coming for me. He'd slaughtered an entire dinner party just to prove a point. He had no scruples and no stopping point. He wouldn't leave town until one of us was dead. I wasn't sure I could beat Olaf without help. If Edward had been captured, what chance did I have? Nigh-immortal Death was lying in the ICU, and it was a miracle he was there and not in the morgue.

"I can't talk about it," I said, voice squeezed tight with emotion.

Zerbrowski took another deep breath, trundling forward when the light turned green. The sudden acceleration startled me, and Zerbrowski actually smiled faintly when I gave a girlish gasp. He seemed tickled pink that I had a phobia of reckless driving.

"Fine. Tell me what I'm dealing with. Do I really have to work with this guy?"

"I think so. He's going to have incredible resources. Intelligence, gear, personnel. It's like freaking Bond down there. I've had access to military research that is decades ahead of anything the public has. You're going to need that to catch Olaf. It stings like a son of a bitch to swallow your pride and take his orders, but at this point, I think it's the only way you win."

Zerbrowski muttered a curse under his breath. "And what's he like? Personally, I mean."

I shrugged. "I've only met him in person once. I can only tell you what Edward knows about him."

Zerbrowski tilted his head again. "That's the second time you've called Forrester Edward. Is he one too?"

sh*t. I hadn't meant to out Edward to Zerbrowski on top of everything else. Recognizing him had been automatic and unthinking. This was a less tense situation. I should have been able to guard my tongue better.

"Yeah, he's sort of my mentor. He created the Executioner, in part."

Zerbrowski shook his head with a sad smile. "You know, there are days when I feel like a sh*tty friend."

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Because I'm grateful that you're the Executioner. It's twisted, Anita. I like you. You're my friend. I hate that you've been hurt so much. But I depend on you to be who you are now, and you had to go through all of that to become this. Is it sh*tty to be grateful that you are who you are? That I wouldn't trade your suffering for the hundreds of lives you've saved by being the Executioner?"

My chest squeezed tight and my voice sounded small when I said, "No. I think of it the same way. It sucked when it was happening, but it did change me. It made me who I am, and I'm okay with it most days."

"Good."

There was a beat of good-natured silence before he added, "Edward was your Obi-Wan?"

"Something like that. When I met him, he went by Edward. His legal name is Theodore Forrester. He's ex-military, a big game hunter, and the Horseman known as Death."

"There's that word again. Please tell me that the naming schema isn't what I think."

I grinned. "It's exactly what you think. There are four of us."

"Us?" Zerbrowski said, pouncing on the word. "You're one of these Horsem*n? What does that entail?"

And this was why I hadn't wanted to talk to Zerbrowski. He could be scarily insightful, intuiting the truth with very little to go on. Part of me was convinced he had a borderline psychic gift related to sensing honesty.

I shrugged again. "It's based on kill count and seniority. I've only been War for a year. It seems to be a kind of rank. Think lords beneath a monarch. Commanders with resources and personnel but not the ones in charge. The last I knew, Edward was hunting down Olaf. If you'd asked me yesterday, I would have put money down on Edward winning that fight. But now..." I shook my head. "I don't know. I just don't f*cking know."

I reached for the dial of the air conditioner as the heat in the car seemed to double. Sweat poured in a line down my spine and gathered in the waistband of my jeans. The air was baking, thinning it until there was barely enough to draw breath. I spasmed, throat seizing, mouth going bone dry as the power blistered through my head. I must have screamed at some point. I knew I must have lost time because when I came to, the car was idling on the side of the road. I'd flopped limply against the window. Zerbrowski was shaking me.

"Anita! Damn it, Anita! Talk to me!"

"Too hot," I mumbled, slurring the words together as I melted beneath the sun. "Air...I need air. It's too hot."

"Anita, it's frigid! What's wrong?"

I didn't know. I couldn't think. I couldn't get enough air. The fire was everywhere.

Fire. That one word was enough to jerk me free of Jeanette's grip. I recoiled from the thought of being burned again. I'd already had skin fuse with my clothing before. I remembered the debilitating pain. If there was anything I feared more than a car crash it was a housefire.

I'd been drawn like matter to a black hole as Jeanette drew on every reserve she had to stay alive in the midst of an inferno. The car was bitterly cold, instantly gelling the sweat against my spine. I wasn't the one who was baking in the heat or gasping for air.

It was Jeanette. Somehow, some way, an assassin had gotten past security. They'd opened a window in another vampire's room. The fire was raging before she'd woken. With the sun beating down mercilessly just outside, she had only two choices. Burn inside or step outside and burn there.

I felt her contemplate it. Felt it when she carefully peeled away from every link she had and composed herself. I knew that she was trying to protect me from the consequences of her choice.

"No!" I screamed.

Jeanette took a deep breath and stepped into the sun.

Chapter 18 Chapter Text

I stayed with her every second she burned. It only took three minutes, according to Zerbrowski. He had to say something to explain the grand mal seizure I had in his passenger seat. It felt like an eternity. A burning, agonizing eternity bathed in hellfire. It was almost enough to convince her that there was an afterlife, and she'd landed in the depths of Tartarus.

I stayed with her, though she pleaded for me to leave. I burned with her. No one deserved to die that way, and certainly not alone. If she had to pass through hellfire, by God I was going too. It was what I deserved for leaving her alone in the first place. If I'd been in the room, I would have smelled smoke earlier than she had. I would have been able to get her to safety.

If I'd been with her, she'd still be alive.

The link between us flickered with every scream until it felt like someone was jerking me around by a choke collar. I didn't allow myself to scream until it went slack, and the bond went utterly, heartlessly silent. It didn't sink completely in until Richard began calling me incessantly. I tried to answer his panicked questions, but all that came out at the time was a guttural, animal sound of pain.

I wasn't sure who sedated me or when, but when I woke I was wearing restraints. Zerbrowski explained that I'd tried to attack the staff and hadn't spoken an intelligible word for a week. I also kept trying to get out, despite the utter defeat that had flattened me. A complete psychotic break, they said. The human brain wasn't supposed to experience the pain of burning alive without you know, dying after.

Truthfully, reality didn't hold much appeal. In my head, I could dream up a world where my mother hadn't raised me like a pig for slaughter. In my head, Edward wasn't at death's door. In my head, I hadn't felt Jeanette crumble into a pile of warped bones and ash.

I heard they had a funeral and buried what was left in my backyard, but I didn't ask where. It didn't matter. Everything that had made her unique was gone, burned away in the light of day. It was just a body now.

There was a carousel of visitors at first, but it had trickled down to only a brave handful as the days ticked by. I kept throwing things at anyone but Ronnie, Richard, and Zerbrowski. Sleeping or waking, it was all the same. I didn't really understand what they were saying. I just kept trying to get up and go. I wasn't even sure where I was going. I just knew I had to get out and go...elsewhere.

It wasn't a friend who pulled me out of the gauzy curtain of numbness I clung to. It was an enemy. A voice I'd never wanted to hear again.

"Oh honestly, mija. I thought you were better than this."

My head turned mechanically, on autopilot. For the first time since the burning, I felt my body fully. Felt the tension sing through my veins, coiling every muscle for fight or flight. I knew who I'd see sitting at my bedside, but I had to be sure. I wasn't in my right mind.

A zombie had perched primly on the chair, so close that her knees brushed my bedclothes. Ilsa Bennington had been a blonde, but Dominga Salvador had dyed her hair chestnut brown. The makeup was understated but managed to sculpt her features into near unrecognizability. If I hadn't felt the quivering line between us, I would have had to ask for a name.

"What the f*ck are you doing here?" I demanded.

Well, I tried to. My voice was hoarse. I hadn't spoken in anything less than a scream for days. Olaf would have laughed himself sick if he could see me like this. For all I knew, he had. Killing my fiancee would be the coup de grace of his plan. I wondered who he'd paid to open the window. One of the cleaning crew? A member of Humans First? Had he done it himself? I just wasn't sure.

Dominga smiled. It looked chilling on Ilsa Bennington's face. I noted a healing scar on the cheek. It wasn't visible unless the skin pulled in the opposite direction. Max had gotten a few digs in before he escaped.

"You are my master, Anita. I came because you called for me."

Bullsh*t. I was too far gone to use any of my psychic powers. Though I was tempted to try to send her away. The last thing I needed was to be scolded by one of the most evil necromancers I'd ever encountered, beaten only in sadism by her son.

"I didn't do anything of the sort."

She laughed. It was airy and touchable but had nothing on the almost textile quality of Jeanette's voice. It was a music I knew that I would never be good enough to commit to paper. I was afraid even my memory wouldn't be enough to contain it. I was human. Falible. Without her, there was no eternity. Just a short human lifespan and oblivion afterward.

"You called out for me the moment your woman began to burn. Perhaps only in the back of your mind, but you called nonetheless. You wanted options. I'm here to give them to you."

My throat squeezed tight around fresh screams. I wasn't sure if I was going to tell her to get out or beg her to instruct me on the particulars.

"There are no options," I managed at last. "She's ash."

"And bone," Dominga said. "And you were so caught up in your own sulk that you didn't even bother to examine them."

"What the f*ck are you talking about?"

She leaned forward, clearly reveling in the fact she could tastefully flash the assets of her new body in my direction. Ilsa was attractive for a woman in her late forties or early fifties. The body was younger and in better shape than she'd been when we'd met last.

"The bones, Anita. I can feel her in the bones. She isn't dead unless you decide she is."

I tried to sit up, and only ended up sending a spasm of pain up my arms and back as the restraints pulled taut. If she weren't a zombie on my tether, Dominga would probably have used the opportunity to smother me with a pillow.

"What are you talking about? That's not possible."

"You are a necromancer and she is a goddess. If you believe in the word impossible, you aren't the person I thought you were."

She knew how to bring her back. Dominga knew how to put Humpty Dumpty back together again.

"Tell me how to do it."

Dominga raised a brow at me. "Is that an order, Master?"

"It is. Tell me."

And she did.

Deadly Devotion - Redgeandlilly - Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter (2024)

Chapter 1

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Chapter 2

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Chapter 3

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Chapter 4

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Chapter 5

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Chapter 6

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Chapter 7

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Chapter 8

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Chapter 9

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Chapter 10

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Chapter 11

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Chapter 12

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Chapter 13

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Chapter 14

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Chapter 15

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Chapter 16

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Chapter 17

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Chapter 18

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References