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Write your own comment on this book! What do you think? Write your own comment on this book Please Login or Register to write comments or use smm accounts Log in Log in Log in. Write a comment. Banks 4. The Bitten by L. The Forbidden by L. The Shadows by L. The Hunted by L. The Damned by L. Lover Awakened by JR Ward 4. Lover Eternal by JR Ward 4. Dark Lover by JR Ward 4. Lover Unbound by JR Ward 4. DreamFever by Karen Marie Moning 4. Lover Revealed by JR Ward 4.
Sarah's hand clutched the satchel and her feet never consulted her brain as she moved forward, rounding the mansion to the back door that was surprisingly unlocked. The mansion was eerily quiet as she slipped into the darkness within. Money, power How could a man she'd loved with all her heart and soul do this to her? How could he live such a lie, allow her to bear a child for him?
How could he do this to his baby girl? New tears replenished the salty stream that had dried on Sarah's face. She'd loved Armand Richards since they were children, and had never known any other man in the world but him. Her footsteps took her through the house, each room making her walk more quickly as she saw sumptuous wealth - but not her husband. She hurried up the winding staircase toward the upper levels of the mansion, listening intently for the sounds of her husband in the throes of passion, but heard nothing.
Every well-appointed room was vacant. The seer had been wrong. Armand was not here. But it was clear that her husband had been here at one time. Perhaps he and his man-friend were out on the town, or secluded in another love nest? Sarah's mind took a sinister turn; she squeezed her eyes shut as she saw them naked together. Bile rose within her throat as images of her husband with this seductive man lacerated her spirit. This had to be fixed! This was the only way. The opportunity their absence provided was perfect.
She would do what she had to do - go into the wine cellar, the base of the house, and cast the spell. Sarah covered her heart and said a prayer for her child, and asked for forgiveness. She knew her prescription was wrong as she tiptoed down the long hallway, found the stairs, and descended to the first floor.
The long walk gave her time to explain with contrition that she had to do something, could not just sit and wait for this to be made right. All she asked was that Father God would understand and spare her baby girl - despite what it said in the Good Book about soothsayers and spell-casters This was a special case, and He had to understand her desperation.
Her bare feet stung with the cuts and abrasions she sustained from walking, crazed, through the woods, over bramble, across driveway gravel for five miles in the dark. The bag of black magic weighed heavily in her hand as she shifted the bulk of it onto her hip, extracted a black candle and a small box of stick matches, lit the candle, then clumsily stowed away the matches, and resumed her slow descent down into the damp cavern of the first level of the mansion.
Slick stone walls reflected the light from the sputtering flame, and the coolness of the room belied the humidity that made her summer robe and gown cling to her skin. Perspiration due to her shattered nerves seeped from her pores, sending a rivulet of adrenaline-filled sweat between her breasts and down her back. Undaunted, she began making the circle in the dirt, using the butcher knife to carve the strange star shape that the old woman had drawn for her on a crumpled piece of paper.
Sarah's lips moved with purpose as she opened the Mason jar and splashed blood from the gutted rooster upon each point of the star. And as she set each black candle in place, and closed her eyes, constantly murmuring, the floor beneath her began to move. Immediately plumes of thick, yellowish smoke rose, choking her in a sulfuric, blackening haze.
The rack of wine bottles on the wall began to explode, sending shards of glass to cover her. Splinters from flying wood and glass cut into her skin like shrapnel. A scream choked by spit, terror, and smoke was torn from her throat as she ran and huddled in a corner against the wall.
Fallon Nuit contained his amusement as his strategy took root. Providence of this magnitude couldn't have been conjured by the highest sorcerers of old. A fluke. A variable. A tiny rip in the fabric of supernatural law, all caused by a frightened, but foolish, woman.
Jealousy had ironically released the green-eyed monster within her - along with another, more dangerous entity that the poor human creature obviously hadn't anticipated A gross oversight. They couldn't keep him incarcerated for a violation of their staunch, outdated High Council rules, as they had planned. There were things that even vampires frowned upon.
Then again, there was this variable called luck. That gives me the right - " "No," Nuit replied with a lethal warning between his teeth. The snakelike creature appeared stunned, then outraged. However, when it offered no rebuttal, Nuit pressed on, his hunger for the fresh taste of blood, stoked by the scent of the frail female human trying to hide herself in the corner of his wine cellar, notwithstanding.
But I am a man of reason. Fair exchange is no robbery. The club was jumping so hard it seemed like even the walls were sweating. The bass thumping from the extensive speaker system was like an insistent heartbeat that she could feel vibrating through the floor and smoke-thickened air until it entered her body through the soles of her feet.
Dirty aqua-colored paint peeled at the corners of the cramped space, as though it was trying to escape the throbbing scene. She glanced around at the ugly, stained brown sofa, and the sparse collection of wooden and metal chairs, immediately opting to stand rather than flop on any of the seating choices. How many performers' body funk had been permanently tattooed on that sorry excuse for a couch, she wondered? Even the one mirror in the room was covered with a white, filmy layer of grime.
And people thought this was the glamorous life? She, Mar-lene, and a five-man squad crammed into a dump. Sweat, icy yet burning, made her clothes stick to her skin. Her heavily beaded, Nzinga queen warrior headdress had suddenly become an intolerable weight on her damp scalp. Damali roughly removed it, tossing it onto a chair, and she held her shoulder-length locks up off her neck to give her overheated body a much-needed waft of air.
The semiprecious stone and lion's teeth adornments, affixed to her locks with silver and copper wire, gently clinked as she moved her hair.
She grimaced at the sound that was now too close to her skull. All five feet seven inches of her felt on fire. Being an artist was great, but this was no way to live. I'm sensing many. Her vocal chords still ached from the intense performance, so she kept her response short.
Besides, what else was there to say to her manager, who was like a surrogate mother to their group? Damali and Marlene shared a glance.
They both knew what had to be done. Things were heating up. Before, one vamp might follow them, at most two.
But ever since they'd turned the tables and went on the offensive a couple of times, seeking out the action instead of waiting for it to come to them, nothing had been the same.
The rare random ambushes were now becoming a regular phenomenon. Valuable junior team members had been lost because if it. Irritation coiled within Damali. She'd told Marlene this shit would go down like that once they started hunting. Shoulda let sleeping dogs lie.
Marlene shot her a look that said don't start. Screw Marlene and her pious yang. Not tonight. Sure, she loved Mar like a mom and all, but wasn't feeling sister-girl right now. Yeah, they only went after vampires that were acting up. But that wasn't the point. What did you say? I thought it, and you didn't hear me in your head. But I'm able to read you loud and clear. That concerns me. She felt invaded. The past is the past. It's done now, anyway. Drop it. They're becoming more frequent, aren't they?
You could have sent that to me without a word. More than likely they'd let the bullshit pass, because she and Marlene were always at it. Instead of answering Marlene, Damali forced her attention toward the Native American flutes, cowbells, and chimes that rested against large conga drums in the corner of the room. Her gaze scanned the sharp, titanium-based, silver-plated anchors that held the drumhead skins in place. She refused to answer Marlene's question.
She didn't feel like dealing with that crap right now. There was something making the hair stand up on the back of her neck. Tonight, the drum anchors were going in her belt, even if that music gear was Jose's, a.
He was da bomb in concert, but he didn't know how to use the disguised weapons as well as she did out in the streets. Summoning inner strength, Damali blocked Marlene's intrusion into her thoughts.
She'd give Marlene a mental blank to consider while taking her time to figure out how to better arm herself. The crew was so quiet it was eerie. That was not her team's normal behavior after a gig. The walls of the tiny room felt like they were closing in on her, swallowing her crew whole.
Damali studied her weapons options. Maybe a few silver-plated chimes would be a safe bet, too? Jose could do his thing on crossbow, his favorite weapon anyway. A sister could back somethin' up off her with the dagger-edges off the drum anchors and chimes, if it got crazy out there - same deal with the cymbals.
Even though she reminded herself that when a cymbal disc was thrown dead-aim the edge was sharp enough to slice paper without hearing it rip, that fact didn't make her feel better tonight.
Why not? Her gaze instantly went to the Fender- - Jake Rider's electric guitar, and to Shabazz's bass, and then to Marlene's electric violin. Marlene's line of vision followed Damali's for a moment before Marlene began assisting the others with equipment breakdown. As Marlene moved to work with Shabazz, renewed tension wound its way up Damali's spine.
Yeah, they'd better restring the instruments and put in the steel cables across the reinforced metal bridges. Tonight felt like a crossbow-necessary night, and the string instruments were easier to roll with. She might even get Wizard to hook up the light poles through the phony strap loops to lock and load additional crossbows. But Marlene needed to give up the walking stick as her only protection.
Sistah better recognize, and deal with her violin like it had been designed - put the steel-based bow across the bridge and be ready to rock.
It felt like they'd need the light cannons out there, too, although at the moment, she couldn't exactly say why. She walked over to the drums and ignored the look Marlene cast in her direction. The dense scent of frankincense, sage, and myrrh had trailed into the room behind her from the stage. Damali licked her parched lips, tasting salt on them, and tried to inhale the protective fragrance, but felt herself almost retch. Usually the aroma calmed her, its elements anointing her stage space - a required opening before a purple haze of dry-ice smoke was released as she'd enter a performance and claim it.
The ring of holy water which had been poured around her in libation to bring forth the ancestors to channel-speak through her, and to encircle her while she spat out the truth of injustice, did not infuse her marrow with unshakable confidence tonight. Heavy bass still throbbed in her skull, now cranking the growing headache to a new decibel level with the ongoing club music that quaked the walls.
Being a vampire huntress was no way to live. Damali just nodded. The crew resumed motion, but kept glancing at her from the corners of their eyes. She wanted to get back to the compound, where they stowed off the hook weapons. The equipment they took on the road was disguised enough to get through new airport security screenings, which meant it wasn't the real heavy artillery. And, yeah, it would be enough to stop a few predators. But if her senses were right, they were in for sho 'nuff action tonight.
The problem was, she couldn't half see. Her normal sight was fine, but inside her head, everything was blurry. Her third-eye was down. Had been that way for a couple of weeks, like static on a television. Intermittent static. Sometimes her mental radar was crystal clear, but at other times, like tonight, it was all snow. She hated this bull. Her crew stared at her. One by one they nodded, but nobody said a word.
Damn, it was hot in there. For some reason, the air-conditioned confines didn't cool her off either. Her skin-tight, thigh-slit leather pants felt like they were suffocating her, while the ropes of semiprecious amulets and stones set in thick silver around her wrists, and especially about her neck, began feeling like a humid noose. She began stripping them off, ignoring Marlene's expression of disapproval.
The necklaces were practically strangling her. She'd have to chance having her throat exposed, just so she could breathe. Unable to bear the weight of it, Damali cast off her wide silver belt, and the clatter of it against a nearby coffee table almost made her cringe from the piercing sound of metal connecting with the wood.
The ankh earrings of amber and silver and onyx had to come off - they were all too heavy, no matter what Marlene said about the protective talismans that hung as guards to her jugular. Everything felt like it was holding on to her, grasping at her. She couldn't breathe!
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