Loved (House of Night Other World #1)(37)

“Mother. Once and for all. I. Am. Not. Human.”

Aphrodite didn’t yell. She didn’t do anything except stand up to her bat-shit-crazy mom. But she shimmered with power in a way I’d never seen until that moment, as if Nyx had sprinkled glitter over her.

Mrs. LaFont shrank back from her, staggering several steps before turning and rushing off toward Twenty-First Street.

Darius started to follow her, but Aphrodite’s cool voice stopped him.

“Let her go.”

The Warrior paused. “But the creatures are out there. They could kill her.”

Aphrodite nodded tightly. “Yes. They could. And that would be exactly what she deserves.”

“You might want to rethink—” I began, but she stopped me.

“No. I might not. Let’s go, High Priestess. We have an emergency situation to deal with, and saving my mother is not part of it.”

“All righty then,” I said. “Let’s go.”

Like he didn’t weigh much more than a child, Darius picked up the unconscious Jack, and we headed up the stone stairs to join our friends.

Aphrodite pulled on my sleeve as we crossed the bloody circle. “I was wrong about the vision,” she told me, speaking softly and quickly. “It wasn’t Damien’s death that I witnessed.”

I gave her a question-mark look. “I don’t understand.”

“Nyx sent me a vision of my own death.”

I felt the jolt of shock and stared at her. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means whatever this cluster fuck is, it isn’t as simple as us getting rid of zombie red vampyres and making sure Damien doesn’t lose his damn mind over zombie Jack. It means I’m at the heart of this mess, not Damien. And if a Prophetess of Nyx is being targeted, we could be looking at something much darker than we thought.”

“Ah, hell,” I said.





12


General Dominick


There was a dark, feral intelligence that went with the horde. It wasn’t a community consciousness, though they did share thoughts, as their psychic gifts were vast. At the moment they were released from the spell that rent the fabric of their world, transporting them to an alternative reality, two thoughts were foremost in their minds—feed and flee to the tunnels!

Dominick led them. He’d been the first to enter the strange opening, drawn by the scent of the blood of a High Priestess and by her intent as well. He felt her. He heard her. Dominick was well used to listening to the commands of a High Priestess. He was, after all, her second-favorite general.

As soon as the Warriors realized how to kill them, Dominick ordered his small army to flee. It was obvious where they were—Woodward Park in Tulsa. Only this Woodward Park was drastically changed from the one he knew, and not only because everything was carpeted with snow. The park looked off. Where were the old oaks? The mounds of huge azalea bushes?

Dominick pushed aside such inconsequential thoughts.

He was a Warrior. A leader of the Red Army. He had one job—to do his High Priestess’ bidding. He had only one desire beyond that: to feed.

And as this strange summons had awakened him and this small portion of his army in the middle of their coma-like sleep, so his need to feed was strong—so strong it even surpassed his confusion at where or when he really was.

He’d ordered his unarmed men to flee the barrage of arrows and the deadly sword the Son of Erebus wielded against them—against them! They must be part of a rebel pack. How had they captured the High Priestess? Where was her Red Guard? More importantly, where was she?

Dominick shook himself. Search for the High Priestess later. They must get to safety. They must find weapons. But first, they must feed.

Huddling beneath the snow-shrouded arched bridge that was east of the area they’d materialized, Dominick paused, trying to order his thoughts. It was difficult. Even he—the leader of the Red Army—had trouble concentrating when the hunger filled him.

“Feed!” hissed the pitiful few of his army that pressed close around him.

“Quiet!” he barked at them. They cringed away from him, well aware of what would happen should they become the focus of his wrath. “Wait here,” he commanded. Then he stepped out from under the concealment of the bridge.

The vampyres whose circle had drawn him here were gone.

The humans were not. Foolishly, they were leaving the cars they’d fled to earlier, and had returned to the bloody circle.

Dominick whistled once. The sound split the snowy air. He saw the humans pause and glance around nervously.

But they were human. Their night vision was inadequate, even if the darkness hadn’t been shrouded in thickly falling snow. And soon they continued to gather the equipment they’d dropped, oblivious to their own danger.

Dominick waited until the shadows stirred and the second half of his people joined him. They grouped around him, whispering their hunger. One of them approached.

“General, where are we? What has happened?”

Dominick recognized the lieutenant immediately. Lieutenant Heff was the youngest red fledgling to ever have been Marked—and was also the youngest to have gone through the Change. Barely sixteen, he was also one of the red vampyres who maintained some self-control over the hunger that overwhelmed the vast majority of the Red Army.