Blood and Kisses(21)

He went to the window and hit a button to raise the shutter. It whirred softly as it rose section by section and came to rest in its recess.

“I’ll be back soon,” he said over his shoulder. “Watch over her.” Without waiting for a response, he threw open the window and launched into the darkening sky, wondering as he shape-shifted into a massive osprey, whether she would be there when he returned.





Chapter 13



“Hey, Cole!” Poole’s deep voice was husky as he called up the gloomy stairs. The acrid bite of bile still stung his raw throat. The overpowering stench from above seemed to roll in undulating waves down the stairs. He grimaced and swallowed hard. He couldn’t believe he’d actually puked. He’d never live it down. Maybe he could bribe Cole to keep it to herself. She liked those little gem donut things from the vending machine back at the station. The crumb covered ones.

The fading light cast a gray pall throughout the run-down house. He shot back the cuff of his white dress shirt and checked his watch, then looked back out the door. It was getting dark and there was no reason for them to hang around any longer.

He stood on the front landing. Above him were the worn stairs that led to the second floor. Below him, rickety wooden steps led down into what was no doubt a cellar. He glanced uneasily down into the black depths and shivered. He couldn’t remember ever being as disturbed at a crime scene. Even now he felt as if something lurked in the heavy shadows just beyond his view, watching him. Something evil. He shifted his weight. “Cole!”

A sharp creak sent an electric shock through him, raising the tiny hairs on his arms and the back of his neck. It hadn’t been his imagination. Someone was down there.

He drew his gun. “Cole!” he barked, his face pulled tight with fear, and started down the stairs.

“What?” Cole’s voice was brusque and impatient as she spoke from above. Poole whirled to face her. A rush of air escaped from his lungs. He gestured down the stairs with his head and turned back to the black pit.

“There’s someone down there.” He could hear the soft rasp of metal against leather as Cole produced her weapon. He pulled out a small flashlight, shining it above his gun, into the deep hole before him and felt with his foot for the lower step.

Cole joined him. She put a hand on his shoulder. He looked back. The whites of her eyes shone in the feeble light from the half-open front door as she indicated that she would take the left. He was abruptly aware as he nodded that night had fallen. Heavy shadows had yielded the right of way to complete darkness.

He’d discarded his suit jacket after he’d been sick. Bricks pricked his skin through the thin fabric of his dress shirt and chilled his flesh as he pressed his back against the wall to the right.

Cole slid down and pasted herself against the opposite wall. She took a deep breath and raised her weapon. “Ready?” she mouthed. He nodded again.

“This is the police! Come out with your hands where we can see them.” Poole’s words rang through the stairwell and into the inky gulf below them.

Silence.

He nodded for a third time, and they burst simultaneously into the dark basement. Shots, accompanied by flashes, bangs, and shouts, echoed off the stone walls as a large black shape hurtled between them, knocking them to the hard cement floor.

Poole lost control of his gun. It clattered as it hit the unforgiving ground. The flashlight went flying, illuminating isolated objects as it spun, the floor, the wall, Cole’s white face. She was groping for her own weapon, lost somewhere in the murk behind her. The flashlight came to rest against the wall. Its light reflected off the brick and revealed their attacker.

Gideon Damek.

His face, highlighted by the reflected light, shone like a macabre mask in the blackness.

He grabbed Poole by the throat, choking him. Poole clawed at the other man’s large hands. God, he was strong! Each of Damek’s fingers was a steel manacle constricting around Poole’s windpipe. As he struggled to breathe, Poole’s raspy, desperate coughs seemed to come from far away. Tears of pain streamed from his eyes. The edges of his vision fogged. He was dying. He kicked out at Damek. The blow landed with a thump, but it was like kicking granite. The man didn’t even flinch. As the fog expanded and finally swallowed him, Poole heard a shot ring out.



He barely restrained a laugh as he bolted into the cool embrace of the summer night. Blood dripped from his shoulder, but it was easily replaced. The policewoman probably thought he had run off because he feared her weapon. He feared nothing and no one except the dawn.

They had no idea how lucky they were to still be breathing. How the rush of their blood called to him. How he longed to feel the warm, rich spurts upon his tongue, to glut himself on the delicious fluid. If only he didn’t need the pathetic fools. Even now he could imagine the ecstasy of draining the last embers of life from their twitching corpses. He shivered. Oh, the power, the pleasure of the Claiming, how he loved it. Even the taste of blood could not compete. Unlike Gideon, he was not restrained by some fatuous notion of morality. A notion his enemy had not espoused as a human.

He smiled, and felt his eyes flame, not with bloodlust this time, but with anticipation. He was so close to his goal. It wouldn’t be long now. Soon he would have power such that would make the Claiming seem like nothing but a cheap thrill.

If only Inanna were here to share his triumph.

Hatred seethed through him. It was Gideon’s fault he was alone. Everything was Gideon’s fault. It was long past time for his enemy to pay for his crimes.



Thalia fought to wake up. There were things she had to do. Gideon to find, a murderer to stop, but the tentacles of unconsciousness wrapped around her, burying into her flesh, unwilling to let her go, and she lapsed once more into fevered dreams. A swirl of images solidified into another place and time, all at once foreign and familiar.

She walked down a long, smoky hallway lit with flaming reeds and approached the throne, falling to her knees and laying down her heavy basket in front of the pharaoh and his guest, keeping her eyes carefully downcast.

“Is she to your liking?” Pharaoh’s tone was idle, but his deep voice sent a shiver down her spine. The attention of the god/king could be very dangerous. She, a mere slave, had never thought to draw his awesome gaze.

“She is beautiful,” his guest observed.

Thalia hid a gasp. It wasn’t his words that startled her, but the godlike timbre of his voice. Even Pharaoh’s voice could not match its majestic resonance. Her eyes skimmed up across the stranger’s face before she remembered herself and glued her gaze back on the stone floor.

Who was this man who dwarfed Pharaoh?

His commanding presence implied he was at least a king, but she had not heard of a visiting king, nor seen the extensive entourage traveling royalty would require.

“You have served us well. She is yours.”

Thalia bit her lip. Her breath came fast. Three words and her life had changed.

“I’m honored by your generosity.”

“Her name is Neferet.”

Thalia opened her eyes and stared into the darkness, her heart still pounding within her chest. The dream had seemed so real. Her breathing slowed. She could hear Spirit snuffing softly in his sleep.

Only a dream.

She’d had vivid dreams before. The one she’d had the night before she met Gideon, the clairvoyant dream last night, but something about this dream wouldn’t let her go. Even now, she felt she was that slave girl, her life changed forever on one man’s whim, given as a reward to the king of a foreign land. No, not a king—Gideon. Her conscious mind identified the slave girl’s mysterious stranger. She closed her eyes, hoping to finish the dream, certain there was a clue she needed somewhere in it, and sleep claimed her once more.



“How is she?” Gideon slipped into the room, hands in his pockets, his equilibrium restored by a night’s feeding.

Spirit lifted his whiskered chin from the comforter. Look for yourself.

Thalia lay sprawled on the bed, her dusky lashes shading her cheeks. Her color had returned and she was breathing deeply and evenly.

I think she’ll wake soon.

Gideon nodded. “I’ll sit with her.”

Spirit leaped from the bed. I think she’ll be okay for a moment. Why don’t we go downstairs?

Gideon followed Spirit back down the stairs and into the kitchen, wondering what the familiar wanted to say.

He didn’t have to wait long.

I’ve held my tongue, and didn’t interfere, Spirit began, because although she is not the strongest witch ever to be Champion, Thalia is a talented investigator with excellent instincts and that has always seen her through, but you should know I have the means to protect her, if necessary.

Gideon let slip a tiny bitter laugh. He didn’t know if that was true, but God, he hoped it was. He squeezed his eyes shut. He had proven he couldn’t be trusted to keep the animal inside at bay. That he was only a thread away from going rogue. He should leave her. But the image that had convinced him to join her would not go away. He had to stay.