Firestorm: Heart of a Vampire #5 Read online

  His back and ass cramped from being stuffed into the too-small-for-his-size SUV during the twenty-five hour journey from Arizona. His eyes burned from driving non-stop. He’d ignored the weakness that hit while the sun was up. And his head ached from the voices and visions constantly bombarding him.

  He still couldn’t believe his king had sent him to babysit some old friend of Niki’s. The woman wasn’t even part of their clan, though Eric wasn’t privy to the details of the arrangement between Niki and Jordan.

  After recovering from his... whatever... he’d known his twin brother was in trouble, but he hadn’t been able to go find Brandon, make sure he was safe. Jordan threatened to chain him back in the dungeon if he dared leave the castle. Yet here he was now, driving across the country to go help some woman who happened to know Niki.

  Last he heard, Brandon still hadn’t checked in. His brother wasn’t dead. Eric knew that much at least.

  He’d have felt it, just as he’d felt his brother’s pain in his dreams.

  The moment Jordan had given him the SUV, with orders to follow the GPS to Louisiana, Eric had been tempted to drive the opposite direction and search out his brother.

  As if reading his mind, Jordan had stared at him, expressionlessly. “You will keep the woman safe and help sort out her problems.”

  He’d never told his king no. Nor would Eric ever go back on his word. The man had saved his life, as well as Brandon’s.

  Which was why he hadn’t mentioned to Jordan he was hearing and seeing things. That he was crazed. Another laugh echoed in the car. He probably needed to be put down like a rabid dog, before his madness drove him to the depths of darkness.

  He felt too close already.

  The GPS beeped, its too-cheerful androgynous voice instructing him to turn down a dark, tree-lined, gravel drive. With a scowl, he followed the direction. What in all the hells was he supposed to do here anyway?

  “Help her as needed,” he spat, repeating Jordan’s last command. One would think a vampire could damn well take care of herself.

  The gravel lane wound through towering trees. Mist drifted over the narrow road, obscuring the edges.

  Fine. He’d solve this female’s problems, whatever they were—Jordan hadn’t been specific. Then he’d get back home, make sure his brother was all right, and finally sort out his madness. He’d be... his mind hesitated on the word “safe”.

  Disgust welled, bitterness coating his throat.

  He could admit he was most likely insane. Another childish giggle came from the back seat, his invisible travelling companion rising to the fore. Fiery pain flashed down his back. All as if to agree with his self-assessment.

  But damn. He’d never be able to live with becoming weak... a coward.

  And if he couldn’t even figure out how to deal with these imagined memories, how the hells did he think he’d be able to help anyone else?

  A black wrought-iron gate rose from the mist, blocking the road. He slammed on the brakes, fishtailing slightly. To the side of the gate stood a metal call box, nearly obscured by thickening fog.

  He shoved open the car door. Ice-cold air hit him, nearly stealing his breath. Out of habit, he grabbed his battle-axe from the passenger seat, drawing it from its custom leather and steel sheath.

  He shivered from the cold as he approached the gates. The Deep South should be warmer than this on a March spring night.

  Hitting the button on the call box, he studied the fence, half-tempted to either drive through it, or climb over the damn thing. After a few minutes of silence, his impatience led him to the gate. He reached for one of the bars, but a force stopped him a few inches short. The hair on his arms rose from goosebumps. Magic prickled over his skin, prodding and poking, denying him entrance.

  He’d been sent to help a vampire who consorted with sorcery? No way in all the hells. Magic was evil. It could never be trusted.

  The mist swirled around him, rising higher. Laughter, sweetly innocent, yet promising enduring pain, surrounded him. To his left, the sorceress appeared, wavering into focus from a ghostly outline to a solid form.

  She seemed so real.

  So alive.

  She looked him up and down, tapping one long nail on her blood-red lips, as if considering how to torture him next.

  “You’re not really here,” he whispered hoarsely.

  She met his gaze, her green eyes alighting with amusement. Her laugh washed over him, though her mouth didn’t open.

  Damning the vision, and the voices shouting in his head calling him weak, he took a step back. He fisted his free hand, digging his nails into his palm hard enough to send the sharp tang of blood into the air, as he fought the overpowering, cowardly, impulse to run.

  It wasn’t real. He knew it.

  Yet streaks of fire flicked up his back, feeling more real than the freezing night air.

  A crackle came from the call box. “Hello?” a woman asked in a soothing Southern drawl.

  The sorceress scowled and disappeared.

  He didn’t want to respond to the velvety voice. Didn’t want a thing to do with magic of any sort. Not ever again.

  But damn it, he had his duty. He was a warrior.

  Eric turned in a circle, making sure the sorceress had actually left, before approaching the box. “I’m looking for Cathrina Bienville.”

  “How may I help you?” The words were welcoming, but her tone was wary.

  His temples throbbed and his muscles ached from tension. “My name is Eric Wulfgar. Niki DeVeraux sent me.”

  A long moment of silence passed, then she said, “I’ll be right down.”

  Eric barely felt the cold anymore. He slowly realized it was because he was turning numb. The mist seeped into his clothes, the air nipped at his skin. Glaring at the box and the gate, he climbed back into the SUV. Laying his axe across his thighs, he slammed the door shut, then flipped on the heater to thaw out.

  Five minutes passed. Ten. Finally, on the other side of the gate, a small bobbing light appeared.

  He left the warmth of the car to meet the approaching figure. The flashlight shone in his eyes, blinding him for a second before turning to the ground. A woman stopped directly in front of him on the other side of the gates.

  He flinched at the sight. The green eyes, the sweet smile so like the sorceress’s falsely innocent grins. Long red hair fell around the woman’s shoulders to her waist. A shudder worked down his neck.

  Her soft voice captured his attention and he realized she was talking on a cell phone. “I’m here, Niki. What is the Eric you sent me supposed to look like?”

  With his vampire hearing, phone calls never entered the realm of privacy. On the other end of the call, he heard Niki reply, “Six-six, long blond hair. Muscular. Tell him to show you his axe.”

  Before the woman—presumably this Cathrina he was supposed to be helping—could convey the command, Eric raised his battle-axe.

  “Okay,” the woman said.

  Niki replied, “Battle axe. Double blades. On the handle, half way down, you should see a couple of runes and the old Norse word BrynTröll engraved.”

  Cathrina stood on tiptoe.

  He showed her the engraved name as he lightly rubbed his thumb over the powerful insignia.

  The woman nodded decisively. “Okay. It’s him.”

  “Good,” Niki replied. “Call me later. And tell him if he gives you any shit, I’ll kick his ass.”

  Eric snorted at her wishful statement.

  Cathrina blushed as she hung up, and slipped the phone in the back pocket of her tight jeans. “My apologies, but one must be cautious.”

  “Can I come in already?” he growled, glaring at her as the mist and cold seeped deep inside him.

  Her eyes flashed something too quickly to be named and she smiled sweetly. “Hold out your hand.”

  “Why?”

  “So you can come in.”

  He gripped BrynTröll tighter. Evil lurked behind such angelic faces, such beaut
iful smiles. His jaw tightened, as once again, all he wanted was to get away from all of this. He couldn’t. He’d damn well not let Jordan down.

  But let this woman show one hint of the treachery he’d known in the past and he’d deal with it, before she tried to seduce him with her wiles and turn him into a pawn.

  He took a deep breath, assessing her. With an effort of will, he held out his hand.

  Before he could react, she grabbed him and jerked his arm through bars of the gate. And the magic. It stung a bit, but felt more like discomfort rather than the pain he’d expect. When he pulled back, she let go easily.

  “Don’t touch me again, Woman,” he stated harshly.

  She merely continued to grin, though her green eyes hardened. “My name is Cat, not ‘Woman’. It will take me just a moment.” She turned and disappeared into darkness.

  After a long moment, when she didn’t come back, he called out, “Woman? Where in all the hells did you go?”

  Silence reigned.

  He waited until the numbness from the mist and chilled air nearly turned him into an ice cube, then returned to his car. Before he could defrost, the gate rolled open.

  The woman appeared, heading for the passenger door. She pulled it open. “My apologies. I had to adjust the barrier to your essence so you could come and go.”

  It sounded reasonable, but the tightness of her shoulders hinted that she’d taken longer than necessary. He couldn’t figure out why she’d do such a thing, though.

  “It’s about time,” he replied.

  Her shoulders tightened further. As she reached to climb into the seat, a deep growl reverberated from the mist behind her.

  Eyes widening, flickering with fear, she spun to face the shadows between the trees.

  The growl turned into a howl. The woman scrabbled backwards into the seat, then clawed the door closed. “Hurry. Get past the barrier.”

  Eric slammed on the gas. The SUV surged forward as a large, furry wolf slammed into the side, rocking the car.

  They passed the gates, leaving the wolf behind. Eric watched in the rearview mirror, but the beast didn’t follow them.

  The mist never crossed the magical barrier either.

  “Was it an enemy or a pet?” he asked, ready to slam on the brakes and throw her out if she gave the wrong answer.

  She glanced out the window. With syrupy sweetness she murmured, “All brawn and no brains.”

  He jerked the car to a stop, hands clenched on the wheel. “When I ask a question, I expect an answer. You’re the one who called for help.”

  She nibbled her lower lip, casting her eyes down demurely. “Of course. My apologies. You see, I just figured anyone with an ounce of sense would recognize that if something attacks, it is obviously not a wayward pet.”

  Unable to come up with a decent reply, he finally continued driving.

  The gravel road curved, ending in a circle in front of a massive three-story mansion. He stopped the SUV in front of wide steps leading up to a wrap-around porch.

  Cat hurried from the car to the front door. She was a snappy thing, but one look at her house explained it. Rich, pampered princess. She was probably used to people doing her bidding.

  Well, she had another thing coming when dealing with him. He wasn’t her damn servant, or her babysitter, regardless of whether Jordan had tasked him to keep her safe.

  Reluctantly, he got out and headed up the stairs, keeping his axe in hand—in case anything else lurked nearby. At the doorway, his steps faltered. It took a long moment, too long, to push forward. The door slammed behind him with a hollow thunk and he barely stopped himself from jumping.

  “Welcome to Dawn’s Hope,” Cat said.

  “What?” he asked absently, struggling to keep calm.

  “The plantation. It’s called Dawn’s Hope.”

  “Why?” In his distracted state, the question came out before he could stop it. He glowered at her smile, at her mistaken impression that he gave a shit.

  “My father named it. Long story. Maybe I’ll tell you some time.” She glided across the foyer and down a hall, towards an arched doorway outlined by flickering firelight. Before she entered, she cast a glance back over her shoulder. “Coming?”

  Then she disappeared. Again.

  He sheathed BrynTröll, then with a sigh, followed the woman into her parlor.

  Chapter Three

  Cat sat in one of the wide, overstuffed chairs near the roaring fireplace, watching the doorway from the corner of her eye for Eric to appear.

  She didn’t think she’d ever seen a man so big, at least not up close. Nearly a foot taller than her own five-seven, face and body looking as if he’d been chiseled from stone—all hard planes and angles—he was nothing like the soft, nearly effeminate French dandies she’d grown up around.

  This man exuded power.

  It relieved her. She needed someone strong, or they’d be useless. Unfortunately, he was also a chauvinistic jerk.

  Her shoulders tightened. Calling her “Woman”, as if they were living hundreds of years ago. Honestly, some people couldn’t step out of the past. She considered calling Niki, asking her to take this guy back. But in the few days since she’d asked for help, another vampire had been found murdered, and at least two more were missing.

  The wolves had been on the prowl. Skulking around her barrier, nearly catching her alone a few times in the city. Just waiting for her to make a mistake.

  She’d sensed something else, some dark thing she couldn’t put a name to, stalking her as well.

  She leaned back, slipping off her tennis shoes as the fire warmed her. She didn’t want this man here, but she wasn’t stupid enough to send him away. She’d accept his help. It didn’t mean she’d put up with barbaric attitudes.

  The hulking man finally entered the drawing room, ducking beneath the doorway, though her house had been built old-world style—tall everything. The arch was far above his head.

  He still seemed on edge, his eyes glazed as if something greatly bothered him.

  Forcing herself to be hospitable, she asked, “How was your trip?”

  He hovered near the doorway, staring around the room. “Fine.” His tone was clipped. She caught his underlying accent. Norse, perhaps.

  Exactly how old was he?

  Taking in a deep breath, she tasted the air. The power radiating from him said many centuries older than herself. He might even be older, and therefore more powerful, than her sire, Jacques. That would be impressive.

  When he didn’t come further into the room, she stood. “Would you care for something to eat or drink?”

  “No.” He finally took another step closer. “Let’s get to the issues you’re having.” His dark eyes were hard as flint.

  Two things occurred to her as she studied him.

  His presence was unsettling. Tall, blond and sexy, just like Niki had teased. And by the way her body warmed the more she looked at his muscled physique, she realized she might be interested in him... if he stopped being a jerk.

  Which led to the second thing. He was an old-school grump who seemed to like ordering women around.

  Well, she might have put up with that sort of thing a century ago, but no longer. She refused to wallow in past inequities between the sexes. It was the twenty-first century, for crying out loud, and they were in the sanctity of her home.

  Lifting her chin, she stared him down. “I was just about to have dinner. I’ll be back in a minute.” As she left the room through the door across from him, she turned back and smiled. “Make yourself comfortable.”

  His scowl deepened.

  She nearly whistled from amusement as she headed for the kitchen.

  Twenty minutes later, she returned to the drawing room. Her upbringing had taken over, pushing her to at least act like a gracious hostess. She balanced an overflowing tray with both hands. It held two mugs of warm, spiced blood, and plates of hastily prepared BLTs. She wasn’t sure how much he’d eaten on the drive, but vampires
needed food as much as blood, otherwise their very soul could be in jeopardy of darkening beyond redemption. Besides, food couldn’t make him any grumpier.

  Eric sat in front of the fire, in the chair opposite the one she’d been in earlier. His eyes were still dark, brooding, but not as tormented as when she’d first met him.

  She set the tray on a table between the chairs and handed him a mug, then grabbed the other one for herself. Sinking into her seat, she took a sip, watching him over the rim of the cup.

  He sniffed the liquid.

  She bit back a retort about not trying to poison him, since she didn’t know him nearly well enough to despise him, or want him dead. Yet.

  Finally he drank.

  Ignoring the platter of sandwiches, he crossed his arms and glared at her once more. “Now, let’s get to your problems.”

  Hiding a grin at his unobeyed-male gruffness, she cupped the mug in her hands and glanced at the flickering flames of the fire. As she thought about where to begin the story, her urge to grin faded.

  Turning back to Eric, she caught a flash of something soft on his face before he hid it. Like he understood her pain. Not stopping to ponder that surprise, she said, “It started a couple months ago. Some low level vampires from our coven went missing.”

  “Coven? What are you, witches?” he asked with a sneer.

  “What do you call your people?”

  “Clan.”

  “Scottish?”

  “My king is.”

  “Semantics. We call it a coven. Deal with it.”

  His exasperated expression at her tone lightened her heart, and continuing became a bit easier. “My sire, Jacques, didn’t worry overmuch about it, until a week later, when one turned up in a cemetery, murdered.”

  “How did they die?”

  “No one seems to know. That’s one of the problems.”

  He waved at her to continue.

  “A little while later, more vampires went missing. This time, they were older and more powerful. They should have been able to fend off just about anyone. My sire started to grow concerned. He called a local meeting with the more powerful vampires living nearby, to try figuring out what was going on.” She paused, glancing back to the flickering flames. “New Orleans has always been a wild town, but one safe for creatures like us. Mortals just don’t notice us here. They think costumes, or whatever.”