Blood Shadows (5 page)

She shook her head, dismissing the thought.

Back to the matter at hand…

The flipped-out female sent by the Dark Ones to do something…to Nachari? Anger swelled in Kristina’s breast, and she jumped down from the hood of the car, kicked off her shoes, and strolled right toward her. “Two questions,” she said, feeling her anger rise to even greater proportions. “Who the hell are you? And what the hell were you doing underneath that tree?”
Where Nachari died?
She took out her gum and tossed it on the ground, willing her eyes not to turn feral and her fangs to stay put. “Speak now, skank, or forever hold your peace.”

The beautiful lady stopped dead in her tracks and took a step back. “Excuse me?” she said, with way too much metal.

“You heard me,” Kristina snapped. “I don’t believe I stuttered.”

The woman smiled then. Actually smiled. “I don’t believe I gave you permission to sit on my truck.” She strolled confidently forward and hit the
unlock
button on her key fob. “Pardon me,” she said, waiting for Kristina to step aside.

Kristina reached out and grabbed the chick by the arm, squeezing just hard enough to let her know she could crush her bones at will if she chose. Placing an implied threat into her voice—something she had just learned recently in Jocelyn and Nathaniel’s self-defense class—she shoved her way into the woman’s mind. “Tell me what the hell you were up to and who sent you.
Now
.”

The woman yanked her arm free and took a step back, but there was definitely a wash of fear in her eyes. “I…I’m a guest staying at the cabins.” She turned around and pointed in the direction of the log cottages.

Kristina scowled. “Show me your room key.”

The woman frowned, but she did as she was told. Well, actually, as she was compelled. “Here,” she said angrily, pulling one of the unmistakable lodge key-cards out of her pocket. “Satisfied?”

Kristina frowned.
What the hell?
“You’re a guest?”

“Yes,” the woman huffed, “that’s what I said.” She squared her shoulders. “I’m Deanna Dubois. I’m here from New Orleans…for the week, but I have to say, if this is how the people around here treat visitors, then don’t expect any repeat business from me.”

Kristina looked off into the distance toward the clearing. “What were you doing over there—all playing around in the dirt and crying and shit? What the heck was that?”

The lady looked embarrassed now. Unsettled. “I…I honestly don’t know. I just felt something really powerful…and terribly sad…and it drew me to that spot. Sorry if it was private property or something. I didn’t mean to trespass. I just…I don’t know what came over me. That’s the truth.”

Being as new as she was to the species, Kristina wasn’t especially good at vampire tricks, but this was just too important—she had to try. “Look right in my eyes, Deanna.”

The woman blinked, and she even frowned; but she did as she was told.

“Now tell me straight up: Are you telling the truth?”

The lady nodded.

“You’re actually a guest here, and you just felt something powerful that drew you to that spot? And made you cry like that?”

Deanna nodded her head again, this time more slowly. “Yes.” When she reached up to rub her temples as if she were getting a headache, Kristina figured she’d better back off a little. No point in giving the chick a lobotomy. “Did the Dark Ones send you?”

“Who?” Deanna asked, genuinely confused.

Kristina shook her head. “Nothing…forget it.” She looked deep into Deanna’s eyes. “Really,
forget it
.” She took a step back and waited. When Deanna shook her head back and forth, like she was all of a sudden unaware of where she was or what they were talking about, Kristina swallowed with relief. “It was nice meeting you, Deanna. I hope you enjoy your stay in Dark Moon Vale.”
Amazing
, she thought as she slowly backed away. The chick had to be one of those real psychics or something; too bad she didn’t read fortunes.

Deanna blinked several more times and nodded. “Yeah, thanks. Nice meeting you, too…” She paused. “I’m sorry; I don’t remember your name.”

Kristina held out her hand. “Kristina,” she said, smiling wide enough to flash her pearly whites. “And that’s okay. My memory sucks too most of the time.”

Deanna nodded then. “
Kristina
. Great, I’ll remember next time.” She offered an insecure, confused smile.

“Cool. Take it easy, and enjoy your stay, okay?”

Kristina didn’t turn around to watch the woman climb into her SUV. She’d had enough of the Twilight Zone for one day and didn’t care to see any more of the chick’s confused expression. Besides, she figured if she had done everything right, the lady would forget most of the conversation, take a couple of aspirin for her headache, and be on her merry psychic way.

If not, then she could only hope that Marquis and Nathaniel never got wind of it. They both took the whole business-industry-in-Dark-Moon-Vale thing pretty seriously, and it wasn’t like Kristina was anyone’s favorite person around there anyway. Well, maybe Braden’s—at least since Nachari had been gone and the two of them had ended up saddled with each other—but even the adorable boy couldn’t save her if news of this fiasco got back to one of her new brothers. Or worse, Napolean.

She cringed as she climbed into her Corvette and put the key in the ignition: Better to keep the whole incident to herself for now. After all, who really needed to know about a strange, clairvoyant lady from New Orleans who ran around in the trees, sensing psychic energy?

No one.

That’s who.

three

The Valley of Death and Shadows

Nachari Silivasi came awake with a violent shudder and a horrible shout of agony as his bruised and bloodied body was dropped into a cold saltwater bath to awaken him. His arms and legs were quickly chained to the four iron posts that encased the porcelain before he could react or orient himself.

They had done it one hundred times before, so he should have been used to it by now; yet every time it happened, he still reacted with the same shock, disorientation, and agony. He shivered, trying to regulate his body temperature. That was always first. He couldn’t remain alert if he was delirious with cold. And then he gasped for breath, trying to force his lungs to work through the pain—inhale and exhale in regular, forced increments—so he could tune in to his surroundings and see who was in the room.

Who the Dark Lord Ademordna had chosen to share him with today…as a meal.

What day was it, by the way, he wondered. It seemed like a Saturday, but it could have been Monday…or maybe Wednesday…

Sunday?

Oh hell…who knew?

And who cared.

His eyes began to focus—there was a buxom blonde in a tight leather suit standing in front of him—and he grimaced.
Her again.
Noiro
. The twin, sister-energy of the Celestial god Orion, a shadow demoness who lived in the Abyss.

She loved to watch him being tortured; and more and more often, Ademordna seemed to enjoy inviting her to the festivities. But this was unusual. Feeding was usually proffered to Ademordna’s minions, his loyal, pathetic servants, whom Ademordna abused as often as he pleased. One pleasure was the same as the other down here, Nachari figured.

“You’re alone today?” Nachari grit out through chattering teeth. He may as well find out what was coming next—not that it made a lot of difference in the end—but sometimes being prepared helped…a little. “And blond.”

Noiro sidled up to the bathtub in a seductive, devilish walk. “Mmm, do you like it, my sweet wizard?” she purred like a cat.

“Not especially,” he muttered.

She jumped back, indignant, all at once morphing her shape into a slender redhead. A cautious smile curved her lips. “Better, my lovely?”

Nachari braced himself against the salt seeping into his wounds and counted backward from ten to one just to give himself something to concentrate on. “Whatever.”

“Pooh!” she huffed like a spoiled human rather than a powerful demon. “I do so want you to play with me, Nachari. I don’t know why you won’t cooperate.”

He watched her through the corner of his eye and let his head loll back against the tallest point of the claw-foot tub—fairly appropriate for demons, he thought—refusing to respond.

She stooped to sit on the edge, reached into the bath, and splashed a small trickle of water on his face. When he looked at her straight on, she smiled. “That’s better.” She moaned. “By all the dark lords, you are the most beautiful creature ever created.” She ran the tips of her fingers over his lips, his cheekbones, and then she fingered his hair. “My brother, Orion, was so infatuated with your twin, and now I can see why. What was his name? Shelby was it?”

“Still is,” Nachari growled.

“Yes, yes…whatever.” She waved her hand in dismissal. “I have very little interest in what happens in the Valley of Spirit and Light.” She leaned forward then, placing her lips inches away from his so that the heat of her breath scalded his skin. “But here, among our own, I find that I understand my brother’s…devotion…more and more each day. To own and control one such as you…oh…lords…I would give my soul…if I had one.” She shrugged, and then she bent to kiss him, leaving his lips cracked and bloodied from the acidic property of her saliva. “How was that, my soon-to-be lover?”

Nachari coughed and spit into the tub, expelling whatever Noiro had left in his mouth. “Eat shit and die,” he snarled, and then he chuckled. “Oh yeah, I guess I already did both…just in reverse order.”

“Excuse me?” Noiro thundered.

“I died, came here, and just ate—”

“How dare you!” Noiro flew backward from the tub like a crazed, winged creature, her face transforming into a hideous, serpent-looking monstrosity. Her nostrils flared wide and shot fire; her forked tongue snaked in and out of her mouth in quick succession, and her beady eyes narrowed even further into tiny yellow slits. “Don’t test me, boy. Never forget, I can have your testacles for breakfast if I choose!” She slowly approached the tub on legs that were suddenly balanced on hooves.

“Do your best,” Nachari whispered, either unwilling or unable to relinquish the only control he had left in this damnable inferno: his dignity and his free will.

He would not grovel.

He would not kowtow.

And he would not give respect to a demon. No matter the cost.

Noiro licked her thin, reedy lips and tsk-tsked him with her tongue. “You are lucky, my naughty wizard, that you are so beautiful. If I didn’t need your seed to reproduce a dark lord of my own someday, I would rip your jewels from your body and add them to my chicken soup…as dumplings.” She cackled, a shrill, high-pitched sound. “As it stands, I will just have to settle for nibbling on your ears.” She snapped her teeth at him, displaying a full set of jagged, razor-sharp fangs, each one more hideous than the last.
damn

Nachari didn’t blink…or wince…even though he knew what Noiro meant by
nibble on your ears
.

She would lick his skin with her acidic tongue until it began to melt away from the bone. She would wrench out large patches of his thick, wavy hair for her demented pleasure, and then she would eat away at his flesh until he no longer had any ears, sticking her snake-like tongue into the holes left behind to burn the inside of his skull—all the while, she would wait for everything to grow back so she could do it again.

If and when she finally grew tired of the game, she would call Ademordna, who would come and do his worst—and it was always far, far worse—before removing Nachari to the throne room to let the courtyard
play with him
for the rest of the evening.

If only he could die.

Nachari’s focused gaze narrowed on Noiro’s steps as she, once again, drew closer and closer to the tub. “Tell me you love me,” she whispered, cocking her head to the side like an unaware animal. “Tell me you love me, and I’ll spare you…at least one round of torture.”

Nachari met her steely gaze and held it with contempt, saying nothing.

“Very well,” she snarled.

And then she wrenched his head back by the hair and bit down on his throat.

Salvatore Nistor knocked twice before entering the stuffy, formal office, with its high stone walls and thick, expensive floor-rugs. He sat down in the large leather armchair opposite Oskar Vadovsky’s desk, placed his legs on the matching leather ottoman before him, and crossed them at the ankle.

Oskar Vadovsky stared pointedly at Salvatore’s legs, leaned forward to rest his elbows on the mahogany desk, and frowned.

“Excuse me, High Council,” Salvatore said in as pleasant a voice as he could muster. “Sometimes I forget myself.”
What the hell
is an
ottoman for
then?
he snarled inwardly. He removed his feet and politely planted them on the floor. “Better?”

“Thank you,” Oskar said gruffly.

Salvatore inclined his head. “Of course, my liege.”

“Now then…” Oskar cracked his knuckles slowly before folding his hands back together. “I am trying…
very hard
…to remain objective and calm about the outcome of your latest scheme. Especially considering the price.”