Broken Heart 09 Only Lycans Need Apply (20 page)

“Not to mention that they think they’re the top of the food chain.”

Drake nodded. “Exactly.”

We returned our attention to Ruadan. He had finished his gruesome work. Blood splattered the man on the ground, staining his white clothes. Ruadan had fared no better—his own clothing was soiled with his victim’s blood.

Ruadan picked up the priest and carried him away.

The scene faded, just like a movie getting ready to switch scenes, and we found ourselves at the end of the hallway, facing another stone door with its familiar circular hole.

“I won’t let you do that again,” said Drake. He moved in front of me, his expression stubborn. “Step away, Moira.”

His tone rankled me. I got that he was a he-man type, or he-werewolf type, but I was strong, capable, and already bleeding for our cause. I stepped into his space, jutted my chin out defiantly, and said, “Or what, wolf boy?”

“That’s wolf
man
,” he corrected. “And I will put you over my shoulder and carry you the rest of the way. With your mouth bandaged shut.” He patted the pocket with its stash of Band-Aids. “I can better survive being the blood key.”

“Blood key” was a good way to describe my current role in this situation. “You can’t,” I said. “It requires my blood.”

“I know,” he said, his gaze narrowed, “but I don’t have to like it.”

“Just for the record, I don’t like it, either. I have to do it, Drake. So just let me stick my poor, abused hand into the creepy hole, and move on to the next phase of Rescue the Ancient Vampires, okay?”

His lips thinned, and he crossed his arms. For a moment I thought he wouldn’t move, and we’d be stuck staring daggers at each other—at least until one of us thought of some way to outwit the other. But then Drake begrudgingly moved aside. I have to admit, I was surprised he’d given in so easily. I hadn’t expected him to be reasonable.

No need to have two injured hands, right? So I took off the T-shirt bandage, handed the bloodied cloth to Drake, inhaled deeply, and stuck my hand into yet another hole.

Something cold and metallic slithered over my entire hand. For the first time, fear chilled me. The sacrifices required were getting more profound. I wonder how many more doorways were left, and how much more blood I would have to give to the Ancients, and their pyramid, before I breathed my last.

My entire hand started to burn, and the pain sizzled up my arm. I couldn’t stop my scream, or my instinct to pull my hand out. But it was too late.

•   •   •

I was floating again, this time in a room that felt . . . strange. It was a living room, but felt almost like I was on a movie set rather than in an actual space where people lived. And maybe that was the real issue
 . . .
I don’t think these were people.

Unlike the previous visions, in this one I wasn’t slipping into someone else’s skin. Instead I was like a ghost, floating among the people in the room.

A woman stood in the doorway.

She was otherworldly: pale-skinned, with bow-shaped lips as red as candy and green eyes as soft as moss. She wore a ribbed green T-shirt, tight black pants, thick-soled black boots, and on her waist was a weapons belt. On one side was a Glock and three cartridges, and on the other a series of small silver daggers. Her raven hair hung in ringlets down her back, like those of a medieval princess. “Beautiful” wasn’t a decent enough word to describe her. The only visible flaw I could see was the jagged pearlescent scar that wrapped around her throat like an ugly necklace.

Information floated into my head . . . her name was Larsa, and she was a vampire . . . and she was the daughter of Shamhat.

“The demon Lilith killed my mother,” Larsa explained to the room of people. Obviously I had arrived in the middle of a conversation. “The Ancients learned a harsh lesson the day Shamhat died. All of her line died when she did. Because of the bonding magic, all of their mates died, too.”

“Shamhat was the eighth vampire line. Vampires with earth magic,” said Larsa. “They’re very sensual creatures, in tune with creation. With life. Ironic, in a way, since we’re undead. But you know how it was. Ruadan sought out others who had supernatural abilities. It’s no coincidence that all the Ancients have specific gifts.”

“Why?” The question came from a lithe brunette. Her name floated into my mind: Phoebe.

“Eight vampire Families had existed once,” said Larsa. “And Lilith had effectively wiped out one-eighth of the vampire population by killing its founder.

“Ruadan always had the goal of bettering the world. Even then, belief in magic was dying out, giving way to science and cynics. He wanted to preserve as much as possible, to pass it along to the world when it was needed.”

“Patsy saved the vampire lines because she was the queen of all,” mused Phoebe. She sent a questioning glance to Larsa. “If Patsy dies . . . we all die?”

“Probably,” said Larsa. “Unless there comes a time when that burden is lifted from her.”

“I missed the connection with Amahté,” Phoebe said. “And the sorta-dead thing for Shamhat.”

“Amahté was powerful,” said Larsa. “Even before he was Turned. He could leave his body and travel into the Underworld. That ability, and being an Ancient, gave him the power to retrieve Shamhat’s soul. But her body needed some serious healage. So everyone believed she’d died. And he went to ground with her. To protect her.”

“Isn’t three thousand years long enough to heal grievous injuries?” asked Phoebe.

“Yep,” said Larsa.

I found myself being pulled toward Phoebe. Into her thoughts. She was thinking about the Consortium . . . about when the vampires came to Broken Heart. There had been talk about an archaeological dig in the Sudan. At the time, we’d been told the Consortium was looking for the source of the Taint. The disease had flared up now and then throughout undead history, but the modern-day version had taken them by surprise.

“They were looking for Amahté,” she said. “In the Sudan.”

“Nobody knows where they are. And the Consortium aren’t the only ones looking.”

“I’m from the Family Shamhat,” said Larsa. “I was the last. Lilith hacked off my mother’s head and nearly severed mine.” She fingered the scar on her neck, one that had never completely healed because she shouldn’t have survived it. “When Amahté pulled back her soul and returned her life, however feeble, it revived me. But none of the others. At least, none that I’ve ever been able to find.” She shrugged. “It took a long time to heal. By the time I was recovered enough to dig out from my grave, more than a hundred years had passed. Everyone believed me dead, and I let them think so. Until my mother is found and awakened, I am the last of my Family line.”

I guess that was the extent of the information that needed to be conveyed, because I found myself being yanked out of the vision and tossed into the darkness.

•   •   •

When I awoke, I was sagging against the wall, being held up by Drake, whose arms were wrapped around my waist. My hand was still clamped in the hole, and my blood still draining. I felt dizzy, and a little nauseated. I didn’t know if I should feel relieved or disappointed that I hadn’t been wrapped around Drake again.

I was leaning toward disappointed.

And feeling like crap.

Then my hand was released, and I dragged my arm out of the hole.

“Ow,” I muttered.

Drake lowered me to the ground and cursed softly as he removed his entire shirt and wrapped it around my mangled hand.

“These locks are demanding too much blood from you,” he said.

“We have no choice but to move forward.”

“Ja,”
he said. It was a short, angry burst of a word. He finished securing the shirt and leaned back to study my face. “You are pale.”

“I feel light-headed.” I used my uninjured arm to grab water from one of the side pockets of my pants. Drake gently took it from me and twisted off the cap. When he gave me the bottle, I drained half of it. He put the lid back on and then tucked it back into the pocket for me.

“What did you see this time?” he asked.

“Nothing sexual. Disappointed?”

His lips split into a quicksilver grin. “Immensely.”

I managed a laugh and then I told him about the strange room, the people, and the information I’d learned about Larsa, Shamhat, and Amahté.

He nodded. “Yes. It was revealed not so long ago that the eighth family line still existed. And Larsa was alive. But how does that vision fit in with the others?”

“To know the beginning,” I said. “So, Jessica and Patrick were the beginning of what became Broken Heart. Patsy and Gabriel were the beginning of a new kind of leadership. And knowing what happened to Shamhat and Amahté is the beginning of . . . well, this. Why we’re here right now.”

“What are we supposed to do with the information?”

I liked that he’d used a pronoun: “we.” I think I liked being part of a “we.” It was nice. I looked over my shoulder at the doorway that had been revealed. That last round of blood sacrifice had been intense. “Hey, it’s not a hallway. Do you think we’ve reached our destination?”

Fat chance, I knew, since my apparent death was part of this gig. Still . . . who was to know anything for sure?

“Let us find out.” Drake popped up and reached down a hand, which I grasped.

I wobbled to my feet, took a breath, and turned. We stared at the room beyond, and then looked at each other.

Torches rimmed the small room. The only object in it was . . . well, a bed. Right in the middle. The smooth, flat stone was covered in a pile of silky furs—which shouldn’t look comfortable or like they’d just been fluffed by servants of the palace. And yet it looked as though it had just been made up, and was waiting for us to . . . what? Take a nap?

We walked to the bed and studied it. On each corner was a small statue of Bastet, who was part cat, part woman. In her clasped paws were sticks of incense. Their fragrance wafted into the air.

“We should look for glyphs,” I said. But I had a feeling already of what would be expected of me. Well, of us. “Do you think they sent us here on purpose? I mean, male and female? Would anyone know . . . um, to do that?”

Drake sent me a strange look. “What do you mean?”

“That’s a bed,” I said, pointing to the item, “and those effigies are of Bastet. The goddess of sensuality, sexuality, and fertility.”

Drake moved over to study one of the statues. “I see.”

I walked to the nearest wall, then took a circuit of the room. Hmm. Nothing but smooth stone and the magical blue-flamed torches. No hieroglyphs. No paintings. No clues.

“Moira.”

Drake had crouched down to view something on the edge of the bed. I joined him, and looked at the series of glyphs inscribed there. And it confirmed my suspicion about what was supposed to happen next.

“‘To know the beginning, is to become the beginning,’” I said. I studied the other images, and hesitated.

“That is all it says?”

“No.” I glanced at him. “This next part isn’t a blood sacrifice. If we want to progress, we have to invoke the magic of Bastet.”

Realization dawned in Drake’s gaze. “You mean we must unlock the next doorway . . . by having sex.”

“Yes,” I confirmed.

We both stood up, then because I was still feeling unsteady, I sat on the edge of the bed. The furs felt unexpectedly nice. I couldn’t help but wonder now if the reason the pyramid closed behind Drake was because of this part. Or was it the magic? Had this all been created because of the whole emphasis on love and mates? And wouldn’t that make sense given what we now knew about Shamhat and Amahté? Because, hell, anyone could’ve accessed this chamber. Two girls. Two guys. Two goats. Okay. Maybe not goats. But still.

“Shamhat and Amahté have never known modern times,” said Drake. “Whoever created this”—he waved his hand to indicate the pyramid—“did so during a time when the world was different.”

“I’ve studied the lives, the religious practices, the deities of ancient Egypt,” I said. “Believe me, I know quite a bit about the sexual mores of Ancient Egypt. It makes sense that they might have something like a sex rite to unlock the power of the god. Or to wake up two very tired bloodsuckers.”

Drake gave a short laugh, and then he joined me on the bed. He pushed a lock of hair away from my face, and then grasped my chin, his thumb resting on my upper lip. Butterflies fluttered in my belly.

“Ah, my beauty,” he said in that smoky voice. “Shall we?”

“N
ow?” I squeaked, even though I knew it was imperative that we keep moving forward. I mean, time was literally ticking. Drake was appreciating the idea of having sex a little too much. Not that my libido was complaining. Besides, if we didn’t . . . um, do the deed, get the next doorway to unlock . . . then both of us were worm food.

“We cannot go back,” he said, glancing over his shoulder.

I followed his gaze to the doorway and saw that it no longer existed. Whoever created this pyramid wanted to make damn sure the sacrifices kept moving forward. Drake’s slight touch was setting off lust alarms all over my body. I wondered if anyone had attempted to wake Shamhat and Amahté before.