Coldstorm (Heart of a Vampire, Book 7) (12 page)

She nearly snorted at the idea of needing protection, but her right arm brushed her side, jarring her shoulder, and instead she hid a groan. "I'm fine."

He started up the cliff face, finding holds with his hands and boots. As he climbed, his bare back rippled with muscles. His jeans tightened sinfully across his ass.

Her mouth began to water. Anca licked her lips, trying to look away.

It didn't work for a long while.

Finally managing to glance around, she spotted a fallen tree off to one side of the cave. She sat down, able to keep an eye on any potential escapees. Or any more enemies arriving.

And Matt.

His skin began to glisten with sweat.

Warmth twisted inside her.

It almost seemed like it had been days, rather than only hours, since he'd kissed her.

At the thought, she remembered the press of his lips, the taste of his rich whiskey essence.

Memories of how his hard body pressed against her, his mouth soft then demanding, washed through her. Just as they'd done earlier, when Matt frantically looked her over for injuries.

He'd truly been concerned about her welfare.

The realization had been shocking. And she'd been overcome by a heat that stirred strange things inside her. Heated her blood, hummed along her senses.

It all revolved around one inescapable thought.

She wanted to taste him again.

Matt reached the top and climbed over. Light shone from his cell phone. A moment later, he raised it to his ear. He walked along the edge of the flat top, staring out at the forest.

Even from this distance Anca heard the muted, undecipherable sounds of his voice. The husky accented undertones made her shiver.

She wasn't very experienced with men. The last time she'd attempted a relationship it hadn't gone well. The sex had been good at least. But relationships tended to be complicated. Messy.

Not that there was anything like that here. Just a stunning attraction.

It was a rare man who could inflame her senses.

Stir her desires.

Sure Matt was handsome, with his dark looks and expressive honey brown eyes. But his cold stiffness wasn't her usual cup of tea.

Yet when it came to him, her hormones seemed to enjoy the entire package. Perhaps she was the crazed one.

Anca cleared her mind, forcing her thoughts to replay the fight for any clues, any hints as to what these Rogues' purpose was. If all they wanted was to kill and terrorize, then Phoenix, only a few hours southwest, was much more populated. It was a buffet big enough to satiate even the darkest heart. And in a large city like that, autonomy would be greater.

Hadn't Phoenix been plagued by such things—rogue sorcerers and demons—recently? She'd seen the Magic Council's reports.

So why here? What was it about this small mountain town that kept Montgomery's remaining Rogues here?

The few answers she'd found so far only managed to bring more questions.

Loose rocks clattered along the side of the cliff, rattled across the ground. Anca glanced up and found herself captivated once more as Matt descended.

One of her lengthening fangs pricked her tongue. A reminder of how rapidly her body responded to him.

It truly was crazy.

And out of place. Unwanted.

Matt jumped the last few feet to the ground. "Shane'll be here in about a half an hour." He sat on the log beside her, his leg brushing hers.

Sparks danced along her skin.

The scent of minty male tantalized her senses.

Anca stiffened, but couldn't bring herself to move away. His body heat warmed her degree by degree. Though her heart beat rapidly, his presence was also, somehow, soothing. It dimmed the lingering aches from the fight.

Thankfully, Matt didn't seem to notice her discomfort. He stared out at the field of trees. "The shifter was powerful."

"Yes."

And yet, he'd killed it.

Weaponless.

She'd been slightly occupied with the overgrown black wolf, and hadn't seen Matt, had only felt the sudden extinguishment of the shifter's powerful magic. The disappearance of its darkly pulsing aura.

Matt absently asked, "It was most likely one of the lieutenants you felt earlier?"

"Probably."

"This Mistress he spoke of. You think it's the child, and that she's the new leader of the Rogues?"

She glanced at him, then immediately away from the companionship and protectiveness in his soft expression. "Probably."

"So she'll be even stronger."

Anca didn't bother to repeat herself again.

Of the growing questions in her mind, the most pressing one wasn't how these Rogues had gotten so unnaturally powerful. That was easy enough to figure out with their alignment to dark and evil.

It was wonderment at how the wolf managed to brush off her Council magic as if it had been nothing. The powers bestowed upon Judges were an explosive combination that could inflict damage on any Arcaine. Her spells had never, in her hundreds of years as a Judge, been flicked away like she was less than an annoying mosquito.

"Damn Rogues," Matt growled. "Arcaine monsters." Scowling, his eyes hotly crimson, he stared up at the thin bands of sky visible through interlaced tree branches.

There was a deep pain in his eyes.

Immense.

Old.

Yet for a brief moment, it looked fresh, as if something recently had been ripping at long buried wounds.

Heat prickled in her heart. She knew how old pains could flare without warning, making it seem like time had reversed, for the sole purpose of remembering—feeling fully—the fresh agonizing desperation of one's heart breaking.

Sympathy stirred within her. Uncomfortable at the way she wanted to draw him close, hold him tight and ease his pain, Anca quietly said, "You are a vampire. An Arcaine. Yet you sound as if you despise us all."

Matt slowly turned to meet her gaze. In his eyes was a glimpse of hardness.

"You don't hate Jordan. I've seen you cold to those in your clan, but it wasn't hate." Emotions and memories fled across his face before disappearing behind chilly aloofness once more. "I don't hate all Arcaine." Matt's voice held a hollow ring of truth. Clearing his throat, he continued, "I despise the monsters among us. I despise Rogues, who seem only to exist in order to cause mayhem wherever they go." His glare chilled. "I particularly hate underlings of the Magic Council, specifically their Judges."

With sudden clarity, she pictured his eyes turning to ice, full of fury and hate. For her. Because sooner or later, he'd find out who she truly was.

When MacDougal ordered her to work with Matt, to stay silent about being a Judge, it hadn't seemed a big deal. Now, after spending the last day with him, after fighting back to back—both of their lives on the line, protecting each other—he no longer felt like a distant stranger.

Anca wasn't quite sure what it was though. All she knew was the creeping twist in her stomach. Part guilt for lying, part dismay for what would come.

All she said was, "If you want to look at the butchers of this world, those who lack even the most basics of humanity, you should look at the mortals. Throughout history they have perpetrated far more murderous rampages than any Arcaine."

Eyes hard and flat, Matt replied, "You need a refresher course on the atrocities your Council has committed."

"You speak as if I'm some sort of babe, blindly following Council Laws. I know the Council once ruled through force more than diplomacy. But those were ancient times. Mortals are still doing so today."

He just shrugged. "Whatever you think."

She realized something. "You don't believe what I said earlier, about the Magic Council not sanctioning the rampages of those Judges in Spain."

His cool look said she was right.

The heat of debating flushed her blood. His unspoken accusations stirred her. "So you think I'm a monster who's only purpose is to play assassin for the Council's whims?"

He met her gaze, not denying her statement.

Rising to her feet, Anca dusted off her jeans, then stuck her restlessly fisting hands in her pockets. "The people I work with are not monsters. Neither am I. For nearly five centuries I have watched the world. In that time, I've seen mortals slaughter entire civilizations. My own people were forced to flee from such persecution. From genocide. My family..."

Old agonies rose. Her fangs descended at the rush of emotion. She stopped that line of though, gritting her teeth. "Even today the Romani are considered second class. As recently as a decade or so ago, numerous European countries continued to practice forced sterilization of Romani women. These mortals, who you claim are less monstrous than us.

"Look at the wars, at the way so many believe money and things are more important than people and love. We Arcaine have some Rogues. Yeah, they tend to be the kind of monsters you speak of. But most Arcaine are not. Most of the Magic Council is not." She turned away, looking at the forest. "I am not."

Behind her, he stood and stepped closer.

***

W
hite fury and red rage vibrated along Matt's nerves. How dare she defend all the Council had done.

Comparing them to the mortals?

Matt's voice came out a tight growl. "Do not speak to me of such things until you have witnessed all that I have."

"Who was it that died?" The comfort in her voice somehow dimmed his anger.

He resisted the luring call for long moments, then without thinking through why he would share such close details, quietly replied, "My wife. My children. My entire village. Twice."

Old fury washed through his veins. Drenched his vision with crimson. He wanted to rage, to destroy, to scream to the night around them.

He concentrated on the only thing still clear in his blurred vision.

Anca's face.

Her gray-blue eyes filled with a knowing empathy that beckoned to him, that said this bit of a woman somehow understood all that roiled inside him.

She understood not just the loss of one or two, but of everyone and everything once loved.

She reached out and laid a hand on his arm.

An electrical shock zipped over his skin. A soft breeze swirled around them. All he could smell was her cherry blossom and wildflower scent.

It was a douse of cold over his raging emotions. Breathing deep, he slowly calmed.

What was it about this woman that could make his emotions swing so widely, so fast? He stepped back, not able to deal with anyone's touch right now.

Especially not a woman who worked for the damned Council.

He crossed to the other side of the cave entrance, thankful when Anca resumed her seat on the old log.

And why the hell had he told her all he had? He didn't like sharing personal things with anyone other than a select few. Those few he trusted with not just his life, but his soul.

His thoughts turned to linger on the depthless pain in Anca's eyes. The same shadows of agony that he'd experienced. Her words about the Romani clarified a couple things. She'd said almost five centuries. Early 1500's then. Right around the time he'd been turned. In Europe, it had also been the start of the despicable purge of the Romani.

She must have been only a girl when forced to flee with her family. If she truly understood his pain, then she too had lost her entire world, down to every last person she'd loved. She kept a distance between herself and those around her, the same as him. Because letting people close meant the risk of more agony and darkness. There were few enough he'd found worth the potential cost.

"Be wary." She spoke tight and low. "Something comes. Powerful."

He closed the distance between them. A blast of magic slashed across his back, spinning him, slamming him face first into the rock wall he'd recently climbed. His forehead smacked hard, leaving his ears ringing. His nose broke with a flash of white-hot pain. Blood spilled from his temple into one eye.

He shoved from the rock.

They crouched behind the nearest concealing bushes.

Concern sharpened Anca's voice. "How hurt are you?"

"I'm fine." He wiped a hand over his face, unsurprised when it came back wetly red. Face wounds and broken noses bled profusely. The dizziness concerned him, until he gritted his jaw, and ignored it. He wiped more blood from his eyes, blinking his vision clear.

The shadows of the forest undulated. Wind whipped the upper branches.

But no one appeared.

Anca nodded at the field of trees. "I can't sense them now. I'm fairly certain they didn't leave, though."

Matt glanced at his watch, surprised to see that instead of hours, it had only been ten or so minutes since he'd called Shane. "Backup's on its way," he said under his breath.

Anca shrugged. "Supposed to be."

"What's that mean? Shane can be trusted."

She glanced at him with unreadable eyes. "Even though he works for the Magic Council?" she replied snidely.

Uncomfortable acid twisted in his gut. Matt repeated, "The man can be trusted."

"I don't doubt that." She paused, stiffening, staring out at the forest with all her attention. A long moment passed.

He felt nothing out there. It didn't mean a damn thing, though, not with his limited magic.

Finally, she continued, "Depending on what kind of power the Rogues have out here, they can prevent your Keeper from arriving soon enough to help. We need to keep that in mind, and not depend on it."

Made sense. "Tell me what you felt before the attack."

"Powerful, but not anything outrageous. Problem is, if they're cloaking themselves now, they were most likely doing it earlier too. For all I know it's the Mistress herself, though I doubt it." She sounded confused.

"What's the matter?"

Shaking her head, she replied, "Nothing. I'm just getting pissed off at these Rogues abilities to counter my magic. It shouldn't be possible."

The air stirred around them. To their right, leaves danced frantically, soundlessly. Unnaturally.

"We're being surrounded." Anca's eyes darkened, ringed with red. "We need to move. Now."

Keeping low to the ground, she followed the leaves.