Coldstorm (Heart of a Vampire, Book 7) (35 page)

The blade caught on a protective spell. Once more, her father's magic flooded Anca. His power, always so strong against the darker magics fought by their Romani people.

Eliza Báthory began to smile.

Until the blade bit through her protection and sliced into her flesh. She screamed sharply. Anca's sword cut off the sound as she removed Eliza's head from her shoulders.

Before the girl finished falling, Anca dropped to her knees at Robby's side.

She pressed a hand across his wounded throat while biting at her other wrist, letting her blood flow freely. Anca shoved her torn flesh against the boy's mouth. "Drink, damn it."

Robby latched on weakly. He fitfully swallowed a miniscule amount of blood. More dripped from the slack corners of his lips.

Desperately, Anca squeezed her eyes shut and shoved as much magic and strength into him that she could gather. Images flashed behind her eyelids, once more images of her family, dead centuries past. Memories of desperately, futilely covering wounds like this before.

The distinctive feel of life pumping from torn throats. The hot blood at first a gush, soon fading to a trickle with death's rapid approach.

Beneath her hand, all she felt was a trickle pumping from Robby's wound. Her eyes blurred.

No.
Să te ia dracu
.

This boy could not die.

Matt dropped an unconscious Leo at her side, then knelt. "The kid's still alive?" His voice was strained and thick with emotion.

If only Anca had her bag, with healing herbs and the last few plastic bottles of brew.

The boy drank another small swallow from Anca's wrist, staring at her with a twisted mix of unwarranted blind faith and the dawning agony of facing the end. Robby's slowing inhalations were a gurgled mix of blood and oxygen.

A gust of air shoved Matt forward, slamming him against her. He grabbed her shoulders to keep her from falling away from the boy.

At the touch, Anca met his gaze. Something warm inside her blazed to life. The bonds between the two of them flared.

Power surged through her connection to Matt, as if her ties to him somehow strengthened her bonds to the earth's magic.

Spirits circled, bringing more strength and light to this place, until magic glowed brightly. It coalesced around her and Matt.

Anca whispered a soft command. The magic poured from her and Matt, into Robby.

The power softened, the light warmed. Waves of healing energy rushed over the boy.

Robby took a stronger drink. His Adam's apple bobbed against Anca's palm. So too did his pulse, still weak and erratic, but seeming less so.

"How is he alive?" Matt said hoarsely with a bit of awe.

"I c-c-c..." Leo fell silent.

Anca stared at the clan's traitor.

Matt stiffened.

Leo closed his eyes. He sighed long and slow. "I." He breathed deep. "I c-couldn't k-kill my best friend."

Anca's heart thumped heavily. She looked back at Robby. With clarity, she understood the lack of pulsating blood beneath her hand.

Leo had cut the boy deep, yes. A deadly wound for a mortal. Debilitating, but healable—eventually and after quite a bit of pain—for a vampire.

She shuddered in relief, watching the boy swallow with more energy.

A clatter of booted feet, creaking metal and leather from armor and weapons, announced the cavalry's arrival.

MacDougal burst into the room, his expression fierce, taking everything in. He bore a multitude of wounds, as did the disheveled warriors rushing in behind him.

As if reality had been suspended during the fight for her life, and now crashed back down around her, Anca became aware of the flaring pain of her injuries. Especially the icy fire along the slashes over her ribs and stomach, her arms and thighs, from Oliver's polearm. Her muscles ached, her neck was strained. Bruises swelled a good portion of her face. Blood loss and the overuse of magic had drained even her reserves. Exhaustion sagged her shoulders, made her entire body twinge and ache.

Beside her, Matt sat heavily as if his energy had run out as well.

What a bedraggled pair they made. She glanced at him, a lightness in her heart that they'd survived. It was dimmed by the loss of Luci. At Leo's betrayal.

But those didn't compare to having Matt and Robby here and alive.

MacDougal strode toward them, waving his men at the walls. "Get every last one of them down. Call every doctor and nurse we know within driving distance. Drag them out here. Now."

Clan warriors swarmed through the room in a hurry to do his bidding.

The King strode closer. He glanced at Oliver, then the unmoving Alpha's son. With silent, heavy steps, MacDougal stepped up onto the dais. For a long moment he stared down at Eliza. Leo. Finally, he tensely turned to Robby, pain etching his face with hardness.

MacDougal inhaled sharply. Relief flickered in his eyes. He shouted, "Bring Dalia at once."

Muted voices called outside the room for the queen.

Crossing to them, MacDougal bent to a knee beside Robby. With immense gentleness, he cradled the boy's head in one of his hands, leaning down to rest his forehead on Robby's. "You're damn lucky you made it, kid."

Through his pain, the boy tried to wobbly grin.

"You don't even want to hear what I would have done to you," the King stated gruffly. He sat up and Anca caught a glimpse of deep emotion in the back of his gaze.

It seemed the entire clan loved this boy. She couldn't deny he'd grown on her. Just like the man sitting at her side.

At the thought, Anca straightened abruptly. Waves of exhaustion swept through her.

Dalia hurried inside the room, rushing to the dais. She shooed Anca and Matt away. "The two of you need seen to as well. The town doctors are coming." She knelt by Robby's side to check his wounds. After long moments, she confirmed what Anca had hoped. "He'll be all right."

MacDougal ordered some of his men to take Leo, and any other survivors, to the castle dungeon. Then he tried pushing Anca to the front cavern to wait for the doctors.

She refused to budge. For now. But soon she'd slip away. She didn't need medical advice, only food, blood and some sleep in the safety—and privacy—of her tent.

But first, she needed to finish her job. "What about the rest of the Rogues?"

MacDougal glanced at her wearily. "They knew we were coming. The plan was to ensure the Rogue's map fell into our hands. They didn't count on you, but the girl, their leader, sent orders to let the two of you to pass. Then they closed ranks. Waited to ambush us. We fought through. My men are now scouring every cave and tunnel in the area. We've only taken a few alive. Most ended up dead." His voice dropped a note, ringing with insincerity, "Sorry. They resisted. I promise the fights were fair."

Anca didn't mind. The Rogues deserved it for all they'd done. All they would have continued to do.

Besides, this was the clan's justice.

A
couple hours later, Matt sat in the back seat of one of his clan member's cars, being driven home under orders to rest for at least twelve hours. After already putting up with Jordan and Dalia's overworry, he'd hung out with Robby while the queen used her energy to help speed their healing. By the time they'd looked for Anca, to do the same for her, she'd disappeared.

Matt didn't know what to make of it. Did she want nothing to do with him?

He'd acted like a bastard, both the way he'd treated her when finding out she was a Judge, to practically mauling her in the damned cave.

He wouldn't want to have anything to do with himself either.

His thoughts spun in disjointed, jagged rhythms. And he knew he was useless until he took care of his bodily needs—blood, food and sleep.

Then he'd find Anca and...

Hell of it was, he didn't know what he wanted.

Except that he wanted her.

When the car stopped in front of Matt's house, it took him a minute to stand up. He waited for everything to stop spinning before he headed into his house. In the hall, he stumbled and instead of turning into the kitchen, moved to the living room, fell face down onto the couch, and passed out.

When he woke, late morning sun shone bright streaks through the open curtains of the wide front window. A yawning pit of hunger growled in his stomach. He downed some bagged blood, then devoured a good portion of his refrigerator's contents. It was long past noon by the time he felt strong enough to shower. Steamy hot water hit his tight muscles and some lingering wounds. Those from Eliza Báthory's lieutenant.

A quick call to the castle earned him some interesting information. He spoke to Jordan and learned the clan was quickly wiping out the last of the Rogues. The few alive and still uncaptured had been seen leaving town as fast as they could. No one was trying to step up and take over yet again. There weren't enough of them left to do anything but run or be caught.

Jordan handed the phone to Dalia, who launched in with an answer to the question that had made Matt call in the first place.

She'd spoken with the pack Alpha's son. "Jake confirmed the vampire lieutenant used spells on his weapon that resist magical healing."

Which explained his aching, still bleeding wounds.

Dalia wanted him to come in so she could check him out. "Right after you go to the forest and collect Anca," she said. "I wish to see the Judge and how she's faring. The witch, Jezamine left a potion mixture of herbs for the both of you. It seems to be the only thing able to help."

He hung up, realizing how easily he could think of Anca, and the fact she was a Judge, without any of his usual resultant anger and despair. None of the feelings he held for the Council stirred at thoughts of her.

A low thrum in his chest ached with instant agreement to retrieve the woman. Because he yearned to see her, to be in her presence. He needed to ensure she was safe and well.

But first he had to stop at the castle, pick up the stuff from the witch—and a few other things.

The woman might be a Judge. She might work for the damned Magic Council. But she was nothing like those people.

Anca was unique.

She was merely herself.

Nothing more. Nothing less.

And he wanted her with a fierceness he knew would never fade.

He hastily dressed for a trek through the forest, his thoughts racing. He'd messed things up, big time. He'd make up for it.

First, he needed to apologize.

And then what? Convince her to stay?

She was a gypsy, always on the move with assignments from the Council. Hell, he didn't even know where her home was.

With a mental slap at his panicky thoughts, Matt grabbed his keys and stormed out to his SUV.

The air stirred. On the wind came a hauntingly melodic voice.

Fate. Mate. Hope.

This time, he didn't back away. He didn't flinch. He didn't fear or deny.

This time, he embraced the words, letting them fill his heart as Anca had somehow managed to do.

It felt right.

Him.

Her.

The two of them.

Like two halves of a whole. Or two parts of a soul, according to Fate's whispers.

It shook him to the core how much he needed to be with her. To love her.

She was his destiny. She was his mate. Fate had told him, the strong magic throughout these mountains had told him. Had tried to show him repeatedly.

Now, understanding Anca's magic, knowing about the earth spirits, he knew who had shown him the way to the lake the day she'd been bathing.

Naked and lovely, a goddess out of his dreams.

Now he just had to convince the stubborn, solitary woman to give them a shot.

Sure, he had ties here in Moss Creek. His clan. Perhaps not blood relations, but family nonetheless.

He'd leave it all for her. Happily.

After all, there were trains, planes and automobiles now.

They could always come visit.

He jammed his SUV into drive and with a screech of tires, rocketed to the edge of town.

***

A
nca finished tying fresh bandages over the slowly healing wounds on her ribs. They pained her, but she'd deal with it. A minor annoyance was all. She packed up her extensive first aid kit, just as she'd been packing everything else in camp.

Tonight at midnight she'd help the Keeper of the Peace restore harmony to the earth in and around Moss Creek.

Then she'd leave.

It was time to go.

Sure there were unanswered questions.

A possible coming war. Vampires and wolves and other Arcaine working together. The Rogue's commander, whoever that might be. She had a feeling answers to those questions would take a while to find. Far longer than she'd be in town.

And really, why were thoughts of staying even nipping at her mind? She had no reason to remain.

She hadn't seen Matt since the fight yesterday. There certainly wasn't an ache spreading in her chest. The man shouldn't even be on her mind.

But Anca found herself sitting on her cot, staring blankly at the canvas ceiling. Shadows stirred over it, sunlight filtered through windblown tree branches.

Whispers of fate and bonds and matching souls surrounded her.

She strained to ignore them.

Long term relationships weren't her thing. Not that anyone was offering her such a thing.

Outside, someone cleared their throat. "Anca, you here?" Matt's voice rang through the tent.

Something she didn't dare define rose inside her. Her pulse thundered.

Matt was here. Why had he come?

She slowly walked out of the tent.

On the other side of her camp, Matt stood at ease, hands behind his back, feet planted slightly apart. "May I come in?"

Unable to find her voice, Anca crossed to the wards and opened them.

He strode inside, looking her over. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine." Suddenly agitated. Nervous. Uneasy. She hurried around her campsite, straightening and packing things away.

"Really?" Matt asked. "Because you're limping, and favoring your right side. Ribs?"

"I'll heal eventually."