The Demon King (14 page)

The portal that would take him into
Dorchester swirled to life in front of him. He knew better than to
waste time with portals; if a human so much as caught a glance of
something as bizarre as a portal, alarms would go up all over the
place claiming everything from aliens to time rifts to gas leaks
making everyone hallucinate. So he stepped hastily inside and made
sure it shut securely behind him as it whisked him to his
destination.

*****

Dahlia’s eyes looked up at the sound of
footfalls and radio communications outside the warehouse doors, but
the rest of her body didn’t move. Her fangs were still embedded in
her victim’s throat; his heart was still beating. She hadn’t killed
him. She didn’t have to if she didn’t want to… but those final
drops were the most life-giving for her. A give and take. Death for
life. There was no fairness in nature.

Still, she knew that to even hint at
something akin to vampirism these days to a human was to hint at
mass hysteria. A zombie mania that ironically would not die,
religious fanatics foretelling and re-foretelling the apocalypse,
an entire body of youth inherently in hatred of itself, and a
public massively jaded toward violence were a volatile combination.
It was a populace ripe with the intense need to have something to
believe in. All anyone had to do was count the quantity of crosses
dotting a standard sky line and the number of ghost related
programs airing in a week’s time, and that was easy enough to
confirm. The last thing Dahlia wanted to do was give humans any
more fuel for their credent bonfires. They could barely deal with
their own problems; dealing with those of other realms was yet
beyond their capabilities.

So she pulled her teeth from the young
mage’s throat and ran her tongue over the dual wounds they left
behind, knowing that they would heal up within seconds. With great
effort, she forced her fangs back into hiding. She hadn’t finished
feeding, and the dark force she’d displayed in her earlier battle
with the blue-eyed stranger had truly drained her. She was still
hungry. But there were invisible lines drawn in every situation,
and these lines she wasn’t quite ready to cross.

As the large metal doors to the warehouse
were at last broken open and police officers poured into the
building with weapons drawn, she stood to greet them. “Well, hello
boys,” she said slowly. Her voice had remained in vampire tones,
sultry and low, deep and enticing. Her words greeted the men like a
siren’s echo along the metal and cement of the warehouse. It
brought every last officer to a frozen halt as they entered the
space. She smiled what she knew good and well was a drop-dead
gorgeous smile. “What brings you into my neck of the woods?” she
asked, totally meaning the “neck” pun and chuckling at her own
private joke.

“
You! Get your hands up!”
one of the officers had enough remaining faculties to
command.

Dahlia’s gaze narrowed, but her smile
stayed. “Sure thing,” she said. She could feel the magic lacing
every one of her words, an inherent spell woven into the fabric of
her voice. She slowly raised her hands above her head, and then
swayed them gently in time with her hips, dancing to a melody no
one could hear. “Like this?” she asked.

She smiled to herself, knowing the gazes she
felt locked on her form were connected to swiftly hardening bodies.
There was a distant alarm ringing in the recesses of her mind,
something trying to remind her that this might not be a good idea.
But she was trapped in the sway of her own power now, mad with it,
hungry with it, and she was frankly feeling just a little mean.

“
What’s the matter boys?”
she asked casually as she slowly turned back around to face them.
She was right. Their weapons had lowered a few inches, as if
attached to arms that no longer realized the weight at the ends of
them. A few mouths were open a little too far, and the room was
filling with a scent she would recognize anywhere. It was lust,
pure, strong and heavy.

Her chuckle filled the hollows of the
warehouse. “Afraid I’ll bite?” she asked. Her smile slipped
dangerously.

“
Oh, I think they know you
will.”

Dahlia froze, stunned by
the sound of the new voice. It was as clear and resonant as her
own, with words that cut like scythes through the silence, slicing
up the magic around her as if it barely cared that it was there. It
was a voice of undeniable power, with a tone that meant
no-nonsense, and Dahlia Kellen was suddenly and
severely
turned on.

Very slowly, she turned to face the
newcomer. A figure in the shadows at the far wall stood tall and
strong against the darkness. But the shape moved forward, his boots
clicking clear on the pavement. As he stepped closer, his eyes
caught the light.

Irises like a sea on fire gazed out at her
from the hollow black. “You’re a little far from home tonight,
aren’t you?” he asked softly.

Dahlia felt what blood she had drain from
her face. The cracked pavement of the warehouse beneath her feet
tilted a little. Her head was too light, and the space around her
was expanding too far. In the silence that grew stronger like a
distant ringing, she heard her own heartbeat quicken. She licked
her lips.

He continued out of the shadows and stepped
into the light.

In that single moment, Dahlia’s world
changed. Her mind flashed to a white stag with gemstone antlers.
The ringing that had been distant engulfed her. The mortal realm
slid back out of the way, leaving only her and the man who now
stood before her.

She had never seen him before, but she knew
him. Her gut clenched, her already racing heart slipped into
overdrive, and her hunger redoubled – but this time focused. Now
she wanted to feed. But only on him.

“
How would you know?” she
asked. Her words had grown tight, some of the power siphoned from
them by the strength of her surprise.

The man smiled a white smile of perfect
teeth… and a hint of something more. “Well, you’re definitely not
human, and you’re standing in the middle of the human world. So I’d
say you’re far from home.”

Dahlia swallowed hard. Her throat stuck,
having suddenly dried out. She managed to keep from coughing, but
her gaze was glued to the stranger.

She was a Tuath fae, so it wasn’t as if she
were unaccustomed to being surrounded by beautiful men. Her entire
realm was populated with them, some more so than others, but all
striking in their own unique and entirely desirable way. She’d also
met a few of the Thirteen Kings, and had even made the acquaintance
of some of the males from their various realms. It was just a sorry
fact that non-humans were usually more beautiful than humans. This
was the case for many reasons, not the least of which was
magic.

But just then, caught in the gravity of the
man before her, Dahlia felt like she’d never seen a beautiful being
before in her life. This was her first. He wore tight blue jeans,
black engineering boots, a white tee-shirt that hugged every ridge
of his six-pack, and a worn black leather biker jacket. It was the
ultimate, iconic uniform of a man who couldn’t be bothered to pick
out anything different. It was casual perfection.

He was a masterpiece of carelessly gorgeous
thick hair, strong shadowed chin, and shoulders that looked as
though they could easily carry the weight of the world… and maybe
they did. A police badge shined where it was clipped to the waist
band of his jeans. He had an aura about him of epic responsibility,
one of fierce determination and a will like steel. As perfect as he
was, he had the impossible scent of humanity about him. Whatever he
was, he was part human.

There was something else,
too. Was it… Akyri? There was a touch of that, yes. She recognized
it at this point. But it was like a dusting of salt on an evening
meal; it wasn’t the main course. There was something else there,
something much stronger.
Darker
.

And most beautiful, perhaps most perplexing
of all, was that he seemed to be looking at her the same way she
was looking at him. With keen interest. With a touch of confusion.
And with unmistakable hunger.

Quite suddenly, a spike of stark
independence speared its way into Dahlia’s mind. She blinked. What
the hell was she doing? She blinked again and took a step back. She
needed to get out of there. With more effort than she’d expected it
to take, she pulled her gaze from the stranger’s and glanced at the
police over her shoulder. There were roughly half a dozen of them.
They hadn’t moved since the other man had appeared. In fact, they
seemed oddly hypnotized even though she was no longer concentrating
on them.

This wasn’t turning out the way she’d
wanted. When she’d left her house earlier that evening, she’d only
planned to cause a bit of a scene, maybe get herself arrested or
taken off the “future queen” list. She hadn’t meant to get caught
up in some sort of ritualistic summoning, she hadn’t meant to use
up all her power, and she hadn’t meant to do whatever she’d done to
all those men. She certainly hadn’t planned on being caught in her
vampiric state, feeding on a human and desperately wanting more.
She hadn’t meant to lose control. Not like this. Not in front of
someone like….

She turned back around – to find that the
stranger had closed the distance between them and was standing over
her, larger than life and smelling like leather, men’s soap, gun
powder and dark, dark magic.

Not him!
she thought desperately. Most of all, she hadn’t
planned on going out tonight and running headlong into
him
.

Chapter Sixteen

“
How positive are we that
it’s one of the remaining kings?” Roman asked. He was sorry almost
immediately after the question had left his lips. He hadn’t meant
to question Lalura’s capability in reading and interpreting visions
or prophecies. He’d really just been thinking about the few kings
left who hadn’t yet found their queens, and he hadn’t meant to
voice the thought aloud. It was just that sometimes it was a little
too easy to let his guard down, especially around someone he’d
known as long as he had Lalura Chantelle.

“
It is the only thing
I
am
certain of,”
said Lalura in her ancient, scratchy voice. She slowly rose from
the cushioned rocking chair she’d been reclined in, leaning heavily
on the cane in her hand for support. Her hand appeared knobby and
weathered where it wrapped tightly around the cane’s head, and
Roman could swear it was more so than it had been in the past. He
could count each vein, and even see it throbbing beneath the
painfully thin tissue paper that was her skin. It was like the old
woman had aged another ten years overnight.

He was wondering how much more the witch
could take. She’d been personally attacked more than half a dozen
times in the last six months. Whoever and whatever the Entity was,
it wanted her dead and it didn’t appear as if it were going to tire
of trying to make that happen. Maybe it was hoping she would simply
tire out and die of exhaustion. Roman was beginning to worry the
same thing.

“
I’ve run the spell
countless times, my friend. Fate will reveal nothing more. Nothing
but….” Her ancient voice trailed off.

Roman sat up a little straighter in his
wing-backed chair. Lalura had made her way to the hearth across the
room. It was dead right now, not so much as a pile of smoldering
ashes to give the fireplace life. It was June and this particular
safe house wasn’t in the redwood forest, as many of Roman’s homes
were, but in the lush forestry of Vermont, tucked away behind miles
of privately owned woodland and abutting a stream. Forest or not,
Vermont was warm in June and a fire wasn’t needed. Roman tended to
steer clear of unnecessary real fire unless he needed to speak with
Pi, the fire elemental. But Lalura gazed into the space anyway, as
if its flames were dancing merrily before her on a cold autumn
night.

Roman waited. He knew she would continue. He
knew she wouldn’t keep him hanging, not because she didn’t have it
in her, but because she’d never been one to take unnecessary
chances just to spare someone’s feelings. She was far more
interested in doing what was smart than what was socially
acceptable.

“
One of you will die,
Roman. One who has claimed a companion.”

Roman braced himself. It was like bracing
yourself for the after shock when a bomb went off. The damage was
already done.

She turned and pinned him with her blue
eyes. “One whose queen has been found will soon take his final
breath.”

It wasn’t truly as if he hadn’t expected
something like this. The last time he’d discussed visions or
prophecies or seers with Lalura, he’d learned that one of them had
seen a crown engulfed in flames. He wasn’t stupid. Of course, the
ultimate demise of one of the Thirteen had come to mind. But he’d
hoped it would be the traitor. Or he’d hoped that perhaps that it
had been a vision of something already transpired, such as the
death of the Gargoyle King.

This… was not what he’d wanted to hear. And
yet, somehow he wasn’t surprised.

Roman took a deep breath. “Very well. Then
we know one of the mated kings will die, and we know one who has
not yet found his queen will be the reason.” He had half a mind to
kill the remaining five.

Wait
. Had he seriously just had that thought?
Seriously
? Had that truly and
honestly gone through his head just then? What was he, the King
Herod of Christian mythology?
Christ
, he thought –
ironically.