Bite Page 12

  After that, she’d been subjected to fifteen solid minutes of the Vision from Hell. None of which made a damn bit of sense. There’d been a seven-foot devil and cups of human blood, women sacrificed on stone altars, vampires grinning while they did stuff no vampire had any business doing. She’d even seen herself, flinging magic around like something out of The Lord of the Rings. But what really worried her was the guy with the sword, his handsome face cold with determination as he fought at her side.

  That was all she needed. Another flipping vampire, sinking his fangs into various parts of her anatomy, including her heart. Unfortunately, she was going to need all the help she could get.

  This being a witch thing was starting to seriously suck.

  No way, Caroline thought, beginning to panic as the implications of her vision became painfully clear. This is a really bad idea. I haven’t had the training. I’ll screw it up. I’ll get somebody killed. I’ll get me killed. She climbed to her feet, longing to crawl into bed and pull the covers over her face. I’m only an English teacher. They can’t seriously expect me to…

  Yes, they could. Caroline had only been in Avalon a month, but she already knew these lunatics took the Maja’s Oath seriously.

  But what if she didn’t tell anybody? What if she just ignored it? Nobody had to know.

  Except her.

  Caroline groaned, knowing there was no way she’d just stand around with her thumb up her butt and let people die without trying to do something about it. Of course, she didn’t have a clue what to do, but one step at a time.

  Okay then. She straightened her shoulders, the decision to act steadying her. Much as she hated the thought, she had to find the vampire swordsman. Luckily, that shouldn’t be a problem. It felt as if the vision had tied a mystical cord around her neck, and he was somewhere out there on the other end.

  She’d just have to make sure he didn’t get too close. She wasn’t up to another game of Bite-and-Run, not after her glorious month with Count Rat Bastard, otherwise known as Dominic Bonnhome, who’d gotten her into this mess to begin with.

  Just before she stepped outside, Caroline took one last longing look around. Over the past couple of weeks, she’d consoled her broken heart by playing with her new powers, including conjuring a houseful of French antiques. She’d since decided they were a little much for her tiny brick ranch, so when she’d seen this cool cream leather living room set on Queer Eye, she’d magicked herself a copy. She liked the results. The cream set off the gold in the cheerleading trophies tastefully displayed on top of the TV.

  Now, whether a twenty-eight-year-old woman should actually display her cheerleading trophies was a different question. She’d think about that one if she survived.

  Enough stalling. Time to find the vampire.

  Caroline opened the door and stepped out into an alien world. To the east, a Scottish castle towered over an expansive golf course that was a dead ringer for Augusta. Just across the cobblestone street, the neighbors’ Roman villa lazed in the moonlight, surrounded by an olive grove. Something tiny and glowing zipped around in the trees, reminding Caroline of the lightning bugs back home.

  It was probably a fairy.

  Next to those displays of conspicuous magical consumption, her pretty brick ranch looked like a double wide. It was a good thing witches and vampires didn’t form homeowners’ associations, or she’d be in deep trouble for dragging down the neighborhood’s property values.

  When she got a little stronger in the magic department, Caroline fully intended to ditch the magical duplicate of her house in Georgia and replace it with something that would let her keep up with the Draculas. Disneyland, maybe.

  Crossing her postage-stamp of a yard to the cobblestone street, she paused a moment to get her bearings. Ahead, the magical city of Avalon sprawled in all its shimmering, otherworldly glory beneath a sky spread with alien constellations.

  Pretty as it was, it was a little unnerving.

  In the space of eight weeks, she’d gone from grading papers to losing her job to living on an alternate Earth in a parallel magical universe. Sometimes she got mental whiplash so bad, she had to create a dimensional gate back to Realspace Earth, where her parents had a house in Atlanta. An evening spent listening to Dad bitch about the Braves made her feel almost normal again.

  One of these days she was going to have to tell them what she’d become. But any conversation that began, “Well, Dad, I picked up this vampire in a bar…” couldn’t go anywhere but downhill.

  CAROLINE tracked the swordsman down in an elegant brick Georgian that looked like a set in My Fair Lady. The massive double doors opened automatically when she stepped up to them, but once inside, the building seemed as empty as the rest of Avalon. She wondered where the heck everybody was. The place had seemed crowded enough when she’d arrived with Dominic. Then, poof! Instant ghost town.

  Was it something she said?

  He was here, though. This close, Caroline could feel him—strength and masculinity, powerful and dark and frightening.

  Her favorite flavor.

  Cut that out, Caroline, she told herself sternly. You’re on a fangfree diet, remember?

  Following that psychic pull, she walked down a short corridor past stained glass windows, heavily carved wainscoting, and a chandelier dripping with crystals shaped like daggers. Yet another set of intimidating doors swung slowly open. Caroline resisted the temptation to give them a magical creak.

  The first thing she saw was a walnut bar the length of an aircraft carrier, equipped with more brass than the Boston Pops and more crystal than Tiffany’s. Around it stood walnut tables and massive armchairs upholstered in oxblood leather. Other than the swordsman, there was no one in sight.

  He sat in an armchair wearing a full suit of plate armor that gleamed gold in the dim lighting. A great helm sat on the table at his elbow, next to a pair of gauntlets. His long sword leaned against the arm of the chair, its hilt encrusted with gems.

  Damn, he looked more gorgeous and romantic than he had in the vision. Black hair lay tangled around shoulders broad enough for an Olympic gymnast. His face was equally broad and exotic, with an arrogant Roman nose and cheekbones so high and sharp, they could grate female hearts into pâté.

  He turned to look at her as she entered, one brow lifted, his eyes a smoky blue that gave his harshly handsome face a hint of the poet.

  All of which provided a marked contrast to the bottle of Jack Daniels he balanced on one knee.

  “You just sit around in full armor?” Damn, she’d kill for a can opener. “Doesn’t it chafe?”

  “It’s enchanted. I’ve worn less comfortable Armani.” The swordsman squinted at her through the smoke curling from his thick black stogie. Instead of the usual cigar reek, it smelled masculine and exotic, a hint of magic giving the smoke a faint glow. “Don’t believe I know you, kid. And I thought I knew every Maja in the Mageverse.” White teeth flashed. “Most of ’em in the biblical sense.” Flicking ashes into a crystal ashtray sitting beside his helm, he took another puff. His hand was big, square, and scarred, but his lips looked impossibly erotic as they closed around the cigar.

  She dragged her wandering attention away from all the carnal ideas that mouth gave her. “I’m Caroline Lang.” And how was she supposed to explain the situation without sounding like an even bigger idiot than usual? “I’m new here.”

  The swordsman stood to shake her extended hand. His touch did devastating things to her concentration. “Hell of a time to join the business.” He nodded at the nearest chair. “I’m Galahad. Have a seat.”

  “Galahad? The Galahad?” When he lifted an amused brow, she mechanically moved to take the chair he’d indicated.

  Gorgeous old tales spun through her memory. Sir Galahad, son of Lancelot and knight of the Round Table. So pure of spirit, he alone of all Arthur’s knights was fit to find the Holy Grail, the cup of Christ.

  The legends had neglected to mention he was a vampire.

  The
y’d gotten the part about the Holy Grail wrong, too, according to the vamp who’d made her a witch. Assuming Count Rat Bastard hadn’t lied about that the way he had about everything else. For one thing, it wasn’t holy.

  According to Dominic, the cup actually belonged to Merlin himself, who used a series of tests to determine the worthiness of the knights and ladies of Camelot. Those who passed were allowed to drink from the Grail, which magically transformed them. The women became magic-using witches—Majae—while the men became warrior vampires, or Magi. Collectively, they were known as Magekind, the immortal guardians of Man.

  The Magekind were a fertile lot, but their children were born mortal. The Latents, as they were called, carried a genetic trait called Merlin’s Gift that could transform them into Magekind.

  If, that is, the adult Latent made love to a Maja or Magus at least three times. Repeated sexual contact triggered the Gift, transforming the Latent in an explosion of magic. Without that contact, the child grew old and died like anybody else, except for passing the trait on to his own Latent descendants. Sometimes the Gift passed unused through so many generations, the Latents themselves forgot its existence.

  Which is how Caroline became a witch after meeting Dominic Bonnhome in a bar. He’d spent the next month romancing her—wine, roses, expensive dinners. She’d just lost her teaching job to state education cutbacks, and she was feeling all too vulnerable. Dominic seemed the perfect antidote: handsome, seductive, fantastic in bed. A dream lover who anticipated her every need and fulfilled each and every one of them. What more could a girl want?

  Then he told her he was a vampire. Didn’t it just figure? The man of her dreams was a nutball. What was worse, he swore she was a descendent of one of the knights of the Round Table. She was getting ready to call the little men in white coats when he turned into a wolf.

  What a relief.

  So when he’d offered her immortality, measureless power, and a role in saving the world with him by her side forever, she’d jumped at it like the lovesick idiot she’d been. The next thing she knew, it felt like the power of the cosmos was pouring into her on the end of Dominic’s dick. Suddenly she was a Maja, mistress of mind-blowing magical powers. Scary as hell, but what a kick.

  It only got better when he showed her how to create a magic gate to Avalon. She thought she’d died and gone to cheerleader heaven.

  Which was when her dream lover dropped her like a coyote-ugly sorority girl the morning after a drunken frat party. Ooops. Her Maja trainer later told her Dominic was a professional seducer whose job was romancing promising Latents. She’d been suckered.

  Now the latest vampire in her life was watching her through the smoke of his cigar. Sir Galahad himself. She could tell just by looking at him that he was going to be bigger trouble than Dominic.

  “Ninety percent of what you’ve heard about me is bull-shit,” Galahad told her.

  “Yeah? My trainer said you Round Table guys are stone killers who go through women like toilet paper.” Keep your distance, Sir Fangsalot.

  He stuck the cigar between his fangs and grinned around it. “You got me on the first part. Not sure about the second.” Puffing, he allowed an artistic pause to develop. “I’ve never used toilet paper. Last time I took a dump, Europe was sliding into the Dark Ages.” Before she could think of a suitable response to that one, he flicked his cigar into the ashtray. “So what brings you to the Lords’ Club, Caroline? You do realize the Ladies’ Club is across the street, right?”

  Apparently Sir Galahad was a sexist jerk. That made things a lot easier. “I guess you didn’t get the memo. Men and women are equal now.”

  He gave her a long look that somehow made her feel like a bitch. “Maybe, but witches are better than everybody. Which is why there are two clubs. All that blood and sex is so distasteful.”

  And maybe she needed to quit being so defensive before she alienated the only guy who could help her. “That’s what I get for making assumptions.”

  “I forgive you.” He stretched out his long legs, mailed heels clanking on the hardwood floor as he studied her. “Mostly because of those shorts. Is that fabric, or just a layer of magical spray paint?”

  Caroline glanced down. She wore the same snug denim cutoffs and cropped T-shirt she’d had on when she sat down to watch TV. “I forgot I was wearing these. I came right over when I had the vision.”

  “Yeah, I figured I didn’t owe this little encounter to good Karma.” He rolled out of his chair with a boneless grace that suggested he wasn’t kidding about the enchanted armor. Caroline followed as he sauntered over to the bar and pulled a glass down from an overhead rack. “I assume this vision did not involve you, me, and a pair of fur-lined handcuffs.”

  She had to admit she was tempted, Dominic notwithstanding. “If I said yes, could we pretend it did?”

  He looked up at her, lifting a brow. “I’d love to, but I get the distinct impression we have a more pressing engagement.” Pouring two fingers of whiskey into a glass, he handed it to her. “Spit it out, Caroline. Who am I supposed to kill now?”

  2

  CAROLINE reached past Galahad to claim the glass of whiskey. She had the feeling she was going to need it. “Actually, I think they’re vampires.”

  “Figures. Geirolf’s bunch?”

  “Who’s Geirolf?”

  “You are new.” He shrugged those impressive gold-clad shoulders. “It’s complicated. Why don’t you tell me what you saw?”

  She hesitated, not sure where to start. “Well, you’re not going to believe this, but I think I saw the devil.”

  “Big guy? Red skin, huge horns?”

  “I’m not making this up.”

  “I don’t doubt it, but that wasn’t the devil. That was Geirolf.”

  “You’re kidding. Horns?”

  “He only had horns part of the time. The rest of the time, he looked kind of like Richard Gere.” Galahad took another swig from his bottle and grimaced at the fire. Both forms were probably illusions. He was actually an alien from another planet in the Mageverse.”

  Dominic had mentioned Mageverse aliens, too. Apparently Merlin and his lover Nimue had also been from another planet; they’d come to Realspace Earth like old-style missionaries visiting Africa. After transforming the humans they’d chosen as champions, they’d jaunted off to the next world on their list. “Geirolf is one of Merlin’s people?”

  “God, no.” Galahad leaned a mailed elbow against the bar, armor creaking as he settled in to tell his story. “Geirolf and his kind—they’re called the Dark Ones—are psychic parasites.”

  Caroline snorted. “Sounds like Dominic.”

  “Guy that turned you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I figured. You’ve got that skittish look. Court seducers don’t have a whole lot of scruples when it comes to recruitment.” He met her gaze. “Not all of us are like that, Caroline.”

  Those blue eyes were so direct and level, she found herself relaxing. Maybe he could be trusted. “That’s good to hear. So what’s this with these killer aliens?”

  He puffed his cigar a few times, eying her thoughtfully through the smoke before continuing. “The Dark Ones came to Earth about five thousand years ago and started passing themselves off as gods. They’d con the locals into making human sacrifices, then they’d feed on the life force of the victims. When Merlin and Nimue showed up, they declared war on the Dark Ones and kicked their collective butts.”

  She toasted him with her glass. “Yay, Merlin.”

  He grinned and flicked his ashes into the crystal ashtray at his elbow. “After the battle, Merlin and Nimue banished the Dark Ones and imprisoned their ringleader, Geirolf, in a cell on Mageverse Earth.”

  “Why didn’t they kill him?”

  “Evidently they’re not real big on killing. Personally, I think it’s the only real way to thin the asshole population.”

  Caroline instantly thought of a principal or two she’d like him to meet. “That could work.”


  “Yeah, but they won’t let me do it. Anyway, Geirolf stayed locked up for the next sixteen centuries before escaping a year ago. The bastard managed to create a vampire army before we killed him last month.”

  “You sure he’s dead? Because I saw him making magical cups in my vision.”

  Galahad shook his head. “Nope, he’s dead. You must have seen something that’s already happened. I never heard anything about any cups, though.”

  “Well, he made them. Three of them. He gave them to these…I guess they were his priests. They wore these really loud robes. Anyway, thousands of worshipers lined up to drink from those cups. As soon as they took a sip, they turned into vampires.” She sipped her whiskey and frowned. “Some of whom were female. I thought only men became vamps.”

  “Geriolf’s vamps have different rules than we do.” Galahad scratched his jaw thoughtfully. “So that’s how he transformed all those idiots. We wondered. Sounds like he stole a couple of pages from Merlin’s book.”

  “Presumably. Next I saw him getting ready to sacrifice a naked man and woman on this stone altar…”

  “Right. That was a Magekind couple, Erin Grayson and Reece Champion. Geirolf intended to use their deaths to power a spell designed to wipe us all out.”

  “Sounds ugly.”

  “That’s putting it mildly. We’d have all cashed in our chips if he’d pulled that spell off. Luckily Erin and Reece managed to kill him first. But before we could wipe out Geirolf’s worshippers, his second-in-command scattered them all over the planet. We’ve been hunting vampires ever since.” Galahad grimaced. “And what a pain in the ass that’s been.”

  “Oh, so that’s what that was. I wondered what the hell was going on when I saw all those vampires vanish.” Caroline sighed and took another sip. “Anyway, it’s going to get worse.”

  “Figures. Why?”

  “Geirolf’s priests took the cups with them when they gated away. I saw this one in particular make his own little nest after looking up twenty of his followers. And since he’s got his very own cup—”