Bite Page 15
THE good news was that they found no other vampires in the complex. The bad news was that they didn’t find Geirolf’s Grail either. Under Galahad’s direction, Caroline scanned the walls and furniture carefully with a spell that was the magical equivalent of an X ray. She found nothing other than a nauseating collection of photographs in a drawer, apparently souvenirs from the cult’s murders. The girl who’d attacked her held the knife in one of them, blood-spattered and smirking.
Caroline started feeling better about killing her.
The complex itself was laid out around a single cavernous central chamber like the hub of a wheel. Corridors spoked out to smaller chambers, most of them dormitories, though one was a den complete with a television set, an entertainment center, and a wide selection of porn DVDs. Galahad made a show of looking through them with such exaggerated lechery Caroline had to laugh.
But any amusement died a quick death when they stepped into the central chamber.
Galahad’s vampire nose detected the reek of decayed blood coming from the pentagram-shaped altar that dominated the room. He turned just in time to catch Caroline as she staggered. Her open visor revealed a face as pale as paper.
“Death.” Huge dark eyes met his. “I saw this. I saw this room. And now I see…” She gagged. “Oh, man, that’s just disgusting. What is it with these people?”
“They’re assholes?”
“Nah, that’s an insult to assholes everywhere.” She reached up and dragged off her helm. “Look, this is a waste of time. Geirolf’s Grail isn’t here, and neither are the vamps—thank God. I’ve scanned every inch of this place, and there’s nothing. Besides, if anybody was here, they’d have jumped us by now.”
Frustrated, Galahad glared around at the surrounding walls. “Then where are they? It’s barely an hour until dawn. The cultists sleep during the day just like I do.”
“Which means they’ll be back any minute.”
“That, or they’ll go to ground somewhere else. Either way, I’m not waiting around to get ambushed. Look, could you work a spell to keep them out of here?”
Caroline’s silky brows pulled together. “If I do that, they’re going to know we’re onto them.”
“They’ll figure that one out when they see the two bodies. Assuming Teen Bitch didn’t just send them the cup and telepathically tell them what was going on.”
“But if she did, why didn’t they come back and blast us? Something else is going on here.” She frowned and scratched her forehead through her open visor. “Think they’ve just decided to abandon the complex and build another one?”
“But you saw us fighting a whole bunch of them here in that vision. So they’re going to come back.” He drummed his mailed fingers on the hilt of his sword. “Tell you what. Set a spell to let you know when they return—without alerting them—get rid of the bodies, and gate us out of here. We’ll come back when we’ve got reinforcements. Or at least a better idea what the fuck is going on.”
“So what are we going to do in the meantime?”
“Get some sleep. It’s not as if I’ve got a hell of a lot of choice.”
THE priest was dead.
Marilyn Roth realized he was gone as she rose from the body of the rival cultist she’d just killed. His gnawing presence had vanished from her mind like a toothache. She licked the blood from her lips and grinned in pure, savage joy.
Alan Grange was dead, stripped of his stolen power, unable to dominate or abuse her any longer. She was free. Free to take control of his cult and enjoy all the benefits leadership would give her: safety and power and the fear of those beneath her.
And she had no intention of losing the opportunity his death gave her.
Her eyes tracked across the battlefield, where Alan’s lieutenant was busy raping the leader of the eco-terrorists. Apparently Steve hadn’t yet realized the priest was dead.
Good.
She plucked the blade from the heart of her victim and started toward him, detouring around a battling knot of vampires. She glanced at them long enough to make sure her people were winning. They were, so she kept going.
So much for the would-be grail thieves.
Just that night before, Alan announced he’d had a vision another cult had learned they had one of the cups. They’d all known what that meant.
War.
Only last month, all the cults had been united under Geirolf’s leadership. That had ended when the demon god died and the vampires were forcibly scattered by Geirolf’s lieutenant.
They didn’t stay scattered. It wasn’t long before the cult leaders started searching out their original members. Alan had been one of them, armed with the stolen Grail he intended to use in creating fresh recruits.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only ambitious priest with that thought. Anybody who had a grail was trying to hang onto it, while groups without a cup were trying to take one by force.
So far, Alan’s cult had successfully defended its grail against another Satanist cult and a group of white supremacists. Next had come this bunch of eco-loonies who’d thought Earth would be just perfect without all the people on it.
Alan’s decision to hit their would-be invaders first had handed them a victory, but they’d still lost several warriors in the process. Marilyn figured she was going to have to do something about recruitment as soon as she took care of Alan’s second-in-command.
Of course, once Steve Jones was attended to, she’d have to deal with his supporters, not to mention whomever had killed the priest himself. That last might be a problem, since Alan had gasped something about the grail just before he gated away with his daughter.
But first things first.
Marilyn stepped up behind Jones as he pumped between his victim’s thighs. She tapped him on the shoulder, the knife hidden by her side. “Oh, Steve,” she purred, “I hate to interrupt…”
6
“IT’S a good thing I’m not afraid of heights.” Caroline stepped up to the edge of Galahad’s bedroom and looked out over the moonlit mountains. She’d gated them there after he showed her a mental image of where he wanted to go.
Compared to the villas, chateaus, and castles of Avalon, Galahad’s home was an exercise in minimalism. The semi-circular room jutted out from the face of a vertical cliff to hang, unsupported, a dizzying distance from the ground. It had no apparent walls other than the cliff itself—and, for that matter, no ceiling either.
That was an illusion, however. She could sense the magical barrier that protected the room emanating from runes cut into the stone. Nothing could get in he didn’t want in.
She had to admit, the room suited him. The rough granite wall seemed a reflection of Galahad’s uncompromising strength, just as his sensuality was reflected by the circular bed draped in white silk.
A heavy walnut armoire stood off to one side of the bed, its dark, gleaming wood heavily carved with more of those runes. She wondered what enchantment they cast—a cleanliness spell? An anti-wrinkle charm? Probably, since it was a good bet Galahad didn’t do laundry.
Noticing a low, musical tinkle, Caroline looked around to see a little waterfall flowing through an opening in the cliff. It splashed down over the rocks to flow past the bed and into a tiny pool surrounded by plants and vines growing from niches in the stone. Other openings glowed with some kind of magical illumination that provided a soft, dim light.
Two rock doorways cut into either side of the cliff wall. Stepping over to one, she saw stairs leading downward. “Where do these go?”
Galahad dropped onto the bed and twisted around to reach into one of the stone niches. He pulled out a bottle and a couple of glasses. “There are two more floors below—a pool room and a library.”
Caroline turned to look at him. “That’s it? In the whole house?”
He shrugged, pouring the conte
nts of the bottle into the glasses. “Hey, what else do I need? I don’t eat anything that’s not in the magic wet bar here. Any visitors who need something more substantial are probably Majae, and they can conjure their own food.”
“You’ve got a point.” She crossed the room to look down. Jutting from the cliff thirty feet below and off to the left was another circular platform. A pool shimmered in the center of it, its surface rippling from the waterfall tumbling down the cliff to splash into one end. “I’ve got to admit, this is impressive.”
“Morgana built it for me.” He walked over and handed her a glass.
Caroline took it. “How’d you get her to do that?”
“We were lovers at the time.”
“You banged the dragon lady? You are brave.”
“That’s exactly what my brother knights said.” He smiled a little dryly and took a sip. “We lasted an entire decade before I managed to piss her off. I still hold the record for longest-running relationship with Morgana Le Fay.”
“Hey, better than I did with Dominic.” Caroline swallowed a mouthful from her own glass, shuddered at the taste, and turned it into Pepsi. “Do you always drink like this?”
Galahad shot her a look. “I’m a vampire, Caroline. The only drinking problem I have is making sure I’ve got a date on Saturday night.”
“You silver-tongued romantic, you.”
His smile was wicked. “I didn’t hear you complaining.”
Caroline turned to watch as he walked back across the room in that muscular, long-legged stalk of his. Damn, the man looked good even wearing more metal than a can of tuna.
It was probably just as well it was so close to dawn. Given her romantic track record, it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to yield to Galahad’s potent temptation.
He sank down on the bed and slumped, looking tired. “Can you help me with my armor? I doubt I have time to take it all off before the sun comes up.”
“Sure. Where do you want it?”
He gestured vaguely. “Over there’s fine.”
Caroline cast a quick spell, and the suit vanished from his body to take up residence in a neat pile. Her own joined it an instant later.
Galahad looked down at the pair of silk pajama bottoms she’d given him to replace it. “Nice. Thanks.” He rubbed absently at his chest. “And I’m clean, too. Aren’t you efficient?”
She shrugged and straightened the hem of her own cotton pajamas. “That’s the nice thing about magic. It’s a great time-saver.”
As he rose to pull down the covers, it suddenly occurred to her there was only one bed. But before any real alarm could set in, she got a good look at his back and forgot about everything else. A rainbow of scrapes and bruises decorated his ribs. “What happened to you?”
He glanced up at her as he slid under the covers. “Got into a fight with a pedophile earlier tonight. Bastard had an axe. Armor kept it from cutting me in half, but the impact was a bitch.” A pained grunt escaped him as he lay back.
Concerned, Caroline crossed the room to his side, frowning. “You want me to heal that?”
He shrugged. “My body will take care of it by sunset. It’s one of the few kinds of magic I do have.”
“But you’re hurting now. Let me fix it.” She could see the pain in his eyes, and it bothered her.
Reaching out a hand, Caroline rested her fingers against the side of his face and reached for her magic. Carefully, she sent it into him in the same gentle stream she used tending her own aches, seeking out his injuries and healing them. As she watched, the bruises faded and disappeared.
He sighed and relaxed. “Thanks.”
Caroline shrugged and dropped her hand, feeling oddly shy. “Least I could do after you helped me with Father Fang and Teen Bitch.”
“My pleasure, more or less.” Galahad settled back against the mound of pillows. “You know, there’s more than room enough for two in here.”
“Honey, there’s room enough for the Washington Red-skins in that bed.”
“Now there is a thoroughly unpleasant image.”
Caroline gave him a wicked grin. “Depends on your point of view.”
What the hell. She was too tired to conjure another bed anyway. She moved around to the other side and flipped the comforter back, then slid between the fine silk sheets. They felt deliciously cool and smooth against her tired body.
With a sigh of pleasure, she snuggled in and looked at the horizon just beginning to pinken over the mountains. “Why don’t you live in Avalon like everybody else? I figured you for a castle or something.”
“I was never one for conspicuous consumption. Besides, sometimes I just don’t need to be around people.” He paused, and something a little dark moved behind his eyes. “I kill too many of them.”
She bit her lip, painfully reminded of the girl she’d blasted. “Yeah. I guess I can understand that.”
“It’s nice to come here and look out at the stars and watch the dragons.”
Caroline straightened. “You’ve got dragons? Here? You’re kidding me!”
“Nope. They don’t come around Avalon much. Too many people.” He extended a brawny arm to point at a winged shape turning lazy circles out over the mountains. “There’s one now.”
She saw it breathe a long, lacy plume of flame. “Wow! Why did it do that?”
“Probably just target practice.” He slid an arm around her.
She rested her head against his shoulder, watching the dragon. “What happens when the sun comes up?”
“The spell barrier filters out most of the light.” Galahad rested his temple against hers. His late-night stubble rasped over her hair, the sensation oddly sensual. “Sometimes if I watch, I can just see the first little bit of the dawn.”
They fell silent as the horizon slowly blushed rose behind the mountains. Another dragon came out to chase the first, dancing in the rising currents of magic. A sliver of bright disk edged upward.
“Look,” Galahad said, his voice soft. “There it…”
But when Caroline lifted her head, his eyes were closed. He sprawled halfway across the bed, his muscular arms flung wide, his dark hair tangled around his tired face. She caught her breath at his raw male beauty. Something in her chest contracted into a tight, aching ball.
Dammit, Caroline, don’t you dare fall for him. Maybe she ought to conjure that second bed after all.
But before she could do it, she caught a glimpse of movement at the corner of her eye.
The dragon hung in the air looking in at her, its great wings beating lazily. Scales shimmered in the rising sun, green and blue dancing along the whipping tail. Its head was long and elegant and oddly delicate compared to the solid muscle of its body. Its eyes met hers, glowing iridescent in the light of dawn, intelligent and alien. Then it turned and flew away.
With a sigh, Caroline lay her head back down on Galahad’s chest to watch.
THE dull gold of Geirolf’s Grail was worked with naked human figures writhing together like a nest of mating snakes. They seemed engaged in every possible perversion. And a good portion of them seemed to be killing the others.
Fascinated, Marilyn turned the cup between her palms, studying it as she waited for the sun to rise. She’d found it on Steve’s body after she’d killed him, along with a note from the priest’s daughter.
Terri Grange had apparently had a little crush on her father’s lieutenant, which was why she’d transported it into the pack he carried in case his magic ran out. The note she’d included said she hadn’t warned him she was sending it because she was afraid of distracting him during battle.
The key to everything was slung around his waist, and he hadn’t even known it. Marilyn rather appreciated the irony.
Now he and his supporters were dead. And so, her magic told her, was the priest and that little bitch, Terri.
The remaining members of the cult had been quick to see logic. They all knew Marilyn had a way with a spell. And between betraying Steve and the ot
her kills she’d racked up, she had more than enough power for some very nasty magic.
Which didn’t mean she had any intention of taking on the witch and the vampire knight Terri had described in her magic note. At least, not yet. For one thing, the cult’s headquarters were located in Virginia—two time zones later than the Texas farmhouse they now occupied. The sun had already risen there, so it wasn’t a good idea to gate back.
Besides, there were only fifteen members of the cult left. Marilyn wanted better odds when they went after their Magekind foes, which was why she decided the cult would camp for the night in their defeated enemy’s headquarters.
Luckily she’d found several intriguing cages in the attic, stocked with pissed-off prisoners. To Marilyn’s experienced eye, the ten men looked like a nice, beefy collection of potential warriors. Apparently the eco-terrorists had planned to magically recruit them once they got their hands on the cup.
Which gave Marilyn an idea. A little brainwashing, a shot from the cup, a murder or two for power and blood, and they’d be ready to give Arthur’s idiots the shock of their lives.
She couldn’t wait.
THE stench rolled out of the darkness in waves. Fear gripped Galahad, sick and cold, but he knew his duty. He took a deep breath, reached down, caught the rope handle of the trapdoor, and pulled. It creaked upward, carrying the smell of rotting meat.
Mentally bracing himself, he aimed the enchanted gem set in his gauntlet down into the hole and activated it with a whispered chant. White light spilled from it.
The little corpses lay naked, piled like dolls tossed aside by a sadistic child. “Oh, Merlin’s Grail,” he whispered hoarsely. “No.”
As he stared helplessly, one of the bodies stirred. For a moment, his heart stopped, thinking perhaps the boy had somehow survived.
Then a face looked up at him that didn’t belong to anything still living. “Why didn’t you come in time?”
A hoarse scream tearing his throat, Galahad jolted awake.
7