Demon's Kiss

Multiple New York Times bestseller Maggie Shayne is one of the hottest authors currently writing paranormal romance.

Her works are fresh and sexy, carrying the reader into a darkly compelling and fully realised world where vampires are creatures of the heart, not just the night.

Also by

MAGGIE SHAYNE

DEMON’S KISS

LOVER’S BITE

ANGEL’S PAIN

NIGHT’S EDGE

(with Charlaine Harris and Barbara Hambly)

Demon’s Kiss

Maggie Shayne

www.mirabooks.co.uk

Prologue

“I need you to kill someone.”

Rhiannon stood on the leaf-strewn path where Reaper had agreed to meet her, long hair and longer dress dancing on the night wind, and she wasted no time on preliminaries.

As greetings went, it wasn’t the warmest one he had ever received. But it was the most common.

“Of course you do,” he replied. “Why else would you have asked me to come?”

Her smile was slow. Her eyes held a dangerous glitter. “Normally, of course, I would prefer to do this sort of thing myself,” she told him, moving closer. Her sleek black panther moved beside her, each step slow, sinuous, silent, its head level with her hand, bumping against it every now and then. “But the circumstances forbid it, I’m afraid.”

“And what circumstances are those?” Reaper asked, curious. He began walking, remaining close to her, but not touching. He didn’t like touching.

The hem of her velvet dress stirred the gold and russet leaves that lined the footpath. It was a trail that wound through a secluded park, high in the hills of Virginia, a wilderness tucked between cities, and a popular route among runners, cyclists, walkers and nature lovers. Right now, though, in the deepest part of the night, the park was deserted. The only sound to be heard was that of the wind, crackling across the few brittle leaves that still clung to the surrounding trees.

She didn’t answer him, just kept walking at his side, her fingers scratching the top of Pandora’s huge head every few steps, eliciting a purr from the panther that sounded disturbingly like a growl.

Reaper probed more deeply, using a tactic certain to work with the arrogant Rhiannon. He knew her well enough to know how to bait her. She was, after all, his maker. “This rogue you want killed must be the most heinous in history, if he has you too afraid to face him yourself.”

She stopped walking and swung her head around, a sharp, swift movement that brought her long raven hair snapping over one side of her face. “I fear no one, my friend. And you know it. I’d like nothing better than to break his bones one by one, while bleeding him in between.”

He nodded, knowing she was fully capable of carrying out the threat, and furthermore, would likely enjoy it. “So why call me?”

“Because he’s not just a lone wolf, Reaper. He’s the leader of an entire pack of them, a pack who will turn on anyone who threatens their precious alpha male. And as much as I hate to admit it, I’m not a lone wolf, either. Not anymore. I have a mate, Roland. I have friends, family, now. Precious children—important children—are a part of that family.”

He lifted his brows. “You speak of the mongrel twins born to the half-breed vampiress they call the Child of Promise.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Be very careful when you speak about those children, Reaper. I love them as if they were my own.”

He held up a hand, understanding. “I get it. You can’t risk bringing the wrath of a pack of killers down on those…special children. Well, you were right to contact me. I’m the perfect man for the job.”

“You sound awfully sure of that,” she said, calmer now. She pushed her hair behind her shoulder and resumed walking, staring upward as she did. He followed her gaze. It was a moonless night, crisp and clear, with stars glittering like ice chips from a cold, black sky. The chill air tasted of apples and smelled of rotting leaves. “You haven’t even heard the details yet, so how can you know?”

“Because I am a lone wolf. I have no family or friends to worry about. Nothing is precious to me, and there is no one that I love.”

“Liar.”

He shot her a look. “It’s the absolute truth.”

“Rubbish. There’s the boy.”

He averted his eyes, looking anywhere but at her. “What boy?”

“Reaper, honestly. The mortal, with the baggy jeans and bad video-game addiction. Seth, isn’t it?”

“He’s hardly a boy anymore. And as you’re aware, he’s one of the Chosen. You know perfectly well that we vampires have no choice where those rare humans who possess the Belladonna antigen are concerned. They can be transformed, can become like us. It’s not affection, Rhiannon. We’re compelled to protect them.”

“Yes, I do know that. And I also know that for each of us, there is one of them with whom the bond is far stronger. Seth is that one for you.” She stared at him until she made him look back. “You care for him,” she accused.

“I care for no one. He’s a nuisance. If I weren’t forced by nature to look after him, I’d stay a thousand miles from him at all times, I promise you that.”

She thinned her lips, shook her head. “If that’s true, then I pity you.”

“Don’t waste your energy, Rhiannon. I’m an assassin. I was a killer in life, and I remain one in death. It’s what I do.”

“And you do it well.”

“Better than anyone.”

She studied him for a moment longer, then sighed and nodded. “The details, then. He calls himself Gregor, and he hunts throughout the Southeastern states—here in Virginia, the Carolinas and Georgia, that we know of—taking the innocent, the young, any victims he desires, and encouraging his gang to do the same.”

“How old is he?”

“No one knows. The trail of corpses—the victims he doesn’t bother trying to hide—started appearing about a decade ago, as near as I can trace.”

“And who made him?”

“No one seems to know that, either.”

He frowned at her. “That’s unusual.”

“He’s an unusual criminal, Reaper.”

Reaper rubbed his chin. “I like to know all I can about a mark before I go after him, Rhiannon. Without knowing his age or the identity of his sire, there’s no way for me to begin to calculate how strong he might be.”

She looked away momentarily. “Well, if it’s too much of a challenge for you…”

“I didn’t say that.” He barked the words without thinking, then went silent, seeing the mischief in her eyes and the slight smile tugging at her full lips. She knew how to get a reaction out of him, too, he reminded himself. “Tell me what you do know, then.”

She nodded. “I have no idea how many are in his gang. Rumors run the gamut from ten to fifty. His apparent right-hand man is known as the Jack of Hearts, and slightly more is known about him. Probably because of the trail of broken hearts and empty bank accounts he tends to leave behind him wherever he goes.”

“A con man,” Reaper said.

“And an excellent lover, or so I’ve been told.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes, and this is…disturbing. Part of his gang—the bulk of it, in fact—is rumored to be made up of…creatures unlike any I’ve heard mention of before.”

He stopped walking, frowned at her. “Creatures?”

“Vampires—only…not.”

“Then…what?” he asked.

She blinked rapidly, scratching her cat’s head more slowly as she considered her answer. “Bear in mind, this is second- and third-hand information. I only have rumors and reports to go by. But it’s said these creatures are large, powerful blood drinkers, who seem to have no thought or will of their own. They obey Gregor mindlessly—even to the point of self-destruction.”

He lifted his brows. “Does such a creature exist?”

“I’ve heard of vampires who’ve learned to make slaves of ordinary mortals. They do this by drinking their blood and giving them a drop or two of their own in exchange. This leaves them weak and increasingly dependent upon the vampire, much as a drug addict becomes dependent upon his chemical of choice. But they’re still mortals. Weak, eventually mindless, yes, but only mortals. These creatures are strong, large and, apparently, immortal. An entirely different breed. No one, not even the oldest among us, can guess how Gregor made them.”

Reaper nodded. “Clearly, we’re dealing with a brilliant mind. I hate clever villains. What else do you know, Rhiannon?”

“Not much, I’m afraid. Only that Gregor and his gang are dangerous, a pack of rabid animals. They murder innocent mortals. They bring the danger of discovery—and the wrath and hatred of those who already know about us—down on the heads of every vampire in existence. They must be destroyed. But you’ll need to be very careful.”

“Not to mention very well compensated.”

She pursed her lips and tugged a drawstring bag from her sash. He hadn’t noticed it there, and no wonder. It was black velvet, like the gown itself. Holding it up so it dangled by its strings from her long, dagger-tipped fingers, she said, “Very well compensated.”

He took the bag, which weighed at least two pounds and jangled musically when he shook it. He didn’t bother opening it. He trusted her. If she said it was fair, it was fair.

“One hundred thousand in gold. These krugerands are only the down payment. You’ll get the rest when the job is finished.”

“A hundred grand, huh? You must really want this Gregor dead.”

“Not just me,” she told him. “The oldest, the most powerful and the wealthiest among us have contributed to this cause, Reaper. You have their blessing.”

“The blessing of the damned. That’s rich.”

She tipped her head to one side, frowning. “You’re exceedingly bitter, aren’t you?”

“Am I?”

“I’m only trying to tell you that if you need assistance, there are many of us waiting to offer it.”

“I won’t need help.”

“But if you do—”

“I work alone.” He turned and walked away from her.

“Contact me when it’s done,” she called after him, that air of command in her voice a note that was familiar to him and natural to her.

“I won’t need to,” he said. “You’ll know. I will be in touch all the same, though, to collect the rest of my payment. ” He tossed the pouch of gold coins and caught it again as he moved out of sight.

1

Seth Connor was cornered and low on energy, crouching on the top of a crumbling crypt in the middle of a cemetery. Toxic sludge had seeped in, covering the ground on all sides, so getting down and running for it was not an option. He wouldn’t last long if he stepped into that muck. Besides, he was surrounded by zombies—half-witted, yeah, but still dangerous. The sludge didn’t seem to bother them, or maybe they were just too zoned out to notice. Still, between them and the bubbling green chemical cocktail down there, he wouldn’t stand a chance. He was going to have to try to jump the gaping distance between where he was, and where he needed to be—the roof of the caretaker’s cottage. And it was a long jump. He wasn’t sure he had enough juice left in him to make it.

But standing still wasn’t an option, either. He shouldered the shotgun, emptied it into the mob of zombies, who were already trying to climb onto the roof themselves, just to clear himself a path, then pushed off hard. His body somersaulted through the air, once, twice, three times, poisonous muck flashing beneath him with every flip, and then it seemed to be getting closer. Hell! He stretched, straightened, reached—and just barely caught the edge of the cottage roof with his fingertips.

His legs dangled. Zombies were reaching for him, grabbing on, trying to tug him down. He kicked at them, then managed to draw his handgun. Hanging by the fingers of one hand, he peppered the bastards with lead.

They fell away. He dropped the handgun—a hell of a loss, but he might be able to find another at the next level. Tugging himself up onto the roof of the caretaker’s cottage, he took a look around and saw the path to safety: a power line suspended from the roof’s far side. He headed for it, hopped on and tightrope-walked his way to Level Nine.

Blowing a relieved sigh, Seth dropped the game controller onto the coffee table, stood up and stretched the kinks out of his back. It had taken a while to get through that last level, but the feeling of triumph, though bright, was only fleeting. It was a game. A fun distraction from the constant waiting that had become his life. He didn’t even know what he was waiting for. But the sense of nervous anticipation, that electrical charge just before a lightning strike, that feeling that something big was about to happen, had come on stronger today than it ever had before.

He was destined for something important. He’d always known it. But he was getting awfully bored waiting to find out what it was.

His phone rang. He jumped, that was how tightly wound he was. Then he grabbed it with the half-formed notion that this might be the call that would start him on his way toward whatever it was he was supposed to be doing. A glance at the caller ID box wiped that notion away. It was only J.J. calling from The Hole, the local sports bar where Seth had been promoted to manager.

Sighing, he picked up the phone. “Yeah, pal, what is it?” It was always something.

“Seth, I don’t know what to do, man. Tommy’s supposed to be on grill, but he went home sick. We’re out of grenadine and the dishwasher’s acting up again. And we’re packed tonight and short on staff.”

“Dude, you call me every time I have a night off.”

“It’s a crisis, Seth.”

“No. It’s normal. A crisis is when things are unusually bad. This is stuff that happens all the time. Normal, J.J. You gotta learn how to handle it.”

“I’m trying, but there’s only one of me.”

Seth lowered his head, then sighed and figured what the hell. It wasn’t as if he had anything else to do. Maybe go to bed early. Maybe dream about her again. The beautiful little redhead with the eyes that looked right through to his soul. The one who had something to do with his destiny. The one he’d never met, but had dreamed of for as long as he could remember.

He sighed. She would be there waiting in his subconscious, no matter what time he went to sleep. “I’ll be right over, okay? Meanwhile, call Bobbie to come in and handle the grill. She’s closest, and she always loves picking up extra hours. Call Tanya in to wait tables. She goes right by the liquor store on her way in, so have her pick up a couple of bottles of grenadine on the way, and that’ll tide us over until the truck arrives tomorrow. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

J.J. sighed audibly. “Thanks, Seth. You’re a freaking hero, you know that?”

Yeah. Some hero. Master of broken-down dishwashers and missing waitstaff, he could leap stumbling drunks in a single bound. He closed his eyes and shook his head, before grabbing his hoodie off the hook by the apartment door and yanking it over his head on the way out.

Four hours later, the bar was closed, stools upside down on the mahogany counter, chairs upside down on the tables, floor freshly mopped and filling the place with the scent of pine cleaner. Seth was heading out for what was left of the night, which wasn’t a hell of a lot.

J.J. was beside him, carrying the money pouch, which they would dump in the bank’s night-deposit box on their way to the parking lot on the corner. His out-of-control brown frizz was being held hostage underneath a worn-out, stained-up Yankees cap. He shuffled his feet when he walked, and he slouched too much. Seth thought the kid needed a lot more than just on-the-job training if he ever wanted to get ahead in life.

Then again, Seth thought, who was he to talk? Okay, maybe he didn’t have J.J.’s lack of self-esteem. But he was still in a job that was going nowhere, in a life that was nothing but filler, waiting for the big fat hairy deal he’d always believed was his destiny. He was meant for something big. He knew it. And tonight it felt closer than ever.

One block to the bank. J.J. was whistling the theme song from the newest Rocky film. Traffic was nonexistent, and the pavement gleamed.

“Can you believe it rained and stopped again while we were in the bar, and we never even knew it?” J.J. asked.

“Yep. The Hole is like its own self-contained world.”

“World?” J.J. echoed. “Nah. Small town, maybe. Better yet, it’s a self-contained soap opera. It’s got all the characters down. There’s the dirty old man, Henry, who can’t think about anything but his dick and gets away with sexually harassing every female in the place because he’s a hundred and two.”

“Henry isn’t thinking about his dick, J.J. He’s trying to remind himself he’s still a man. Patting a waitress on the ass when she passes close enough for him to reach is about the only way he can still manage to do that. Although, I think he’d feel more like a man if one of them would smack him, instead of smiling and patting him on the head as if he’s cute and no real threat. They could at least pretend to be insulted.”

J.J. lifted his brows. “I never thought of it that way. What about Mrs. Brown?”

“Shauna?”

“Yeah. Everyone knows she’s married, but she comes in every night, drinks until she’s messed up, then hits on every stranger who walks into the place.”

“They never hit on her back, though.”

“So?”

“Think about it. She’s a good-looking woman, J.J. If she really wanted to get laid by some stranger, she wouldn’t have any trouble. She’s not really trying. If anyone shows any interest, she backs off like mad, until they take the hint and leave. Then she keeps drinking until she starts crying, and then she has me call her a taxi.” Seth shrugged. “She’s miserable and just wants to be loved. If her husband doesn’t wake up, I imagine she’ll eventually work up the strength to walk. Until then, she’ll just keep being miserable, I guess.”

“You really see things about people,” J.J. told him. “What do you see in me, Seth?”

Seth shrugged and didn’t look J.J. in the eye, because it was such a sappy and un-guy-like conversation to be having. “A kid with a lot of potential. You can do anything you want to, J.J. You just have to grow a pair, you know? Like tonight, you could have made some decisions, solved some of those problems on your own, and taken the consequences, good or bad, yourself. But instead, you called me, to save yourself from having to take any chances.”

“Why take chances if you don’t have to?” J.J. asked.

“You know how I got promoted to manager, J.J.?” Seth didn’t wait for an answer, just went on. “There was a major crisis at the bar one night. Manager had a heart attack and got rushed to the E.R. Bartender was his wife and went with him. Head waitress had to drive her there. And there I was. But I jumped in and handled it. Made some calls, got some people to fill in for the bartender and waitress, managed the place myself all night, and kept things going like clockwork. Next thing I know, I’m getting a promotion and a raise. That’s why you take chances when you don’t have to. No risk, no gain, pal.”

J.J. nodded. “I think I get it.”

The streetlight was flickering. Later Seth would think that flickering streetlight had almost seemed like a warning. But right then, he paid it no more attention than he did the little shiver that tiptoed up his spine for no obvious reason.

Then, in the next second, someone crashed into his back, slamming him to the sidewalk so hard his chin split. Then fists pounded on his head. Pain exploded behind his eyes. Shock and surprise made his heart hammer, but he reacted anyway, rolling and flinging the bastard off him, then scrambling to his feet to take a quick look around.

J.J. was lying on the ground, face-up, with some big SOB kicking him in the ribs. Seth hurled himself at J.J.’s attacker with everything he had, and the two of them sailed bodily into the alley.

He landed on top of the guy. The other one jumped on him before he could even draw a breath. But he managed to shout, “Run, J.J. ! Get the hell out of here! Run!”

And that was it. One of the bad asses picked him up, spun him around, then knocked him flat again with a fist to his jaw. As he lay on his back in the alley, he caught just a glimpse of J.J. running for dear life, already a block away. Then the thugs—there were four of them now, and he was damned if he knew where the other two had come from—were all around him, blocking his vision. He couldn’t see anything except legs in faded, torn jeans that hung loosely, and the front ends of unlaced Columbia suede work boots, with the tongues sticking out.

“Gimme the money bag, asshole,” one of the thugs said.

Seth smiled slowly, but it hurt, so he stopped. He figured his lip was split, and maybe his jaw was busted, too. He wasn’t going to tell these bastards that J.J. was the one carrying the bag. Not just yet. Give the kid time to get clear. He figured his own ass was grass, either way. “Why don’t you take it from me?” he asked.

“My pleasure.”

The beating really began then. And there wasn’t a hell of a lot Seth could do about it. He tried to get a few blows in, tried to block the punches and kicks with his arms, but eventually he was hurting too bad and bleeding too much to do more than curl up like a boiled shrimp and wait for them to get tired.

He wondered, after a while, if this was it, the big shining moment he’d always known he was meant for. Maybe his entire purpose in life had been to be here tonight, to take the heat off J.J. So maybe it was J.J. who was truly meant for something big. Maybe he would end up being president or something. And Seth was just a pawn, a sacrifice for the greater good.

Damn. He had always thought it would be something more. And his biggest regret was her—the girl he’d been dreaming about for so long. Could he really die without ever once meeting her face-to-face? It didn’t seem possible, but it looked pretty damned likely.

After thoroughly tapping the vampiric grapevine, Reaper’s only lead to Gregor was a spoiled rich vampiress who called herself Topaz. She lived in a mansion on Emerald Isle, in North Carolina, and rumor had it that she’d recently lost a substantial portion of her wealth to a vampire con man who’d broken her heart. No one had heard the man’s name, but his description matched that of Gregor’s sidekick. The M.O. was right, the location was right, and Reaper was pretty sure his gut instincts were right, too. The con artist must have been the vampire known as Jack of Hearts. And if he could find Jack, he could find Gregor and the rest of the rogue band.

So he was on his way to Emerald Isle when the sensation hit him. First it was a sense of nervous energy, a clenching of his stomach, a twitching of various muscles, a surge of epinephrine. Fight or flight. But it came for no reason. He wasn’t in danger.

No, but someone is.

He felt pain, then. Excruciating pain. Not his own.

And then he sensed the essence behind it, the aura that came whenever one of his kind came into proximity with one of theirs, or whenever one of his kind was in dire need. The feelings were coming from one of the Chosen.