Marika impatiently waited at his side, alert to any hint that Sergei was attempting to deceive her. The fool would learn that a nightly skinning was nothing compared to what would come next.
The water began to swirl, as if being stirred from beneath, and Sergei’s chants deepened, echoing eerily through the cavern.
At last he reached beneath his jacket to withdraw a slender stiletto and sliced a small wound at the tip of his finger. One, then two drops of blood hit the water, spreading over the surface with a strange shimmer.
Marika bent downward as an image began to form, slowly revealing a woman who was stretched on a narrow cot in a dark, iron-lined cell.
A woman who bore a striking resemblance to Marika.
The same black curls and pale, perfect features. And if her eyes had not been shut they would have flashed as dark as midnight.
Even her lush curves were the same beneath the shroud that covered them.
Perfect twins.
Or at least they had been before Marika had been turned.
Once she’d awoken as a vampire her ties to her previous life, including her family, had been severed. Or at least they should have been.
Any memories of her past life were forgotten, but there had been a persistent voice whispering in her head that refused to be ignored. For weeks she’d struggled to rid herself of the annoying buzz. Then she’d spent the next weeks hunting down the source of the aggravation.
It’d been a nasty surprise to discover an exact replica of herself living among a caravan of gypsies.
Her first impulse had been to kill the bitch.
That would put an end to her intrusion into Marika’s mind, not to mention the creepy knowledge there was an identical copy of herself walking around.
But some mysterious impulse had halted her bloodlust.
Almost as if she’d glimpsed into the future to sense she would have need of her dear, sweet sister.
“You see,” Sergei said. “Sleeping Beauty safely tucked in her bed.”
Marika frowned, infuriated by the stab of fear that pierced her heart. Kata might be a mere human, but she had gypsy blood flowing through her veins. Which meant she possessed a unique ability to injure a vampire. Something her tender heart had been reluctant to do in the early days. Back then she still thought of Marika as her beloved sister. Stupid female.
But over the last decades each time Sergei had released her from his spells Kata had been crazed, striking out so swiftly that it had been a miracle that Marika hadn’t been harmed.
She wasn’t about to put herself at risk again. “She’s stirring,” she hissed.
Sergei frowned as the woman in the watery vision turned her head, almost as if aware she was being watched. “Yes.” He shook his head. “That shouldn’t be possible.” “It shouldn’t be, but obviously it is. Find out why.” “I could wake her and …”
His words were squeezed to a halt as Marika grabbed him by the throat and shoved him against the roughly hewed wall.
“No.”
He smiled through his pain. “You’re still worried about the curse?”
Her fingers tightened. She was not pleased that Kata had outmaneuvered her. Again.
She dare not allow the little bitch to awaken, and yet she could not simply allow her to die.
Not when there was still the possibility that Marika could rule the world.
“Careful, Sergei, you’re not the only mage in London,” she said in a frigid warning.
“You can’t mean Lord Hawthorne?” Sergei’s expression twisted with a jealous hatred of the rival mage. “The man’s a third rate magician who hasn’t been worth a damn since he lost his imp apprentice.”
“He would serve my purpose.”
The pale eyes flashed with annoyance at her mocking taunt.
“Yes, but could he serve you?” he hit back, his insolent gaze running a path down her curves exposed by the thin material of her gown. “You’re a demanding mistress, Marika.”
It was a valid point. Few men survived a night in her arms. Not that they complained. Most of them died with a smile on their face.
But she had reached the end of her short patience. Her fingers squeezed until they were a breath from crushing his larynx.
“Find out what’s bothering my twin and find out quickly.” He hissed in pain. “Without delay.”
Tane was a vampire feared throughout the demon world.
Rooms emptied when he entered. Clan chiefs barricaded themselves in their lairs when he approached their territories. His name was used to terrify foundlings.
He was the vampire that even vampires feared.
With good reason.
Which put him at the very top of the food chain.
A pity all his power and props were worth jack shit in the cold, clinging mists.
Silently cursing the strange surroundings, he followed Laylah through the thick fog, her arms still filled with the unconscious gargoyle.
He’d devoted grim centuries to ensuring he would never again feel like an impotent bystander, no matter what the situation. He was a take charge kind of vamp and his ruthless power made certain no one questioned his authority.
Now a pint-sized mongrel had managed to drag him into this damned maze of endless fog, stirring ancient sensations he’d buried along with his massacred clan.
“How do you know where you’re going?” he demanded.
She tossed a mocking glance over her shoulder. “I just fumble around until I find the place I want.”
He growled low in his throat. “Laylah.”
With a sigh she returned her attention to the dense mist spread before them, walking with a confidence that set Tane’s teeth on edge.
It was bad enough to be stuck in the bizarro place without being able to see if there were any dangers lurking nearby.
“What do you want me to say?” she rasped. “It’s not something I can explain. I think of the location I want to go and start walking. Eventually I sense that I’m there.”
He grimaced. It wasn’t exactly an explanation that offered comfort.
But then again, would anything offer comfort at this point?
What the hell had he been thinking when he’d tried to stop Laylah from disappearing?
He always allowed his warrior’s instinct to guide him. It was the only way to survive for nearly a thousand years. So why hadn’t his instinct warned him to allow Laylah to escape with a wave of his hand and a pat on his back for being rid of the nagging, ill-tempered female?
Because when she was near it wasn’t his warrior’s instinct that was driving him, but an instinct far more primitive.