Fated: Incubus Desires, #4

1

Carla

Carla gripped the vial of vampire blood she carried on a necklace. Her entire life was gambling on this small bottle tricking the alarm. It had to work. If Vlad’s sensors detected any presence outside of his coven members she’d be dead.

On the other side of the double-paned glass wall, gleamed the moonstone that rested on a pedestal. Carla had scoped out the place for weeks and knew there was an invisible chamber around the stone. Extra protection, but it gave the illusion to whoever viewed the stone that it was just behind the wall and casing. Vlad offered tours of this building to the supernatural community, rubbing everyone’s nose in his power. He had wizards and witches construct the security system then killed them so they couldn’t relay its secrets. He wanted the rock to taunt the werewolves with because without it they could only change a few days a month with the full moon rather than at will.

Stealing the stone wasn’t for the weres or to piss off Vlad, but to regain her heritage. Gods knew her family already had a potent enemy, and she didn’t need a vamp craving her death too.

This is for my ancestors and me. As her boots squeaked on the marble, she cringed.

No crimson lasers burnt a hole through her, so she continued. Her suit was a cooling one, making her body temperature below ninety-three degrees, close enough to one of the walking corpses to pass as one. If someone had told her she’d be stealing from Boston’s Master Vampire a month ago, she’d have searched for the hidden camera.

Leaning closer to the pedestal, Carla glanced around the opaque dividers. One faced the lobby so that any visitors could view the stone, including any weres dumb enough to barge in. She’d paid a fortune for the magical sleeping gas to knock out the guards. No way would she take a chance and assume they’d be human.

Her legs trembled from the excitement and fear zipping through her. She hoped her luck held out. The vampire she’d stolen blood from would be unconscious for another hour thanks to the sleeping hex, or rather the spell that hit him as he left a crowded bar. Carla had tucked him behind a dumpster, and she’d carefully handled him with double gloves on to hide her scent from getting into the vial.

Focus. Grab the stone, get the hell out of here, and find Zarna. Whoever wanted the moonstone could have it, though later Carla might give it to the werewolves in exchange for protection against Vlad. After uncorking the vial, she smeared blood on the sensor, a concave divot scanner that read blood. All vamps had to bleed into it for entry. She tugged on the strap of her backpack holding the rope, vamp pepper spray, glass cutter, oxygen mask with the small cylinder, and lock picking tools, while she waited for the blinking red indicator to stop.

A crystal tube encased the moonstone, which nestled on a purple, velvet tarp draped over a short Roman-style column. Its silvery milk-colored surface glowed through the shaft of the afternoon sun. It was small and could fit in her palm. The Turkish scroll she’d discovered had better be right about what it said the rock could do. It was supposed to remove an Oracle’s gifts and give them to a predecessor.

Her time was running out, though. Red had nearly completely colored her Ouroboros birthmark on her inner wrist. No need to decorate the tree this year or worry about the awful sweater dress her friend Lacy would buy her.

What’s taking so long? The meter light kept blinking.

Please work. Please.

A car horn blared outside of the building, and Carla flinched. Orange smoke billowed through the chamber. She choked on the rancid scent. Shit! She quickly rummaged through her pack and adjusted the oxygen mask over her face. Blisters coated her flesh and itched as if she’d fallen into a vat of poison ivy. Coughs racked her body and tears filled her eyes. Why wasn’t she feeling relief?

The mask fogged while she blinked to see the canister. She turned the nozzle and a soft fizz sounded. Where the hell was the air?

Shaking the can, she noticed a tiny hole. Damn, something in her bag must have punctured the can. She couldn’t quit coughing. If she couldn’t control the noise, the alarms would go off. The undead didn’t need oxygen, and no magic-induced boils would affect them.

More water-works and she tore off her mask and rubbed at her face to halt the flow. If one fell, maybe a trap would spring. Her skin crawled as the swollen flesh of the cysts popped, but her heat-reducing suit so far kept them in place. Still with each burst of her blisters, stabbing pain lanced through to her bones. The urge to scream, to run, filled her mind. She coughed again, unable to stop.

She’d made a mistake coming here. Why hadn’t she thought this through more than believing she could outwit this security system? Her knees buckled, and she crashed to the floor. Gasps of air shredded through her lungs. At least, she didn’t have to worry about Vlad killing her or dying on her thirtieth birthday, because they’d find her corpse in the morning. Her whole body trembled with each hacking gag.

Sorry I failed you, Gaia. Carla rubbed at the Ouroboros birthmark as her eyes watered. Spots danced in her vision. Using her hands, she cupped her mouth. She had to try. Had to get the stone and not wallow on the floor. Her muscles cramped, but she pushed past the pain and grabbed the post where the blood sat in the sensor mocking her.

Stupid. Why had she thought it would work? That she could waltz in, grab the stone, and at nightfall confront Zarna? She waved her gloved finger through the plasma to smear it. When it coated the blinking sensor, the gauge pulsed three times then turned off. The door that had blocked her path to the stone opened. She crept inside. Here the floor was rigged with ghost sensors. If she stood too long in one place it would vaporize her in seconds. Or at least that’s what the bragging tour guide had said.

A hissing sounded as the gas in the chamber was sucked back into vents, and her coughing eased.

Since she had to move wicked fast, but was mostly human, she’d brushed up on a childhood skill. She closed her eyes and used the levitating mantra she’d learned while excavating with Damon’s team in India. It wouldn’t last long, but she’d be able to be in the air for a few moments.

Concentrate. If Carla couldn’t lighten her steps, she’d fail. She had to levitate to hide the fact she wasn’t swift like a vampire. She was so close that she swore the stone’s earthy scent beckoned her closer. She could do this. Ever since finding the scroll, she’d practiced this art. Some of the vamps bragged about the security here. However, she collected enough from eavesdropping on conversations over the last months to hopefully provide her passage out of the trap as long as there were no more surprises like the gas.

Finally, her bones emptied until hollow, her muscles made of air. She opened her eyes. Yes, I’m floating one inch off the floor! Wobbling when she took a step, she paused. Careful. Righting herself, she shuffled until her knees brushed the outside column. Time for more. Her leather gloves squeaked as she poured several drops of the blood across her palm. Both of her hands were sweating. She prayed the temperature sensor on the casing and in the room wouldn’t pick up on her.

With the moonstone granting her ancestral powers back, she was supposed to live for three thousand cycles, not a mere thirty years, but thanks to Zarna, all of her line since the fourth century had died early.

Think about that later. Carla flexed her hands to rid her of excess energy then slowly raised the crystal container off the stone. Her arms shook. It was too heavy, and she couldn’t raise it high enough. Her breath froze in her chest. No, she’d come this far, she wouldn’t stop now. Once more, she lifted the casing a fraction, but her fingers slipped, and it slammed back into place. She needed something to lock it in place so she could reach inside. Her lungs burned for air.

Her backpack. She slid it off and placed the strap in her mouth, her teeth biting down to hold it steady, leaving her hands free.

Again, she hefted the crystal encasement up, groaning as she wedged the bag underneath to prop it up. She snaked her hand beneath the space and eased the gleaming stone from its pedestal. Vlad’s office had silent warning bells that would sound if she didn’t do this right.

Carefully, she shoved the stone inside her backpack, while sweat trickled down her back. With shaking hands, she retrieved her bag and set the encasement back into place.

She raced back the way she came. Her lungs screamed for air.

Don’t breathe. Not yet. Not until out of this room and into the foyer.

When she glanced at the glass wall, her smile boosted her spirits. She’d done it, beating gods knew how many wizards and sorcerers to get the moonstone.

The walls shifted black. They looked like tall slabs of shiny black onyx. Carla took another step and heard a noise…like…gears? Her stomach fisted into a knot. The walls shuddered and began to move in together more and more.

Shit! Another trap. She slapped and pushed on the walls to keep them from crushing her. There had to be a lever. Something. However, all her gloved hands touched was smooth, hard, and black as onyx.

2

Ty

Ty yawned as the soccer game playing on TV moved into overtime. His mind spun faster than the ball. He stood still as his living room wobbled around him. The game broke into a hundred different patterns as if each player’s move ran into a kaleidoscope. He gritted his teeth and rubbed his eyes to clear the disturbing vision, but it continued to warp on his TV.

He grabbed the remote, hit pause, then tossed it back on to the sofa. Damn, he needed fresh air. He staggered to the window. Outside, the ocean waves rolled, but didn’t bring the soothing relief he usually felt when he was in his Greek beach house.

Since the moment he’d touched the bitch Zarna’s ashes, his life had turned to shit thanks to her, the famed ancient Oracle of Delphi. Now he was trapped with the past, present, and multiple futures of anybody he merely thought of crammed in his head. Even hearing the name of someone caused the visions. Until he located a replacement guinea pig to unload this never-ending puzzle, which made no sense to him, he was stuck.

No random person would do. They had to be an Oracle descendant. Though, somehow, Zarna had been able to overthrow that little glitch of no relation. To ensure her rule, she’d cursed whoever touched the remains to house her spirit.

For some shitty reason, neither Zarna, nor his new foretelling power, would reveal who could be a suitable vessel. All he got when he tried to locate the person was a migraine and a huge black spot in his vision.

Zarna had planned this from the beginning. For thousands of years, she had read everyone’s futures and wielded the magic of the Oracle then made arrangements in case of her death. He got lumped in with it.

Even with the TV paused, his mind continued the game in fragments that shimmered in and out, merging, separating, and fading into blackness.

How had the Oracle dealt with this? He couldn’t even watch a decent game! If he didn’t get this blasted Oracle vision out of his head, Zarna’s spirit could possess him and take him over for all eternity, his soul trapped. He flopped down onto the couch and shut off the TV. He already knew Brazil would win anyway.

Next to him, one of Alice’s magazines poked up from the trashcan. My love. Damn, he missed her. Her laugh and her sense of adventure nearly rivaled his. Despite digging in Zarna’s remains, he hadn’t uncovered Alice’s silver necklace. They’d bought it in Greece when they found out she was pregnant—a remembrance of happier times.

He lay on the couch, the room spinning. The whole situation was his fault, along with the death of Alice and his child, and nothing he could do would bring them back. If onlys repeatedly played like torture devices in his soul.

It had been four months, two weeks, and five days since he’d lost them.

Alice’s screams as Zarna sliced into her flesh with her magic echoed within his thoughts. Nothing banished the repeated nightmares, and beneath it all, Zarna laughed inside his head, tormenting him.

Stop it! Fucking stop!

No relief, the laughter grew louder. Ty snatched up a bottle of tequila. Empty. He reached for another. That one was dry too. Damn Zarna.

Cringing, he kicked aside a box of condoms, hunting for the migraine pills his mother had loaned him a few weeks ago. He untangled them out of a thong bikini and popped two into his mouth.

Flopping on the couch, he waited for them to take him to a brief abyss. Nothing satisfied him anymore. Not sex, which was saying a lot for an incubus, not alcohol or drugs…nothing. His kind fed on the arousal of the opposite sex and fucking was like dessert with whip cream and strawberries after a full meal.

Under the coffee table, a light blinked on his phone. He considered tossing it out the window onto the beach and let a tourist have a field day calling the hundreds of women on it. He was done with life.

What if it was his sister? She and her boyfriend had slain Zarna, or he’d still be in that hellhole. Maybe they’d figured out how to release him from this mental cage.

With a groan, he stretched and grasped the phone. Hello?

Gods, you sound awful.

Good morning to you too, Addie. His sister would help him. She had to.

Aren’t you still in Greece? Isn’t it like four a.m. there?

Yeah, so? Incubi needed little sleep, but Ty couldn’t nap anyway with all the visions flooding him every time he closed his eyes.

So, why do you sound like you’ve not slept in days? A rattle sounded across the earpiece. Was she making coffee? Have you found the girl, yet?

If I had, I’d be throwing a party with all my family and friends.

Adeline sighed. Have you experienced any memory lapses or blackouts?

No, but I’d welcome them if I did. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

This is serious, Ty.

Look, I’ve got a monster headache, so unless you’ve got news for me, let me call ya lat—

Did you try the local bars? Adeline cut him off. When Jack had the Oracle ability, he said he glimpsed a woman’s arm in a bar with the snake tattoo.

I did at first, but there are hundreds of taverns on this side of the world. I can’t go bar-hopping every night or it would end badly. Like with him being too drunk to walk. His vision blurred. An image of him dragging himself to Aesop’s bar and passing out in puke. Nice. There’s got to be another way to find this person. It should be something that won’t involve running since my head likes to spin sitting still.

What if he never tracked down this replacement, and his soul was forever trapped in this hell?

Don’t give up, Addie said. You’ve got to keep trying. The fact we know is that she’ll be at a bar and has a snake tattoo, which is more than Zarna had when she hunted to murder all of Oracle’s descendants.

She was right. Whatever it took, he couldn’t give up. He couldn’t let Zarna win.

3

Carla

"A revi!" Open . Carla shouted at the onyx barrier pressing in on her. Nothing. It would be minutes before the walls would close and crush her. The enclosure was an arm’s length away from her now. Cresto! Breillia Mea. Stop. Release.

How was she going to get out? Her heart hammered in her chest as the first wall reached her. She pushed with all her might, but it continued sliding. The other wall opposite her barreled nearer and slammed into her back.

Would Vlad raise her as a zombie when he found her dead? She shivered against the image. Not happening. She was a vegan for God’s sake, the idea of eating brains made her nauseous. Vlad might halt the crushing snare and let her rot to death or sell her as a vampire bloodmare. She’d be drunk every other night, forced into sex with other humans in their underground slave market to produce offspring to be raised as bloodmares themselves. God, I fucking hate vampires!

She punched the wall, and pain radiated up her hand and into her shoulder.

Cerendo Cresto Mea. Her breath came out in pants, but the walls continued coming closer and closer. She wouldn’t die here, and she wouldn’t give up without a fight. A sharp pain hit her heart, and she pressed her palm to her breastbone.

The vial.

It was a long shot, but she needed to reverse the alarm she’d triggered, or at least buy her time to escape. Ignoring the panic welling up inside her, she broke the chain around her neck, poured out the blood into her gloved palm then smashed her hand flat against the wall. Nothing happened. Her knees buckled, and she let out a sob as the blood smeared down the steel. She’d failed. Her family had lost the mantle of Oracle to Zarna forever. There was no one left to fight and regain her family’s honor, and it was all Carla’s fault.

Metal scraped against concrete, echoing through her bones. The farthest wall shuddered backward revealing an exit that led right into a massive chamber filled with sleeping vampires. With a deep breath, she stood up and forced her feet to move ahead. Not all vampires dozed in coffins. Most were so petrified of dying their second death, they slept anywhere else. Several of them slumped on couches, beds, and even the floor, their faces and bodies covered in blood.

Oh, goddess. One wrong step, and she might rouse them from their slumber enough to latch onto her and keep her there until nightfall. Either way, she was screwed.

A large bed lay in the corner with half a dozen vampires sprawled across it. Between the onyx trap and a door were three more vampires on a white tiger rug, and one vampire rested a few feet from her.

She squeezed out into the lightless area, which was bigger than her entire apartment. Scattered across the lush scarlet carpet, leather sofas and different sized beds were jammed into every available space.

The sleeping vamps were even littering a path to the door. It appeared that a hoarder of expensive excess furniture lived here.

If she could make it outside, she would be in the clear.

As she crept forward, her legs shook, and a cold sweat trickled down between her breasts. Her gaze darted to all the unmoving forms. No time to delay. She’d taken another step, weaving between two vamps, when she scooted within reach of the female.

The woman flopped over, facing her, and Carla’s breath froze. Not daring to move, she waited. Her stomach knotted. No, she can’t wake, it’s too early. It’s safe, keep going. She chanted to herself, but her body refused to obey her commands.

After swallowing the lump pressing against her throat, Carla shuffled forward, her stare not leaving the vamp near enough to her to snatch her ankle.

Her charm bracelet with the one-time protection spell against a vamp was in her pocket, but that would take out one, maybe two or three if they were close enough, however, the magical blast would wake all the vampires in this room.

In another hour it would be sunset. Time to get the hell out of there.

She hadn’t risked everything to lose her life now. The moonstone would show her the way to Zarna. Time to escape this horror mansion now.

Her mouth dried as she reached the door. From the center came a rustle, and her scream locked in her chest. No vamp could wake this early. Unless it was Vlad. Her heart drummed against her chest. Get out! Get out now!

Carla dodged another vamp lying on the floor and dashed to the door. Her hand turned the doorknob when a gasp sounded behind her.

Don’t look!

She met the eyes of a woman in the middle of the bed tangled in buttery-colored blankets. A human, since her fangs didn’t descend. The woman’s eyes widened, but she didn’t call out.