The Vampire, the Witch and the Yenko

Tiffany Trent

Being a hired witch wasn’t exactly the profession Dani had dreamed about as a little kid. A fireman or astronaut? Yes. Witch? No.

In fact, she hadn’t even been aware that such a profession was possible until the Syndicate had quite forcibly made her aware. She’d always thought her ability to fix stuff was just a special talent, like reciting the alphabet backwards. But apparently not. Being able to fix anything, any broken thing from carburettors to crania, was not so much a talent as a power.

The Syndicate had snatched her up when she was a teen. Before things could get dangerous, they said. Before she could learn to break things. They told her she was fairly old to have her power come online.

At her look, the Questioner had said: “Ever wonder why there are so many missing children?”

That had stopped Dani cold.

She couldn’t say she’d been entirely happy with disappearing into the Syndicate fold – never seeing friends or family again, always working undercover, never allowed to become too close to anyone. But the trade-offs were luxury, travel, protection and training. She’d seen first hand in her work what happened to the untrained. She was glad she’d been grabbed before any of that ugliness could happen to her.

She was also glad that she understood how the world worked a little better than most folks. Like the fact that every fairy-tale nightmare was true. Witches, ghosts, vampires, werewolves – all real. Some people of course knew this far too well. Some people didn’t understand the complexities and took out their fear and rage on any supernatural creature they could get their hands on.

And some people, like her present mark, were only after one thing – the Syndicate itself.

She stared down at Joey Martoni’s craggy face. Mafia kingpin. Classic-car collector. Magic thief. No one knew exactly how he’d developed a means of stealing magic. He was like a vampire, only worse. He sucked witches dry, amassing all their magic for himself. He’d sworn to take the Syndicate down using its own power. And generally when Martoni swore to do something, it got done.

He’d infiltrated and destroyed an important cell around Washington DC that it might take years to rebuild. Some of the Syndicate’s best witches had been lost. Some of them were the closest to friends and family Dani had these days. She didn’t know if she’d ever stop missing them, or hating the man who had murdered them.

The Syndicate had heard that Martoni was appearing at the Island Cruise on North Carolina’s Outer Banks, that he was even auctioning off a special car of his for charity. They decided to try a new tactic: use only one witch to catch him when he was isolated and exposed, away from his normal territory. If Dani could find a way, she might eliminate the Martoni threat and help the Syndicate rebuild. It was gratifying that so much trust had been placed in her and her alone to get the job done.

Trouble was, she thought, as she crumpled Martoni’s photo into a ball of flame, all she really wanted now was to get out of the Syndicate for good.

Drake wiped his hands on the rag next to him and reached back into the guts of the ’58 Corvette. She was a touchy beast, but such an old beauty that Drake couldn’t resist the challenge. The biggest problem was finding someone willing to unload what he needed. He’d had Warren calling everybody he knew – and he knew a lot of people. The engine was fine but the carburettor was shot, and the owner was determined to have it back in time for the show next week.

The Island Cruise would be huge this year. A charity auction would feature one of the two known Yenko Camaros. When Joey Martoni had snatched it up about ten years ago, it had gone for $2.2 million. Hordes of collectors would be there, not just for the Yenkos, but for whatever else might catch their eye. The ’Vette had to be ready by then.

Someone was behind him. He knew it before the shadow fell across the plugs and hoses of the Corvette’s innards. A chime sounded, a sweet, high sound that only he could hear.

A nasty tingle wormed up his spine as he turned.

The way her eyes scanned his naked torso, hugged his hips tighter than his jeans, and lingered on his crotch and thighs made him wish he wore a cloak from head to heel. He had back in the old days, and never thought he’d miss them when they went out of fashion. She glanced at the telltale shirt with his nametag on it draped over the bumper.

“I thought I felt you here when I moved in yesterday,” she said, finally meeting his eyes. Hers were dark and wicked; he was even more certain that he wanted nothing to do with her. “I came by to make sure.”

“Come again?” Drake said.

She purred, and Drake shook his head minutely. They’re all the same, damn them.

“Do you need something?” He gestured towards the torn-up car. “I’m a little busy here.”

“I just want to make sure you understand who calls the shots here,” she said. She exuded a ripe sexuality that would have driven any human man insane with lust in ten seconds flat. But a human was not what she needed.

“Believe me, I’m perfectly aware,” Drake said. He glared at her. She was young; this might be her first time. Some males would jump at that, but perhaps his nonchalance would give her a hint. “I’ve got business here, which as you can see I’m running behind on, so . . . ”

He half turned, but she was there, her hand on his biceps pulling him back, with familiar force, to face her. More nasty shivers raced over his body, centred on where her fingers dug into his skin.

“I want you to understand fully what I mean,” she said. Her fangs extended. Her other hand wandered down his ribs and into his jeans.

Drake looked down at her, at her hair snaking around her shoulders, down her back almost to her ass. The music in his mind compelled him to yield to her.

“Look . . . I’m not in that scene any more. I’m just doing my job here, doing what I love to do. I’m happy for you to do the same.” He stepped back, pulling her cold hand out of his crotch.

She laughed, the long cords of her neck tightening. “Not in that scene? How precious! You know it doesn’t work that way. Have you forgotten the duty you owe your species? You have three choices. Fuck, flee or die.”

She pushed at his mind, trying to force him to cave in to her. Her song promised she would spread him across the hood of the car beneath her, riding him until he gave her what she wanted. She was in heat. And when vampires came into heat, their chosen sire had no choice. A vampire would travel continents seeking a sire for her offspring; they were worse than werewolves.

And if the sire wasn’t strong enough or if he refused the mating, she’d kill him. That was the way it was, the way it had been since the sanguinaria virus had wormed into the blood of a Romanian village long ago. No one knew where the virus came from or why it worked the way it did, though there were theories. The comet debris theory was a personal favourite of Drake’s.

But what he hated was all the shit about “siring” vampires off of hapless, tortured humans. Drake was grateful people didn’t know how it really was, how twisted and humiliating vampire matings actually were.

“I’m waiting,” she said.

He stuffed the compulsion of her lust deep inside his brain. He reached out and grabbed her by the throat, bending close so that his dark hair brushed her cheek. “You forgot the fourth choice, little vixen.” He squeezed with a power that let her know he could rip her head off with his bare hands and freeze her bones if he chose. Her lips tightened and she dug her nails into the flesh of his arm until she broke skin. Black blood seeped out.

He threw her backwards and she tripped and fell, sitting down hard on the garage floor.

“Just keep that in mind,” Drake said. “There’s always another choice.”

She stood, laughing as she dusted herself off, and tossed her long hair back over her shoulders. “And you’ve made your choice, Drake. I’m Ferrell. Remember that, because our next meeting won’t be so pleasant, I promise you. You’ll be screaming my name on your knees.”

She stalked off and he heard the doors clatter closed behind her – all semblance of stealth gone.

The music went with her.

He narrowly avoided slamming his hands down on the Corvette. Instead, he turned and kicked a tyre so hard it sailed across the garage and sent a shelf of tools clattering to the floor.

He sighed and started cleaning them up, when a knock sounded at the door. Drake stiffened. He was pretty sure that Ferrell wouldn’t bother to knock when she came calling again, nor would she return so soon after such a dramatic exit.

He walked over to the side door and opened it cautiously.

A man in black stood flanked by two well-dressed bodyguards who wore sunglasses even in the dark. The security lights made their faces bluish-white. Beyond them, a white limo sat next to a gleaming Yenko Camaro. It had the sport package – orange with white racing stripes, the Yenko logo emblazoned above the back fender.

Joey Martoni stepped uninvited into the garage. For just a moment, Drake thought one of the old princes had found him, so great was the power that rolled off him. But the great vampire princes were gone, lost in the Wars of the Matriarchs. Martoni must be something else entirely.

“You Drake Evans?” Martoni asked. The bodyguards stationed themselves on either side of the door. Drake caught a whiff of corruption under heavy cologne.

“Yes, sir.” Drake decided to play the respectful card. For the moment. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m glad you asked that,” Martoni said. “Glad you asked. Word is this is the best rod shop in town.” His eyes travelled over the other cars as if they were garbage. “My ride needs an oil change and a little clean up before she goes to the auction block on Tuesday. Think you can manage that?”

Drake nodded. “I think I can handle that, Mr Martoni.”

“Good,” Martoni said. He walked out without another word.

One of the bodyguards handed Drake the keys and a business card. His cologne was overpowering. “Call us if there’s a problem. Though there had better not be.”

The limo pulled out, leaving Drake staring bemusedly at the heavy-bodied Camaro. Certainly not to his taste, but it was worth millions. He hoped Warren’s insurance covered this.

He opened the garage door. Today, he had more important things to worry about than horny vampires.

Dani didn’t have too much trouble sweet-talking Warren, the manager of Mal’s Rod Shop, to hire her on for the night shift. People were already coming in for the Cruise and his best mechanic would soon be overwhelmed. Of course, it didn’t hurt that Dani had more persuasive power than the best vampire prostitute. Witches had a rep that way, and that probably explained why Martoni hated them so much.

Her talents reminded her a bit too much of the old mind-trick scene in Star Wars for her comfort.

“Heard you could use a good mechanic to help out during the Cruise,” she said.

Warren eyed her. He was a chesty man with a fat gold bracelet and tats up and down his hairy arms.

She smiled.

“Matter of fact,” he said, “I probably could.”

“When do I start – tonight?” she asked.

“Tonight! That would be great,” Warren said, his eyes going glassy.

“What I thought.”

They shook hands then. He gave her a key to the side door without being asked.

She tried to hide her huge grin as she left. If only Martoni could be this easy.

Between worrying over the Camaro and Ferrell, Drake barely felt rested when he rose at twilight. Very, very dangerous. If Ferrell were an older, more traditional sort, she’d call a quorum of the highest-ranking vampire females around. Usually, three crones assisted in capturing a recalcitrant male and forced him to stand at stud; three having some esoteric significance that Drake could care less about. If Ferrell wasn’t a traditionalist – which he suspected – there was no telling what she would do. The younger vampires all acted like werewolves these days; it was all the rage. A pack mentality among normally solitary hunters was a terrifying thing indeed.

If he wanted to be ready, he’d need all his strength. When he’d started working for and with humans, he’d decided to eat only the ones who deserved it, and then only if he was desperately in need of nourishment. Tonight he feared he would have to feed, not only to prepare for Ferrell, but also because Danny, the new mechanic Warren had hired, was coming to help him on the night shift. If he was hungry or tired, things could get ugly.

He considered running again briefly . He’d certainly run before. But he couldn’t run for ever.

And where would he go, anyway? He liked his work and the people he worked with. Warren was smart enough not to ask questions, and every night another car offered itself up to him like a beautiful patient that only he could cure. For the most part, he was left to his own devices. It was perfect.

These thoughts circled through his mind like vultures as he stepped out of his cottage and revved up his old Indian Chief motorcycle. He stopped to fill up with gas and got a newspaper, looking for the latest news on homicides, robberies, domestic or animal abuse. Police had found a body out on Dare Road. That was good enough.

Arriving at the site of the investigation was a disappointment, though. He sensed through the ground, through the memory of the place, that there had been no trauma here and thus no murderer to seek in retribution. The victim had been an old hitch-hiker who had died here of a heart attack. But . . . A heavy scent wafted on the breeze. There was a pig farm very close by. Some dinner was better than none, he reckoned.

Under the smell of the farm was an even sweeter scent, the chilling perfume of a vampire. It was as cloying as death; as alluring as absinthe. Soft, melancholy music drifted into his mind, threatening to take hold. He trembled a little, balling his hands into fists. Ferrell. This allure hadn’t touched him in two centuries, not since Isobel. After her, he’d sworn off women, particularly of his own species.

“Damn it,” he whispered through gritted teeth. He filled his mind with thoughts of cool metal, the ’Vette’s red curves, until the music faded.

Had Ferrell followed him? The low murmur of voices came from up ahead. A human wouldn’t have heard them, thinking his footsteps were only wind in the branches.

He hesitated. He wanted to be at the garage before the new mechanic but he still had to feed. If Ferrell caught him in his weakened state, it wouldn’t go well with him. He recalled his words to her. There is always another choice.

Now that he knew where Ferrell and her gang nested, he knew he would have to come back and destroy them eventually.

But not yet. He sighed and headed towards the outermost building of the pig farm.

Dani didn’t have much trouble locating Martoni’s hotel. It was one of the few high-rises on the beach and swarming with security. She recognized one of Martoni’s bodyguards from the de-briefing before she’d left her current cell. It was rumoured that Martoni didn’t go anywhere without him, that his last wife had actually divorced him over it. Not surprisingly, the ex-wife had never been found, though of course no one could pin it on him or any of his people.

She was supposed to be at the garage soon for her first shift, but a little surveillance on the way wouldn’t hurt. She parked her rusting Charade at a public beach access and hiked through the sand until she came up to the hotel from the back way. She missed her Lexus, but figured a beater was better cover. As she rounded the corner of the walk, she looked up to see four vampire females being ushered in by Martoni’s security guards. No one else would have recognized this, of course, but Syndicate witches could always tell.

She chanted a spell of invisibility and hurried after them. Nothing but her shadow passed beyond the doors, down the carpeted hall, and into the elevator. She was gambling on the fact that Martoni wouldn’t expect any witch in her right mind to attempt this.

The elevator doors slid back to reveal a warren of hallways and rooms. Bass boomed down the corridor. She followed the sour smell of the vampires to a room where several people – bodyguards and lackeys – attended the man himself near a fully stocked bar. The mirrors across from the door didn’t register her as she passed into the room.

She got just close enough to hear what the vampires were saying, not enough to be detected by aural field or smell.

“And you will give him to us?” the youngest-looking vampire said. Older vampires always looked fragile, their skin brittle and cracked as old paper. The one who spoke looked fresh and the way she overused her voice belied her youth.

She handed Martoni something that Dani couldn’t see.

“If this works, no problem. If it doesn’t . . . ” A tight smile quirked his lips.

The young vampire frowned. “Try it and see. We keep our word.”

“But if there’s nothing . . . ”

One of the older vampires bent towards him. “Then your people are clean. Just try it,” she hissed.

Dani backed towards the door. A flash from the thing in Martoni’s hand and all her magic sloughed off like snakeskin.

Visible, clearly human, and standing in a room full of vampires, bodyguards and witch-haters, only one thing came out of Dani’s mouth.

“Shit.”

She ran.

Not for the elevator, but for the stairs. She hurtled down them with the bodyguards hot on her trail. They didn’t stop to fire; they knew better than to waste precious time in a stairwell.

When she cleared the stairs, she headed for the boardwalk where she could mingle with the crowd. As she understood it, the nullifier Martoni had used would only work within a few feet of him so she slid into a glamour easily. Her mind worked at where the vampires could possibly have gotten such a thing. Only one had ever been known to exist, and the Syndicate claimed to have it deep in a vault. Unless someone had stolen it . . .

The guards hunted her everywhere, but realized soon enough they’d lost her in the crowd.

Her body shook. So much power fluctuation would make her ill.

She checked her wristwatch.

“Shit,” she said again.

At the garage, Drake flipped through his usual supply chain websites, wondering where the new mechanic was. The Corvette’s owner had evidently left a message with Warren asking about the car, saying that it “had better be ready in time for the show”. And he wasn’t the only one chomping at the bit. Ten classic cars and one truck were parked in the warehouse – all with issues to be solved by the beginning of next week. Drake didn’t even have time to worry about Ferrell right now.

“Where is my damn grease monkey?” Drake growled. All he could find for the ’Vette was a Rochester fuel-injector, which was vintage ’59. If the owner was a stickler, Drake doubted he’d go for it.

“Right here,” a female voice said.

Though he heard no music, he swivelled with a tyre iron in his hand.

“Whoa.” The girl held up her hands. “I come in peace.”

Drake stared.

She was as gangly as a boy, and probably easily mistaken for one due to her rough hands and nearly non-existent breasts. But her dark eyes sparkled and her long, dark ponytail swung behind her baseball cap in a decidedly feminine way.

She came forwards, extending a hand. “I’m Dani,” she said. Though she tried to smile, Drake saw that it was feigned. She was pale and tired.

Drake set down the tyre iron and shook her hand reluctantly. Her hand was pleasantly warm. “Drake,” he said.

Her smile grew more genuine.

“What?”

“Not a name I would have picked for you,” she said.

“Not the gender I would have picked for you,” Drake said.

Dani’s eyes narrowed. “A new place and already I get the usual treatment. You didn’t get the memo I was a girl?”

“Warren didn’t say anything about it,” Drake said.

“I guess that could be good or bad, depending on how you look at it,” Dani said.

“Guess so. Look, Miss Obvious, can you help me fix these cars or not? We’ve got a big show next week and I don’t have time to chat up somebody who can’t do her job.”

She looked around and grinned. “Are you a betting man, Drake?”

“Why?”

“Because I bet you I can fix more cars than you can this week.”

Drake laughed. “What’s the prize?”

“If I win, I’ll force you to eat your prissy little attitude by making you take me out to the Lone Cedar. If you win, I’ll quit and you can hire someone who can do the job better.”

“Deal,” Drake said to Dani’s retreating back. “You don’t want to shake on it?” he asked.

She shook her head, looking back at him over her shoulder. “Nah. No time. Got to get to work if I’m gonna beat your ass.”

Drake shrugged, suppressing a grin. Well then. He’d always liked a challenge.

* * *

Dani didn’t recognize herself in the gilded mirror. Her hair curled in golden ringlets about her forehead and temples, and a tight chignon sat heavy on her nape. Her face was a different shape and porcelain pale, her eyes marble blue. Her corset was so tight every breath was a shallow hitch against the laces. Dark-grey watered silk embroidered with burgundy roses clung to her bodice and spread into glimmering skirts. Heavy steel hoops and layers of petticoats weighed down her narrow waist. She wore nothing underneath.

Her gloves rested on the foyer table beneath the mirror. She picked them up and slid them on without really knowing why she did so.

She barely heard the jingle of a sword before cold arms slipped around her and cold lips nuzzled her bare shoulder.

“Isobel, my darling,” Drake murmured against her skin, “the carriage is waiting.”

She turned. He was in spotless uniform – dress greys with yellow braid and the special red cord that denoted the vampire brigade. The CSA logo was emblazoned on the hat he carried under his arm. His dress sword curved at his side, the long tassels on the hilt trailing down. But he was still Drake – dark-eyed, broad-shouldered, exuding a lean sensuality that tightened her chest even more than the corset.

A mischievous smile curved her lips; her tongue clicked against pearly fangs. “Let it wait,” she whispered. She ran a gloved hand over his coat, her fingers gliding over the braid and brass.

She saw her hunger answered in his eyes, but he took her hand, nearly crushing it in his own. “This is your cotillion, my dear. How would it be if your chaperone ruined your debut?”

She stepped closer to him, trapping his hand. She brought it to the curve of her silk-bound breast, where it rested like a longing bird. “Fine by me.”

His mouth was on hers in an instant – hot, hungry, so shockingly mirroring her own need that she purred deep in her throat. He pushed her back until the table hit her steel hoops. He bit her tongue so hard he drew blood. Her music surrounded them like a symphony.

“Here?” he breathed in her ear.

“Here,” she said. She didn’t care if the servants or slaves saw. They’d seen stranger things in this household.

She worked at his trousers while he lifted her, skirts and all, onto the table. His eyes widened when he realized that nothing denied him access.

“Isobel,” he breathed as he slid into her.

Dani sat straight up in bed. Everything in her body throbbed, down to her very toenails. She drew a shuddering breath.

“Jesus Christ,” she exhaled. Though she’d given up smoking right around the time she’d sworn off men, she felt in dire need of a cigarette. Or a man. Or both.

She threw the covers off, realizing it was nearly twilight and she was already late for work.

“Damn.” She fumbled for her cell phone as she crawled into her jeans and tank top.

“Hi, Drake,” she said, hoping he didn’t notice her breathlessness. “Listen, I’m running a little late . . . ”

“It’s your second day on the job and you’re late already?” he said, his voice rising.

She grimaced and held the phone away from her ear. Better than a cold shower. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Guess you just might win that bet after all,” she said.

“Sure looks like it,” Drake snapped. He hung up.

She clicked her phone closed and grabbed her greasy coveralls off the chair. This was not going to be pretty.

The owner had agreed to the Rochester fuel-injection system with some grumbling. Drake had it express-shipped. “Two days,” he muttered. He looked over the engine and sighed. Best thing would be to get to work on another car. All he could see of Dani was her denim-covered legs and work boots sticking out from under a black ’70 Plymouth ’Cuda with a 426 Hemi. Its ghosted racing stripes glimmered in the shop lights.

She had pretty much avoided him since she came in – embarrassed, he guessed, at being so late the second day on the job. But he caught her once in a knowing look, as if she’d seen some intimate part of his past that she couldn’t fathom. He’d scowled and she’d blushed. After that, she’d secluded herself under the ’Cuda.

He started in on a ’72 Pierre Cardin-edition Javelin. He had been old when these cars came onto the showroom floor and he felt even older now as he remembered the original ads for these cars – a girl bounding up and down beside the Jav in a black and yellow leisure suit and matching scarf. He sighed, wiping grease off his fingers onto a rag. It looked like all this needed was a really good tune-up.

“That’s boss,” Dani said over his shoulder. She was as silent as a vampire.

Drake jumped. “How on earth do you do that?”

“Magic,” Dani said, waggling her fingers at him. She grinned, but couldn’t quite meet his eyes. Some sense memory lingered around her.

A name swam up out of her thoughts. Isobel.

He growled.

“Very nice Jav,” Dani said, eyeing the Chinese red-, plum- and white-striped seats. Cardin had gone a little nuts with the interior design.

“I’m keener on her sort,” Drake said, nodding towards the ’Vette.

“That girly old thing?” Dani said. She ran a hand over its curves. It was his turn to be embarrassed as he felt himself stiffen. Hers was a casual, almost condescending gesture, but something about the way her fingertips moved over the glossy, hard surface, the sense memory like a perfume lingering around her, stirred him.

He turned away to hide it.

“Nah,” she continued, “I need more chunk to my ride.” She returned to the ’Cuda. “Now this is an example of automotive perfection: 426 Hemi; Bassani X-pipes; Borla exhaust. That old girl couldn’t hold a candle to it.”

“Wanna bet?” Drake said. He bent back over the ’Vette. After Isobel, he’d sworn that nothing could make him feel again. And since 1867, when she’d finally discarded him, he’d managed that quite nicely. How had this slip of a girl gotten him so wound up?

He ground his fangs against his lower teeth when he felt her next to him, leaning to watch him tinkering uselessly with a hose.

“You are indeed a betting man,” Dani said.

“When I get that Rochester in, we’ll see what your ’Cuda can do,” he said.

“And the stakes?” she asked.

He met her eyes. This close, he saw they weren’t actually as dark as he’d thought. They were hazel, almost green now. Her lips were slightly parted, wet, a bit cracked. From the taut line of her neck, her stiff shoulders, the way her blood raced, he guessed that she’d not been this close to anyone in a very long time. He sensed that she was slightly embarrassed by her raw, gangly appearance, her tiny breasts, her thin legs. She had always been disappointed in her lovers; sex had been, for all its hype, ultimately less than what she’d hoped and yet such a basic need that she’d not fared well without it. And love? She didn’t even want to go there.

All these things he caught like the soft, confessional notes of a viola played behind a closed door. And then an image. Of him in his officer’s uniform, thrusting into Isobel, calling her name. The sound of the mirror shattering as Isobel’s head smacked against it, the table rocking wildly beneath them.

His eyes widened.

Before he could speak, the garage door exploded.

Or, at least, that was how it sounded to Dani.

She ripped her gaze from Drake’s. A piece of one of the garage doors had been torn apart and Martoni’s bodyguards stepped through, followed by the vampire women.

Drake drew himself up beside Dani, his face as hard as iron.

A young vampire female sauntered up to him. She glanced aside at Dani and an amused half-smile played about her lips.

“You don’t mean to tell me you’d rather consort with witches than your own kind, Drake? Were you not the only potential sire on the Eastern Seaboard, I might change my mind about this.”

Drake didn’t reply to Ferrell.

An image formed in Dani’s mind. Sunset on a battlefield. Drake standing alone, looking out over the devastation, his uniform rusted with the blood of the fallen. Anger and resignation swept over his face. Just as they did now.

The bodyguards moved forwards to either side of Dani. She tensed. She saw the flash of the nullifier in the hand of the nearest one. She would have to do this the hard way.

“Wait.” Ferrell held up her hand. “Let the witch stay.”

“Mr Martoni—” one of the bodyguards began.

“—can wait for his prize while I enjoy mine,” Ferrell said. “I want her to see what comes to those who think they can defy us. And,” she said, walking up to Drake, “I shall enjoy your humiliation all the more.”

Dani saw it before Ferrell did – the slight twist of the hip before Drake’s palm came up and struck the vampire woman squarely in the breastbone. There was a crack as she fell backwards into the arms of the old vampire crones.

Dani dropped as one of the bodyguards reached for her. She swept her leg under the bodyguard as hard as she could, but it was like trying to sweep an iron telephone pole. The bodyguard wobbled a little and bent towards her. While she smacked away the hand that held the nullifier, she punched up at him from below.

The left lens of his sunglasses shattered. The nullifier slipped, sparkling, from his fingers and Dani dived for it.

Ice-white eyes ringed with blue stared at her as the bodyguard ripped off the mangled sunglasses and threw them to the floor, even as his human glamour faded.

Wendigo.

Now that she had the nullifier, she could smell him, too – the gut-wrenching odour of corruption, the desecration of flesh.

“We’ve got wendigo!” she shouted at Drake.

She tried to summon her power, but it was like trying to start a car with a dead alternator. The nullifier had drained her too much. She’d need some time to recharge. She had to get away from them to do anything worthwhile. They were much stronger than any creature she’d ever had to fight without magic.

The young vampire had recovered and advanced on Drake with a hard mouth.

“The Yenko,” Drake shouted. He pitched the keys at her as the crones grabbed his wrists. Where they touched him, his skin turned white.

Dani caught the keys and dived just as one of the wendigo smacked her with unsheathed claws. Her face stung.

When she came up, she saw an ugly bruise blooming on Drake’s mouth. With a flourish, the young vampire ripped his coveralls, T-shirt and jeans from him.

Naked and vulnerable, he knelt as the old vampires forced him down to the ground. Silver scars twined across his back, curling over his muscular thighs.

“Now, say my name,” Ferrell said.

She didn’t give him much time before she cuffed him on the side of the head again.

He spat.

She kicked him in the gut.

“Ferrell,” he said.

Dani took a step towards him even as the wendigos closed in.

He half turned his head and saw her there. “Go, dammit!” he yelled at her.

Ferrell yanked his head back towards her.

Dani slid through the Camaro’s open window and started it, slamming it into gear as the engine revved.

One of the wendigos tried to stop her, but she ran over him with a crunch and thud that made her want to vomit. His claws scraped down the hood, leaving thick furrows, and that made her want to vomit even more.

She hurtled through the gap in the garage door. The last image in her rear-view mirror was of Ferrell disrobing as the crones held Drake.

Tears sprang into her eyes, but she held them back as she roared down the highway. In her mind, she saw again the sweet, hot way he’d made love to Isobel. That hadn’t been a dream. And now Ferrell was trying to force out of him what could never be forced. She was trying to take what could only be given. Just like Martoni – taking magic for himself when it should only ever come as a gift.

The hard edges of the nullifier cut into her palm. A slow smile burned away her tears. She knew what to do.

His head hurt. Cool hands cradled it. Cool lips slid on his. He’d been shot again, and Isobel . . . The last time it had been in the leg, and even though he’d been laid up, Isobel had come to him, giving him her blood to heal the wound. And then, well, they’d proved that even army cots could be put to good use.

He half smiled as her lips travelled down his neck, though the song, the music of Isobel, was all wrong.

“Have you had enough abuse then?” a voice said. “Are you ready to submit to me?”

Not Isobel. Ferrell.

It was dark but he could smell daylight. Late afternoon, approaching twilight. He couldn’t sit up. She had him well chained to rock that dug into his bare back. A cave. Beneath the smell of light, the scent of decay – a mingling of pork and human flesh, the nest he’d smelled near the pig farm.

The crones sat silent nearby, but their cold music was all around him.

Ferrell moved down his body, her fingers like flies walking on his skin. He shivered in revulsion.

“End it,” he said. “I won’t give you what you want.”

“Silly, stupid sire,” she whispered. “I offer you such privilege! My mother is a Matriarch. Simply by doing your duty, you earn power and commendation beyond your wildest dreams.”

“Which is why you are forcing me to impregnate you in a cave full of pig filth,” Drake said.

Even though he expected the blow, it still hurt a great deal.

“This is your humiliation, not mine,” Ferrell hissed. “It never had to be this way if you had properly served me from the beginning.”

“Or if you’d left him alone in the first place,” Dani said.

A flare of light and Drake could see her standing, her left hand wreathed in flame. Her tank top and jeans were filthy; her hair in dark disarray around her shoulders. Wendigo marks clawed shadows across her cheek.

She dragged someone behind her.

Martoni.

The crones hissed and shrank away from the hot fire growing in her palm.

“Let him go,” Dani said.

Ferrell stood, her skin fish-belly pale, her eyes black with anger.

“He’s mine, witch. Go steal someone else’s stud.”

The ball of fire grew, blazing white hot.

“You have two choices. I can lock you up tight with some man-food—” she shook the unconscious Martoni “—or I can fry you all to ash so that even your Matriarch won’t be able to identify you.”

“She escaped the wendigo. She does not boast,” one of the crones said. “Ferrell . . . ”

Ferrell unlocked his chains. Drake crawled past Dani and then stumbled to his feet. Before Ferrell or the crones could leap, Dani threw Martoni into them. Then she grabbed Drake and pulled him outside. She sent a hard blast of fire into the cave roof, melting and crumbling the rock into a hot tomb. Ferrell’s music turned into a screeching cacophony before it disappeared completely from his head.

Dani helped him into the Yenko and he hissed as the leather caught at his bruised, naked skin. Dani hid her smile, tossed him some clothes and settled into the driver’s seat.

“Hope I got the right size,” she said.

He checked the tag blearily. He tried to nod but it hurt too much. “How’d you do that?” he asked.

“Magic,” she said, looking over at him with a grin.

He winced when he tried to smile. The clothes rumpled across his lap.

“Do you need . . . ?” She leaned closer and exposed her throat. The freckles on her skin pulsed as her heart sped.

“I . . . ” He sighed. He was tired and hungry and afraid that if he tasted her now, he would surely kill her.

“It’s OK,” she said in a small voice.

“There’s a pig farm.” He gestured.

She nodded, drove wordlessly down the road until he told her to stop. Out of the car, protesting against even putting on the clothes, he stumbled to one of the metal hog sheds.

When he came out later, she was leaning against the car, clutching his clothes to her chest. She looked a little green under the street lights.

He said nothing, but took the clothes from her, dressed, and returned to the car. She followed and gave him the keys.

“I’m going to Mexico,” he said. “You should go somewhere, too. Wherever witches go that’s safe.”

Her hands fisted and he was certain she glared at him. “And that’s your way of saying thank you?”

There’s always another choice, he had told Ferrell. But he had never before realized how true that was.

He was silent for a long moment. Then he took her hand, banishing all sense memories, feeling only the magic-hardened angles of her palm. He drew her to him, putting his hands on either side of her face, trying to see her eyes.

“There are many other ways,” he said. “I believe you may know some of them.”

Her breath hitched as he bent close. He knew she was thinking of him again with Isobel, whether she willed it or not.

“I’ll show you the others on the way down to Mexico,” he whispered.

She shivered as their lips touched. A spark flickered between them and he drew back a little.

“Don’t tell me,” he said when she would have spoken. “Magic, right?”

She smiled and silenced him with her lips.