Wicked Road to Hell Page 6

  “You do understand why we can’t hand the boy over?” Declan’s question was aimed at Nico, but he glanced at Ransome as well. The wolf was out of his chair and downed the remainder of his bourbon before meeting Declan’s gaze.

  “Where are the others?” Ransome asked. His eyes were flat and he was dead serious. “Because if you’ve dragged them here to my city, I’m going to insist that you leave.” He bared his teeth and nodded toward the door. “I warned you that I want no part of a holy war.”

  Declan eyed the wolf carefully. “In answer to your question, we have no idea who the remaining six are, but as to the other . . .” His voice trailed off and he glanced at Ana. Her face was white, her lips pale. She turned to him, her eyes huge, and the worry that hung there tore at him.

  He knew her. Knew how strong she was. To see the vampire so upset set him on edge.

  In that second he knew nothing had changed for him. Who the hell was he kidding? He thought he’d use this whole exercise as a means for seduction? Fuck that. He’d walk through fire for her.

  Ransome stepped around his desk, his dark eyes centered on Declan. “As to the other?” he prompted.

  Declan pushed thoughts of Ana away. No distractions. “It’s too late. We’ve already got a demon lord on our ass, and though he’s yet to show his face, he’s close by.”

  “A demon . . . lord.” Ransome’s face darkened.

  There was a loud rap on the door and it flew open before the werewolf had time to allow entrance. “LaPierre, what the hell is going on?” A tall woman strode into the room, a towel over her shoulder and a cigarette dangling from between her teeth. She was hard-looking, with tired pale features and lanky blond hair that hung from a loose ponytail. She wheezed and took a long drag before exhaling loudly. “I just had Benny kick out three more wolves, and it ain’t even a full moon.”

  “Benny?” Nico asked.

  She turned toward the jaguar. “Yeah, the big-ass bouncer.” She swung back to Ransome and put her hand on her narrow hips. The jeans that hung there were held up by the slimmest of belts, and the tank top she wore was emblazoned with the word MOFO. “Something weird is going on.” She nodded back toward the door. “Can’t you feel it?”

  Ransome tossed an angry look at Declan and grabbed up the phone. “Hold on,” he growled into the device. “Sarah, go back to the bar. Tell Benny to close up as soon as he can empty the place without starting a riot. Get Asher to—”

  “Asher’s left for the night.”

  Declan watched the way Ana flinched at the mention of the wolf. The two of them shared a history, one that involved the mysterious Jean-Charles. He wouldn’t be able to rest until he knew the details, but first things first.

  Ransome let loose a string of profanity that didn’t abate until he barked orders into the phone and slammed it back down.

  He glared at them all, and Declan moved toward Ana as the energy in the room darkened. The werewolf had gone from pissed off to deadly anger in less than a minute.

  “Fuck me, O’Hara. Who the hell have you dragged to my town?”

  “It’s not his fault.” Ana swallowed and took a moment. “I led the dark lord here. That’s on me but I didn’t know where else to go.”

  “The dark lord,” Ransome repeated. “What is this? Harry fucking Potter?” The wolf glanced around the room. “Anyone here, I dunno, willing to give up a name?”

  “Samael,” Ana answered quietly.

  Ransome stopped, speechless. He ran his hand through the tawny length of hair that hung across his forehead. “The demon of chaos,” he whispered softly. Another loud crash sounded outside his door. Ransome shook his head and growled. “No shit.”

  “So what’s the plan?” Nico asked.

  Declan glanced at Ransome and the two men stared at each other for several long moments. They’d been through a lot, back in the day, and he hoped it would count for something.

  He turned to Nico. “You on board?” he asked the jaguar. “I won’t turn an innocent boy over to the Seraphim.”

  “How do you know he’s innocent? From what I understand not much is known about the mark of seven other than the fact that once the pieces are put in play, look the fuck out. It’s anyone’s guess which way they’ll swing.” Nico laughed harshly. “Do they kick-start an apocalypse? Do they end one? We don’t know.”

  “He’s just a kid and I’m not willing to hand him over until I know more.” Declan’s voice hardened.

  “He’s under Bill’s protection,” Ana interjected. “That should be good enough.”

  “Bill?” Nico snorted. “I’m not sure I trust him, either.”

  Ana was silent. She looked tired.

  They needed to get back to the house. She had to feed.

  “We will protect him and find the others before the Seraphim do. But first we need to deal with Samael.” Declan nodded toward the werewolf. “Can we count on your help?”

  Ransome ran his hand over the rough stubble that shadowed his jaw. He took his time, walked around his desk, and straightened a few papers that lay there. When the silence became unbearable he finally looked up at Declan.

  “The necromancer that called forth the ghouls last night . . . I’m assuming whoever the hell he is will be tied to Samael.”

  Declan had him. He tried not to smile, and nodded. “That’s what I was thinking. The ghouls were the bastard’s first strike. Demons are notorious for getting others to do their dirty work.”

  “He was testing me,” Ana murmured, “with the demon, vampire, and the ghouls.”

  “Yeah, and you passed.” Ransome shook his head. “He’ll be coming at you with big guns next time.” The wolf glanced at Declan. “Or he’ll come himself.”

  “The necromancer might know who else is on the list.” Declan raised a good point and they all nodded in agreement.

  Another crash split the night, and this time the walls shook from the force of it. Ransome swore under his breath and rolled his shoulders before striding past them to the door. He opened it and ducked; a beer bottle barely missed his head as it flew past and smashed into the wall behind him.

  “I’ll do some digging,” he continued. “See if I can come up with a name, but until then . . .” He grinned wickedly at the three of them and cracked his knuckles. “I could use a little help.”

  Chapter 7

  A crow flew past Ana and landed on the large stone angel that stood a few feet away. It stared down at her in silence, head cocked to the side as if it were about to talk.

  She slid past the black bird, her feet gliding over the damp earth as she darted between the rows of graves. It was late, well on the wrong side of 4 A.M. The Voodoo Lounge had been an experience, an out-of-control crowd fueled by booze, loud music, and sex.

  And a little bit of chaos. The aftereffects tingled along her spine and were the main reason she was so on edge.

  It had been a mild taste of what was to come if Samael wasn’t stopped.

  They’d returned to the DeLacrux mansion only a half hour before, with the jaguar warrior Nico along for the ride. Declan had been correct. The wards were strong, the wolves were patrolling, and Kaden was safe.

  She’d grabbed a bag of O neg and disappeared into the attic, which, unconventional as it seemed, was where she’d always felt the most comfortable. She needed space, time to be alone.

  Christ, who was she kidding? She needed to feed.

  Blood from a bag went only a small way in satisfying her hunger. It kept her alive, but didn’t feed her soul the way fresh blood, warm blood, from a living human did. The essence fed her spirit and tempered the darkness that was part of her nature.

  Most of the time it was an easy balance to achieve—walking that line between light and dark—but she could tell the next few days would test her like none before.

  Being around Declan did nothing but make her crazy. She’d grown weak over the last two years. There was a time when she’d been able to resist the scent of his blood and block it out. Yet for
the past twenty-four hours it was all she had thought about.

  Her fangs slid out at the thought of him and she paused near the far end of the cemetery.

  The crow flew by once more and swooped toward the largest of the mausoleums. The damn thing seemed to be following her and she frowned as she watched it glide gracefully through the air.

  It landed atop the stone structure, but this time it was no angel it rested upon. The crow shook out its dark wings and stared down at her from the peak of the DeLacrux tomb. Its small, beady eyes glistened in the moonlight and it cawed sharply.

  Ana winced as the sound cut through the heavy silence. She glared up at the bird and hissed, her fangs fully exposed. It continued to stare down at her as if issuing a challenge. She hissed once more and was at the foot of the tomb in less than a second, her body a preternatural blur. The crow flapped its wings and then disappeared into the night sky, leaving her alone amongst the shadows.

  She’d been in New Orleans for almost two weeks but had not paid a visit to this particular corner of the city, otherwise known as the city of the dead. If the humans knew how many undead still walked between the tombs they’d surely stay away.

  She felt silent eyes watching her, the heavy stare of souls that still wandered. Her gaze swept the immediate area but there was no one willing to show themselves tonight.

  She bit her lip and swallowed a sigh. The melancholy, the abject sadness that hung in her gut was painful. Ana had never felt so alone. So bereft. Seeing Declan again had stirred the pot, but running into Asher tonight, standing in the Voodoo Lounge once more, had set the damn thing to boiling.

  She ran up the steps, her feet silent on the stone, and stood in front of the double doors. Names were engraved along each side, etched deep into the walls, and she traced them slowly. Her finger stopped at the last one. Jean-Charles DeLacrux. Her twin.

  The whisper of a memory slid through her mind and she smiled to herself. Jean-Charles, or Jack as she’d called him, darting through the cemetery as a child and Ana fast on his heels. She leaned her body against the cold stone and rested her cheek upon the hard surface, her finger still caressing his name.

  The last time she’d seen her brother had been nearly sixty years ago. He’d been covered in blood, mad with grief . . . and it had been her fault. If she’d kept her mouth shut . . . If she’d not been so jealous of his happiness . . . If Asher hadn’t been there . . . maybe his lover, Cerise, would have been spared.

  “You are dead to me, sister.” They’d been the last words he’d spoken to her, and even now, the echo of them in her mind was enough to break her heart in two. Again.

  He’d fled New Orleans, and his name had been etched into the stone by the local ruling council. It was a sign to all vampires that Jean-Charles DeLacrux was no longer welcome in their world. He’d committed a crime against their code and would be destroyed if he ever returned.

  Ana grimaced as her fingers touched the other names that were there. So many of them. The DeLacrux were bad seeds. It was only a matter of time before hers was added to the list.

  Bill wouldn’t be able to pull a miracle like that out of his ass. She’d long ago accepted the fact that she was indeed cursed.

  Hunger stretched and ached inside of her, gnawing at the emptiness that was there. She blew out a ragged breath. It was time to hunt. She needed more than the bagged blood she kept at the house. With Kaden to look after, she’d been keeping close and not hunting like she should.

  “Nice digs.”

  Declan’s voice startled her and she pushed away from the tomb, pausing as her fangs slid back out of sight before she turned around. The moon cast an eerie shadow across the cemetery and it cloaked Declan in a mist of ethereal light. He looked like a god, and in that moment she hated him—hated everything that he represented because it was something that she could never have.

  “Stalker much?” she said. “I don’t like being followed.”

  He ignored her sarcastic comment and rested his booted foot on the bottom stair. His gaze slowly traveled the building and paused at the peak.

  “DeLacrux,” he murmured. “What is this? Some kind of clubhouse for the undead?”

  O’Hara had always been a smart-ass and she gritted her teeth as a muscle flexed sharply across her jaw. She supposed he was right. There were no actual bodies inside. Her immediate family no longer lived in New Orleans. Armand and Jacqueline DeLacrux, her parents, had left well over a century ago. It was never smart to stay in one area for too long. People tended to wonder about the folks who never aged past their early twenties. Last she’d heard, and this was nearly two decades earlier, they’d been in the South of France.

  Ana’s lineage could be traced back to the ruling queen, Isobel. She’d been born vampire, as were most of the vampires in existence. To turn a human was forbidden and seen as the ultimate betrayal to their kind. Aside from the fact humans would dilute their bloodlines, most of them didn’t come through the transformation well. They went mad, fueled bloody rampages, and had to be hunted, destroyed.

  Jack the Ripper? Classic case.

  In her world the rules were archaic. Marriages were arranged, alliances forged.

  Ana had a fiancé. Somewhere out there. A reclusive bastard who’d rejected her on sight nearly seventy-five years ago. He’d been a tall Viking—Aleksander, an ancient who’d scared the crap out of her. And though she was grateful for the reprieve, she knew he was still out there, and if the queen wished it, his rejection meant nothing.

  She sighed. It was just another thread of her life that was frayed, unfinished.

  “Are you all right?” Declan’s voice was quiet and he seemed genuinely concerned. She didn’t want him to be nice right now. She much preferred the friction.

  “I’m fine but I’d be way better if I was alone.”

  Liar.

  His scent drifted lazily on the breeze and her eyes homed in on the pulse that beat at the base of his neck. Did he have to smell so damn good? Ana’s mouth watered as she envisioned her teeth breaking his skin, her tongue lapping at the richness that would spill.

  “It’s not safe.” Declan took another step.

  No shit. If you were smart you’d book it out of here like yesterday.

  She shook her head. “You’re joking, right? I don’t need a babysitter, Declan, so get over it.”

  He took another step and then another until he stood just below her. He stared up at her in silence, his dark eyes hiding all sorts of things.

  “How do you know Asher?” His question surprised her.

  “He’s from New Orleans and I’m from New Orleans. It’s a small community, Declan. Those who are otherworld tend to run in the same circles whether we like each other or not.” She was being vague but really didn’t want to discuss her past with the sorcerer.

  Declan took one more step until he was eye level with her.

  “Who is Jean-Charles?” His voice was lower, his eyes narrowed.

  Ana clenched her jaw as another wave of need rushed over her. He was too close. His scent was intoxicating, earthy, with a hint of pine, or was that sandalwood?

  “An ex-lover?”

  His lips were open slightly and she focused on them, not really hearing his words. They were beautiful . . . his lips. A mouth made for pleasure. Heat coiled deep in her stomach and a slow flush crept across her cheeks. It was rare for a vampire to get hot, but at the moment, she felt like she’d slipped into a bed of molten lava.

  She wanted to cup his chin and taste him. She wanted to pull him close and inhale his sweet fragrance. She wanted his hard body pressed against hers.

  Ana licked her lips and growled softly as her incisors broke skin inside her mouth. Who the hell was she kidding? She wanted to sink her fangs deep into his jugular and take from him. Drink his essence and be done with it. Maybe then this longing, this absolute craving she felt for Declan would go away.

  “Do it,” he whispered.

  She blinked and shook the madness that th
reatened.

  “No.” She turned from him and exhaled roughly. “You need to go, Declan.” Her skin was on fire and the beast that was below the surface threatened. She would never forgive herself if she hurt him.

  “What are you afraid of, Ana?”

  Dammit, he’d cleared the last step and the heat of his body was at her back. She squeezed her eyes shut and fought for control but it was no use. Her fangs were now fully extended.

  “Don’t touch me.” She barely managed to get the words out.

  “You want me to touch you.”

  His hands were on her, his touch burning. Ana’s eyes flew open and she whirled around, knocking his hand from her body as she did so.

  “No.” Her chest was heaving, her hands clenched into fists. “I don’t want your touch, Declan, let’s be honest here. I want to eat you.” Ana said every word carefully as she glared at him. “There’s a huge difference between the two.”

  She needed him to understand. She was not all puppies and rainbows. She was hard-edged and bad, with insatiable appetites that came with a price.

  “Why is it so hard for you to admit that there’s something between us?” He took another step, but this time Ana refused to back away. “That there’s always been something there?”

  She inhaled deeply, which was the wrong thing to do. Declan O’Hara smelled like decadence, passion, and life. Would it be so bad to take just a nibble?

  The crow cawed as it swept by once more, swooping low, inches from their heads. Its sharp cry cut through their “moment” with the effective strike of a blade and Ana hissed in anger.

  “There’s never been anything between us, Declan. I don’t know what fantasy world you were living in. I don’t do men like you.”

  “You did Diego.” His voice was harsh. “Many times, in fact.”

  I knew he could never break me the way you can.

  “Seriously, Declan, this is getting old. There’s something pathetic about a man who begs for sex.” She laughed harshly. “And let’s be honest here. That is what we’re talking about, isn’t it? Sex?” She took a step back. “I can spread my legs and we can go at it. Get it over with once and for all.”