Wicked Road to Hell Read online

  His face hardened at her words, his dark eyes narrowed into twin slits of ebony.

  She reached for the waistband of her jeans and started to undo the clasp. “Is that what you want? A quick fuck in the cemetery?”

  Declan cursed and she felt a hot sting of energy surround her tightly. It tingled along her arms and spread over her abdomen. She glanced up at him in surprise. She couldn’t move. Ana struggled but there was no budging. What the hell?

  Declan’s hand slid around her neck and he bent low, his breath sizzling along her neck to tickle her in places that were hidden.

  “When I finally have you”—his warm mouth was just below her ear—“it will be no quick fuck in a cemetery.” She shuddered at the sensations that slid across her skin. “It will be a slow and thorough loving and I will taste every inch of you.” His tongue flicked across her flesh. “I’ll make sure I’m hungry.”

  Invisible fingers swept across her chest and her nipples hardened instantly. What the hell was he doing?

  His hand slid along her jaw until he cupped her chin and forced her to look up at him. The raw emotion that hung in the depths of his eyes stirred something deep within her.

  The man was dead serious. If she let go, let her desires have free rein, he would die. She wouldn’t be able to stop at a taste, she wasn’t strong enough. There would blood and sex and she would claim him.

  How could she not? It’s what her heart wanted, which ironically was the one thing she couldn’t have.

  The elders on council would hunt Declan until he fell. It didn’t matter that he was now Seraph—that he served a higher order and was considered immortal.

  She knew the truth. Immortality was a myth. Everyone had an Achilles’ heel.

  “Please, let me go.” Ana closed her eyes. There was no more fight in her.

  Their lips were separated by a whisper and the hunger she felt was painful.

  She licked her lips. “Declan, I—”

  She was suddenly released and nearly fell as Declan moved away from her. He nodded toward the mausoleum. “Living in the past is a mistake. The ghosts that linger there will not keep you sane or feed the hunger you feel. You taught me that.” He paused. “I’ll see you back at the house.”

  Declan turned and disappeared into the darkness.

  Ana shuddered and blew out a long, hot breath. The DeLacrux mausoleum stood in shadow and she crossed once more to the entrance, her eyes falling to the names etched into the stone.

  Slowly her finger traced her brother’s name.

  Jean-Charles had been weak. He’d surrendered to the needs of his heart and it had ended tragically. The council had hunted his newly turned lover and murdered her. He’d been banished and Ana hadn’t seen him since.

  She liked to think that Jean-Charles lived and had found some kind of contentment. She wanted to believe she would know if her twin was dead.

  Ana laid her cheek against the cold stone. God, how she missed him . . . and for the first time in nearly sixty years, she felt the sting of searing hot tears.

  Chapter 8

  It was nearly five in the afternoon when Ana made her way down from the attic. She’d slept a few hours and had been awake for the last several. Unlike popular modern folklore, vampires didn’t require much sleep or go to ground during the day. They didn’t reside in a coffin—well, she didn’t anyway; her four-poster bed did just fine.

  She did, however, have to avoid direct sunlight.

  Her hand caressed the scar over her heart. And she definitely steered clear of stakes . . . when she could.

  Shadows were just beginning to creep along the walls and she paused at the bottom of the stairs. Her home smelled musty with the heavy perfume of damp age. She glanced into the parlor and took a few steps until she was inside.

  The faded cream walls were dirty, much closer to gray, and the huge mantel above the fireplace was covered in cobwebs. Her eyes drifted over the furniture. It, too, was faded, moth-eaten, and threadbare, nibbled at by whatever rodents had dared venture inside.

  How different things had been before she’d stopped caring.

  She closed her eyes as her chest tightened, heavy with the weight of memories and the sadness of what would never be.

  She’d been happy here, many years ago. It had been easy to make herself forget and yet so damn hard to remember. But tonight, memories of a time and place long forgotten flooded her mind. Images of parties and dances and hot summer nights in the Quarter. Of Jean-Charles, his wicked sense of humor and his passion for living.

  They’d been inseparable—she and her twin—their lives lived to the fullest. Until Cerise. Until it had been destroyed.

  Ana should have known it would never last.

  A sharp rap at the front door echoed into the foyer. It was Ransome LaPierre. His otherworld scent was hard to miss.

  She opened the door just as he was about to knock once more. The tall wolf smiled down at her. He was golden light mingled with caramel-edged darkness. Power clung to him; there was no doubt that he was the alpha of his pack.

  “Come in.” Ana moved aside and closed the door behind him.

  “Nice digs,” Ransome said as he looked around.

  Ana grimaced. “You’re being too polite. The place is falling apart. I just don’t . . .” She shrugged. “What’s the point?”

  Ransome turned in a full circle. “The foundation is good. It’s the cosmetic stuff that needs repairing. I could hook you up with a few local contractors.”

  “I don’t think so,” she murmured.

  “It wouldn’t take much.”

  “What is this? Extreme Makeover? We gonna move a bus or something?”

  Declan stood near the foot of the stairs and Kaden was just behind him. She nodded to Ransome. “Follow me. I’m assuming you have intel on the necromancer?”

  She smiled at Kaden but chose to ignore Declan as she led the way toward the kitchen.

  It was empty. “Where’s Nico?” She crossed to the fridge and grabbed a bag of blood, tossed it into the microwave, and then glanced back at the others.

  Kaden slid his long legs under the table and slouched back in a chair. He picked up a half-eaten beignet and thrust the remainder into his mouth.

  Declan arched a brow and answered. “He went to see a couple contacts he has in the area. Some voodoo woman in the Quarter. He hasn’t returned yet. No worries. He’ll hook up with us later.”

  She nodded and looked at Ransome. “So what did you learn?”

  The werewolf glanced at the teen.

  “It’s okay,” Ana prodded, “we’ve no secrets from Kaden. This is his life we’re talking about.”

  “All right.” Ransome nodded. “I called in a few favors, did some checking on my own, and have two possibilities. One is a guy named Al Deboer. He lives in Jefferson parish and has definite ties to the underworld. The other is Francesca DuRoche. She’s a two-bit fortune cookie who has a place near Jackson Square.”

  “You got a feeling one way or another on these two?” Declan asked as he grabbed a beer from the fridge and tossed one to the wolf.

  “I checked out Al’s place earlier today. From what I can tell the guy’s not been home for at least two to three days. I fed the asshole’s cat for him.” Ransome looked disgusted. “Dumb fuck.”

  “How can you be sure?” Ana asked, curious.

  Ransome smiled and tapped his nose. “It’s all here, baby. His scent was old, stale.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Plus”—he winked—“the newspaper on his table was dated three days ago. Lead story was about a horse race in Florida that took place yesterday. I’m thinking old Al is a betting man.”

  Ana poured herself a glass of blood and forced herself to sip slowly. It was hard. Her hunger was beyond a regular thirst and it was difficult to act normal. Jesus, but she needed Declan to move away from her.

  “So we find the girl.” Declan drained the last of his beer and tossed the bottle under the sink.

  “The sooner the better
,” Ransome added.

  “I agree,” Ana interjected. “Samael knows by now the ghouls weren’t able to do his dirty work. He’ll be coming after Kaden. Hell, we can already feel his presence.”

  “All right.” Ransome looked at Declan. “She has a shop near Jackson Square and lives above it.”

  “Well, let’s go.” Kaden’s chair scraped along the worn linoleum as he pushed it back and stood.

  “I don’t think so.” Declan took a step forward and crossed his arms over his chest. “You need to stay put.”

  “No way.” Kaden shook his head. “I’m not staying in this dump while you go out and have all the fun.”

  Declan’s features darkened. The energy in the room sifted and churned. It slid across Ana’s skin and settled around them all. Declan wasn’t fooling around.

  “This isn’t up for discussion. You’ll stay.” He glanced at Ransome. “Your boys still outside?”

  The wolf nodded. “Yeah, I’ve got two patrols on duty.”

  “Double it.”

  Ransome pulled out his cell.

  Declan moved away. “Read a book or something. I don’t care what you do, but if I find you anywhere other than in this house, I will kick your ass. Got it?”

  Kaden remained stone-faced but was quiet.

  “It’s for your own good.” Though Ana didn’t like the thought of being away from the teen, there was no way in hell he was going out in the field. The safest place was her mansion.

  “All right then. Hate to break up the drama but it’s nearly six and the sun is setting.” Ransome looked at Ana. “We’re good to go, right?”

  Ana set her now-empty glass on the counter and nodded. “Let’s do this.” Kaden turned his back to her as she walked by, and she sighed softly. Teenagers.

  She grabbed a form-fitting leather jacket from the coatrack in the corner of the foyer. Not because she needed it but because it projected a certain image she liked. Kick-ass, determined, and dangerous.

  She was well aware of Declan a few feet behind, though the space between them felt as large as the Rio Grande. They’d never had an easy time, she and the sorcerer. Friction had always been a part of the equation.

  Ana yanked the door open and stepped out into the crisp air. It was cooler than normal and though barely 6 P.M., very dark. There were no stars to light up the sky, no moon to shed her beams.

  Declan moved past her and she watched his tall form slide between the shadows that fell across the path. The flagstones were grossly overgrown with weeds, and for the first time since she’d been home, she felt embarrassed. Her home was an utter wreck.

  The sidewalks were empty and the wind whispered against her cheek, bringing with it the voices of the dead.

  “You all right?” Ransome stopped beside her, his nostrils flaring as his gaze swept the area in front of them. He heard them, too.

  “I’m fine,” she whispered. The dead souls who roamed New Orleans were many, and she often heard their sad lament. Most times she ignored them, easily blocking them out. But tonight they called to the sadness she felt.

  “Let’s go.” They both looked up as Declan’s terse voice cut through the gloom.

  “I get the feeling there’s unfinished business between the two of you,” Ransome murmured as they started after Declan. “You planning on working that shit out?”

  Ana’s gaze fell to the sorcerer and she shook her head. “You’re wrong. We’re fine.”

  Ransome smiled down at her, but his eyes remained hard. “If I think either one of you is gonna get my ass burned because you can’t keep it together . . . I’m outta this one. Understood?”

  “Don’t worry about it, we’re cool.”

  “Yeah, that’s what Anne Boleyn thought, and then she lost her fucking head.”

  “Whatever,” Ana muttered under her breath.

  They made their way toward Jackson Square in silence. Three bodies sliding through darkened streets that were eerily silent. So not the norm for the Quarter; it was Saturday night, after all.

  There was the odd group of tourists and, yes, the weather was ominous, but still, the streets were much emptier than they should be.

  “We don’t have a lot of time.” Declan looked down at her, and Ana nodded. He was right. Samael was close.

  “You’re sure the wards are going to hold?” She knew the question was redundant but couldn’t help herself.

  “They’ll hold,” Declan said softly. “I juiced them up good and strong. The magick that lives here is darker than any I’ve come across, in this realm anyway.” He nodded once more. “They’ll hold. Besides, the wolves will not let anything through. The LaPierre shifters are tough sons of bitches.”

  “There’s the shop.” Ransome pointed several feet ahead of them. They’d bypassed the nearly empty Jackson Square and had headed down a side street off the main walkway. Several colorful signs hung overhead proclaiming their wares, whether it was souvenirs, food, clothing, or, as in this case, fortune telling. Balconies lined the upper shops, indicating apartments.

  They stopped just in front of Madame TuLeenie’s. The shop was in darkness though the sign on the door still said OPEN. Declan tried the handle but it was locked. Above them a slip of dim light shimmered on the balcony.

  “She’s home.” Ransome’s nose quivered as he inhaled a shot of air. “I can smell her.”

  Ana shot a look of disgust at the wolf. “That is just wrong.”

  “Not really.” Ransome smiled. “She smells like all kinds of right . . . for a necromancer.”

  Declan glanced upward. “There must be a fire escape around back. From what I can see the only way up is through the shop.”

  Ana moved in front of the men. “You guys find the alternate entrance. I’ll take the balcony.” She didn’t hesitate and ran toward the brick wall, her body a blur of grace and agility as she jumped.

  Seconds later she clung to the side of the balcony and grinned down at the boys. “I’ll see you inside.” She then arced her body through the air and landed in a defensive position out of sight.

  Ana let her senses adjust and felt the human presence on the other side of the glass. Heavy purple gauze covered most of the window but light escaped from the far side where there was a two-inch gap. She slid along the wall and peeked inside the room.

  She could make out the edge of a bed and it was covered with a mess of clothes; tops, jean, undergarments. A pair of boots and a bag lay on the floor.

  Francesca was on the move.

  A shadow passed and Ana stilled as she saw a curtain of crimson hair and a slender form draped in black. The woman paused and turned to the side, affording Ana a clear view of pale skin and delicate features. She grabbed the boots, tugged them on, and then left once more.

  Ana tried the window but it was locked. She glanced over the balcony once more. Declan was nowhere to be seen. Damn but she could use his magic touch right now.

  She squared her shoulders and faced the windowpane. Normally she preferred to be all silent and stealthlike, but when in Rome . . .

  She kicked out her leg and was about to aim it dead center toward the glass when she saw a something fly past the window. The wall shook from the force of the hit and a large shadow stopped inches from her, its breadth huge on the other side of the curtain.

  Ana wasted no time. She busted through the glass and rolled into a defensive position as shards rained down upon her. A sharp crack of pain split her skull, most likely from the fist that was attached to the asshole who lifted her body several feet into the air. She was thrown up against the brick wall as if she were nothing more than a rag doll.

  Son of a mother . . . the pain was immediate and severe.

  Long fingers dug into her shoulder before she had a chance to react. Ana saw a mess of red hair and tumbled limbs on the floor. Damn, but she better be alive.

  She tried to twist from the intruder’s grip, but even with her enhanced strength she was no match. Once more she sailed through the air, over the bed, to
land on the floor with such force that several pictures fell from the wall.

  She jackknifed her body and leapt up as her fangs slid from her mouth. A tall demon faced her, his face set in a toothy grin. He was in human form, though how long that was going to last was anyone’s guess.

  “Are you a fucking moron?” she shouted, angry that she’d been tossed about by a douche bag whose intelligence level looked to be subpar. Her jaw was killing her almost as much as her shoulder, and blood dripped down her face from the corner of her temple.

  The demon’s smile widened and she snarled in answer, her gaze moving beyond him to the now-stirring form on the floor. The woman groaned softly, and the demon paused.

  She couldn’t reach the girl before the demon. Jesus fuck! Where the hell were Declan and Ransome?

  Ana grabbed a lamp from the table beside the bed and whipped it at the demon’s head. It ricocheted off his skull with such force that it embedded into the wall beside him.

  The demon turned its yellowish eyes onto her. Its face was contorted—the change was starting—it growled loudly and rushed forward. Ana leapt over the bed and met the bastard halfway, her booted foot aimed for the soft spot between its legs.

  She connected hard and jabbed her long fingernails deep into its jugular as it roared in pain. The demon’s legs buckled slightly but it recovered and its arms slid around her shoulders like a noose, its poisonous talons digging into her flesh.

  She screamed in agony and hissed as it began to shake her but she didn’t give up. She tried to crush its larynx while digging into its skin, all the while avoiding the poisonous spittle that was now dripping from its rapidly changing mouth.

  Where the hell were the boys?

  The demon roared and yanked her by the hair as it peeled her away and threw her once more. Ana landed hard near the girl and blinked rapidly as she stared up into the palest blue eyes she’d ever seen. Blood ran in rivulets down the woman’s forehead, teasing Ana with the sweet scent.

  The woman was dazed and shook her head. Her eyes widened, focused behind Ana, and she tensed.