Mysteria Nights

function as you always did—except for the sunlight thing and the blood thing. Small prices to pay, really.”

“Considering what?” he snarled. “There are no advantages that I can see.”

“There are most certainly advantages.” Barnabas tapped a blackgloved finger onto his chin. “You’ll get stronger every day. Faster. You’ll be a force no man—uh, woman—can resist. Like moi. After a while, you’ll even enjoy taking blood. I pinky promise.”

“I’ll be a killer.” This wasn’t happening, couldn’t possibly be happening. He tangled a hand through his hair.

“You won’t be a killer.”

“Yes, I will.”

“Mais non, you won’t.”

“Yes. I. Will. Your continued arguing is really starting to piss me off.”

“Do you want to fight me?” Barnabas asked hopefully. “I’m always up for naked wrestling.”

Hunter bared his teeth in a scowl. As he did so, his incisors elongated. He actually felt them do it, sliding down, sharpening. He smelled the metallic twang of blood in the air—blood from a recent feeding Barnabas had enjoyed. How thirsty Hunter suddenly was. He shook with the force of it. “I can’t drink blood. I just can’t.”

“You smell me, don’t you? You want to sink your teeth into me? Go ahead. I already gave you blood, but you were asleep and didn’t get to taste the sweetness of it.” Barnabas motioned him over with a wave of his hand. “Taste it. You might like it. But you had better hurry. Soon my heart will shrivel up again, the blood gone, and there’ll be nothing left for you to taste.”

Hunter’s stomach twisted in revulsion—and eagerness. He found himself stepping toward Barnabas, closing the distance between them, unable to stop himself. He found himself leaning down, teeth bared, mouth watering.

Genevieve’s beautiful image flashed inside his mind. She’s in trouble. The knowledge flooded him, his psychic ability attuned to her. Even in death. He straightened with a jolt. Blood was forgotten. Only Genevieve mattered. “Show me the way out of this cave before I kill you, vampire.” He’d save her, then leave her.

Barnabas frowned. “You’re not ready to leave.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Mais non, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am. And you’re not French, so stop with the accent.”

“I haven’t taught you the way of our kind yet.”

Rage poured through him as if he’d drunk it. “Your kind, vampire. I will never be like you.”

“Oui, you will.”

“No. I. Won’t. Stop arguing. My woman is in trouble, and I will save her.”

“Fine. Go. I’ve already fed you, so you don’t have to worry about drinking for a while yet.” Barnabas’s eyes flashed red with jealousy. “But when the hunger hits you, you’ll come back to me. I know you will.”

“She hasn’t stopped crying for three days.”

“She refuses to eat. She barely has the energy to sit up and drink the water I force down her.”

“What should we do?”

“I don’t know. Great Goddess, I don’t know.”

Genevieve heard her sisters’ hushed voices and stared up at the hole she’d blown in the ceiling yesterday. Why couldn’t she have done that the night of the brawl? The morning after Hunter’s death, her magic had returned to full operating capacity, but she hadn’t needed it. And now she didn’t care.

“Should we call a doctor?”

She rolled to her side, placing her back to her sisters. Why wouldn’t they leave her alone? She just wanted peace—from their voices, from life. From the flashing, bloody images of Hunter’s death.

“Genevieve, sweetie, we know you’re awake. Talk to us,” Godiva begged, her tone tinged with concern. The wolf she had saved plopped at her ankles and nudged her hand, wanting to be petted. “Tell us how we can help you.”

“Bring Hunter back to life.” Her throat ached from her crying. Raw, so raw. Like her spirit. “That’s all I want.”

“We can’t do that,” Glory said softly. “Raise his body from the ground, yes, but the risen dead become predators. Killers. You know that. The longer the dead walk the earth, the hungrier for life they become. He would eat you up and spit out your bones.”

Yes, she knew that, but hearing it tore a sharp lance of pain through her. One moment she’d had everything she’d ever dreamed, the next she had only despair. Hunter, her heart cried.

“The surviving demons are destroying Mysteria,” Godiva said. “We need your help to stop them.”

“I can’t.” Strength had long since deserted her. More than that, any concern she’d had for the town and its citizens had died with Hunter. “I just can’t.”

Glory claimed her right side, and Godiva sat at her left. Surrounding her. “His funeral is today. Do you want to go?”

“No.” She didn’t want to see him inside a casket. A part of her wanted to pretend he was still alive, simply hiding somewhere. “Why did he have to die? Why? The love potion had worked. He wanted me as much as I wanted him.”

“Uh, um.” Glory looked away, at anything and everything but her sisters. “Humm.”

Godiva’s eyes narrowed. “What did you do, Glor?”

Pause.

“Glory!”

“Well, Evie asked for a love potion. I didn’t think Hunter deserved her, and knew if he loved her for one night, then dumped her the next day, she’d be devastated.”

“What did you do?” Godiva repeated.

Another pause.

“Don’t make me ask again,” Godiva said, raising her arms as if to cast a spell.

“I, uh, sort of gave her a power depressant instead.”

“Sort of?”

“Okay, I did. But I didn’t mean any harm. I thought it would be okay. I didn’t think she’d need her powers.”

The sorrowful fuzz around Genevieve’s brain thinned. Power depressant, echoed through her mind. How many spells had she attempted with no results? One spell, that’s all it would have taken to save Hunter. One spell, and the night would have ended differently.

She squeezed her eyelids closed, wave after wave of fury hammering through her, each more intense than the last. “He’s dead because I couldn’t help him. He’s dead because I couldn’t use my magic.”

Her younger sister’s cheeks bloomed bright with shame, then drained of color with regret. “I didn’t think you’d need them. I didn’t even think you’d notice.” She clutched Genevieve’s hand. “I’m so, so sorry. You have to believe I’m sorry. But think. Hunter wanted you. Not because of a potion, but because of you.”

Genevieve’s fury fizzled, leaving only despair; her muscles released their viselike grip on her bones and she sank deep into the mattress. Hunter had wanted her. Truly wanted her, without the aid of a love potion. All the things he’d said to her had come from him.

That made the pain of his death all the harder to bear.

I killed him. I killed him! If she hadn’t decided to make Hunter love her, no matter the methods used, if she hadn’t made a wish for excitement, he would still be alive. My fault. All my fault. Hot tears slid down her cheeks.

“Please. Leave me alone for a little while. Just leave me alone.”

Hunter’s funeral had begun an hour ago.

The digital clock blurred as Genevieve’s eyes filled with tears. Any moment now, they would lower his casket