Page 19 of Between Bloode and Death (Between the Shadows #5)

CHAPTER

EIGHTEEN

Val was having the best dream. A large man carried her, cradling her tenderly to his muscular chest.

The power in him fit her, a complement to her roiling energy. She didn’t feel so tired, buoyed by a sense of safety she hadn’t felt in…well, in forever.

Even with Talon by her side, she worried they’d be attacked by someone stronger.

But in Khent’s arms, she knew only peace, her heart calming to match his heart’s steady beat.

Wait. Khent?

She blinked her eyes open and stared up at the vicious reaper, his gaze fixed on the darkened hallway of someone’s home.

“Khent?” she whispered.

“Shhh.” He didn’t look at her but continued to walk to a room and closed them inside it.

Though dark, a few ambient lights along the base of the walls let her see a tastefully decorated bedroom done in shades of black with accents of red and gold.

Far from being ostentatious, the colors blended into a regal mesh of sophistication and comfort—what she’d expect from a reaper with Khent’s attitude and bearing.

He sat her down on his bed, the sheets absurdly soft.

“Egyptian cotton?” she asked, staring into his dark eyes that flared with red.

A strange smile curled his full lips. “Of course.”

Too easily, she could envision humans worshipping the man in front of her, confusing him with some god. Too handsome, too powerful. She stared harder and saw radiating energy in a band of gold entwined with red surrounding him.

Tempted to lean in and share it, she did, taking Khent’s power as her own while giving him a taste of hers as well. She ran her hand down his arm to his palm, tracing the lines there. He curled her hand around hers.

His eyes narrowed, and he stared at their joined hands, his dwarfing hers.

She felt lightheaded, worn down by so much in so short a time. The drain of holding her dead back at the house, a sense of Grizz and Aisha waiting on her as well, ever-present.

Khent’s expression gentled as she sagged back into the comforter, unsure of when she’d lost her ability to sit upright.

“Easy, little human. You will rest here and await my return.”

“N-not safe.”

He scoffed. “This is the only safe place for you. Nothing can take what’s mine and live.” His eyes flashed with fire, and she swore she felt a spell settle over her and everything in his room.

A sense of belonging. To him? With him? She wanted to argue, but her eyelids grew too heavy.

“Sleep. I will return. And we’ll talk.”

“Talk. Yes.” Sluggish, she closed her eyes and felt someone tugging at her shoes, her clothes. A warm weight settled over her, tucking her into sheets that smelled of him. Safety, comfort, male vampire.

Val smiled and rolled into his pillow, taking the scent of him deep inside herself.

Determined not to let go.

Khent rubbed his chest, aware of an odd sense of comfort at seeing the female here, in his bed, in his room. His.

The notion he’d been waiting for just this moment, for this special woman, refused to leave him. And he didn’t know what to do with it.

For years he’d been focused on making his clan more powerful than any other in his tribe. The Sons of Osiris were close to knocking away the Tears of Bast for contention in leading their tribe. They’d even caught their Master vampire’s attention.

And then Hecate had ordered his father to hand him over, as if Khent were some goddess’s pet.

He’d burned with anger, a quiet, seething rage. Until she’d worked her magic and made him one with the idiots in their Night Bloode clan. An odd assortment of vampires from different tribes who felt closer than kin.

Fighting and competing started to feel normal. Mating with females and keeping them around was anything but. To add to that injury, they added Onvyr, strange animals, Mormo’s many visitors, and a dream god.

And now this.

A human. The lowest of the low. Someone who should be beneath Khent’s notice.

So why couldn’t he stop staring at her?

He much preferred her true looks to her glamour. Her deep brown eyes held such power, and such pain. He wanted to plumb her secrets, to find out what made her tick. To dissect her and ferret the mysteries of why such a powerless female should affect him so deeply.

But more, he wanted to strip her bare, to feast on her flesh and drink down her blood. And that never happened. Khent didn’t fuck and feed. He considered it disgusting. One didn’t play with one’s food.

With Valentine though, he wanted to gorge. To fuck her and take from her delicate neck. Just thinking about it, watching her, made his fangs grow and his cock thicken. Like a lad discovering sex for the first time.

Not liking his response, he turned and left before he gave in to the temptation to join her in bed for more than sleep.

He left his room and found Rolf and Mormo in the kitchen interrogating Onvyr.

“You,” Mormo pointed at Khent, who did his best not to flinch. He might not respect Mormo’s physical power, but there could be no denying the magician’s command of magic. Or his close tie to the goddess of death and witchcraft.

“What did I do?”

Mormo’s eyes widened.

Behind him, Rolf grinned from ear to ear, and Onvyr tried to sneak away, caught when Mormo latched onto his arm.

“You set Tiger Mountain on fire.”

“Nice, bro.” Rolf gave him a thumbs up. The draugr’s default sign of approval.

Khent shook his head. “No. The demon set the mountain on fire after the creature possessing him killed dozens of magir and tried to kill us too. I called MEC in to clean it up. That doesn’t make you happy?”

“That doesn’t make you happy?” Rolf parroted.

Onvyr nodded and added, “If we hadn’t been there, those dead magir and that demon would have demolished the next humans up the mountain tomorrow—er, today. In a few hours, probably. The fox and birds told me it’s a busy season for annoying humans.”

“Great.” Mormo muttered under his breath then quieted and studied Khent. “What’s this creature commanding the demon? A higher demon, I’d imagine.”

“Maybe.” Yet Khent didn’t think so. “There was something there I couldn’t put my finger on. The four-eyes refused to tell me his name.”

Rolf snorted. “Of course he refused. Names have power.”

“Well, he was happy enough to say ‘Khent of the Night Bloode’ several times.”

“Of the Night Bloode.” Mormo nodded with satisfaction. “Not a Son of Osiris. Also, Onvyr mentioned this demon had a staff that made him sick.”

“That was a pale imitation of a Staff of Blight. I’ve seen one up close. Not the same thing at all. Onvyr took sick when the four-eyes exploded, the resulting poison causing him and Valentine to grow ill, not the staff.”

Mormo shrugged. “They’re known to do that. Four-eyes aren’t very strong, but in death, they can annihilate even vampire clans.”

“I didn’t realize that.” Rolf looked impressed. “Did you know that, Khent?”

“Yes. But most reapers are immune to poisons, magical and not. As I’ve told you many times, our tribe is superior to the rest of you.”

“Yeah, but can you do this?” Rolf produced three small red balls out of thin air and started juggling. “Or this?” He then threw them all at Onvyr and snapped his fingers, and the balls turned to sparkling dust that vanished.

Onvyr clapped.

Mormo sighed. Loudly. “Rolf, you’re giving me an even bigger headache. No, Onvyr.” Mormo gripped Onvyr’s arm even tighter, preventing the dusk elf from leaving. “You and I need to talk.”

“Look, it’s not my fault Varu can’t find the last stone. He’s not looking in the right places. I told Fara that.”

Mormo froze. “What do you know about the last Bloode Stone?”

“Only what the animals have been telling me. And something She Who Walks Between Worlds said.”

Rolf asked, “The battle cat that follows you around like a kitten? My buddy?”

“The one who wants to eat you, you mean,” Khent said dryly.

“Yeah, her.”

“Well, where is it then?” Mormo asked.

“I can tell you it’s not on Tiger Mountain.” Onvyr tugged his arm from Mormo’s clutches and rubbed it. “Well, not anymore.”

“What?”

Rolf gave a subtle nod to Khent, who quickly eased away while Mormo interrogated Onvyr.

Speeding from the kitchen downstairs to the basement, Rolf asked, “What do you think you met on that mountain? What happened exactly?”

They moved into Khent’s lab as Khent went over what happened. Rolf looked thoughtful, and Khent asked, “What about you? What did you learn about this Staff of Blight that went missing?”

“Stolen from the bazaar?” At Khent’s nod, Rolf continued, “I learned a lot, as a matter of fact. Yes, it did supposedly belong to Nergal, our Mesopotamian asshole god of ghosts, pestilence, and chaos. But not the good kind of chaos. The nasty kind.”

“Chaos is a lack of order, and thus it’s all bad, Rolf.”

“No way. My kind of chaos makes life worth living. You never know what’s going to happen.” Rolf’s expression soured. “But you leave Nergal in charge and suddenly everyone’s rotting away, and there’s no one left to torture.”

“Ah, well then. You make a good point.”

“Right? Looks like we’re going to have to take out another god. That should be a good thing. A fun thing. But this dickhead has a habit of melting vampires.”

“I’m sorry. Melting?”

Rolf made a face. “Like with acid and sunlight. The kind you don’t recover from no matter who you are. Master or not. I know people. I have friends. None of them like Nergal at all.”

Khent rubbed his chin in thought. “What are the odds of him caring about finding the last Bloode Stone? Vampire concerns shouldn’t matter to a god.”

“Unless he’s in league with Hecate’s threat of the big bad Darkness with a capital D.” Rolf sounded glum.

Khent found this side of Rolf interesting. Nothing seemed to ever get Rolf down. The dirtier and more dangerous the fight, the better. What did Rolf know that Khent didn’t?

Khent studied his kin. “What do you think will happen if Nergal gets the Bloode Stone before we do?”

“Nothing good.”

And for Rolf, that was saying a lot.

The draugr thrived on disorder—the good kind.