Circle of Death (Damask Circle 2) - Page 93

She flipped the stake in her hand, then walked across to the entrance. Raising her fingers, she sent a sliver of kinetic energy at the door and pushed it open. It didn’t creak. It didn’t make any sound at all, not even from the chains that swung gently back and forth.

Her unease stirred anew. She stepped to one side and studied the darkness. Though the moon caressed the outer wall with light, no brightness shone through the doorway. It was as if a blanket of night hung over the entrance, sucking in all light.

She stepped inside. Nothing stirred the blackness except the wild beat of her heart. Yet she wasn’t alone. The vampire and the soul-sucker were both here—along with someone new. Another shapeshifter.

Taking on two was tempting fate; three was inviting a trip to the nearest morgue. But she couldn’t retreat. Not when the image of little Daniel Baker rose in her mind.

She edged forward. The farther she moved into the warehouse, the heavier the air became. The scents of age and rotting rubbish mingled with the ripe aroma of evil, turning her stomach and making it difficult to breathe. Breathing through her mouth didn’t help, either. The air tasted as bad as it smelled.

Her foot hit something solid, and metal rattled across the concrete floor, the noise deafening in the silence. She cursed under her breath, but the night seemed to amplify her words and echo them across emptiness. Laughter answered, deep but feminine.

She hesitated, her gaze sweeping the night. The soul-sucker wasn’t running anymore. It was out there, watching Kat struggle through the dark. Waiting for her slightest mistake …

Despite the chill in the air, sweat trickled down her back. A white ash stake suddenly seemed woefully inadequate against the creatures that waited ahead.

Her fingertips touched a wall. It was wet and slimy, even though there didn’t appear to be any water running down its surface. She skated her hand across it, using it as a guide as she moved deeper into the darkness. Concrete eventually gave way to metal—a staircase, leading down into a deeper gloom.

Down to where they waited.

God, she so didn’t want to go down there. She didn’t want to confront these things. In ten years of fighting evil, she’d never been this scared, and she’d faced some pretty foul beings during that time. But none of them had the power to suck the essence from her body and destroy all that she was, all that she could be—both now and in future reincarnations.

Once again the image of Daniel rose, and she took a shuddering breath. He would have been just as scared. And he’d certainly deserved more than four years of life. While she and Gran had been placed on the trail too late to save him and the other two kids, they were here in Springfield, Oregon, now. They had a chance to stop this.

All she had to do was go down into that darkness.

She took another deep breath, then felt for the edge of the step with her toes. She kept hold of the banister for guidance and repeated the process, moving slowly down.

The chill in the air grew until it felt like she was breathing ice. Her fingers were so cold they ached, and despite the fact that she’d put on extra-thick socks, her toes felt numb.

Or maybe it was just fear, paralyzing her from the extremities up.

She reached the bottom and stopped. Nothing moved. Her breathing rattled across the silence, and the wild beat of her heart echoed in time with it. The vampire and the soul-sucker stood to her left. The shapeshifter was more distant and to her right. There was no sense of evil coming from his direction, just wave after wave of anger and hostility. It didn’t seem to be aimed at her, or even at the duo she chased. It seemed to be aimed at the world in general.

And it was odd that she was getting such a strong impression of a man she hadn’t even met.

Evil stirred, splitting up as it moved forward. She backed away until she hit a wall, her grip on the stake so fierce her knuckles ached.

Air rushed at her from the left. She slashed the stake across the night and felt the slight resistance as the sharp point tore into flesh. The vampire howled but didn’t stop. She dove out of his way, hit the concrete with a grunt, and rolled back to her feet. Tendrils of softly glowing smoke reached for her. She hit it with kinetic energy, momentarily fragmenting it.

The darkness stirred, then lashed out, connecting

hard with her chin. The force of the blow sent her sprawling backward. Her back hit the floor, and her breath left in a whoosh of air. For a moment, stars danced in her vision.

Then, the weight of another hit her, pinning her in place. Though gasping for breath and fighting the blackness invading her mind, she still heard the vampire’s snarl. She looked up in time to see the shadows unravel around him. His dead brown eyes were inches from hers and his teeth were extending, dripping blood in expectation of a feed. Tendrils of smoke gathered above him, pulsing red. Excitement, she thought. Need.

With as much force as she could muster, she smacked the heel of her palm into the vamp’s nose. At the same time, she sent a surge of kinetic energy at the vapor, again tearing it apart.

“Bitch!” The vampire’s voice was hoarse, his breath full of dead things.

“Bite me,” she said—and yelped when the bastard did. She stabbed the stake into his side, using kinetic energy to force it deep.

Blue fire flickered, and the smell of burning flesh rent the night. The vampire howled and slashed at her, not with his teeth but with fingernails as sharp as claws. They tore across her face, and she cursed him fluently. Kinetic energy surged, but before she could release her weapon, the vampire was torn from her.

“You all right?”

The voice was rich, husky, and called forth fantasies of long nights and silk sheets. She blinked, wondering where the hell her mind was. “Yeah.”

A hand appeared in front of her eyes. “Then get the hell up, because that thing is coming back.”

Tags: Keri Arthur Damask Circle Fantasy
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