Wicked Road to Hel (League of Guardians 1)

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.