Blood Kissed (Lizzie Grace 1)

She accepted her mug with a nod of thanks and took a sip. “And do you think he is?”

“I don’t know.” I sat down on the sofa and propped my feet on the chair. “Don’t suppose the spirits have said anything?”

“About vampires? No. They’re just blathering on about darkness headed this way.” She paused, her gaze narrowing briefly. “They deny blathering. They merely wish to emphasize the fact we need to be fully prepared for whatever this way comes.”

“Which is entirely unhelpful given they aren’t inclined to tell us what comes.” I drank some coffee. “I might contact Marjorie’s ex tomorrow and see if he’s willing to talk about Karen.”

“Surely the rangers would have already done that?”

“Yes, but it’s not as if they’ll tell us what he might have said.”

“It’s also possible he’s as clueless as Marjorie,” she said. “Teenagers are notoriously recalcitrant when it comes to telling parents anything about their social lives.”

“I still think I need to try, if only to cross him off the list.”

I studied the darkness beyond the windows, feeling the cold caress of the moon’s light even though I couldn’t see it. Each moon phase had different benefits when it came to using magic, but when the moon hit its peak, so too did its power. It was this power that had werewolves changing—not because they had to, but because they were more in tune to its heat and energy in wolf form. That pulse of life and strength also meant it was the perfect time to perform the more difficult spells.

“The full moon is three nights away,” I added, “so I might leave unpicking whatever spell that pendant holds until then.”

Belle nodded. “In which case, you’d better grab plenty of sleep. You know the toll that sort of magic takes on you.”

“And you,” I said. “It’s not like I do any of these things alone.”

“Ah, but that’s what we engine rooms are for.”

I smiled, even though it was true enough. The main task of any familiar might be to monitor and protect, but they were also a lifeline of strength—a last resort the witch could draw on. While it was a rare occurrence, there had been familiars so completely drained by their witch that death had claimed them. Which, in the case of spirit familiars, meant becoming a shade and never being able to either operate in—or communicate with—anyone in the spirit or the living realms again for all eternity.

“Which is not something I’ll have to face,” Belle commented, as she reached back for the remote and flicked on the TV.

“Unless, of course, you’re destined to become a spirit guide or familiar on your death,” I mused. “It’s not like history has been littered with witch-born familiars, so we could be treading new ground in more ways than one.”

“Bite your tongue, woman.” Her expression was fierce, but the amusement dancing in her silvery eyes somewhat spoiled the effect. “Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t trade our friendship for anything, but how likely is it that I’d be so lucky a second damn time?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “The next generation of bluebloods could almost be decent by then—”

“I think I’d cut my metaphorical wrists first.” She tossed me the remote then pushed upright. “I’m off for a shower.”

I nodded and picked up my phone to check in with Marjorie—though I avoided any mention of the vampire. After Aiden’s emphatic warning, I really had no other choice. For the next couple of hours, I did nothing more strenuous than watch mindless renovation programs. Once nine o’clock had rolled around, I handed the remote back to Belle and headed for bed.

Sleep found me quickly enough, but so too did the dreams.

At first there was little more than a mire of shadows through which shapes moved. I had no idea whether they were human or animal, and for a while the dream seemed content to let it remain that way. Eventually those insubstantial shapes gave way to a barely lit industrial space—a space that very much echoed the one in which I’d found my sister. A single dark shape moved through it, but even with the shadows all but concealing who or what it was, it seemed broken and ungainly.

As the witching hour was struck, the dream deepened, and the shadows gave way to utter darkness.

In that darkness, I heard a beat.

A heartbeat, but one that surely couldn’t support life, given the long pause between one thump and another. And yet it beat on, gaining strength if not speed.

The darkness shifted and revealed flesh. Flesh that held the blush of blue-white lifelessness. Flesh that was female, and young rather than old.

The image panned out slightly, revealing lips that were as red as blood in a face that was deathly white.

I knew that face. It belonged to Karen.

Behind her, waiting and watching, was the shadow of a man. There was no detail in his form, nothing to give me any clue as to who he might be. Nothing other than the fact he wasn’t a werewolf—not with shoulders like that.

The heartbeat became a clock, one that was counting down. Seventeen fifty-nine, seventeen fifty-eight, seventeen fifty-seven….