Blood by Moonlight Page 7

  Leaving the two men to battle it out, Cassie went after the book of spells, but the girl grabbed her by the hair, slowing her down. Cassie swung around, ready to rake her nails across the lying bitch's face, but was distracted by the sight of James being hurled backward across the room, his brother having kicked him in the stomach. A blow to the side of her face caught her unaware, and for a moment, she saw stars. A hard shove sent her reeling, her head hit something hard, and then there was nothing save a yawning chasm of blackness, which widened, swallowing her whole.

  SLOWLY, THE BLACKNESS turned to gray, then to a brilliant azure blue. A light breeze touched her skin, soothing the ache in her head, and she could smell the scent of lavender--so safe, so familiar. Cassie wanted nothing more than to lie there, motionless, marveling at the arched blue vault of heaven, enjoying the caress of the wind as it ruffled her hair. A sigh escaped her, for this was bliss, the earth firm beneath her back, the sky above her head, the warm breeze on her skin like the touch of a lover's hand . . .

  "Cassie," a voice murmured. "Cassie, wake up."

  She didn't want to, so she did the opposite, closing her eyes, wanting only to drift, peaceful and happy in a way she hadn't felt in years. The breeze touched her lips, which she opened, the better to breathe it in, and felt a pressure, a moist heat that sent pleasure straight to the spot between her legs, making her want to open herself like a flower in the sun.

  "Cassie," the voice murmured again, "I need you, baby . . . it's time to wake up."

  It was the endearment that did it, reaching through the strange fog of pleasure and desire that held her in its grip, bringing her to full wakefulness. She opened her eyes to see a man's face, her soul recognizing him before her mind did: James Falco, the other half of herself, the half she'd never even known was missing.

  The very thought scared the shit out of her.

  "What are you doing?" she cried, and tried to push him away, but found that her arms didn't work. They were bound to her sides, and along with that awareness came pain and discomfort, dispelling the bliss she'd been so close to experiencing.

  "Shhh," he whispered, drawing back on his own. "They'll hear us."

  Shocked and frightened, Cassie realized that she was not outside, as the blue vault of heaven was nowhere in sight. She and James were somewhere dark, in fact, somewhere that smelled of oil, gasoline, and concrete. Her eyes adjusted quickly, and she saw that he was bound too, just as she was, lying on the ground next to her.

  "We're in the garage," he murmured, "and I doubt we have much time. How's your head?"

  "It hurts," she whispered crossly, completely off-balance emotionally. Even as she said it, she realized that the ache in her head was easing considerably. It hit her then, the source of her blissful dream, and she tempered her tone. "You were trying to help just now, weren't you?"

  His teeth gleamed white in the darkness. "Nah. I was just stealing a kiss."

  "Liar," she muttered, but couldn't help a small grin in return.

  There was a silence between them, oddly comfortable given the circumstances. Maybe it was the dream, maybe it was the blood bond she'd unwittingly wrought, or maybe it was just being here, alone with him in the dark, but when she spoke again, her fear was mostly gone, leaving acceptance in its place.

  "What are we going to do?"

  He turned his head to look at her, and she found herself wishing she could see him better, so she could gaze into his eyes and see again the blue of the skies. "We're going to get through this," he told her firmly. "Can you get your hands free?"

  She tried, she really did, but there was no give in whatever bound her. Looking down, she could tell it was duct tape, and her heart sank, for she had very little power over man-made materials; rope was something she might've been able to work with. "No, can you?"

  "No." There was a note of finality in his voice that told her he'd already been trying. "Vincent used a binding spell, and then made sure to put us somewhere completely cut off from the elements. What little power I had left after raising the storm I used to ease your headache and bring you to consciousness . . . I've got nothing left to draw upon."

  And neither did she, Cassie realized. The concrete beneath her gave off no warmth, and the garage walls and ceiling were made of tin. Her grandfather had built it years ago, using only his hands and pieces of scrap metal from the town junkyard; there were no windows.

  "Thank you," she whispered, clinging to the remnants of comfort she'd felt while unconscious. "That was kind of you."

  She could practically hear him shrug. "It was nothing."

  Lying there, mind working, she remembered what she'd heard in the dining room. "Vincent's your brother?" The idea seemed ludicrous. Even though she didn't know James well, considered him her enemy for the past year, she hadn't sensed any evil in him.

  Vincent, however, was obviously oozing with it.

  "Yeah," he answered grimly, "he's my brother, but we've never seen eye to eye. Hard to believe we're blood, quite frankly--he's always been a real piece of work."

  "He's a--" Cassie couldn't quite bring herself to use the word "witch," and used the masculine version instead. "A sorcerer?"

  James gave a snort of disgust. "A pretty crappy one. He never wanted to put in the time or the effort to be any good at it; always looking for shortcuts, that was Vincent." He shifted, clearly uncomfortable. "If I hadn't been distracted when you hit your head, he would've never gotten the jump on me."

  Cassie bit her lip, realizing more than ever the trouble she'd brought down on both of them tonight. "He has the grimoire." The idea of all the bad things he could do with it was frightening. "I should never have come here tonight."

  James sighed. "What happened tonight was bound to happen, Cassie. Your grandmother knew it, my father knew it . . . evil was coming, and I think their hope was that if you and I . . ." He hesitated. " . . . that we could fight it together."

  "So that's why you came here?" She shifted, uncomfortable. "You wanted us to . . . to bond?"

  He gave a short laugh. "It's not my style to force myself on a woman, Cassie, and I sure wasn't too thrilled about being bonded to a woman who clearly hated my guts."

  "Then why did you come?"

  He sighed again. "Because I knew if I didn't, Vincent would, and that is a fate I wouldn't wish on any woman." He cleared his throat. "And then when I saw you, that day in the general store, well . . . let's just say that I wasn't in quite as big a hurry to leave after that."

  She felt her face go warm, both from embarrassment at the way she'd treated him, and for the implied compliment. "I'm sorry," she whispered, looking into her own heart, and knowing that the way she'd let it harden had been her downfall. She'd wanted her own way, and done whatever she could to get it--the doorway she'd opened was getting wider by the second, and there was nothing but pain on the other side.

  "It's okay," James murmured. "We'll get out of this somehow."

  Maybe it was the quiet way he said it, but all the angry voices that had been in her head since she'd lost her home finally stilled, and Cassie accepted that James was not her enemy; he'd never been her enemy. The blood bond was there, between them, and because of that, and because she surprised herself by how much she wanted to, she shifted so that she faced him, leaned in, and kissed him herself, for the first time.

  It was a slow kiss, a sweet kiss, but it didn't stay that way. Heat and friction, warm lips and moist tongues, sliding and gliding, blending into an all-consuming need that had her chafing at the bonds that kept her hands at her sides. He tasted of wind and rain, of summer thunderstorms and winter snows, of rushing rivers, swollen with spring melt. Desire crackled between them like lightning in the night sky, the pounding of her heart like thunder in her ears. By the time she pulled back, wishing she didn't have to, they were both breathing hard, her nipples aching against his chest.

  "Now that's what I call inspiration," he muttered thickly, turning his head to bury his face in her hair. "You smell like
flowers, and sunshine."

  Flowers.

  Cassie jerked, coming back to reality.

  "Granny Jane," she hissed. "Granny Jane, are you here?" Eyes straining, she searched the dimness surrounding them.

  James let his head fall back on the concrete, giving a sigh of resignation. "I wouldn't doubt it," he whispered. "That old lady just loves to see me tied up in knots."

  A familiar chuckle answered him, coming from a dark corner of the garage. "I'm here, Cassie darlin'," Granny said, "but now is not the time to strike. Wait just a few more minutes, and let this thing play out. When the moment comes, you'll need to join forces. Don't hesitate, you hear?"

  Whatever else Granny was about to say was interrupted by the opening of the door that led from the garage to the house.

  "Rise and shine, brother," said Vincent, coming into the garage. "The show is about to start."

  Chapter Five

  CANDLELIGHT FLICKERED, ILLUMINATING the dimness of the garage. Vincent's girlfriend circled the room, placing and lighting more candles as she went.

  "Hurry up, Annie," Vincent snapped. "It'll be dawn soon, and I don't want to wait until next Halloween to make the blood sacrifice."

  James's heart sank. "You don't have to do this, Vince." He willed calm into his voice, hoping he could somehow reach his brother. "Dad would never condone anything like this."

  "You would know, wouldn't you, Jamie boy?" Vincent moved to stand beside him, a sneer on his face and Cassie's grimoire in his hands. "You were always his favorite, weren't you? His precious, perfect favorite . . . the heir and the spare, that's what we were. You got his time, his attention, his training, and his house, while I"--James winced as Vincent's foot connected with his ribs--"I got nothing but lectures and restrictions. Don't set the cat on fire, Vincent," he mocked, "Leave your brother's pets alone." He walked around James's feet to stand over Cassie, who lay beside him, bound and helpless. "Here's one little pussy who's going to get a real stroking tonight."

  "Vincent," whined Annie, having lit the last candle. "Me first . . . you promised."

  "Did I?" Vincent's eyes glittered as he stared down at Cassie, and in that moment, James realized that what had once been mere anger and resentment had turned into madness. "I suppose I must keep that promise, then." He turned, holding out a hand toward Annie. "Come here, lover."

  Annie smiled, coming toward him. She looked so young and foolish in the candlelight, with her black fright wig and her torn stockings; she should've been at a costume party with her friends, or handing out candy to trick-or-treaters. Instead, she was dabbling where she shouldn't, and James knew, in his heart of hearts, what it was about to cost her.

  "Vincent--" James warned, low and urgent, but his brother ignored him, wrapping an arm around Annie's shoulders as she came to stand by his side.

  "My sweet little Annie," Vincent crooned, pressing a kiss to the girl's neck. She bared it to him without a shred of hesitation, closing her eyes at the touch of his lips. Her hands came up to caress his chest, one of them brushing the grimoire.

  "Ow," she said, eyes flying wide with surprise. "It's hot."

  "Is it?" Vincent murmured, still nuzzling her neck. "Let me put it down, then." He led her to the center of the garage, kissing her lips before drawing away to place the grimoire on a nearby shelf, cluttered with tools. One of them was a narrow-bladed handsaw, about eight inches long, candlelight gleaming on the serrated edge as Vincent picked it up.

  Beside him, Cassie, who'd been still as a stone, twitched to life, screaming, "Run, Annie, run!"

  Annie turned her head, giving Cassie a look of contempt. "Shut up, bitch," she said. "You don't know what you're talking about."

  Vincent laughed, low and evil, and came to stand before Annie, handsaw in his hand. "You tell her, sweetie," he said, and then stabbed her viciously in the stomach.

  Annie doubled over, her face a study in shock as she clutched at his arm. "Baby, I--"

  Vincent jerked the blade out, slicing Annie's hands in the process. She made a keening noise, staring down at the blood on her palms, and he stabbed her again, then shoved her, hard. She fell to the concrete floor, shrieking, as James writhed and twisted in his bonds, feeling helpless and sick.

  Beside him, Cassie did the same, her breath coming fast, but the duct tape held. It was wound tightly all the way around their waists, pinning their wrists to their sides.

  "What's the matter, Annie?" The violent nature of the stabbing had apparently not been enough to satisfy his cruel streak, for Vincent moved to stand over the girl as she shrieked and cried. "I thought you said you were willing to die for the cause," he mocked.

  "Vincent!" James roared, desperate to stop him before he did the inevitable. "This is between you and me . . . leave her alone!"

  The look Vincent shot him was lethal, as was the final stroke that ended Annie's life. Blood spurted across the concrete floor, as the girl gurgled and twitched, then lay still.

  There was a silence within the garage, broken only by the fierce patter of rain on the tin roof, mirroring the angry thud of his own heart. Next to him, Cassie bit back an anguished moan, and he knew, without words being said, that she'd blame herself for this. His soul ached, both for her and for the girl.

  As for Vincent, whatever remnants of familial emotions he'd once had toward his brother were gone, leaving cold, calculated rage in its place.

  "Ahhhh." Vincent closed his eyes and let his shoulders slump, apparently savoring whatever twisted feelings he was enjoying at the moment. The blood-covered handsaw fell to the ground with a light clatter. Before it stopped moving, it slid sideways so quickly that it seemed all in one motion, and ended up right beside Cassie, who rolled on top of it without hesitation.

  Thank you, Miz Calloway, James thought, having almost given up on the old woman's assistance.

  "Poor Annie," Vincent murmured, looking down at what he'd wrought. "Poor, trusting little Annie." He straightened, throwing back his shoulders, and moved toward the shelf where the book of spells still lay. "Great deeds often require great sacrifice." He picked up the grimoire, leaving smears of blood on the leather cover. "In this case, the ultimate sacrifice was Annie's."

  His tone was dreamy, his movements slow, as though he were in another world as he opened the spell book and began to flip through its pages. "With this," he murmured, "I'll be more powerful than you ever were, James . . . you and Dad put together. Weak, the pair of you. Too weak to see the true power at your fingertips." He didn't seem to notice when Cassie rolled closer to James, as though seeking comfort, and began to rub the blade of the handsaw awkwardly against the duct tape near his right wrist. "I saw the opportunities, the potential, and even though Dad denied me the training, denied me my birthright, he can't deny me this."

  "Dad knew you were rotten to the core," James spat, too furious to be careful of his words. "That's why he denied you the training."

  Vincent shrugged, unfazed by his brother's words. "C'est la vie," he said. "Such is life."

  Cassie froze as Vincent lifted his head, looking directly at James.

  "Enjoy what little of yours you have left, brother. Maybe I'll even let you watch me screw your girlfriend before I kill you both."

  Then he moved toward Annie's body, the spell book open in his hand. He bent, dipping his finger in the ever-widening pool of blood that surrounded her, and began making a crude pentacle on the floor.

  It took him some time, which Cassie put to good use, sawing frantically at the duct tape that bound James. She had only the fingers of one hand to do it with, and very little leverage, but she bit her lip and did her best. All the while Vincent seemed lost in a haze of concentration, candles flickering, the dead girl's eyes blank and staring at the ceiling.

  James didn't dare say a word to Cassie, nor she to him, but words weren't needed. When the time came, and one hand was free, he'd go for his brother's throat, and devil take the consequences.

  Vincent rose from his squat, surveying the pat
tern of blood that surrounded him on the floor. He stood in the very center of it, the grimoire still in his hand. "Look at you two lovebirds," he said, causing Cassie to freeze once again. "Holding hands like you're in grade school . . . how sweet." Making no move to come closer, he sneered at them from his place inside the pentacle. "Two stupid witches, and a human sacrifice." His grin was pure evil. "The Master is going to be so pleased."

  Then he put down the book and held up his bloodstained hands, raising them toward the ceiling. He began to recite words that James had never heard, and would never, ever dare to repeat. Outside, a low rumble of thunder sounded, as though in protest of what was happening. Try as he might, James could not summon the lightning to his aid, and any hope it would be naturally drawn to the tin roof died as the thunder faded away into the distance.

  Vincent closed his eyes, his voice getting louder and louder, and Cassie went to work with a vengeance. Just as James felt the duct tape begin to give, he heard a voice, but it was not the voice he hoped to hear.

  "Why did you kill me, Vincent?" Annie's mouth was open, though her eyes were still blank with death. "I loved you."

  Vincent gave a start, but refused to look at the girl's body, merely repeating the litany of words louder, over and over.

  "It didn't have to be this way," the girl said, her voice tinny and distant. "We were so good together."

  "You test me, O Master," Vincent shouted, ignoring the girl's body, and the words that came from her dead mouth. "I welcome it." He opened his arms wide, still staring at the ceiling. "See me! Hear me! I am your true servant, forever and always."

  A final desperate cut on Cassie's part, and James was able to wriggle his right hand free. Putting his mouth close to Cassie's ear, he whispered, "Stay quiet, and don't draw attention to yourself." She nodded, and James hoped she'd do as he said, for he could sense her frustration, feel her rising worry. Unable to help himself, he pressed a quick kiss to her temple, well aware it might be the last time he ever touched her, and gathered his strength to rise and take on his brother.