Laws of the Blood 06 - First Blood SS1 - Cave Canem.pdf - Susan Sizemore - SilverWitch

CAVE CANEM

SUSAN SIZEMORE

This is for all those people who’ve e-mailed me asking,

“When’s the next Laws of the Blood book out?” . . .

ONE

This is the tradition concerning hellhounds:

Survive a year and the beast is yours.

“YOU MUST PROTECT MY BABY.” SYRILLA PUT HER hand on her swollen belly, and grimaced. “The babies. There’s

more than one, I’m certain.”

“It is not possible for the child to be mine,” Corvei said to his former lover. “You know that.”

He’d been surprised to find her waiting for him in the small garden of his villa when he stepped outside to take the evening air. Not

so long ago finding her there was what he expected every night but the three around the full moon. Their passion had cooled when

his own existence changed, but he still looked upon her as a friend.

“The last time we met was at a feast here five months hence,” he reminded her. He remembered the night well, and how Syrilla

had paid more attention to the newly acquired war dog he’d showed off to his guests than she had to any human at the banquet.

“You came with your husband that evening, and left with him. I know very well that nothing happened between us that night. Nor

could anything have come of it if there had. You know what I am.”

Her eyes burned with feverish anguish. “And you know what I am.”

She glanced away. Everything about her spoke of guilt, and dread. The hand clutching her belly was pale with tension. She had

grown thin but for the roundness of her abdomen. Her beautiful full lips were pressed tightly into a thin line, as though she was

holding back a secret she could hardly bear.

He was certain her attitude was not because she had betrayed her husband with yet another man. She could easily make Patrius

believe any child she bore belonged to him. No, this fear was for something far more serious than infidelity, nothing to do with the

life she lived as a Roman matron. It was something from her other life, one he knew far less about than the daylight face she turned

to the world.

Corvei went to her and took her hands in his, though even with his strength it took an effort to pry the one protecting the babe

away from her belly. Her skin felt dry and feverish. He drew her to sit next to him on the bench near the fountain. The spraying

water cooled the evening breeze that touched them. They gazed together into the fountain pool.

“Tell me,” he said after they had sat silently for some time.

“It is hard to speak of, even to you.”

“You had best find the words if I am to be of help.”

A sideways glance showed him that she was crying. This was the most shocking sight of all, for Syrilla had always been so strong,

so confident in her place and in her power. He would never forget the alabaster serenity of her expression the first time he had

seen her. How she sat in the stands and watched a beast hunt in the arena with her hands folded in her lap, not joining in the

howling enthusiasm of the crowd. He’d never taken notice of any of the spectators until the day he saw her. His gaze kept going

back to the woman above him even though he knew distraction could bring him death. His main battle ended up just below where

she sat. It was as though he’d made the kill for her alone and she leaned forward to intensely watch. She’d been close enough for

a spray of blood to splash across the front of her silk gown when his spear took the giant wolf he’d been stalking. She hadn’t

flinched when the wolf leapt toward her. Nor did she take any notice of the gore that stained her clothes. She had smiled and

nodded, like a goddess accepting the sacrifice he presented.

He’d found out her name and sent her the tanned wolf skin and a length of dearly bought silk. She’d come to his bed, for it was

easy for a wealthy woman to bribe her way into the locked cell of even the lowliest and roughest gladiator.

It was only much later, after he was granted not only freedom but a totally new life that he discovered the wolf he had killed was

her own brother. Her only comment had been, “He should not have gotten caught.”

Werewolves were pitiless when one of the pack failed them. Syrilla’s brother had been a casualty of a feud with a dark wizard.

His own kindred had sent him to die when the wizard trapped him in his wolf form.

Corvei began to have an inkling of why she was afraid now. “What have you done against the pack?”

She turned her head away and mumbled, “I don’t understand myself.” She rubbed her belly as she spoke. “The call to mate that

night was something I couldn’t fight. I barely remember it.” She swept a hand around the garden. “But it happened here. This is

where the heat took me, and where—”

“This is something to do with your child, then?”

“Children. Pups.” She spit the second word. “I hate what crawls inside me—but I love them, too.”

She was not one to love easily. He’d never heard that word from her in all the years he’d known her, living and dead, as lover and

then as friend.

She grasped his hand so tightly the bones would have broken if he was not what he was. “This is your responsibility, too,” she

said. A snarl escaped her throat. “You and that cursed beautiful war hound of yours.”

What she meant came to him then, shocking him too much for words. She had not mated with one of his guests, but . . .

“Uhh . . .”

Revulsion roiled through him though he’d thought he’d seen and done every dark thing imaginable, even more as a gladiator than

as a vampire.

He recalled how proudly he’d showed the dog off at the feast. He called it Beast, and it was as square-built and hard-muscled as

any gladiator, with a huge, heavy jaw and sleek black fur that gleamed in the torchlight. He’d acquired the dog to guard his crypt

through the hours of daylight, a trustworthy companion since he wanted no mortal slaves.

“A beautiful animal,” Syrilla said. “Animal.” The word was as bitter as poison from her mouth.

Corvei made himself look into her eyes. He would not normally have been able to look into her soul, but all her guards were

down. Or perhaps she was acting, because of course she was attempting to manipulate him. He didn’t mind that. One always had

to play to win, and the stakes were always life and death, even the times when they didn’t seem to be. Syrilla was a high-born

Roman matron as well as a werewolf, both those birthrights sent the will for power and dominance flowing through her veins.

Her fear was real, even if she used it as a weapon. He saw it in her eyes, felt it in her mind and heart and soul. It truly was a

mother’s fear for her unborn babe. Babes.

“Pups,” he said. He might have thrown back his head and laughed had the truth not been so horrible. “You mated with my war

hound?” he shouted. “It’s a dog’s get in your belly?”

She shuddered, and made a shushing gesture. She stood, suddenly as stately as the Chief Vestal. “Protect my offspring. I require

this of you. You know my own kind will destroy them as an abomination if they discover them.”

And perhaps the werewolves would be right. “They’ll destroy you as well if they find out.”

“I’ll take care of myself. You take care of my babes. Hide them. Keep them safe. This I require of you.”

He stood as well. “You’re calling in your debt, then?”

“I am.”

Syrilla had saved his life while in her wolf form in his mortal days, when he’d been on a dangerous errand for the vampire woman

who turned him. He had sworn to repay her, and now was the time. He also supposed he bore some responsibility for her

offspring, since what had sired them belonged to him.

“What am I supposed to do with a litter of puppies?” he demanded.

She didn’t answer. He thought for a long time, coming to only one conclusion. Finally, he gave her what she wanted. “I’ll keep my

vow to you. I’ll protect your children.”

I have to talk to Valentia, he thought.

TWO

“AND SO BEGAN THE RACE OF HELLHOUNDS,” DAN Conover murmured as though he was ending a fairy tale.

As the vivid memory faded Dan realized his eyes were closed. He felt like he’d been sleeping, although it was the middle of the

night. He looked up at what few stars he could see in the sky over Phoenix from his backyard and wondered why he could still

smell the night-blooming flowers in his Roman garden. Some of those flowers no longer existed in this modern world. He took a

few deep breaths. Yes, there were definitely aromas swirling on the breeze that didn’t belong in this cool desert air.

And the sky didn’t look right, either.

It took him a few more seconds to recognize that he was looking at the night with human vision. Usually looking at things from a

human perspective was a conscious decision, not something that was automatic upon waking. And he had been asleep, hadn’t he?

Asleep, or something more complicated?

He couldn’t remember how long it had been since he’d sat down on the bench on the patio at the back of the modest adobe

house. When existence depended on knowing every second between sundown and sunrise you didn’t lose track of time after a

couple thousand years of practice.

“Magic.”

Strong enough magic that it took him several more minutes to shake off the pleasant lethargy holding him in place.

When he could move, worry and anger propelled him into the house and straight to the back bedroom where Baby was kenneled

with her three puppies. Only one pair of red eyes glowed out of the dark at him when he opened the door. When he flipped on

the light, Baby yawned. She should have growled at anyone approaching her young, even him, but she only gave a placid whine as

he peered into the birthing box. At five weeks the pups were outgrowing the confines of the box, but Baby liked curling up with

her offspring there and who was he to argue with the wisdom of a hellhound mother?

Even though the scars healed quickly on both of them when they had the occasional confrontation. It took a firm hand to raise a

hellhound, but he’d been doing it for a long time.

She’d had three pups in this litter. After gazing at him for a moment, Baby turned her head and began to lick the one that slept

closely tucked beside her.

“One.”

When the word came out, Dan blinked. He didn’t know how long he’d been standing over the hellhounds. At first, he didn’t even

know what the word meant. The magic was stronger here than anywhere else in the house. So strong that it was like a hood

pulled over his head, like bindings on his limbs. The numbness pressed on him, making him not even want to breathe.

Then he remembered that he was a vampire, he didn’t need to breathe. Magic kept him alive, not air or food or water. Though all

were pleasant, he didn’t need them. He needed magic. He controlled magic.

“It does not control me.”

He spoke the words in the Nabatean language of his birth land, not the Latin of the place where he had fought and died, been

reborn and then remade, or the English he thought and spoke in this era. Only words that came to him with his mother’s milk were

enough to break him free. It was the language in which the spell had been cast and controlling the language controlled the magic.

The fog around his senses was banished as soon as the words were spoken.

Baby began to bark. He knelt beside her and put out a hand to soothe her. Her frantic worry flowed into him at the touch.

There was only one pup in the bed with her.

Two of her babies were gone!

“Son of a bitch!” he shouted, rising to his feet.

Only then did he see the pile of gold coins left in the dog bed. He scooped up one and swore again. Who the hell knew what

these meant to him? Who the hell among the living dead knew that he was Nabatean?

“Valentine,” he said.

THE warning came to Tess Sirella in her sleep as a dream filled with lightning and shadows, but changed to the scent of wet dog

when she woke. She wrinkled her sensitive nose, then sneezed. The bedside clock told her it was 3:18 in the morning, but she

knew there’d be no getting back to sleep. She supposed she should be wracked with guilt for the longing to turn over and ignore

the alarm, but duty was too bred into her bones.

“Why me?” she grumbled as she got up.

No trouble had stirred for decades, and even though family was always on guard she resented that a demon was playing games on

her watch. It was frustrating that she didn’t recognize the spell simply by sensing the warning. Now she was going to have to do

research. Not to mention call in sick or take vacation time to hunt down and destroy whatever evil was afoot.

“If demons lived normal lives, they wouldn’t have the time to pull any of this magic crap.”

Then people like her wouldn’t have to clean up after them and everyone could get on with messing up the world in the usual

mortal ways. A lot of magic didn’t affect mortals anyway, but she already knew this spell wouldn’t be that sort. There were things

that could be created and summoned that found mortals mighty tasty. Heck, she didn’t mind the occasional human nosh herself

under the right circumstances, and she was one of the good guys.

“I like to think of myself as a sheepdog in wolves’ clothing. Who talks to herself,” Tess added. It wasn’t good for werewolves to

be alone too much. Okay, the world was about to be confronted with some sort of demonic disaster but at least she’d have

fulfilled her obligation to guardian duty once she’d saved the day and she could hand over the position to the next generation,

which happened to be her anime-addicted fourteen-year-old nephew.

She stripped off her pink-flowered pajamas and then went naked into the closet she’d converted into a workroom. It took a few

minutes to light all the candles and set up the psychic barrier she needed to maintain her shielding. Then she settled down cross-

legged on the bare wooden floor and prepared to do absolutely nothing for as long as it took.

Ritual magic was actually rather tedious. A lot of it consisted of sitting around waiting for the cosmic phone to be picked up by

some other entity along the line. The vampires had fancier names for it, but she wasn’t a vampire and—

All her senses tingled, including some she’d rather didn’t when she was naked and alone.

Ah-ha! So there was a vampire involved.

Vampires smelled bad and tasted worse, but they always made you think of sex. They could also always be counted on whenever

trouble popped up for her pack. It was vampires that had started the trouble in the first place. Well, to be fair, vampires had

gotten unwittingly involved in a demon’s scheme and the problem hadn’t been resolved for nearly two thousand years. It was the

vampires’ fault, of course. The moment they got involved in anything, it got complicated. They couldn’t just deal with life and

death and black and white. Oh, no, things had shades of gray for them, not just gray, but an entire spectrum of colors and

emotions that werewolves didn’t want or need. It was probably because the strigoi started out as humans to begin with and

brought all that mortal baggage with them when they stepped over into the supernatural world.

Tess realized she’d let resentment of being woken lead her off on a very humanlike, distracted tangent. She smiled. “Ah, but the

machinations of magic are varied and subtle—even for a werewolf well-trained in the arcane . . . and stuff like that.”

She laughed, and suddenly knew what the psychic alarm was trying to tell her, besides that there were demons scheming,

monsters on the loose, and mortals in danger. The magical wards that twisted and turned like invisible smoke around Syrilla’s

Litter had picked up some useful data for her. She had a clue that the most emotional vampire of them all was at the heart of it.

She laughed again as she rose to her feet. It was bravado to cover a shudder of fear, knowing she had to confront Valentine.

THREE

KRAAS COULDN’T KEEP FROM WAITING FOR THE police to arrive, though it took longer than he expected. Nothing

happened with the instant efficiency the way the magic box showed police investigations. But since he wanted to know what they

had to say at this first of what would be many such events, he lingered.

Hunting humans was always fun, and it was especially so at the moment, when his weapon of choice was a puppy. The victims

had come into the park after it closed as Kraas had watched them do before. He’d loosed the hellhound and it had trotted

forward into the mortals’ midst. The youths saw the pretty black dog and immediately surrounded it. Whether they meant to pet it

or take their bats to it didn’t matter because the hellhound struck first. Kraas snatched up the hound and ran before the boys’

screams died away.

With the little one safely hidden away, Kraas returned and climbed the tree. He felt safe to indulge himself for a little while.

Tonight’s work had been spectacular for the young hound and the demon was full of pride and anticipation.

Kraas breathed deeply, enjoying the stink of oozing guts mingled with the scent of blood on the warm evening breeze. Flies circled

and settled on the four corpses on the park’s baseball field. They were waiting for the officer by the fence to stop vomiting so they

could settle there as well.

Such a beautiful sight, Kraas thought. Such a beautiful night.

“Four bodies,” one of the detectives said. “What caused this much damage?”

A technician looked up from where she squatted, her face a stark white circle in the glare of the field’s spotlights. “Squirrels?” she

suggested. When the detective glared she pointed at the wound she’d been examining. “Look at those bite marks. They’re from

something small.”

“Rabid raccoons?” someone else spoke up.

“Come on!” the detective barked. “No more jokes. These people were murdered!”

“Don’t jump to conclusions,” the tech advised. She went back to her examination.

The irritated detective looked like he wanted to pace, but he stayed perfectly still. He didn’t want to contaminate the crime scene,

Kraas supposed.

What a fine puzzle he’d set for them. It didn’t matter for him, of course, except as entertainment. Feeding his hellhound on soul-

sucking death was what mattered. The mortals would suffer many such losses before his little darling was ready for the greatest

hunt. The hound would grow strong and powerful on the blood and souls of many mortals before it could be loosed on vampires,

then the vampires that preyed on vampires. And finally—

“Valentine.” Kraas breathed the name almost reverently, though in truth it was a curse.

Someday soon the hellhound would make a sacrifice of the old bitch herself. Only when the great kill was made could the work

truly begin.

TE SS saw the news about the killings on a podcast in the back of a shuttle on her way to the airport. She stared at the small

iPhone screen, silently mouthing obscenities, mundane and magical, as she could do nothing to show her outrage in such a public

place. As it was, the other passengers in the van gave her strange looks.

Putting down a hellhound was not as easy as it sounded— come to think of it, it didn’t sound easy—and this one was already

feeding.

The killings stank of ritual magic and human sacrifice. Maybe the vampires had finally realized the true purpose of hellhounds and

were putting their pets to work. The murders had been in Santa Barbara and reinforced her belief that the Los Angeles-based

Valentine was involved.

“But why?” she whispered. She fought off the urge to howl with impatience. She had a three-hour flight ahead of her before she

could even begin to find answers. She had to conserve her energy until then.

“I’M going to be out of town for a while,” Dan told Olympias, the supervisor of all the other Enforcers in the country. She even

lived in Washington, D.C.

“Are you asking permission?” the rich female voice on the end of the phone line asked. “Or do you want a favor?”

“Perceptive, aren’t you?” he replied.

“I know how hard it is to find a pet sitter. You could use a vacation. How many years has it been since you left Tucson?”

“As the Law in these parts—”

He was interrupted by her laughter. “You have the best-behaved nests and strigs on the continent. Anyone who breeds hellhounds

for a hobby would.”

Bringing up the hellhounds was the opening he needed. “I’m looking for a dog sitter. That’s the favor you suspected I called

about. No one is better with hellhounds than you are. I could really use your help.”

“Pouring the flattery on a little thick, aren’t you, Gladiator?”

Dan wondered if she was reminding him that she’d once been a queen and he’d been a lowly slave. But he couldn’t take offense,

not when the word could as easily be a nickname here in the twenty-first century.

“Are you being over-sensitive?” she asked when he didn’t answer immediately.

He used the tone of guilt in her voice. “I’d appreciate your help. Baby has a pup. When’s the last time you saw a hellhound pup?”

“Not since Bitch was little.”

“That was at least five hundred years ago.” Bitch was Olympias’s pet.

Across the miles he heard a sigh that was both longing and exasperation. “I need to get Bitch out of Washington to avoid some

werewolves that will be in town for the Save the Earth rally,” she said. “But the plan was to head for Las Vegas.”

“It’s more peaceful here,” he said. “And there’s a puppy.” No Enforcer was soft-hearted, not when they ate the hearts of other

vampires for snacks, but everyone had soft spots that could be manipulated. Like him, Olympias’s was for dogs.

“I love puppies.”

“I know.”

“And we could use some private time,” she said.

He didn’t ask who we were, though it was likely she had a new mortal companion. “I promise that you won’t be disturbed, with

the house all to yourself. Bring Bitch and come for a visit. How soon can you be here?” he added.

“My car’s already packed.” She sighed. “Okay, Las Vegas can wait. Put Baby under a sleep spell I can break and leave a key in

the mailbox.”

“I’ll do that,” he answered. “Thanks.”

Dan hung up before Olympias could change her mind.

“WE NEED TO TALK.”

“Damn,” Valentine said. She was more annoyed with herself than with the person standing on the balcony behind her.

She knew she was distracted, and the hotel was full of vampires, which certainly messed with a girl’s brainwaves, but she should

have sensed his approach. Of course, she hadn’t been aware of him since the companion connection had been severed between

them several years before. She didn’t miss the time when such awareness had been a constant ache. She’d missed him.

“I’m busy, Yevgeny.”

“How busy can you be when you’ve been staring into space for the last hour?”

He’d lived in the States for going on sixty years, yet his voice still held a hint of Russian accent. She still found the sound hot.

“Damn,” she muttered again.

She’d actually been staring at the lights of the Las Vegas strip far below her penthouse suite. He came closer and put his hands on

her shoulders. She automatically leaned back against his wide chest. She was small and he was very large, but somehow it had

always been a remarkably good fit.

“I’m pining,” she told him, “and brooding.”

“You don’t have a Russian soul, brooding doesn’t suit you.”

He was right. He generally was. She’d missed that, too.

“You feel different,” she said after a few minutes.

“I am a vampire now,” he answered.

Of course. She’d refused to turn him, so he’d gotten someone else to do it. She didn’t know why that should leave her feeling

betrayed, or why the differences disturbed her. His body temperature was lower than a mortal’s. Not by much, but enough to

notice. His heart beat, but at a much slower rate than before. Blood flowed, but it was different blood now than when he’d

been—well, alive—though he wasn’t actually dead.

“I liked you better as a mortal, Yevgeny.”

Maybe that was the reason she’d kept him on far longer than was good for him. Maybe that was why she’d refused to change

him. Maybe her excuses about not wanting to make any more monsters were just ways of pretending she had noble intentions.

“You just don’t like change,” he said. “You are remarkably, happily, set in your ways. You’ll like me better when you get used to

me.”

No one had ever known her so well. “I won’t.”

He pressed her a little closer. “No one sulks as well as you do. Brooding no, sulking yes.”

“That’s not exactly a compliment.”

“It’s time for honesty between us at last.”

She continued looking at the city despite the temptation to break his grip and whirl to face him. She didn’t want to look at him.

Even now that they were no longer connected, she feared seeing her beautiful blond giant might stir the old desire. Not possible,

but old habits were hard to break.

“I never lied to you,” she said.

Fingers began to massage her tense shoulders. “Perhaps not, but you must own to other—abuses.”

Okay, so she’d kidnapped him away from the family and country he loved and made him her sex slave for fifty-plus years. She

shrugged under his hands. “Yeah, well . . .”

FOUR

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