Pleasure of a Dark Prince

Epilogue

One week earlier…

Volga Uplands, Russia

Target: the Vampire

On a windswept and craggy plain, a lone cabin endured, buffeted by a gale. Inside, Lothaire the Enemy of Old stood before a broken hanging mirror, staring at his fragmented reflection. Through cracks in the grimy windows, chill drafts sieved in, welcome after the heat of the jungle.

Retrieving the finger and ring from his pocket, he slipped the gold band free, tossing the mummified thumb to the ground. With utter awe, he gazed at the band, knowing what it meant, knowing the power he’d just seized.

Unspeakable power.

“With this,” he grated, “I will be invincible.” The winds howled, the cabin walls groaning. “I will be unstoppable.” He raised his shaking hand, lowering the ring to his own finger, nearly groaning with expectation—

The cabin door exploded open; electricity surged in, hitting him in the back, shooting him forward. The ring clattered to the ground as his head crashed through one of the windows. A jutting shard raked down his forehead, deep across the surface of his eye.

Sightless in that eye, blood obscured his vision in the other. Trace. Leave this place.

Not without his ring….

His fangs sharpened, rage burning inside him. What enemy is this? Another bolt of electricity hit him, then another, each one draining him. He began blindly tracing throughout the cabin to evade them.

Through the red haze, he listened for his prey, sensing movement, striking. Appearing and vanishing, he plucked one heart from a male’s chest, biting the throat of another. The floor grew slick with blood.

Get to the ring… get closer. Another flash shot toward him; he traced to dodge it, reappearing—

A short sword plunged into his side. Behind him, a tall shadowy form wielded the blade, twisting it deep within Lothaire’s body. A mortal wound for a human.

An incapacitating one for an immortal. Whatever is here… doesn’t want me dead.

Lothaire attempted to trace a retreat, but he’d grown too weak—as his foe obviously intended.

Holding him fast, the blademan twisted the sword again. “Bag him.” Once the male drew the weapon free, Lothaire dropped to his knees in his own pool of blood.

Others besieged him, quelling his weak resistance, cuffing his wrists in unbreakable bindings. When he roared, they slapped duct tape over his mouth.

He’d just cleared his vision in his one good eye when more men approached with a black sack.

To put over his head.

He bellowed behind the tape, thrashing in the blood. But they shoved the cloth over his head, cinching it tight.

Lothaire heard the gold ring scraped over the floor as another collected his treasure. Seething wrath burned to a fury. When I get free, I will unleash hell….

Back streets of New Orleans

Target: the Valkyrie

“That all you got, muthafuckas?” Regin the Radiant cried after her third dose of electricity. “I like electricity, you dumbasses! Hit me with another.”

Apparently not taking her at her word, they did. She sucked it in, and her skin glowed brighter in the night. The street lamps nearby flared from her radiant energy.

A smile of utter bliss lit her face.

“Know what else? I’m a freaking conduit.” She caught a jolt in one hand and with her other, she funneled it back, hitting her attackers, blowing them into the air. “You want some of this?” She shot again. “How ’bout you?” And again.

They were feeding her—and it felt glorious! She glowed brighter, brighter, illuminating one city block, then two…

But within that blaze of light, a shadow moved behind her, a towering male with superhuman speed. Before she could defend herself, he struck with a sword, planting it into her side, twisting. Lightning speared close by, and she gasped at the pain, choking as blood bubbled at her lips.

Her light dimmed. When the man withdrew the blade, she collapsed. Curled up on the street, bleeding out, Regin gazed up at him. “You,” she bit out. “You’ll pay.”

The male ordered, “Bag her.”

Too late, she drew a breath to scream—duct tape slapped over her mouth. Eyes wide, shaking her head wildly, she watched as they neared with a black sack.

Orleans Parish Booking and Receiving Facility

Target: the witch

“Miss Carrow, what are you doing in here again?” Martin, her favorite guard, asked her. He was the youngest of the guards, cute, with a ruinous crush on Carrow. “When will you learn better?”

“Oh, I’ve learned better,” she said, strutting to the bars. He swallowed to see how short her black leather skirt was. “I just choose not to use what I’ve learned in real world applications.”

“Huh?” Martin scratched his head. “What’d you do this time?”

“Beat up a cop, stole his horse, and rode it into Pat O’s.” Before he could ask, she answered, “I needed an accessory.”

At that, her repeat roommates, sex workers from the Quarter, cheered, whoop whoop whoop!

She curtsied for them, then turned back to Martin. Through the cell bars, she tickled him under his chin with her print-stained fingertips, sending him in raptures. “So, did you bring me and the girls some chow?” He often brought Popeye’s to Carrow and the roommates. In a throaty voice, she asked, “Maybe some diiiirty rice?”

He swallowed hard. “N-no, ma’am. Came to tell you that you made bail.”

“Really? No way!” She held out her flat palm behind her and someone gave her a low five in celebration. The sun had just set—Carrow would have the entire night for mayhem! “Who divvied the cash?”

“Dunno, ma’am,” Martin said, sliding open the cell door.

She frowned. The House of Witches had vowed never to bail her out again. And Carrow hadn’t even called Mariketa, not wanting to bother her best friend again. Twice in one week was too much for even the most committed bail buddy.

Carrow had actually been considering using her powers to liberate herself. Which was a big, freaking, honking no-no.

With a shrug, she turned to say farewell. “See ya, Moll, Candy Cane, Lexxxie, Chastity. And Exstacey, chin up, your ex is not going to bother you any more. I promise.” Carrow made a mental note to cast a spell on that asshole, making him fall in love with clumping cat litter. Used clumping litter.

Once Carrow had collected her belongings, she donned her jewelry and light jacket, then strung her numerous plastic beads around her neck. Few outside the Big Easy could grasp what a hard-earned and valuable currency those beads were.

Martin gazed on longingly. “You want me to look up who posted you?”

“Hey, I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Night, Martin.” She winked and blew him a kiss. “See you soon.”

But as she sauntered to the front doors, she thought about that ole gift-horse saying. She’d lied to Martin—Carrow was exactly the kind of person who would look in its mouth.

She grew cautious, building energy in her palms to shoot an enemy if she had to. Mariketa had been teaching her tons of new spells and funneling power to her—since she was on the bench for five decades. Carrow was quite the badass, when she could concentrate.

Stepping outside onto the street, she gazed around warily. No one was out here.

Ah, but the city was just waking for another night. With sirens and food scents and throbbing music, it roused like a beast from slumber. She could sense all the emotions, the excitement suffusing her. Like a vampire, she wanted to drink from it. Wanted to be amidst the chaos, provoking it—

A frying surge of electricity hit her in the face, blasting her through the air. She shrieked until she landed on her back a block away. Her beads had melted all over her, sizzling plastic searing her skin, smoking.

Dazed, nearly sightless from the assault and the smoke, she drew energy in her palms once more. What the hell happened? Males nearing? Can’t see… can’t see to fire on them. They looked like shadows. She shot from her palm, might have hit one. Can’t see…

She tried to rise, to blindly run, but only made it to her knees. No choice but to gasp out the reaper spell, hoping no bystanders were near: “Ooth sbell nooth latoret—”

“Gag her!” a deep voice interrupted.

“Ooth sbell—”

The shadowy hands seized her, shoving duct tape over her mouth. Though she resisted with all the strength in her body, they bound her wrists behind her. She flailed, defenseless, more terrified than she’d ever been.

Carrow’s sight was just returning when she heard that same voice order, “Bag her.”

“No, no!” she screamed behind the tape. They stalked closer with a black sack, rolling it up like hose to force over her head.

And her world went dark once more….