Chapter 1
Shasta
I want to groan with the pleasure from it. Beautiful, quick dollop red sneaky haze, crashing into my mouth with such grace. Everything in my vision goes red at the edges, and I am almost lost tumbling down this long tunnel of crimson red red red.
Only my Lucy grabbing me roughly by the shoulder and pulling me off broke the trance.
“Shaz, that’s enough. You’ll kill the chick.”
That ‘chick’ in question was hardly a concern to me. Maria was old enough to be a grandmother, and while not a particularly old grandmother, the wrinkles around her eyes were alabaster cracks in the lines of her otherwise flawless golden skin. She had been the leader of the Mexican Lycanthrope compound. Once again, she’s no spring “chick”en.
Lucy tugged again at my shoulder; she must have felt my reluctance to let go of that sweet sinking bloodlust. Here in New Orleans, I’ve found a long line of men and women willing to give me that red haze, but only Lycanthrope and Lycanti blood can ease the thirst. After all, no true vampire would survive on just the blood of meager humans. That’s no life at all. The Children of Dacre will live in strength, I swear it, or not live at all.
I pulled away from Maria. Her black eyes showed no fear or weakness. Hatred, disgust, and apathy perhaps—but none of the human emotions that some Lycanti are so susceptible to. Her kind, the pure Lycanthrope, hold such iron control over themselves. It makes me want to punch her in the face and watch her Change, lose control, give into the beast like I do sometimes.
The bitch is a survivor, I’ll give her that. Burned from her neck to her thighs, wounds weeping for days, she still managed to find me here in this tangle of damp humanity, knowing that I would kill for the taste of pure, old blood after that deadly night in exchange for performing an errand for her.
After all, I’m the one who burned her precious compound and nearly killed her. If she knew that I was the one who had battled her in the flames of her home that night, she probably would kill me. So that’s one thing she’ll never know.
I will remain the messenger for her, the only Child of Dacre she could find in New Orleans.
I took enough blood to keep me going for a few weeks.
“Find Joshua,” Maria commanded me. “Make sure he knows about Emily. Do you understand me, you bloodsucking twit? He has to come for Emily for this to work. And be careful. He will use you for his own aims if you let him.”
But wait, you don’t even know what we’re doing in this capital of jazz, do you? Lenora told me that Emily last dragged herself to you after that night of slaughter which left both Maria and me with shattered bodies and discarded notions of honor. Heh, well it’s no Anne Rice novel with Lestat killing in high fashion and Louis bemoaning the plight of humanity. Instead, you’ve got a rather motley crew of the Children of Dacre and Lycanthrope and Lycanti who all share a common enemy and a need for revenge.
