Magick Marked

Prologue

Mohan watched the single drop of blood trickle from the blade in his hand, hitting the mirror lying on the ground. With a steady finger, he traced a pentagram in his blood. Candles flickered, casting light along the dim walls of his cell, flaring as he closed the circle around the star. Finally.

Nine hundred and ninety-nine years and twenty-seven days had passed since they’d put him in this godforsaken slice of hell. Being virtually castrated of his powers was worse than never having had power at all. The blue flame he called into his palms barely flickered now, nothing but mere potential. Those hands of his only served as the reminder of what he’d once been.

What he could become again.

And now, finally, he might be strong enough to escape this place. He’d bribed guards and prisoners alike to get only the simple things he surrounded himself with. A knife. A mirror. Candles. A strand of hair from the strongest of his captors. All of these things made necessary just to give him a few seconds of time with the one person who could help him escape.

A woman he pretended to love.

The time was near. He could feel it, even if he couldn’t see it. The planets and stars were aligning themselves for the new millennia, generating a short-lived fissure in the magick connecting the human world with Etherealis.

He’d done nothing but consider the possibility of his escape for the last thousand years. And he’d generated a theory.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, he stared into the mirror. Surely she hadn’t forgotten their last agreement. They’d made it long ago, agreeing to meet at the next weakness in the barrier. She was the beacon, the light in the darkness of this place, which could take him home.

If this worked, he’d know the crack in the barrier was starting. They’d only have a matter of months to assemble those Kamens and get him out of here. Reuniting those five magickal stones was the key to regaining control over all the magick in the DarqRealm, and the sole ticket to his escape. He’d owned all the magick in the world once before. And while it wouldn’t be easy to find the five pieces that had been separated and hidden away, he would do it again. His lips curved up at the thought of leaving these four walls behind.

Mohan? The female voice sounded hollow and distant.

Excitement stirred in his stomach. Rhyannon?

Mohan, is that you?

You remembered. Time was short, his patience even shorter, but she was the key to the whole plan. He needed to keep her baited.

I told you I would, my love, she answered.

How I have missed the sound of your voice. Now quickly—we haven’t much time. The syrupy-sweet tone sounded foreign coming from his lips, but he would give her what she needed to hear.

Have you found a way out?

The Kamens.

What do you mean?

Clank. The mirror fractured, a fissure sliding down the shiny surface and stopping halfway through the plate of glass. He’d worried this would happen. Shoddy second-rate materials.

He spoke quickly. You must assemble the Kamens. I need you to gather them for me, including the one in your possession.

All of them?

Yes. Gather all five and then bring them here. You can try to send them to me through the ley lines.

She paused. How can I send them through the lines? There is no connection to Etherealis anymore.

Tink. The crack widened.

You know that’s not true! You talk to me now, and yet there is no physical connection between your dimension and mine. They were weak before and they are growing weaker now, he said.

Are you saying the weakness will grow?

He shook his head, irritated with the incessant questions but forced his voice to remain gentle. Yes, I believe it will. And at that weakest moment, you shall bring the Kamens.

And I shall free you of that place.

Crunch. The lifeline he clung so desperately to was unraveling, only a hair’s breadth away from complete loss. Her promise hung like a heavy weight against his chest.

We’re out of time, he said quickly.

Mohan, I love you. I will come for you.

And I love—

Snap. The mirror broke completely. And what a snapshot of his life now, broken in two. The real man versus the performance artist.

At least he didn’t have to say those last few words out loud. Love was for the weak. Manipulation and patience, however? Those were gifts of the strong.

Chapter One

Rho twirled the small red stone between her fingers, keeping it hidden in the pocket of her black leather jacket. On direct order from the Lamia King, the leader of the vampire nation, she was to keep the relic well protected. Why it needed protecting, she hadn’t a clue. But she knew better than to ask.

Trudging along the rocky path, she glanced up at the large limestone home. Her boss, the prince, had given her this address, although she’d been here before. This was the storefront for the online site where she bought the spelled ink for her tattoos. Of all the places she’d scoped out, this was the only one she’d found that could make the stuff with any consistency.

She extended a hand to knock on the door.

Apparently, the family of magick movers living here were some of the most highly acclaimed in Texas, the eldest brother the strongest of the three. If anyone knew how to protect the stone, he would.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The sound of her knuckles against wood echoed in the still silence of the night, although the magick movers inside surely knew she’d arrived before she ever knocked. Only a fool would leave his home unwarded.

A man cracked the door open. Can I help you?

She cleared her throat. I’m looking for Eldon Tradare.

We’re not open right now.

Damn, she’d been afraid of this. The store they ran out of their home only opened during the daylight hours, and her outdoor jaunts were restricted to the night. But these were unique circumstances.

Please, this is a special case, she petitioned.

The man sighed and pulled the door completely open. What do you want?

Are you Eldon Tradare?

The man stepped forward and leaned against the doorjamb, folding his muscled arms across his chest and crossing one foot casually over the other. Shaggy chestnut hair framed his magnificent blue eyes, clearer than the summer sky. Well, from what she remembered of the blue skies she’d seen as a human. She hadn’t seen one in years.

That depends on who’s asking, the man answered.

Oh, great. A wise guy. I’m Rhowen Vasile of the Vasile coven, but you can call me Rho. The Collective referred me. I’m here to ask a favor.

My sisters and I don’t do favors for vampires.

Fucking fantastic. A wise guy and a pain in the ass. I’ll pay you. Handsomely.

How much?

She shook her head. I don’t talk money before setting the terms and conditions. And it’s rude to leave me standing on the porch, by the way.

His brows lifted at her obvious accusation, pausing for a moment before his eyes narrowed. Fine. You can come inside. But pull any vampire tricks, and I’ll light you up with ley line fire.

Given the grim look on his face, it wasn’t an empty threat. He stepped aside to allow her through the doorway, and she strode into the house. The man’s eyes never left her, his distrust in her kind evident. Not unusual. Vampires were a dangerous combination of stealth and predator. Hell, half the time she didn’t trust members of her own coven, and they were considered family.

A black cat darted across the entryway, and Rho took a quick step back.

That’s just Abra. Ignore her, Eldon said, unfazed as he drifted past her and toward a room to their right.

Swallowing her nervous energy, she nodded.

She’d been deathly allergic to cats as a human, so her knee-jerk reaction to the furry little devils had always been to run in the opposite direction. Of course, now she could cuddle with them up close and personal and never so much as sniffle. Still, old habits were hard to kick, and cats made her cringe. Especially creepy black ones.

She followed him silently through the entryway and into a small side office. He motioned toward a petite Victorian chair opposite a massive redwood desk. She sat down. Rather than take a seat, he stepped back through the doorway.

I’ll be right back, he said.

Rho nodded, and he closed the double doors. He certainly planned on warning his sisters of their new house guest. A small part of her wanted to be offended by his skittish behavior, but the other part knew his concern wasn’t without merit. Her nature was dangerous.

The small room held elaborate and expensive artwork showcased in gilded wood frames. Jade and ivory knick-knacks on a heavy wooden bookshelf. Vacuum marks still on the carpet. No dust in sight. Either they cleaned in here often, or they had a maid. And given the décor around this room alone, she’d bet they had money. Lots of it.

The door opened again and Eldon stepped inside. Sorry about that. Wanted to tell my sisters you were here.

As she’d suspected. So she couldn’t kill him without someone knowing about it. Smart move.

He stepped around to the opposite side of the desk and sat, leaning back in the rolling leather desk chair. What can I do for you, Rho Vasile?

Rho pulled the red rock from her pocket and placed it on the desk. I need spells to protect this.

His brows furrowed. What is it?

Don’t know. And I couldn’t tell you if I did. Well, the first part wasn’t entirely true. She knew it held some magick. Other than that, she hadn’t a clue.

Then why do you need it protected?

Not your business.

And you came to me. More of a statement than a question.

Yes. My boss said the Collective recommended you, so I’m here to see what you can do to protect this relic.

What kind of protection are you looking for?

The best. The very, very best. No holds barred. She’d been ordered to keep it safe at all costs. She took the instruction literally.

That’ll cost you, he warned.

She waved a hand in the air. Irrelevant.

He tilted his head to the side. Really. His crisp blue eyes were distrustful as he studied her from across the desk.

So what can you offer?

Meddling with magick without the proper training was akin to poking a sleeping lion. It might not kill you right away, but the more you dabbled, the better your odds of poofing yourself straight into the afterlife. This guy must have major firepower if the Collective was willing to recommend him, especially to a vampire.

He considered her, stroking the light stubble on his chin. Leaning forward, he placed both hands on the desk in front of him. If you want to protect this rock, your best bet is to use a blood spell and a vocal spell. Very few magick movers can handle either of those spells, and very, very few can handle both.

I take it you can.

Yes.

Then we have a deal.

Five thousand dollars, vampire. He stared at her expectantly, as if he were waiting for her to balk at the price.

Rho tried not to smile. She’d expected to pay double that amount. Done.

Reaching into her jacket, she pulled out a thick stack of hundreds and laid the bundled bills on the desk between them. With a brow arched, she glanced up at him. That should cover it.

Eldon nodded and extended his hand without a word. Rho reached out and shook it, the silent accord struck. His hand was twice the size of her own, his flesh warm against her palm. There must be so much blood beneath the surface of that skin. So much heat.

Pulling her hand back quickly and tucking it in her pocket, she fought the immediate hunger. So when can I expect the spells to be done?

Two weeks, he answered.

No sooner?

Two. Weeks.

Clearly she wasn’t going to get anything more out of him tonight. She watched as he plucked the rock off the desk and placed it in his pocket.

Are we done here? she asked.

Eldon nodded and stood up. I’ll call you.

You don’t have my number.

I know how to reach you.

Well, wasn’t that a little disconcerting. Rho stood and proceeded through the door Eldon held open, then followed him through the house toward the front door. Thank you for seeing me after business hours.

He nodded. You’re welcome. The door opened on its own.

Have a nice evening, she said over her shoulder, heading toward her black Porsche 911 Turbo.

The door slammed shut behind her. She rushed toward the car, skin crawling with the sensation of eyes watching her every move. It wasn’t until she left the property that she was alone again with the night.

Chapter Two

It wasn’t murder if someone ordered you to do it. At least, that was what Rho kept telling herself.

Her stilettos pattered softly against the packed earth as she ventured through the passageways of the cave. Living below ground had taken some getting used to in the beginning, but now she didn’t mind so much. The natural shield kept them safely hidden in the shadows, the space far enough below the earth to remain at a constant seventy-two degrees regardless of the season.

She turned the rocky corner toward the courtroom and fingered the grips of the daggers stowed in the sheaths at her waist. She didn’t dare show up to court unprepared.

The royal family demanded perfection and submission. When the last executioner died in action, dozens of coven members had applied for the opening. She didn’t add her name to the sign-up list. Prestige and fear didn’t appeal to her in the least.

Yet here she stood, silver daggers in hand, carrying the title of executioner.

Sure, all vampires were expected to contribute to their coven. She’d thought her training and service on the Guard for the past two years fulfilled that obligation. Apparently the Lamia King didn’t agree. The promotion had chapped some asses, hers included. She’d had no idea why he’d selected her, but she didn’t dare decline the offer. Everyone knew better than to tell the king no.

Who needed friends, anyway?

She tugged the sleeves of her black cashmere turtleneck down over her wrists. The king required her to keep her tattoos covered in public. Frederick, the prince, wasn’t a huge fan of them either. She wasn’t sure what bothered him more— the fact that so many of the designs signified someone she’d killed, or the fact that he’d ordered those killings.

Stalactites dripped from the ceiling, showcasing the monstrosities Frederick liked to call thrones. The massive room held dozens of vampires, their voices quieting as she advanced to her seat at his right hand. The heavy ebony wood thrones were inlaid with mother of pearl, carved with intricate scrolls and fitted with marble seats.

Beautiful, sure. But literally a pain in the ass.

Taking her seat beside the prince and scanning the assembly of vampires, she tried not to fidget. Their answering stares offered her only a callous combination of fear and resentment. No surprise there.

Frederick tilted his head, his bleached blond hair and pale skin contrasting starkly against his black suit. Good evening, Rhowen.

Man, she hated that name. She’d asked him a hundred times to call her Rho, like everyone else, but he never did.

Good evening, my lord. She offered him a small smile despite her dismal mood.

After all, they only called her in at this stage of the trial for one reason.

Crossing one leg over the other, she propped an elbow up on the arm of the chair and rested her chin on her hand. Yes, court proceedings were important. Yes, holding people accountable for their actions was necessary to ensure they knew who held the power. Blah, blah, blah.

She really didn’t give two shits about procedures and decorum. They only stalled the inevitable. If she’d been summoned, the vampire in question was guilty, and the prince had already made up his mind. The pomp and circumstance was an excuse for a public execution to set an example, which she didn’t care to be a part of.

William, child of Marcellus. Frederick’s booming voice snapped her back into reality. Why are you in my court tonight?

She sized up the vampire lying on the dirt at their feet. His eyes were a muddy shade of hazel, his dark hair trimmed close to his skull. The shirt he wore had been ripped and his jeans were covered in filth. He was a youngling, less than a year old if she had to guess. Older vampires didn’t bother breathing or blinking, but the young ones hadn’t been undead long enough to lose the habit. The guards had clearly worked him over once already.

His gravelly voice muffled against the floor. I didn’t mean to do it.

Like she hadn’t heard that one before.

Who brought the charges against him? Frederick glanced at Rho.

She peeked at the docket sitting on the table by her chair. Marcellus Antonescu.

A long, blond lock escaped the bun she’d twisted earlier. Discreetly, she tucked the misplaced strand behind her ear and tried to pretend it didn’t annoy her.

Thank you, Rhowen. Frederick gave her a quick nod. Marcellus, come forward.

Shoes scuffled against the dirt floor as people made room for the tall man, his shoulder-length black hair swaying with each step.

Eyes so dark they were nearly black met hers as he strode forward, towering over the crowd. A smile touched his lips, and she couldn’t help but stare at him. Something about him felt familiar, though she’d swear she’d never seen him before.

He paused in front of the thrones. My lord, this man must be held responsible for his actions against the vampires of the DarqRealm.

William sprang into the air, a wooden dagger in his hand. The room erupted in voices as Rho vaulted from her chair and landed on the ground, then curled her body and rolled across the floor.

Silver-tipped blade firm in her grip, she settled into a crouch between the prince and his would-be assassin. How the hell had he managed to sneak a weapon into the courtroom?

He lunged toward Frederick with the wooden point, but months of training made her far faster. His outstretched arm met her blade, the sharp edge melting through his skin like a hot knife through butter.

A bloody hand fell to the floor. He screamed, the silver coating of her wooden blade burning his vampire blood.

She clasped a dagger in her left hand and hovered over his writhing form, That was really fucking stupid. You just bought yourself a one-way ticket to the other side, my friend.

Her voice projected cool detachment, but her mind was hot with anger. Frederick was her boss and her only friend in this dark world. That stunt would cost this vampire his life.

A guard stepped up to restrain William upon the prince’s signal, pinning him to the floor. Rho turned to reoccupy her seat.

William let out a bellowing laugh.

She stopped mid-stride and whirled around to face him. Are you mocking this courtroom? Surely he wasn’t that stupid.

He grunted, the pain from the silver no doubt still coursing through his blood as he held the stump close to his body. The limb would grow back, of course, but the process would take hours and hurt like hell. Not that it mattered, considering her plans for his future.

Silver burned like a son of a bitch, but it couldn’t take out a vampire in a permanent way. A sharp wooden object to the heart, on the other hand, would kill instantly. The Guard’s daggers were silver-tipped wood, reserved for the worst offenders. And a threat to the royal family was a significant offense. Really significant.

Rho studied the man lying on the ground for a moment before turning the dagger’s grip with care and tucking the sharp end into the sheath at her waist. He was lucky he didn’t rip her slacks, or worse—ruin her shoes. She didn’t dress out in her leathers for court sessions. Usually didn’t have to.

Frederick raised a hand to hush the crowd.

She slumped back into her seat and crossed her legs, one hand holding firm on each arm of the chair. Anxious, she wiggled her black stiletto back and forth.

Nothing like a little attempted assassination to put her on edge.

Frederick continued as if nothing happened. You know killing a coven member isn’t necessarily punishable by second death. Explain yourself.

Marcellus nodded. Certainly, my lord. Death alone is not the cause. I ask because he murdered a mated coven member.

Hushed whispers thundered against the cavern walls as the spectators realized the magnitude of William’s offense. Rho gaped. Murdering a mated coven member was a cruel and malicious crime, one of the worst for their kind.

As far as Rho knew, vampires were the only race in the DarqRealm who could be soul struck. The connection was supposed to be immediate and life-altering. She’d heard that when struck, the vampire’s souls cease to exist independently, that they actually bound together to create some special union. Humans called that sort of thing love.

After being soul struck, most vampire couples wanted to make their bond public. The covenant of the blood bond could be formed only with the consent of two participating vampires, each pledging themselves and their blood to the other for eternity. Mated vampires could only receive blood sustenance from their mates.

If one died and the other lived, the living vampire was unable to eat yet incapable of dying, and would slowly be driven insane. The bond and connection were so strong, many feared the dependence. Yet those who had been soul struck would just as soon be dead without their mates.

Rho never dreamed of making that sacred vow, both because she couldn’t imagine wanting to mate anyone for eternity and because the idea of being driven insane didn’t sound so appealing. The risk was too great, especially in her new line of work.

Frederick studied the crowd, his fingers in a steeple touching the tip of his nose. What evidence do you have of his guilt?

Marcellus waved over a woman in the crowd. Charlotte Antonescu? She carried the Antonescu surname, indicating her coven alliance.

Frederick pointed a finger at the female. You. Come forward.

She trudged toward the throne, the sour stench of her grief thick in the air.

Do you have anything to add? Frederick asked.

Charlotte lifted her eyes to meet the prince’s, liquid welling in the corners of their deep blue depths. My lord, my mate was killed this week. I am now fated to die because of what this child calls a mistake. Her voice thickened with tears as she pointed to the man on the floor. I witnessed this man murder my mate.

Marcellus offered another bow. My lord, I request you take William to his second death tonight, and offer mercy to Charlotte. She won’t last much longer in her current state.

Rho ground her teeth. Offer mercy, her bright, shiny ass.

He was asking her to do what he didn’t have the stomach to do. Murder an innocent woman before she lost her mind. These were the deaths that fed her nightmares, the reason she didn’t want this job. Killing the bad guys was justifiable homicide. Killing the innocents was a death sentence to her soul.

Frederick met her eyes with his matching set of gray. Despite an age difference of around two hundred years, people said they looked alike. She didn’t see it.

You know what to do. Frederick spoke clearly into Rho’s mind, giving instructions without spelling it out. All creators carried a telepathic connection with those they created. Frederick had Rho on speed dial.

Yes, my lord.

She examined the crowd, catching the few grim faces of those losing a coven member. Others smiled in morbid anticipation.

Her high heels hit the ground and she stood with ease, craning her neck around to loosen up. After all, Ginger Rogers did everything Fred Astaire did, only backwards and in high heels. Who said she couldn’t do her job in heels, too? She didn’t even have to hunt people down if they were found guilty in court, which made this a piece of cake.

Except for killing the innocents.

Charlotte, come forward, Rho ordered, not yet moving to unsheathe the wooden dagger from her waist. This girl didn’t deserve to see death come for her. She’d done nothing wrong.

Charlotte lumbered forward, meeting Rho in the center of the room. The jumble of voices surrounding them concealed their conversation.

Rho leaned forward and put her lips to the girl’s ear. Charlotte?

Yes? The girl trembled, fear nearly shaking her off her feet.

I want you to close your eyes. Envision your mate, Rho murmured.

Charlotte did as instructed. His name was Asa.

Did he enjoy reading? Most vampires did. They were often older than the invention of television.

Yes.

What did he read?

Charlotte chuckled. "He always told me his favorite book was Charlotte’s Web."

That’s a great book. Rho slowly removed the wooden dagger from her waist. Picture him reading it to you.

A smile crossed the girl’s face. Rho plunged the wooden knife into her heart, feeling a sliver of her soul leave her chest as the girl crumpled to the floor. Damn it all. Their hands met as Rho crouched down to be closer to her victim. The quick convulsions of death overtook her small body and Rho wished desperately to take her pain away.

Go with Asa, was all she could whisper to the girl, watching the end near. Charlotte’s eyes fluttered. She smiled as she turned into ash at Rho’s feet.

Rho stood up, dusting off the ashes stuck to her black dress pants. Frederick met her gaze and she quickly glanced back down to the ground. Senseless. Deaths like this were such a waste.

Frederick’s voice carried over the mumbles from the spectators in the court room. William Antonescu, child of Marcellus Antonescu, I do hereby sentence you to second death at the hands of the executioner for defiance of laws set forth for vampires of the DarqRealm. Let your conduct be a lesson to others who would errantly choose to follow in your path.

That was always Rho’s cue.

She removed a dagger from her waist. William had met its acquaintance once already tonight. He squirmed, pinned to the floor like a bug in a child’s science project.

She stooped low, one knee resting on the dirt floor. His deranged laughter only pissed her off more, serving as a catalyst for the rage and self-loathing swirling in her brain. Fuck. Him.

Have fun in hell, she murmured, her lips only inches from his ear. Rho slammed the dagger through his chest and into his heart.

William’s face contorted into a deranged smile as he gazed at Frederick. The wheels have been set in motion. We already have what we came here for, he said in a quick rush.

Frederick jumped to his feet. What did he say?

But it was too late. Screams of agony intermingled with maniacal laughter echoed against the stone walls. The stink of William’s flesh burning permeated the room. Blood seeped from his body, slowly absorbed by the dirt beneath him.

What did he say? Frederick repeated, pointing to her victim as he marched toward Rho.

A puddle of dark brown sludge formed around the writhing almost-corpse. As the silver mixed with his blood and burned away from the dagger, William’s heart met the wood hidden