Immortal Craving (Dark Dynasties) (2 page)

Somewhere in the Sasan Gir, Gujarat, India

H
E AWAKENED
to darkness.

When sensation began to return to him, he hardly understood what it was. The weight of his body settled on him like an ill-fitting cloak at first, uncomfortable, unfamiliar. The muscles in his face contracted. A frown. Why was he cold? Why was he… anything?

Scattered bits of memory swam tantalizingly close to the surface, shadows in the murk. But when he reached for them, they vanished. Frustrated, he inhaled, then stopped, startled, as air rushed into lungs that had long been still. Tasmin’s eyes fluttered open.

Arre, kyaa?

He felt the cool damp on his skin, saw rough stone above him in the dark. He could feel the same stone beneath him, though smoother. His chest was bare, as
were his feet. Words tangled together in his mind, some in a language he had never heard… and yet somehow, he understood how to use them.

Where… am I?

Tentatively, he moved fingers, toes. Another indrawn breath, such an odd sensation. The air was damp, yet strangely sweet. It tasted of life. And with that simple taste came the hunger, and he remembered what he was.

Warrior. Magic weaver. Vampire.

Rakshasa.

Tasmin heard the word from somewhere deep inside himself, whispered in a voice not his own. With that, the fog that covered his mind began to clear, and images from his past began to emerge from shadow. So many faces he had known, their voices rising and falling in the music of their native tongues.

Now… silence.

He sat up slowly, instinctively testing his movement, his muscles, and looked around. Though the darkness was absolute, he could see that he was in a small cave, only barely high enough for a man to stand upright. There was nothing inside. Nothing but him.

He was alone.

And yet he felt something, some energy that lingered in the space like a dark and malignant visitor. Perhaps someone had been here to check on him. Perhaps it was the lingering feel of whoever had put him here. Again, Tasmin wondered what had happened that he should have been torn from his brothers and placed in a hand-hewn cave alone. Had he died?

We have slept
, whispered that odd voice inside of him once again.
Long enough to have the world change many times over. But we breathe again, and all the rest have gone.

He gave his head a hard, decisive shake to silence the odd voice. These thoughts, bubbling up from the depths of his mind, did not feel like his own. Echoes, he hoped, only echoes of whatever had been done to him here. He would find his brothers, and all would be well. How long had he slept? Months? A year?

It took him a moment to get his balance, with his feet now unused to supporting him. But when he did, his movement was as fluid and natural as it ever had been. There was only one direction to go in. This cave seemed shallow, only really large enough to hold himself. Like a hiding place.

Or a grave.

Unnerved by the thought, Tasmin moved away from the back wall. He wore only his dhoti, a length of cloth wrapped and tucked around his waist and legs, then knotted at the waist. The soft fabric brushed against his legs as he moved. The stone was rough, but not uncomfortable beneath his feet, nor his hand as he trailed it along the wall. His senses were keen with newly awakened hunger. He felt wonderfully, deliciously alive as his heart resumed its slow and steady rhythm in his chest.

Tonight, he would celebrate. He and his brothers would hunt, and feast. He would drink until he was gorged with life-giving blood. And after, they would hunt down those who had done this to him. An image flickered through his mind of a brutal queen whose hatred of his kind was only surpassed by her love for herself. It was almost certain that the Ptolemy had bound him in that dark sleep, perhaps aided by some of the darkest of his bloodline, those who hid in shadow alone. He would avenge himself… soon.

The mouth of the cave was small, the ceiling grown so
low at that point that Tasmin had to go to his knees to push at the thick vegetation covering the entrance. Light, soft and faded as it always was at the end of day, began to filter through as the layers of vine parted. He heard the song of a bird, the whisper of the forest that had been his home for many years. Familiar sounds of the Gir, comforting.

When the first rays of dim light touched his skin, Tasmin drew his hand back with a startled hiss. Bright pain sent a shock up his arm, and he clutched his hand to his chest, confused.

He had built up his tolerance well over the century he had lived, able to withstand even the brightest rays of the sun for extended periods of time if he wished. It was a gift of his line, one of many. He hadn’t been burned since he was a fledgling, young and untried. Even if he had slept for a year, it should not feel like this.

Suspicion, rife with horror, bloomed slowly as he held his hand before him in the darkness, saw skin so ashen it was as though he had been drained of blood and covered in dust. A corpse. Smoke coiled lazily from the place where the light had touched.

And he knew. To sleep so long, to become this dead and wraithlike thing…

It had not been a year.

It had been centuries.

Tasmin began to shake with rage and fear and hunger, lost in this strange place, lost in whatever it was he had become. He opened his mouth, pulling back his parched lips to reveal long and gleaming fangs.

And in the voice of a lion, he roared.

Six months later

Tipton, Massachusetts

D
ON’T LOOK AT ME THAT WAY
, Grimm. We’re getting there.”

The big black Newfoundland gave her another lingering, mournful look before heaving a long-suffering sigh and facing forward again. Bay Harper smirked as she continued trimming his forelegs. Grimm might be put out now, but once they were back home, the big baby would be looking for cookies and affection in short order.

Thankfully, he was not a grudge holder. She had a few clients that were… but she didn’t have to live with them.

Bay worked, humming along with the music she played in the shop, glad she’d cleared her schedule for the afternoon so she could take it easy and work on her own dog. She hadn’t realized quite how much she’d needed a
break, however small. To say her life was full these days didn’t even begin to cover it.

She guessed that was what happened when your best friend turned into a super-powerful vampire and needed you for moral support. Not that she had anyone with similar experiences to compare with.

“Crap,” Bay murmured as her last conversation with Lily flitted through her mind. “I need to vacuum again. Lily’s coming over for a movie night tomorrow.”

Grimm gave a slight wag of his bushy tail at the mention of Lily’s name, despite the indignities he was currently suffering, and Bay smiled. The Newf might not be sure about everyone—and everything—currently residing at the Bonner mansion, but the owner was one of his favorite people.

That made two of them. And since this was the first time in weeks Lily hadn’t found a reason to cancel on her, she’d be damned if the night would be anything less than perfect. Just like old times.

Bay’s smile faltered as her thoughts drifted to what was becoming well-worn territory, despite all her best efforts.

So things are different. So what? Everything changes. Change isn’t always bad,
Bay chided herself. And there was no question that Lily MacGillivray, once Lily Quinn, had changed since discovering she was the sole heiress of an ancient vampire bloodline.

Bay had managed to get used to the basics quickly enough. She’d ogled enough fake vampires in movies that Lily’s fangs and inability to sunbathe were expected, even if they’d been slightly weird at first. But… the physical stuff was where the similarities between what she’d expected and what she’d gotten ended. Her friend, the
shy professor, had stepped into a world full of cold, often cruel beings who seemed to enjoy shedding one another’s blood almost as much as that of humans. They were beautiful, all of them, Bay thought. And clannish. And arrogant. And some of them had lived so long as to be downright terrifying.

Lily seemed to like them, Bay reminded herself, so the cat-shifting vampires of the Lilim had to have some redeeming qualities. Lily’s husband, Ty, for instance. He was undeniably gorgeous. He’d also made a concerted effort to be friendly, which was definitely something he didn’t do for everyone. The man was three hundred years old, and Bay had gotten enough of his story to know that most of those years had been rough. She just wished she could forget that he’d also been a killer, and that even now, he would never look at snuffing out a life with the same horror she did. He wasn’t… well,
human
. None of the preternaturally beautiful men now prowling the streets of Tipton after dark were. And lucky her, a lot of them seemed interested in the pretty little blonde who hung out with their queen.

She had tried, very hard, to come off as intimidating. So far, she’d failed miserably. It didn’t surprise her. Not when she’d been told for years that she looked like Tinker Bell.

Lily had teased her once or twice about the prospect of expanding her dating pool. Maybe she’d expected that Bay, with her love of ghost hunting and fondness for creepy movies, would jump at the chance to date an honest-to-God vampire. But the reality was so much darker than fantasy. Besides, Bay had noticed that a lot of the vamps she’d met were the usual bad ideas, just with
sharper teeth and more baggage. She tried to like them, for Lily’s sake. She even managed it sometimes.

But actively seeking an eternity in some kind of blood-soaked darkness? No.

“Enough,” Bay muttered to herself. Lily was still Lily, and that was all that mattered. Her best friend was kind, loyal, funny, gifted with a spine of steel. And she still loved a good action-adventure flick featuring superheroes in spandex, which was exactly what Bay had planned. Not
everything
had changed.

Bay brushed absently at a big glob of black fur that had attached itself to the front of her Scooby-Doo scrubs and blew a curly lock of blond hair that had escaped her ponytail out of her face. She worked quickly, focused as she drew sections of fur through her fingers and snipped with the shears. Grimm was, for the moment, incredibly soft, smelling faintly of the sugar cookie–scented conditioner she’d used.

“Good boy,” she praised him quietly. She hadn’t bothered to tether him, knowing that he’d soon flop down on the table with a sigh and nap while she finished him up. For a dog that had been largely neglected for his first year before he’d come into rescue, Grimm had given her his trust quickly and completely. She figured spoiling the crap out of him probably had something to do with it. He made Bay wonder why she’d waited so long to get a dog of her own. He was a hell of a lot more rewarding than any of her boyfriends had been.

In the front of the shop, the bell above the front door jingled merrily as someone wandered in. Bay barely registered the sound, knowing it was either someone stopping by to make an appointment or to pick up something
from the small selection of grooming supplies she carried. Shelby, the college student she had working the front desk part-time, could handle it.

Grimm turned his head again, but this time his deep-set eyes were focused on the doorway. An odd sound blended with the music, making Bay pause and tilt her head. It took her a minute to figure out what it was… and when she did, it surprised her.

She’d never heard Grimm growl before, not once in the six months she’d had him.

But he was sure doing it now.

“It’s okay, big guy,” she said, stroking a soothing hand down his side. His eyes never left the empty doorway. It was as though she wasn’t even there.

There was a crash, a high-pitched yelp from the front. Bay’s heart leaped into her throat as she clenched her fist around the grooming shears, a million terrible images flickering through her mind at once.

It’s the middle of the damned day nobody robs a store in the middle of the day it has to be a psycho oh God what if he has a gun oh God oh God oh God
…

Grimm threw back his head and bayed, then launched himself off of the table.

“Grimm, no!” she shouted, but he’d hit the ground running, vanishing quickly out the door. Bay chased after him, the only terrified thought in her head that if someone had come in armed, they would absolutely shoot a dog that plenty of casual observers likened to a bear. If she just got robbed, Bay didn’t care… She would rather lose the money than lose the dog.

Bay sprinted out the doorway and around the corner, then skidded to a halt in the small waiting area. Grimm
had stopped barking, but moved quickly to place himself between her and the man on the floor, using his big, warm body as a barricade.

“Bay,” Shelby breathed as she hurried around the counter to join her, the pink streaks in her dark hair matching the shade staining her cheeks. “He just stumbled in here and passed out! Do you think he’s a druggie or something?”

Bay was silent for a moment, staring at the figure of a man spread-eagled in a wild scatter of shampoo bottles in the middle of the room. He’d taken out her new display in his fall. Even the quickest glance told her he was likely way too young for a heart attack, but then again, weirder things had happened.

The thought of him dying on her floor while she gawked lit a fire under her.

“We may need to call nine-one-one,” Bay said. She pushed around Grimm with effort, rushing to the man’s side and crouching down. He was on his stomach, and only his profile was visible. She knew instantly she’d never seen him before.

Grimm joined her, pressing against her shoulder as he leaned down to give the man a wary sniff. His tail, always an indicator of his mood, was a stiff flag behind him. The dog gave a low, unhappy moan.

Bay leaned closer, inhaling. No booze—all she caught was an intriguing hint of spice that was very… male. Good cologne, she guessed, then pushed the thought away. Seeing a hint of movement, the unmistakable rhythm of breathing, sent relief coursing through her along with a whole lot of adrenaline. He wasn’t dead. A junkie, maybe, though he didn’t have that look about him.