Chapter Seven
New Year’s Resolution Number Seven: Go a little wild. You only live once.
The vamp prince must think she was the most desperate woman on the face of the earth.
Marry me, and I’ll take you to your father.
To the father who’d vanished from her life when she’d been a baby? To the man who hadn’t made one single appearance in the last two and a half decades? Thanks, but no thanks.
She peered through the blinds in her apartment.
She’d hauled butt away from the freaking mansion that the vamp prince lived in.
And by hauled butt—well, she’d gotten a team of vamps to drive her home.
Devereaux had obviously been pissed that she’d rejected what had to be the most un-romantic marriage proposal in history, and he’d insisted that she take the vamp guards with her when she left him.
Those vamps were currently stationed outside of her apartment building.
Clouds were heavy in the sky, and she expected snow to start falling any moment, but the vamps didn’t seem to mind the cold.
They were too busy guarding her. Protecting her from the paranormal threats that Devereaux had said would be closing in on her.
And the threats had certainly closed in on her last night.
First Charles and then the furry truck driver.
Lark nibbled on her lower lip as she kept peering below.
Staying in a vamp den hadn’t seemed like the best plan ever, but being on her own—with monsters closing in—yeah, that was a lose-lose situation, too.
So maybe she was grateful for the vamp guards.
They could stay for a while. At least until she could figure out what in the hell was happening. And the only way to do that…
Call in some help. Some very much needed help.
She grabbed a piece of chalk from a drawer in the kitchen and hurried into the narrow den.
After drawing in a deep breath, she knelt and very carefully sketched out the ancient symbols on her scraped and dented floor.
Then, because she knew this kind of summons required a sacrifice, Lark reached for a small pocket knife and sliced her palm.
The blood dripped into the middle of the symbols and—
“I hate being summoned. Like I’m not doing anything but sitting on my ass. Like it’s okay to interrupt every single thing that is happening in my life. Because you know, the underworld is all shits and giggles, and it’s fine and dandy to interrupt the all-powerful—”
“Noren.”
He stopped his tirade. His shoulders stiffened, and the hellhound turned toward her. He was in full human form, and his long, blond hair hung over a face that was really far too perfect. She’d always thought it was a cruel trick that a hellhound looked like an angel. A fallen angel, maybe?
He shoved back his hair with one powerful hand, and his golden gaze swept over her. “Someone grew up.”
Noren had been one of her…mistakes. When she’d been twelve, she’d watched as her mother summoned him.
As long as he stayed within the confines of the chalk drawn for the spell, he was no threat.
Magic—and a hunter’s blood—would hold him in the prison.
Her mother had intended to force information from Noren.
She’d vowed to keep him prisoner for as long as it took.
And as she’d waited for him to talk, her mother had burned him with a red-hot poker.
Turned out, a hellhound’s skin was particularly susceptible to the fires found in the mortal realm.
Lark had hated the smell of burning flesh.
And she’d hated the way he’d clamped his lips together and refused to make a sound.
She’d known that he’d suffer and die without sharing anything with her mother.
A needless death. So, at the first opportunity, Lark had erased part of the chalk. She’d freed him.
Her hand fell to her side. Her mother had not been pleased.
“Lark, Lark, Lark…” Noren smiled at her, then his gaze fell to the floor around him. The chalk prison. His nostrils flared and she knew he was inhaling the scent of her blood. “Playing your mother’s game now, are you?”
“I had to use the blood in order to summon you.” Deliberately, she approached the circle. With her right shoe—a shoe that she’d gotten from Devereaux—she erased part of the markings. “But I’m not holding you captive. I just wanted to ask you a few questions.”
He didn’t move. “And you thought I would answer these questions…because my heart is so full of goodness?”
Ha. Not likely. “I saved you once, so I thought you might want to even the score.”
His smile slowly faded away. A sigh slipped from his lips. “Happy birthday, Lark.”
A chill skated down her spine. “How do you know today is my birthday?”
“All kinds of secrets drift down to my world. Isn’t that why you wanted to ask me questions? Because you thought I could tell you all the dark and dangerous things you’ve always wanted to know?”
Don’t show fear. That was supposed to be the number one rule when dealing with a hellhound. But even if you didn’t show the fear, the hellhounds could smell terror. It was their favorite scent. “Why are the paranormals hunting me now?”
He crept closer to the edge of the containment marks, closer to the space her foot had just erased.
“Because the agreement is over. You’re twenty-six, and all bets are off.
Some will want you dead. Some will want you hurt.
And some…” His golden stare drifted over her.
“Some will just want you. Better pick your allies very, very carefully.”
She backed up a step. Then two more. “Who is my father? Where is he?”
Noren slipped out of containment. Rolled back his shoulders. “Sweet freedom.” Claws stretched from his fingertips. Long, razor-sharp, black claws. “Notice any new changes in yourself, dear Lark? Increased strength? Speed?”
She hadn’t noticed the strength yet, but the speed—definitely. “Hunter powers finally kicking in?” Her voice held a hopeful edge.
Noren shook his head. “Try again. This time, think more of your father’s side.”
Before, she’d asked who her father was. Now, with her heart racing, she whispered, “What is he?”
Noren bounded toward her. His fingers closed around her shoulders, and he yanked her up against him. “Lark, Lark, Lark. I sure have always enjoyed the smell of your fear.” His golden eyes were glowing. His head lowered toward hers—
Two things happened at once.
Item one…Her front door flew inward. Literally just burst off its hinges and flew across the room. Devereaux filled the doorway, looking pissed as all hell and ever so deadly.
Item two…Even as Lark’s head turned toward the doorway—and Devereaux—she shoved her hands against Noren’s chest. Her shove sent him hurtling across the room and thudding into her wall. His body knocked through the sheetrock and white dust fluttered around him.
“Super strength,” Noren muttered as he stumbled to his feet and dusted himself off. “Check.”
In the next instant, Devereaux was in front of the hellhound. “What are you doing here?”
She bounded to Devereaux’s side.
Noren glanced over at her. Smirked. “Lark summoned me. Guess her taste isn’t for cold vamp corpses. She likes the hotter beasts, and you don’t get hotter than a hellhound.”
Devereaux’s fist slammed into the hound’s jaw. Once more, Noren flew into her wall. Dent number two.
“Stop!” Lark cried. “I need to get the deposit back on this place when I move!”
Noren laughed.
“I’m being serious, hellhound!”
Devereaux caught her hand in his. His face was carved into hard, angry lines as he demanded, “You summoned him? After I told you how much danger the paranormals posed to you?”
Noren was on his feet once again. And dusting off his shoulders. “Lark and I—we go way back. In her time of need, she wanted someone she could trust.”
A growl built in Devereaux’s throat. His enraged gaze stayed on her face. “You have a…past with this hellhound?”
She nodded.
Devereaux’s fangs were out. If possible, the rage in his eyes flared even hotter.
Was he jealous? Or just having a freak-out? Maybe both? “Settle down,” she ordered him, amazed that her voice sounded semi-calm and in control. “I saved him once so he owed me. I wanted more intel and summoning Noren seemed like a good plan.”
“Summoning him is never a good plan,” Devereaux snapped back. “And he’s not contained. The last time he was free—the bastard terrorized the East Coast.”
Uh, oh. Her gaze cut to Noren.
He winked at her. “Yep, dear Lark, that was your doing, too. But in my defense—I mean, in our defense—I only terrorized the assholes who deserved it. You don’t play with the darkness without giving up a pound or two of flesh.”
Devereaux’s hold tightened on her. “You freed him before?”
The temperature in the room seemed to heat up. “I owe her.” Suddenly, all of the mockery was gone from Noren’s face and voice. “If Lark wants to choose a different ally, if she wants to tell your royal assholeness to step aside, then I’ll be her guard.”
Her lips parted.
“Lark…” Devereaux’s voice was strained.
“He’s lying to you.” Noren inclined his head.
“He knows what your father is. He knows what you are. It’s all part of his master plan.
” A sad sigh. “That’s the problem, you see.
Like to like—they attract. If you don’t run from Devereaux now, you’ll soon be overwhelmed.
You’ll give in to the dark urges that you feel, and there will be no going back. ”
Her temples pounded. “What is my father?”
Noren’s eyes widened. “Might want to check your teeth, dear Lark. When you shoved me across the room, I think you got a pretty powerful adrenaline burst. That burst gave you a few noticeable physical changes.”
She ripped her hand from Devereaux’s. Her fingers slid over her teeth—her canines. Oh, God. They were sharp. Not as long and sharp as Devereaux’s, but definitely sharper than they’d been before. With growing horror, she gaped at Devereaux. “What did you do to me?”