Magicstorm (Heart of a Vampire, Book 4) Read online

  Magicstorm

  Heart of a Vampire, Book 4

  by Amber Kallyn

  Copyright © 2013 Amber Kallyn

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be produced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the author.

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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  Cover art by: Dawné Dominique

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  ISBN-13: 978-1480148192

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  ISBN-10: 1480148199

  Published by Amber Kallyn

  Smashwords Edition

  When a mortal cop must delve into the paranormal, only a Viking vampire can save her soul, and her heart.

  Detective Celeste Wilder knows who she is, a damn fine cop. But when the recently dubbed ‘Cult Murders’ start back up, this time targeting city prostitutes she’s sworn to protect, she’s thrown into a world of paranormal creatures she never believed existed. And now, they’re out to keep her from uncovering even more secrets.

  An immortal Viking vampire, Brandon Wulfgar knows something is strange the moment he sees Celeste valiantly fighting for her life against a group of rogue vampires. When he’s asked to work with her--solve the crime while keeping the mortal woman safe--he figures no problem.

  But as the undeniable connection between them grows and danger appears from every side, they will have to trust one another not just for their lives, but for their very souls.

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Back to Top

  Praise for Heart of a Vampire Series

  Bloodstorm

  When duty forces a shaman to stop a vampire from her revenge, love doesn’t just burn... it bites.

  " Ms. Kallyn delivers a whirlwind of magic & intrigue that will have your heart racing for more

  ~ Jami Gray, author of Shadow's Edge

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  "Loved It! Wonderfully written and with a fascinating plot, Bloodstorm will keep you wanting more"

  ~ Crystal

  Praise for Heart of a Vampire Series

  Hungerstorm

  After centuries alone, can a vampire king trust the woman who's woken his heart?

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  "These vampires are so HOT, and their lives are so intertwined with the need for a mate and family, that you can’t help but feel everything with them...."

  ~ Lyssa Reviews

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  “There is love, doubt, betrayal and action in the 2nd book of the Heart of a Vampire series.”

  ~ Rhonda D

  Praise for Dragos Series

  Dragos 1: Burned

  What happens when a dragon falls in love with a fireman? Someone's bound to get... Burned.

  "Intense and incendiary...I recommend this for all of the dragon lovers out there..."

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  ~ Whipped Cream Erotic Romance

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  "Ms. Kallyn takes the paranormal world and adds a dangerous twist of dragons, fires, and a mysterious past to make this an intense read..."

  ~ Coffee Time Romance

  Praise for Dragos Series

  Dragos 2: Scorched

  A bounty hunter and a dragon on opposite sides of the law? Even dragons can be Scorched by love.

  "SCORCHED is a wildly passionate, captivating, ‘steal your heart’ read that is sure to bring a smile to the reader’s face..."

  ~ Romance Junkies

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  "intriguing moments in the story when things become much more than two people coming together, and these surprises make this a very good reading experience..."

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  ~ Whipped Cream Erotic Romance

  Magicstorm

  Heart of a Vampire, Book 4

  AmberKallyn

  DEDICATION

  Like always, to my favorite writers and the critiquers who kick my butt into shape ~ The Seven Evil Dwarves. You guys tell me when it’s great... and when it sucks. I wouldn’t be here without you, so Thanks.

  Also to my family who puts up with my wandering mind and my strange imagination. Love you guys.

  I’d also like to say thanks to all those authors out there who are extremely helpful and giving of their knowledge and time and helped this newbie along. You all rock!

  Last, but not least, to you wonderful reader. I write for you. Thanks for being willing to dip into the strange inner worlds of my mind. I hope you enjoy the journey... and don’t get lost.

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  Wishing you all the Best,

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  ~ Amber

  Chapter One

  Brandon Wulfgar sat stiffly on the icy metal chair. He took a hefty gulp of his drink--a mix of blood and whiskey--never glancing away from his twin brother. Eric lay in the bed, facing the stone wall of the dungeon room. He mumbled in his dreams, the quiet mutterings occasionally punctuated by short, guttural screams. Was he reliving the painful past they’d shared, or that of Eric’s own more recent tortures?

  The room stank of cold sweat, permeated by fear and agony.

  Brandon’s hands clenched and the mug cracked. It crashed to the floor, shattering.

  He stared at the white shards of ceramic covered in crimson. The sight mirrored how he felt, unable to help his brother pick up the pieces and leave the darkness he’d descended into.

  With a sigh, he stood and headed for the hall. His king’s new wife was going to be pissed he’d broken yet another cup. He snorted, the sound lacking any amusement. Dalia would just have to deal with it.

  He opened the door, then stopped short.

  Dalia stood in the hall, arms crossed, tapping her foot. Her short pink-streaked blonde hair settled around her pointed chin and her green eyes flared, vampire-red circling the irises. “Again?” she demanded.

  It didn’t matter he dwarfed her with his six-foot-four height, nor that he was ten times stronger. All she had to do was shoot that look of hers and even the strongest of the vampire warriors living in the castle crumbled as if facing a disappointed mother.

  Brandon merely shrugged. “I’ll clean it up.”

  “Yeah, right.” Her gaze softened as she looked past him to Eric. “No change?”

  “None.”

  She straightened, rubbing her hands together. “Jordan wants to talk to you. I’ll sit with your brother. And I’ll clean up the poor cup. Again.” Shooting him an ironic look, she added, “We’re almost out of dishes.”

  It wasn’t true, but she had a point. He’d gone through an awful lot of mugs lately. But it wasn’t on purpose.

  As the older twin, albeit only by five minutes, he’d been raised to protect his brother. To fight the world, side-by-side. Yet he was failing miserably, unable to draw Eric from the cocoon of sleep where he’d escaped.

  Dalia entered the dungeon room, and leaving the thick metal door open a bit, sat in the chair Brandon had vacated. She leaned back, hands folded in her la
p and started humming. Her voice was soft and airy, a sound guaranteed to get soul-deep inside anyone listening and make them feel better.

  As an Omega, she could calm people’s ragged emotions. More recently, with her magic growing, she no longer needed to look into their eyes to gain that connection. Her voice could suck anyone in when she tried.

  Brandon’s shoulders tightened when her voice brought no reaction from Eric. It took most of his will to leave, but he forced himself to walk down the icy hallway, and upstairs to his king’s chamber.

  Inside, Jordan reclined in a chair, facing the fireplace. The man held a glass of amber-colored liquid. A second full glass sat on the table beside him.

  “Sit for a while,” Jordan stated, his Scottish brogue thicker than normal.

  Brandon twitched at the tension in Jordan’s voice, and crossed the room to the waiting chair on the other side of the table.

  “Any change with Eric?” Jordan lifted his drink and sipped, trying to act casual as he ran a hand through his short blond hair.

  Taking his own glass, Brandon gulped it down. The smooth whiskey burned his throat, then settled warmly in his gut. “No.”

  Jordan sighed, shifting to face Brandon fully.

  Trepidation filled him. The man was normally direct.

  “The ‘cult killings’ have started once more in the city,” Jordan said, his gaze dark with anger and confusion.

  “But Connor killed the demon behind them just a few weeks ago,” Brandon protested.

  “Aye. Yet, here we are.”

  Brandon set his empty glass back on the table before he broke that one too. “So is Connor returning?”

  “He’s busy with something else.”

  “What? His refound family?”

  “Nay. Something for the Magic Council.”

  Considering the man was a Judge for the council, it shouldn’t be surprising. “So they’re not sending him back?”

  “Not now.”

  A sinking suspicion crawled into his gut. “Then who are you sending to investigate?”

  Jordan just stared at him.

  Jumping to his feet, Brandon paced to the fireplace. “I can’t go. Eric needs me--”

  Jordan’s voice broke through his agitation. “Needs you? He hasn’t said two words in the last month. He doesn’t respond to anything we try.” He stood, arms behind his back, as Brandon paced. “Someone has to take care of the problem. If it’s another demon, you’re the only one I can send.”

  Anger turned his stomach, bile burned up his chest. “I can’t leave my brother.”

  Jordan’s voice cracked like steel. “You’ll tell me no?”

  Stopping short, Brandon slowly swung around and met his king’s blazing red gaze. He’d never told Jordan “no,” since the man had rescued both him and Eric from living agony. But to leave his brother...

  The tension in his shoulders ached. His chest tightened and he gave his king the only answer he could. “When do I leave?”

  ***

  In the lingering heat of the evening, Celeste Wilder strode from her unmarked car towards the flashing lights shining from the alley. Near the yellow police tape, cameras flashed as bystanders tried to capture anything interesting they could put online or sell to the news.

  Whipping back her long black hair, she muttered under her breath, “Mierda! Gotta start keeping a damn hair tie in the car.”

  One of these days, she was actually going to remember, so when she was called into a crime scene unexpectedly, she didn’t have to deal with the looks she was getting now. It was difficult enough being a female detective without flaunting her femininity. More importantly, it got in the way.

  Like usual in Arizona, the weather had bypassed spring entirely. Sweat dampened her neck, making her loose curls cling uncomfortably to her skin.

  “Daily, let me in,” she growled at the nearest officer blocking the alley.

  He hurried to pull back one of the sawhorses. “Yes, ma’am.”

  She pushed past him, taking in the scene. Phoenix PD officers guarded the sight from the lookie-loos, while the coroner hunched over a body only partly hidden behind a rusty dumpster. Overlaying the scent of rotting garbage, she caught the distinct coppery odor of fresh blood.

  “Who was first on scene?” she demanded from an obvious rookie as he nervously flicked his notepad open and shut.

  “Um, I was, detective, um, ma’am.”

  She read his name-tag. “All right, Portensky. Details.”

  He fumbled open the notebook, nearly dropping it. “The call came in at 8:02 p.m. I was dispatched, and arrived at 8:09. I didn’t see anything at first.” The kid paled, swallowed hard, then continued. “Then I smelled it.”

  “Any information on the caller?” She studied how the dumpster had been pulled away from the wall. Black and red lines of wax snaked from the brick to the center of the alley.

  “No, ma’am. Distorted voice, barely clear. Dispatcher said she wasn’t sure she’d even heard the address right.”

  “Make sure your report is on my desk by morning.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He hustled toward the street, as if trying to put as much distance between himself and the body.

  Unfazed, Celeste headed right for it.

  Hovering over the body, the coroner, Frankie, glanced up. Weariness dulled her dark eyes. “Hey, girl. Rough night?”

  “About to get worse.”

  Frankie sighed, pushing her long bangs from her eyes with the back of her hand, then waved at the body. “No name, no ID.”

  “I assume that’s why I was called in. These are my streets,” she replied.

  “Sad state this last month, with all these killings.”

  Shrugging, Celeste stepped closer. The woman lay mostly exposed, tattered remains of her clothing spread back from her chest. A small piece of red cloth had been draped over her face. Bleach-blonde hair spread around her head, the tips soaked with blood. The killer had taken a knife to her throat and chest.

  “Time of death?”

  “Her temp is still high. I’d say in the last hour.”

  Considering Portensky had been dispatched less than a half-hour ago, it was possible the rumors were true. This cabrón was calling it in before his victim was dead.

  Frankie pulled off her gloves. “What kind of sicko mutilates young girls? That’s what I’d like to know.”

  “Aren’t they all sickos?” Celeste replied, forcing her emotions away. The victim’s wounds were ragged, as if caused by a serrated weapon. They still hadn’t figured out what the killer was using.

  “We’re ready,” Frankie said.

  Nodding, she replied, “Go ahead.”

  Frankie lifted the red cloth from the body to seal it in an evidence bag.

  Celeste’s breath caught, hitching in her tightening throat. “La madre que te parió!” she cursed.

  No woman, just a girl.

  Baby had been fifteen, max. She’d worked the streets, saying it was better there than at home.

  Trying to get these girls into shelters was a trial. Every time Celeste got one off the streets, five more took her place. But Baby had been sweet, mostly clean, not the hardened type Celeste was used to dealing with.

  And next week, there was an opening at one of the shelters Celeste worked with that Baby had agreed to enter.

  Three damn days.

  Swallowing hard against the dark, useless emotions trying to choke her, Celeste forced herself to move, to get on with the job. She noted the wounds and the bruises covering the girl’s face and upper arms. A broken necklace of cheap, brightly colored glass lay discarded near her left hand.

  A dark smudge against Baby’s pale skin caught her eye. “What’s that?”

  Frankie bent closer, snapping some photos, then gently turned the girl’s hand over.

  A black mark had been drawn on her wrist. A question mark with a bar crossing the center of the straight line. Celeste drew a replica in her notebook.

  “Didn’t see a
nything like this on the other bodies,” Frankie said as she took more pictures.

  “I didn’t either. They were only left on the walls.” She continued to note the details of the crime scene as the morgue techs wheeled away the body, along with the scattered trash on the ground. They took it all. Anything could hold a clue.

  As the other officers dispersed, Celeste stood back and watched. Waited for the scene to clear so she could search for clues. See if she could find more of the strange markings, some sort of runes, like at the other scenes.

  As she waited, tapping her foot impatiently, her anger burned hotter.

  These “Cult Murders” as the press called them, were supposed to have been solved weeks ago. They had disbanded the taskforce on her captain’s orders.

  The city began to breathe easier.

  Until a few nights ago, when they’d started up again.

  Only, there were differences this time. Captain Michaels was adamant it was some sort of copycat, but then the question became how the perpetrator had learned so many details about the original murders.

  Celeste didn’t buy it. There had been no arrests, no one found guilty. All the captain would say was the man responsible fled to some little town up in the mountains and had been brought down, killed during a fight with the local cops.

  It didn’t satisfy her at all.

  Especially now.

  “Detective Wilder?” Officer Daily called. She glanced back at Baby, one last look at a vision that would haunt her forever.

  With a quick, silent prayer for the girl’s soul, she headed over to the cluster of cops, all staring at the ground.

  Daily glanced up, his Irish complexion reddening from excitement.

  As the others stepped back, her gaze fell on the pentacle drawn in what looked like blood. She recognized the symbol, same as at the earlier murder scenes.