Hexed

escaped that way. He was as trapped as the rest of us.
    We found him when he whispered, right behind Maya, “Hola, señorita.”
    Maya’s scream took me a few inches off the ground. Mick’s fire roared high at the same time Nash yanked Maya from Ansel and shoved his gun into Ansel’s face.
    Ansel laughed and ignored the pistol. “I’m hungry , Janet. What do I have to do to get some service in this hotel?”
    I knew then that the double hex had doubled Ansel’s strength and need for blood. Unless his appetite were slaked, and slaked soon, he’d simply rip into us. A Nightwalker in a blood frenzy was not a pretty sight—I’d seen the aftermath of one on a rampage before. I never wanted to see that again.
    We could knock him out—if we could—or find another place to lock him up, but Ansel would break out of whatever prison we devised sooner or later, hungrier than ever. We still had six or seven hours to go before daylight would force him to find a dark place to sleep.
    “We need to let him feed,” I said.
    Pamela had Cassandra safely behind her, her werewolf lips curled. “And who would be the fool to volunteer for that?”
    Ansel wrinkled his nose. “Not you, wolf-girl. Changer blood is disgusting. I want the Spanish lass.” He licked his teeth. “Mmm, the dark-eyed beauty of Maya Medina.”
    Nash’s pistol was back, the barrel digging into Ansel’s cheek. “Touch her, and I blow your face off.”
    “Or maybe Sheriff Jones,” Ansel purred. “What does the blood of a man who lives to harass my friends taste like?”
    “No,” I said.
    Nash exchanged a glance with me. “Janet.”
    We’d both, once upon a time, seen the effect of Nash’s blood on a Nightwalker. “What’s happening is not Ansel’s fault,” I said firmly. “He stays alive.”
    “What about the rest of us?” Pamela asked in her thick Changer voice.
    Ansel looked us over. “I don’t trust the witch. The coyote? Hmm, the blood of a god?”
    “Would be bad for you,” Coyote rumbled. “And Janet wants you to live. She’s such a sweetie.”
    “I see.” Ansel turned away. “I don’t want the plumber. He probably tastes like a sewer. But Janet.” Ansel touched my neck, his fingers ice cold. “Pretty Navajo girl. Fine blood of a Stormwalker.”
    Mick was beside me in a heartbeat, lifting Ansel by the throat. Mick’s eyes were black with rage, and his hand burst into flame as he pinned Ansel against the wall.
    “Mick, no!” I shouted. As frightening as Ansel was, I knew that, at heart, he was a shy man who’d be horrified when he remembered that he’d tried to hurt anyone. I also knew that if we couldn’t subdue him, Ansel would have to die before he killed us all.
    Mick let his fire fade. “You don’t touch Janet. If you need to feed, you feed on me.”
    Ansel didn’t trust Mick, for good reason. “No, give me the señorita . I’ll make it good for her.”
    Mick’s barely contained dragon frenzy made him as strong as Ansel. He grabbed the back of Ansel’s neck and yanked the man’s mouth down to his jugular. “Drink me, damn you.”
    Ansel’s eyes went bright red as the bloodlust took him. His mouth opened—the narrow, catlike mouth of a Nightwalker—and he plunged his fangs into Mick’s neck.
    Fremont gasped in horror, and I wanted to scream. Ansel might drain Mick dry before we could pull him off. Nightwalkers hung on like leeches even after their victims were dead.
    I lunged for them, but Mick put out one arm to stop me, fire flaring from his palm. His muscles bulged as he held Ansel in place, the other man’s mouth working, sucking, pulling at Mick’s neck. Mick grunted, his face creased in pain, but still he held me off.
    The rain continued to pour outside, building to a deluge. Water slid between my fingers, starting to patter on the floor. As much as I felt sorry for the real Ansel, I wanted to kill the Nightwalker for hurting Mick. When Mick gasped for breath, blood running in rivulets down his neck, Ansel still drinking, I almost did it.
    “No.” Mick lifted his hand again, the fire keeping me back. “Let him. I’ll heal.”
    “Mick, damn it.”
    I was aware of the others, in a semicircle, tense, watching, waiting to see what would happen next. Mick started to sag, but so did Ansel, Ansel’s frantic, moist sucking noises slowing.
    When Ansel fell from Mick like a full tick, a smile on his face, Mick folded to the floor next to him. I got to Mick’s side, but Mick raised his head