Immortals After Dark 09 - Pleasure of a Dark Prince

to him for a soft kiss. Against her lips he murmured, “Besides, nothing good ever came easy.”

EPILOGUE

    One week earlier…
    Volga Uplands, Russia
Target: the Vampire
    On a windswept and craggy plain, a lone cabin endured, buffeted by a gale. Inside, Lothaire the Enemy of Old stood before a broken hanging mirror, staring at his fragmented reflection. Through cracks in the grimy windows, chill drafts sieved in, welcome after the heat of the jungle.
    Retrieving the finger and ring from his pocket, he slipped the gold band free, tossing the mummified thumb to the ground. With utter awe, he gazed at the band, knowing what it meant, knowing the power he’d just seized.
    Unspeakable power.
    “With this,” he grated, “I will be invincible.” The winds howled, the cabin walls groaning. “I will be
unstoppable
.” He raised his shaking hand, lowering the ring to his own finger, nearly groaning with expectation—
    The cabin door exploded open; electricity surged in,hitting him in the back, shooting him forward. The ring clattered to the ground as his head crashed through one of the windows. A jutting shard raked down his forehead, deep across the surface of his eye.
    Sightless in that eye, blood obscured his vision in the other.
Trace. Leave this place.
    Not without his ring….
    His fangs sharpened, rage burning inside him.
What enemy is this?
Another bolt of electricity hit him, then another, each one draining him. He began blindly tracing throughout the cabin to evade them.
    Through the red haze, he listened for his prey, sensing movement, striking. Appearing and vanishing, he plucked one heart from a male’s chest, biting the throat of another. The floor grew slick with blood.
    Get to the ring… get
closer.
Another flash shot toward him; he traced to dodge it, reappearing—
    A short sword plunged into his side. Behind him, a tall shadowy form wielded the blade, twisting it deep within Lothaire’s body. A mortal wound for a human.
    An incapacitating one for an immortal.
Whatever is here… doesn’t want me dead.
    Lothaire attempted to trace a retreat, but he’d grown too weak—as his foe obviously intended.
    Holding him fast, the blademan twisted the sword again. “Bag him.” Once the male drew the weapon free, Lothaire dropped to his knees in his own pool of blood.
    Others besieged him, quelling his weak resistance, cuffing his wrists in unbreakable bindings. When he roared, they slapped duct tape over his mouth.
    He’d just cleared his vision in his one good eye when more men approached with a black sack.
    To put over his head.
    He bellowed behind the tape, thrashing in the blood. But they shoved the cloth over his head, cinching it tight.
    Lothaire heard the gold ring scraped over the floor as another collected his treasure. Seething wrath burned to a fury.
When I get free, I will unleash hell….
    Back streets of New Orleans
Target: the Valkyrie
    “That all you got, muthafuckas?”
Regin the Radiant cried after her third dose of electricity. “I
like
electricity, you dumbasses! Hit me with another.”
    Apparently not taking her at her word, they did. She sucked it in, and her skin glowed brighter in the night. The street lamps nearby flared from her radiant energy.
    A smile of utter bliss lit her face.
    “Know what else? I’m a freaking conduit.” She caught a jolt in one hand and with her other, she funneled it back, hitting her attackers, blowing them into the air. “You want some of this?” She shot again. “How ’bout you?” And again.
    They were feeding her—and it felt
glorious
! She glowed brighter, brighter, illuminating one city block, then two…
    But within that blaze of light, a shadow moved behindher, a towering male with superhuman speed. Before she could defend herself, he struck with a sword, planting it into her side, twisting. Lightning speared close by, and she gasped at the pain, choking as blood bubbled at her lips.
    Her light dimmed. When the man withdrew the blade, she collapsed. Curled up on the street, bleeding out, Regin gazed up at him. “
You,”
she bit out. “You’ll
pay
.”
    The male ordered, “Bag her.”
    Too late, she drew a breath to scream—duct tape slapped over her mouth. Eyes wide, shaking her head wildly, she watched as they neared with a black sack.
    Orleans Parish Booking and Receiving Facility
Target: the witch
    “Miss Carrow, what are you doing in here again?” Martin, her favorite guard, asked her. He was the youngest of the guards,