The Warrior Vampire(3)

“I work all night. It stands to reason that I might not open my door during the day because I’m sleeping. Wouldn’t you agree?” She tried to keep her own voice as calm as his. “I haven’t been hiding from anyone. Just busy.” His silence was as good as a string of curses shouted in her ear. “It isn’t necessary for me to check in all the time,” she continued, wondering why she kept the conversation rolling. “Besides, you know I always get the job done. Santi has the box.”

Over the dead air she heard the sound of a low growl, a jaguar, and she suppressed a shudder. Apparently Paul didn’t appreciate her pop and drop system. “It shows lack of faith that you separate yourself from your people,” he said in a strained voice. “Do you forget that you have vowed to serve not only the tribe, but our pod?”

How could she forget? The bastard reminded her daily. “I never forget a vow,” she said as she hung a sharp left. She pulled the phone off the cradle and turned off the speaker function, putting the receiver to her ear. “I do what you ask, damned efficiently I might add. So don’t ever call in to question my loyalty.”

“Others would disagree.” Gods, she hated it when he got all high-and-mighty. “You are bound to serve the elders until the time of your pairing. You should be happy to interact with the members of this pod. Attend tribal functions.”

Fuck you. I’d like to see you try and make me go.

“I’ll make you go if I have to.”

Son of a bitch, she hated when he did that. Just as she opened her mouth to give her thoughts a voice, he ended the call. But not before she heard that warning growl one more time.

Naya drove out of downtown Crescent City ready to put as much distance between her and tribal business as possible. Every member of their pod lived on the same square city block of property, including her. Well, sort of. A few months ago, she’d decided that she’d be damned if she lived every day of her life near Paul and his antiquated bullshit, and rented a house ten or so miles out of town. That way, when she needed space—like tonight—she had a secret haven in which to lay low. Only Santi and her cousin Luz knew about the house and that’s the way it was going to stay. Naya could trust them to keep her secrets.

With the switch on the back of her steering wheel she searched for an appropriate radio station. She found one that echoed her mood, all deep bass drops and screaming techno beats. Against the backdrop of night, blue and red lights flashed, reflecting off the wet street. A group of greasy-looking guys sat on the sidewalk, handcuffed, their heads hanging and water dripping from their lank hair into the gutters at their feet.

Criminals, more than likely.

And they deserved whatever those cops dished out.

Didn’t they?

The voice of reason scratched at the back of her brain, Yes. They did.

Naya brought her hand up and rubbed her sternum, wondering at the sudden twinge in her chest. Probably nothing more than a little residual mojo left over from the repo. The pain increased from mild annoyance to sharp, pounding, fuck me pain. And then, the music began to play.

Not the radio. But the music only she could hear. The siren song that was the essence of magic in use. Only a bruja could hear it. And it wasn’t an acquired skill. All of the women in her family had heard the sounds of magic since their birth. As fate may have it, she was one of only two living females in her family line. Which was why Paul had such a bug up his butt about her skipping tribal functions. In fact, she had a sneaking suspicion he was antsy to get her good and mated. And breeding a new generation of “ears” for their pod.

Lilting notes tugged at her chest, high, tinkling, and delicate followed by deep, hollow echoes. Whoever was using was close. And packing. Definitely not an amateur like the woman Naya had killed earlier in the night. This user had street cred and enough power to make not only Naya’s chest ache but her ears ring also. She lost focus of everything around her, the magic enveloping her senses until only the ringing cadence of its presence remained. Her vision blurred, the wet pavement becoming nothing more than a smear across her eyes. Shit. Those cops weren’t too far back; they’d notice if she swerved all over the rain-drenched road.

She eased her foot down on the brake, slowing to a cautious but not suspicious speed. Nostrils flared, she dragged in lungfuls of breath and expelled them slowly through parted lips. In through the nose, out through the mouth. She focused on the act of breathing in a futile attempt to curb the sensory deprivation caused by the magic’s song. Tears sprang to her eyes at the beauty of the tune. So perfect and pure, only to dive into a raucous, offensive noise that made her brain pound in her skull. What in the hell is going on?