The Warrior Vampire(98)

“We could,” Naya said with a shrug. “But that could take longer than the time we have. Luz and I have good ears but not so good that we could hear the magic from miles away. And a mapinguari could easily been hiding in the forest somewhere.”

“Gah!” Luz let her knees give out in dramatic fashion. “That would take for-ev-er! Scrying will be quicker. Easier. And it’s fucking cool.”

Well. As long as it was cool.

“Trust me, Ronan. This is our best option. And I know what I’m doing.”

She sounded confident, but Ronan wasn’t so sure. The magic that manifested inside of her during sex was something she barely had a grasp of. Who was to say she could control blood magic any better?

“And besides,” she continued, “you’re going to help me.”

The words shouldn’t have evoked such a strong sense of lust, but gods, she spoke as though for him alone. As though the act would be something intimate between them.

“Uh-hum!” Luz cleared her throat with overexaggerated gusto. “I’d tell you two to get a room, but we really don’t have the time. So keep it in your pants. Both of you.”

Ronan exchanged a look with Naya. A whip of sensual heat snapped out at him through their tether as their bodies angled toward each other, mere inches separating their parted mouths.

“I’m not kidding,” Luz said. “I do not want the live show.”

Naya took several steps back and brushed her fingertips across her bottom lip. Rosy gold bloomed on the surface of her flesh, and Ronan marveled at the play of color against her dark skin. He’d never, ever tire of seeing that physical evidence of his effect on her.

“Okay,” she said on a rush of breath. “Let’s get going. We’re wasting time.”

As Luz and Manny set about gathering what they’d need for the ritual, Naya grabbed a bag of salt from one of the shelves and used it to draw a circle on the rough wood planks of the floor. “Sit.” She indicated a spot on the floor and Ronan lowered himself down. Luz and Manny joined him, dividing the circle into what he assumed would be quarters once Naya sat down. A squat candle was placed in the center of the circle along with a shallow copper bowl.

Ronan was a throw-punches-first-and-ask-questions-later male. He’d never been one for patience. Or ritual. However, as he watched Naya pace clockwise around the circle, eyes hooded as she chanted low under her breath, he found an appreciation for her measured steps and serene expression.

Lovely.

“Almost ready,” she said under her breath. As she came around to the starting point, Naya entered the circle and took a seat near Ronan, her legs crossed in front of her.

“Luz.”

From behind her back the younger female produced a dagger similar to Naya’s. Luz held the grip in her palms, the blade’s tip just below her chin. Her eyes drifted shut, and with a few murmured words the dagger glowed with all of the intensity of the sun. Her lids snapped open and she held out her hand, slicing across her palm with the blade. Blood welled from the deep wound, the aroma awakening Ronan’s thirst. His fangs punched down from his gums and his throat ignited with a dry fire.

“Try to focus, Ronan,” Naya said from the corner of her mouth. “I can feel you wandering.”

Remarkable. Ronan steeled himself against the mounting bloodlust. In his fledgling state, he still felt the urge to drink overwhelming. Sitting in a circle where the participants willingly opened their veins in front of him was a lot like being forced to hang out at an all-you-can-eat buffet without filling your plate.

Luz turned to Manny and he held out his hand. She ran the blade across his palm and a ribbon of crimson flashed against his skin. Ronan’s nostrils flared and he pierced his tongue on a fang in an effort to master his thirst. Tonight’s experiment would be a test of his fortitude, that was for damned sure. Luz bent over his palm and put her lips to the wound. After a moment she guided Manny to press his bleeding palm to hers. They held their joined hands over the bowl and Ronan watched, rapt, as thick drops of bright red splattered onto the worn copper. Rather than spread out in the bowl, the blood pooled like mercury, a shining crimson bead that rolled with liquid grace. It leapt and bounced like a living, breathing organism waiting to be let loose.

Naya drew her dagger from behind her back and repeated whatever ritual awakened the magic in the blade. It glowed with a bright, blinding yellow and she held out her hand. Ronan gave her his, palm up. When it was her turn to bring the blade to her own flesh, he knew he was going to lose it. How could he sit back and watch the lovely crimson bloom from her skin and not take it on his tongue? But instead of repeating Luz’s actions, Naya brought the blade to Ronan’s wrist. She leaned toward him and he mirrored her actions, his breath sawing in and out of his chest as he waited for her to act.