Thea Harrison - Oracle's Moon

As she listened, Grace realized that the news channel didn’t know anything of what had really happened earlier. They didn’t mention the gathering at her property, and they stated that Cuelebre had lost only one sentinel, not two. Apparently Rune’s resignation as Cuelebre’s First sentinel had not yet been made public. The segment was really a gossip piece that focused on Cuelebre because he was one of the media’s favorite subjects.

She lost interest in the talking heads and switched off the TV. Sweat trickled between her breasts. She limped to the floor fan to position it in front of the screen door so it would pull in the cooler air from outside.

As she did, she glanced out at the deepening dusk.

Two tall figures wearing cloaks were walking up the gravel driveway to her house. The taller, broader figure glanced at the setting sun and pushed back his hood to reveal strong, aquiline features and dark hair sprinkled with flecks of white at the temples. It was Julian Regillus, the Vampyre Nightkind King. The second figure pushed back his hood as well. That man had shoulder-length, nut brown hair and a pleasant, nondescript face, and he was one of the most feared hunters in all the Elder Races. Julian’s right-hand man, the Vampyre Xavier del Torro.

Vampyres were walking up her driveway.

She had met Vampyres before. Not often, but she had. Those she had met seemed like perfectly pleasant people.

The two Vampyres approaching her house were not perfectly pleasant people. They were two of the most Powerful Vampyres in the world. And their companion had been the one to pull a sword in a place that inter-demesne law had decreed a sanctuary for all races and people.

Laws were a lot like locks; they were only as effective as the people who chose to allow them to work.

Adrenaline roared along her veins as if shot from a rocket launcher. She shifted the floor fan out of the way, closed the front door and, ridiculously, locked it. An invisible vise squeezed her ribs, and she couldn’t breathe. Stupidly, she thought of Niko’s old shotgun, which was unloaded and stored at the top of the kitchen pantry. She knew how to use the shotgun, but even if she had time to retrieve and load it, the only thing she would accomplish by waving it around would be to piss the Vampyres off. It couldn’t cause them any real damage.

Her gaze fell. She hadn’t had time to vacuum before putting the children to bed, and the floor was still sprinkled with crushed pretzels. The crumbs outlined a shoeprint the size of Chloe’s foot.

Vampyres are coming to my house, she thought. And there’s no one here but me, two little children and assorted ghosts.

Along with one arrogant, child-loving Djinn.

Khalil is one of the oldest and strongest of the Demonkind , Carling had said to her earlier that morning. If he promises to keep your children safe, he will keep them safe.

“Um, hello?” she said to the silent, empty-seeming house. Her voice was shaking as much as her hands. “Can we talk for a minute?”

The silence acquired a listening attitude. Khalil, however, did not appear.

“There isn’t much time, and I know you can hear me,” she whispered. “Please.”

Black smoke drifted across the living room floor. A tendril of it lifted in front of her and formed in the semblance of Khalil’s face. The face regarded her with about as much friendliness as the black cat had earlier.

She clenched her hands into fists. The article might not have told her much about Djinn, but it had said they loved to bargain. Material things meant little to them. What they traded in were favors. She said in a low voice, “We may not like each other much, but we both care about my niece and nephew, don’t we?”

Khalil raised a dusky, elegant eyebrow.

A firm knock sounded at the door. She startled violently. She switched to telepathy and spoke fast. I would like to offer you a bargain. If you protect me and the kids from the Vampyres, I’ll owe you a favor.

The smoky Khalil-face cocked to one side as he considered the human female’s words. She really was a foolish creature, he thought. He had said he offered her a gift beyond price that she did not value. Now he realized she truly did not understand what he had meant. He had already promised he would look after the babies, and he had not put a time limit on that offer. And part of looking after the babies meant ensuring the safety of their caregiver, whom they loved and depended upon so much.

Now she meant to bargain for something he had already given freely? He almost laughed. He took note of her rapid heartbeat and dilated eyes, and he realized she was truly in a panic.

A compassionate creature might have cared about that and not taken advantage of it, but the Djinn weren’t known for their compassionate natures.

And he certainly was not responsible for her poor bargaining skills.

Another, louder knock sounded. “Ms. Andreas, please answer the door,” del Torro said. His voice was as pleasant and nondescript as his appearance. “We know you are in there.”

You and the babies have my protection from the Vampyres, Khalil said, his mental voice as smooth as a rope of silk slipping over her neck. At a time of my choosing, you will do anything I ask you to do, for the sum of one favor. Agreed?

She gave him a jerky nod. Agreed.

Khalil gave Grace a sulfurous smile. Intending to take on a full physical form with which to greet the Vampyres, he let the smoke-face dissipate and…

Grace straightened her spine, assumed a calm if tight expression and turned to open the door.

Khalil had to admit, that surprised him a little. After the human had evidenced such panic, he hadn’t thought she had it in her. She still smelled of fear, but her energy crackled with anger too. She clearly didn’t like how the Vampyres had frightened her. Since it was also clear she had the ability to sense his presence, he decided to hold off on materializing to see how she dealt with what waited on her doorstep.

Grace felt Khalil looming behind her as she looked through the fine mesh of the screen door at the two Vampyres on her porch. Earlier that morning in the clearing, there had been so much concentrated Power from so many entities, she’d had trouble sensing which Power belonged to whom. She’d felt surrounded by a formless heat, as if she had been engulfed by a solar flare.

Now she had no difficulty sensing the intense Power that the Vampyre males carried. She faced two disasters dead ahead with a calamity at her back, and that was more than enough to dry out her mouth and keep her heart racing.

“What do you want?” she said to the Nightkind King.

Wow, listen to me, she thought. I sound kinda rude, don’t I? Get me a Djinn like a gun in my holster, and I lose all my manners.

Julian Regillus’s dark gaze met hers. She felt the draw from his eyes through the screen door. “I want to talk with the Oracle, of course.”

The Nightkind King’s voice was deep and rough, like a shot of raw whiskey. He had opened the front of his cloak to the warm summer night, and he wore a plain black shirt and black trousers underneath. He was broad across the chest and shoulders, flat through the abdomen and heavily muscled. This close, she could see that when he had been mortal, he had not aged particularly well. He looked like he was in his late forties when he had been turned, so he had probably been in his midthirties. His rough features were weather-beaten, lined at the eyes and at the corners of a stern mouth. Though he kept his hair military short, somehow he gave the impression of a shaggy wolf that watched her every move.

In contrast to his King, the killer that stood beside him appeared almost slender, del Torro’s long, lean body disguising what must be a terrible whipcord strength. Xavier del Torro looked like he had been turned in his early to midtwenties. He could still embody the illusion of youthfulness, with eyes that were somewhere between gray and green, a clear complected skin and refined features that somehow missed being either handsome or delicate.