Kresley Cole - Dark Needs at Night's Edge

The light in her hands intensified even more. The air grew heavier, ominous. As if agitated by the tension, creatures began skittering in the walls surrounding them.

MacRieve peered around him. "This does no' feel right. As if we're doing something we ought never do!"

"Shut up, MacRieve," Conrad snapped, though he'd felt the same atmosphere, threatening, like they were challenging a force far greater than they—and might be crushed for their audacity.

She began chanting once more. The light was building, building... . She shoved her hands out, seeming to fuel even more magick into the spell. The house began quaking.

"Have to... break through. Need to age... "

Age?

More unintelligible chanting, louder and louder, until she was practically screaming the words. The studio windows exploded. Papers flew in a tempest. "Bowen, I'm... losing it!"

"Mariketa!" With a roar, MacRieve lunged for her, trying to heave her away from the glass. But the Lykae couldn't budge the small female from the mirror's hold.

The silver glaze of her eyes darkened, as if ink flooded inside them. They began to turn wholly black. "This is bad!" she cried.

"No, Mari, doona do this!" He cupped his hand over her eyes, but the skin of his palm began to burn away in two distinct holes.

"Oh, Hekate, no!" she screamed.

The light in her hands exploded like a bomb, so intense it briefly blinded Conrad. "What was that?" he yelled. "What is happening?"

Mariketa gasped for breath. "Néomi... embodied."

He yanked his head around. "Where is she? Tell me!"

"There's a problem! It—" Her body stiffened, unmoving. She stared unblinking at the mirror.

"Ah, God, no' again, Mari!" MacRieve used his other hand to shield her eyes, until two smoking holes appeared in that hand as well. He snatched at her again, but even with his strength, he couldn't wrest her from that spot.

"What was the problem, witch? Where is Néomi?" Conrad was frenzied to see her. "Where is she embodied?" He charged for Mariketa. "Wake your witch up, MacRieve!"

The Lykae peered over his shoulder, baring his fangs. "Watch your step, vampire. I'm a breath from turnin'."

"How can I find Néomi? Break the goddamned mirror!"

"No' a chance—it could kill her."

"Put something bigger in front of her!" Conrad bit out, struggling to control himself.

"She burns anything away!"

"How long could she be like this?"

"Fucking forever, vampire!" MacRieve roared, his irises turning ice blue, the beast flickering over his form. If the Lykae turned because his mate was in danger, even Conrad couldn't defeat him. "As I'd bloody told you!"

Pacing, Conrad stabbed his fingers through his hair. "Christ, I don't know where Néomi is!"

He'd dreamed that she was kept from him no matter how hard he fought to reach her. Nightmares of her being... trapped in the dark? He clutched his forehead.

She was trapped somewhere right now. And that was why the witch hadn't returned Néomi to him here. But where in the hell would she be?

Wait. If the witch had been able to restore Néomi's body and put her spirit within it, but then got interrupted...

The answer hit him.

"Ah, God, I know where she is!" And he couldn't trace to her because he'd never been there before. "I need a car!" MacRieve and the witch had come through the mirror. Nikolai had driven his away weeks ago.

The Lykae ignored him, curling his finger under the witch's chin. "Mari, love, this is goin' tae hurt like hell." He took a deep breath. And then he stepped in front of her gaze.

The skin of his torso began to melt away as if burned by lasers, but he gritted his teeth, took the pain. "Lass," he bit out, "after this we will have words."

Where am I?

Néomi woke in a dank, close space, blinking repeatedly in the darkness. She had no pain in her body, none at all. Her wound felt totally healed. Mari had done it! But where was everyone? Why was Néomi alone?

A horrific suspicion tried to take hold of her mind, but she fought it. Her breaths grew ragged, sounding so loud in the confines.

When her dizziness passed, she rose and immediately knocked her head.

"Nooo," she moaned, beginning to shudder. "It isn't possible." Tears began pouring from her eyes. Mère de Dieu... This can't be happening!

She was in her coffin, which resided in the French Society's tomb in St. Louis Cemetery #1. At least thirty other coffins lay within.

Conrad will come for me. Somehow he'll find me... .

But hours seemed to grind by. Gasping rank air, she fought not to think about the bodies decomposing all around her.

None of her bones were in her coffin—it was as if she'd reincorporated them. She was embodied, which meant she was alive once more.

Néomi had grown a body just in time for it to die... .

Then the insects came.

She screamed. She screamed hysterically until the foul air grew scarce.

"Fuck!" Conrad yelled to the sky. He had no car, no idea how to get to her.

Conrad couldn't trace to her. He'd never been to a cemetery in New Orleans.

The Valkyrie compound was near Elancourt. He could sprint the distance and steal a car. Don't know where to drive to.

Conrad had rarely let himself even contemplate asking for aid—but now that he had to, only one person came to mind.

Nikolai. Deep down Conrad was still a Wroth, and he needed his brother's help—the brother who was locked up in Kristoff's jail... .

Conrad traced to Mount Oblak. Though it was daylight outside, the castle was dimmed.

"Nikolai?" he bellowed as he began wending down shadowy corridors. The sound echoed, summoning the castle guard.

Soon groups of soldiers advanced on him, swords at the ready—no doubt astonished that a crazed, red-eyed vampire was loose in the Forbearer capitol.

Conrad took their hits, seizing weapons with his bloodied hands to toss them away. Descending even deeper into the bowels of the castle, he twisted necks, breaking them but not killing the immortal soldiers.

"Nikolai!" he yelled again.

"Conrad?"

Conrad followed the sound to a sizable cell. Inside, behind thick bars, were his three brothers.

They stared in bewilderment. Conrad knew what he looked like. He had blood across his face and body, gaping wounds all over him, his face beaten by those demons.

"What in the hell are you doing here?" Nikolai demanded. "And whose blood is that?"

Conrad studied the cell bars. Obstacles. "I don't have time for questions."

Murdoch said, "You have to leave—they'll execute you if they capture you."

He gave a rough laugh. "Defy them to do either." He clamped the bars. Have to get to her... . Gritting his teeth, he began to strain against them.

"Those are as protected as your chains were," Sebastian said. "The wood, the metal, and the stone surrounding them are all reinforced. You can't possibly—"

Conrad bent them wide, actually breaking the metal.

"My God," Nikolai murmured.

"Need your help to find my Bride!" He yanked the wreckage free. "I'm not mad... but I need you to trace me to every cemetery in New Orleans. Do you know where they are?"

Nikolai gaped. "Your... Bride?"

"His heart beats," Murdoch said.

"Do you know where they are, or not?" Conrad bellowed.

Nikolai nodded slowly. "I know all the cemeteries. Myst and I hunt ghouls there."

"Will you do this?"

"Conrad, just calm—"

"Fuck calm, Nikolai!" Suddenly Conrad sensed great power behind him.

"So this is Conrad Wroth," Kristoff said.

Without turning, Conrad sneered, "The bloody Russian. What do you want?"

"I'd known the Wroths were genetically incapable of fawning to a king, but a modicum of respect... "

Conrad faced the natural-born vampire, surrounded by his king's guard.