Kresley Cole: No Rest for the Wicked

Once inside the darkened manor, they passed the ultramodern movie viewing room. The Valkyrie were obsessed with movies, indeed with anything modern and ever-changing, whether it was technology, slang, fashion, or video games.

A number had grudgingly accepted him now that he and Myst were married and because he'd helped save the life of Emmaline, a member of their coven. He'd even garnered permission—through blackmail—to enter their home at will, becoming the only vampire alive who'd seen the inside of this legendary place.

From the viewing room, they crossed to the stairs and up to the second landing. Myst had explained that Val Hall was like a violent Lore version of a sorority house, complete with catfights and clothing thefts. At least twenty Valkyrie lived here at any given time.

She stopped at a door with a sign painted to read "Nïxie's Lair, Forget the Dog, Beware of Nïx." Myst listened at the door, then knocked.

"Who is it?" came a muffled reply.

"Aren't you supposed to know that?" Myst asked, turning the knob when the door was unlocked.

They entered the room and found it darkened as well, lit only by a computer screen. Nïx stood, her expression inscrutable as she swiftly braided her long black hair. She had on jeans and a small T-shirt that read "I play with my prey."

Inside were a massive TV, hundreds of shades of nail polish, and a pinup poster of a man identified as "Jeff Probst" and labeled "The Thinking Woman's Sex Symbol." On the floor lay piles of shredded books, crashed paper airplanes, and what looked like the remains of a grandfather clock that had been torn apart in a frenzy.

Myst wasted no time. "We're searching for his brothers, Nïx, and we need your help."

Nïx snared one of the few untouched books from the floor, then sat on her bed. He caught the title—Voodoo Lou's Office Voodoo Kit: Take Charge of Your Career... with Voodoo! "And why would I assist the leech, hmmm?"

Myst's green eyes flashed with anger. She still called other vampires leeches and didn't care if her sisters did, but, as she'd said to Nikolai, "It's a double insult to call you one. If you're a leech and you like to drink from me, what does that make me? A schmuck? A suckah? Do I look like a host to you?"

Myst leaned back on Jeff Probst and drew a knee up. "You'll help us because I'm asking you to and you owe me for keeping a juicy secret from the coven."

Nïx made a scoffing sound as she ripped her sharp claws through the voodoo book. "What secret?" She yanked up another tome—The Crutch of Modern Mysticism—flexed her claws, then seemed to think better of completely mauling it, instead ripping out several pages, one with the chapter heading "Why It's Easier to Believe."

"Remember the year 1197?" Myst asked.

"B.C. or A.D.?" Nïx said in a bored tone as she began an intricate creasing of a book page. Origami? A form started to emerge.

"You know I'm only circa A.D."

"A.D. 1197?" Nïx murmured with a frown, then her face colored. Her expression turned mulish, and her fingers began flying over the paper, deftly folding. "Not sporting to bring that up. And one more time—I thought he and all of his pack mates were of age!" When her fingers stilled, she placed the perfect form on her bedside table. It resembled a dragon poised to attack. "Do I bring up your unpleasantries? Do I call you Mysty the Vampire Layer like the rest of the Lore does? Like the nymphs do?"

Myst clasped her hands to her chest. "Oh, woe, the nymphs have shunned me. I weep bitter tears." Her face hardened in an instant. "What information do you need from us to help you see something?"

With a huffish flip of her heavy braid, Nïx turned from Myst to Nikolai and asked, "Why do you want to find them?" She started another origami without looking, this one requiring four pages from the Crutch book.

"I want to know if they're alive or dead. To know if I can help them and bring them back home."

"Why did they leave?" The way she studied him was almost invasive. Her fingers were so fast they were nearly invisible, making the paper appear to fold of its own accord.

He put his shoulders back, hating having to be so open with her. "Sebastian was enraged that I turned him against his will. Both were furious that I tried to turn four young sisters and our elderly father when they were dying." Myst studied him, nibbling her lip, knowing how reluctant he was to speak of this. "I have no doubts that they went away only to get strong enough to come back and kill me." Because both had tried just before they left.

Sebastian had woken with that terrible hunger that Nikolai remembered so well. When they'd placed a tankard of blood in front of Sebastian, he couldn't drink it fast enough. But once he'd comprehended what he'd done, he'd lunged for Nikolai's throat...

Nikolai had waited months at Blachmount for them to return, uncaring if either attempted it once more. Each day they didn't return made him wonder if they could fend for themselves, gathering blood each night—without drinking humans. Without killing.

Never lowering her gaze from his face, Nïx finished a twisting shark and placed it by the dragon creature. He found his eyes drawn to the shapes again and again.

"You knew they would be angry?" Nïx asked.

After a hesitation, he admitted, "I did. But I turned them anyway."

When Myst saw him exhale wearily, she began relaying to Nïx everything he'd told her of his brothers. Granted a reprieve, Nikolai yet again justified his decision to himself. That night, seeing Sebastian about to die had made Nikolai realize how much Sebastian especially had missed out on. All he'd wanted was a family and a place to live in peace. Sebastian had never had a chance to find either—he hadn't yet lived—and Nikolai couldn't accept that.

As a lad, Sebastian had shot to his full height of six and a half feet early, without the weight and muscle that would come a year or two later. Though he'd been rangy and awkward, Sebastian had almost fared better before his body had caught up with his height.

After that, he hadn't known what to do with his size, with his incredible strength that grew every day. He'd accidentally blackened more than one girl's eye with his elbow and actually had broken one's nose that way. He'd stepped on so many toes that the village girls joked that they wouldn't walk near him without "clogs and fortitude."

But the worst occurred when he and Murdoch had been running in the village, most likely doing some mischief of Murdoch's, and Sebastian had collided with a woman and her young daughter. He'd laid both of them flat, knocking the air from their lungs. A disturbing experience in itself, but once the woman and girl got their breaths back, they'd screamed bloody murder.

Sebastian had been appalled at himself. From the time he was a small boy, he'd always had a shy bent, and things like this made it much worse. He'd become unsure around all women, without the smooth charm of Murdoch or the indifference of Conrad.

At thirteen, Murdoch had had a devilish grin that had already earned him entrance under many women's skirts in the village. At the same age, Sebastian had been the quiet lad with a sweating fistful of crushed wildflowers that would never make it to their intended.

So he'd turned to his studies. Incredibly, even after he'd trained for war since he was old enough to hold a wooden sword, Sebastian's mind was the strongest part of his body. He'd written treatises and scientific papers, which garnered him the notice of some of the great minds of the time—

"You've seen something," Myst said, bringing Nikolai from his thoughts.

"I can tell you where Murdoch is."

"I saw him only yesterday," Nikolai grated. Murdoch lived at Mount Oblak, a castle seized from the Horde. It was the new Forbearer stronghold, so Nikolai traced there most days.