Dancing with the Devil (Nikki & Michael #1)

Dancing with the Devil (Nikki & Michael #1) Page 12

Maybe Seline was right. Two days with Nikki, and unwanted wisps of emotion were raising their ugly heads. Something he could well do without, given his job.

He frowned, remembering a whisper he'd caught from her thoughts. Just like Tommy all over again . Had someone in the past tried controlling her?

It was something he was never likely to attempt, and he'd had years to define and strengthen his gifts. Even Jasper would never gain full control over her—not alive, at any rate. Her psychic abilities were far too strong to ever be leashed for long.

Yet she was more terrified of Jasper's attempts to control her than of Jasper himself. Which only made Jasper's task that much easier. He would use her fear against her, use it to beat her into submission, to bend her to his will. Then he would kill her, and she would fully be his. Damn it, there had to be some way to get her to face the demons of her past, so the demon in her present could not get the upper hand.

And just who in hell had appointed him the keeper of her soul?

He sighed and glanced skyward. He didn't want to get involved with Nikki—not on any level. He just wanted to catch a killer, and she was his best method of finding Jasper quickly. He still had every intention of doing that. Only now, he didn't want to see her hurt in the process. And when the time came to tell her he was a vampire? Michael glanced at her. When the time came, he'd walk away. He couldn't change what he was, and she could not live with the darkness. Something told him there'd been far too much of it in her life already.

They continued to walk in silence, and the time slipped by. Her pace increased as they drew close to her home. He felt her anxiety to get inside, to be alone.

He stopped outside as before, scanning the dark windows. There was no hint of Jasper or any of his minions within the immediate area. Maybe she'd be safe for the rest of the night. But just to be certain, he'd stand watch across the road. He'd learned to expect the unexpected—even when it came to someone as predictable as Jasper.

She turned, her gaze meeting his. “Thank you for walking me home." She couldn't hide the anger and confusion evident in her amber gaze. He nodded and resisted the urge to reach out and touch her. Hold her.

Something flickered in her eyes, and she stepped quickly away. Michael frowned. Just how strong was the link she'd created? If she could merge with his mind, however briefly, it was more than possible she could read his thoughts. Maybe he didn't have to tell her he was a vampire. Maybe she already knew. He watched her quick retreat, then turned and made his way across the road.

Dawn's light was less than an hour away when he finally stood. The muted spark of life in Nikki's flat told him she slept. It was time to begin his hunt.

The sun was on the verge of rising by the time he arrived back at Trevgard's mansion. He walked through the fast disappearing shadows, carefully avoiding the many police officers still around. Monica was an unseen presence, full of pain and desperate hunger. Obviously, she hadn't yet found the item she would carry through eternity. Michael glanced at his left hand. In his case, it had been a ring. Made for his father by his grandfather, carved from the soft rock that abounded on their farm. It was a reminder of the life he'd willingly forsaken; a reminder of the death he'd unwittingly caused. It had been his father who'd discovered his body, and the discovery had caused a heart attack, leaving his mother to somehow scratch a living on land so poor even grass refused to grow. He'd returned once the blood-rage had left him, hoping to help in some way. But by then, years had passed, and the struggle to survive had all but killed her. His oldest brother, Patrick, had given up on the farm and left in search of work elsewhere, and his four sisters had found themselves husbands and homes of their own. He'd nursed his mother through her final days, and buried her next to his father. And had vowed, at the foot of her grave, never to take another innocent human life.

A vow he had kept to this day.

He stopped near the front porch and leaned against the wall, waiting. Monica would have to leave soon. The sun was on the rise, and the house offered little in the way of protection. It had too many windows, allowed too much sun to stream in. As a newborn, she needed complete darkness during the day. Resistance to sunlight came only with the onset of a century or so. She didn't move until the last possible moment. She walked past quickly, right fist clutching a gold watch. Her father's, by the look of it. Her blue eyes were wild, her mind half-mad with thirst. She didn't sense his nearby presence—caution was the last thing on her mind. So many of the newly turned died within the first couple of days simply because they weren't careful enough. He followed her quick steps through the half-light of morning. If he were lucky, she would lead him straight to her master. Hiding in the middle of a city as big as Lyndhurst still held special problems for the likes of Monica and Jasper. Street people already occupied many of the abandoned factories and houses. The one thing more important to a vampire than a place to wait out the sun was security. Day sleep represented a kind of death, particularly when young in vampire years. You had to be sure you were safe in the hours when you were totally helpless. Neither Jasper nor Monica had the choice of sleeping in motels, as he did. Because of his years and lifestyle, he could wake and protect himself if threatened. The other two could not.

The skies began to brighten. Monica broke into a run, her sudden desperation reaching back to him. Only now that the sun's heat had started to itch her skin did she realize her danger. She swung into a side street, and fled into the darkness of an old warehouse. Michael stopped, following the rest of her retreat with his senses.

As he'd expected, she fled down, not up, into the comforting darkness of the basement. Jasper waited for her there.

Michael clenched his fingers and tried to ignore the desperate urge to rush in and crush his enemy's neck. Jasper wasn't alone. Michael's old foe had gained some cunning during the years since their last encounter. People were already working on the floors above, unaware that a monster lurked below. The zombies were silent sentinels near the basement door.

He had no doubt Jasper had rigged the warehouse to explode should he be attacked. He'd done it before, and killed over one hundred people in the process.

Michael turned and walked away. He'd come back tonight, when the people in the two floors above the basement had gone home, and burn this retreat to the ground.

He glanced skyward, trying to judge the time he had left before he had to make his own retreat. At least a few hours ... whistling tunelessly, he shoved his hands into his pockets and headed back to the stockyards on the outskirts of town.

Chapter Eight

Nikki absently ran the silver cross up and down its chain and watched the people hurry past the foggy office windows. Everyone was bundled up against the bitter wind that raced the clouds across the evening sky. She felt no warmer, despite the heat in the office. Just how did you stop a vampire?

Last night had proven how difficult that might be. From the little Michael had said, she knew Jasper had been dead long enough to develop and refine the gifts vampirism endowed. They'd never see him, let alone get near enough to kill him. She crossed her arms and tried to ignore the ice creeping through her veins. Michael was right about one thing. Jasper and Monica were evil. They would kill, and keep on killing, until they were stopped. She just wished she wasn't the one who had to stop them.

She leaned forward and grabbed her coffee cup off the desk, wrapping her hands around it to keep them warm. She turned her thoughts to Michael. She'd heard it said that the eyes were the window to the soul, so what did his ebony gaze tell her? That he was a man well versed in controlling his surroundings. That his secrets and knowledge were old. Centuries old.

She frowned and sipped her coffee. That was impossible, of course. And there was more than secrets to be seen in his eyes. There was also warmth, and a hint of passion that called to something deep inside her. She shivered lightly. Maybe it was just as well that he'd revealed a little too much last night. The office opened. Jake stepped in, accompanied by a blast of wind that sent the loose papers on her desk scattering like confetti.

"It's cold outside,” he muttered sourly. He threw his coat in the general direction of his desk and stalked across the room to the coffee pot.

"So tell me something new,” she said, returning her gaze to the street. Michael was out there somewhere. While it was obvious he could take care of himself, worry gnawed at her. Last night her dreams had sent her a warning—Jasper wove a trap around them all, with Michael's death the grand finale.

"I've sent Mary on a trip to visit her mother,” Jake said into the silence. She almost choked on a mouthful of coffee. In the ten years she'd known him, he'd never been worried enough by a case to send his wife away.

His face was bleak. “If Monica is still alive after having that stake shoved in her gut, well, she knows too much about us. She'll come after us, Nikki."

Hunter and hunted, all one and the same. Just great, she thought, and took another sip of coffee.

"At least I'm lucky that way,” she said after a moment. “I have no one but me to worry about." "You must have aunts and uncles out there, somewhere. Grandparents, even. All you have to do is find them, kiddo."

Yeah, she thought sourly. She had them. But they didn't want to know her . She took another sip of coffee, then met Jake's curious gaze. “Mom once told me her family refused to understand the nature of her gifts—they thought she was possessed by the devil. That's why she left when she was sixteen. And Dad's folks disowned him for marrying someone they thought no better than a gypsy." He shrugged. “Times change. You can't be sure how they'd react to you now." She smiled bitterly. “Yes, I can."

She bent to gather the papers from the floor, only to have them scatter further as the door opened a second time. Michael stepped inside.

"Evening,” he greeted softly, his dark gaze enigmatic when it met hers. Intuition delivered two warnings, and her pulse skipped a beat. The wall he'd raised last night would stay in place, and he had something to say she wasn't going to like. She gathered the scattered papers then sat back down.

Jake offered Michael a cup of coffee before moving back to his desk. “So,” he said. “What can we do for you?"

Michael stopped near her desk. Nikki had the sudden sensation of being caught in a small pen between two charging bulls. She leaned back in her chair and eyed them both warily.

"I came to help,” Michael said evenly.

"Really,” Jake drawled. “I find it interesting that Nikki didn't appear to need any help until you arrived on the scene."

Her breath caught in her throat. What made Jake think that? She glanced at Michael and caught a wisp of anger—the same dark anger that had threatened her in the warehouse. He looked at her briefly, and the anger died. Yet it was obvious Michael was a man not used to having his actions questioned.

"It might also be said that she would now be dead had I not,” he replied. Jake leaned back in his chair and regarded him thoughtfully. “Why did you come to Lyndhurst, then?"

"To catch a killer—the man who now chases Nikki."

Michael sat on the edge of her desk and sipped his coffee. He appeared very relaxed, very calm. He was not. Jake's doubt infuriated him, and she wondered why.

"Why?” Jake asked bluntly. “You're certainly not a cop or FBI or anything else official. This a personal vendetta or something else?"

"Both.” He hesitated and sipped at his coffee.

Deciding how much he should tell them, she thought, and wondered if there was anyone in his world whom he trusted enough to be completely honest with.

"Jasper killed my brother. A few years later he killed a close friend of mine." The truth as far as it went, but nowhere near the full story, she thought. “I get the feeling there's more history than that between the two of you."

Michael glanced at her. His face was guarded, wary. “Ours is a battle that has been going on for many years. I have killed his brother, and I will kill him—not in retaliation, but simply because his bloodshed will not stop until he is dead."

"Which suggests there is very little difference between you and the man you hunt." Michael's smile was bitter. “There's one big difference. I do not hunt innocents, nor do I drain the blood of my victims."

She shuddered, remembering the bloody mess Monica had made the night before. “You said you don't kill in retribution, and yet you killed his brother. Why?" He hesitated again. “Because they were twins who hunted and worked as one. They'd killed over one hundred people before I stopped them, and Jasper has killed as many since." Again, the truth as far as it went, and still not the whole story. “Why is he so determined to hunt me? We both know there's easier prey living on the streets."

He sipped his coffee, studying her for several seconds before answering. “Jasper hungers for things he can never have. Power, more than anything else. You have that power, Nikki." And Jasper, who could call his victims from the dead, would control that power should she die. Bile rose in her throat, and she swallowed heavily.

I will not let that happen. I would kill you myself, if it came to that. It was a chilling thought, and not one she found comforting.

Their gazes met and, just for an instant, the link between them surged to life. His mind embraced hers, a gentle yet intimate touch that caressed her body in a way no physical stroke ever could. Jake softly cleared his throat. She jumped, tearing her gaze away from Michael's. What the hell was happening between them? And why did she feel like running as far and as fast as she could?