Dancing with the Devil (Nikki & Michael #1)

Dancing with the Devil (Nikki & Michael #1) Page 17

Still no sign of movement. Maybe they were playing with her, toying with her hopes like a cat with a mouse. She had a sudden vision of reaching the door only to have Jasper reach out and grab her, destroying her last hope of freedom.

It would be the ultimate trick. The last straw. And there was nothing she could do but take the risk. Her legs were like rubber. Every step she took felt like a mile. She kept her gaze on Jasper and prayed he didn't move.

She reached the door and pushed it open. Beyond lay the steep ascent of stairs. Her prison, and their home, was a cellar of some kind.

Gripping the handrail, she dragged herself upward. The ache in her leg muscles became a scream, and it seemed to take forever to reach the top. When she reached the final step, she collapsed, bruising her knees and battling to catch her breath.

After a few precious seconds, she rose and staggered on, finding herself in a kitchen. Dust covered the mess time and vandals had caused. If the thickness of the dirt was any indication, the house had been abandoned for years.

Her hopes of quick rescue plummeted. She walked on, skirting shattered glass and smashed floorboards, seeking an exit. She had to hurry. Exhaustion was a huge wall threatening to topple her over. In the next room she discovered her clothes and shoes, thrown haphazardly in a corner. Her cross wasn't among her clothes—not that it mattered. Jasper had shown no fear of it when he'd ripped it from her neck.

She stopped long enough to throw on her jacket and jeans, and slip on her shoes. The rest she left. Time was moving, and so must she.

Panic crept past her guard and filled her limbs with energy. She ran down the corridor, no longer caring about the noise she made. The front door loomed before her—locked. She pushed with kinetic energy. The door exploded outward with enough noise to wake the dead.

She felt the urge to laugh insanely, and she clamped down on it hard. Madness was no escape—and of no use to her now.

Her eyes watered against the sudden glare of bright sunlight. She threw up a hand to protect them and staggered on. It didn't really matter where she ran, as long as it was away from the house and its occupants.

Stones scurried from under her feet. The harsh sound of traffic assaulted her ears. Blinking rapidly, she recognized shops, a mall milling with people. Safety. Jasper wouldn't find her in such a crowd. Wouldn't dare kidnap her with so many witnesses.

Wouldn't have to, when all he had to do was call her name...

Heart pounding unevenly, she ran, desperate to get lost in the evening crowds and the safe oblivion they offered her mind.

Dusk began to streak the sky with crimson sheets. She reeled like a drunkard and smacked into an old man. His curse followed her as she staggered on. She had to keep going, had to escape, before he came after her.

"Nikki!"

Her heart stopped. Oh lord, he'd found her! Without looking back, she ran on. Somehow, Jasper had found her. Terror lent her feet wings.

Nikki!

The shout reverberated through her. She bit back a cry of terror. He was after her. She had to keep on running.

Stop! Nikki, watch it...

A screech of tires filled her ears. Too late she became aware of the road, the traffic, and the red car rushing upon her.

She tried to dodge, but the car hit her. Agony exploded as oblivion swept in.

Chapter Ten

The heavy rumbling of traffic woke her some time later. Nikki shifted slightly, and silk rustled against her skin, bunching near her thigh. A faint scent clung to the material, warm, musty and recognizable. She smiled, wondering how she'd come to be wearing Michael's shirt. Opening her eyes, she studied the room. The sun peeped brightly behind the curtained window to her left, casting pinpoints of lights across the pale blue walls. Paint peeled from the smoke-stained ceiling above her, and from the small brown dresser next to the bed. It wasn't her room, or her dresser. Her heart skipped several beats. Where was she?

A hand rested lightly on hers, enclosing her fingers in warmth. Michael. She closed her eyes briefly and wished he'd take her in his arms, tell her that it had all been a nightmare, that everything would be all right. But he didn't move, and maybe that was just as well.

"What time is it?” she asked softly.

"Four in the afternoon."

The weariness in his voice tore at her heart. She turned around, but even such a small movement caused pain to run down her legs. She bit her lip, fighting the sudden sting of tears.

"Gently, Nikki. Your hip and left leg were badly grazed by the car." He sat in a chair next to the bed, bare feet propped on the mattress. He looked casual, yet there was nothing remotely casual in the way he studied her. In the dark depths of his eyes, she could see all her secrets, all her fears. All that had happened.

She swallowed uneasily, and looked away. “I guess I'm lucky it's only grazed. How did you find me?"

"Followed your thoughts."

If her thoughts were so open to him, why didn't he tell her if Jasper's mind-bending techniques had succeeded or not? “How long was I gone?"

"Three nights."

It had seemed an eternity longer. She shivered and rubbed her wrist. Though the two puncture wounds in her skin had healed, her flesh still burned. “Where are we?"

"My hotel room. It's safer than the hospital, where Jasper could come and go as he pleased." Plus Jasper didn't know where Michael was—but would it really matter now? He could touch her thoughts any time he desired and find out where they were. There wasn't a damn thing she could do to stop him.

"How are you feeling this morning?” Michael's voice was calm as he shifted his feet and rose, but something in the way he moved spoke of violence.

She watched him pour water into a glass. His midnight colored hair was unkempt and in need of a wash, his face etched by deep lines of tiredness. His clothes were disheveled and creased, as if he hadn't slept in days.

She wanted to reach out and caress the tautness from his shoulders, kiss the tension from his lips. Instead, she clenched her fists against the blanket. Was she insane? She wanted to touch a vampire in ways she'd never wanted to touch a man before...

"Michael, why didn't you tell me?” she whispered, ignoring the glass of water he held out to her. The muscles along his arms went taut, momentarily straining against the restriction of his rolled-up sleeves. Then he slowly lowered the glass back to the bedside table.

"I'm sorry, Nikki—” He hesitated and shrugged, momentarily avoiding her gaze. “I never meant for you to find out this way."

"Did you ever plan to tell me?"

Again he hesitated fractionally. “I don't know."

At least he was being honest with her. And if she was being honest with herself, she had never, at any stage, truly feared him. Just the darkness within him, the darkness she now could name. A darkness he could never be free of.

He held out the glass again. Her hand shook as she brought it to her lips. The cool water did little to ease the fire in her throat.

"I would never hurt you, Nikki."

She met his dark gaze and tried to ignore the trembling deep in her soul. By not telling her the truth about himself, he'd only emphasized the fact that he didn't trust her. And that hurt more than anything Jasper could ever do to her.

Michael sat back on the chair, fingers entwined lightly in his lap. “There are things about me that you will never know. It's safer that way—for you, and for me. Just trust me, Nikki."

" Trust you? ” She couldn't help a slightly bitter laugh. “Dear God, Michael, I've trusted you more in the last few days than I've trusted anyone in my entire life!"

"And yet, deep down, you still fear me.” His gaze met hers, reached deep into her soul. “I have never lied to you, Nikki—"

"No.” Her voice was terse. “You just ask me to do what you cannot, or feed me half truths when it suits you."

He slapped his hands hard against the arms of the chair and thrust himself upright. “And would it have made any difference if I had?” he asked sharply. “Would the truth have stopped you from entering that tunnel after Monica?"

"No. But it sure as hell hurts that maniac has to tell me what you could not.” She watched him walk through the bedroom doorway into the small kitchen. “There's more you're not telling me, isn't there?

You're not in this alone, are you?'

He glanced around, one eyebrow raised. “No, I'm not. But they're not important, not at the moment." He lied, and it hurt. Why wouldn't he trust her? Did he fear Jasper's influence, or was there something more? “Yeah. Like you being a vampire wasn't important?"

"No, not like that.” He slammed a cupboard door closed. “Are you hungry?" Her stomach rolled at the thought of food. Considering how little she'd eaten during the last few days, she should have been famished. She wasn't. “As long as it's something easy."

"I have soup simmering."

She nodded and closed her eyes, suddenly confused. How much did her need to fight with Michael come from Jasper's games? Would she end up betraying Michael, no matter how hard she tried not to?

"The mere fact you ask yourself those questions suggests his plan hasn't entirely worked." He walked back into the room and placed a steaming tray on the bedside table. She ignored it and sat up. “He had me for three nights, Michael. He might still have my mind. What happens if I do betray you?"

"We'll deal with it if and when it happens.” He sat on the bed beside her and placed an arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him, savoring the warmth of his body.

"We cannot undo what has been done. You must fight it, Nikki."

"And if I can't?” She rested her cheek lightly against his shoulder and tried to ignore the gentle strength with which he held her. Lord, it felt so right in his arms...

"Then we're all in trouble."

The grimness in his voice made her shiver. Just what would he do if she ever did betray him?

He sighed, a slightly bitter sound that pierced her heart. “When will you realize I would never hurt you?"

"I'm sorry.” She bit her lip, regretting her thoughts the minute his arm left her shoulders. His touch fought the demons in her mind, easing the chill forming a tight knot of fear in the pit of her stomach. He rose and retrieved the tray, placing it over her knees. “Finish the whole bowl. You need to get some nourishment back into your system. Give me a call if you want anything else."

"Why? Where are you going?” She hated the slight edge of panic in her voice, yet the thought of being alone filled her with fear.

"I'll be resting on the couch in the other room. It's been a long three days, I'm afraid." Had he eaten ... ?

"I haven't.” His answer was grim. “Do you think it was easy for me, knowing who had you? Imagining what he was doing?"

"I'm sorry.” She hesitated, not sure what to say, not sure how to take the touch of pain in his eyes. “I just thought vampires had no choice but to sleep during the day."

"Everyone must sleep, Nikki, even those of us not quite human. Vampires do so during the day because, for the most part, the sun is deadly to us."

She remembered the sun touching Jasper's back, and the red welts it left there. “And feeding?” she asked softly, not really sure if she wanted to know the answer.

"I do not dine on human blood, Nikki. Nor do I need to feed every day, as Jasper and Monica must.”

He hesitated, then added in a voice heavy with bitterness. “After three hundred years of existence, you learn to do without many things."

She blinked. Had she heard him right? He was three hundred years old?

"Yes.” He sighed, and ran a hand through his unkempt hair. “Now eat, and rest. I'll be near if you need me."

He left the room quickly. Frowning, she picked up the spoon, eating the soup without really tasting it. When she'd finished, she shoved the tray back on the bedside table and settled back down to get some sleep.

Her dreams were filled with fear and madness, haunted by an evil that teased and mocked. She woke to darkness hours later, the silk shirt twisted about her body and damp with sweat. Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she stared at the night-held room.

Something about the stillness told her she was alone, and her heart skipped several beats. But that wasn't what she feared. No, there was something else...

Like a siren's song, the call whispered through her mind, urging her into action. Frightened, yet unable to resist the pull of the call, she threw aside the blankets and rose. Walking unsteadily across the room, she pushed the curtains to one side and stared out. Darkness held the city in its grip. The clock tower down the street chimed four times, and the street below was silent, empty.

Then the shadows moved.

Jasper. Smiling confidently at her, sure of her response.

Come to me.

Something deep within responded, wanting to do as he asked. She closed her eyes, fighting it, fighting him.

It's too late to fight. You are mine.

Never. I'll kill myself first.

His laughter sang through her soul, filling her with its corruption. Trembling, she crossed her arms and turned from the window. It didn't stop the treacherous whisper begging her to do whatever he wanted. She took a deep breath, trying to gather her scattered wits. Michael, where are you? I need you. And if he couldn't hear her silent plea for help? Well, she wasn't helpless, no matter what the demons in her mind might say.

Do not ignore me, pretty one.

She shivered, and battled for calm and the strength to resist as she turned back to the window. Where's Monica?

Hunting us up some breakfast.