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“You’re pretty,” he said, again giving her that curious look, much like a boy looking over an insect he’d crushed in the backyard. “And deadly.”
“You win tonight,” she said, hoping to appeal to the sane part of him that would have compassion and let a woman go. There was always tomorrow night.
“So what’s my prize?” he asked.
He pressed his body against hers and she could feel his hard muscles pulse with movement. Not bulky like the wolves, but sleek and dangerously strong. A predator to the core.
His prize? If he expected what she had just denied the wolves, she would slay him right here and now, and be damned if she fell to her death.
“I can’t bite you,” he said, dashing his tongue along one fang, “because you’ve that damned collar. Too sharp. Though pain gives me a thrill. But I can do this.”
And he kissed her. Hard and urgent, forcing his sweet breath into her mouth. She didn’t like it, and twisted to get away—he slapped a hand to her head and held her still. Lark struggled, and shoved up her knee into his groin. The move hadn’t the punishing force she’d hoped for. The vampire persisted, pressing his body against her knee, challenging her to hurt him, to deny him this stolen prize.
With her heartbeat thundering, Lark’s rationale scrambled for a solid hold. Training had not covered this sort of attack. What to do? How to…She could feel his fangs pressing into her lip but not cutting. Insanity! Never would she—
Too long since you’ve been kissed. If you’re going to fall, shouldn’t it be like this? Less painful than splattering on the street below.
Suddenly the hard crush of their mouths softened. Lark dropped her knee. And like a moth with tattered wings surrendering to the flame, she granted the vampire his prize.
Because nothing in her life made sense anymore. And everything was opposite what it should be. Now she dealt with strange paranormal creatures on a daily basis, when once she’d never even believed in them.
And because it hurt her heart to remember the last time her husband had kissed her.
A regretful protest rumbled in her throat, and the vampire pulled away from her. The city was bright with the glow of neon and streetlights, and the eerie illumination fell upon his handsome yet deceptively brutal features. Too much facial hair to decide if he possessed true beauty.
The vampire studied her face and touched her cheek, drawing away to inspect the droplet wobbling on his fingertip.
A teardrop? She had become a mental case herself!
“What’s this from?” he asked, pointing the tear-soaked finger at her. “I am so awful to you?”
She nodded. That was as good a reply as any. Not the truth, but she needed that lie right now.
He licked her pain from his finger and nodded. “Of course. I can be nothing more to one so beautiful as you.”
And then he turned and ran across the rooftops, leaving her clinging to the chimney like a bird without wings. And Lark wondered how in hell she was going to get down from this aerial perch.
Chapter 3
He felt freest and safest walking above the city, but Domingos sensed the sun was not far off, and exposed on the roofs was the last place he wanted to be for that terrible event.
He leaped, landing on the tarmac, and moved sinuously up into a walk, but he turned as he did to spy the hunter. She was rappelling down the side of the building. Must have pulled some rope from her utility belt. Heh. Wasn’t that what vampire hunters wore? Some kind of superhero belt to hold all their crazy weapons?
“Smart chick. Pretty, too.”
And vicious. He sucked at his palm where the blade had cut deep. Almost healed, it wouldn’t scar, but there was humiliation in actually taking the cut. From a woman. Yet it hadn’t been her deft punches and kicks that had hurt him most. Her rejection following his kiss had hit him in the one tender spot remaining within him after all he’d been through.
“No, it didn’t,” he argued with what little clear conscience he could find. The whispers slithered accusingly. “Stupid hunter. Not pretty.”
A chuckle burst from his mouth. He hated the part of him that did that, but it wasn’t a reaction he could control.
Yet he remained, watching, to ensure that she landed on the ground safely. The werewolves would not give up. They had her scent and would retaliate like dogs to her bones. But if distracted they’d forget the bone in favor of another more meaty treat.
The hunter wasn’t meaty, by any means. But she’d done the one thing that would ensure that the wolves didn’t lose her scent—she’d stood up to them.
And for that Domingos could overlook her nasty rejection and applaud her moxie. “Too bad it’s going to get her killed.”
But better the hunter than him, eh? Heh.
She headed west. Drawing up the goggles over his eyes and tugging his sleeves down over his hands, Domingos decided to parallel her, for the heck of it.
Lark slammed the apartment door shut behind her, dropping her weapons on the gray leather sofa and stripping off her coat and shirt as she made way toward the back of her home. Dawn was not far off, yet the apartment was dark. She navigated the murk with ease. In the bedroom, she unlaced and pulled off her boots and pants and beelined into the black-and-white-tiled bathroom to turn on the shower.
Tonight had been a complete failure.
Standing before the vanity mirror in a black lace bra and panties, she stared at her reflection, assessing the damage. The months-old brand of the Order marred her left shoulder, the design of four stakes within a circle pink and rough. Part of the knighting ceremony, the branding had hurt like a mother. She was proud of it, though; she’d endured a lot to earn it.
She’d taken a nasty bruise from a werewolf’s fist on her right arm, and it had already blossomed deep purple and red. Studying a thin slice dashed under her jaw, she realized one of the wolves’ talons must have done that. With the adrenaline pumping at the time, she hadn’t noticed the cut.
Pulling out the band from her ponytail, she shook out her long, stick-straight hair. Her eyeliner was smeared up on one corner, giving her a half-cat’s-eye look.
Staring at her pitiful reflection, she wondered when she had last cared. Had she ever cared?
Yes. The world had been different two years ago. Dreams had felt fluttery and fun, ambitions solid and achievable. Fashion and beauty had been important to her, because she’d known she was pretty and liked to look her best. Music—oh, music—it had been more than a hobby. Despite working nine-to-five for a local attorney’s office as a file clerk, her real passion had been her music, and she’d been practicing to audition for a seat in a small community orchestra. But she’d abandoned the fine arts after falling in love.
During a trip to Paris, she had fallen in love and married Todd Cooper, knowing what he was. And, okay, so the falling-in-love part had come after the marriage. After four months of dating, she’d discovered she was pregnant and Todd had gotten down on his knee and promised to take care of her and their family. She’d been ready to plunge into the unknown of family and the new known regarding his profession, but only because fear had motivated that readiness.
And that fear should have forewarned her of this dangerous future in which she now existed.
Fool, she thought now. To have thought she could change a person? That had been her mind process as she’d said “I do.” She hadn’t liked Todd’s profession and had hoped a new family would lure him out of it. Yet she’d quickly learned people didn’t change; they only grew more deeply into themselves, altering imperceptibly, minutely, but at their core, ever remained the same.
While she waited for the water to warm up (she could brew a cup of tea faster than it took to summon hot water from the pipes in this old building), she wandered out to the living room to get her coat. Best to keep it hung when not wearing it. The Kevlar vest and pants she let lie on the floor. She was too tired to do housecleaning right now.
No, not tired. More like annoyed. Yes, by that irritating vampire!
She selected a hanger from the movable rack she’d pushed against the back door, because the iron staircase that climbed the rear of her building was unsafe and coming loose from the outer wall so she never used it.
She heard a knock outside. On the back door that sat atop a dangerous staircase that only someone very stealth might navigate.
“Shit.” Lunging toward the end of the bed, she grabbed her pants and shuffled them on. Then she ran into the bathroom, shut off the water and grabbed a stake from the linen closet. She kept weapons hidden throughout the apartment.
Returning to the door, she slowly pushed aside the hanger rack but didn’t get it moved all the way when the door burst open, shoving the rack of clothes toward her. She stepped aside, stake raised—and recognized Domingos LaRoque behind the funky brass goggles.
The vampire remained on the threshold, his palms flat before him, pressed against…nothing. A vampire could not enter a private residence without permission. That he’d been able to push the door inside surprised.
Lark exhaled but didn’t let down her guard. She wasn’t safe by a long shot.
“Save it for later,” he said, eyeing the stake held aloft by her shoulder. “The wolves are at your front door.”
Without taking her eyes off him, she tilted her head but didn’t have to try to hear if someone was at the front door, because it also smashed inside. Wolves did not need permission to cross any threshold, private or public.
“This way!” Domingos yelled.
Tempted to go after the nuisance wolves, Lark checked her bravado. They were more than merely nuisance. Apparently, the brutes wanted to punish her for showing them up. And when weighing her chances against two or three wolves or one vampire, she’d go with the better odds.
She stepped toward the threshold and gestured that Domingos move aside. Once her hand crossed over the threshold, that was all he needed. The vampire grabbed her hand and tugged her outside, lifting her over his shoulder like a sack of flour. She beat a fist against his back, directly over the kidney, but that didn’t stop him. He didn’t take the stairs to the ground, but instead went up the rickety iron staircase.
“Let me go!”
“They’re in your bedroom.”
He tossed her up to land on the roof, which was shingled, and since she was barefoot, she had better hold than if she wore boots.
With a deft jump, he landed beside her and pressed a finger to his lips. “Quiet.”
A wicked clatter preceded the entire iron staircase landing on the small, private courtyard below. Lark moved to look over the edge of the roof, but Domingos tugged her back and shook his head in admonishment.
Below, a werewolf said, “They went down and took the stairs out behind them. Let’s go!”
The vampire eyed her breasts, the nipples peaking beneath the thin lace bra fabric. “No treats for the puppies this morning.”
“They think we went down, but they’ll figure it out as soon as they pick up my scent. They’ll find us up here.”
“That’s why we’re not going to stick around. Come on.” He stood and offered her his hand.
She should stake that hand and then plunge the stake through his heart. But she’d dropped the weapon when he’d pulled her over the threshold. And going anywhere with a vampire was out of the question.
“I’ll be fine on my own.” She took off across the roof, thankful for lacking shoes because that softened her footfalls and provided traction.
Lark crossed two rooftops with ease because the buildings in Paris were so close together, and by the third rooftop she was congratulating herself for her agility and finesse. But she knew she was not alone. The vampire followed, silently, mocking her with his easy stroll. Hands behind his back and head bowed, he merely stood there each time she looked over her shoulder, as if a child’s game and if she saw him move that would mean he was playing.
Wolf howls echoed from below. They either hadn’t figured where she had gone, or else they were tearing her place apart. She didn’t mind losing her things to raging wolves. Save the violin she valued, and perhaps a few photos she’d tucked away in a drawer.
Now if she could just lose the vampire.
As suddenly as she had the thought, she turned and the vampire crashed into her, sweeping an arm around her back and lifting her as he took the twenty-foot leap to the next roof. They landed softly, with a grace that only a winged creature could possess.
Lark knew vampires could not fly, nor did they have wings, but he presented curious evidence that the mythology the Order had taught her may be incorrect, or perhaps incomplete.
Tugging her along behind him, Domingos ran toward a roof door. They descended a concrete staircase into an empty loftlike space, floored in rotting hardwood that reeked of chemicals and coated with what looked like centuries of dust. A former factory long vacated of workers and industrial equipment?
Here they would be safe. Unless they turned on each other, which Lark wasn’t beyond doing should the vampire have the same thought.
At the far end of the loft a circular window boasting a ten-foot span looked over the rapidly brightening city sky. It reminded Lark of the rose windows found in cathedrals, yet without colored glass.
“So,” she said after catching her breath and moving to position herself near the window. A door stood to her left. An escape. “You’ve saved me twice tonight. Though I guess it’s morning now.”
“That means I get another prize.” Shoving the goggles to the top of his head, Domingos walked before her, pacing in a random circle, his bare feet leaving trails in the dust. “What shall it be this time?” He conked the side of his head as if trying to dislodge something. “Tell me!”
Lark startled at his shout, and reminded herself that no matter the kindnesses he’d granted her, he was a monster. Hell, she didn’t need an excuse to label him monster; he simply was, end of story.
“No more kisses,” she stated flatly.
“Of course not. You find my kisses disgusting.”
“Absolutely.”
He lifted his head and eyed her sharply, giving no sign that she’d offended, but perhaps his tight jaw was the signal. His goatee was scruffy, a match to his disheveled hair. Looked as though he hadn’t combed it in a month. And perhaps he had not. Despite the lean muscles she had noticed while fighting with him earlier in the alley, he was too thin. So incredible that he’d defeated those hulking werewolves.
His gaze fell to her chest. She wasn’t embarrassed by her lacking top. But that she’d raced across the rooftops in but a bra and pants might have raised a few eyebrows if any early risers had been gazing out their windows, coffee mugs in hand as they contemplated yet another day.
“What time is it?” he asked.
“I don’t know. About five in the morning?”
“Sun’s up soon.”
Lark smirked. Sometimes the stake wasn’t necessary. The sun would do her work for her today, if she could just keep him talking a little longer…
“How about…as my prize,” Domingos suggested, “you don’t kill me today?”
Lark bristled. She slapped her palms to her hips. She’d intended to kill him hours earlier. And the longer she went without killing him, the worse it damaged her record. But she did owe him. And tomorrow was officially only nineteen hours away. She believed in reciprocation, damn her soul.
Yet if the sun got to him first, she couldn’t be held responsible.
“Deal,” she said.
Oh, really? Inwardly, she cursed her hasty reply. She was tired, that was it. Not thinking clearly.
“How are you a hunter?” he asked. Another hit to the side of his head. “Damn it! Stop!”
“I didn’t do anything.”
He leveled her with a vicious sneer, and Lark backed toward the window, pressing her palms to the cool dusty glass.
“It’s in my head. Skull clatter.” And then he laughed that thoughtless chuckle Lark was beginning to associate with madness. “Don’t go!”
“I’m not leaving. You’re the one who needs to get the hell out of here if you want to beat the sun.”
“I will.” He thrust out a placating hand while shaking his head as if fighting whatever it was inside his skull. “But I need your name first. Only fair.”
“I’ve already given you nineteen hours. That should be enough—”
“Name!” he shouted.
Lifting her chin, Lark stepped forward, daring to approach a man she suspected would lunge for her neck at any moment. No protective coat to keep him from her carotid. Yet he was not capable right now. She sensed he waged an inner war, and she’d never been one to walk away from a damaged individual.
As she approached him, he still held out a hand as if to keep her back. He yowled and pounded his head, then stomped the dusty floor. She reached out but retracted as if burned when he looked at her. That fanged grin was too sharp to be kind.
