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“Lark,” called from the other side.
The skin at the nape of her neck tightened. How had he found her here?
She strode to the door and jerked it open, not fearing that he would rush inside to attack her. They’d made a deal. And besides, he needed an invite.
The scruffy vampire leaned against the door frame, goggles pushed onto his forehead and head bowed. He wore a turtleneck beneath a hooded jacket, and leather gloves. The only skin visible was on his face, and the scarf hanging about his neck clued her in that he used that as a mask.
“Did you track me?” she asked.
He nodded.
“Why? What’s wrong with you? Most people would put distance between them and the one person who had explicitly stated she’s of a mind to kill you.”
“It’s afternoon,” he said. “I’ve still got a good eight hours before our deal expires. May I come in? It’s raining out.”
“The rain won’t make you sizzle.”
“Actually, it feels great on my skin.” He tilted up his head to show the side of his jaw where the scruffy beard revealed red skin, as if plunged into hot water, yet not beset with a boil. “It was sunny when I set out after you.”
“Is that why you keep a beard? To protect as much of your face as you can?”
“No. I hate this stuff.” He stroked the thick black facial hair. “I just haven’t gotten to a barbershop lately. They don’t keep the same hours as I do.” He rapped the air in the exact position of the threshold, and his hand did not penetrate the invisible barrier to Lark’s side. “Pretty please? I promise I won’t bite. And I’m getting soggy.”
“I thought we had a truce? Me not stabbing you. You not biting me.”
“It makes me feel special to know you intend to hold good on that.” All kinds of snark in that statement.
The vampire winced as heavy raindrops spattered his face.
Lark sighed and stepped back. She would not invite him in. That was insanity. Yet he looked so pitiful. Like a wet kitten scamming for a pat on the head. If she even began to relate him to the homeless menagerie she’d helped in the past…
“You’re not hearing tunes right now?” she wondered.
“I’d hardly call them tunes. But no, no cats screeching in my brain. The whispers are there. Always prodding me. You going to invite me in?”
“I have no reason to.”
“Can’t we be civil to each other during the truce? I want to get to know you, Lark.”
“I don’t understand why.”
“Because you’re pretty, and feisty. And maybe I came so I can get my shirt back from you.”
“It’s not here. It was torn and—” had no scent beyond the smoke, which had frustrated her “—not wearable.”
“It’s one of few I own.”
Struck by that confession, Lark swallowed back surprising guilt. Maybe the guy was homeless? And she’d taken his best shirt? Because what he was wearing now didn’t look much better. The linen scarf and turtleneck looked thin. Though there were no holes in the jacket and he didn’t smell like smoke now.
“Please,” he said. He shook his head like a dog against the wet, yet it was that erratic shake that clued Lark he battled inner demons. “She’s dangerous!” The vampire chuckled lowly, and slapped his arms across his chest as if to stave off the insane mirth.
“I am dangerous. And you…” she started.
Baffled her. Yet at the same time, the man’s presence tugged at some inner threads that coiled about her heart, threads she’d thought severed and the ends singed.
Before her better judgment could strangle her conscience, Lark invited the vampire inside. Because he looked pathetic standing there with his goggles and burned skin and dripping hair. Damn her, but she’d never been able to walk past a stray kitten, either.
Rook would have harsh words for her if he discovered she’d invited a vampire into one of the Order’s safe houses. Hell, the man would speak with his fist. He had never been averse to punching her while training.
Lark closed the door but clenched the doorknob, clenching her jaw as tightly as her fist. What was she doing? Had such merciless training taught her nothing? Getting friendly with a vampire—not even with the excuse to cozy up to the subject—was strictly forbidden. Vamps were known to charm and manipulate, yet beneath the sometimes sexy—or crazy—exterior, they were nothing but deadly predators.
Domingos wandered to the couch, but before he could sit she asked him not to. He flicked her a wondering look over his shoulder.
“You’re filthy,” she stated. “Your clothes look like something you dragged out of a Dumpster, and your hair…Hell. Why don’t you clean yourself up?”
He shoved his hands into his pockets and, head down, simply stood there.
And Lark’s shoulders wilted. Why must she be so cruel? The alley cat only wanted to be picked up and stroked, not scolded for his appearance. The man wasn’t all there in the head. He probably didn’t even comprehend his tattered attire. Fashion couldn’t be a concern if he had in mind only to slay werewolves and, hell—to survive.
Lark straightened. This knight wasn’t going to abandon her hard-earned training at the first pitiful meow from a stray. “Don’t you have wolves to slay?”
“Thought I’d enjoy my free day,” he muttered, looking longingly at the couch. “I’d clean up if you wanted me to.”
Lark crossed her arms. “Is that so? You going sweet on a hunter, vampire?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know the meaning of that word. Sweet. Heh. Only dark and heinous in my world lately. I am getting a bit scruffy. Call it camouflage. Helps me blend when I’m stalking wolves.”
His chuckle was maniacal, and it set the hairs upright on Lark’s arms. He jerked, as if with Tourette’s, trying to shrug off the strange outburst.
Once, Todd had brought home a stranger who, due to his tics and constant shouts of nonsense words, she suspected had that very disease.
Oh, Lark, what would a little water and soap hurt?
It was apparent he was here for a visit, and she couldn’t shove him right back out into the rain. And conversation was not tops on her list, especially not with the enemy. Best to put him to work.
She marched into the bathroom, grabbed a razor and strolled back out to hand it to him.
Why did she care?
She didn’t. But this offer felt…familiar. As if she was doing something that she was supposed to do—something she’d once done willingly with her husband at her side.
“I get it,” Domingos said. “You need to clean me up before you stake me. For reasons beyond my ken.”
“I’m just offering a kindness, vampire. Take it or leave it.”
He snatched the razor and pointed to the bathroom.
“There’s shaving cream in there and you can use the towels. This place is stocked for men, so you’ll find everything you need.”
“An Order safe house?” he wondered as he strode into the bathroom.
“I’ll never tell. But you were never here. You know nothing about this place. We didn’t even talk. We’ve never had a conversation. Got that?”
Silence.
Lark waited, listening for the water to run, or for some sound that he was shaving. She slapped her arms over her chest, and now her conscience jumped up from the bleachers in revolt.
What are you doing? Rook will banish you from the Order. Todd would hate you for this. And you! Don’t you care about yourself? Because every moment you allow him to intrude on your life he pulls the emotional threads tighter and makes you…
Feel.
Sighing, Lark remembered the stray kitten she’d nursed for a few months when she was a teenager, only to have it die from feline leukemia on her lap one rainy fall evening. At least it had died safe and cared for.
And really? Todd wouldn’t have hated her for this act of kindness (though he would have raged to know the benefactor of her kindness was a vampire). If Lark had been the kitten magnet, it was Todd who had attracted the homeless. He had often taken in strangers. He’d bring them home, offer them a shave and a hot meal and then he’d send them off with a few crisp ten-euro notes in their pocket. Lark had always protested. They left a ring in the bathroom sink. They could be scoping the place out to later return and rob them. Todd would always dismiss her complaints, and later kiss away her protests and coax her into bed.
So here she stood. Razor secured in the homeless man’s hand. Assuming her husband’s role.
Dead husband. He’s not really your husband anymore, because he can’t be if he no longer exists on this mortal plane. Right?
Why did she cling to that label? Husband. It gave her no comfort to remember his last breaths. Nor did questioning whether or not she had truly loved him appease her aching heart.
She glanced down the hallway. Yesterday she had scuffled with the wily creature now lurking in her bathroom, and had almost taken a stake to the back of her skull. And today she was playing house with him?
Tilting her head back to prevent tears from spilling down her cheeks, Lark noticed Domingos stood in the bathroom doorway holding out the razor. Shaving cream frosted his chin and jaw.
Bother. “What’s wrong?”
“I can’t do this myself.”
“Why not?” She walked into the bathroom and found he’d set out the shaving cream can on a towel draped over the sink. He moved in behind her and she looked up in the mirror. And saw nothing. “Oh.”
The Order had taught her about a vampire’s lacking reflection. She’d even used a compact mirror on a few occasions while out in the field to verify her marks before slaying them.
“Will you do it for me?” He offered the straight-edged blade that most barbers would sharpen along a leather strap.
She snatched the razor and looked along the keen edge. Sharper than the blades edging her coat collar. And a fine weapon, that with just a flick of her wrist—
“You would trust me with a blade to your neck?”
“Eight hours,” he countered.
“Closer to seven now.”
He sat on the toilet seat and lifted his chin. “I trust you.”
“Me. A hunter?” She approached, hand to one hip, blade hand held up in challenge. “What if I’m a liar? Best way to lure the enemy to his death is through deception. That’s Order rules 101.”
“You’re not lying to me now. I can feel you are impeccable in your manner and word.” He tilted back his head and waited.
If only she had as much confidence in herself. Yet lies were a bane she despised. She lied rarely, and would never trust a person who she felt could lie to her.
Todd hadn’t lied; she’d just never wanted to believe his truths.
For reasons beyond her grasp, Lark leaned forward and stroked the blade across Domingos’s jaw. The steel glided smoothly over his skin, softened by the spicescented shave cream. Turning to rinse the blade in the sink, she returned for a few more swipes. She was half finished before he spoke again.
“You’ve done this before.”
“My husband used to let me shave him. He said it was a symbol of his trust.”
“Just like I said. I trust you.”
The blade wobbled near his bottom lip, but she avoided nicking him. The vampire grasped her gaze and Lark noticed an oddity. One eye was golden-brown, while the other was completely black.
“What happened to your eye?” she asked.
“I think my pupil got blown out, or something like that. UV light. Fuck, I hate it.”
It must have happened when he’d been in captivity. “Does it hurt? Can you see out of that eye?”
“I can, but it’s the first eye to freak out if I don’t time the sunlight correctly. When the UVs hit my eyes, feels like a hot stiletto getting pushed through the pupils.”
She didn’t know what to say to that. Details. You wanted details.
No, she hadn’t. Maybe? No.
Lark tended the other side of his jaw. He was still and calm; she was surprised at his composure after witnessing his ticlike behavior and his raging at the inner voices.
“You’re not hearing voices now?” she wondered. “You seem pretty calm.”
“Strange, isn’t it? I’m not going to question. Though, as always, the whispers are present.”
“Just don’t start banging your head when I have the blade to your neck. Or do. It’s no biggie to me if your death is accidental.”
“You cutting my throat won’t kill me. You know that, hunter. But maybe you like taking a vampire’s blood, eh? Watching your victims bleed before you end their life?”
“Not at all. My kills are clean and quick. Never bloody, if it can be avoided. A well-placed stake reduces the vampire to ash.”
“I’d expect that from you. Efficient and graceful when granting death.”
She was about to protest that assessment. He didn’t know her. She didn’t grant death; she took out predators using skill and stealth, plain and simple.
What are you doing, Lark? Just get him shaved, stuff the euro bills in his pocket and send him on his way.
The vampire tilted his head to allow her access and closed his eyes, humming a few notes that she recognized as Mozart. Eine Kleine Nachtmusik? Interesting. And did his fingers tap the precise beat on his leg?
“Tell me about your husband. What happened to him?”
Startled by that question, Lark firmly gripped the curved metal handle of the blade before it could slice his skin.
