In the Dark Page 5

  “My favorite club,” he said. He ordered a glass of white wine, then raised an eyebrow at me.

  “The same,” I told the bartender. I couldn’t drink it anyway, why get something I wanted?

  “On me,” the coffee-and-cream man added. I graced him with another smile.

  Before the wine had a chance to arrive, I stepped closer to my chosen donor. I imagined just reaching for him right there, pulling him to me and dipping my canines into his soft, smooth skin.

  “Wanna dance?” I invaded the very edge of his personal space. If I was coming on too heavy, he’d lean away from me now. I wanted to cross my fingers.

  He leaned closer. My head swam. My stomach cramped angrily, insisting I dispense with the formalities.

  Patience.

  “Sure,” he said, lower than before.

  I closed my hand over his, feeling his warmth, and led him to the floor. I kept my thoughts on him instead of the music – I didn’t have to try hard. Moving to the beat got his heart going, strengthening the smell of his blood. I could have drooled.

  I kept the contact light at first, fingertips brushing his face, hand down his arm. Feeling him out, seeing how much he wanted. When he kept dancing, dark eyes following me, I pressed closer, gently, teasing us both with the contact.

  Finally I couldn’t take the tension anymore. On the third song, eyes on his, I pressed myself up to him and buried my mouth against his. He pressed back into me. He tasted of wine and cigarettes until the moment I dragged my teeth against his lower lip; then the sweet taste of blood tinged with sharp alcohol and nicotine filled my mouth. He didn’t even flinch. I dug my nails into his back, moist and hot from dancing, and held him against me. I nursed the small marks on his lip, letting his heat leak into me.

  It wasn’t enough. Mostly I could steal what I needed with a kiss. Not this time. Filling my mouth took ages. His blood tasted too good, I wanted to pull harder – but I would hurt him if I did. I let go and stepped back, watching him. His eyes followed me.

  “Come with me,” I said, leaning to speak into his ear. Hunger made me tremble. He read it as something else entirely.

  He followed me off the dance floor. I took him to one of the shadowy alcoves arranged around the club, designed for people seeking a little privacy. The shadows slipped over us, hid us. I slid my hands under his shirt. He reached for mine, hands smooth on my skin. I let him unbutton it, but didn’t let him take it. I pressed my face close to him, lips brushing the soft spot where shoulder and neck meet. Mouth open, I tasted his salty skin, felt his pulse jump under my tongue. My lips pulled back all on their own. My teeth slid in as his hands slid inside my jeans, one soft, smooth motion that made us both gasp. Blood spurted into my mouth. I let my teeth out of the wounds and swallowed without sucking, letting his heart pump more to me.

  I sighed against him. He moaned, too, enjoying it at least as much as me. Kent had fed from me once, when he made me. I knew the feel – shuddering rapture. It worked both ways, I’d found out. Feeding was just as addicting. I let it go on until the small wounds stopped bleeding on their own. Just a few mouthfuls.

  I slid my mouth from his neck, leaning against him. He sighed. I kissed him again, since his lips were so delightfully soft. Licked at the little spot of blood on his neck.

  “That was amazing,” he murmured. He reached up to slide his arms around me and I let him, listening to his heart pound with my ear against his chest. It sounded frantic at first, pumping hard. I listened to it slow down, gradually, until I heard a steady, calm beat. Once his heartbeat had settled, I moved to button my shirt. I let my fingers slide across my belly. Warm again, for a while.

  He looked a little woozy, but otherwise fine. He’d have a hangover in the morning, nothing else. No worse than donating a pint – less than a pint, actually. I personally thought I traded my donors something better than a cookie and some juice.

  “Gotta go,” I told him. “Thanks.”

  He blinked several times. I kissed him, then ducked away before he could recover.

  Standing up, I straightened my borrowed shirt and ran my fingers through my hair a few times to straighten it. Tapping one hand against my leg to the beat, I made my way back to Sebastian, who was watching me with flat eyes. I slid into my spot across from him, licking the corners of my mouth to check for missed drops. None there.

  “Finished?” he asked, voice flat as well.

  I shifted in my spot and bit my lip. “Yeah, I’m good.”

  He nodded without speaking, staring at the dance floor. When he didn’t talk at all, I tried to ignore him and watch the crowd, too. Wondering if we’d even see the woman tonight, half-hoping we didn’t, glad I had someone else here in case we did –

  And there she was. Dancing in a skimpy silver top that matched her eyes, blond hair halfway down her back. Alone on the dance floor, moving to the music as if she had nothing else to think about. I pressed myself back in my seat.

  “Sebastian!” I couldn’t hear my own voice, but he glanced at me. I pointed. “That’s her!”

  CLUB

  Sebastian followed Ian’s pointed finger and saw a swarm of people.

  “Which one?”

  “The one in the silver top, with the blond hair to her ass. Her.” Ian’s voice was high and panicky.

  “Stay here,” he told her, and stood.

  Something didn’t feel right. Why would the killer come here to dance? Returning should have meant searching for Ian, stalking, tailing, trying to silence a witness. Why would she act so casual in a place she herself could be found?

  I would, were I her. To induce paranoia, to gloat. She might simply believe herself that good.

  His lips quirked. Very well.

  He stalked past the dancers. They moved aside for him, as if to avoid being touched. He reached her easily. Before she could move away, he grabbed her by the shoulder. She jumped and cried out, offering only feeble resistance. Her skin felt warm. Warmer than even a recently fed vampire should feel.

  A human girl?

  Some sort of vampire hunter, perhaps. It did happen from time to time.

  “Come with me.” He pulled her off the dance floor. She followed, stumbling and protesting. No one paid heed.

  When Sebastian reached the front door the bouncer narrowed his eyes. “She’s with me,” Sebastian told him, taking on the tone that convinced them to listen carefully to what he said. The bouncer looked unsure, then shrugged and let them by.

  In the alley behind the club Sebastian drew her around and let her go. With her back to the wall she had nowhere to run, and no choice but to face him.

  “What do you know about Kent?” he demanded, watching her cower. He should have killed her immediately, would have once, when her life and the end of it would have meant nothing to him. Now . . . now he had sworn to take no life without reason, no matter how insignificant that life might be. And this felt wrong. A human girl, where he had expected another vampire. Human hunters did exist, and he wanted to know whether this girl fell under that category. But he felt nearly certain that Ian had made a mistake.

  “I don’t know anything!” the girl shrieked. “Let me go, please don’t hurt me, I swear I don’t know!”

  He drew his sword and pointed it to her throat. She froze, wide eyes watching the tip of the sword. “Tell me what you know about Kent,” he repeated.

  “I don’t know anything,” the girl whimpered. She tried to back up and bumped into the wall behind her. With a ridiculously startled expression on her face, she began to weep.

  Sebastian had had quite enough of weeping. He sheathed his sword and crossed his arms. Ian must not have seen clearly. He needed her to examine this girl more closely. But as long as he had her here . . . he had not fed the night before as he had planned.

  “Come here,” he told her. She left the wall, hesitantly, watching him as she might watch a rabid dog. Stiffly, against her will, she came forward.

  “Don’t hurt me,” she pleaded.


  “I don’t intend to hurt you. Give me your arm.”

  She did. He took her hand in his, turned it over, and sank his teeth into the inside of her elbow. Her skin resisted, then broke with a soft snap. Blood gushed into his open mouth, warm, salty, mildly sweet. The vaguely acidic flavor of alcohol spiced it, along with the faint coppery tang of adrenaline. He swallowed until it filled him, then released her arm. The teeth marks were small enough to clot and heal on their own. She held her arm against her chest and whimpered.

  “Sit,” he said. She did so, like a marionette with its strings cut. “Wait here. I will return.”

  With his will tying her in place she would not move. Sebastian left her there and went back to find Ian.

  IAN

  I stayed curled in the booth. Against my will, I imagined Sebastian outside with that girl. He’d grabbed her like he planned on beating the shit out of her and dragged her out. She’d yelled. I heard it over the music. Did she do that to throw him off? Get the mortals to join against him? It hadn’t worked, whatever she’d wanted to happen. I shuddered. What would it feel like to have a sword stabbed through you? I tried to recall the feel of metal slicing through skin, the way you feel it a second too late on the edge of a kitchen knife. The sword probably felt like that . . . only bigger.

  My stomach turned over. I didn’t want to sit there and watch Sebastian come back in, bloody sword in hand, cold and business-like. Not that he’d walk into the Half-Moon like that – but I’d still know. When he walked in and looked at me. Told me, “It’s done.”

  My fault.

  That hurt. But it was true. I had the opportunity to refuse his help. I didn’t.

  Except if I had, I would be all alone. Maybe even dead myself. He was all the choice I had.

  The situation refused to divide into “right” and “wrong.” I needed help, Sebastian offered it. It didn’t make me like the kind of help he’d offered. It also didn’t make me want to be there when he came back.

  Did I have to be?

  It was done, right? We found her. I did my part. I could let Sebastian handle her from here.

  One eye on the front door, I got up and started to cut across the dance floor. I didn’t want to chance him coming back while I made my way around. Didn’t want to see him at all, or have to make up excuses for where I was going. That didn’t leave me much time to make my escape – I assumed. How long did it take to cut someone’s head off?

  How long does it take to cut someone’s heart out?

  My steps stuttered. No one noticed.

  I reached the doors before Sebastian made an appearance. I hit the crash bar at a run. My vision had started turning red. No one looked at me but the bouncer, and he didn’t seem to notice. Sight washed red with tears, I ran. I aimed for home without thinking about where I wanted to go. Walking would take forever, but I had no money for a cab, no keys to the car still parked in the lot, and I just wanted to go home.

  Without Kent.

  The idea of staying the rest of the night and the day there bothered me. Kent’s empty room would be right across from mine, silent. He wouldn’t wander around the house, sitting in his studio with his headphones on, playing with Gypsy, laughing about some damn thing. None of it.

  But I had nowhere else to go, so my feet kept moving towards home.

  According to my watch the walk took me two hours. I cried most of the way. When I finally turned onto my own street, I couldn’t remember ever feeling so happy to see our little house. I dragged my feet up the front steps to the door – and realized I still didn’t have my keys. We’d locked up before we left. I swore and kicked the door, ready to cry again. I couldn’t even go home. I leaned my head against the door for a minute, trying to be calm. How else could I get in?

  Window. Kent had bricked in all the basement windows, but we usually kept the ground floor windows open. Kent hated being shut in with no fresh air. I thought I’d left my studio window open, actually.

  A ribbon of lightning ripped across the sky, followed by a clap of thunder.

  Fabulous. Even nature hated me.

  I walked around the house and found my studio window. I had left it open. There was no way to take the screen off from the outside. I dug my fingernails into the edges, wishing for a screwdriver, or a knife, or anything sharp. It didn’t give. Finally I just used a sharp rock to rip through the screen. One leg hiked up to slip through the window, I pushed myself through the tear and into my studio. I shut the window behind me as the rain started, right on the tail of another thunder clap.

  Home at last. Out of habit, I grabbed a pencil off my drawing table and used it to wind my hair into a bun. The odd woman watched me from the canvas. Her and her screwy head.

  “Painting’s not your strongest suit. Why don’t you work from the sketch I saw you make?”

  I left my studio.

  “Gypsy! Kitty, kitty!”

  Rain spotted all the windows, pattering the ground outside. Gypsy growled from Kent’s studio.

  “Gypsy, it’s Mommy,” I called, using my sweetest “I’m going to feed you” voice. Gypsy mewed, then growled again. She must have been pissed when I didn’t come home yesterday, and my clothes smelled like Sebastian. She didn’t like strangers. Food should fix her attitude. I wandered to the kitchen and got out her bag, shaking it. “Gypsy kitty! Supper!” I flipped on a light so I could fill her bowl.

  Lightning flashed, thunder boomed, echoing through the empty house. I sighed, too wiped out to cry. Instead I went to Kent’s studio to get Gypsy. She hissed again from inside, and I paused. How could she smell Sebastian on me from so far away? Cats’ noses were good, but that was pushing it. So why all the hissing? Did she see something?

  Someone?

  I flattened against the wall, suddenly sick. My dead heart couldn’t pound, but my hands trembled. “Kitty,” I said again, as if nothing was wrong. My voice quavered.

  Okay, think sense. Are you sure Gypsy sees another vampire? Another person? Anyone, really?

  No, she probably saw another cat. Gypsy hated other cats. She made that exact noise when she could see one out the window. Sebastian had found the woman, she couldn’t possibly have followed me.

  Could it be Sebastian outside? Checking up on me?

  Not if he’s dead. Not if she waited until they got outside and killed him first.

  I clenched my eyes shut, wishing that had occurred to me in the club. I started breathing. That was a stress reflex. I didn’t need air anymore, except to talk. Or to panic. I bit my lip to keep it under control. Decided I’d better look out the window. It was just another cat. I did not live in a horror movie. It had to be another cat.

  Gypsy growled again.

  I pushed myself away from the wall and made my shaking legs walk into the room, past Kent’s music equipment. Lightning flashed – I froze, sure someone would see me.

  The cat? I asked myself, and forced a laugh. Quietly.

  Gypsy growled a little more, then jumped down from the window. She padded over to me and rubbed against my legs with a soft mew. I didn’t pet her. Instead, I took a deep breath and inched toward the window. My legs trembled as I peered out into the black-on-black of the back yard.

  Nothing moved. I couldn’t see anything.

  Lightning blazed again, flood-lighting the back yard. On the fence sat the neighbor’s fat orange cat, staring defiantly back at me. He’d moved out of Gypsy’s territory, so of course she’d stopped growling. I laughed out loud, so relieved my knees shook harder.

  Glass crashed in another room.

  My mouth snapped shut. While I froze against the wall, Gypsy bristled and snuck off to investigate. I waved my hand desperately at her, trying to get her to come back. She ignored me.

  Footsteps. Someone was in the house. In my house.

  What do I do?

  Something tapped the window behind me. I screamed and whirled, saw a face in the window –

  No, not a face. Sebastian’s face. I slapped my hands over my mouth
as he put a finger over his lips with a frown.

  The footsteps in the house stopped. Sebastian waved a hand at me like I’d waved at Gypsy. Come out.

  I nodded and set my shaking hands on the window frame. It wouldn’t budge. The footsteps started again. Coming towards me.

  I leaned my weight into the window, trying to force it, get it open, let me out! It wouldn’t move. The footsteps kept coming, relentlessly, counting off the seconds I had to force the window.

  Checking the lock occurred to me out of the blue – I looked up at it and nearly fainted when I saw it latched. I undid the lock with fingers that wouldn’t quite work right while Sebastian split the screen with his sword. The window slid up easily once I got the latch pushed back. The footsteps kept coming down the hall, towards Kent’s studio. Towards me. Sebastian reached up to pull me out. The footsteps sounded close, almost to the doorway . . .

  My boots hit the wet ground and Sebastian pulled me away. I couldn’t help myself. Shaking, I looked behind me. A pair of flashing brown eyes came into the doorway. Red lips curled in anger, and the house blocked my view. Another woman.

  “She’s in there,” I said, unable to be quiet. “She’s in there, she’s in there, oh, god, oh, god –”

  Sebastian put a hand over my mouth as we ran away from the house.

  “Gypsy!” I exclaimed. “Gypsy, Gypsy’s in there, she’s in there, in my house with my cat, with my art, my house . . .”

  “Shh,” Sebastian hissed in my ear. His breath tickled.

  “But I thought you killed her,” I babbled. “You got her and . . . took her out back.”

  “You pointed out a human woman. I wanted to be sure. I came to get you and saw you leave. I followed you and saw someone else stalking your home. Keep running.”

  My feet felt heavy and slow as he pulled me along, across yards, over fences. Behind a neighbor’s house he stopped and pushed me down behind an evergreen. The branches scraped my face and hands as I ducked.