In the Dark (18 page)

“Haven’t
been kissed like that before, have you?” she said, a little
cocky.

“Hm-mm,”
I rolled the taste of her blood on my tongue. It was so sweet, more
than usual. I wondered what she’d eaten to make the taste so
different.

“I suppose
you haven’t been bitten before, either.” She ran her
fingers along my wounded hand. It stung fantastically.

“Just
Kent, when he changed me.”

She took my hand
in hers, raising it to her mouth again. She kissed softly at the
bite, nibbling at it until I whimpered, then bit me again, hard,
right between my thumb and first finger.

I gasped. Her
teeth felt like knives through my skin, but overlying the hurt was
head-spinning pleasure, mixing with the pain until I didn’t
know which was which, only that I wanted more.

She pulled me
down to the floor, her hands looking for the hem of my shirt. Her
fingers slipped up inside my shirt, brushing along my abdomen . . .
her hands didn’t feel right. Cool. Too cool. I frowned, still
kissing her.

“You’re
cold,” I murmured.

“Warm me
up,” she answered, and dug her nails into my back.

I didn’t
need to narrow my eyes to get my pupils to dilate. I reached for her
neck with my teeth, enough to scrape them along her skin, not to
break it.

She found the
soft inside of my elbow and bit again, finding more blood. I couldn’t
resist anymore. I closed my fangs over her collar bone and pressed
until I felt them slide in, letting her own blood come to me . . .
and paused. I couldn’t feel her heart forcing the blood to me.
It should have pulsed up to my tongue, but when I broke her skin,
nothing. A little bit of blood welled to the surface where I bit and
stopped.

I sat back a
bit. Cold. Sweet blood. No pulse. “Did Josephine change you?”

“Not
quite.” She smiled, showing her small, pointed fangs.

My mind slowed,
focusing on that detail. Watching her wicked little smile and
realizing I was in deep, deep trouble.

Jerk away,
I
thought, but before I could, she rolled and flipped me onto my back.
One quick move with my legs trapped between hers. What air I did have
in my lungs burst out as she landed on top of me. She grinned down at
me.

“Emily?”
I coughed desperately.

“No, dear
Ian.” Her smile drooped a bit. “Unfortunately, I had to
do away with poor Emily. She could, after all, have ruined
everything. I mean, with all the blood I took from her I thought it
unlikely she’d be moving anytime soon, but one can’t take
chances.”

Do away with?
She’s dead? Then who is this? Who
is
this?

Kent’s
killer. She couldn’t be anyone else. But she was Emily!

Before the
thought had finished I started fighting. I bucked and threw my weight
against her, screamed and kicked. She just stayed on me, chuckling. I
stopped, panting, watching her and trying to think, dammit, think!

“Oh, dear.
I did want to fuck you first.” She traced one finger along my
cheek. I tried to pull my face away, but she had me pinned too well.
“It’s been so long for me. But I suppose, since you
insist on being so damn observant, I’ll have to make do with
what I can get.” With a sensuality that made me want to vomit,
she slid one hand into my hip pocket and pulled out my cell phone. My
stomach dropped as she tossed it to one side. She cocked her head at
me, a half-smile on her pouty lips. It looked so much like Emily.
Exactly like her.

“You
know,” she said, “the funniest part is Sebastian. He
thinks I’m how many people? Two at least? Maybe more?”
She winked. “Surprise! Just little old me. Funny he’s
never run across this trick before . . . although Kent was even
funnier. He should have known better.”

And then her
face came at me so fast it blurred. Razors stabbed into my throat
under my chin. I heard something crunch and gagged. I hadn’t
expected her to bite me, or to bite that hard, and that made it hurt
worse. I tried to scream and choked instead.

Blood gushed
through the rip in my neck, her mouth clamped on it. I felt her
throat ripple as she swallowed. No pleasure this time, only pain.

I gasped air to
scream – felt blood drip into my lungs. I couldn’t get
enough air to even cough. My fingernails dug into her scalp, trying
to pull her off. My Women’s Self-Defense class scrambled back
into my head, my other hand reached for something, anything, and
smacked into a table leg. I grabbed it and pulled, knocking the small
table askew, dropping a collection of things to the floor. She
growled and shook her head, ripping at my damaged throat. I paused as
agony ripped through me. Kept searching. My hand landed on a
paperweight. Heavy. Stone or metal. I made a fist around it and
brought my hand back against her head with all the force I could
find.

Her fangs left
trails of fire across my throat as her head bounced away. In a flash,
her mouth clamped back down on my neck. I bashed her again, hating
the way my arm recoiled when I hit, desperate for her to let go. Her
head bounced to the side, and I hit her again before she could
recover. I rolled out from under her before she could regain her
balance. Got into a crouch and watched her, ready to make a run for
it.

The strange
woman who looked like Emily recovered fast, got into a crouch almost
before I did. And laughed. Opened her mouth so I could see red on her
pink tongue. My blood smeared across her face. I wanted to run, but
the door was behind her and all I could do was crouch there and hope
she wouldn’t hurt me more.

But she was
going to kill me.

She lunged at
me, on all fours like an animal. I sprinted for the door, sure I’d
be too slow.

It was locked.
She had locked it. I hadn’t seen her touch anything, but the
door didn’t budge just the same. She hit me from behind while I
yanked on the knob. Slammed my stomach to the door, pressing me flat.
It felt like being squashed by a truck. My lungs deflated in my
chest.

“What’s
the matter, sweetheart?” she purred. “You liked me
before.” She dragged cold fingers up the back of my neck into
my hair. It felt like slime dripping onto me.

I threw my head
back, aiming for her face. The back of my head slammed to a stop
harder than I’d thought it would. I heard a distant crunch, saw
red behind my eyelids. She yelped and jerked back, just enough that I
fumbled the lock open on the door. She had me pinned again before I
could fling it open. I heard a snarl and felt her hand on the back of
my head.

Shit.

She shoved.
Spotlights exploded in front of me. I heard another crunch like the
first, but closer, louder. First the lights, then the pain. The
breath I choked in felt ragged in my nose. Broken. I writhed and
gasped like a fish on land, trying to make some kind of noise,
getting only that wet rattle.

Razors stabbed
into the back of my neck! The nauseating sound in my chest filled my
ears. She sucked and my blood gushed away from me. Hunger roared in
my stomach, my face throbbed pain, my neck pulsed fire. She kept
drinking.

I had my knees
locked. That was why we were still standing up. I let them fold –
for a second, they didn’t. Then I fell, all at once, like I had
no legs at all. I heard and felt skin tear away from my neck:
rip.
I hit the floor trembling. The jolt made more lights explode across
my vision. I kept my legs under me, and with all I had left, I
jumped.

My head stopped
short again, like I’d slammed straight into a wall. I tried to
scream and couldn’t. More flashing pain lights blinded me.
Someone screeched. Not me – I couldn’t breathe.

Her weight fell
off me – I didn’t care how that happened, just so
relieved to get her off. I grabbed the door, threw it open and ran. I
stumbled down the brickwork steps, then gave in to gravity and jumped
them. Fireworks went off behind my eyes when I hit the ground.

My boots caught
the pavement and I ran. Every step sent a red jolt through my face.
Found the curb by tripping over it. Didn’t notice I’d
tripped until the pavement rushed my face. I screeched when I hit, a
horrible gurgle that didn’t even sound human. Pain flashed,
blinding me, then faded. I hauled myself up and ran, down one street,
into an alley, through someone’s yard, across another street.

Found myself in
an alley. Pressed to a wall, I paused and listened. Without the pain
pulsing in time to my feet, I could hear. I listened, ignoring the
sound in my chest, trying to hear her behind me. Silence. Just the
normal sounds of the night.

Sebastian!

It was a mental
scream, thinking what I couldn’t get out loud. Oh, please, I’d
dreamed Josephine and Emily the night before, maybe Sebastian would
hear me . . .

Emily.

What happened to
Emily?

I saw her face
in my head, smug, faking regret – “had to do away with
poor Emily . . .”

Oh, no. Oh, no.

She’d been
warmer earlier tonight. It hadn’t lasted. A vampire. How?
Trick, the vampire said. What trick? It was
Emily.
Every tiny
detail, her eyes, her hair . . . except her pulse, her temperature.
And the way she looked at me, so hungry, so cold . . . not Emily.
What happened to her?

Dead,
my
cruel logic said. She got taken, like Evan, and the vampire drank her
up. I didn’t know how, but the trick was looking like her,
taking her place.

Sebastian!

Nothing.
Ridiculous to think he’d come just because I needed him. I had
to get out of here. Find Sebastian.

I had to run.
Run where, I didn’t know. Away. I tried to take a deep breath
to steady myself but it stopped halfway down. The hole in my throat
slurped, and nothing got to my lungs. Tears sprang to my eyes.
Somehow, not being able to breathe when I wanted to frustrated me
more than everything else. I didn’t need to breathe, only
wanted to, and I couldn’t. I swallowed, feeling how raw my
throat was. Without any breath at all, I ran.

S
ebastian
stopped outside Josephine’s house, locked the Vector and ran.
To hell with it if anyone saw the car and recognized it. He’d
already wasted time checking the martini bar down the street from his
building.

The heavy oak
door at the front of the house stood open. Sebastian leapt the four
steps leading up to the door and paused in the doorway, taking in the
scene. A still-wet smear of blood stained the thick carpet. Not
enough to indicate serious injury to the vampire who’d lost it,
but enough to show someone had been hurt. A table had been
overturned, a marble paperweight marked with blood lay to one side.
Used as a weapon. He could only hope by Ian. A cellular telephone lay
on the floor. He recognized it. Stepped into the room to snatch it
up, his eyes and ears open. No sign of anyone still in the house. No
sound. Nothing useful.

Gone. Damn.

He looked at the
front stairs, at the thick grass around them, the sidewalk. Nothing.
No marks. No tracks. He turned and ran up one side of the block,
scanning the ground – ah! Blood on the pavement. He bent,
dipped a finger in the thin smear and brought it to his lips. Sweet.
Ian’s or another vampire’s. Probably Ian. Only extreme or
sudden violence could cause a vampire to bleed beyond the simple
welling that resulted from cuts and scrapes. He doubted Ian had
managed to beat her assailant enough to draw blood. This far from the
house . . . she’d been attacked, then used the paperweight to
beat off her attacker, run this far, and fallen somehow. From the
scuff marks left on the pavement, he thought she’d tripped.
Injured, then, but not dead. No body, no ash. He saw no further signs
of struggle here – Ian had tripped, but hadn’t been
taken. She’d continued running.

Which way? He
was in a quiet residential neighborhood, only houses inhabited by
families for blocks.

The marks showed
she fell facing north. Towards a corner that gave her three options:
left, right or straight ahead.

If she were
smart, she ran down one of the turns. Left. Going right would mean
crossing the street, moving into the open. Left meant getting into
houses and yards, more hiding places.

Hand resting on
his sword hilt, he took off after her.

I
ran down alleys and streets, through yards and over fences, my nose
throbbing in time with my boots.

The nearest
street where I could flag a cab was only a few minutes away by car.
On foot I might have to run for a while. She might catch me before I
reached it. Catch me and kill me. And maybe Josephine and Sebastian,
if I couldn’t warn them. Like Emily.

My chest ached
for Emily. I hadn’t loved her, hadn’t known her well
enough. Now I never would.

In an alley,
behind a garage, I stopped to rub red from my eyes. My stomach burned
for blood. Running made it worse. A stabbing cramp in my middle kept
me stooped over. Tears fell off my face and quietly dotted the
ground. I probed the cuts on my neck with shaking fingers, scared of
what I would find, more frightened of not knowing. The touch stung. I
clenched my jaw tight and kept at it.

The first one,
the one that had broken my air, felt awful. Loose skin flapping on
either side, two gaping holes I could almost stick a finger into. If
I pressed into my neck hard enough, I could feel the kink in the
solid tube of my windpipe. It folded under my fingers; I gagged and
let it go. As a mortal, I probably would have suffocated several
minutes ago.

The cuts on the
back of my neck were shallower, razor slashes crusted with blood.
They stung. I reached for my nose and my world went black. My vision
came back and
then
it hurt, a screaming pain that brought more
tears to my eyes. I tried again, tensing for the pain, determined to
know.