Night's Surrender (22 page)

Voices.

Darkness.

Her head ached.

She felt sick to her stomach.

With a groan, Abbey rolled onto her side and vomited her breakfast.

“What the hell!” A man's angry voice. Rough hands jerked her upright. “Clary, get over here and clean this up.”

“Do it yourself.”

Abbey blinked to clear her vision. She was lying on a cot. A length of heavy cord was knotted around her ankles. The woman, Clary, stood on the far side of the room. She cradled a mean-looking rifle in her arms. Abbey recognized her as one of the riders she had seen in the pasture. Where was the other woman?

Muttering under his breath about women's work, the man grabbed a towel and clumsily mopped up the mess on the floor.

They were hunters. The knowledge scudded across Abbey's mind. And then she frowned. How had she known that?

“What if he doesn't come?” the rifle-toting woman asked.

“Don't worry, he'll come.” The man wadded up the towel and tossed it in a corner.

“And if he doesn't?” the woman persisted.

“Let's not look for trouble.”

Still feeling a little groggy, Abbey wondered who they were waiting for, and what would happen when whoever they were expecting showed up. What would happen if no one came? What if it was Nick? Nick! Of course it was Nick. Or her father.

And she was the bait.

Abbey glanced at her surroundings, looking for something she could use as a weapon. They were in what appeared to be a bunker of some kind. There was a sink, a hot plate, two chairs, and the cot she occupied.

The man glanced out the window. “What the hell's keeping Berta? She should have been back here by now.”

Clary shrugged. “Maybe the takeout place was busy.”

“Maybe she chickened out and decided to cut and run.”

“My sister wouldn't do that,” the woman retorted, though her tone lacked conviction. “She'll be here.”

Abbey felt a tremor deep within her, as if someone—or something—had touched her very soul.
Nick?

Abbey smiled, her former fears evaporating. Hunters or not, these two would be no match for Nick Desanto, vampire extraordinaire.

The man looked at her sharply, his little pig eyes narrowing. “What have you got to look so friggin' happy about?”

“Who, me?” Preternatural power whispered through the room. At first, Abbey thought it was coming from Nick, but then she realized it was coming from inside herself. It reminded her of Nick's power, but it was different somehow.

The man felt it too. Frowning, he glanced around. “What the hell! Clary, do you feel that?”

“Feel what?”

“I'm not sure.”

Abbey stared at him. She should have been afraid, she thought, afraid of the power unfolding within her. Instead, she found herself embracing it, molding it, shaping it. In her mind's eye, she imagined picking the man up and throwing him against the wall. To her amazement, the thought no sooner crossed her mind than, with a startled cry, the man flew backward and slammed into the wall.

The woman raised her rifle, her worried gaze sweeping the room. “Who's there?”

“Maybe it's a ghost,” Abbey suggested. She focused her will on the woman, sending her stumbling across the floor to stand beside the man. “Or a witch,” she murmured, astonished by the strength thrumming inside her.

A moment later, the door crashed against the wall as Nick and her father burst into the room.

Abbey's heart skipped a beat when she saw her rescuers. She looked at Nick, thinking how surprised he would be when she told him what she had done.

As soon as she stopped concentrating on the man and the woman, her hold on them broke.

The woman quickly raised the rifle to her shoulder. At the same time, the man reached for the pistol tucked into the waistband of his jeans.

Faster than the eye could follow, Nick jerked the rifle from the woman's hands and tossed it aside. A quick twist broke her neck.

Rane didn't move quite as fast as Nick. The hunter squeezed off a round, striking Rane in the shoulder, before Rane plucked the gun from his hand and shot him in the chest. The man stumbled backward as a bright red stain blossomed across his shirt front.

Nick knelt in front of Abbey, his hands deftly untying the rope that bound her ankles. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, unable to take her gaze from the bodies on the floor. It had happened so quickly. Alive one minute. Stone cold dead the next. Her nostrils filled with the acrid smell of gun smoke, the coppery scent of blood.

“Nick, get her out of here,” Rane said. “I'll take care of these two.”

Rising, Nick swept Abbey into his arms and carried her out of the building.

She stared up at him, her face pale. “I think I'm going to . . .”

“Faint,” Nick muttered as she went limp in his arms.

Well, who could blame her?

 

 

Abbey ran through a nightmare landscape. It wasn't night and yet there was no sun. A river of blood followed her. No matter how she tried, she couldn't outrun the crimson tide. Faceless people sprang at her, their eyes hollow and empty of life. Blood poured from hideous, gaping wounds in their throats. Shadowy creatures hovered out of reach, their bony fingers reaching for her, their mocking laughter like the whisper of dead leaves rustling across tombstones.

She tried to cry out, to call for help, but she couldn't speak. She opened her mouth again, knowing that if she didn't wake now, she would die a horrible, lingering death.

“Nick!” His name was torn from her throat.

“Abbey! Abbey, wake up, I'm here.”

Light flooded the room when he switched on the bedside lamp. Moments later, his arms gathered her close.

She clung to him, sobbing incoherently.

“Shh, hush, love, it's all right now. I'm here.”

“Nick!” Her arms tightened around him. “Oh, Nick, I had the worst nightmare!”

He stroked her back. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“There was blood. So much blood. And it followed me.” She drew in a deep, shuddering breath. “And there were people . . . with dead eyes . . . bleeding . . . And shadows . . .” She buried her face in the hollow of his shoulder, some of her terror fading as his familiar scent tickled her nostrils. His skin was cool against her cheek, his hands gentle as he stroked her back, his voice soothing as he assured her there was nothing to fear.

He rained butterfly kisses on the top of her head. When she looked up at him, he covered her mouth with his, his tongue sweeping across her lips as his hand slid up and down her back.

She moaned softly, her nightmare fading, forgotten, in the magic of his touch.

“Abbey?”

She nodded, her hands moving over him, drawing him down on top of her.

In moments, her nightgown was gone and she was naked in his arms, reveling in his touch. “Take me,” she whispered. “Taste me.”

She closed her eyes, pleasure flowing through every nerve and fiber of her being as his tongue stroked the side of her neck. Moments later, he thrust into her. She moaned softly when his fangs pricked her flesh, the sensation sending her to heights of pleasure she doubted few humans were ever lucky enough to know.

 

 

“What do you think my nightmare meant?” Abbey asked sometime later.

They were sitting side by side, their backs against the headboard, Nick's arm curled around her shoulders.

“I doubt if it means anything. You had a good scare this afternoon,” he remarked. “It was probably just your mind's way of dealing with it.”

She nodded. “Maybe you're right.” She straightened abruptly. “Nick! I forgot. You should have seen what I did before you and my dad showed up.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was sitting on the cot, afraid, because they were waiting for my dad, or maybe for you, and I knew they were going to hurt you and suddenly I felt this . . . this incredible power flowing through me and I concentrated on the man and the next thing I knew, he was pinned against the wall, unable to move. And then it happened to the woman, too. I had this power and I don't know where it came from.” The words tumbled out. “Earlier in the day, I tried to turn on the faucet at the barn, you know, with my mind, and nothing happened. But in that shack . . .” She stared up at him. “It was amazing.”

“They didn't look immobile when I came through the door.”

“I know. As soon as I saw you and my dad, it broke my concentration.” Her gaze searched his. “You believe me, don't you?”

He nodded. “Sometimes preternatural power lies dormant until you need it. Today you needed it.”

She sagged against him, wondering what it all meant. Had it just been a fluke of some kind, like reading Nick's mind? Or had she really inherited some kind of witchy power from her biological father?

She closed her eyes and then sat up, frowning. “What happened to the other woman?”

“What do you mean?”

“She'd gone out for food, but she never came back.”

“Maybe she had second thoughts about what they were doing and left town.”

“Maybe.” Determined to put it all behind her, Abbey rested her head on Nick's shoulder.

His fingers massaged her neck and scalp. “Do you think you can sleep now?”

“Why?” She sent him a sideways glance. “Are you tired?”

He snorted softly. “Me? Are you kidding? It's not even midnight.”

Lifting his hand, she ran her tongue across his palm. “I want to taste you.”

“Anytime, love.”

Watching Nick bite into his wrist excited her in a way she didn't quite understand. She didn't hesitate to lick at the blood that welled from the shallow wound.

His blood hummed through her veins, turning her own blood to fire. She straddled his hips, her arms wrapping around his neck as she fell back on the mattress, drawing him with her.

His eyes glowed hotly as his body covered hers. One quick thrust carried her over the edge, past mortal pleasure into a world of ecstasy beyond anything she had ever known.

Pearl wasn't sure how it happened, but almost overnight their little café turned into a vampire hangout. Not that she was complaining. Most vampires had money to burn, whether they had saved it over centuries or stolen it from their prey two days ago.

She and Edna had stocked the bar with nothing but the best, but as mortal customers were few and vampires many, they began stocking a new brand of imitation blood that was popular with younger vampires but rejected by most of the older ones.

“You can't beat the real thing,” Monroe said one night after he and Pearl had gone hunting together. “That imitation blood has no kick to it.”

Pearl couldn't argue with that.

Now, she smiled at Monroe as he strutted into the bar. “What are you looking so pleased about?” she asked.

“I made a decision last night,” he said, easing onto the barstool beside hers.

“Is that right?”

He nodded. “Yep. I need to ask you something. Something important. I think I know what your answer will be. If I'm wrong . . . well, hell, I can't be wrong.” Reaching into his pants pocket, he withdrew a small, square, black velvet box and lifted the lid, revealing a ring with a diamond the size of a golf ball. “Will you marry me, Brittany?”

Pearl stared at Monroe. At the ring. And at Monroe again. “Do you mean it?”

He held up the box. “Darlin', does this look like I'm joking?”

“Of course I'll marry you!” She plucked the ring from the box and put it on her finger. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

Laughing, Monroe lifted her into his arms and swung her round and round until she was dizzy. And then, with her head still spinning, he kissed her. “Name the day, darlin'.”

Pearl blew out a sigh. What would Edna say when she told her the good news?

 

 

Edna and James came in later that night. Arm in arm, they joined Pearl and Monroe, who were sitting at one of the booths in the back of the room.

“Hi, you two,” Edna said, grinning from ear to ear.

“Hi,” Pearl said. “You look like the cat that finally caught the canary.”

“So do you,” Edna said. “Why are
you
so happy?”

Pearl smiled at Monroe. “We're getting married!”

“So are we!” Edna looked at James. “Did you two plan this?”

James nodded. “It seems like you two do everything else together. So we thought you ought to get engaged on the same night.”

“You darling man!” Edna exclaimed, throwing her arms around him. And then she glanced at Pearl. “Are you thinking what I'm thinking?”

“A double wedding,” Pearl said, clapping her hands.

“I told you so,” Monroe crowed, looking at James. “Pay up, old buddy.”

Grinning good-naturedly, James pulled a fifty out of his pocket and slapped it on the table. “I never should have doubted you.”

 

 

Pearl sighed as she sat on the edge of the bed and kicked off her shoes. “Edna, I've been thinking. . . .”

“Well, don't. It's always bad news when you start thinking and I don't want anything to ruin this night.”

“This is important,” Pearl insisted. “We've got to tell Monroe and James the truth.”

Edna's eyes widened. “Are you insane?”

“I don't know about you, but I don't want to start my marriage on a lie.”

“But . . . if word gets out about who we really are . . .” Edna shook her head. “Are you sure it's a good idea? We're safe here. Besides, how do you know Monroe will keep our secret?”

“Because I trust him,” Pearl said.

“With your life?”

“Of course. Don't you trust James?”

“Yes, but . . .” Edna stared at the ring on her finger. “I just hope we're making the right decision.”

 

 

Pearl decided to tell Monroe the truth the following night. With that in mind, she went shopping in Albuquerque, deciding that if she was going to confess all, she might as well do it with style. She bought a long green skirt and shoes to match, and a flowered silk shirt. Back home, she washed the brown dye out of her hair and when that was done, she felt like her old self again.

When Monroe came into the bar that night, he walked right past her. After a few steps, he backed up, his brow furrowed, his eyes narrowed with disbelief. “Anita? Is that you?”

“It's Pearl, actually,” she said, annoyed by the nervous tremor in her voice. “Pearl Jackson.”

“Well, I'll be damned. I guess I owe you a pat on the back and a drink!”

Pearl laughed, all her fears allayed when he took her into his arms.

“Don't worry, darlin',” he said, waggling his brows like the villain in a stage play. “Your guilty secret is safe with me.” And then he frowned. “If you're Pearl, that means . . .”

She nodded. “Brittany is Edna.”

“Son of a gun. Does James know?”

“She's telling him right now. Are you angry because I lied to you? I didn't want to, but . . .”

“Hell, no, I'm not angry. And for the record, I like you a whole lot better as Pearl than as Anita. So,” he said, his tone brisk, “name the day and let's get married!”

 

 

Pearl sipped her wine. “How'd it go? What did James say when you told him?”

“He was shocked at first.” Edna sat on the sofa and removed her shoes. “But then he was okay with it. Where did you get those clothes? You look great!”

“I went shopping earlier. I decided Monroe needed to see the real me before we got married. And you know what? He said he likes Pearl better than Anita.”

“I hope James feels the same way.” Edna looked down at her drab gray skirt and white shirt. “I'm sick of these frumpy clothes and clunky shoes,” she said irritably, and then she grinned. “Although I have to say, blondes really do have more fun!”