Dark Angel; The Chosen; Soulmate (35 page)

And then Quinn tried to throw her and her body responded automatically. She was moving without conscious direction, anticipating his attacks and blocking them even as he started to make them. It transformed the fight into a dance. Faster than thought, graceful as a lioness, she countered every move he made.

Zanshin
to the max.

She ended up straddling him with her knife at his throat.

Now. Fast.
End it.

She didn't move.

You
have
to, she told herself. Quick, before he calls the others. Before he knocks you out telepathically. He can do it, you know that.

Then why isn't he trying?

Quinn lay still, with the point of the wooden knife in the hollow of his throat, just where his dark collar parted. His throat was pale in the moonlight and his hair was black against the sand.

Footsteps sounded behind Rashel. She heard rapid light breathing.

“Daphne, take the boats and go now. Leave me here. Do you understand?” Rashel spoke every word distinctly.

“But Rashel—”

“Do it now!”
Rashel put a force she hadn't known she had behind the words. She heard the quick intake of Daphne's breath, then footsteps scampering off.

All the while, she hadn't taken her eyes off Quinn.

Like everything else, the green-black blade of her knife was touched with moonlight. It seemed to shimmer almost liquidly. Lignum vitae, the Wood of Life. It would be death for him. One thrust would put it through his throat. The next would stop his heart.

“I'm sorry,” Rashel whispered.

She was. She was truly sorry that this had to be done. But there was no way out. It was for Nyala, for all the girls he'd kidnapped and hunted and lured. It was to keep girls like them safe for the future.

“You're a hunter,” Rashel said softly, trying for steadiness. “So am I. We both understand. This is the way it goes. It's kill or be killed. It all comes down to that in the end.” She paused to breathe. “
Do
you understand?”

“Yes.”

“If I don't stop you, you'll be a danger forever. And I can't let that happen. I can't let you hurt anyone else.” She was aware that she was shaking her head slightly in her attempt to explain to him. Her lungs ached and there were tears in her eyes. “I
can't.
”

Quinn didn't speak. His eyes were black and bottomless. His hair was slightly mussed on his forehead, but he didn't show any other sign of just having been in a fight.

He's not going to struggle, Rashel realized.

Then make it quick and merciful. No need for him to feel the pain of wood through his throat. She switched her grip on the knife, raising it over his chest. Holding it with both hands, poised above his heart. One swift downward stroke and it would be over.

For the first time since she had killed a Night Person, she didn't say what she always said. She wasn't the Cat right now; this wasn't revenge for her. It was necessity.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered, and shut her eyes.

He whispered, “This kitten has claws.”

Rashel's muscles locked.

Her eyes opened.

“Go on,” Quinn said. “Do it. You should have done it the first time.” His gaze was as steady as Fayth's. She could see moonlight in his eyes.

He didn't look wild, or bitter, or mocking. He only looked serious and a little tired.

“I should have realized it before—that you were the one in the cellar. I knew there was something about you. I just couldn't figure out what. At least now I've seen your face.”

Rashel's arms wouldn't come down.

What was wrong with her?
Her resolve was draining away.
Her whole body was weak. She felt herself begin to tremble, and realized to her horror she couldn't stop it.

“Everything you said was true,” he said. “This is how it has to end.”

“Yes.” Something had swollen in Rashel's throat and it hurt.

“The only other possibility is that I kill you. Better this way than that.” He looked exhausted suddenly—or sick. He turned his head and shut his eyes.

“Yes,” Rashel said numbly. He believed that?

“Besides, now that I
have
seen your face, I can't stand the sight of myself in your eyes. I know what you think of me.”

Rashel's arms dropped.

But limply. The blade pointed upward, between her own wrists. She sat there with her knuckles on his chest and stared at a scraggly wild raspberry bush growing out of the cliff.

She had failed Nyala, and Nyala's sister, and countless other people. Other humans. When it really counted, she was letting them all down.

“I can't kill you,” she whispered. “God help me, I can't.”

He shook his head once, eyes still shut. She was open to attack, but he didn't do anything.

Then he looked at her. “I told you before. You're an idiot.”

Rashel hit him under the jaw the way she'd hit the guard. The hilt of her dagger caught him squarely. He didn't move to avoid the blow.

It knocked him out cold.

Rashel wiped her cheeks and got up, looking around for something to tie him with. Her whole life was torn to pieces, falling around her. She didn't understand anything. All she could do was try to finish what she'd come here for.

Action, that was what she needed. Thought could wait. It would have to wait.

Then she glanced at the wharf.

She couldn't believe it. It seemed as if at least a week had passed since she yelled at Daphne,
and they were all still here.

The boats were here, the girls were here, and Daphne was running toward her.

Rashel strode to meet her. She grabbed Daphne by the shoulders and shook hard.

“Get—out—of—here! Do you
understand
? What do I have to do, throw you in the water?”

Daphne's eyes were huge and blue. Her blond hair flew like thistledown with the shaking. When Rashel stopped, she gasped, “But you can come with us now!”

“No, I can't! I still have things to do.”

“Like what?” Then Daphne's eyes darted to the cliff. She stared at Rashel. “You're going
after
them? You're crazy!” Looking frightened, she grabbed Rashel's hands on her shoulders. “Rashel, there are supposed to be eight of them, right? Plus Lily and Ivan and who knows what else! You really think you can kill them all? What, are they all just going to line up?”

“No. I don't know. But I don't need to kill them all. If I can get the guy who set this up, the client, it will be worth it.”

Daphne was shaking her head, in tears. “It won't be worth it! Not if they kill you—which they will. You're already hurt—”

“It'll be worth it if I can stop him from doing this again,” Rashel said quietly. She couldn't yell anymore. She didn't have the strength. Her voice was quenched, but she held Daphne's eyes. “Now get somebody to throw me some rope or something to tie these guys with. And then leave. No, give me five minutes to get to the top of the cliff. Six minutes. That way maybe I can surprise them before they realize you're gone.”

Daphne was crying steadily now. Before she could say anything, Rashel went on. “Daphne, any minute now they
could
realize that. Someone's bound to check the cellar before midnight. Every second we stand here could make the difference. Please, please, don't fight me anymore.”

Daphne opened her mouth, then shut it. Her eyes were desolate. “Please try to take care of yourself,” she whispered. She let go of Rashel's shoulders and hugged her hard. “We all know you're doing it for us. I'm proud to be your friend.”

Then she turned and ran, herding the others toward the boats.

A moment later she threw Rashel two pieces of line. Rashel tied up Quinn first, then the werewolf.

“Six minutes,” she said to Daphne. Daphne nodded, trying not to cry.

Rashel wouldn't say goodbye. She hated that. Even though she knew perfectly well that she was never going to see Daphne again.

Without looking back, she loped up the hiking trail.

The first person Rashel met in the mansion was Ivan.

It was sheer dumb luck, the same luck that had helped keep her alive so far tonight. She slipped in the back door, the way she and the girls had gone out. Standing in the huge silent kitchen, she listened for an instant to the music that was still blasting from the inner house.

Then she swiveled to check the cellar—and met Ivan the Terrible running up the stairs.

He had clearly just discovered that his twenty-four valuable slave girls were missing. His blond hair was flying, his eyes were wide with alarm, his mouth was twisted. He had the taser in one hand and a bunch of plastic handcuffs—the kind police use on rioters—in the other.

When Rashel suddenly appeared on the stairway, his eyes flew open even wider. His mouth opened in astonishment—and then Rashel's foot impacted with his forehead. The snap
kick knocked him backward, and he tumbled down the stairs to hit the wooden door below.

Rashel leaped after him, making it to the bottom only a second after he did. But he was already out.

“What are these? Were you supposed to take some girls up?” She kicked at the plastic handcuffs. Ivan the Unconscious didn't answer.

She glanced at her watch. Only a quarter to nine. Maybe he'd been taking the girls to get washed or something. It seemed too early to start the feast.

Running noiselessly back up the stairs, she quietly closed the door. Now she had to follow the music. She needed to see where the vampires were, how they were situated, how she could best get at them. She wondered where Lily was.

The kitchen opened into a grand dining room with an enormous built-in sideboard. It had undoubtedly been made to accommodate whole suckling pigs or something, but Rashel had a dreadful vision of a girl lying on that coffinlike mahogany shelf, hands tied behind her, while vampire after vampire stopped by to have a snack.

She pushed the idea out of her mind and moved silently across the floorboards.

The dining room led to a hall, and it was from the end of the hallway that music was coming. Rashel slipped into the dimly lit hall like a shadow, moving closer and closer to the doors there. The last door was the only one that showed light.

That one, she thought.

Before she could get near it, a figure blocked the light. Instantly Rashel darted through the nearest doorway.

She held her breath, standing in the darkened room, watching the hall. If only one or two vampires came out, she could pick them off.

But nobody came out and she realized it must have just been someone passing in front of the light. At the same moment she realized that the music was very loud.

This wasn't another room—it was the same room. She was in one gigantic double parlor, with a huge wooden screen breaking it up into two separate spaces. The screen was solid, but carved into a lacy pattern that let flickering light through.

Rashel thrust her knife in her waistband, then crept to the screen and applied her eye.

A spacious room, very masculine, paneled like the dining room in mahogany and floored in cherry parquet. Glass brick windows—opaque. All Rashel's worry about somebody looking out had been for nothing. A fire burned in a massive fireplace, the light bringing out the ruddy tones in the wood. The whole room looked red and secret.

And there they were. The vampires for the bloodfeast.

Seven of the most powerful made vampires in the world, Fayth had said. Rashel counted heads swiftly. Yes, seven. No Lily.

“You boys don't look that scary,” she murmured.

That was one thing about made vampires. Unlike the
lamia, who could stop aging—or start again—whenever they wanted, made vampires were stuck. And since the process of turning a human body into a vampire body was incredibly difficult, only a young human could survive it.

Try to turn somebody over twenty into a vampire and they would burn out. Fry. Die.

The result was that all made vampires were stuck as teenagers.

What Rashel was looking at could have been the cast for some new TV soap about friends. Seven teenage guys, different sizes, different colors, but all Hollywood handsome, and all dressed to kill. They could have been talking and laughing about a fishing trip or a school dance… except for their eyes.

That was what gave them away, Rashel thought. The eyes showed a depth no high school guy could ever have. An experience, an intelligence… and a coldness.

Some of these teenagers were undoubtedly hundreds of years old, maybe thousands. All of them were absolutely deadly.

Or else they wouldn't be here. They each expected to kill three innocent girls starting at midnight.

These thoughts flashed through Rashel's mind in a matter of seconds. She had already decided on the best way to plunge into the room and start the attack. But one thing kept her from doing it.

There were only seven vampires. And the eighth was the
one she wanted. The client. The one who'd hired Quinn and set up the feast.

Maybe it
was
one of these. Maybe that tall one with the dark skin and the look of authority. Or the silvery blond with the odd smile….

No. Nobody really looks like a host. I think it's the one who's still missing.

But maybe she couldn't afford to wait. They might hear the powerboats leaving over the steady pounding of the music. Maybe she should just…

Something grabbed her from behind.

This time she had no warning. And she wasn't surprised anymore. Her opinion of herself as a warrior had plummeted.

She intended to fight, though. She went limp to loosen the grip, then reached between her own legs to grab her attacker's ankle. A jerk up would throw him off balance….

Don't do it. I don't want to have to stun you, but I will.

Quinn.

She recognized the mental voice, and the hand clamped across her mouth. And both the telepathy and the skin contact were having an effect on her.