Dark Fire (16 page)

"Oh, for heaven's sake." She glared at the lavish interior of the motor home. "You're acting worse than a teenager," she told herself. "He's arrogant and bossy and strange. Keep that in mind when you're going ga-ga over his looks. He's a man. That's bad enough. And he's worse than a man. He's a…" She searched for the right explanation. "A something. Something you don't want any part of. Now go check the oil. Something mundane, ordinary. Something you can relate to."

Just before dawn he had carried her to the bus they had by then overtaken, after driving all night. She closed her eyes and could still feel the strength in his arms, the way the hard muscles of his chest felt against her soft breasts. In the early streaks of light she could see his face, sensual, beautiful, yet as harsh as time itself. He had carried her gently, carefully into the bus and laid her on the couch among the pillows. His tenderness as he covered her with a quilt was forever etched in her heart. The kiss he brushed over her temple still held traces of fire.

And her neck. Tempest pressed a hand to her neck, then turned back to the mirror to look once more. His mouth had left a burning brand there, marking her as his. She could see the evidence, the odd mark that throbbed and seared and called to him. She covered it with her palm and captured the scorching heat there.

"You are in so much trouble this time, Rusti," she murmured softly. "I don't even have a clue how I'm going to get you out."

She attempted to eat cold cereal but found she was more lonely than hungry. She wanted to see his mouth, the way he quirked it, slow and sexy. She wanted to see the black burning of his eyes. The cereal tasted like cardboard. Why was it erotic when Darius took her blood, when the thought of any other doing such a thing sickened her? What made it repulsive when Barack had bent close yet made her entire body clench in anticipation of Darius? She touched the mark with a fingertip this time.

"You are not going to sit here daydreaming, Tempest," she declared staunchly, vaguely wondering why she was calling herself the name Darius insisted upon. "Go do something, anything, but stop acting stupid."

She took only a few minutes to clean up and, after petting the sleepy leopards, went outside. The heavy drapes at the windows had blocked the light out of the bus so that the day seemed brighter than ever, and she had to squeeze her eyes shut against its brilliance. The breeze was soft and playful, tugging at her hair and clothes, rustling leaves and blowing pine needles here and there about their new campsite.

The air smelled fragrant with both pine and wildflowers. Water bubbled somewhere close by. Tempest fiddled halfheartedly with the bus engine, fine-tuning until she was satisfied. The wind made her feel more lonely than ever. Colors seemed so much more vivid when Darius was around. Everything was more vivid when Darius was around.

Obsession.
Was that what this was? Tempest filled a water bottle and slid it into her knapsack. She would go hiking, wade in the stream, and cool off. Wash him away. Whistling, she pushed her hands into her pockets and started off, determined that Darius's presence was no longer going to haunt her. But a feeling of dark oppression began to overtake her as she walked farther from the camp.

She tried singing, but her heart seemed heavy, her legs like lead as she took each step. A terrible sorrow was growing in her. She needed to see Darius, touch him, know that he was alive and well. She found the thin ribbon of a stream and followed it until it widened and poured in a frothy silver blanket over an outcropping of rocks. She took off her shoes and strode in. The icy cold cleared her head enough that she could reason again.

Darius was not dead or hurt. Nothing was wrong. The bond between them was growing because he merged his mind more often with hers. They shared an intense intimacy that was not meant for humans. Without his mind touching hers, she was feeling the loss. That was all. It was simple. She just had to learn to live with it.

Tempest waded farther out into the stream so that the water poured over her knees and the current urged her to follow its course. She became aware of the insects in the air, their constant hum, their buzzing about. They were darts of color, a whirring of gossamer wings. She listened in the way Darius had taught her, in utter stillness, with the water flowing around her and her mind centered on the tiny creatures teeming with life.

Tempest watched a brilliant blue dragonfly hover above the stream. Very slowly she looked around and saw butterflies gathering. So many beautiful colors, wings beating in the air. They came from everywhere, brushing up against her, landing on her shoulders, her arms. Entranced, she stayed attuned to them until she feared she was gathering too many. Abruptly she released them, and they gracefully began to take flight.

Musical notes seeped into her mind as the birds began a concert, a rivalry of sound. Various species vied for air waves and tried to outdo one another. She listened intently, repeating the sounds in her mind until she was certain she had each separate song, each meaning, before she answered them.

One by one she called them to her. Holding out her arms, she sang to them, coaxed them, her throaty warbling luring the birds from their branches and nests. They flew around her, circling low, dipping to inspect her warily before settling on her arm.

Chattering and scolding, the squirrels came next, rushing forward to stop at the edge of the water. Slowly, with great care, Tempest made her way toward them, all the time still talking quietly to the birds. They fluttered around her, cooing and singing, trilling their favorite tunes to her. Two rabbits moved hesitantly into the open, wiggling their noses at her. Tempest stayed very still, reaching out only with her mind to include them in the circle of communication.

It was a bird that first warned her of danger. Riding an air current high above them, its sharp eyes caught a stealthy movement in the brush several yards from the gathering. It keened an alarm, cautioning those below that they weren't alone. Tempest turned around quickly as the birds took flight and the squirrels and rabbits raced to safety. She was left alone in the clearing, her bare feet still in the water. The man partially hidden in the thick brush was busy taking a series of pictures. He looked all too familiar and, worse, all too triumphant. He had obviously taken photos of the animals swarming around her.

Tempest sighed and ran a hand through her hair. At least she hadn't managed to draw out anything major or exotic. No bears or fox or minks. But she could still see the reporter's tatty little rag with her picture on the front, captioned
Birdwoman of the Dark Troubadours.
What a great article that was going to make. How did she manage to get herself into such messes?

"Hello again. You seem to be following us around," she greeted Matt Brodrick, hoping she didn't sound as afraid as she felt. She hated being alone with men, and this meandering stream in a remote wooded area was about as alone as it got. "Did you get some good pictures?"

"Oh, yeah," he answered, allowing the camera to hang loosely around his neck. He began to move toward her, looking cautiously around. "Where's the bodyguard?" he asked with great suspicion.

Tempest's feet moved of their own volition, wading backward into the middle of the stream as Matt Brodrick strode toward her.

"I thought that bodyguard stuck to you like glue."

"Where would you get an idea like that? I'm the mechanic, not a band member. He sticks to Desari, the lead singer, like glue. That's his job. I can give him a message the next time I see him if you'd like." Something about Brodrick made her uneasy. She knew he was more than a nosy reporter trailing after the troupe, but what he wanted, she couldn't guess.

"Someone tried to kill her a couple of months back," Brodrick said, watching her face carefully. "Did they tell you that? Did they mention that when the attempt was made, two other members of the band were shot also? This group can be dangerous to be around."

She went still inside. He was telling the truth; she could feel it. But he had deliberately told her in the quiet solitude of these woods to shock her, to see if he could shake her up. Tempest inhaled, taking in fresh air, pushing out the terrible fear. She began to move in the direction of the current even as she gave a casual shrug. "It has nothing to do with me. I fix cars, that's all. You're probably in as much danger as I am if someone is trying to hurt Desari and you're always hanging around."

She glanced up at the sky. It was a clear, beautiful day, clouds like cotton balls floating serenely high above them. "It's probably some crazed fan. You know the type. Desari is sexy and beautiful. She draws all kinds of attention. Sometimes so much attention isn't a good thing." Some of nature's tranquillity seeped into her mind.

Or was it Darius again? He was far from her; she couldn't touch him even when her mind, of its own accord, reached out to find his. She met only blankness, yet she sensed he was helping her. She could feel something of his characteristic calm entering her and helping her toward the stillness that better attuned her to nature.

Brodrick was stalking her along the edge of the stream, careful to keep his wingtips dry. "More likely someone knows what they are." His eyes bored into her. "You were warning me, weren't you, trying to tell me if I stayed around here I could get hurt?"

"Where did you get an idea like that?" Tempest wished she'd thought of it. She was allowing him to intimidate her, when maybe he was just as scared. "I don't read slimy tabloids, Brodrick, so maybe you should tell me what you're looking for. I take it you plan to use those pictures of me. I'm not a celebrity, and, in any case, what would be the point? So I prefer animals to people. I have an affinity for them. You print that, and all you'll do is maybe lose me my job. How is that going to help you accomplish whatever it is you want?"

Brodrick was studying her. She was standing with the sun behind her, so he didn't spot right away the love bite on her neck. When he did, he made a strangled sound and scrambled backward, hastily reaching inside the neckline of his shirt to drag out a silver cross. He held it out in front of him, facing her.

Tempest stared at it a moment without comprehension. Then, as the significance sank in, she burst out laughing. "What are you doing, you idiot? You're nuts! You really believe the junk you print, don't you?"

"You're one of them. You bear the mark of the beast. You're his servant now," he accused hysterically. The sun shining on the silver glared into her eyes.

Tempest touched her neck with her fingertips. "Who is
he?
What beast? I'm beginning to think you're insane. My boyfriend was playing around and gave me a hickey. What did you think it was?"

"They're vampires, the lot of them," Brodrick said. "Why do you think they sleep during the day?"

Tempest laughed softly. "Is that why there's so many coffins in the bus? Wow. I never thought they were vampires."

Brodrick swore angrily, furious that she would make fun of him. "You won't be laughing at me when I prove it to the world. We're on to them. We have been for some time. We're traced them over the last fifty years, and they haven't aged a bit."

"Who are 'we'? And you have proof of this?" Her heart was in her throat, but she forced the taunting grin to remain on her face. "You don't look fifty yourself, Brodrick, so maybe you're one of them, too."

"Don't laugh at me," he hissed, furious. "We're a society of concerned citizens trying to save the world from these demons. We put ourselves at great risk. Some of our people were killed in Europe, you know-martyrs for our great cause. We can't let vampires continue to endanger mankind."

Her eyes widened. She was looking at an honest-to-God fanatic, doubtless somehow behind the effort to kill Desari. "Mr. Brodrick." She tried to be reasonable. "You can't actually believe what you're saying. I know these people. They're hardly vampires; they're just a little eccentric. They travel around singing like most bands do. Darius cooked me vegetable soup the other day. Desari has a reflection in the mirror-I've seen it myself. And I was only kidding about the coffins. The bus has every luxury, including a sleeping area. Please believe me, these are just talented people trying to make a living."

"I saw the mark on you. They use humans. No one has seen them out in the sun. I know I'm right. We almost had them the last time. And what happened to our best marksmen-the ones we sent out to destroy them? They disappeared without a trace. How did Desari escape? How did she live with several bullets put into her? Tell me that. They claim she went to the hospital, and a private doctor took care of her. Ha!"

"That's easy enough to check on."

"The doctor says she was there. So do three nurses and a few techs, but no one else. A famous singer in their hospital and most of the staff can't remember it? And I didn't find one surgical nurse who knew a thing about it. They claimed everyone on the operating team was a specialist brought in from the outside."

"The Dark Troubadours are wealthy, Brodrick. Wealthy people do things like that. But are you openly saying you were part of an attempt on Desari's life?" The admission frightened her; she had the feeling he wouldn't bother to confess unless he planned to get rid of her, too. For the first time she was afraid for her life. Did he have a gun? It was entirely possible. Worse, she believed Brodrick was insane. No one in his right mind would believe in vampires taking over humankind. She'd always believed vampires to be myth-at least until she saw Darius in action. This man was basing his notions on mere foolishness and hoary old legends.

It seemed Darius was far more trustworthy than any human she had met as yet. Not that that did her much good right now, wherever he was. Oh, Lord, she didn't even want to know where he was. What if he really slept in a coffin? The idea gave her the willies. He had mentioned going to ground. What did he mean by that?

Don't think about it, Tempest. That will make you as crazy as this nutcase. Keep focused here. Stay with what's important.