Dark Fire (23 page)

"The band got lucky. Maybe their bodyguard is better than you think, paramilitary himself. What do you know about the big guy? Not too much gets by him. Is it possible the team went in with poor information? That maybe it was you who screwed up?"

Brady's fist clenched tightly until his knuckles turned white. A muscle twitched in his jaw. "I know for certain that the singer is a vampire. I know it, Cullen. The team knew, too, or they never would have gone in to make the hit. We wanted to bleed her as much as possible, weaken her, and take her alive. Our people have wanted a live specimen to study for years. But if the only thing we can get is a dead one, than so be it."

"All we've accomplished so far is to make the world think we're a bunch of crazy fanatics," Cullen objected. "I say we target someone else, someone not so damned popular. The cops love Desari. The merchants in every city she goes to love her. The audiences love her. If we kill her, they'll hunt us down like dogs."

"That's your trouble, Cullen-no sense of commitment. This is war. It's us against them. Do you believe they exist? With all the proof I've given you, do you really not believe?" Brady demanded. "After what you saw with your own eyes? Or was that just a tale to get you inside our group?"

"Hell, yes, I believe vampires exist," Cullen said. "But not this singer. She's just some woman with a beautiful voice and a bodyguard as lethal as anything I've ever seen. So she sleeps during the day. What do you expect? She works all night. So we can't find their campsites even when we track them all the time. They're very careful, very private. But no one ever dies. No kids are killed. They never leave a trail of drained carcasses behind. If they're vampires feeding off people, where are the bodies? Every vampire I've heard about kills. The reason we can't find these people when they camp is because their bodyguard is good.
That's
why there are no pictures, not because we can't get anybody on film. This guy does his job and does it well. Thus, no unauthorized pictures."

"And the leopards?" Brady demanded.

"Part of the show, the mystique. They're in show business, Brady. Everyone has some kind of gimmick. They like leopards. Big deal. Vampires like wolves and bats Isn't that what we've been told?" Cullen drove his point home.

The man nearest Cullen cleared his throat. He was little older than the others and generally very quiet. "I is possible Cullen is right in this case, Brady," he said softly. "There is no evidence that any in this group were ever in the Carpathian Mountains or even originate from that area."

"Wallace," Brady protested, "I know I'm right about this singer. I know I am."

The older man shook his head. "It doesn't add up Vampires seem to have some sort of thing about their women. Possessing them completely. Yet this singer recently paired up with someone from the outside world.

"You prove my point," Brady said triumphantly. "She hooked up with Julian Savage. He is from the region long suspected of producing vampires. And he's been under suspicion for a long time. Suddenly he shows up and he and the singer fall in love? It seems too big of a coincidence to me." Brady let that sink in, knowing he had made his point. Julian Savage was definitely high on the list of the society's suspects and had been for! very long time, though he had eluded their hunters at every turn.

There was a short silence. Everyone was looking to the older, soft-spoken man, William Wallace. He had been a member of the vampire-hunting society for more years than any of the others. He had lost family members to vampires. He had hunted them in Europe, and when he spoke, everyone, including Brady, did what he said.

"It is true," Wallace mused softly, "that wherever Julian Savage goes, death follows, yet he is never under suspicion by the police. He had a home in the French

Quarter in New Orleans, and several members of our society vanished there, never to be found. We could not prove he was in residence at the time-it appeared he had sold his family home-but even vampires can falsely generate the proper paperwork and credentials. He travels often from country to country, a very wealthy man," Wallace continued. "Now he travels around this country with a group of singers. It is indeed suspicious." He leaned over to look at the photograph. "You're certain this was taken at the same place where Brodrick died?"

Brady nodded. "I personally inspected the site. It's the same, all right. Matt took a series of photos of this woman."

"Have you ever seen her before?" Wallace asked.

Everyone shook his head. "Matt didn't have a girlfriend, either," a pimply-faced youngster volunteered. He was the most recent inductee to the society and wanted to be noticed, to prove himself. "So if he did recently meet a woman and take all these pictures in the area where the Troubudous were rumored to be camping, she would have to have some connection to the group."

"Do any of the other photos show her face up close?" Wallace asked.

"This is the best. She was staring straight toward the camera. I say we find this girl and get a few answers," Brady replied.

"Perhaps," Wallace said, "we should investigate a little further. If this girl knows something, it shouldn't be all that hard to get it out of her. Find her and bring her back here to our headquarters for interrogation."

Cullen Tucker looked uneasy. "Suppose she knows nothing at all? Maybe she's just some girl Matt found photogenic. If you bring her here and she sees all of us, finds out what we seek, we'll be exposed to the world."

Wallace shrugged casually. "Sometimes small sacrifices are necessary. Regretfully the young lady will be disposed of in order to protect our identities."

Cullen glanced around the room, studying the faces, looking for someone who would protest along with him. But the faces were blank, the faces of followers. Prudence dictated that he keep his mouth shut.

"Do you have a problem with that?" Brady growled, his cold eyes suddenly alive with a fever for blood.

Cullen shrugged. "No more than anyone else," he temporized. "I don't have to like it, Brady, just because it's necessary. I'll start looking for her at the band's next concert. It's in northern California. I'm sure they're heading that way now. She shouldn't be hard to spot, but just in case I'm wrong, send someone back to the park. Maybe she was a local or a camper. The park rangers might have seen her."

Brady Grand was silent a moment, quieting the urge to fight. He nodded. "Take Murray with you. It's safer if there's two of you." He indicated the youngster, knowing the kid was eager to do something violent, prove himself to the group.

"I always work alone-you know that," Cullen protested. "Two of us will only draw that bodyguard's attention. We can't count him out, you know. I'm willing to bet he's the one who took down our team."

"Maybe," Wallace mused, "but more likely it was Savage. He showed up right around that time. I hardly think Desari's bodyguard is a threat to us-unless, of course, he's one of them himself."

Cullen bit back his retort. What was the use? Brady Grand had become as fanatical as William Wallace in the last few years. They carried weapons constantly and trained a small army. They both seemed to think they were fighting a war. Cullen simply believed that if something as evil as a vampire existed, it should be exterminated. He believed it because he had been in San Francisco a few years back when a serial killer was on the loose. Except it was no serial killer. The creature had murdered Cullen's fiancee right in front of him, draining her blood and laughing while he did so. The police didn't believe him-no one did. Until Brady Grand found him. Now Cullen wasn't certain anymore whether the bloodthirsty Grand and Wallace were much different than the vampire.

Cullen glanced once more at the picture of the laughing redhead. She was beautiful, with joy and warmth in her smile, compassion in her face, a sweet innocence in her stance. Beyond her slender body and wealth of red hair, he saw someone worth something. He saw a woman with the same natural goodness his fiancée had possessed. He sighed and pocketed the photograph. It was amazing to him the others couldn't see the innocence in her face. She had nothing to do with vampires.

"I'll leave now," he said gruffly. "I'll be calling in to see if anyone picked up any leads, so have someone on the phones."

Brady regarded him strangely. His nod was slow, and his cold snake eyes followed Cullen as he went out the door. Cullen inhaled the fresh, crisp night air deeply, wanting to rid himself of the stench of fanaticism. He had followed the society members out of a need to avenge his fiancée’s hideous death. Now that need didn't seem so great. He wanted to be free of anger and hatred and start his life over again.

The photograph seemed to be burning a hole in his pocket. The smart thing to do would be to disappear. Get out. Hide. But he knew Brady Grand. The man liked killing and thought that in the society he had found a legitimate outlet for his psychotic tendencies. Even the U.S. armed forces had kicked him out, discharging him for his repeated vicious attacks on new recruits and civilians. There had been two incidents noted on his record, two suspicious deaths no one could quite prove were murders. Cullen knew all about those; he'd had a friend access the military reports. Brady Grand was not the kind of enemy he wanted hounding him for the rest of his life.

Cullen's Jeep started easily, but the photograph continued to burn through his clothing to his skin. Suddenly he swore. He couldn't just leave the redhead hanging out there. He would have to find her and warn her. The singer, too. She might have the best bodyguard in the world, but if Brady Grand was persistent enough, sooner or later the society would get to her.

Pounding the steering wheel in sheer frustration, Cullen turned the vehicle north.

Far away, deep within the bowels of the earth, Darius held Tempest to him. Something was moving through his mind, a warning signal, one that had stood him in good stead these many centuries. It was strong enough to bring the beast roaring to life. In his mouth he felt the ominous lengthening of his fangs. He lifted his head, his ice-black gaze sweeping the interior of the chamber. Slowly he turned his head toward the south, toward danger. Something threatened Tempest, something coming from that direction. Nothing would harm this woman he held in his arms. Nothing, he vowed.

He glanced down at her face, so young-looking and vulnerable in her sleep. The light from the candles caressed her skin lovingly, throwing tempting shadows across her, inviting his touch. Darius felt the surge of need rushing through his body and allowed it to happen. It would take centuries to sate his appetite for her. Centuries. But he had chosen otherwise. Had chosen to keep her human and die with her when her time came. So he would have to be more careful in his possession of her; he could not afford to keep taking her blood during mating.

He was out of control when his body demanded hers, dangerous for both of them. But he wanted her. He would never stop wanting her. It felt savage and primitive, yet tender and gentle. But he was not a gentle man. The long centuries had seen to that, honing his ruthless side, his predatory nature. Yet he found that when he looked at her, he was different. Something inside him melted, went soft.

He knew from centuries of existing the exact moment when the sun above ground sank low, the night enfolding the earth above them. His time. His world. Darius stretched lazily and turned to run a hand possessively over Tempest's satin skin. He had not slept in the welcoming soil, nor had he slept the rejuvenating sleep of his people, because had something gone wrong, he had not wanted Tempest to awaken alone beneath the mountain with what would appear to be his dead body beside her. In the Carpathians' sleep they shut down their heart and lungs-a useful thing, a rejuvenating process, something their bodies required to keep them at full strength, but it was frightening to humans.

Without fulfilling his customary process, Darius's sleep had been fitful and uneasy. But Tempest was young and used to going her own way, so he had sacrificed his restorative rest to ensure her cooperation and security. Now he rubbed strands of her red-gold hair through his fingertips. Red hair. Green eyes. Hot temper. Strong will Her skin was warm and alluring. In her trance-induced sleep her heart beat strong, and her breath caused the rise and fall of her full, creamy breasts.

Darius bent his head to taste her skin even as he is sued the command for her to awaken. His mind caught hers as she drowsily complied, feeding his own urgent hunger to her, building erotic images of his desires in her head. His mouth moved over her slowly, languidly his teeth occasionally nipping, claiming every part c her. He could feel the rhythm of her heart change to match his. His body hardened, demanded; his blood rushed in heated need. He felt her body answer as hot blood surged through her veins, carrying flames, carrying need.

Before she was fully awake, fully aware of her surroundings, he turned her world into an erotic fantasy Darius tasted the warmth of her throat, his hand moving to cup her breast possessively. Though she was small c stature, her bones delicate, her breasts were full, fitting into his palms as if made for him. He took an almost savage joy in the way his body hardened in aggressive male response.

His mouth moved over her shoulder, stopping to dwell in the small hollow there. His tongue lapped gently, insistently, tracing the valley between her breasts, paying close attention to each nipple, a task that sent fire racing through his blood. He closed his eyes for a brief moment savoring the texture of her skin, the fire spreading through his own body. But it soon became necessary to trace each indentation along her ribs, to inspect he stomach with his tongue.

His hands moved lower still, to the slender curve c her hips, caressing the satin skin there. Beneath his palms, she moved restlessly, still drowsy, only partially aware of what he was doing. But her body was alive with need for him. He shared that, connected in her mind as he was. Darius smiled to himself, enjoying the knowledge that at his every rising she would be with him, her body soft and welcoming.