Demon's Delight (7 page)

“I'd like a few minutes of your time.” His well-modulated voice was pitched low, as if someone might actually care that he was negotiating a transaction, but no one around here cared about anything except their next fix, whether it be drugs, alcohol, or sex.

He definitely wasn't her type of mark, and she'd had enough blood tonight. “Sorry, not interested.” She pivoted back around.

“I'm not asking for sex,” he responded quickly. “I just want to talk.”

They all did. They wanted to tell her about their rotten lives, cheating spouses, unemployment, and the crap the world dumped on them in general. Or they wanted to brag about their sexual prowess, or their domination over women, or how important they were—despite all evidence to the contrary. She'd heard it all, seen it all, when she slipped into the pathetic and weak minds she encountered virtually every night of her existence.

“No,” she said firmly. “I'm done for the night.” She started to walk away.

“I know what you are.”

She rolled her eyes. Great. He was a missionary, intent on saving the soul of a lowly prostitute. Or a do-gooder, trying to meet his quotient of helping those “less fortunate.”

She glanced over her shoulder again. “Hooray for you. News flash, mister—I don't want to be saved, and I don't want to be helped. But there are plenty of the
less fortunate
back that way. Just leave me alone.”

She'd only made it two steps when he spoke again. “And I know who you are, Rachel Emma Stryker.”

His words stopped her cold. She'd never given her full name to
anyone
. She had used a false identity for buying her condo and her car and establishing credit.

Tension lacing through her, she faced him. “You've mistaken me for someone else.”

His gaze remained steady, his eyes an indeterminate color in the artificial light. “Your mother was Gertrude Marie Gutmann Stryker and your father was Abram David Stryker. Aaron was your younger brother.”

Shock staggered her, but she managed to keep her outward composure. How could he possibly know that? Who or
what
was he? He certainly wasn't her kind. She would know if he was. “Who are you?”

“I'm Gabriel Anthony. But my friends call me Gabe.” The light around him seemed to intensify, and she had to avert her eyes. He took a step closer. “I'm here to help you.”

Fear and irritation comingled. She was certain now that he was a do-gooder, determined to “rehabilitate” her, that he had somehow managed to trace her to that other life so long ago. Although she had no idea how, and his accomplishment left her shaken and concerned.

She took the step that brought her in close proximity with him. Looked him in the eyes, despite the pain of the light. He radiated a surprising warmth that almost had her leaning into him. And he smelled great, reminiscent of fresh bread, coffee, cinnamon, and all the other enticing scents that had once permeated her mother's kitchen.

Damn it, she wasn't going there. “Let me make this very clear. You are mistaken about me. You have me confused with someone else. I repeat, I don't
need
and I don't
want
your help. Now leave me the hell alone.”

She turned and strode off, determined this would be the end of it.

“I'll see you around.” His words sounded like a promise—or a threat.

“I don't think so,” she called back without breaking stride.

He didn't speak again or try to stop her. But she was very aware of his presence behind her as she walked away. She went another two blocks before she looked back. He was still there, watching her. And the light still surrounded him like a sacred nimbus.

She didn't like halos or anything associated with them.

She walked on, disappearing into the shadows.

H
ERE,
kitty, kitty! Come here, kitty. I have something for you.” Rachel crouched at the Dumpster where Gertie usually lurked. She rattled the paper bag, pulled out a pouch of Friskies Fine Cuts and a paper plate.

A faint meow came from behind the Dumpster, and there was a flash of white and gray as a small cat edged around and trotted toward Rachel. It meowed again, then rubbed against her legs. She petted the cat awkwardly, feeling rather foolish, as she did every night. It butted its head against her hand.

“Are you hungry? I brought your favorite brand.” Rachel opened the pouch and dumped the contents on the paper plate. The cat started gulping the food.

Rachel allowed herself one more stroke along the cat's soft fur before she stood. She'd found the animal a month ago, just a kitten, ragged and starving and feral. The kitten's skeletal state had resurrected terrible visuals of the starving humans in Dachau. Something about its weary, distrustful eyes had touched Rachel. That, and the fact that it would only come to her, despite efforts from Caitria and some of the homeless men. Rachel could only guess that the animal was attracted to her because of her allure.

She couldn't bring herself to take the cat home, but she couldn't leave her to starve, either. So she'd started bringing food for her every night, although she only allowed herself brief contact. She didn't want to become attached to the animal. She'd had enough loss in her life.

Rachel turned to go, starting when she careened into a man standing there. She moved back, her eyes narrowing when she saw who it was.

“
You.
What are you doing here?”

The do-gooder from last night, Gabriel something-or-other, squatted down, held out his hand. “I'm here to see you—and Gertie.”

How did he know the cat's name?
Rachel usually only called her “kitty,” rather than use something as personal as a name. Squinting against the light that seemed to emanate from the man, she stared as Gertie left her food and went right to him, rubbing against his hand. The cat had never let anyone else near her. And she was purring loudly.

“You saved her life, you know,” he said, scratching under Gertie's chin. She angled her head back to give him better access, and he smiled.

The light around him brightened, and Rachel had to look away. “I haven't saved anyone. It's enough just to take care of myself.”

He stood and faced her. Tonight he was wearing a dark brown leather jacket over a tan sweater and jeans. “I think you've done a good job of surviving. But there's more to life than simply existing.”

They were back to that. “I'm not interested in preaching or a helping hand. Leave me alone.”

He stared at her a long moment, the light around him painful. Was it just her imagination, or were his eyes glowing? “I'm afraid I can't do that,” he said softly.

This—
he
—was making her crazy. “You'd damn well better,” she snapped. “Stay the hell away from me, or I'll go to the police and tell them you're stalking me.”

She turned and stormed away. The man was unnerving, in more ways than one. One was the light around him—she guessed he must have an unusually powerful aura, although she knew very little about that stuff. Another was him knowing so much about her and her family, which should be impossible. They'd been dead for decades, perishing in the concentration camp at Dachau. The only reason she hadn't died with them was because an SS soldier, who happened to be a vampire, had turned her—after he and his comrades repeatedly raped her.

She realized she was shaking and tried to calm down. She couldn't change the past, couldn't change what she was. Her only two choices were to meet the sun and end it all—or to survive. Maybe she was a coward, but she wasn't ready to face eternity, and most likely the fires of hell, just yet. That meant she had to feed.

She drifted through the shadows of the underbelly of Dallas, walking past bars and strip clubs and adult bookstores. She didn't pass any other hookers. Very few prostitutes actually walked the streets anymore. Most cruised northern Harry Hines in their cars, talking to clients on their cell phones as they looked for other johns to flag down. Then they either conducted business in their cars or at an hourly rate hotel.

But Rachel preferred to troll for marks as she had always done—on foot, and at the quieter end of Harry Hines. She didn't have to worry about her personal safety, and if the police stopped to question her, she could glamour them into forgetting her. She also knew quite a few of the homeless people along this stretch, although they were scatted throughout the area.

She found her first mark for the night. He was a tall, beefy man in a work uniform, topped with an insulated vest. His complexion was ruddy, his hands rough and callused, with dirt crusted beneath his fingernails. But his money was green, and his blood red. Rachel tucked the crumpled bills into her fanny pack. She ran her hand up his chest and stroked his neck, her attention focused on his powerful jugular veins.

“So, big guy, tell me what you want,” she murmured, slipping into his mind.

He was a tits and ass man, wanted to see the goods before he sampled them. “Take off your shirt,” he ordered. He watched as she pulled her tight black sweater over her head, shaking her long, dark hair loose. She was braless, and her tits jiggled a little from her movements. His cock came to attention. She wasn't all that large in the boob department, but they were nice and round, with pink nipples that puckered when he pinched them.

He told her to turn around and raise her skirt, and her nice, firm ass made him rock hard. He liked doing it from behind, liked to fondle the woman's tits and rub her ass as he fucked her. And this woman was prime, nice and tight, bracing herself against the wall as he pounded into her, jerking her upward with each thrust. Yeah, tight like a fist, milking him in greedy gulps. He cried out as the best orgasm of his life crashed over him, wave after wave, riding him right into oblivion…

Rachel left him unconscious behind the
Chicas Sexual
club, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as she reached the street. He was so big she'd been able to take a lot of blood without endangering him. She came around the corner of the building and almost shrieked in frustration when she saw Gabriel leaning against the front of the building. She glared at him, wondering what it would take to get rid of him.

He straightened. “Now that you're not so hungry, we can talk. Why don't you let me buy you some coffee?”

She was shocked. Had he seen her taking her mark's blood? She always used allure to blur her activities, so passersby wouldn't see what was happening. Yet this guy had apparently seen past her shields, which should be another impossibility. “What do you mean by that?”

He had the most intense gaze she'd ever seen. “I know what you were doing back there, Rachel. I already told you I know what you are. You just don't want to believe me. You're a little weak in the faith area, too. We'll have to work on that.”

“What did I do behind this building?” she challenged. She had to know what he'd seen.

“What you have to do to survive. That's not a sin.” He raised his hand, rested it against the side of her face. He was so warm, his gesture so tender, she felt herself softening inside. Not good.

She knocked his arm away. “So you were spying on me?”

He nodded. “I saw you take his blood. I would apologize for watching you, but it's necessary that I understand every aspect of your life to help you.”

Incredulity and anger and consternation all rolled through her in one tsunami-level wave. “You had no right to do that. Fuck you!”

“Like you did for him?”

How could he have known about that? It was all fantasy mind sex. There was nothing to see, even if Gabriel had been watching. She had to put a stop to this immediately. Last night, he had so imbalanced her she hadn't thought to glamour him. But she intended to wipe his memory clean now.

She moved closer, let her hands slide up his arms, feeling some impressive muscles beneath the leather coat. She stared into his eyes, for the first time, seeing their true color, a deep blue, with golden sparks of light. For a moment, she felt their pull, as if they were mesmerizing
her
. She felt sluggish, disoriented.
Whoa!
She shook her head, broke eye contact. The odd sensation faded.

Still determined, she leaned within inches of his face, again gazing into his eyes. “You will forget everything about me,” she said in a low voice, directing the full force of her allure toward him. “You won't remember my name, or what you just saw in that alley. If you see me again, you won't recognize me. I'm a stranger to you.”

He blinked. Convinced she'd had him firmly in thrall, she turned to leave.

“I'm not going to forget you, Rachel. And I'm not judging you for what you have to do to stay alive.”

Panic stirred. She spun around. “Maybe I can't make you forget me, but I can hurt you very badly.”

He didn't seem at all perturbed. “But you won't. It's not in your nature.”

He was wrong. Her nature—the freakish thing she'd become—contained inherent violence. “You don't really know as much as you think,” she hissed.

“Oh, I know a lot more than you realize.” He tilted his head, as if studying her.

He really did have a nice face, strong…noble—except for that sensuous, suggestive mouth.
What was wrong with her?
Was he enthralling her? Not possible.

She drew back, wrapped her shawl protectively around herself. She wasn't sure what to do about him, but he was wrong to trust her. Even so, she didn't want to inflict physical harm unless it was absolutely necessary. She'd seen way too much violence in her human existence, knew how its aftereffects reverberated through lifetimes. For now, she'd use words as a weapon.

She started to tell him what he could go do to himself, when his gaze shifted away from her. She turned to see what he was staring at, saw two punks threatening a homeless man, trying to get his bottle away from him.

“Sorry. We'll have to resume this discussion later.” Gabriel headed toward the men.

She snapped her mouth shut, watched him reach the group and insert himself between the punks and the man they'd been hassling. She recognized one of the aggressors, knew he was a bully who could get violent if provoked. And here was this do-gooder, stepping into the middle of three guys who were either drunk or high, and most certainly crazy.

He raised his hands, and she could see he was talking, probably trying to calm them down. But the flash of a blade in one man's hand was a pretty good indication it wasn't working.

Damn, damn, damn! Gabriel was an idiot—and he was going to be one dead idiot very shortly. She should leave him to his fate, should let those punks take his money and whale out their hatred and anger on him. It would serve him right—and would certainly solve her problem of what to do about him and the information he possessed. But…

Her feet were moving before she'd made the conscious decision.
This was crazy
, she told herself. The man was obnoxious, and he was a threat to her existence. So why was she going to keep his handsome face from being bashed in? Good question.

She didn't have time to ponder it before she reached the group. She grabbed the knife-wielder by the back of his coat, easily lifting him off his feet. “Hey Bubba, that's enough fun for tonight.” She threw him against the closest building; he hit the wall with a thud, slid to the ground, stunned.

She spun as the second punk rushed her, landed a kick in his solar plexus that sent him flying backward a good twelve feet. He crumpled into a moaning heap. The first punk struggled to his feet, brandishing the knife.

Rachel glared at him. “You want some more of this, you bastard? Then bring it on.”

He took a staggering step toward her, grabbed his head with a groan. He glanced past her to the other man heaped on the sidewalk. “You're crazy, bitch,” he growled. He looked at Gabriel. “And who the hell are you, man? Fuckin' stupid. I'm outta here.” He limped off, leaving his companion behind.

The homeless man was long gone, having bolted at the first opportunity. To Rachel's utter amazement, Gabriel walked over to the remaining punk, helped him to his feet. “You all right?” he asked him.

“Get the hell away from me!” Still groaning, the guy headed the same direction as the first one.

Gabriel walked slowly back to Rachel. “You are insane,” she said. “More than the people around here. But maybe you're smart enough to remember what I just did to those guys, because I'll do the same to you if you don't leave me alone. Got that?”

He just looked at her with those glowing blue eyes. “I'm not afraid of you, Rachel.” He straightened his leather coat with a jerk. “You didn't have to interfere on my behalf. I could have handled those men.”