In the Dark (3 page)

A week later, her mother had bought furniture for her living room. And so it had continued. Nearly fifteen years after their divorce, they continued their fight with each other through her. She'd begun to hate every item dropped on her welcome mat, yet another gift from her mother.

This beautiful blue suitcase in her closet had started to look appealing, almost like an oasis. She'd kept shutting the closet door, pretending it wasn't there. After all, an oasis was an illusion, a mirage.

Then one day she'd come home to find that her mother's gardeners had planted spiral topiaries and boxy hedges over her favorite white peonies. She hated spirals and hedges. If her mother had bothered to take the time to carry on a full conversation with her in the last five years, she might have known that. Faith was through with letting others plan her life. She'd wanted out, and had finally understood if she didn't try to find that oasis, she'd never know if it were real.

So here she sat on the floor of a bathroom with nothing to lose. This wasn't exactly the oasis she'd envisioned, but at least there was water in the form of one very good-looking vampire. It could be, and almost had been, much worse.

* * * *

Soren sat in the rickety chair, tipped his head back and took a deep breath. Everything here was in sad shape, especially that sorry bed he'd barely remembered from his last visit. He'd always wished he could change things for Gustav, though Gustav wouldn't want anything to change at all.

His friend was a rarity. What his people called a Stalker. He was vampire, but dedicated to the death of demons and to the protection of vampires and humans. Stalkers walked the night above, struggling to find shelter from daylight, living as humans.

Soren had chosen a different way of life. He was a Guardian, his sole duty to protect his lord, and the people of his lord's city. A peacekeeper. He guarded his people from within the city. They defended their race in their own way, though he would be the only one ever recognized for his efforts, rewarded with a plush home and the respect of his people.

Gustav would never have any of that. Vampires held no respect for Stalkers because of their love for killing demons. True, the only good demon was a dead one, but murder was still murder. And had always been punishable by immediate execution.

Stalkers were criminals running free in the world. At least, most vampires held that opinion. Gustav was a good man, a good friend, and Soren really didn't care if he butchered every last demon single-handedly.

Releasing a breath of tiredness, Soren let his thoughts of politics and friendship fade away. The soft sound of water splashing and a sweet flowery scent wafting from the bathroom started to relax him.

The water drained, and the hum of her hairdryer created a pleasant background noise. It conjured memories of her damp hair in his hands. It had felt like satin slipping over his fingers.

It had been so very long since he had lived with anyone, let alone a woman. Although he kept a busy schedule, his social skills were somewhat lacking. Always had been. He likely was more apprehensive about this situation than she was, and going home with a vampire was as strange as it got, for her.

The door rattled once, twice, before bursting open. Faith nearly tripped on her way out, but righted herself and tried to gently prop the door against the wall.

Her black boots peeked from beneath her snug blue jeans, and anything he'd planned to say fizzled. Her shirt softly hugged her hips, rising to follow the curve of her waist. No longer rain soaked and disheveled, her hair fanned over her shoulders. A turtleneck covered her lovely neck to her chin. Laughter burst from him.

“What's so funny?” Faith demanded.

“If I wanted you, blood, body and soul, that bit of cloth would not hinder me,” he said with a smile.

Her hand rose halfway to her throat, but she caught herself, dropping her arms. Fists clenched, she stood her ground. “I'm still wearing it.”

“Suit yourself.” He still smiled at the notion of using a piece of fabric for protection.

She sent him a sideways glance as she went to the bed and placed the clothes she had been wearing in a neatly folded pile. As she leaned forward, her hair slid across her back and draped over her shoulder. Long and brushed smooth, it fell just below her shoulder blades in a soft vee. No choppy layers, no wispy pieces falling over her eyes.

Perfect. Lovely. He imagined what it would be like to sweep back her soft, sweet smelling hair, to bury his face in it as he fed.

He rose, and in two steps stood behind her, lifting her hair to his face, drowning in the scent of flowers. She gasped, but he clenched his fist tighter, not willing to let her go.

Chapter 3

Half afraid of what he would do, she closed a hand over his fist behind her head. Traitorous excitement buzzed through her. His body seemed to curl around her, and the possessive, sexual heat rolling off him shocked her to her core.

Footsteps approached, and Gustav's impatient voice broke the tension. “If you don't want to stay through the day, you'd better get going.”

The warmth of Soren's body evaporated, making her shoulders shake once with a sudden chill. Hiding her reaction to his touch, she quickly combed her fingers through her hair. Funny, but it felt like Gustav had intruded.

Soren met him in the doorway, their hushed conversation apparently none of her business. Besides, she couldn't make out a word. She took the opportunity to duck into the bathroom, retrieve her suitcase and haul it to the door. Soren stood, glaring at the keys dangling from Gustav's hand, and she paused.

His legs were parted in an almost challenging stance as he argued with Gustav, arms tightly crossed and jaw clenched. She smiled. The argument must not be going Soren's way. He looked angry, and Gustav's voice rose steadily.

“Do it your way and you'll fry in the dawn light, you stupid, stubborn bastard. And then she's stuck with me.” He motioned to her, though Soren didn't turn his head her way. “Hysterical women aren't sensible, and you know it. One way or another, she'll be dead along with you. If a demon doesn't get her, I'll have to.”

Soren growled, but didn't say a word.

“Hey,” she piped up, “nobody needs to kill me. I'll go with you.” Her fate
would not
be decided by two hotheaded men.

“Yeah, but this idiot wants to walk to Balinese,” Gustav said. “Which would be all fine and dandy, but you've been knocked in the head, and the only thing you'll do is slow him down, killing you both in the process.”

Gustav gave her one of those looks that screamed for help. Well, she'd give it a shot. She was all for not dying. “How far is it?” she asked quietly, sinking onto the edge of the bed.

“Far,” Soren bit out.

“I don't think I could keep up with you,” she said, throwing some girly weakness into her voice. “And what if I pass out again?”

“Listen to her, Soren. Neither you nor I know how many more demons are out there right now. If you stop to fight them, you waste time. And what if you're injured?”

After a long moment of contemplation, Soren leaned on the doorjamb and tipped his head back, tense in his defeat. “Damn,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut.

“What's the matter?” she whispered to Gustav.

“He hates cars,” Gustav supplied.

“That's it?”

“He's never liked them.” Gustav shrugged, apparently quite familiar with Soren's quirks.

“I thought guys loved cars. Were you in an accident?” she asked, though she didn't expect a response.

“Unreliable hunks of metal,” Soren muttered, snatching the keys from Gustav's hand.

“He hates progress in general,” Gustav answered with a smile. “The only real exceptions I've ever seen are indoor plumbing, his guns and his phone. He hates his phone, too.”

Soren picked up her suitcase then curled his fingers around her elbow. Without a goodbye to Gustav, he pulled her along behind him and out the door.

* * * *

Soren tossed her suitcase in the backseat of the rusty two-door car, and as he stepped aside for her to take the passenger seat, spotted a woman's shoe on the sidewalk. No woman alive would leave a single shoe behind. Alive being the key word.

The smell of blood hung in the air. Demons. They stole lives in mere moments, leaving only a damaged, empty body behind. Hatred rose, swelling like a storm ready to break, destroying all in its path. He controlled it, at least for now. Blind hatred did nothing but dull the senses.

Faith stood at his side, oblivious, a stranger to his world. He had no time to educate her. She knew what manner of being he was, but nothing of the vile creatures thriving in the darkest blackness of night, held at bay by a single streetlamp.

He didn't hear it, didn't see it, but something had shifted in the shadows. He captured her delicate wrist and pulled her behind his body, shielding her.

“She looks tasty,” someone said from the shadows.

“You'll never know,” Soren said.

Faith leaned closer to him. She must have finally become aware of the danger.

Footsteps moved steadily toward them, and he dropped his head, studying the sounds, blindly memorizing every movement ahead of him. The demon's steps echoed off the building. He wasn't facing it.

He'd backed Faith up against the car, and the sound shifted, coming from behind them.

Gun already pulled free, he turned. Cupping the back of her head, he pulled her tight to his chest. But the creature was fast, and before he found it in the dark, a slicing pain tore across his wrist. The gun dropped from his hand.

“Not so easy now, is it, vampire? With no weapon, how will you defend this little morsel?”

Soren pushed Faith against the car, keeping her far from the demon. A knife glinted in the creature's hand. The demon twisted it, waiting for an attack. He would have one.

* * * *

Faith couldn't watch his fist connect with the man's face. A few more punches, a muffled snap, and then silence.

She looked from the crumpled man to Soren. No one had ever pounded a man into the pavement to keep her safe before. She didn't know the rules for something like that. Did you thank the man, or scold him? Somehow she felt like she ought to do both.

The man on the ground lay motionless, the light catching something wet beneath him.

“You really hurt him. I think he's bleeding.” She squinted as she bent down, getting a closer look in the dim light.

“It's not hurt, Faith, it's dead. Get in the car,” Soren said, pushing her into the passenger seat and shutting the door.

Dead. She looked at the man's face one last time through the film of dirt on the car window.

Red eyes stared blankly back. Red eyes.

Numbly she was aware of Soren getting in the car, putting it into motion, and taking out his phone.

“Gustav, there's a body where you park your crappy car,” he grumbled. Muffled yelling came through on the other end of the phone. “Just take care of it.”

The more she thought about this whole situation, the more frightened she became. Here she sat in a car with a killer. Okay, so he had saved her life twice, but he'd just killed a man with his bare hands. That might be a normal, everyday thing for a vampire, but it had shaken her, badly.

And if he truly was a vampire, then what other creatures were running loose in the world? And was her attacker part of that mythical group? People didn't have red eyes, and Soren's eyes weren't red. What did he kill? “His eyes were red,” she said aloud, still looking out the side window.

“I know.”

“His eyes were red,” she said more firmly. If he was avoiding it, it meant something.

“Faith—”

She smacked the dash. “Damn it, Soren, why were his eyes red?”

“It was a demon,” he said, not meeting her glare.

She stared at him, her jaw slightly unhinged, then nodded slowly. “Of course he was. Why didn't I think of that?” The pitch of her voice rose several notches. “Great, there is a hell.”

“There is, but these creatures didn't come from hell. Demons are simply another species of human, the same as vampire.” A smile turned his lips upward.

“Right, and how many species are there?” Her fingers tapped the armrest.

“Four. Human, vampire, demon, and wolf.”

“Wolf? As in Werewolf? I didn't see that in the brochure.” Faith glanced out the window, and muttered, “While in Paris, be sure to see the damned.”

“None of us are damned. Well, the Wolves are, but that's what you get for pissing off a witch. What's left of them reside somewhere outside London. We tend to stay away from your kind. Humans are unpredictable at best,” Soren explained, his focused stare glued on the road.

“Then why do you live in Paris?”

The car was creeping to an intersection. What the heck was he doing?

“I don't exactly live in Paris. We have to feed, and we've a better chance of being forgotten if we take what we need from tourists. Tourists get a thrill and we get the nourishment our bodies require for proper healing. This is the city of love, after all,” he said in a tight voice.

“So you romance them, suck their blood, and then leave? Good God, no matter what species they are, men are pigs.”

“You won't hear an argument from any one of them,” he said, taking the car carefully around a corner.

“Hey, I'm arguing here.” She waved her hands at him, but he didn't look away from the road.

“Yes, but if I romanced you, you'd change your mind.”

“Right, let me just scoot over and make room for your male ego,” she said, fixing her gaze out the window.

What would it be like if he romanced her? She'd never been truly romanced, at least not by her standards. Could she hold her ground? She watched him from the corner of her eye.

Not a chance. With him, she might as well throw in the towel from the beginning. He was handsome, in a refined manner, and considerate. He'd held the car door open for her. Okay, so he'd shoved her in after he opened the door, but still, he got two points for the effort. And another two points for those muscles.

She liked the way he made her safety his personal mission. When he'd let his inner barbarian free to kill the demon with his bare hands, she hadn't been afraid for herself.

Traveling in silence, the scenery passed at a slow pace. He drove like a grandpa with his hands precisely at ten and two, hunched over the wheel as if reading some fine print on the windshield.

She stifled a giggle, disguising it with a cough.

He couldn't have been going over forty miles per hour. Better than walking, but nearly a joke when behind the wheel. With no other cars in sight and the city far behind, driving still seemed quite the feat for him. His white fingers wrapped around the wheel tenaciously. Poor guy.

This was the first touch of insecurity she had seen from the vampire, and it wasn't much. He remained in complete, slow control. “Do you want me to drive?”

“No,” he said sharply.

She didn't try again. He could have his macho trip, and burst a blood vessel in the process. His call. At this speed she would have plenty of time to relax.