Touch the Dark (5 page)

Other than my first attacker, who was now minus an arm and making gurgling sounds as the ward ate through his chest, the only one still moving was trapped under a shelving unit that looked like it had been torn from the wall and thrown on top of him. It had contained a bunch of metal sheets left over from the urban warehouse theme Mike had done on the club, which had been salvaged from a condemned factory. They weren't some designer's idea of stylish metal siding, but the real thing — thick, razor-edged pieces that Mike had had to be extra careful with when installing. They had apparently gotten up some momentum when the shelving was tossed around, turning them into lethal projectiles that had sliced up the vamp like a loaf of bread. He must have fed recently, because enough blood had poured from the multiple gashes to spread across the floor like a crimson blanket.

None of the strips had taken off his head or pierced his heart, however, so despite his gruesome injuries, he continued to live. He looked in my direction, and I saw him struggle to raise the gun he clutched in one hand. Tomas noticed and without hesitation walked over and pulled out the metal sheet embedded in the vamp's abdomen. He brought it down in a series of quick, meaty-sounding thuds while I stared at him in openmouthed disbelief. Within a few seconds, the thing on the floor resembled a pile of raw hamburger more than a person.

The vamp's eyes continued to glare at me in hatred, aware of what was happening even as he was butchered, and I couldn't scream, couldn't do anything. I'd been in some tight spots before, but the nerves forget what it is to remain bowstring tight every minute of every day when you don't have to live that way anymore. I watched Tomas sever the vamp's head from his body with a final jarring thud, and let out the breath I hadn't even known I was holding. We were alive. I couldn't believe it, and I sure as hell didn't understand it.

Growing up at Tony's had given me a fairly high tolerance for violence, so I was sort of holding things together until I noticed that the corpses of the fourth and fifth vamps had gaping, ragged holes where their hearts should have been. Staking is the traditional and still most popular way of dealing with a vamp, but I guess ripping the heart out manually works, too, although I'd never seen it done that way. I was thinking that I could live without ever seeing it again when I looked at Tomas and, suddenly, the room fell away.

Normally, I get some kind of warning when I'm about to have a vision. Not that I can stop them, but the thirty seconds or so of disorientation that precede them give me time to get out of other people's sight and let me mentally prepare. This time, I got nothing. It was as if the floor just gave way and I fell down a long, dark tunnel. When I landed, Tomas stood about six feet from me on a grassy plain that seemed to go on forever under a pale blue sky. His skin was burnished bronze instead of sun-kissed cream and he was dressed in a sleeveless, dirty, woolen tunic instead of Goth chic, but it was definitely him. His eyes were wild, glittering like two dark jewels in his face, and his expression was triumphant. A group of similarly dressed men surrounded him, all looking like their favorite team had just won the Super Bowl.

Waves crashed onto a rocky shore nearby, their color a green so deep it was almost black, and sent a cold breeze inland in icy gusts. It would have been a stark but beautiful scene if not for the couple of dozen bodies lying around. Most of them looked European, with the closest in an outfit that could have come out of an underfunded pirate movie: white cotton shirt with full sleeves, brown linen knee pants and soiled white hose. The man had lost his shoes and his hair was as wild as his expression.

As I watched in horrified fascination, Tomas thrust a crude bronze knife into the man's still-heaving chest and cut a deep gash that ripped it open from neck to belly. Heat from the wound mixed with the cold air to cause a cloud of steam to rise, but it wasn't thick enough to keep me from seeing him tear through the ribs like he was snapping twigs. Bright rivulets of blood bathed his hand as he brought out the trembling heart and held it aloft; then slowly, as if savoring the moment, he began to lower it to his mouth. His teeth sank into quivering flesh that was still trying to beat, then tore through a pulsing vein that sent a stream of blood gushing across his face and down his chin. The cascade pooled in the hollow in his throat, then sent red fingers down his chest into his tunic, leaving abstract designs behind so that he looked like he was wearing war paint. His throat convulsed and he swallowed, causing a cheer to go up from the watching warriors.

I must have made some type of noise, because he looked across at me and, flashing red-stained teeth in a horrible parody of a smile, held out the grisly mass of flesh as if to offer to share. He took a step forward and I realized I was rooted to the spot, unable to stop him, unable to get away, as that dripping hand with its gruesome offering came closer. My paralysis finally broke and I screamed.

It hurt my throat, but there was no way I could have held it back. The vision shattered and I was back in the gory storeroom, staring wildly at the new Tomas, who, for a split second, was superimposed on the old. His tongue slid out to lick up a tiny drop of red at the corner of his mouth, so small that it had been unnoticeable until he drew attention to it. I remember thinking that old habits die hard, right before I began shrieking at the top of my lungs.

He took a step towards me, hands held out in front of him as if to show how harmless he was, and I saw that they were almost clean again. As he came closer, a final stain on the pad of one palm dissolved, vanishing into his skin like a drop of water into desert sand. I realized that I was scuttling backwards like a crab, crying and swearing, but I didn't care. I slipped in blood and went down, and screamed harder when I saw that my legs were covered in red, like roses had bloomed on my hose and boots. Tomas came towards me slowly, speaking calmly, as if I were a skittish colt he was trying to tame. “Cassie, please listen. We've bought some time, but we must go. There will be others.”

I slipped again and fell on my butt, bruising it on something hard. Some part of my brain that was still coherent recognized the shape of the object, and I snatched my gun from beneath me. “Don't come any closer or I'll kill you.” I pointed it at Tomas and, despite the fact that it was shaking wildly in my less-than-steady grip, I could tell he knew I meant it. His eyes, usually soft and warm and open, were opaque black mirrors now. I couldn't see anything past them, and I didn't want to. God, I didn't want to.

“Cassie, you must listen to me.” I looked into that handsome face, and some part of me detached itself to watch another illusion shatter and die. I thought I'd finally done something good, that I'd actually helped someone, saved somebody, instead of always watching every damn thing I did end in pain — either mine or someone else's. I should have known it was too good to be true, that he was too good.
Way out of your league, Cassie, my girl,
I thought as my back hit the door.
Maybe you should start smaller, adopt a kitten next time
— only I knew there was very little chance that there would be a next time.

I could hear the thud of music from the club through the door, some kind of chant mixed with techno, and it sounded like heaven. I wanted to lose myself in the crowd, make my way up to the street and run like hell. I was the hiding champ, and in the tourist district it would be easy to become an anonymous member of the happy, Friday-night throng. I had a separate bank account under yet another fake name and an emergency stash of nondescript clothes in a locker at the bus station, and I'd memorized every back alley in a fifteen-block radius. I'd get away all right, if only I could lose Tomas.

I slowly slid up the door, using it to steady myself and cursing my high heels. My skirt rode up but I didn't bother to straighten it; flashing Tomas was the least of my worries. I felt behind me with a hand slick with blood and finally found the doorknob. I fell through the opening on unsteady legs, slammed the door behind me and scrambled around the bar. I couldn't get a deep breath and my body convulsed like it wanted to be sick, but I held on. I didn't have time for that now.

The light show had started, and the bouncing, gyrating mass of dancers was slashed through by blinding blasts from the strobes. The pulsing rhythm and the noise of the crowd made me immediately deaf, but I didn't need to hear Tomas to know he was back there. The strobes leached the color from the blood on me, turning it alternately black and silver. The low lighting let me blend in without causing a stampede, although I doubted I looked normal. I slithered through every opening, trying to think as I ran, but my higher brain wasn't home, and all my instincts said was “Faster!” I tried, because there was nothing else to do but wait for him to catch me, but I already knew it wouldn't be enough.

I was halfway across the dance floor when Tomas grabbed me. He spun me around to face him, and I felt a hand slide through the burnt back of my T-shirt to meld our bodies together. It probably looked like we were dancing to everyone else; only I knew that I couldn't pull away. He had an iron grip on my gun hand, forcing the weapon down to my side and away from him. I wouldn't have tried to fire anyway. My palm was so sweaty that I was having trouble just holding on to the thing, and there were too many people around to risk a shot going wild. Besides, unless I missed my guess, a bullet wouldn't do much more than irritate him.

His fingers slid up my naked spine to the outline of my ward. He traced the edges almost reverently. “I heard stories of this but never believed them.” His voice was full of something that sounded like awe. Somehow he made me hear him despite the deafening music, but I wasn't interested in conversation. I twisted, trying futilely to break his hold, and cursed the useless ward. It must have been exhausted by the previous fight or else it didn't work against those at his level, because it had no reaction to his touch.

“Cassie, look at me.”

I fought him, knowing from childhood that looking a vampire directly in the eyes made it easier for him to control you. After the scene in the storeroom, there was no doubt in my mind what he was, and I desperately didn't want him in my head. Given that he'd gone right under my vamp radar and posed as human for months, there was no chance that I was dealing with less than a third-level master, and possibly higher. Make that probably, considering that, on rare occasions, I'd seen him walk around in full daylight, which even Tony couldn't do without risking a lot worse than a sunburn. Not that his level mattered; if he felt like it, any master could have me clucking like a chicken with little more than a glance.

Once, I'd had a level of protection from that sort of thing, but with my old defender the very one wanting me dead, I was fair game; no one would even avenge any harm that came to me. For all I knew, Tomas would get a bounty for bringing me in. Tony didn't mind paying for revenge, and considering how much I'd cost him, he'd probably pay up with a smile. Was that why Tomas had killed the other vamps, seeing them as rivals for his reward? How the hell much was Tony offering for me, anyway? And why had Tomas waited so long to cash in?

I struggled and fought but everyone ignored us, I guess under the assumption that I was merely a lousy dancer. Tomas just clasped me tighter. Considering how seldom I touched him, it felt weird to be held so intimately now. It was hard to remember that this was Tomas. My brain had put him firmly in the friend category and was resisting moving him over to the file labeled psycho-assassin vampire. The way he was holding me wasn't helping the confusion — his hand felt a lot more than friendly as it slid up and down my almost bare back, pulling me into a dance far slower and more sensual than the music called for.

Contrary to legend, his body felt warm against mine and as smooth as muscled satin, but he may as well have been carved of steel for all the hope I had of breaking his hold. My pulse sped up and I thought I would faint when he bent his head and I felt lips trailing over my neck. I think my heart actually stopped as he delicately kissed the skin as if tasting the pulse under the surface. It felt like my blood could sense him, as if it moved slower and thicker in my veins, waiting for him to set it free. I broke out in a sweat that had nothing to do with the heat of so many bodies crowded into a small place. Was he going to kill me right there, in front of a couple of hundred witnesses? A chill ran through me when I realized that he could probably get away with it. He could definitely carry my body off and no one would think anything about it; all they'd see was Tomas taking care of his roommate, who'd fainted in the heat. What a gentleman.

I should have known something like this was going to happen. Every time I trusted someone, he betrayed me; every time I loved someone, she died. Since Tomas was already dead, I guessed the pattern held true.

“Please don't fight me.” His breath over my clammy skin made me shiver. The suggestion ran like a drug through my veins, bathing me in a comfortable, rosy glow that took away some of the fear and most of the pain, but also made it harder to think. It wasn't as strong as if I'd made eye contact, but it still made me feel like I was surrounded by heavy water instead of air, with every tiny movement more of a struggle than it should have been. Not that it mattered: my efforts were doing nothing except sending dull pains through my sore wrist and exciting him. Nothing showed on his face, but his body was not as fully under control, and I could feel him stretched tight and firm against his jeans.

He brushed warm lips over mine. “I don't intend to hurt you,” he whispered. If there had been any point, I'd have reminded him that whether he did the assassination himself or merely turned me over to Tony, the end result would be the same. But I didn't have time to say anything before his lips ghosted over mine again; then suddenly his control snapped and he covered my mouth in a bruising kiss that had none of the previous gentleness.