Assassins Bite (8 page)

“You know her name?” Ric's pseudo-shock radiated from the phone. “Good fuck—that's the first time I've heard you call a woman anything but convenient.”

It echoed Aiden's teasing Ric when his friend had met the woman who'd be his mate. It wasn't nearly as funny from this side. Aiden said, “She's police. You know how I feel about authorities. She's nothing to me.” He clenched clawed fingers, exquisitely aware he was lying. “Drop it.”

Two blocks away, a sleek black car sped past. Aiden stopped. No logical reason to suspect anything was wrong with that car, yet his blood ran cold.

A child on an oversized pink motorscooter buzzed past him, a child who appeared to be a girl, from the front basket and plastic flowers. Damn it, where were that child's parents? What was she doing zipping along city streets at nearly fifty miles per hour? He ran toward car and scooter. The trailing scent hit him.

That was Sunny.

He blew into mist and arrowed after her. He snapped back ready to yell at her—she was nowhere to be seen.

The card-in-spokes buzz of the scooter came from the north. Damn it, he'd gone straight and she'd turned. He reoriented on her scent, opened all his senses and kicked into a run.

“What's going on?” Ric's voice floated up to him.

He clapped the phone to his ear. “My bad feeling.” Sunny's scent took him to the Adam's street bridge, where the smell of another human and the knee-jerk necessity of keeping the masquerade slowed him to a normal run. His skin pricked unhappily; he blamed it on the river.

He passed a human in a lumpy butterscotch parka chatting on his cell phone. The man's eyes followed Aiden with a gleam he definitely did not like.

Coming off the bridge, he saw the black car parked ahead, in Settler's Square. There was no sign of the scooter or Sunny.

Ric said, “If you won't come home, at least promise to call me the instant you need help. Got it?”

“Yes, Mother. I'll let you know—”

“Get the fuck off me!”

Female. Stressed.
Sunny
. Aiden slammed the phone in a pocket and blew into mist. He was never rash but he never hesitated when his friends were in need either. He ignored the fact that his instant reaction went beyond unhesitating into reflex.

He streamed directly for her—only to snap solid a few yards short, ankle-deep in water.

A terrible burn seared his feet. He leaped into the air—or tried to. His limbs wouldn't respond, locked.

He slashed eyes down. He stood in a shallow concrete bowl, pooled with water that wasn't just buzzing, it was
burning
. Intense,
inside
, like his skin was a meat sack of stinging hornets. Like his brain was needles.

His fangs and talons shot out. His skin hardened and his vision went red. Automatic vampire mode, but it made no sense.
Water buzzed; it wasn't so severe he wanted to tear off his own head because he couldn't
think
.

Then he saw Sunny in the grip of a human, gaping at
him
, horror in her dark eyes. He clenched his will and tried to get to her, but his limbs wouldn't work and the best he could do was a single slow step, like slogging through molasses if sorghum were made out of pain.

A bright orange cable caught his eye. One end led to the nearby band shell and the other…stripped of its plug, wires strewn like intestines, it lay in the pool, spewing electricity.

The water was electrified. When his mist had passed over it—directly over it, on his way to Sunny—it had jumped him solid.

This was a deliberate setup.

But simple electrocution wouldn't kill him. And when he got out of this pool, the man holding Sunny was dead. He slogged another step—and was stunned to see the man release Sunny to snatch up a blue box.

Sunny ran immediately toward Aiden. He realized she didn't know about the electricity. Not deadly to him, but to humans…if a direct jolt to the heart or brain didn't kill her immediately, the burns from current running through her body like an electric cooker would.

“Nu-uh!”

Acid horror eating him, he saw her try to slow, to stop before she hit the water.

His brain shot into overdrive. Human skin when dry resisted electricity up to 100,000 ohms. Water lowered protection to 1000 ohms. Continued high voltage broke down the skin until it was half that. He'd have only moments after she hit to save her…

She skidded to a halt at the water's edge, panting. He relaxed minutely.

Her dark quick eyes scanned the area. They lit on the stripped wires. She grabbed the cable—he flinched but she gripped the insulation behind the live end—and tugged.

The cable stayed put.

He forced another single, slow, painful step. The water felt like razor blades slashing his ankles. He dug his claws into his palms to start another step as the man came to the edge of the pool, popping the top of the blue box.

The sting of salt bit Aiden's nostrils.
The man was pouring in salt.

Horror hit Aiden. Salt increased water's conductivity. His skin was tougher than a human's, but it was already compromised. Severely compromised skin plus ion-zipping saline? In a few seconds at most, mega-amps of electricity would invade his body.

It would zap him unconscious. He'd be at the goon's mercy. Worse, Sunny would be unprotected.

He had to get out. He battled another step forward but it was like a nightmare—the edge was so far away.

He tried to will himself into mist. His cells sluggishly responded…and almost immediately the needle-sharp electrical pain forced him solid.

The electricity was so potent that his hair rose. He had seconds at most before blacking out.

His last sight was Sunny, still trying to tug out the cable—that was nailed to the concrete edge.

Chapter Eight

Thuggoh held me and I thought I was dead when Aiden Blackthorne suddenly snapped into being inside the pool.

My relief sang. Now his graceful
shoop
-
shoop
would bring me instant freedom.

But his body was clenched, his face tight with pain. He saw me and slogged, excruciatingly slow, toward me.

Without warning, Thuggoh released me and snatched up a blue box.

Suspicious, but I had more immediate concerns. Blackthorne was obviously in trouble. I ran for him.

He forced a stuttered “Nu-uh” through a locked jaw. I slowed, confused.

Until I saw the bright orange electrical cable.

One end snaked from the band shell's public address system. The other end was stripped and lay in the water.

Electrocuting Blackthorne, who'd labored all of another step.

Most modern appliances have a GFI, or ground fault interrupter. Nixie had bitched early and often that our PA was built when mammals were new. Only two outlets in the whole band shell, a real nightmare when faced with a band's worth of amplifiers, sound boards and electric guitars.

Because of regulations, the band shell outlet, where the power actually came in, was up to code.

The PA's wasn't.

The GFI outlet, its anti-theft cover laying broken and useless to one side, had a business-like gray cable running from it to the PA. The orange cable came out of the PA and ran to the pool.

I was nearest the pool so I dashed to the stripped cable end, grabbing just behind live wires, and pulled.

Nothing happened. The damned thing was fastened onto the concrete.

Thuggoh tilted the blue box toward the water. Crystals poured, glittering in the electric lights.

Salt.

Blackthorne's eyes slid shut.

Even I knew not to mix saltwater and electricity. I dropped the cable and pulled my gun. “Police!
Stop that
.”

The goon dumped the last of the salt in and raised his hands mockingly.

Smoke came from Blackthorne's skin and puffed from his mouth. I had to stop the flow of electricity,
now
.

I turned my gun toward the band shell, flipped off the safety, and breathed in. One chance. I'd have to shoot out the GFI.

Sounds impossible. Adrenaline pumping, electricity crackling. But there's one thing I've learned from being a Ruffles studying for important exams while my mother and brother nattered and bumbled and caused general mayhem—how to concentrate amid chaos. I'm a great shot, under even the most distracting of circumstances.

My vision narrowed to the exposed outlet, so tiny and far away. I counted heartbeats, ba-bum-rest, ba-bum-rest, ba-bum-
squeeze
.

The gun kicked in my hand but I didn't feel it. My whole being was concentrated on that gray plug.

If the bullet hit, the GFI would take care of stopping the flow of electricity. If not…I held my breath while my heart continued its comfortable ba-bum-rest.

The bullet hit. The outlet shattered.

Blackthorne burst from the pool—and slugged Thuggoh. The goon collapsed without a sound, the empty salt box hitting ground with a hollow
whunk
.

I spun, looking for the rest of the perps. The sedan was gone. Barely visible between the branches of the big pine the city used for a municipal Christmas tree, Elle Louise Smith watched.

For a moment Smith's gaze was intent on Blackthorne, frustration so concentrated her eyes seemed to burn like red beams.

Then she just…disappeared.

Blackthorne swept me into his embrace. “Thank you.” His arms were made of heat and strength. “You saved me.”

“Luck.” I was tethered to his gorgeous dark eyes, fans of black lashes making them even sexier.

“That shot wasn't an accident.” His gaze dropped to my mouth. “That was skill.”

I watched his lips move, shaping words, and wished they were shaping me instead.

They stopped moving…and got slowly closer. Looked like I was going to get my wish. My heart sped up in anticipation.

“You're a dead man, assassin.” A sibilant voice interrupted us.

Blackthorn's lips receded. In one smooth move he drew his long knife and spun to face the speaker. “Hello, Mace. Didn't I kick your butt far enough last night?”

“Last night.” He growled it. “I'm getting even for last night, with backup this time.”

I stared in disbelief at the skull-like face I'd hoped never to see again. Behind Mace, half a dozen vampy-looking guys in imposing long leather coats postured.

Six. Double last time. My heart beat harder. Sure, Blackthorne had easily bested three vamps but he'd just suffered near-electrocution. Twice as many, all heavily muscled, standing shoulder-to-shoulder in an impressive solidarity, booted my heart into my throat.

Yet Blackthorne lounged with that easy grace that spoke volumes about his power and skill. “Please. You think half a dozen youngsters scare me?”

“Youngsters?” Mace sneered. “I brought my best. We're gonna kick
your
ass this time.” He signaled to a pair of vampires behind him, a beefy tomato-nosed prizefighter and a hulk with a thin mustache even scragglier than my brother's. The two moved up to flank him.

Mace grinned, his canines extending a few extra millimeters. “This ain't Minneapolis, Blackthorne. This is Lestat turf. We're gonna burn you, and then we're gonna toss your charred husk out of our territory.”

“Strictly speaking, this is Alliance territory,” Blackthorne said.

I recognized the words from my brother's ramblings. The Alliance, the Good Guys. Lestats, the Bad Guys.

Blackthorne's gaze flicked over the vampires as if weighing his opponents. He nodded toward the prizefighter, then the hulk. “I know Scythe and Mamie. But who are the rest?”

The hulk's jaw jutted in consternation. “It's Maim, not Mamie.
Maim
.” He squeaked it, seemed to realize he'd only confirmed the girl's spelling of the name and switched to a low growl. “Maim, like mutilate.”

“Of course.” Blackthorne slid one foot forward and slanted his body sideways in a relaxed fighting stance, blade in his back hand. “And the rest?”

Seeing him so completely secure thawed my brain and body. It wasn't seven against one, but seven against two. I could help.

Mace waved at the back row, squirming under Blackthorne's Grim Reaper stare. “Let me introduce you to your worst nightmares.”

Blackthorne snorted. “For shit's sake, Mace, have some self-respect. Throw out whatever response tree Nosferatu gave you and have a professional write your lines.”

“Fuck you, Blackthorne.” Mace glared. “Skiver, Blaxx, Magnum and Pike.”

“Thank you.” Blackthorne gave them a grin the likes of which I hope never to see again, equal parts teeth and death. “I like to know the names of my kills.”

He erupted into a sidekick that plowed Mace's middle so hard it not only folded the vamp in two but sent the Lestat bowling into the back row of vamps. Leather coats went flying like so many pins.

Blackthorne landed through in fighting stance and swept his blade into Maim, several times. The Lestat dropped to the ground with two big thuds and a lot of little pats.

But while Blackthorne was busy chopping, the Worst Nightmare Quartet had recovered. In concert, they attacked him. Fear jolted me.

He swept out both hands and one leg, catching three of them and sending them flying. Windmilling up, he punched the fourth in the nose. He was poetry in motion, fighting four on one.

But while he was, prizefighter Scythe had flicked out a nasty, illegally long switchblade and wound up to jam it in Blackthorne's back.

I drew my gun and fired, hitting Scythe in the heart.

The Lestat's eyes flew to me, as red as fire pits. His face hardened into a mass of plate—bony, primeval and utterly unnerving. I swallowed ice.

Scythe stalked toward me.

My heart skipped and my breath started coming in cold pants. My lizard brain threw frantic messages at me.
Vampire coming.

But my cop brain was shuffling through and discarding defenses. I remembered Dirk singing, “Axe the neck or stake the whole heart, a bullet's too small so you gotta be smart”. Without axe or stake, I hesitated.

Scythe grinned, baring fangs like nails.
Fear makes the blood sweeter.

My heart raced. My fingers tightened on my gun.

My gun.
It wasn't an axe or stake, but it did have a thirteen-round magazine plus one in the chamber. That had to count for something, even against a vampire.

I ignored my body's panic and squeezed off four more shots in a spiral pattern around his heart. He shuddered with each strike. His stalking steps faltered. I kept shooting. Five, six. His left breast began to look like a bloom of raw meat.

What the hell. Even if this didn't work, it distracted him from knifing Blackthorne. As I shot, and shot, and shot again, Scythe wobbled, face paling. I shot and he keeled over. I shot his collapsing body as he thudded onto the park's turf.

A snap of fingers caught my attention. Blackthorne leveled a black glare at me over his shoulder. Mouthed,
Enough.

That pulled me out of whatever funk I was in. I mouthed at him,
What?
Did he expect me to stand by and knit doilies? I pointed at myself.
Cop
.

He grimaced before returning his attention to the remaining vampires. Maim and Scythe were in pieces. Mace was kneeling on the grass, hurking up on them.

But the Quartet were climbing to their feet yet again.

Blackthorne executed a stomp-check in front of the first, Skiver. It's a move that startles and grabs attention, often immobilizing the opponent.

The vampire's head jerked up. Blackthorne chopped it off. A step-behind sidekick in the face took out the second, Blaxx. The force of Blackthorne's kick was so great it broke the vamp's neck. Blaxx's head flopped unnaturally back as the body collapsed.

My stomach tried to evacuate through my throat. I covered my mouth with my forearm and fought it down. I had a couple bullets left and I considered using them on Blackthorne. No wonder Elena thought he needed watching.

He glanced over his shoulder and nailed me in the eye. Then, very deliberately, he raised one black brow. As if challenging me to see the assassin, the vampire—see him as he really was.

Which made me think. I'd been judging him by human standards. Vampires were strong and healed fast…which meant a little extra force was needed to disable them. It was gory, yes, but from the heads-snapping-on-necks stuff last night, it wasn't like he'd actually done lasting damage.

I shrugged.

He blinked as if really seeing
me
for the first time.

While he was turned away, one of the remaining vamps, Magnum, sprang into Blackthorne's blind spot and grabbed him around the neck. Magnum palmed Blackthorne's crown, preparatory to twisting and breaking his neck. I tried to shout warning. It emerged as a squeak.

Blackthorne smiled at me. It wasn't his humorless death smile. He'd known the vamp was there. He was reassuring me.

As Magnum twisted, Blackthorne tucked his arms and turned his body in the vampire's embrace, twisting with him, neutralizing the move. Spearing hands in the air, Blackthorne wrapped his arms around the Lestat's neck and kneed the vamp in the gonads, putting some hip into it.

Magnum gasped and hopped back. But only his legs hopped away. Blackthorne still had hold of the Lestat's neck.

The vampire's upper body was sticking way out from his center of gravity. It was a simple matter for Blackthorne to push the vamp's head down, then strike an elbow between his shoulder blades to send him plummeting to earth.

The Lestat didn't get there immediately. Blackthorne's knee got sharply in the way. The vampire's head kicked up like a volleyball. It made a beautiful arc up and back before plowing into the March soil, the next best thing to a block of ice. The Lestat skidded to a halt and lay still.

Mace finished hurking and scrambled to his feet. With a roar, he charged Blackthorne. The dark assassin contemptuously stepped aside.

Leaving Mace charging directly at me.

I gasped, my heart kicking back into my throat. But my training was already bringing my gun to bear.

Blackthorne winked. I paused.

Mace's angry-face morphed to horror as he launched in the air, arms and legs flailing.

Blackthorne's leg was extended like a tripwire, in what had been Mace's path. Mace hit turf and skidded to a stop a good foot short of where I stood.

With that incredible ease, Blackthorne sauntered over and took off the Lestat's head with a particularly vicious slash. He straightened slowly, arms akimbo, shoulders rising like a colossus standing, and turned toward the last Lestat.

Pike gaped at him. He glanced at his buddies lying bleeding and in pieces, trembled a smile at Blackthorne, turned—and ran.

Leaving me alone with the assassin.