Dark Salvation (3 page)

Nicholas shrugged, trying to act as if he could care less. “It’s my animal magnetism, what can I say?”

“It must be something, she is still staring.”

He’d hoped that Lysander had been pulling his chain, but the way he continued to look in her direction had Nicholas’s curiosity piqued. He turned around and sure enough, she was staring, but this was no lusty gaze. There was something cold and calculating about the way her eyes were scrutinizing him.

He caught a flash of recognition in her penetrating gaze. She did not waver or cower away when Nicholas met her eyes either. Something was off about her. No normal mundane human acted this way. Perhaps he had misjudged her.

Calling on his years of experience, Nicholas quieted his mind, blocking out all sounds in the room. He locked eyes with the woman, focusing, making their connection the only thing in existence. Through that connection, he reached out with his mind.
Turn around, and pretend you never saw me.
He sent the message with a push of his power.

The woman blinked as if startled, her face contorted with confusion, then relaxed in a knowing smile. She turned back around to face the bar.

“Pity, she was cute,” Lysander’s broke through his connection. “Better luck next time.”

Nicholas ground his teeth. He shook his head slowly, still staring in her direction. “Drop it. She’s not an ordinary woman.” Worry began to swim around in his mind, mingling with thoughts he’d rather not see come to life. “We’d best get out of here.”

“What do you mean?”

“She knows something. She’s strong, mentally. Somehow, she was able to block me.”

“She is a thing of curiosity,” Lysander said as if he wanted to study her. “Are you sure we should not attempt to make friends?”

 “I don’t need any more friends,” Nicholas growled.

“As you wish. Did you dispose of the man’s body?”

“Of course, I’m no fledgling.”

“Sorry, I am so used to Alyssa. Please, forgive me.”

“Let’s just get out of here.” Nicholas stood and headed toward the door, thankful to be leaving this noisy place. He cast one last glance back before hitting the door. As he suspected, she was again staring at him. He locked eyes with her, intending to try to mentally push her away, but before he could focus his own energy, he felt a wave of hers wash over him. “What are you?” he whispered.

She smiled as if she’d heard him

“She’s got some power of her own, that’s for sure,” he mused. He hadn’t felt a mental pulse that strong since… Just thinking of her made his heart sink. Rozaline had been a witch before he’d had Lysander turn her, effectively stripping her of her powers. She’d been so dedicated to the life that even as a vampire she still practiced the craft, though her spells no longer worked properly.

This woman’s show of power tugged at his heart, ripping open the wound yet again. Must everything remind him of his precious Rozaline? He scowled and turned away, wanting never to have to look on her face again. The brief respite from sorrow was over, and again he felt true loneliness; an endless dark abyss of emptiness that no one else could possibly fathom.

 “Let’s get out of here,” he barked at Lysander.

***

Kitara had no idea what the dark-haired stranger had done to get rid of Paul, the man she’d been talking to, but she knew it couldn’t have been good. The stranger wasn’t a tall man, but he was ripped. He looked like he was no stranger to the gym either, and with the attitude he’d had, probably not a stranger to a fight either.

Where she came from, you didn’t run your mouth unless you were prepared to back it up. And since he’d been the one to return, it was safe to say he backed his mouth up pretty darn well.

She glanced down at the wallet on the bar. It wasn’t hers. Had the stranger told the truth? Had he really taken it from Paul?  She wondered what might have happened to the owner of that wallet. Was she still alive?

Kitara’s head pounded with the overload of information and the mental energy she’d just spent. A wave of nausea settled over her. She’d never had to ward off a mental attack like the one he’d sent her way, and the energy it had taken to rebound it to him drained her to the point of passing out. She reached into her pocket, fingering a small smooth stone, drawing on its healing properties to help replenish her energy and stop her from swaying in her seat.

What the hell was he?
He wasn’t entirely human, of that she was sure, and the dangerous vibe he gave off had sent chills down her spine. His whole aura, if you could call it that, screamed danger. And those eyes. No human had eyes like his. Dusky blue like the sky after a storm. Deep and penetrating. Mesmerizing. She’d found it hard to look away once he’d set his gaze on her. It was as if she was staring straight into his soul. There was power there, an almost overwhelming amount, but also pain. Just as quickly as she’d felt it though, he sent the blast of energy her way, and she’d been forced to sever the connection.

Turn around, and pretend you never saw me.
Those had been the stranger’s words. She’d heard them as clearly as if he’d spoken them to her, yet he’d been standing all the way across the crowded noisy room. Who was he? What was he? And more interestingly, what was he hiding, and why? So many questions.

Whatever he was though, would have to remain a mystery. Tantalizing as it was to run into another person who had abilities like hers, she wasn’t here for that; she was here for Jeremy.

Pain and pressure crept up the back of her neck.
Breathe, just breathe
. Her head ached. She twisted her head slowly from one side to the other, hoping to crack her neck and ease the tension, but it was no use. A migraine was coming, she could feel it. She hoped she’d be able to make it back to her hotel room before it rendered her completely useless. Kitara was glad the dark-haired stranger had left. If he’d sent another mental blast her way, she would have been finished. Kitara waved at the bartender and mouthed the word “water,” hoping a little hydration might hold the migraine at bay at least for a little longer. Caffeine might work better.

That man
. She couldn’t stop thinking about him.
And those gorgeous eyes
. Only recently coming to terms with the knowledge that there were
other things
out there besides normal humans, Kitara was interested in finding out more, and maybe meeting people like her. She’d been gifted with a powerful mind, something Jeremy despised, and the uncanny ability to understand and communicate with animals. According to her lost fiancé, all special people were unnatural. There were darker things that roamed the night too; horrible beings that could possess your mind and drain the living essence from your body.

Vampires.

 Savage and devoid of emotion, they only craved one thing: human blood. True spawns of Satan, they were the vilest creatures on the face of the earth.

That was the main reason Jeremy had left her. She was special. Different. Not entirely a
normal
human herself. And anything unnatural was evil, according to the cult he’d joined.

But she wasn’t evil. Sure, she was a little different, but she wasn’t like those creatures he spoke of. The vampires. So why did he have to leave her the way he did? His parting words had ripped a hole through her heart: “You’re no better than they are, witch. You’re poisoning my immortal soul. I never want to see you again!” 

How could he say such things? They’d had love. They’d had a life together. And that was what had brought her all the way up from San Antonio to Boston. Jeremy wasn’t in his right mind. How could he be? It was that cult he’d gotten mixed up with. The Acta Sanctorum.

She had to find him and talk some sense into him. Make him see reason. You don’t just throw away five years of a life built together because you found God, or some crazy mixed-up version of God.

Tears welled in her eyes as emotion stung her throat. She had to set things right again. She had to find him. 

Too bad the dark-haired stranger had gotten rid of her only lead. She was glad to be rid of the asshole, and thankful she hadn’t taken a sip of the drink he’d spiked, but she needed the information Paul had been about to give her. He’d been
this close
to telling her where the Saints held their meetings before they’d been interrupted.

Kitara sighed. She remembered Paul saying something about a gothic-looking church nearby. An old one. That really narrowed it down a whole lot. There were only hundreds of churches in Boston proper. She could spend weeks searching every one of them. And if she found the right one, what was she supposed to do, just knock on the door and ask if Jeremy could come out?

The music wasn’t helping the pounding in her head. She needed to get someplace quiet; somewhere she could hear herself think. 

Sleep hadn’t helped her headache. The migraine when it hit had forced Kitara to retreat to total darkness. She had never been so thankful for the blackout curtains hanging from her window.  Even the tiniest hint of light stung like a white-hot poker searing her brain.

Never had using her gifts caused her so much pain. Even after rest, her mind was still wrung out like an old rag. She hoped never to have to do that again.

When the worst of the headache subsided she glanced over to the clock on the night stand.
Three p.m.!
She’d slept most of the day – if you could call burrowing under the covers and moaning pitifully while clutching your head ‘sleep.’

Pain or no, she had to force herself out of bed. Kitara stumbled to the small coffee pot and started to brew the little pouch the hotel had provided her. She’d find real coffee as soon as she could, but this Colombia’s Best would have to do.

Her memory had been hazy when she’d arrived back at her room, but she recalled there was supposed to be an old gothic church. It was in the city and not too far from the club where she’d been.

She pulled out her laptop and started it up. While it loaded she quickly dressed, throwing on a pair of jeans, a long knobby-knit sweater, and her favorite boots. Hoping that caffeine would help to wash away the last of her weariness, Kitara poured herself a cup of what she hoped would be drinkable coffee. Two sugars but regrettably no cream later, she choked down a gulp of the black sludge. “Oh, hell, this won’t do!” If that was the best the Colombians could offer, she felt bad for them. A trip to Starbucks was in her immediate future, but not before she figured out where the mysterious church was located.

 “Let’s see. If I was a psychotic cult of religious zealots out to kill vampires, where would I have my club meetings?” Kitara chuckled, but the laughter died the moment it left her lips. The Saints were psycho nutcases, that much she was certain of, but they’d been able to turn Jeremy against her. Her heart ached at that loss, but anger quickly replaced sadness. She whispered a silent prayer to the gods, begging for a way to make the Acta Sanctorum pay for destroying the life she’d built together with Jeremy.  

Half an hour later, she’d narrowed down her list to three churches in the area that might be the one Paul had mentioned. She’d have to see them in person though to be sure.

Boston on foot. That was an intriguing idea. No stranger to hiking, urban or otherwise, Kitara was at home in the outdoors and the prospect of exploring a new and historically rich area was an added perk. She grabbed her camera, prepared to document her excursion and get a few pictures for her portfolio. A few nice shots of old buildings would definitely look good on her website. Her photography business had been slow lately, and a fresh infusion of new photos might just be the thing she needed to display her versatility with subject matter. It might even help gain her some new clients.

Dressed, camera and tripod packed, with a map in hand, Kitara set out to have a look at the first church on her list. But not before she got a cup of real coffee. A peppermint mocha with extra peppermint was calling her name.

Caffeine was her life blood. As a photographer, she worked odd hours. That had led Kitara to develop a severe addiction to coffee, energy drinks, and B-12 shots. She did anything she could to stay ready and alert whenever a client needed her. She’d become such a regular at her local coffee shop that they knew her by name. The moment she walked in, they would automatically make her beverage just the way she liked it. Here, she was just another random face, and Kitara had to watch as the barista poured her drink to ensure they did in fact give her the extra boost of peppermint she wanted. It was oh so worth it. The combination of hot beverage, caffeine, and cool peppermint invigorated her tired mind, warmed her frozen fingers, and put a little extra pep in her step as she trudged through the sloshy streets on her way to the first church on her list. 

Wrought iron gates and low bushes surrounded a church that looked like a red brick, shrunk-down version of the Sacré-Cœur Basilica in France.

Covered in a light layer of snow, it had a picturesque quality, like something from a postcard.  Lit only by the surrounding street lamps, the place looked completely deserted. She made a quick mental note to take this one off her list. There were no lights in the window, no cars parked around the borders, nor any signs of inhabitants or parishioners. Given the fact that this was a Sunday evening, just past seven, there should have been a mass going on. She might not have been religious in the traditional sense, but Kitara’s brother had been a die-hard Catholic. Never missed a mass, even if that meant going late on a Sunday night.

Yet another man she missed terribly. His young life had been taken too soon. But at least he had died honorably, serving his country. 

Kitara stood across the street and pulled out her tripod.
Beautiful. Just beautiful. What a fabulous representation of Gothic style.
How could she not admire the old building? And since there was no one around to shoo her away, she felt she could take her time and really get a few nice shots of the old place.

She set her camera and tripod and adjusted the white balance. The streetlights around caused her some glare issues, so she manually adjusted her lens and shutter speed. She snapped off two quick shots before she caught a spark of light in one of the windows.

“Maybe there is someone home,” she mused, still clicking away with her camera.

There it was again, a flicker of light. Not slow or constant enough to be a candle flicker. This flash seemed quick and jerky, like someone holding a flashlight running past the windows.

Again, another flash, this time a few windows down. Someone was definitely in there. It might have just been a play of her tired mind, but she swore she saw a figure attached to the light. A large person, staring back at her from the high window. Was there really someone there, or was it just a trick of the light?

She blinked, and the figure and the light were gone again.

A chill raced down her spine, and all manner of terrible scenarios played out in her mind. It was really getting dark out and the unfamiliar streets were not safe. Thinking better of her plan to take pictures and gain information, Kitara decided she could always come back here again when it was light out.
Better to be safe than stupid
. It was time to pack it in and get someplace a little more public and populated.

Quick as she could she started packing her camera and tripod back into her messenger bag.

***

The constant pitying looks and soft tones of everyone in the clan were too much for Nicholas to bear. They reminded him of his failure, his weakness, his inability to protect the one person he loved. Rozaline had died before her time. It should have been him instead. He would trade a thousand lifetimes for just one more moment with her. Damn the gods for sparing him, condemning him to this purgatory of self-loathing. Only the hope of some form of afterlife kept him going. Rozaline would be there. He would see her again.

Nicholas needed to be alone, to be busy, to do anything to get his mind off her; and aside from training, hunting down the Acta Sanctorum was the next best therapy for him.

They’d been too quiet since their attack on the Olde Town Pack Wolf Preserve. That battle had seen heavy losses on both sides, but the Saints had not been completely annihilated. Their presence, while diminished, was still there. Like cockroaches, you could never kill them all. And when they did return, there would be hell to pay.

Nicholas welcomed that. The prospect of a new battle and fresh blood to spill perked up his mood. Snow was beginning to fall again. It seemed winter would never end. He hated the winter. The cold bite of it froze the blood in his veins. But though he loathed it, he could not leave, not with the Acta Sanctorum still a threat. They’d been dangerously quiet, and he wanted to find out why.

Nearing the old church that had last stood as the Acta Sanctorum’s base of operations, he picked up a strange vibe in the air. Something was close, another supernatural being, but not a vampire. Someone with  power – raw, uncapped. Perhaps a person new or unaware of their abilities allowing that power to leach out into the air. It didn’t take long for him to locate the source of it. There, waiting at the traffic light across the street, in front of the old church yard. A dark-haired woman perched precariously on the curb. She was bent down, digging into a large messenger bag.

Could it be? Certainly not.
She was the last person he expected to run into, especially here. He caught that familiar scent of sweet orange and vanilla that confirmed his suspicions without having to see her face. She was the same woman from the bar.

Not paying attention to her surroundings, she slipped off of the curb and toppled into the street.

Naive and clumsy
, he thought as he glared down at her struggling form attempting to regain her footing on a patch of ice. If he’d been in a better mood, he might have laughed at the scene. Her boots couldn’t gain traction and she slipped again, crashing down on her butt in the street.

Headlights glared into his eyes from an oncoming car, and he squinted against the annoying light.

The car was speeding along the snowy road, and the woman was still struggling to stand and get out of the way.

Not a moment too soon, Nicholas swooped her up off of the icy asphalt and sent her crashing to the safety of the snow-covered grass in the church yard.

“We have to quit bumping into each other like this.” Nicholas’s gaze washed over the snow-covered form lying in an angry mess below him. A flash of recognition showed in her eyes as she looked up to her savior. Nicholas caught the tremble of her body that had nothing to do with the cold. But, just as soon as her fear showed, she quickly masked it. 

“Are you stalking me or something?” She might be a bit of a mess, but the woman had spirit.

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

Her angry eyes met his for a brief moment, then she quickly turned away from his gaze. This, unlike their last encounter, was how a human should react to his piercing stare. Grudgingly, she took his took his offered hand.

Nicholas pulled her to her feet. “What are you doing out here anyway? This isn’t a safe area.”

“None of your business.” She dusted the snow from her jacket and dug into the bag slung over her shoulder, checking its contents.

“Such a cavalier attitude to take towards someone who’s saved you twice now.”

“Who said you saved me?”

“I suppose you wanted to be run down by that car, or perhaps wanted to ingest whatever was slipped into your drink back at the club? Forgive me, next time I won’t interfere.”

Her nostrils flared and again she dared to meet Nicholas’s gaze again. He enjoyed getting a rise from people, and she was making it too easy.

“I wasn’t planning on drinking it. I just needed to play the part, keep the guy talking. He was giving me information I needed.”

“Really?” Nicholas bit back a laugh. She, a spy? He wasn’t buying it. “What kind of information are you going to gain at a bar?”

“I didn’t ask you to save me, and I don’t have to explain myself to you. Leave me alone.”

He let his gaze linger on her deep brown eyes for a moment too long, drawn in by her fiery spirit. She was adorable. Those flared nostrils, the hint of crimson flushing her face. Angry looked good on her. The moment the thought entered his mind he shook it away. If Lysander was right, and all he needed was a “pretty little distraction,” then this girl seemed made to order. But he was on patrol tonight and needed to keep his head in the game. Nicholas wanted to have a good look at the church before reporting back to his clan. “So be it. Before I leave, you want to tell me your name.”

“Why?”

“So I can look for it in the obituaries.” His deadpan delivery cut her to the quick. If she’d been angry before, now she was fuming. “Don’t look at me like that.” He cut her off before she had the chance to open scowling mouth. “Instead of thanks, I get attitude for saving you. With your attitude and apparent lack of street smarts, it’s a wonder you aren’t six feet under already.”

Her haughty expression turned to one of pure embarrassment. She stood in shocked silence for a moment then let out a sigh of resignation. “Sorry. You’re right. I am being rude. I’ve been told I give off a bit of a bitchy vibe anyway. Let’s start over.” She gave him a weak smile an held out a hand. “My name’s Kitara. Kitara Vanders. You can call me Kit if you like.”

Kit
. He let the name roll around in his mind.
Such an adorable nickname
. Nicholas took the offered hand, surprised at the firmness of her grip. The obvious overcompensation she was making to appear stronger amused him. “I’m Nicholas.”

“Just Nicholas? You don’t have a last name?”

“Nosy, aren’t we? Nicholas is all you need to know.” He hadn’t used his real name in so long he’d almost forgotten it himself. Only Rozaline and Lysander had ever called him by it, and that was centuries ago. Why did everything have to remind him of his beloved and the pain of her loss? His heart ached and he couldn’t hide the agony etching sadness across his face.