Harlequin Nocturne September 2014 Bundle: Beyond the Moon\Immortal Obsession (35 page)

Chapter 9

S
t. John stood on the rooftop of Space, looking down at the dark street, waiting. Would Madison's rebellious streak get the better of her? Would she show up when she had been warned to stay away?

He was dressed in black, his usual choice, not only as a metaphor for the loss of his soul, but because black was perfect camouflage for slipping in and out of darker places.

He and his brethren, called the
Seven,
had chosen ebony for the background of their crest, highlighted by a golden cup centered between two parallel stripes of crimson. One red stripe to represent the blood of the mortality they had left behind, and one for the first drink of the new blood that changed them so radically and forever.

They had painted this design on their shields with fluid from their veins, and etched the same design into the skin of their upper backs with the tip of a heated knife.

The tattoos were there now, between his shoulder blades; an ever-present reminder of what he had become and the goal he served—all of those things so much bigger than anyone knew.

He remembered, as he stared down at the crowd gathered by the club's entrance, how people had once flocked to him and his brethren for aid. And how, over time, those same people had run from the sight of the fated knights who never aged.

Times had changed, but his goals hadn't. Presently, he was more or less in disguise as just another immortal amid the world of London's immortals, playing a part, acting less than he was after a long, self-imposed exile.

He would break the very heart of the Hundred if necessary to find the being responsible for the creation of so many fanged monsters rummaging around in this city. His vow, taken so long ago, dictated that he find and eliminate the beast whose habit of biting and turning innocent people into bloodthirsty vampires created havoc on the streets.

His job was to guard the innocent, and protect them from the spread of vampirism, though the Seven had long ago all but given up on stemming the bloodred tide taking over the shadows. As the population of mortals exploded, so did that of the beasts. The Seven now had to settle for doing their best.

The wind whipped through his hair and St. John briefly shut his eyes. No one alive or dead, except for his six lost brothers in blood who were scattered around the globe, was privy to the reality of what his function in the world was. No one else knew that his quest continued to this day. Now, with rogues and Shades turning up all over the place, one woman threatened to challenge his goals by getting in the way.

And here she was.

“I didn't want to believe this,” he whispered as Madison's fragrant scent filled him.

She stepped from a cab with her body cloaked in a black sheath and her hair glowing like urban wildfire. Stunning, contained, leggy and luscious, she had arrived tonight with a personal army in tow. Four of the men he'd seen around her that morning flanked her.

“You assume this might help, Madison?” he said.

She was tight, tense. Her presence ruffled across his nerve endings, urging him to move. She had ignored his warnings, but carried no questionable weapons.

“At least you had the sense for that,” he said, sadly.

St. John braced himself, accepting the implosion of willpower that removed evidence of his superior strength by sucking some of his power inward and away from his outer shell of muscle, skin and bone. He left only enough of that power visible on the surface to firmly set his most recent, well-moderated, practiced persona.

Although the tattooed sigils stretching between his shoulder blades protested the loss of power with a warning sting, he shrugged it off.

“Just another run-of-the-mill immortal at the moment, attempting to ward off disaster,” he muttered, taking the quickest way down.

* * *

This time, Madison had come prepared.

Arriving at Space armed with her crew, she hoped the four guys in her entourage would amount to testosterone camouflage.

The day had been disappointing. The prime minister's speech hadn't lived up to its expectations of offering anything new on the Yale Four, except for raising the reward. Since there were no new clues about the girls themselves, there had been plenty of media chatter and a lot of standing around after the necessary interviews.

Tired beyond belief, and emotionally drained from thinking about her brother's jacket and what the cops had found inside it, Madison kept a sharp eye out for any sign of hoodlums on a bender. She had mixed feelings about a rematch with the one man she figured might be here, because after finding that wooden stake, the vampire game they'd played seemed particularly dirty.

She had gone through her brother's research again after the incident at the Eye. Space remained the club of choice for finding vampires, Stewart had written. That chiseled stake only served to press home the fact of how serious her brother's quest was to find the fanged gang.

She had to take this equally as seriously if she were to find Stewart.

“Open your mind,” she said. But embarrassment made her hope she'd make it through this night without meeting the fair-haired hunk who had nearly had his way with her in a cold, dark alley.

No such luck.

Two steps inside the club, she sensed him, possibly in the same way some animals sensed an oncoming storm system. The acknowledgment made her waver on her new black pumps.

“What'll it be, Madison?” Teddy shouted over the blaring music. “First one's on me.”

“Virgin something. Thanks. I'll get the next round.”

Jittery inside, Madison slowly raised her gaze.
He
was there, all right, on the balcony in a languid echo of his pose from the night before. No doubt about it, he was looking back.

“So,” she said, wondering if Tall, Fair and Distracting could read lips. “Now you show yourself?”

She ran a hand over her body-skimming black dress to rid herself of the sensation that his hands were on her, and braced for a meeting that seemed inevitable.

“Here.” The sudden coolness of an icy glass pressed to her elbow made her jump.

“The BBC is at the bar,” Teddy shouted over the music, handing her a neon-hued drink. “Want to hobnob?”

She nodded and shouted back. “Be there in a minute.”

Raising his glass in salute, Teddy left her. Being alone in this club hadn't really been the plan. Madison looked up again to find that the man she had straddled in that alley was gone from his perch.

Resigned to getting back to her crew, for now, she started for the bar. “I suppose the only way to handle you is with a good dose of truth serum,” she said over her shoulder.

Cool fingers closed over hers, stopping her motion, virtually stapling her in place. A sighed breath, close to her ear, stirred a few wisps of her hair.

There was no need to turn around. Only one man had the ability to affect her this way. His fingers on her wrist sent waves of explosive charges up her arms, made her heart flutter. She didn't appreciate the feeling that told her, in spite of her resolve, and against her better judgment, that she still had the hots for this guy.

“Truth serum wouldn't be my drink of choice,” he said in a tone as rich as she'd remembered, and twice as suggestive.

He let go of her hand. Madison lowered her glass to keep from dropping it.

“There isn't actually any drink called O Positive?” she finally said.

“Which is why I usually stick to a good malt whiskey.”

Madison faced him, compelled to do so with what amounted to a very bad craving.

“You're here again,” he said. “I don't suppose you were looking for me?”

“What would make you think that?”

“Just a wild guess.”

She raised her glass. “Actually, you seem to turn up everywhere.”

“London is a small place when there's a lot going on,” he said.

“Yes. You were out there today. Do you work in the media?”

“I don't, though I have a vested interest in those who do.”

“Really? How so?” she asked.

He really was quite something: smooth, elegant and not actually cocky, but way too confident. Her body was responding to those traits, as well as whatever other kind of magic he possessed. Rationalization seemed to have no say in the matter.

“I prefer quieter times,” he confessed.

Even in her three-inch heels, she found that he towered over her. He also wore black, in the form of a soft coat and slacks. His black silk shirt was open at the neck. His brilliant mass of blond hair was long enough to cover his ears and, from memory, as sleek as the shirt.

The guy looked like an archangel gone over to the dark side, and Madison's body was appreciative of the results. She felt a flicker of excitement. Last night in bed, the mere thought of him had gifted her with an easy orgasm.

“Quieter times will help us all if things return to normal as quickly as possible,” he said. “It's important for London.”

“You do realize that people are missing. Maybe they're lost, or dead,” she remarked.

“I hope they are alive, just as you do.”

Despite her inner warnings, Madison looked up. “So, if not a member of the media, who are you?”

His eyes were a smoky sky-blue, and flecked with gold.

“I thought you knew,” he replied.

“Let's stop with the games, okay? The time for them is over.”

He conceded with a nod and the slightest hint of a grin. “My name is Christopher St. John.”

“Yes, well, I'd be willing to bet you're no saint,” Madison said.

“Most assuredly not a saint,” he agreed.

“So, what do you want with me? Insider information? Are you with a London rag, or some other newspaper? For the record, I don't have any new information on those girls, and I regularly engage in sexual escapades with strangers in foreign cities, so doing so with you wasn't special.”

His grin widened, suggesting that he knew she was full of crap. She saw a flash of white teeth behind the lips that had greedily trespassed on hers, but no sign of fangs.

He didn't move to press back the hair curtaining the sharpness of his cheekbones. Nor did he show any sign of the smug expression she'd been expecting. He was, in fact, acting more or less like a gentleman.

She took a sip of her drink before setting the glass on the table beside her. Although she was used to men being attracted to her, and adept at shaking them off, she wasn't dislodging the focus of this one. She hadn't meant to dodge his attention, really, because she had questions

But his eyes sought hers now in the same way that his mouth had sought her mouth the night before. He had only touched her hand for a few seconds tonight, and that touch was a heady reminder of how far they could get on lust alone.

More to the point, she wanted a replay of the last night's events right now. He was so damn...
something.

“I'm afraid I'm busy tonight,” she said. “I'm with my crew. Rain check, maybe?”

His grin remained fixed. “Are the gentlemen at the bar here to protect you from me, I wonder, or protect you from yourself?”

Madison blinked slowly to avoid his gaze. If this bastard was going to push every single one of her buttons without letting up, she'd have to take back that stuff about thinking him gallant.

“I'm here looking for someone else,” she said. “Maybe you know him? Stewart Chase?”

“Husband?” he said.

“Brother.”

“What leads you to believe I might know about your brother?”

“A weapon the police found in his jacket made me think so.”

There was a tap on her shoulder. Teddy had returned.

Damn.
She had been asking crucial questions, and starting to get somewhere...while also contemplating what Christopher St. John's chest would feel like beneath that black shirt—a wicked thought that was totally out of place and at odds with her agenda.

She wasn't here for a replay. She was here for Stewart. Coveting Christopher St. John, in this circumstance, was an unforgivable sin.

Their game of the night before, that stake in Stewart's possession, St. John's remarks about
them
chasing her, had to be addressed. St. John and everything about this ridiculous club seemed to circle back to vampires.

Of course, she couldn't explore any of this in front of her cameraman.

“Yeah, Teddy?” she yelled.

Teddy made a comical dancing motion with his arms and feet.

Madison looked to St. John, thinking that the man across from her actually did look too good to be mortal. She hadn't been wrong about that. Or blind.

However, there was no way his voice had been inside her head that day. She had just imagined it.

“Ah. Then I'll leave you to your friends,” St. John politely conceded with a nod of his head to Teddy. “We will run into each other again soon enough, I'm sure, Miss Chase.”

“I suppose I can count on it,” Madison agreed.

But when Teddy took her hand, she felt as though she had just made an error she might soon regret. She had a crazy notion that Christopher St. John did know more about the creatures her brother had been seeking than he let on. Call it intuition. Hell, call it whatever...but their meetings were so strange.

At the very least, he had to know about Stewart's suspicions about vampire presence in London, if he had played along the night before. Besides, Stewart had been to this club often enough to list it in his notes.

A vague disturbance seemed to hang in the air as St. John's eyes met hers one final time. Neither of them took a breath. Her heart raced.

Teddy had to lead her away. Madison turned to look back, struck by a strange feeling that each step away from St. John made the air between them thicker, and that the crowded room had begun to revolve, as if it would take her back to him.

St. John wasn't smiling.

She walked through the crowd with Teddy, without getting far. A brief flare of insight slammed into her like a dire warning alarm.