Harlequin Nocturne September 2014 Bundle: Beyond the Moon\Immortal Obsession (45 page)

Slayers were the second universal check against one of this world's many anomalies. Protectors like himself had been the first line of defense in maintaining balance in the world between species.

Although the tale of how the first Slayer had been born and activated wasn't information he possessed, the goals and objectives driving Madison, once she realized who she was, would be similar. Rid the world of the plague of vampirism. She had to be made to realize this.

Her brother had been the true anomaly here. Stewart had been a male Slayer with no roots to any of his opposites, carrying the Slayer building blocks only because he had shared a womb with his twin. Stewart therefore hadn't been as strong as Madison would ultimately be. He had the urge to find vampires, without the internal backup necessary to perform the task.

Still, Christopher St. John wasn't a vampire, and explanations for what he really was couldn't be forthcoming to a Slayer or anyone else, whether he wanted her or not. He was different. Not a vampire, but a chosen immortal. His life was to be kept secret.

The thought of losing Madison sickened him. His tie to a vow that separated him from all others sickened him. And yet he would go endlessly on. Alone, if he had to. If Madison refused to use their connection to further their bond.

He sniffed the air and looked up at the sky.

It was possible that the detective could handle a Slayer coming into her own for a while, though the arrival of a full moon wasn't going to help. A full moon brought out all sorts of Others. Vampires, Madison truly would be sorry to find, weren't the only species trolling the streets.

Traitors like Simon Monteforte also walked among the shadows. Stewart Chase's bane. The ancient entity that Stewart had found in London had changed everything.

Recognizing Stewart as a Slayer and a potential problem to his own plans, Monteforte must have sent his dogs after Madison's brother. Something as simple as one word to the wrong monster had removed one Slayer, and now threatened another.

The haze was starting to lift. Pieces on the game board were already shifting. Yet St. John couldn't be in two places at once, no matter how fast he was.

He would take care of the Nosferatu, and teach Monteforte a lesson. He prayed that Simon would be waiting when he returned from sparring with the monsters, and that he could get his hands on the Frenchman's pasty neck.

The tattoos carved into his back undulated in anticipation of the events to come, reminding him that through those sigils there was one other possibility of help open to him for aid, should he need or decide to take it.

Using the power of those sigils, a call could be made to those of his own brethren still able to heed the signal they themselves had created for such a purpose.

Who among the other Blood Knights, he wondered, resided within calling range? He had no idea what direction their existence had taken them.

And he wanted Simon Monteforte for himself.

Contracting his muscles to savor the thought of seeing even one of the Seven again, St. John again sniffed the air.

“Stewart?” he said. “Come out.”

The infected Slayer, so close St. John could reach out and touch him, didn't oblige.

“I would never hurt her, Stewart. Not ever. This I swear,” he said. “Just as I never would have harmed you. We fight for the same things.”

No reply.

“Monteforte,” St. John said. “He's the one who found you?”

“Monteforte,” came the echo from the shadows. And then Madison's brother's scent faded rapidly between the buildings, as if it had just wafted away.

Confirmation. Damnation.

St. John smelled the air again, turned his head and let out a low growl of displeasure.

It wasn't Nosferatu that captured his attention at the moment, though, or vampire hunters. It was
her.
Madison was going to slip D.I. Crane's net and get into trouble. Her intentions surfed his skin like a bad sunburn.

Can't have that, my love.

Not even if it meant postponing his meeting with the monsters for a while longer. Letting those creatures get closer.

Spinning, he said to the fetid odor in the distance that was the Nosferatu's unique calling card, “Not long now, I promise.”

Then he raced for the hospital where Madison Chase, and his heart, lay.

Chapter 21

M
adison's limbs felt heavy. Her throat was dry. But she was awake.

She kept her eyes closed.

“She's been out for ten minutes,” a voice said.

“Can we lock the door?” asked another.

“Sorry. It is a hospital, when all is said and done. Don't worry. She'll be out for two hours, at least. Have you gotten any rest, Crane?”

“You saw the news?”

“You've found one of those four girls.”

“We've found them all.”

“What?”

“They're in pretty bad shape. We had a tip that led to finding them. This woman on the bed gave us that tip. I can't go into it any more than that. All four girls are on their way here right now.”

“Well, thank heavens for that. I have a large stash of sedatives here if you need a little something for the stress.”

“You know I can't do that, and that I appreciate the offer.”

“Actually, I wouldn't have offered if I'd assumed you'd accept.”

“You didn't have to tell me that, Doc. I thought maybe you were being nice for once.”

Sensing someone's approach by the sound of rubber-soled shoes on a linoleum floor, Madison kept still and squeezed her eyes tighter.

Under the sheet covering her, she fisted her fingers, grasping for an object out of reach: a sliver of the bedpost in her hotel room; a wooden weapon like the one tucked inside her brother's leather jacket. It was true that she knew what those things could be used for. She wondered if something as simple as a stake could be used against whatever was heading their way, and if St. John would be able to stop its progress.

“She's moving,” a voice noted.

“She isn't comatose, Crane, just sedated.”

“Can I leave her in your care for an hour, at most, while I check on those girls, and make sure their parents are with them?”

“Of course. Miss Chase will be fine here.”

“She won't get out?”

“Crane, if she gets out after what I've given her, she's not human.”

Guessing I'm not completely human, then,
Madison concluded, waiting for the opportunity to get to her feet.

* * *

The first Blood Hunter had reached Wimbledon, heading in a straight line for the city. Its presence was vague because it had used the Underground tunnels en route to its destination.

This monster's master had trained it well.

He would soon find out how well.

But first, a detour.

London's Central Hospital rose before him. As was usual on a weekend night, the place bustled. St. John went in. He headed for the E.R., tracing Madison's scent on the ceiling, the walls and the floor.

The detective had been wise to bring her here, where her sweet scent could be partially masked for most of the creatures looking for it. No doubt Monteforte would be salivating for the taste of another budding Slayer, now that he'd seen her.

Foregoing the elevator, he opted for the stairs. His skin continued its pattern of twitches and undulations under his black sweater as he strode to a room where Madison's scent was the strongest.

She wasn't there. The bed was still warm.

“Madison, you little fool,” he whispered.

He went through the adjoining door, and into the next room, which was also empty. Then he started back down the hallway, driven by a vicious need to find her.

He came face-to-face with the one man he didn't particularly want to see at the moment. “You've lost her,” he said cuttingly to the detective who had stopped to return his stare.

Crane anxiously looked past St. John. “Hell. She's gone? That's not supposed to be possible.”

“You were to watch her,” St. John said.

“Do you give the orders in this hospital now, too?”

“Isn't it common sense, Detective, to keep her out of trouble while searching for her brother? At least, I'd have thought so.”

“Not that it's any of your business,” Crane said.

Arguing wouldn't get him anywhere. St. John passed the detective in a hurry, nearly brushing shoulders with him in the narrow hospital hallway. Two steps beyond the cop, he paused with the hair at the nape of his neck bristling. Turning his head, he gave the detective a last glance, and grimaced.

“What?” Detective Crane snapped, anger creasing his features.

St. John kept walking.

Back on the street, he dialed up more of his senses. Picking up the faint trace of the fragrance of orange blossoms nearby, he started in that direction.

* * *

Madison continued at a sluggish pace up the street, slowed by drugged limbs and feeling as if she were dreaming.

The night seemed darker than usual and saturated with smells. The old bricks of the building facades she passed gave off odors of weak, trapped sunlight eating away at rampant, aged mildew. The sidewalk stank of the thousands of feet that had used it that day.

Without her cell phone and wallet, hailing a cab was useless. Though her hotel wasn't far, she had no intention of returning there. The guys would be celebrating their video coup. Their work would pick up again in the morning. Joining them probably would be expected, but was also the first place D.I. Crane would look for her after discovering she'd escaped.

She needed a breath of fresh, untainted air, and wasn't finding it. Unsure of where to go, what to do, or how to deal with the truth about the existence of vampires, she found London doubly ominous now.

Before seeing St. John's fangs, she had vowed to pressure the monsters in the media. That idea had fallen away, with no viable way to resurrect it. By shining light on monsters, she'd be placing her entire crew in danger, and maybe a good section of London's human population.

“Where are you, St. John?”

Did vampires prefer the lower floors of buildings? Basement apartments? Coffins? London was huge. The odds of finding him without outside help were slim, and she'd left the detective and his resources behind.

What she could do was test her own version of speaking to him via their strange internal connection. It was only fair for communication to work both ways.

Nothing to lose.

Waiting for a break in the line of people on the street, she looked up and spoke loudly. “Okay, St. John. You're all I have. Bring it on. I'm here, and I'm listening.”

“Good,” he said clearly, in a voice that definitely hadn't come from inside her head.

* * *

Madison had appeared before him like a desert mirage, spreading flickers of familiar fire throughout his body that he now knew were meant to be warnings, but what the hell.

She leaned against a building with her eyes raised skyward. Her face and lips were bloodless. Dampness gathered on her forehead. The cloying odor of drugs hung in the air.

His heart lurched when she met his gaze.

“It worked,” she said, just as she had on the dance floor the first night he'd seen her in person. “Imagine that,” she added.

The desire to hold her beat at him as fiercely as if they were normal people finding something special in each other in a normal world, when nothing could have been further from the truth.

St. John held himself back.

“They gave me a sedative.” Her words slurred. “I'm probably helpless if your intention is to harm me.”

“Harming you never entered the picture,” he said. “I'd have thought you had figured that out by now.”

“Your nature is to...” She left that remark unfinished, took a rattling breath and started over. “Can you get me off this street? My legs aren't working properly. People are staring, and will recognize me. I haven't the money for a cab.”

“Will you trust me now?” he asked her.

“Do I have a choice?”

Her eyes held to his as if she'd seek the truth there and know it when she saw it. If she had any intuitive knowledge of how this meeting affected him, she gave no indication.

“I give you my word that your safety is foremost in my mind,” he said. “You know that I'm not the only one looking for you.”

“The detective is a good enough guy.” She lowered her gaze. “It's just that he can't fill in the blanks. Only you can do that, and you'll have to if you help me now.”

“Can you walk?”

“Made it this far, didn't I?”

“You're less than a block from the hospital,” he said. “I can see it from here.”

Her eyes rose to his again, briefly and unfocused. “Am I to believe what you say because you never lie?”

“Quibbling over semantics seems silly when there's so much at stake,” he countered. “In any case, you asked for my help, when being near to me at the moment is an added danger.”

“Is that some kind of disclaimer?”

St. John smiled. “I suppose it is.”

“That old man in that hotel lobby has it out for you,” she said, surprising him again with her insight and her candor. “Am I right?”

“I believe so.”

“He is a vampire?”

He nodded. “A very old one.”

Madison blinked slowly. “I knew it without knowing how I knew it. So, where will you take me?”

“To my home.”

“No. Not there. It's too intimate. Too private and personal. I was going to find it. But now that I see you, I...”

“You'll be safe there,” he said. “Only there.”

“Safe from who?”

He knew what she meant, and that she was thinking of a kiss and a hardwood floor and the potential hazard of his fangs.

“Protector,” she muttered weakly, though St. John perceived her strength and wits recovering with an astounding swiftness that only someone with her kind of secrets had the power to pull off.

The bit of darkness he had discovered when he had first observed her now lay like a fine film over her skin, changing her skin's tone. Some of that darkness curled upward, foglike, over her spinal column.

In addition, his scrutiny turned up something else.

In the center of Madison, a new skill set was building, even as she drunkenly staggered. Her body was uploading a program that was her birthright to possess.

That tiny illumination inside her would soon get brighter. Already she'd find strengths to tap into if she figured out how to access them. She'd made it here through the meds.

When he roused from thought, he found her attentive.

“I have to know,” she said, “what that look was about. What our strange relationship means, if it isn't supposed to be.”

“There's so little time left, Madison.” He offered her his hand, assuming she'd back away, as she had done the first time he had wanted to touch her.

Then again, he had to acknowledge how far they had come since that original meeting, where she'd been nothing more than Stewart Chase's sister, a potential media pain in the backside, and he hadn't shown her his teeth.

Clearly, and in spite of everything since that first meeting, Madison's hunger remained, relayed to him by the soft gleam in her eyes.

Yet also inside those big blues of hers lay another clue about her oncoming evolution. Sparks of liquid silver swam there, as if a ghost were sharing her vision. The ghost of what she was to become, not long from now, if he kept her with him much longer.

She knew about the dark river coming their way. She was maturing before his eyes, with no way for him to turn back time, or start over. By remaining close to her, he would have no way to stop her transformation, and transformation might be her only way to cope with what lay ahead.

He just didn't care about any of that. He no longer wanted to take one single breath, real or otherwise, that didn't contain the scent of orange blossoms.

Madison was special. She was, in essence, a fighting machine with a nose for the supernatural, and the enemy of all those who had begun their new lives by drinking the blood of another. She was halfway to her heritage already, and sparring with the learning curve.

“So very little time,” he repeated as she voluntarily placed her fingers on his upturned palm. “I will explain as much as I can before then.”

She had touched him because she wanted to, had chosen to, and the pleasure this gave him was extreme. Hers was the first touch he had allowed, in any manner, in a few hundred years.

His heart beat faster, keeping time with hers. Without thinking of an action that possibly harked back to the days when chivalry ruled the land as the foremost rule of behavior, he brought her knuckles to his lips.

“Too easy,” she said breathlessly. “Need answers.”

“You won't like what you hear,” he warned. “You might not remember what came before those answers. I'll regret that, Madison. I'll regret it deeply, I swear.”

No longer hindered by having to keep some of his identity hidden from the woman beside him, St. John swept Madison into his arms. Not because she needed to be carried, or even would allow it, but because it might truly be the last closeness offered them, and he wanted to take full advantage of the minutes left.

Turning on his heels, gripping her tightly, he and the Slayer he had bonded with, for good or ill, became one more shadow in an already troublesome night.