Heroes (5 page)

Like everywhere else, the Silk Road had a website. It had advertising brochures. There’d been an article full of glossy photos in a recent travel magazine, and she’d caught glimpses of the casino and lobby on a Travel Channel show on Las Vegas.

So, she knew what the place looked like. She only had to put herself there. Once she managed that, she could attempt to have a look around in the parts of the building where the tourists didn’t go.

If what she wanted was really there.

Rumor claimed the archives of thousands of years of strigoi history were stored in vaults within the hotel. These records were guarded by an ancient one, and protected by powerful spells. Char hadn’t been able to trace how this rumor had been started, or by whom, but it had come to her attention during her usual clandestine searching for all data relating to vampires. Char felt that it could all be a load of rubbish—or a trap. Why it might be a trap, and who might have set it, she didn’t know, but something just didn’t feel right. Still, insatiable hunger for knowledge more than blood or even justice drove her, and here she was. She would have come to Las Vegas even if the opportunity hadn’t easily presented itself with the invitation to Della’s wedding. Maybe it would have been easier if her curious and really quite bright Haven wasn’t along for the trip.

Of course, she never had any intention of walking into the hotel run by vampires and asking to see this so-called secret chamber. There was no reason to behave stupidly. Enforcer she might be, one of the badass Nighthawk line, but she’d rather use brains and psychic ability and keep physical distance while checking the place out. She’d always kept a low profile, and didn’t intend to change her method of operations—

Char did not feel herself taking the deep breath as her lungs barely worked at this time of day, but she was very aware of the mental inhalation, of the strengthening of her will.

She imagined a door into daylight. She hadn’t experienced daylight for over a decade, but it was not so long ago that she couldn’t remember what day was like. She remembered sunlight on her skin, though she had to magnify the memory to account for climate differences. She was from Seattle, where a summer day was a very different thing than the searing brilliance of Nevada in the daytime. Fortunately she lived in Tucson now, so she had some concept of the Southwestern desert. Besides, she watched CSI religiously, and had rented the most recent version of
Ocean’s Eleven
for research purposes before venturing to Las Vegas.

So she conjured the door, put her hand on the warm door handle, and fought off the panicked voice that screamed up from her instincts to
Beware of the Light!

Char opened the door, and thrust her soul out of her body.

And screamed in terror and pain as the sun’s molten fire poured down out of heaven to cover her in agony.

 
It wasn’t technically possible to pace nervously around a room while lying immobile as a brick, but Geoff Sterling wasn’t interested in technicalities. He wanted up. He wanted out.

He wasn’t alone on the bed. Valentine was lying beside him. While his skin was cold and lifeless, faint warmth emanated from hers. He could feel it all along his side, both a subtle shock and comfort. But not comforting enough to stop this sudden restless panic.

He couldn’t open his eyes to see his surroundings, yet he was vividly aware of every corner, every shadow; of the flimsy door and the wide window that overlooked the city far below. Heavy curtains kept out the daylight, kept in the coolness.

It was a perfectly suitable, ordinary upscale Las Vegas hotel room.

Anyone could get in. Anyone could find them.

Feels like a coffin,
he thought, and wanted to claw desperately at the coffin’s lid. He felt as if he were locked in one of those Victorian mausoleums where they left bells attached to coffin lids so the dead could ring them in case they woke up and needed to get out.

The voice interrupting his thoughts was coolly amused, and thoroughly annoyed him.

We’re vulnerable here,
Geoff thought back.
Can’t you feel the danger in the air?

Valentine’s silence was telling.
There’s always danger in the air,
the thought finally drifted into his mind.
If you want to go sniffing for it.

Valentine’s lack of concern was thoroughly irritating. Or maybe she was right and his paranoia was groundless. She hadn’t mentioned the irony that she was the one normally reluctant to leave the safety of her Los Angeles lair—

Lair?
Her sarcastic laughter was sharp in his mind.

If you can think about Van Helsing, I can use the term
lair.

But it’s not
my
lair. I’m only a guest ghoul.

They shared the apartment. They shared their creativity. They kept each other company. They—

Go to sleep,
Valentine urged.

Geoff realized she’d distracted him enough, relaxed him enough, that he was able to try. Back when he’d only been a vampire, before the surprising transformation from ordinary night creature to Nighthawk, oblivion had been easy. He’d had no choice. With the rising of the sun he was out, dead to the world until the first moment after dusk. He’d barely learned the ability to project his dreaming self into the daylight world before the Nighthawk compulsion took him. Now real sleep was the hardest thing for him to find.

Especially when, more often than not, finding real sleep resulted in daymares that always ended with Moira Chasen’s screams.

Sometimes, like now, the dreams started with screaming.

He followed the sound. He couldn’t help himself.
One moment he was drifting into darkness, the next sunlight hit him like a blow and he looked down to realize he was floating twenty stories above a busy Las Vegas street. Planes landing and taking off from the nearby airport whizzed by not that far over his head. Desert
wind buffeted him, hot as flame. Geoff was tempted to scream himself as he whirled around, taking all this in. And then he began to fall.

Char had no idea who this stranger was, but the other vampire’s words made sense. She
was
dreaming. He was holding her, and they were—She closed her eyes, not wanting to look down, or around, or into the sun. She could feel his hands on her even when all other sensory impressions disappeared. “How’d you get in my dream?”

Chapter 4

IN THE PARKING lot, Haven paused by his red Jeep Cherokee to take off the leather jacket he’d worn in the overly air-conditioned bar. The sleeveless black T-shirt he wore beneath the jacket hugged his body and bared muscular arms, the left decorated down most of its length with heavily inked black geometrical tattoos. He tilted his head up to hide his smirk when he saw Moll’s eyes widen in horror at the sight of his choice of body décor. Maybe Clare Murphy had been expecting a gentleman.

“You’re not a companion,” Clare said, suddenly very wary. She took a step back from the Jeep.

Haven squinted into the bright blue sky. “You people always act like that’s a bad thing. You asked me here,” he reminded her. “Talk to me or not.” He shrugged, then shaded his eyes with his hand, his attention drawn to a bright spot hovering in the air. He pointed at the light. “You see that?”

She turned to look. “What?”

“Like a—smudge—of fire.” Whatever it was he saw, he didn’t think he was seeing it with his eyes. He shook his head, trying to clear it. A cold finger ran up Haven’s backbone, and something molten clutched in his gut. Something like a moment of hot jealousy. The emotion lasted a second, then, like the fire, it was gone.

“UFO?” Murphy suggested.

There was already enough crazy stuff in their lives; they didn’t need aliens too. “Come on,” he said, and opened the passenger side door for the companion. Like a gentleman. Despite throwing him a suspicious look, she didn’t hesitate to get in. He went around to the driver’s side, tossed his jacket in the back, then climbed behind the wheel and asked, “Where to?”

“Just drive,” she said. “And we’ll talk.”

He drove. Past clubs, smaller casinos, and car dealerships. Eventually he found his way onto Interstate 15. Dust and heat haze swirled up in the distance, obscuring the view of the nearest mountain range. The woman beside him kept her silence until he finally asked, “This safe for you? Your—” He hated to say “Master,” even if that was the right term for a vampire-companion relationship. He settled for, “—boss, occupied?”

“He’s asleep. Dreaming of love.” She let out a low, dark chuckle. “He’s stalking a future companion. Ben’s attention is not on me right now.”

It didn’t sound like it bothered her too much. “You still better make this quick and get back to what you’re supposed to be doing. What
are
you supposed to be doing?”

“Running security at the Silk Road hotel and casino. Our whole nest is involved in this one job. Only this job.”