Mistwalker (12 page)

“Busy.” He picked up a card from his abandoned solitaire game and laid it down. “So what can you say?”

She grimaced and rubbed at her forehead. “It’s what you can tell me, I guess. I need some information.”

His hand froze over the game, and then he laid down the card and removed his freshly lit cigarette to a black ashtray. The smoke wove in twisting circles above the middle of the table. “Shoot.”

She settled on a kitchen chair and tucked one leg beneath her bottom. The scent of smoke and lemon polish was thick in the air. “Have you heard anything about women staying away from certain
parts of Whitby at night?”

He scratched his cheek. “No more than usual.”

“Strange disappearances or injuries?”

He flicked the end of his cigarette then took a drag. “A few married ones.
Nothing unusual about that. They get careless.”

“It’s been so long since I’ve been around England,” she said. Vinnie was the only person she knew who lived anywhe
re near Whitby. He’d moved to England three years earlier. “I’ll have to case out the town tomorrow night.” She rose from her chair and paced the room. “But where do I start?” she asked, feeling helpless and hunted.

“It would be nice to know more,” Vinnie said, dryly. “But since that’s a no go, how about you start over on Plymouth? There’s a club there.
Upmarket kind of an area for a beat like that. I don’t like mentioning the place, but if you need a starting point—”

“I do.” She hooked the chair around and gripped the back rest. Her knees and arms trembled. The smell of his blood was making her dizzy, and longing swelled in her stomach. “Tell me about it.”

He shrugged. “The girls flock to the joint. Can’t get a peep out of them when they return. Eyes glassed-up, looking like they’ve had the time of their lives.”

She frowned. “Been there yourself?”

“Sure,” he said.

“What’s your opinion?”

He shook his head. “I was lucky to escape with my life. I don’t know how I know that. I wouldn’t go back. Don’t know if it’s the drugs or drink, but something’s not right. The bouncers check for weapons at the door.”

She smiled. “How’d you get in then?”

“I know a guy who’s with one of the regulars,” Vinnie said. “She couldn’t stop bleating on about how we’d have a good time.”

“Did you?”

He studied the yellowed tips of his fingers. “She disappeared into the back of the club as soon as we got there. Drinks packed a punch, or maybe it was something else. I couldn’t be sure.” He smiled without humour. “It was one of
those
nights.”

“Elaborate?”

“A waking nightmare. You know the kind. I left early, before the stage show.” His hands were deft as he stacked the cards in a neat pile, then he crushed out the cigarette. “Just what you were saying with Whitby rang a bell.”

That surprised her. What had unsettled him so much? His regulars weren’t saints.

“Atmosphere got the best of me. Felt my back tingle,” he admitted in a deep voice that imitated he didn’t like talking about it. “Funny thing is, I felt that tingle, and before I knew it, I was out the door. But I can’t remember a damn thing about what happened inside.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. Bouncer stopped me on the way out. Said something…can’t remember, but I felt pretty good. Relaxed. There’s no way I should have felt like that.”

Vinnie’s back tingling was his legendary, instinctual signal to get out. “You’re right. It’s a good place to start. Sorry, but I need to crash now. It’s been a long night.” Not many would have the faith in her that she could take care of herself. She rubbed her eyes, needing to leave him before she broke down and sank her fangs into his neck. “Do me a favour and don’t open the bedroom door until I come out,” she said, her voice sounding strained.

“I won’t be here tonight. I’ve got another job in a few hours, and I’ll be getting that crossbow of yours. The spare key’s under the statue on top of the bookcase if you want to get back in.” He smiled into her eyes. “I hope to see you again soon. I’ve got your back, girl. Pick any room down the hall. My place is yours.”

“Thanks again, Vinnie.” She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. His skin tasted salty and full of warm scented musk.

“Sleep tight,” he said, his eyes spearing her with their intensity. “And remember what I said about lying.”

She shot him a cheeky grin and retreated down the hall to the room where she’d found the spare clothes and closed the door. She lifted the mattress to the floor, and then hefted the single bed frame against the closed door so the top rail jammed beneath the door handle. Vinnie wouldn’t try to come in, but sometimes he entertained visitors who didn’t know how to follow orders. She hung the blanket over the window and looked around the room for a spot to hide.

She quietly flipped the cupboard onto its back and shoved the pillow and sheets inside, creating a soft layer to sleep on. Now she was truly amazed at her strength. What else would being a vampire have in store for her, other than this terrible hunger?

Work intruded on her thoughts. She’d only asked for a few days holiday from the dojo. Her regular ladies would not be happy if she never returned; neither would the boys training for the state competition in six months. She’d have to explain the events to her boss. Well, the need to know version anyway.

Her credit cards were off limits until Juliun and his men stopped hunting her. Vinnie wouldn’t always be there to help her out. She
would
have to make an appearance to save her job, and she needed to figure out how to save Tammy. Simone would do anything to protect her friend from the sharing the same fate as her mother.

Chapter Sixteen

Pain could be a dagger. With it, Carlo killed, wreaked vengeance and changed worlds.

A gnarled hot fist gripped his heart and clenched, tighter,
tighter.

His cell phone warbled with some annoying ringtone from the latest pop charts. He’d chosen it at the time because it reminded him of his latest mission. The melody played on the radio before he’d slaughtered twenty humans in thirty minutes—blood slaves to another regime—not his personal best, but still, something to be proud of. He remembered making love to Lorena, and being in awe of the sweet smile that graced her dramatic face and the glitter in her eyes.

He lay in her blood on their bed. The musky scent fogged the room and intertwined with her lingerie over the headboard, inside the unstoppered bottle of Gucci on the dresser, and the clean clothes folded on the chair. Her scent wouldn’t wash away in a hundred years. Her essence dissolved into the cloth itself, holding an intoxicating power to produce memories from just one sniff. The scents of fresh cut daisies by the mirror and her cookie-scented shampoo in her pillow wove with her blood. Silently, he cried. Empty. That’s how he felt. Numbness leached into his fingers and toes, building up to his knees and torso, until he became nothing.

His cell rang again.

“Go away,” he told the world. “Go away, go away, go away.” He curled up in a foetal position. Play it by numbers. That’s what his father always told him when Carlo would fuck up. Play it by numbers, son.

Dad.

Silence. Silence. The cell rang.

GO AWAY!

Pain leaked its web into his heart, spreading throbbing poison into every cell in his chest, then pulsing down his arms. What was the use in life? Why did he need to get up and move? What the fuck use was anything, anymore? The only person he’d loved had died. He’d close
that door
, and then he’d be safe. Wouldn’t have to let anyone in. He could be himself, here. No more people meant no more pain.

But that wasn’t him, was it? The Drachyn knew him as a tough go-getter. His reputation for easy-going cruelty was highly regarded. What would they think of him now? He couldn’t let them know. He had to fight this, struggle against the darkness.

But there was no use to anything.

The humans lay on the floor, barked skin on their wrists and ankles from the thick rope. Their raw flesh lay in pieces on the carpet. In his anger, he’d forgotten the routine of clean up and dispose. The only thing that felt real was his thumping heart. He wanted to leave this body, this time, this world.

Again, the cell rang. He growled and ripped the sheets, crushed the phone. When he stood to clean himself up, he unfolded stiffly, like he’d been sick for centuries. Lovesick. Now, she was gone. He perched at the edge of the bed and rocked back and forth.

“Lorena.”

A whisper of thought pushed into his mind, and he eyed the stake in the middle of the bed, tangled in ribbons of shredded cotton. The rough edges of the wood were browned with her blood. His hair fell in front of his eyes. A thousand thoughts and images of their life together clouded his mind. No longer did he wonder when the tears would stop. He just cried. Constant. More than breathing.

“Lorena,’ he whispered.

He reached across for the stake and gripped it tightly with his bloody, dusty hand. He could end it all now. That would be brave.

The land line rang. And rang and rang.
Echoing down the hall, into their bedroom. But it wasn’t. Not theirs. His now. He didn’t want to get up or let go. Then he heard the screech of tyres. The slam of a car door.

He should get up.

“Carlo. Carlo.” The banging on the front door reverberated inside the house. “Answer the door, man.”

Carlo lifted the stake and positioned it near his heart. The point dug into his chest.

Finally, the sound of splintering wood, shouts and anger brought Carlo to his feet. He zombie-walked down the hallway to the foyer and opened the door. He only had to go through the motions for a little longer.

Korpus blinked. “What the fuck man? Get some clothes on. Master needs us. Why didn’t you answer your phone? Is Lorena keeping me waiting again? You need to talk to her, man. She’s such a bitch.” His face stilled, eyebrows lowered, mouth twisted. He stepped back. “What is it?”

Carlo pulled the door open wider, the stake hidden in his hand, and then he plunged the stake straight through Korpus’ heart.

Korpus’ mouth slackened, and his eyes widened in an incredulous expression, and then he was dust drifting down the stairs, over the edge to the small manicured hedge that graced the front of all the townhouses. Dust picked up by the night air, twisting the specks toward the stars.

Carlo knelt there, finding this place the scariest he’d ever been. Looking up at the heavens, he cried. “Don’t ever come to my house,” he said, through his tears. “Not this place. Not here.” There was nothing else he knew how to do.

He rose and slammed the door shut behind him.
Deep breaths on the other side of the wood as he leaned against it. The ridges pressed into his spine. The land line rang that never-ending prod into reality. He picked up the handset. “What?”

“Meeting at headquarters,” Kristoff said.
“Master’s orders. Be there.”

Carlo dropped the phone back into the cradle. No one ever disobeyed a summons from Master. His brand of punishment made death a cake-walk.

Chapter
Seventeen

Simone woke to complete darkness and the sound of her cry echoing all around her.

Juliun was still there—inside her head. She breathed in deeply, trying to steady her racing heart. They’d been together, walking over fields of heather, the cold wind brushing against their faces, hands held, and she simply didn’t know how to stop dreaming about him. She hadn’t wanted to let him go.

His smiling face beckoned in her fading recollection, and she rubbed a trembling hand over her face, trying to force the sleepiness from her body.

Her eyesight sharpened, highlighting the wooden edges in front of her.
The cupboard. Vinnie’s spare bedroom.
She sighed with relief, remembering the night before when she’d turned up unexpectedly at his isolated house and called in a favour to get weapons and information. She pushed open the wooden doors and inspected the silent room. The mist took her to the window, and she lifted the corner of the thick blanket she’d cast up against the glass. A thin layer of darkness covered the world outside.

A sudden homesickness for her old life overwhelmed her. Walking in the sun; running in the mornings; spending time lying in the sun soaking up the rays.

But now was not the time to be wishing for the impossible. Her life would be different, yet it did have one advantage over her old one: she could get justice on her mother’s killers once she found out who they were and gain closure from a pain that had never healed. Simone ripped down the blanket then, eager to greet the night, and she lifted the closet and placed the bedclothes back on the bed. The strength in her arms still shocked her, making her wonder about vampire strength in general. The crumpled black jeans weren’t in better shape after a brush down so she headed for the shower, but the still wet blouse changed her mind. In her haste to escape Vinnie’s alluring scent, she’d forgotten to use his clothes dryer.