Nightwalker (3 page)

“Everything okay?” Lilly asked softly.

“I thought he loved me. I thought he was the one, but he's still in love with my older sister.”

“You're rebound material?”

“I guess so.” Takala wiped at the hot tears on her face, smearing them across her cheeks.

“And you didn't see it coming?” Even Lilly sounded surprised that Takala had been so unaware.

In all honesty, Takala had considered it. Akando had been betrothed to Fala, Takala's older sister and the current Guardian since birth. It almost destroyed Akando when Fala chose Stephen Winter over him. Takala had been angry at Fala at first for hurting Akando; she'd had a crush on him since childhood. But it had not worked out because Takala had been there to nurse his emotional wounds. And she believed she could make Akando love her. Who would put balm on her own wounds?

Takala hiccupped and said, “I should have listened. My baby sister warned me not to get involved with Akando. I just didn't want to hear the truth.” Why hadn't Takala seen what was so obvious to Nina? Why was it Takala could read people in her line of work, knew the moment they were lying, but when it came to her love life, she was clueless? She thought of Fala and Nina. Both happily married to men who worshipped them. Why couldn't she find someone? What was wrong with her?

Lilly Smith patted Takala's shoulder. “Heck with him. You don't want someone like that. There's plenty fish in the sea.”

“I'm sick of trolling for them. I always end up getting the pointy end of the hook. Men are pigs.” Takala banged her head on the steering wheel, making the whole car shake.

“Tell me about it, honey,” Lilly said.

Takala felt Lilly Smith's comforting hand on her shoulder, the hand of the woman who might possibly be her mother, and her sobs became uncontrollable.

“Y
ou can't take those.”

Striker shoved the sunglasses down onto the bridge of his nose and eyed the kid who'd just accused him of stealing. He looked about sixteen, with freckles and red hair, too young and naive to know he was annoying a vampire. Normally, Striker would have stopped to purchase the sunglasses and baseball cap, but he couldn't let Culler and the woman out of his sight. He held the boy's gaze while his will seeped into the young man's conscience.

“I have paid for these,” Striker said, hypnotizing the kid with his eyes.

“Right, sorry, sir.” Like a puppet, the boy moved back behind the counter of the little gift shop.

Striker shoved the glasses back up on his nose, made sure the cap covered his hair, then he picked up a
USA
Today
on his way out. He stepped into the flow of people moving toward the various airline ticket windows.

He spotted Culler and her friend about fifty yards ahead. It was hard to miss her companion, not because the scent of blood was all over her and his predatory sense of smell could find her in a twenty-story building in seconds, or that she was tall and head and shoulders above the crowd, but because she dressed like a rock star. Thick ginger-blond curls hung down past her shoulders. Her long legs were stuffed into tight black hip-hugger pants. Several spike belts of varying widths hung around her slender hips. She wore a tie-dyed T-shirt that left three inches of her flat belly showing. A pink scarf, dotted with blood, draped her neck. And over it a black leather bomber jacket. Silver studs spelled “Virgin” across the back of the coat. Black cowboy boots covered her feet and calves. Lethal silver points jutted from the tips of her boots. She held a small carry-on suitcase, and she kept scratching at the scarf around her neck. He didn't much care for women who dressed ostentatiously or had an I-own-the-world air about them. The modest feminine medieval fashion for women was his favorite style, but that look was long gone, obsolete, just like that part of his life.

They went through the line, and Culler bought Rock Star a first-class ticket to Paris. On their way to Gate 5, they stopped at a row of shops.

Rock Star turned and looked nervously around. Striker was leaning on the wall near a water fountain, pretending to read the newspaper. She glanced past him as they paused at Arlene's Tid Bits, a woman's clothing boutique.

He zoned in his sensitive hearing and listened to their conversation.

“Let's go in,” Culler said. “I need a toothbrush and makeup and clothes. It's not fair. You carry an overnight bag in your car. I had to leave home with nothing.”

“Sorry.” Rock Star shrugged her shoulders. “Hazards of my job. When following people, you have to be ready at a moment's notice to leave.”

What was her job? How deeply was she connected to Raithe? Rock Star could be higher up in his organization. What was the connection between Rock Star and Culler? Maybe Rock Star was the ticket he needed to find Raithe. By the enticing odor of her blood, he knew vampires would kill to have a taste of her. He'd like to see below the scarf. Was she just covering the scratches Tongue had left on her neck, or was Raithe's mark on her neck? The thought brought a sadistic grin to Striker's lips. He'd like nothing more than to find leverage with Raithe by using one of his own blood slaves. If she had been just a regular human, Raithe could easily replace her, and she would be useless to Striker. But this woman was a cut above, her blood like manna. Striker could only hope she was one of Raithe's obsessions. An object Striker could definitely use.

“I suppose so,” Culler said.

“Look, I'm just gonna pop across the hall there, to the fudge shop. I can still keep an eye on you.”

“Don't let that cretin make you fat. He's not worth chunky thighs.”

Culler actually sounded like she cared. Striker thought she was the most talented liar he'd ever seen. She had to be to fool Raithe.

“This isn't breakup eating. I'm just hungry.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

Striker watched them part, Culler stepping into the clothing shop and her companion heading for the candy store. He kept an eye on Rock Star while she watched Culler. Kids and parents lingered in the store. The kids begged for everything. The parents picked and chose for them. Rock Star walked down the cases and found the fudge. She pointed to almost every type.

The clerk's eyes widened in disbelief. He asked if he'd heard her correctly. She wanted three pounds of peanut-butter fudge, along with everything else.

“Yes, eating for two.” Rock Star patted her slender belly.

“Sure it's not twins?”

“Sometimes I think so.” She smiled at the clerk, a dazzling white-toothed grin that mesmerized the man for close to half a minute, causing him to drop several pieces of fudge on the floor. Stunning didn't come close to describing her face at that moment. It appeared she knew how to wrap men around her little finger with just a smile.

Even with all the airport noise, Striker could zone it out, tune his hearing into the blood pumping through her veins. He could detect the minutest abnormality, and he didn't hear the heartbeat of an unborn fetus. She was pulling the clerk's leg. Why that slightly amused him, he didn't know.

His phone buzzed, and he pulled it out. Mimi's smiling face met him. “Hey, boss. Got the info you wanted. This new player is one Takala Rainwater. She owns Rainwater Detective Agency in Richmond. She's full-blooded Patomani. Her sister is Fala Rainwater, the Guardian.” Mimi paused for effect.

Striker knew of Fala Rainwater. Who in the supernatural realm hadn't heard of the Guardian? The Guardians were legendary in fighting evil; even his own kind had suffered at their hands. Striker had let Meikoda, the previous Guardian, operate as long as she had stayed out of his way. Fala could prove to be more of a problem. He'd read the dossier on her, an ex-police detective, generally considered a hothead. Striker hadn't had a run-in with her yet, but she already had one strike against her in his book: she'd stolen Stephen Winter, one of his best agents. Made the idiot believe he was in love. At the thought of love, Striker lifted one corner of his lip in a snarl.

Mimi continued. “Her youngest sister, Nina Rainwater, has phenomenal psychic powers. She recently wedded Kane Van Cleave. These three chicks are loaded with white-magic power. Takala, the middle sister, has off-the-charts strength. The seer assures me she's not involved with Raithe.”

“He could have had her charmed, and the seer's eye blocked.”

“Got a point there. The seer said Takala's searching for her mother, Skye Rainwater.”

The name hit him. Culler aka Lilly Smith aka Simone Poindexter's real name was Skye Rainwater. She'd changed it when she entered B.O.S.P. So, were mother and daughter both killers? Both involved with Raithe. Or was Takala Rainwater really just searching for her long-lost mother? If so, she'd wish she had never found Culler.

“I want this on high priority. Dispatch two teams of our most competent agents to Paris, and have them
standing by at Charles de Gaulle Airport. And send two more to me now—not Tongue or Vaughn.”

“Right.”

Striker glanced up just as Takala Rainwater was leaving the candy store. Her arms were laden with a grocery-size shopping bag and her carry-on. She must have bought ten pounds of fudge, but she carried it beneath her arm as if it weighed nothing.

Striker caught a whiff of the fudge, and it mingled with the sweet metallic scent of her blood. Blood was his candy, or poison, depending on how one looked at it. The potency skated through his senses. He took a deep, shuddering breath. His desire to taste Takala Rainwater was becoming more and more a forbidden temptation. But he would overcome it. He knew what happened if he didn't. He could become like Raithe again, and that he would never let happen.

She paused at the door of Arlene's Tid Bits, one eye on Culler, then rummaged through the shopping bag. She came out with a chunk of fudge. She licked it and moaned softly at the pleasure of the taste.

Striker imagined something very similar, only involving her neck or, better yet, the femoral artery that pulsed at the top of her thighs. The unbidden daydream dissolved when two of his agents appeared at his side. One was Katalinga, a lynx shifter. She had dark brown short hair, upturned feline eyes, and wore a brown spandex pantsuit that sheathed her body. She always looked as if she'd stepped out of the sixties. Brawn was a wizard. Tall and built like a wrestler. He had short-cropped auburn hair and deep, serious green eyes. He wore blue corduroys, a pin-striped oxford shirt, and a gray blazer.

“Hello, sir,” Katalinga purred. She had a Swedish accent, which only accentuated her
r
's. “Reporting for duty.” She sniffed the air. “What's that delicious aroma?”

“That would be one of our targets standing in front of that clothing shop behind me.”

“Her blood really smells delish.” Katalinga licked her lips. “We should get a copy of that for the lab so they can reproduce it.”

“Our techs are talented, but I doubt they can invent anything close,” Striker remarked.

He and the B.O.S.P. blood-dependent employees injected themselves with a serum that sustained them for twenty-four hours between feedings. It helped them when they were out on a mission. The serum left an aftertaste in the mouth, a “flavor” as the techies called it. Yet it could never come close to human blood. And he felt certain never equal the taste of Takala Rainwater's.

The serum supplemented Striker's usual diet of freeze-dried animal blood that he reconstituted. It was the worst-tasting substance imaginable, but he only drank it for survival, not pleasure. He couldn't remember the last time he had enjoyed anything or found joy in anything but his work.

He'd had enough small talk and said, “Keep them safe and in view at all times.”

Brawn had been studying Takala Rainwater as she ate the fudge, and he appeared enthralled. “You mentioned two targets?” he said without taking his eyes from her.

“The other one is in the store at the register.” Striker felt a sudden pang. Was it possessiveness? No, more a feeling of familiarity. What seemed so familiar about Takala Rainwater? He couldn't lay his finger on it. Other
than her aromatic blood, she was nothing to him but a problem. Why should he care who looked at her? “We'll switch off. You both are on now. I will check out the gate and make sure it's clear.”

“Affirmative,” Brawn said.

Striker walked down to Gate 5, glad to have some distance between him and Takala Rainwater. He didn't need distractions at present. What he needed was a moment alone with Culler, to discover what she knew about Raithe and if she was still in contact with him. And he would, tonight on the flight, when he had his full power. If she was charmed, he could break through it. He'd never underestimate Culler again. And Takala Rainwater… Well, he'd enjoy that encounter, probably overmuch. He looked forward to luring her into isolation, discovering her weaknesses and her needs, all the elements of hunting targets at which he excelled.

His fingers reached instinctively for the tiny vial of soil hanging around his neck. Still there. Over the years it had become a compulsion to check it. He was forced to carry it with him at all times during the day. It was the soil that enabled him to stay awake during the day, the earth of his vampire birth, the same ground in which his casket was buried. It was the one thing he shared with Raithe. Over the centuries it had turned to dust from age. He'd been forced many times to go back to Rome and dig up more soil. He had always hoped to corner Raithe there, but never had. One day and soon, he promised himself.

T
akala hardly felt the vibration of the Air France plane in the luxurious seat in first class. It beat being sandwiched into those tiny coach seats where she never had enough room for her long legs and she felt like a canned sardine. If you had to fly, this was as close to heaven as you would get.

She glanced over at Lilly. She had finally dozed off. She wore eye covers, and her blanket had fallen down to her waist. Takala bent and tucked it back up around her shoulders.

Then she reached for another piece of fudge. She'd lost count of the number of pieces she had eaten. It wasn't only Akando's defection bugging her; it was Lilly. She knew the longer she waited, the harder it would be to tell her the truth. The only proof Takala had that Lilly was her mother was the photo that she'd lost. She just didn't trust her own instincts or Lilly right now. She
really needed to know if Nightwalker had been right about Lilly. More than likely he was the killer, but she had to be certain.

Since leaving the airport, Takala had felt eyes on her, and it hadn't subsided. The sensation caused a prickling on her neck that refused to go away.

She glanced behind her at the only other person in first class. The woman wore a knit brown pantsuit. Her dark brown hair was cut in a boyish bob. She was sleeping. Takala decided the jumpy feeling had to be the product of her imagination.

Earlier she had heard a few voices come from coach class, but now the only sound was the distant throb of the jet engines. The whole overnight flight must be bedded down for the evening. She hadn't seen a stewardess in an hour. What time was it? She looked at her watch. Two o'clock in the morning. They must be somewhere over Europe.

She didn't know if it was nerves, or the sugar buzz she'd gotten from eating so much chocolate, but she just couldn't sleep. The light on the complimentary cell phone blinked green, and she snatched it up and left her seat so she wouldn't wake Lilly.

The Boeing 747 was a wide-body with three aisles. The coach section was full to capacity. She chose the left aisle and walked back to the restroom. As she suspected, most of the passengers were sleeping, but a few glassy-eyed insomniacs were watching movies or listening to music through headphones. She dialed Fala's cell-phone number.

A sleepy voice said, “Yeah.”

“Fala, it's me,” Takala whispered so as to not wake up anyone.

“Where are you, and why weren't you here to welcome us home?”

“Sorry, on a case.” Takala paused at the door to the head.

“You know Nina ran away and got married?”

“Yeah, she told me.”

“She told you before me?” Fala sounded a little disappointed.

“I think she thought you might disapprove.”

“Well, he's a shifter. That's not too bad.”

“Rich, too. That always helps.”

They both chuckled at that.

Fala was the first to speak again. “So, what kind of trouble are you in?”

“I'm not.”

“Then why is Grandmother in the prayer cave? She says she needs to pray for you. What have you done?”

“Nothing.” Takala hoped Meikoda knew nothing of her current adventure and was only cleansing her soul. She didn't want to tell her older sister about Lilly. She knew she'd be angry for trying to find their mother. She, like Nina, believed that their mother wanted nothing to do with them. “Can you put Stephen on the phone?”

“For what?”

“I just need to ask him about someone he might have worked with at B.O.S.P.”

“Oh, all right— Wait, I have to tell you this. Nina told me not to say anything, but you should know. I saw Akando with a strange redhead today—”

“I know all about it.”

Fala said, “I'm sorry.”

“I don't care anymore.” A lie. His cheating still hurt like a giant was stepping on her solar plexus. What really smarted was how quickly he'd moved on and how blind she'd been to believe he had cared for her at all. She forced more conviction than she felt into her voice. “We're history.”

“Sure you don't want to talk about it?”

“No, he's shown his true colors. I don't know what I saw in him. Be glad you didn't marry him.”

“Believe me, I found the right guy. Stay in touch, sis, okay?”

“Okay. Now put Stephen on, please.” Takala made a face at the tan door of the toilet as she heard Fala say, “Here, honey, for you.”

A lot of rustling in her ear, then Stephen's deep voice. “What's the problem?”

“What do you know about someone named Nightwalker?”

“He used to be my boss.” Stephen's voice seemed to clear of sleep. “Stay away from him.”

“Too late. What I need to know is, can I trust him?”

“You can't trust any vampire,” Fala said in the background. The phone must be on speaker, Takala realized.

“What if he warns me about someone. Can I trust his word?”

“I'd say so unless he has an ulterior motive,” Stephen said. “Basically his scruples are intact. He's only malevolent if you get in his way. What's this all about?”

She ignored his last question and asked, “Is he the type who would kill his own men to set up another agent?”

“Not if the agents were loyal.”

“Would you trust him with your life?”

“If we were both on the same side—what's going on, Takala?”

A whoosh of icy breath brushed her neck and ear. It was like opening a refrigerator door. She panicked, even as cold hands snatched the phone from her grasp. She heard Stephen shouting her name until the phone clicked off, then someone pushed her through the bathroom door.

She stumbled inside. Before she could turn to ward off her attacker, hands caught her elbows and shoved. Her hips hit the sink as she wheeled and looked into Nightwalker's face.

His eyes were inches from her. For a few heartbeats, they faced each other, breathing heavily, eyes locked.

Up close, his pale skin glowed with a pearly luminescence that didn't seem to have clear-cut lines, the edges of his features just a tad blurred, as if his power strained at the physical boundaries of his body. Purple eyes peered out from under thick blond lashes, the intelligence in them almost palpable. He had a rugged roman nose that fit perfectly in the handsome planes of his face. His glossy blond hair was slicked back in a ponytail, adding a roguish quality to his features. The ruthlessness of his sunken cheekbones fought with the dimple in his chin and added a pleasant edge to his face that couldn't be trusted. He wore a perfectly tailored black suit and a starched white shirt without
one wrinkle. Not even his tie had been pulled out of line during the struggle. And his cologne smelled like spicy butter rum, a scent that might have made her mouth water…if she hadn't been feeling threatened.

His eyes steadily turned the color of blackberry wine. The depths looked bleak and endless, like a long, empty tunnel. Because vampires didn't have to blink, his stare had a relentless piercing quality, like that of a falcon, as if he hovered above her ready to dive.

All her self-preservation bells rang at once. Her heart felt like it had parachuted out of her chest and was dropping fast.

Then his eyes changed. The whites were disappearing, the pupils dilating.

She felt his will batter her. It was a thousand-pound weight throbbing in her skull. She tried to move, but the undertow of his trance-inducing eyes trapped her. Fear slithered along her shoulders, hummed down her spine.

The black orbs probed her, reached deeper, grasped for control. The edges of his form seemed to shift and blur from his unearthly force.

Then something inside her rose up like a wall, and she suddenly had a fighting chance. His underworld tug was strong, but it struggled to penetrate her white magic, the source of her strength. She locked gazes with him, aware she might lose this battle at any moment, and she hated losing a fight—especially to a vampire who had attacked her first.

The tiny bathroom seemed to shrink in size, and all she could feel was his chilly breath on her face. He had both hands on the sink, trapping her between them. He
wasn't physically touching her, but he might as well have been. His dark aura was steadily drawing over her like an iron blanket, his will lashing at her own.

“Look, bloodsucker, you can't glamour me.” She found her voice, but it was strained, uneven. “Got that?”

The lids of his eyes flicked ever so slightly in surprise that she had fended off his power this long. Then a slow, ruthless grin twisted up the corners of his mouth, exposing the tips of his fangs. “But your sweet words only provoke me into wanting to try and glamour you.” His voice was slick and silken and echoed in her mind like he was inside her head with a bullhorn.

“I warn you, don't try it!” Takala knew if she didn't break this mind lock, she wouldn't stand a chance. She knocked his arms away and aimed for his jaw.

He caught her hand with superhuman speed. They arm wrestled midair as he said, “You can't resist me.”

“Wanna bet?” Takala was surprised by his strength. Vampires might be able to move faster than she, but one-on-one they weren't much stronger. But this one was. It felt as if her fingers were set in solid granite. Her whole arm trembled as she strained against his strength. He wasn't struggling at all, and she knew he wasn't using a quarter of his strength. If he chose to, he could crush her hand and send her down on her knees.

“That was unwise.” His voice softened to a deadly hiss.

“Sometimes you just gotta take risks.” She went for him with her other hand.

He grabbed that one, too, jerked both hands behind her back, and kissed her.

His will invaded her in a huge gush, sweeping into her like a windstorm, crashing into every crack and crevice. She had lost this round.

For a second, the full brunt of his power held her muscles, her bones, her veins. It was like radioactive dye being breathed into her, burning at first; then his darkness oozed inside her and she felt herself becoming powerless and groggy in his arms. She grew aware of his cool lips, rough and pressing. Then they absorbed her human heat, and they were hot and ruthless and mesmerizing. That was her last thought before he claimed her mind.

 

Striker wanted to continue the kiss, to subjugate her, to savor the heat of her lips and body engulfing him, but he couldn't allow himself to take advantage of her in that way. No, it was bad enough he'd given in to the desire to kiss her. He could have forced his will on her by just touching her. No doubt about it, Takala Rainwater tempted him, a morsel for the taking. But he had only one resolve, and that was to find out if she worked for Raithe.

He broke the kiss and stared down at her face, at the strong curve of her jaw. His fingers itched to touch her square chin, and he gave in to the desire.

At his touch, her closed eyes fluttered.

He traced the line of her jaw as he stared down at the ginger-blond lashes, a little darker than her coppery gold hair. They formed thick crescents on her high cheekbones. Her full lips were swollen from his kiss, the sweet scent of chocolate still on them. He couldn't draw his gaze from her tanned face; it had a reddish
golden glow that mesmerized him. He didn't think he'd ever seen more beautiful feminine features assembled in one package.

Something about her seemed familiar. What was it about her that tugged at him, that reminded him of someone? It was there, buried in the eons of his life. He just couldn't retrieve it.

Takala moaned seductively and pressed her shapely pliant body against him. He hadn't noticed it before now, but there wasn't an ounce of extra flesh anywhere on Takala Rainwater. She was all hardened, lean muscle. Her back and shoulders rippled with it. She had the physique of a female bodybuilder, slender hips, indented small waist, and high rounded breasts, all held together by sinew. Strong, yet so intoxicatingly woman. He felt his body responding, and he cursed.

She inflamed dormant desires and sensations that he had controlled for two centuries. He thought he had evolved past all that, exorcized those demons. But there was no denying it: he wanted her right now. And the danger of being near her was growing by the second.

He forced his mind back on the mission and his resolve to stop Raithe. He quickly propped her down on the toilet and rested her head back on the wall. Then he unwrapped the scarf from around her neck. He inhaled the overwhelming scent of her blood, and he had to fight the desire to place his lips against the pulsing jugular vein.

You have her under your power. Taste her blood. Take what you want and need.
He heard Raithe's old voice in his head, tempting him.

No, he wasn't like Raithe. He wasn't a monster.
He used to be. For hundreds of years now, he'd led a monastic life of self-denial, atoning for his past evil transgressions—that is, until Takala Rainwater crossed his path. He reminded himself he had more willpower than to let a piece of tempting human baggage destroy all he'd worked so hard to accomplish.

He felt a tremor of sheer will run through him as he made himself concentrate on the task at hand. He half expected to find Raithe's puncture marks on her neck. When he saw only Tongue's claw prints slashing sideways across her skin, slightly swollen and red, he felt relief. Though he wasn't entirely convinced that she wasn't one of Raithe's minions. He had to invade her thoughts to be absolutely certain of it.

He didn't have to verbally ask her questions, all he had to do was probe her mind. He immediately detected a brain animated by magic; the insidiousness of it grinding and scraping the edges of his mind. And her thoughts were surprisingly an open book, not obstructed by dark forces as Striker had first suspected.

Takala had arrived at Lilly Smith's house from a lead she had received from a friend. She wasn't certain she trusted Lilly. She hadn't told Lilly they were mother and daughter yet. He was getting recent feelings of love and hate for someone named Akando. So, she was above suspicion. He had expected the opposite, hoped for the opposite.