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The words themselves weren't overly threatening. It was the lack of life in Monica's eyes, the emptiness in her voice, that chilled. As if she were nothing more than a blank canvas ready to be filled by an unknown painter.
"Not as far from the truth as you might think,” Michael said softly, obviously reading her thoughts again. She crossed her arms, trying to ward off a sudden chill.
"And if you even try to answer his call,” Monica continued, gesturing towards the park. “I'll kill you myself."
There wasn't a doubt in her mind that Monica would carry out the threat. Just for an instant, evil flared in the girl's eyes. It was old, centuries old. It was the same evil that now stood in the park, in the shape of a man. Nikki rubbed her arms. Maybe she was far too late to save Monica's soul. The teenager walked away, a slim shadow against the brightness of the flames beginning to leap from the upper floor windows.
"We must go,” Michael said quietly. “The fire department is on its way." She glanced at the nearby houses. People were lined up near their fences, watching them. If the fire department was on the way, then so were the police. She grimaced and returned her gaze to Michael. The wind tugged at his hair, blowing the midnight-colored strands across his face.
"What were those things that attacked us?” she said, shoving her hands in her pockets to keep them warm.
He hesitated, then shrugged. “They go by many names."
Word games were the last thing she felt like playing right now. Her head ached. Her arm ached. In fact, everything ached. She stunk of smoke and sweat and fear, and wanted nothing more than to go home and soak in a nice hot bath.
But she couldn't. Not until she'd talked to her boss. To do that, she had to first make some sense of the night's madness. “So what in hell do you call them?" He looked past her. She resisted the temptation to turn around, sensing if she did, he'd be gone.
"I suppose it's best to call them zombies,” he said after a moment, his eyes dark pools of ebony anger when they met her gaze again. “They answer to the man who attacked you inside the house." She laughed at the absurdity of it, but her amusement quickly fled under his watchful silence. Swallowing, she remembered the wash of fetid breath across her face, the chill of flaccid flesh against her palm. Remembered her own impression that the creatures were dead, and yet not. Zombies. Hells bells. Monica was into something far weirder than any of them had realized. A siren wailed into the silence, and she glanced over her shoulder. A fire engine came around the corner and drove towards them. They must have taken the shortcut through the park to get here so fast. “So how do we explain the presence of zombies to the fire department?"
"We do not,” Michael said, his gaze on the approaching engine. “They will only find charred remains. The others have already left. As should we."
"If the fire's been reported, no doubt someone's reported seeing us out front. I'd better stay here and wait."
"I cannot.” He looked past her again, then stepped back. “We will meet again."
"Wait!” she said, reaching out to stop him, not wanting to lose the comfort of his presence. “I ... I don't even know your name."
He smiled and caught her hand, his fingers gliding across hers. An odd tremble ran up her arm. She wasn't sure whether its cause was the unusual warmth of his touch or simply the caress of his palm against hers.
"You lie, Nikki James. And you will see me again.” He raised her hand, brushing a delicate kiss over her fingers.
She quickly pulled her hand away. He was a stranger, an unknown. She should be responding with wariness, not ... fascination. She'd traveled that path once before, and it had ended with blood on her hands.
His smile faded. “The fire department is almost upon us. You should be safe enough. The man you fear has left the immediate area, anyway."
His words drew her attention back to the park. The touch of evil had left. So had Monica. Yet she knew the danger was far from over. She still had a client who wanted to see his daughter, whatever the cost.
"He may have left the area, but I doubt he's left my life.” Her voice faded. Michael had completely disappeared.
Chapter Three
The scent of his enemy swirled around him, but it was faint, distant. Michael crossed the street then hesitated, glancing back at Nikki.
Even now, he could taste her fear. Oddly enough, it wasn't so much fear of Jasper that he sensed, but fear of death. Monica's death, more than her own. She'd pursued the teenager beyond all common sense, as if, in some way, she owed it to the child.
Certainly she was an intriguing enigma. There was something of the streets in her mannerisms, and yet it was tempered by an odd sort of innocence.
If he'd had more time, he might have tried to get to know her better. The rapport that had flared between them, if only briefly, was something he hadn't experienced for a very long time. He grimaced and thrust a hand through his hair. And maybe after that he'd fly to the moon. What the hell was he thinking?
He'd see her again, of that he had no doubt. She might have escaped Jasper's trap tonight, but Jasper had tasted her abilities, and would not let her go so easily.
But his association with her could never amount to anything more than friendship. And certainly it could last no longer than the time it took him to stop Jasper. He could not change who he was or what he did. And truth was, he'd use anything or anyone he could to destroy the likes of Jasper. He turned and followed Jasper's fading trail north. For tonight at least, Nikki was safe. Dawn was less than an hour away, and the only thing Jasper would be hunting right now was a safe place to wait out the day.
The wind gusted around Michael, its touch chill, thick with the promise of rain. Frowning, he cast his senses forward, searching for the scent of his enemy. Nothing. The fiend had escaped him yet again. The next time he would not be so easy to find. Jasper would have sensed him tonight and be more wary. Which left Nikki as his only real hope of finding Jasper fast. The sound of high heels clicking against the pavement ahead made him slow down. The red haze of life flared before him—a prostitute plying her trade along the street. Darkness stirred. Hunger rose, eager to taste the sweet offering of life. The woman was alone, unprotected. It would be so easy to reach out and take what his body craved... Michael clenched his fists and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Never again . He ignored the need pounding through his veins and crossed the street. He would feed, but not now, not tonight. And definitely not on anything human.
He'd booked a room in the old hotel up the street. It was the kind of establishment frequented mainly by prostitutes and junkies needing a cheap place to crash. A place where no questions were asked, the proprietor not caring who rented the rooms as long as they paid up front. Certainly not an establishment he'd normally choose, but he had little real choice here. Jasper liked easy prey. An area like this provided an effortless hunting ground.
Michael walked through the entrance and up the stairs. On the third floor he stopped and scanned the area, more out of habit than from any sense of danger. The red heat of life flared in several of the rooms down from his own but everything else was still.
