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"Don't give me that sanctimonious crap. You haven't the right to touch Monica."
"I must, or she will rise to aid Jasper.” This time a hint of impatience colored his quiet words. Her anger rose another notch. “That is, I gather, the name of the man who is after me." He hesitated again. She swore and pushed upright, moving to stand near the wall. Wintry air rushed through the shattered window above her head, but it failed to cool the anger heating her cheeks or the turmoil churning her stomach. Michael knew more than just her hunter's name, so why wouldn't he divulge what he knew? A lack of trust, or something more?
She studied Monica again. At rest, the teenager looked untouched by evil. It was easy to understand why Trevgard refused to see his daughter as anything more than innocent. What would she say to him?
Or to Jake? How could she face them if she allowed Monica to be mutilated? How could she face herself, in the long years of nightmares left ahead?
"I can't,” she stated quietly, finally meeting Michael's watchful gaze. His anger seared her mind.
"You can't stop me,” he warned quietly.
The threat behind his soft words shook her. Though he hadn't moved a muscle, he suddenly seemed so much larger, more threatening. The shadows moved in around him, half hiding his form, making him one with the night and the sense of evil that still haunted the old warehouse. In the blink of an eye, death had stepped into the room and become her companion.
She clenched her fingers, felt energy tingle across her skin. Michael wasn't evil, not in the same sense as the man he'd called Jasper. Yet she couldn't escape the feeling he wasn't entirely on the side of the angels, either.
"Are you willing to kill me to get to Monica?” she said.
His eyes were chips of ebony ice. “Are you willing to die for the sake of evil?" No. But she refused to stand by and let him mutilate Monica's body, either. She owed her that much, at least. “If that's what it takes, yes."
Anger danced around her. She fought to breathe normally, trying not to show the fear tying her stomach into knots. She had a feeling Michael had spent too many years on his own, owing council to few. Sensed he was a mixture of shades—light and dark, good and bad. She just had to hope the shadows in his soul didn't win here tonight.
"Nikki, if this child becomes a vampire, she will be more dangerous than the man who hunts you. Can you live with the death of innocents?"
She stared at him. How could anyone be more dangerous than the man he'd called Jasper?
"I've been hired to find Monica and take her back to her father—in one piece. I'm just trying to do my job."
"And if she does turn?"
"I'll deal with it if it happens."
A wave of fury rocked her back on her heels. The darkness crackled with energy and the sense of impending doom. She stood her ground, not giving in to fear.
"You have no real concept of what you're letting loose,” Michael said, dark eyes glacial. The shadows around him began to retreat, but not the immediate feel of danger. “Perhaps it is time for you to learn." For an instant he became something more than human, something akin to the evil that stalked her. Her heart began to pound rapidly, a cadence that filled the tense silence. Something glimmered in his eyes, an echo of the depravity she'd seen in Jasper's vibrant gaze.
Michael wasn't evil. Yet she couldn't escape the notion that her hunter and Michael were, in some way, connected. Damn it, she really had to find out more about both of them.
"What do you mean?” she asked quietly. Energy flowed across her fingers, yet she held her weapon in check. She was not about to fire the first shot and create a war she had no hope of winning.
"Nothing. We will wait, as you wish.” He shrugged and looked away. Hiding his eyes, she thought, as he rose. The shadows no longer wrapped themselves around his body, and the impending sense of doom had fled with them. Yet the night still ran with uneasy tension.
"Come,” he continued. “Let's go back to your car and call the police." Though there was no emotion in his voice, there was still an edge of violence in his actions. This man had saved her life twice, yet she knew nothing about him—nothing beyond the fact he could be very, very dangerous.
He turned to look at her, his eyes coal black wells that told her little. Yet a flicker of emotion from his mind suggested her distrust annoyed him.
"You have my word that I will not, in any way, touch or move Monica tonight. Is that enough?" His soft tone hinted at anger, yet she heard no lie in his words. She nodded. After tonight, Monica would be in police hands. There was little he could do to her then.
"I shall lead, if you wish,” he said, and offered her his hand. Why the sudden formality? Was it anger, annoyance, or something else entirely? The warmth of his fingers enclosed around hers, but a chill raced through her heart. This man was dangerous, in more ways than one. Yet she felt oddly safe with him.
She just had to hope this wasn't one of those rare moments when her instincts made a complete and utter hash of everything.
And that he wasn't right about Monica.
* * * *
Michael crossed his arms and watched the two men bag the body. Even from this distance he could hear the slow but steady beat of her heart. It was a gentle rhythm few humans would ever pick up, just a single beat every few minutes. His was much the same, except in times of stress or feeding. The lack of life flowing through one's body was one of the penalties of being a vampire. He had no doubt the teenager would soon rise. Though it usually took a minimum of forty-eight hours, Monica appeared to be taking the change faster than most. She'd probably wake with the onset of the new night.
He should have killed her. What on earth had possessed him to make such a rash promise? All too often he had witnessed the bloody rampages of the newly turned. When the depth of malice and hate were as great as those he sensed in Monica, it was sheer madness to let them live. But he'd given his word to Nikki, and he intended to keep it. Whatever the consequences.
