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Though the words were soft, there was something in them that spoke of death. Ice crawled across Nikki's skin.
"Only about my age.” The whine in Matthew's voice was more evident this time. “Only by a few years."
"Years matter, especially to someone like me."
The husky voice was drawing closer to Matthew. So was the sense of death. A chill chased its way across Nikki's overheated skin. She closed her eyes briefly, restraining the urge to scream for help. If she did, Matthew would die.
"So what if I lied about my age. It doesn't change who I am or what I feel." He was close, maybe only a few steps away. Nikki edged to her left, the knife grasped tightly in one hand, the other outstretched. She'd probably scare the life out of him if she touched him, but at least it was a touch he'd survive. He wouldn't be so lucky if his husky-voiced girlfriend got to him first.
"It changes everything. Your age means people will worry about you. Your age means people will follow you and attempt to protect you."
Nikki froze. The woman knew she was there. Knew she was following Matthew. Air stirred sluggishly, whispering past her cheek. Someone was moving. Someone she couldn't see or hear. Someone other than the woman Matthew had come here to meet. Sweat trickled down the side of her face. She ignored it, not daring to move, her breath lodged somewhere in her throat.
The sense of impending doom was so thick her skin crawled with it. Kinetic energy crackled across her fingertips. She clenched her hand, searching the cover of night, looking for the source of the movement. The air stirred again, and with it came the sound of a soft step behind her. Nikki spun, and hell broke loose.
Chapter Two
Michael, are you listening to me?
The voice edged through his consciousness, as sharp as fingernails down a blackboard. He opened his eyes, watching the flames dance in the hearth. Despite the fire, the chill of night sat heavily in the cabin. But outside the howling wind no longer rattled the windows, and the smell of rain was in the air. From down the valley came the soft calls of the cattle that were his main source of sustenance. Hunger stirred in his belly. He glanced at the clock on the mantle. It was just past six in the evening. He'd been asleep for close to nine hours and hadn't eaten in at least two days. It was a good sign that his demon was finally on the retreat.
Michael, I know you can hear me. If you don't start answering, I'm going to raid that damn cabin of yours and slap some sense into you.
He smiled reluctantly. Over the last six months, Seline had been a constant, if distant, companion. She badgered him endlessly, never letting his resolve slip, never letting him give up hope. She'd been his strength in the early days of darkness, when the demon was close to winning control, and he'd just wanted to give up the fight permanently.
He owed her his life, but she still managed to annoy the hell out of him. A man would be hard-pressed to sleep with you around, Seline. If a man wants to sleep when I'm around, he needs to be certified. The gentle lilt of her mind-voice deepened provocatively. He snorted softly. Seline was a thin, frail-looking woman, but she certainly didn't look the one hundred and eighty years he knew her to be. And she certainly didn't act it—as her many lovers would no doubt attest. Bit early for your nightly check-in, isn't it?
We have a problem, Michael. I think we're going to need your help. He rubbed a hand across his eyes. Seline's type of problem was the one thing he could live without right now. He'd spent too long battling the need to kill, struggling against the urge to taste the sweet strength of human blood. To confront such desires in another might be too much of a test for his newly found resolve.
Yet if he stayed locked up here in his retreat, he would never really know if the battle had been won. What type of problem?
Disappearances.
He frowned. People disappeared every day in the U.S.—some intentional, some not. It was something Seline didn't usually involve the Circle in—unless there were dark forces at play. What type of disappearances are we talking about?
Her confusion swept down the mental link between them. It was an odd enough occurrence to make him sit up straight and start paying more attention.
We're not really sure. For almost a week now, I've had a feeling that something was wrong. But it wasn't until I picked up the paper this evening and read about the disappearance of Vance Hutton that the feeling crystallized into certainty.
Michael frowned. We're talking about Vance Hutton, the actor? Didn't he just get married?
Yeah—to that scrawny English actress.
Scorn overlaid her thoughts, and he smiled. The old witch had been rather keen on Hutton. She beat you to the punch, huh?
She chuckled. I wasn't planning to marry the boy—just bed him. Had she really set her mind to it, she would no doubt have succeeded. It was amazing what makeup and a little magic could hide. How did he disappear?
He was apparently honeymooning in Wyoming—some exclusive resort in Jackson Hole. He frowned. Jackson Hole was primarily a ski area, although with the abundant wildlife and its proximity to Yellowstone and several other national parks, it had a good run with summer tourists as well. So what happened to him?
Her shrug shimmered down the mental line. That's the problem—no one knows. That skinny woman he married woke up one morning to find him gone. He apparently left everything behind—wallet, money and most of his clothes. There was no note, and no indication that he was feeling suicidal or depressed.
Have the police been called in?
Naturally. They're as clueless as the wife.
Michael scratched his chin, then rose from the sofa and crossed to the window. Night had closed in, but the moon was bright, silvering the aspens lining his driveway. Jackson Hole wasn't that far away—a couple hours’ drive at the most.
A fact Seline was well aware of.
