Dark Crime

by Christine Feehan

  Tariq cursed softly in his own language, moving back from the railing into deeper shadows. Just the fact that he could feel frustration meant she was very, very close, and he could hear her voice, although he couldn't recognize it among all the other voices. He knew she was somewhere in the building, just out of reach, by the way his emotions, long ago gone, slipped in unexpectedly to disrupt his calm, logical thinking. She had to have a strong mind to thwart his many scans of the city in search of her. She was very strong to be able to defy his commands.

  He was a powerful being, one very used to getting his way with a minimal amount of effort. He had survived centuries of battles, centuries of no emotions, no color. Always the insidious whispers of the call to evil, to power tempted him, yet he had endured for one reason. A woman. The one woman. His lifemate. Other half to his soul. Only she could restore his world, his life as it was meant to be. He had long ago resigned himself to his fate, endurance in a bleak, harsh world until the temptation of power was too strong. Yet now, when he was so near the end, he sensed her presence, that ripple of hope in a world of emptiness.

  "Mataias tracked Vadim Malinov to the harbor," Maksim reported. "Vadim was always intelligent, even in his younger years. Now, as a master vampire with the splinter from Xavier, one of the most powerful mages ever born, in him, Vadim is proving to be a dangerous adversary. I do not like that he went to the harbor."

  "That would suggest he went out to sea?" Tariq made it a question. His mind should have been on the hunt for the master vampire. Vadim was, without doubt, the greatest threat to the Carpathian and human world since Xavier, the mage. Tariq was too distracted by that fragrance. Now that he'd caught the scent, he knew he had to turn his attention to finding the owner. "She has to be somewhere in the building."

  It was a big building. Enormous. Five stories plus the basement, four of them used for the various clubs and the fifth floor for his personal space. The basement was the underground club, so really, five clubs. Four bars on each of the club floors. Four dance floors on each floor with tables surrounding the inner balconies. Each floor was packed nearly to capacity. Still, he was Carpathian. He could cover a lot of ground fast.

  "Go," Maksim said. "You're not going to be any good to me until you find that woman. Lojos and Mataias are patrolling tonight and if there is any indication that Vadim's army is working in our hometown, they'll find the evidence. It's been very quiet these last couple of weeks."

  Vadim Malinov, a unique and gifted master vampire, was putting together an army of vampires. He was using the latest technology and even managing to recruit humans to do his bidding. It was unprecedented to do what Vadim had done. He'd fled the Carpathian Mountains, away from the prince of the Carpathian people and the ancient hunters there, to travel to the United States, where he clearly was amassing an army against both Carpathians and humans. He had to be stopped.

  Tariq didn't wait for further conversation. He cloaked himself and floated down from his personal space to the fourth-floor club. Salsa music pounded through the air. Hard-hitting. A driving beat. This club catered to Latin dancing and the atmosphere reflected that. It was upscale, trendy and extremely popular. Bodies ground against one another. The dance floors were always filled with every level of dancer, from beginner to competition expert.

  He wound his way through the tables and then the dancers, inhaling. Searching. Being meticulous. It occurred to him that if his woman were on this floor she would be dancing hip to hip with another male. Why would the predator in him become more pronounced at the idea of his lifemate's body rubbing against another man's body if she weren't close? If he hadn't heard her voice--that magical voice that would change his world? She had to be there, the sound drifting to him through all the conversations registering as noise he tuned out on a nightly basis.

  Because she has to be here, Maksim agreed, using the general Carpathian telepathic link.

  Where are you? He whispered it, sending the inquiry out into the night.

  When there was no answer, frustration edged with the need for violence. When his inquiry was met with silence. The fact that he could feel frustration only proved to Tariq that he'd heard his lifemate's voice. He had to have crossed paths with her and heard the sound of her voice in order to begin to feel emotions. They were negative emotions and very faint, but at least he was recognizing that she was close enough to be affecting him. Changing him. Not for the better.

  He had to have heard her voice blending with all the other noises, the pounding beats of the various bands as well as all the conversations on each of the floors. Now he had her scent, that wonderful elusive fragrance that had to be unique to her. He moved on from the fourth floor to the third, trying to follow the scent. Trying to listen for the sound of her voice that would fully restore his emotions and bring color back to his existence.

  He sorted through the cacophony of sounds, listening to hundreds of threads of conversations, hundreds of voices, as he moved quickly through the third floor. He was certain she was heading away from him, almost as if she knew she was being pursued. He was an ancient Carpathian, his emotions long gone from him, yet he felt a kernel of excitement. A frisson of anticipation moved down his spine like the caress of fingers. Light. Barely there. The touch exquisite.

  "Charlie restores old carousel horses," a male voice said. "We know she has a strong psychic talent because her testing was off the charts, but her gift seemed to be for older things. Antiques. She couldn't possibly have read anything from touching one of us or any object we'd handled." There was doubt in the voice. "Could she?"

  Tariq had no idea why he'd zeroed in on that voice, but the need to hear the conversation was almost as strong as the compulsion to move through his club to find his woman. Could "Charlie" be that woman? The man said she had a psychic gift.

  "Why would anyone want to restore old broken carousel horses, Daniel? Isn't that stuff manufactured every day?" another male sneered, as if he felt total contempt for anything old.

  Tariq was old. Ancient in fact. He came from centuries earlier, and the thought that this man speaking wanted to throw away part of history bothered him. A first. To be bothered by an opinion of a human. A stranger of no consequence. Yet not only did the subject matter intrigue him, but now he understood why this conversation, among all the others, caught at his attention.

  He dropped over the railing of the third floor and floated toward the ground floor, where he knew the conversation was taking place.

  "Seriously, Bruce? What the hell are you going on about? We have to get out of here, follow them and figure out whether she knows. Stop bringing up bullshit and finish your drink fast or take it with you because they're on the move."

  "You just want to fuck her, Daniel," the one called Bruce sneered. "Hell, you were all over her all night. That's what spooked her. And we can't be too obvious following them. We have to give them time. It isn't like we don't know where they live."

  Tariq's world stopped. The ground rolled beneath his feet. Something dark and ugly rose up to consume him. A man dared to try to encroach on what belonged to him. He'd searched centuries. He'd kept Carpathians and humans alike safe by holding on to his honor by a thread. He'd endured centuries of relentless loneliness. Of nothingness. Of a gray void that was endless.

  His fangs lengthened. The need for violence hit him like a blow. Emotions were difficult to control when they hit all at once. Overwhelming. Centuries of discipline saved the man called Daniel. Tariq was able to take a deep breath and force himself under control.

  In the blinding lights of the bar, he had to keep his eyes narrowed to slits while he worked at toning down the color so he could see properly. His woman's scent was fading even as he dropped fast to the ground floor and began to streak his way through the dense crowd to try to reach her.

  "Damn straight I want to fuck her. Don't you? She's gorgeous," Daniel said.

  Tariq could tell by the way this voice blended with the music and other conversations that he was o
n the move. Heading toward the exit.

  "Like you don't want the same thing, Bruce," Daniel continued, laughter in his voice. "You were touching her at every opportunity. Just so you know, you aren't going to get her."

  "We always share," Bruce muttered, clearly annoyed.

  "Yeah, well, not her. She's special, and I'm going to recruit her. Get her to join us. You want a woman, share her friend with Vince," Daniel declared.

  "No way," Vince snapped. "I told both of you the moment we laid eyes on them in Paris that Genevieve was mine and mine alone. I haven't changed my mind."

  Tariq felt the edge of his teeth against his tongue. The blood ran hot in his veins, yet the predator was as cold as ice. They were talking about his woman with no respect in their voices.

  Tariq was almost on them now. He had passed the table where three men and two women had been sitting together in the bar of the West Coast Swing room. Tariq paused, his heart beginning to pound in time with the rhythm of the music. His mouth went dry. He inhaled deeply. She'd been there. Orange blossom and vanilla. He followed the unique fragrance, weaving his way through the tables, putting on speed and yanking open the door to follow the three men into the night. He came up behind them. Her scent wasn't on any of the three men and that saved their lives.

  She'd been in his club, probably all evening. With them. Only a short distance away from him. Dancing with them. Drinking with them. The fire in his blood increased until he could hear the roar in his ears and feel it thundering in his veins. These men had laid their hands on her. He took a step toward them, coming up behind them in utter silence. A wind. No more. A dark swirl in the air that could suck the life out of them without their even knowing before they dropped to the ground dead.

  Tariq. Maksim again used the telepathic link between them. He was already on the lower floor, but away from Tariq, down toward the doors leading outside. I feel a blank space. A foul stench is drifting in from outside each time the doors open. The undead is close. He's hunting.

  Tariq raised his head alertly. He'd been so locked onto his prey he hadn't scanned before stepping outside. Mistakes like that could cost his life. Not only his, but those of humans and Carpathians he had vowed to protect. Feelings were not an asset to a hunter. His lifemate was out in the open parking lot with a vampire close and three men stalking her. Of course she would draw a vampire to her. She had to be psychically gifted in order to be his lifemate. No vampire could resist that lure.

  You stay and protect those inside. I will go after the undead. I am already outside.

  Tariq whispered a command to the three men he'd been stalking, coming up behind them so closely he could have driven his teeth into their jugulars. Instead, he ordered them to go to their homes immediately. He would deal with them later if he ran across them, but he had to ensure his lifemate and her friend Genevieve were safe.

  He took to the air, streaking above the large parking lot toward the parking garage. It was four stories high. His lifemate and her friend had traveled in that direction. Orange blossom and vanilla left a faint trail and he followed it. Even as he did so, he was aware of the three men getting into their car, obeying his command.

  Then he was inside and moving fast toward the second story. He got his first glimpse of the two women. The shorter one caught the arm of the taller one and stepped close to her. "Wait," she hissed softly.

  His entire world changed in the blink of an eye. In that one instant. It was so fast, so dramatic, he barely could comprehend, let alone adjust. The ground shifted beneath his feet. The air around him vibrated and quaked, nearly throwing him out into the open. Colors blinded him. Shook him. Made his stomach lurch and his eyes burn. He'd never believed colors could be so vivid.

  There in the garage, in the dead of night with only dim lighting, he could see the tall woman had long, glossy dark hair the color of rich chestnuts. Her hair fell like a waterfall down her back. She wore dark blue jeans, a shirt with colors bleeding into one another and dark blue sandals with four-inch heels. The other woman--his woman--was small and curvy, with dark auburn hair that curled every which way, wild and thick; it looked silky soft and all he could think about was burying his hands in it. That was his woman. His lifemate. The miracle he'd searched long centuries for.

  She wore soft blue jeans, so faded they were nearly white, and a shimmering coral top that clung to her generous curves. He stepped closer to her to inhale that elusive scent of orange blossoms and vanilla, taking the fragrance deep into his lungs. His world tilted for a moment as emotion poured in. Strong. Shaking him. His first instinct was to grab her and take to the sky to get her out of harm's way. She was in danger. Very real, mortal danger.

  A man stood lounging against the hood of a car. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Wearing jeans and a white collared shirt with a sports jacket. His ankles were crossed, and he watched the women approaching the car, not taking his eyes from them. His hair was combed back and short, spiked, with the latest GQ look. His attention was on the women and he failed to notice the small brush of wind disturbing debris on the floor.

  "Ladies." The voice was cultured. The man smiled, revealing white teeth, the merest hint of sharp points, just a little like fangs, flashing. He beckoned to the women with a curl of his fingers.

  Tariq's heart jerked hard in his chest before he took a deep calming breath and forced all feeling away so that only ice ran in his veins. He emerged from the shadows just as the dark-haired woman stepped toward the car.

  The shorter woman, Charlie--his Charlie--caught her friend's arm. "Wait, Genevieve," she ordered softly and took a step to put herself in front of the other woman. It was subtle. It was protective, but there was no doubt what she was doing, and in spite of the fact that he couldn't afford any emotion, he felt pride in her. He could feel her fear, but she still put herself in front of someone she obviously cared about.

  "That's our car," she said, halting a short distance from the man.

  She thought she was safe. Out of reach. Tariq knew better. He knew the monster she faced. The man looked just that, a man, but he wasn't human. He was one of the most evasive vampires Tariq had chased through the centuries. He was cunning and fast and he ran with the Malinov brothers, twisted, highly intelligent siblings who very early on decided to give up their souls, turn vampire and seek to destroy the prince and all Carpathian hunters.

  Tariq was surprised to see his old childhood friend, now an elusive foe. He had taken the name Fridrick Astor, although Tariq had no way of knowing if he was still using the name. Names meant little to the Carpathian people or those who had chosen to give up their souls for the rush killing while feeding gave them--becoming the undead. Fridrick had to know Tariq and Maksim resided there, and it was highly unusual to have a vampire hunt when Carpathian males were so openly living in the area.

  The vampire straightened casually and widened his smile. "Ladies. So sorry." His German accent was perfect, although he'd been born and raised in the Carpathian Mountains. He raised an eyebrow. "You're looking beautiful tonight."

  His voice held a compulsion. It rang compelling and soft. Persuasive. He was wholly focused on the two women. Tariq knew Fridrick had utter confidence in his ability to destroy any human who might come to the rescue of the two women. In the distance, Tariq could hear the sound of various voices as people left the dance club and returned to their cars to go home. He knew Fridrick had to hear them as well, although the vampire didn't take his gaze from the women.

  Charlie stepped backward, forcing Genevieve to step back as well. She kept her body firmly placed between her friend and the stranger. "I've seen you before." She made it a statement. "In Paris. You were in Paris."

  Tariq could hear her heart accelerating. He moved slowly, not wanting to draw Fridrick's attention. The air was still in the garage and it wasn't easy to allow himself to drift between Charlie and the vampire. For the first time in his entire existence that he could remember he tasted fear. Actually tasted it. It was on his tongue. Crawling do
wn his throat to settle in tight knots in his belly. Fear permeated his skin, sank deep into his pores and into his bones. He knew he would always remember this moment. The way the parking garage smelled of oil and gas, and the scent of orange blossoms and vanilla mixing with the odor of his fear for his lifemate.

  For a moment he was paralyzed, terrified that he might move too fast and give his presence away to the undead. Doubts flooded in. Would he be too slow to stop Fridrick before the vampire could kill her? He'd always had complete confidence in himself as a hunter, a renowned fighter, but this time, it wasn't his life at stake--it was hers. His miracle. The woman born with the other half of his soul. He had no choice but to close himself off to all emotion. He dimmed the vibrancy of the colors around him and allowed himself to find that center without feeling that allowed him to function.

  Fridrick smirked at Charlie. The vampire heard her heart rate rising fast as well. "Paris was beautiful and very . . . productive." He beckoned with his fingers again, his voice dropping another octave. "Come here to me." There was sure power in his voice now, a compulsion not to be denied.

  Genevieve slammed her hands over her ears and shook her head. Charlie regarded the vampire with trepidation, but she didn't move toward him, as he'd commanded; instead she moved another step back, her body colliding with that of her friend, forcing Genevieve to step backward as well.

  Tariq drifted closer, nothing but molecules. The air around them was very still and he didn't dare tip the vampire off to his presence.

  "You were the one trying to get into our home. I saw you for a moment. And then again, right outside the museum where I was working." Charlie's voice was very soft. It trembled just a little bit, but she disregarded the compulsion in Fridrick's voice. More, it was almost as though she was immune to it.

  Genevieve knew the compulsion was there, and she combated it by trying to drown it out. Charlie didn't even blink or shake her head to clear it. Instead, there was a belligerent note added to her accusation.

  "That is true. You proved to be very resistant. Your friend was . . . so easy. Unlike you, he didn't put up much resistance."