Kiss Noir (BookStrand Publishing Romance)

by Robynn Clairday

  "I want you to be very careful. Very careful. Do you understand?" His voice was alive with tension and fear.

  Jen rubbed her temples and nodded, then realized he couldn't see her.

  "Yes—no, I don't understand, but I'll be very careful. Dameon, what's going on?"

  "I need to talk to you in person, chérie. But do me one favor, lock all the doors and don't let in anyone—anyone at all—except for those you personally trust. And even then, I know it is an imposition, but call me first." He was pleading with her. She couldn't refuse, not when he sounded so urgent.

  "One more thing." He spoke softly but urgently. "Your necklace, the silver one, with the cross and the star hanging from it, will you wear it—until I see you?" At her silence, which spoke volumes, he hurried on, "I know, chérie, this is a strange request, but I beseech you to do this." He was a hard person to refuse.

  "But why, Dameon? I don't understand..." Jen couldn't hold back her curiosity any longer, nor the ominous foreboding that something terrible was going to happen. "I know there is something weird—abnormal going on, and you seem to know more than you're telling me..." Her voice had weakened from its initial forceful tone and had trailed off, unsure she wanted this particular conversation to continue.

  "Very well, chérie. There is much to talk about. It is only fair that you should know"—he hesitated—"more than you do." His tone became almost harsh. "You must still promise me you will wear the necklace. It is very important."

  "I promise." She shrugged. What would it hurt? "I promise to wear it and to be careful. Will I see you tomorrow?" She twirled the cord around her finger and closed her eyes. She didn't want to speculate on the importance of the necklace, or give credence to the wild ideas swirling in her head.

  He sighed, sounding more than just weary. "I'll come by and we can talk. I only can hope...for the best. You may not wish to see me after we talk, Jen."

  "That will never happen," she asserted, suddenly wanting to postpone or cancel altogether the revelations he would be sharing with her. "I swear it won't." Perhaps, she would tell him to forget having the serious talk, and instead, they would go out have fun, dance, be happy...

  "There is so much you don't understand, ma chérie. I wish..." he interrupted himself sharply. "I will call you after six, and we then can meet." For a moment, a tense silence hung over them both. Jen said good-bye, wishing she could see his face and touch him.

  Jen felt better after a hot shower, her muscles and her nerves relaxed. She almost felt like herself. If she could just keep her thoughts from galloping out of control. Cobbs was chewing on his toy, curled up on the sofa. With dripping hair and wrapped in her old, flannel robe, she sat next to him, grateful for his warmth and solidness. She was in no mood for TV and did a mental inventory of her refrigerator. There was some sharp cheddar cheese and Michigan Macintosh apples. She'd dumped the carry-out pizza into the garbage.

  She stroked Cobbs while she closed her eyes and breathed deeply. The wind whistled through the trees and slammed against the house's rafters. She got a sudden mental flash of the hideous message scrawled across the grass. She opened her eyes with a shiver and pulled her robe closer. Tomorrow, she would pick up her film, and see for herself what had been lurking around her house last night.

  * * * *

  Feeling full and warm, Jen tossed away the apple core and brushed cheese and cracker crumbs from the table top. Cobbs had followed her into the kitchen, toe nails clicking. He was carrying the toy from Dameon. Smiling feebly, she cut off a cube of cheese and dropped it to the floor, watching as he greedily inhaled it in one swallow.

  He looked up at her again and wagged his tail. She gave in and cut him another chunk of cheese. "Cheeky little beggar, this is your last piece," she said, the ache in her chest lightening. Rinsing the knife in the sink, she caught a flash of movement through her kitchen window.

  Straining to see more, she moved closer to the window. Flashes of last night sent her pulse flying. Trembling, she dropped the knife into the sink and gripped the counter tighter. She wouldn't go outside. Not again. She was safe inside. All the doors were locked—for one heart-stopping moment, she couldn't remember if the side door was bolted. It was, she reassured herself, and turned off kitchen the light so she could see the starlit scene more clearly. There it was—it was a person standing near the willow tree.

  Jen had her face nearly plastered against the windowpane as she struggled to see more. The figure turned partially around. As a car passed, its light beams illuminated the face. She saw it was a male with red hair and a gray, hooded jacket. The car startled him. He jerked around and began to jog away. There was something familiar about him. Jen stared through the window long after he was gone.

  Temperatures had dropped to record lows, and Jen turned the thermostat up before she went to bed. For the first time in her life, she longed for sleeping pills or tranquilizers. Her hands trembled and she jumped at the slightest noise. She was seeing shadows move in unshadow-like fashion.

  She was tempted to call Dameon for reassurance, but their earlier telephone conversation restrained her. Obediently, she dug out her silver cross and star necklace and put it on. She should have felt foolish, but strangely, didn't. The chain lay cool and smooth against the bare skin of her throat. Somehow, she was soothed.

  She called to Cobbs, hoping he would join her, but heard him playing in the living room. Jen was so tired from sitting up all night in her chair that her bones literally ached. Sheer exhaustion claimed her, and she drifted off to sleep. The sound of a woman's mocking laugh kept jerking her awake, except she wasn't really awake—it was all happening in her dream. The woman's presence filled her dream like a dense perfume, clogging her nostrils so that she struggled to breathe. Jen sat up, choking and coughing.

  A shadow seemed to move through the room. Jen sat still as death, and it was gone. The dream—she must still be in it, she reassured her quaking heart. She sank back into a deep sleep.

  This time, she actually sensed a presence near her, but it was a loving, protective one. Jen felt a warmth and sweetness, and burrowed more deeply beneath the covers. She sighed in contentment, feeling as safe as a baby in its mother's womb. She wanted the feeling to continue. A feather light touch and the faintest sound reached through the thick layers of slumber. Jen sat up and rubbed her eyes. A tall, dark figure stood over her bed.

  Fumbling with her bed covers, she gasped, "Dameon!"

  In a flash, the dark figure virtually disappeared before her eyes. Jen blinked in the darkness, stunned. Dameon had been here. She could have sworn it. She switched on the flashlight, which had replaced the broken night lamp. Moving the beam around the room, she saw that there was nobody else there but her. She stood up and pulled back the curtains from the window.

  "Dameon?" she whispered,.

  The rattle of pipes was her only answer. Jen climbed back into bed, and sighed. It must have only been a dream.

  As she leaned back, her necklace slid backwards around her neck. She reached to adjust it, and her fingers froze. Blindly, she traced the object hanging from the chain. It was Dameon's ring. She was sure of it. Jen reached for the flashlight and directed the beam at the necklace. The red stone winked up at her.

  * * * *

  He paced the balcony, watching the night sky. The moon and stars were not visible but shrouded in clouds. The silver hadn't been enough. Thankfully, he'd been alerted to the threat to Jen in time. Tatiana had fled, but it wasn't over. That, he knew. He only wanted to protect Jen, but his actions could cost him dearly. Jen could refuse to accept what he was and refuse to share his kind of life, just as his mother had refused his father. His life was obviously not one that normal mortals experienced. There was little he could hide at this point.

  What right did he have to ask her to enter into his life? What right had his father? His mother's life had never been the same. The ugliness of Dameon's life had already tainted Jen. It was an accident, but he was responsible for bringing Tatia
na into Jen's world. He would do anything to keep that danger from her.

  All of Dameon's senses were preternaturally alert. He was tense and prepared. It was time to settle matters. Before it was too late. His vision easily pierced through the darkness, searching through the night, but he knew she would not be arriving by human transport. He was waiting, knowing he wouldn't have to wait for long. He knew this confrontation was long overdue.

  Chapter Eleven

  He sensed her presence even before he heard her low, seductive laugh.

  Without turning, he spoke. "How typical, Tatiana. You always did show up where you weren't invited." Her musky scent filled his nostrils, and he heard the silken rustlings she made as she moved toward him.

  She made a clucking noise of faked dismay. "How cruel you've become, Dameon. Would you turn out an old friend?"

  "An old friend? No, I would not. But, you, my dear Tatiana, hardly qualify."

  She came closer, and he felt her feverish breath against his skin. "I should be hurt. After all, you and I have a long history together. I've always thought of you as a friend—a dear, close one." She brushed her lips against his cheek and he finally turned away, involuntary disgust on his face. At his rebuff, Tatiana's expression darkened ominously. She quickly recovered her equilibrium and put on her most beguiling, wounded expression.

  "I don't think you know the meaning of the word 'friend.' You seem to confuse it with the word 'victim,’" he said in a bored drawl, eyebrow raised.

  Tatiana pouted and moved into the direct line of his vision. She was wearing the clingiest of dresses in sexy black lira, her blonde hair nearly white in contrast. Her face had an almost unearthly beauty in the dim light. Dameon was utterly unmoved by what he saw and remained stone-faced.

  "You are a fool, and you always will be. Do you really think that silly, little human will spend eternity with you? She'll run once she knows what you really are. " Her eyes narrowed, jealousy distorting the feline perfection of her face, and she spat out the next words with extra venom. "I barely toyed with her and she collapsed into a whimpering, pathetic mess. No character, no courage. She'll bore you to tears. You'll be overjoyed when she finally dies. Trust me, nothing is more tedious than an aging human."

  "My mother was a human, and an invaluable presence in my life. As for your games with Jen, I recommend you find a new playmate." He was in shadow, his face not visible to her, but his tone was icy and emotionless, a warning sign she didn't heed.

  "I thought you would fit the bill and be my playmate, chérie, but," she sneered, "you are a only a vampan, a half-breed, and not really one of us. I should pity you, really."

  "Then do so, but do your pitying from a distance. The further the better. You don't belong here, and you know it." He remained inexorable, unmoved by her diatribe.

  Frustrated, she seemed to search for words to shake him. Her eyes followed where his gaze was involuntarily drawn. "I could help you, you know. In deference to our old friendship, I'd be happy to do you a small favor, Dameon," she offered sweetly.

  He threw her an incredulous look.

  "Truly, I'm being sincere." She paused, making a serious face as if in deep contemplation. "I could pay a visit to little Miss Jen. Just think—one little bite, or, well, maybe two, and she turns into me." Tatiana avidly watched his face. "That is, if she were lucky, she'd become like me. But at least there will be no more whey-faced little human bitch. You'd have a real vampire mate. It would bring the two of you so much closer." She smirked, unholy glee in her eyes, artificial sweetness leaking away from her voice.

  She was unprepared for Dameon's lightning fast movement. His hands held her throat in a painful grip, and as much as she struggled, she couldn't free herself.

  He spoke to her in rapid French. "You evil bitch. Just try to touch her and I will crush you. Understand?"

  "You'd never do that," she panted. "You're too soft."

  "No? Just try me. In a heartbeat, I'd end your miserable existence."

  Furious, Tatiana growled and bared her fangs.

  Dameon merely laughed. "You forget, you're in my territory, Tatiana. At this moment, your pitiful bite would be no more harmful to me than a kitten's. However, ma petite, mine could do some deadly damage to that lovely face of yours." He drew back his lips and growled softly, the smile never leaving his face. He knew what she was thinking. A vampan had strengths greater than the average vampire in many respects, but they had greater weaknesses as well. But Dameon, with his treatments taken over centuries, was, at the moment, indefatigable. The only way to defeat a vampan was to deceive him, or catch him in a weakened state. Neither was the case at the moment.

  She squirmed. "What is it you want from me?" Her tone was sullen and angry, but tinged with fear.

  "I want you to leave Jen alone, and I want you to remove yourself from this town, this state and this country. Do you understand?" His grip tightened at her outraged silence. "Do you?"

  "You have my promise. Now let me go."

  Before he released her, he reiterated, his voice dangerously low, "I want your word, or so help me, you will regret it."

  She whimpered, her voice a weak whisper. "I promise to leave here and leave your precious little Jen alone." She gave a soft moan as if in pain. "Now, let me go, Dameon. You're hurting me."

  He studied her for a moment before releasing her. He shrugged, cool and collected again. "You deserved it. Besides, I thought you enjoyed pain. Aren't the S & M parlors your favorite haunts?" He sounded bored again. For a second, her eyes turned a glowing, angry red, but then she visibly swallowed her rage and presented a sad face, even squeezing out a few tears.

  "I admit my tastes have been corrupted, but it is because I'm so very lonely. Without true love, one turns to bitter substitutes." She sniffed and turned, showing him a beautiful, sorrowful profile.

  Dameon clapped his hands together loudly, a wry smile on his face. "Quite a performance, Tatiana." He wasn't fooled for a second.

  With a peal of wild laughter, she spun around, eyes glittering. "You could have been with me. I would know how to satisfy you. Together, our powers...But, it is your misfortune"—she sighed as if saddened over his loss, and yawned prettily—"that you have just lost your last chance, forever."

  He never took his eyes off of her, his tone grave and remote. "I will have to suffer this loss, then. But don't you think it's time you returned home? You must be very low on funds by now."

  She laughed again, airy and unconcerned, stretching and displaying her sinuous form to its best advantage. "How right you are. I'm always in need of more money. Besides, this quaint little village can't compete with Monte Carlo. I won't say 'till we meet again,' but just au revoir, chérie." She blew him a kiss and disappeared into the night.

  Dameon stared at the spot where she had stood, a frown forming between his brows. A soft sound came from behind him. Light, nearly noiseless steps moved closer. "Ah, Calvin. I'm sorry if we disturbed you," he said quietly, without turning, still preoccupied with his worries about Jen.

  Calvin's usually impassive face wore a pronounced scowl and a look of alarm. He pointed to the spot where Tatiana had stood.

  "Yes, I'm afraid the démon chienne was here, stirring up trouble, as usual. I hinted that she should go home." Dameon laughed sardonically at the understatement of his own words. At Calvin's expression of profound disbelief, he let out another short bark of bitter amusement. "You are right, my friend. I don't believe she has meekly acquiesced and returned home. We will have to be vigilant and prepared for her next move. Damn her black heart. If she were human, I could handle her easily." He sighed from the depths of his being. "Let's go share that bottle of Hugel Riesling you've had your eye on. At least one of us should get what he wants."

  He patted Calvin's shoulder in friendship and in hopes of reassuring him. As they walked through the sliding doors, Dameon spoke as if to himself. "I should have killed her. If it weren't for Claudia...I know I shall regret letting Tatiana go."

&n
bsp; Chapter Twelve

  Jen woke groggily at dawn. Sleep had eluded her most of the night. She had only started to doze at four a.m. She sat up, every muscle in her body crying out in pain and stiffness. As she swung her feet to the floor, the necklace slid forward. Her hand reached up automatically to cup Dameon's ring hanging from the chain. She stroked it gently, her thoughts a wild tangle of confusion. He had been here last night. He had appeared and then disappeared into thin air. And what about that horrid dream she had right before she saw him? Or had it been a dream?

  She was in desperate need of caffeine, or some kind of stimulant to clear her head. Hunched over a cup of cocoa, Jen traced patterns idly onto the table top. Cobbs had taken a few gulps of his food, and was lying at her feet, a pitiful look in his eyes. She reached to fondle Cobbs' ears as she replayed the various strange incidents with Dameon. There was no escaping the truth. She knew that all was not right with Dameon.

  Would anyone else believe her? She snorted out loud in disgust. She would be promptly be sent to a shrink if she even hinted at what she knew. But none of it matters, she thought. I care about him. I can't change that.

  Jen massaged her temples, vaguely aware that she was not being sensible. Was she being a blind, romantic fool? "Hell. Damn," she spoke out loud, as if to reassure herself that she was still in control. One thing for sure, she would be utterly useless at work today. She had several personal days owed to her this year, and this was the perfect time to use one.

  * * * *

  Showered and dressed, Jen sat before her vanity mirror and stuck her tongue out at the pale, sunken-eyed reflection. She wouldn't need a mask for Halloween tomorrow night if she didn't pour on the makeup. Her first thoughts were to get her prints back from the shop. She had to find out who her stalker was.

  * * * *