Kiss Noir (BookStrand Publishing Romance)

by Robynn Clairday

  She wanted to cry. Sifting quickly through the shots one more time only showed her that she had absolutely nothing recorded on film. Driving carefully through the traffic-clotted streets, her fingers reached repeatedly for Dameon's ring, stroking it for good luck.

  She made one stop before returning home. Rushing into the Super Coney Island, she was out in minutes with the famous Michigan Coney dog dripping in chili and onions. She wasn't hungry, but knew she had to keep up her strength.

  The answering machine was a flat green. Jen wished there was someone she talk to. Nibbling a fry, she looked down at a hopeful Cobbs, who was panting at her feet. With a shrug, she chopped the hot dog, which she had only taken two bites from, and placed it in Cobbs' bowl. He dove happily into the food and was quietly munching for the next three minutes. It was impossible for her to eat the whole thing, anyway. Especially, in her present mood.

  * * * *

  Dameon would be blamed. They would hunt him down and destroy him. True, she was disappointed she wouldn't be using the female—the creature was too well-protected by Dameon. But another human would do just as well, maybe the young car thief...now that he'd served his purpose.

  They'd find the bloodless body...and all of those little signs the car thief had been leaving would lead the humans right to Dameon. Meanwhile, Tatiana was filled with hunger and grew hot with longing. She licked her lips, coiled and waiting, hidden in the dark of the woods. And ready. To spring and kill.

  * * * *

  Dameon was tense. He had given her the ring, but was it enough? Would tonight be their last night together? Deep down, he felt that something terrible, something irreparable was going to happen. He wished he could be at Jen's side night and day, but wouldn't he only draw the danger more clearly to her? Vampires were a magnet for bloodshed and mayhem. Was Jen safer with or without him?

  He jabbed broodingly at the fireplace with the poker. Dumas was perched on the mantle's ledge, obligingly silent, watching his master with alert eyes.

  Calvin soundlessly entered the room, carrying a snifter of brandy for Dameon, an anxious, protective look on his face. Dameon knew Calvin was worried about him, but it went deeper than that. Calvin loathed Tatiana, and not just out of loyalty to Dameon. It had been ten years since Tatiana had destroyed Calvin’s son, Leonard, and Dameon knew that Calvin longed for revenge. Tatiana was never gentle with her victims, especially those who succumbed to her charms. Calvin had let it be known that he would gladly kill her if he could.

  Calvin gave Dameon an intense, meaningful look before leaving. The message was clear. He was ready to fight, and Dameon only need ask him. Dameon nodded at him, but said nothing.

  Dameon gripped the neck of the brandy bottle hard till it shattered, all the while wishing the bottle had been Tatiana's neck.

  * * * *

  Jen was walking the long way around, circling the entire lake, hoping great chunks of time would be swallowed up. Dameon asked her if they could talk tonight at six o'clock, and there wasn't a reason in the world that she couldn't wait. Except that her insecurity and nerves were tearing relentlessly at her. She had to know. She was out of practice when it came to agonizing over romance. It had been over two years, and her experience with Kyle had been mere child's play in comparison to her feelings for Dameon.

  She pulled her jacket tighter against the abrupt increase in the wind's intensity. She was entering the most heavily wooded area, the trees creating a densely black, but skeletal canopy over the trail. Only the weeping willows still had leaves, which swirled and swung in the wind, keening weirdly. The earth was hard and bleak-looking, twisted by enormous roots of the trees that erupted through the dirt like giant snakes.

  Jen was nearly halfway through the woods when she first thought she heard the footsteps. She came to a complete halt, barely able to detect any other sound over the sudden, wild pounding of her heart. Nerves stretched tight, she waited, straining to determine which direction the footsteps were coming from. She waited one long, agonizing second. They were coming from behind her and moving straight for her. She felt the nearly tangible presence of seething hatred and malevolent intent emanating from someone or something. And it was directed fully at her.

  Jen was in danger. Her animal reflexes activated. Adrenaline surged through her body. Vision and hearing sharpened hyper-acute. Whether or not the menace was attached to the footsteps that were moving closer mattered to Jen's fear-shattered brain.

  Jen ran wildly, limbs loose, feet flying as never before. Her streaming thoughts tried to focus. Should she turn around and return in hopes of running into them or someone else, or try and make it home as quickly as possible? She was physically unable to change direction, and home was the only target she could aim for.

  She heard a whistling, sobbing noise, which turned out to be her own desperate breathing. Her mouth was filling with saliva, her lungs felt like they were going to collapse, and she was terrified she would choke. With a fatalistic sense of the inevitable, she felt the ground fly up in front of her as she tripped over the proverbial root and slammed into the damp, icy ground.

  She lay for a stunned moment, hands and face scraped, knees burning, before trying to rise. In a mindless, compulsive moment of courage, she looked behind her and saw a horrific sight that surpassed her craziest imaginings.

  A man was flying, white-faced, through the brush, his mouth open in a silent scream. In one of those inexplicable, split-second moments of overwhelming realization, Jen recognized him as the hooded watcher, and likely their prankster as well. But he wasn't chasing Jen. He wasn't the predator. Far from it. He was emitting strange, bleating sounds, which sounded like the cries of a wounded rabbit. Closing in from behind was a female figure, incongruously garbed in a short, red, satin evening gown. And yet, the sight was anything but amusing.

  Moving with unnatural speed, face fiendishly contorted, blonde hair streaming out behind her, she fell upon the man with outstretched claws.

  Jen's mouth was too dry to scream. She was still in a crouched position from trying to rise from her fall. But she couldn't move. Her limbs were leaden and weak, like in a dream. The female was crouched atop the man, pinning him to the ground. It was like watching a hawk trapping and devouring a rabbit.

  Jen caught a glimpse of the man's terrified face. He was young and his eyes were pleading for help. Legs trembling, she finally tottered to her feet. Aghast, she couldn't tear her eyes away as the woman buried her face into the man's neck. He shrieked, a high, unnatural sound. The woman lifted her face for a brief moment, her long curtains of blonde hair swinging back. She turned her head with a slow, serpentine movement and smiled at Jen. The woman's mouth was circled in red. The red was blood, dripping down her face and clotting her long, golden hair. Her triumphant eyes met Jen's, whose mouth fell open in a soundless scream. The beautiful, distorted face of the blonde woman was gradually becoming recognizable. It was Tatiana.

  A rapid gush of half-formed thoughts, suppositions and conclusions swirled in a dizzy array through Jen's mind. What she was seeing, what she was thinking, what she knew—all defied her rational world.

  The man on the ground was whimpering, his voice growing weaker and weaker. Jen was jolted to awareness by the sound and the knowledge that, if she didn't do anything, he would die.

  She reached and found a weapon. A softball sized chunk of granite was within grasp. Jen focused her mind on the rock and on saving the man. With a surge of adrenaline pumping through her veins, she propelled herself forward. Vague memories of self-defense classes and tae kwon do surged through her brain. Rushing soundlessly forward, Jen caught Tatiana by surprise as she slammed the rock against her back.

  Something had held her back from aiming for her head. Tatiana was stunned, but only for the quickest of moments. She spun around, growling, fanglike canine teeth exposed and covered in blood. It was the most dreadful sight Jen had ever encountered. Stepping backwards, Jen made another mistake, and was instantly at a disadvantage.


  Tatiana reached for her, digging her powerful, talon-like hands into Jen's shoulders, her red eyes terrible, and with no effort at all, tossed Jen like a rag doll through the air.

  Jen felt herself soaring through space as time was halted. The world spun by cock-eyed, and with a jarring thud, she landed face down across a cluster of bushes. Tatiana hadn't thrown her toward one of the trees or she would have been impaled. Dazed with a scraped, raw face, Jen was back on her feet, fearful that the man was dead.

  She experienced a raw gush of determined courage. Swiftly,, she hurled herself onto Tatiana's back and clung with all of her strength. A half-buried memory of a self-defense technique came to mind. Tatiana reared back with inhuman strength, nearly dislodging her, and began howling like a deranged baboon. The noise shattered Jen's eardrums, but grimly, she hung on.

  The blonde woman reached behind to dig her claws into Jen, but was unable to get the leverage she needed to do real damage. Tatiana lunged savagely from side to side and tried to shake her off, but Jen clung leechlike to her neck. She had no decisive plan of action but to stop Tatiana from her murderous attack on the man. Meanwhile, she would pray that someone would intervene.

  "Dameon."

  She must have spoken out loud because the sound of his name further enraged the blonde woman, who made a lightning swift move so crafty that Jen was unprepared. Tatiana raced toward the nearest tree, and slammed Jen's legs against its side. With a cry of pain, Jen released her hold and fell heavily to the ground.

  She had a brief moment of victory when she saw Tatiana's eyes were streaming blood. Her triumph was short-lived, however. The blonde woman's face had transformed into a mask of such ferocious hatred that Jen drew back. The woman growled low in her throat, a deep, rattling noise like that of a rabid Doberman, and grabbed Jen by her hair. With a painful yank, Jen was unwillingly dragged and pulled inches toward the vampire's snarling face.

  Jen tried to free herself, but was unable to move. Looking into Tatiana's red eyes, she saw the same hideous, decaying image of herself that had haunted her before. Unable to suppress a cry of fear and shock, Jen struggled to free herself. The image seemed to balloon in front of her eyes before it evaporated. Tatiana chortled with delight at Jen's reaction.

  "Do you think your precious Dameon would love you if you looked like that? That's all you'll be to him one day. You'll get old and ugly while he stays young. You filthy, unworthy whore—you'll never be strong enough to be one of us! I would kill you and enjoy it, if I could. But this"—her voice was hoarse and thick with rage as she pointed at Jen's necklace without touching it—"protects you. He protects you. Maybe I can't kill you, but I promise I can make you suffer till you cry for mercy!" Tatiana's voice was deep and harsh, almost manlike in timbre.

  Jen was uncontrollably shaking in her grasp, aching and sore. She wondered if she could find the strength to continue fighting her. Tatiana shook her hard, a hateful smile spreading across her face. "This is what your precious Dameon is—this! He and I are the same! Dameon is not better than me. He may think he is..." She paused, eyes red, narrow slits of smug virulence. "But he has fed, too. A vampire needs blood to survive. Ask him. Ask your precious Dameon if he has ever fed on human blood. Ask him..."

  A cold, marble-hard voice interrupted. "There is no need to ask, Tatiana." Dameon was standing just a few feet away, his tall, black-garbed figure looking like a stranger's. "Jen knows what I am. Yes, I have committed the heinous act of using human blood for food..." He grimaced. His granite face was contorted by self-contempt. "But I am not like you. I don't feast on the suffering of others. Depravity and cruelty aren't staples in my life. Now,"—his tone lowered to an unnatural depth and resonance—"release her immediately."

  Jen knew she should make her move, but fear had paralyzed her. Her brain was too numb to plan or strategize. She heard Dameon's words, but felt no immediate reaction or response to them. Vaguely, she hoped the man on the ground would find the strength to run for help while the vampire woman was distracted. He lay inert and silent, apparently too weak to be of any use.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Tatiana let out a hiss of pure disgust and flung Jen violently to the ground. Rolling on the cold earth, Jen felt blood running down her cheek. Her fall must have opened the cut on her face. Tatiana towered over her, an atavistic look of pure hunger on her face as she watched the blood trickle down Jen's neck.

  Dameon moved without Jen seeing him change position. Instantly, he was standing between her and Tatiana. Tatiana was poised for attack, hands raised and clenched, while her beautiful, red gown billowed and strained against her body, revealing its long and seductive curves. Jen, with her knees, back and head on fire with pain, wondered that Dameon had never been tempted by the stunning blonde. The look on his face told her exactly how he felt about Tatiana.

  His expression was sharp and predatory, eyes unearthly black and lit by some inner fire. He reached and grabbed Tatiana. One hand coiled around her neck and the other gripped both of her wrists. His movements were lightning fast, sure and sinuous, inhuman. By the dangerous look in Tatiana's eye, it was wise that he took the offensive. She was a monstrous, ghastly sight to behold, blood staining her face and drying clumped in her long, blonde hair. She snarled at Dameon and bared her long fangs at him.

  "You can't bully me, here, chérie," she hissed, voice thick with mockery. "This is not your turf. Your powers are weaker here. And..." She turned and shot a savage look Jen's way. "You are further weakened by the whore's presence." Dameon's hands tightened their grip painfully. She continued on, gasping in discomfort. "Your wits have been dulled and dimmed by your infatuation. I've been watching you both for weeks, and you, the great mind master, never once detected me." Tatiana threw back her head and chortled with glee. The tendons of her long, white neck strained against the pressure of his hand.

  Jen edged her way to the fallen victim's side. He had become completely silent, and she wondered if he was still alive.

  Dameon's face whitened. He spoke through clenched teeth as he maintained his hold on Tatiana. "Jen, you can't help that fellow—go home. Get out of here. You don't understand. You don't stand a chance against her if anything happens to me."

  Jen shook her head mutely and watched in horror as Tatiana began to writhe and twist her way out of Dameon's grasp. Their complete isolation struck her, and stark terror was rising and pressing at the back of her throat. If only someone would come, but who could help? Would an innocent bystander merely become another victim?

  While Dameon struggled to contain Tatiana, who was screaming and cursing in French, Jen checked the silent figure on the ground. The young man was ghost white and blood was steadily pumping from his shoulder. Shocked and sickened, Jen reached to press a finger on the source of the wound, attempting to stem the blood blow. Shuddering, she tried to fight the squeamishness rising within her.

  "Dameon!" she cried without taking her hand from the wound. "He's badly hurt. He could be dying. I have to do something."

  "Jen! You must leave now! " he begged. "I can barely hold her." He was actually breathing hard. Tatiana's face was twisted and ugly, all traces of beauty gone. Her red-stained mouth was issuing one evil obscenity after another.

  Amidst the gutter French, Jen heard her harsh, raw voice spit out bits of English. "...You will suffer for your ignorance, filthy, low vampan. You are not even a real vampire..." On and on the venomous diatribe continued.

  Dameon cast Jen one more desperately imploring look before he was overwhelmed by the maniacal strength of Tatiana.

  With every hair standing on end and her heart in her mouth, Jen watched as it seemed that Tatiana had overpowered Dameon. She sprang to her feet, abandoning the wounded man, ready to leap into the fray. Suddenly, the fight was all over.

  Dameon had Tatiana in his control. Dameon’s strength was too much for her, and he was obviously the more powerful vampire. Tatiana now was shrieking and sobbing hysterically, but limp with defeat. Dameon was holding he
r, staring down at her with eyes of glacial obsidian. Jen put her hand to her throat

  From the expression of loathing and the absolute lack of human mercy on his face, she was positive he was going to kill Tatiana. Trembling, Jen held out her hand, whether to stop him or to help him, she didn't know. Dameon spat with contempt and dropped the whimpering Tatiana to the ground as if she were garbage.

  "We'll get no more trouble out of her," he announced, sparing the huddled form not another glance. He hurried to Jen's side and reached down to take the man's pulse. He frowned. Jen noticed deep lines etched in Dameon's face along with the bleeding scratches, evidence that his battle with Tatiana and his worry over Jen had taken their toll.

  "We must get him to a hospital," he announced abruptly while kneeling beside Jen. His eyes met her frightened ones.

  "We can't—that is, you can't," Jen burst out frantically, her eyes never leaving Dameon's. His face was feral and gaunt, his fangs were showing; he didn't look human. "It would be suicide for you to be anywhere near this scene. You must go, please. For your own safety. They'll never understand." She reached to place her hand on his.

  Worn and grim-looking, his eyes were black glass as he rose from the fallen figure. "And you, chérie, do you understand?"

  She nodded her head when an unexpected sound carried by the sudden breeze caught their attention. Both lifted their heads, alert and wary as deer. Jen slowly took in the scene. The sun was setting, staining the sky in purple and black. The trees, stark and ebony in the dying light, rattled in the sudden breeze. Voices were steadily coming their way. The man on the ground was limp and gory, spouting blood and moaning. Tatiana was crumpled and covered in blood, collapsed in her evening gown on the ground, her nails and mouth red. Dameon was ashen and scratched, looking as if he had been in a tussle with a herd of bears. Jen, herself, was bruised and bleeding.