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THE MIDNIGHT EFFECT
by
CASSANDRA CURTIS
Amber Quill Press, LLC
http://www.amberquill.com
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The Midnight Effect
An Amber Quill Press Book
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author's imagination, or have been used fictitiously.
Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
Amber Quill Press, LLC
http://www.amberquill.com
http://www.amberheat.com
http://www.amber-allure.com
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.
Copyright © 2007 by Cassandra Curtis
ISBN 978-1-60272-138-8
Cover Art © 2007 Trace Edward Zaber
Layout and Formatting
Provided by: Elemental Alchemy
Published in the United States of America
Also by Cassandra Curtis
Compulsion
Cup Of Fate
I Put A Spell On You
Shifting Tides: Beneath A Midnight Sea
Dedication
A special thank you to my friend Silma P.
for correcting my Spanish,
Gisella S. for correcting my German, and authors
Cia Leah and Dayna Hart,
for being good friends and fast beta readers.
THE MIDNIGHT EFFECT
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He followed the American woman at a discreet distance and watched as she disappeared inside yet another cantina. Minutes later, she reappeared on the street. What did she look for inside? If she sought respite from the heat, she should have stayed there, drunk the piss-water cerveza they served.
The sun dipped low on the horizon. Soon it would be night--a time when the moon ruled and awakened the power of his ancestors. Then, he would make his move, take the camera from her, and leave her with nothing but illusion caught in the shadows.
His heightened sense of smell detected feminine sweat and jungle undergrowth--all tinged with darker notes of spicy musk. The animal within him wanted a taste. She repositioned the straps on her backpack as her eyes scanned the area. Did she sense him? He ducked behind a street vendor's cart and waited.
She resumed her walk, her strides lengthened so that he had to close the gap before he lost her amid the swirl of dust and humanity. She crossed into a newly renovated section of the city, designed to draw tourists and their money.
Several more minutes passed with him trailing after her like a damn dog. Would she never return to her hotel room? He fought back a growl and watched as she pulled a cell phone from the backpack and spoke to someone. Even though he stood some thirty feet away, he could hear the disgust in her voice.
Dusk settled on San Ybella. Shadows fell into the narrow alleys, playing cruel tricks on the mind. Twice she turned, as if she suspected someone followed her. He slowed his pace and waited for her next move. She shook her head and walked under the grand archway to the heart of the city's nightlife.
His own heart skipped a beat when he saw her push open the doors to enter El Lobizon. Trust the fates to guide her to the one place in San Ybella where he dare not follow.
Nothing he could do but keep a vigil and wait.
* * * *
"Know what your problem is? You don't know how to have fun."
Allison sat back, arms crossed at her waist. The other woman pushed a half-empty drink in front of her.
"Most women our age come here to enjoy the beaches, drink tequila, and party with hot men at clubs..." Katarina made a sweeping gesture to indicate their surroundings. "But not you."
"You're right. I'm not here to have a good time. I'm here to do a job." Allison's hand shot forward and grabbed the drink before Katarina knocked it over with a careless wave of her hand. "And not to waste my time tracking you down for your father or be your babysitter." Dammit. She didn't need anyone breathing down her neck or watching her every move, but she also didn't want to spend a chunk of her precious time searching for the brainless bimbo whenever Papa Günther called. "Where is your cell phone, anyway?"
"I left it in my room."
"Your father wants a status report. Seems he thinks we're both down here to work."
"I did what he asked. I met with the government officials and local wildlife preservation groups. Was I supposed to crawl through the bug-infested jungle with you today, too?"
"You disappear on me for three days and I find you drunk in a bar. I finally had to ask one of the guides and he said you went looking for a taberna."
"Listen. I. Am. Not. Drunk." Katarina tapped her finger on the tabletop to accentuate each word, then tried to stand. "And you are not my mother. Gott--you're as stodgy as mein papa! Don't you want to live a little?"
Allison thought about the strange, wild animal she'd glimpsed earlier and her heart kicked up a beat. Let it be there. Please let the picture be there. She needed to go back to the hotel and download the images from her digital camera. Instead she watched her client's daughter become more vertically-challenged with every passing minute.
"Get out on the dance floor with me. Shake it a little. You might even get lucky!"
"No amount of alcohol could compel me. Besides, you're not my type."
"Ha, ha. A lot of men like big, strong women. I know you could pick up a man." Kat looked her up and down, then burst out giggling at her pun.
Katarina not drunk? Bullshit! No way in hell, though, Allison would prove her right by carrying her back to the hotel. The drunken twit could find her way there all on her own--or not. And damned if she'd let a size two toothpick get under her skin!
"I want to get laid. Don't you want to get laid, Allison?"
She ignored the other woman's far too personal question. "It's none of my business what you do. You want to act like a cat in heat? Knock yourself out. There are plenty of men who like 'em slutty and drunk. Fuck--you could sell tickets."
Across the crowded nightclub, a young guy held up his drink and motioned to them. She watched as his friends all laughed and punched each other. Frat boys from back home in the States. They flocked to San Ybella every spring or fall break after mid-terms. If she had to choose between fucking a drunken frat boy or abstinence, she knew which she'd choose.
Katarina followed her gaze and grinned. "He looks nice, ja? We should go screw him together."
"Look, just call your father, okay? He wants an update from you." She pulled out the satellite phone and slid it across the table, then stood.
"Vere are you going?" Katarina's German accent thickened.
Another drink or two and the woman would be completely unintelligible. "Have fun Ms. Günther. As for me, I am outta here."
Katarina pushed the phone back toward her. "I vill call him tomorrow. Tonight, I have other plans," she glanced back at the guys across the room. "Your loss. Now I have him to myself."
"He's all yours. Enjoy."
Allison watched Katarina cross the dance floor toward the college boys. She didn't envy Papa Günther one bit.
She rubbed her temples in a circular motion. The job had seemed so simple a few weeks ago, before Herr Günther had sprung his little surprise on her. Instead of a skilled colleague, she had Miss Party Girl to baby-sit.
Hell with it. She picked up the phone, slid it into her backpack, and left the nightclub, glad to be away from the pounding techno beat an
d the odd stares she'd received from the bartender and bouncer.
A cool breeze blew in from the direction of the ocean, making her thankful for the break from the day's stifling humidity. She picked up her pace, eager to get back to the hotel, take a shower, and change clothes. She was also eager to upload her images to the laptop. Once she cleaned up the photo and enlarged it, she'd have a better idea exactly what she'd captured. The entire episode had happened so fast, the animal there and gone in a blink, she couldn't be sure what she'd seen. And yet...the old, familiar excitement swelled in her stomach, made her itchy with anticipation.
A new, undiscovered species? Or something ancient, a myth come to life? Once she had lived for the hunt--until ridicule had forced her to choose between her job and her obsession. Her old colleagues at the zoo could laugh all they wanted. The proof on her camera vindicated her. She rounded the corner, her stride faster, anxious to reach the hotel.
Bang!
The sound made her jump. A car backfire? Fireworks? She looked up at the sky. Nothing but stars and endless night. How odd...
A loud bang, followed by another, then a multitude of voices raised in Spanish reached her ears. What the--? A gathering crowd moved toward her. On second thought, make that a pack. And they didn't look peaceful.
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Could the people inside the club not hear the chaos less than a few hundred feet away? He eyed the group of protestors who carried their riot into the center of the tourist district. Many were disenchanted students from the Universidad, but most were local troublemakers sympathetic to the guerilla rebels and intent on mischief.
Bandaleros mugged tourists at every available opportunity. He hoped to use that to his advantage. He still could, so long as the riot didn't get out of hand. He had no desire for the woman to be hurt.
She stepped from El Lobizon, a Peter Paul Rubin's painting brought to life--all lush curves and flushed pale skin--illuminating his world of darkness. Unable to help himself, his eyes focused on the fullness of her breasts as they strained against the fabric of her "authentic" peasant blouse, threatening to spill over. He wanted her softness for himself. Lust and purpose warred. No one must ever know such things as Werewolden existed, whether they be Werewolves or Dayshifters breed.
His muscles tightened, and a snarl escaped his lips. The glow of the moon fell upon him, seeped into his skin, his bones. He cursed, even as the change boiled in his blood.
Fast! He darted into the black pitch of a dirty alley. The clothes on his body stretched at the seams. He prayed they would hold.
The crack and crunch of broken glass forced his head up. Someone threw bottles. He watched one sail past her head, and stared in awe as she sidestepped in a graceful movement and tried to duck under the swarm of sudden violence.
No! He took a step forward, then remembered. Fool! Would you risk exposure, risk everything to save her?
He was the one saved--from answering his conscience--as another rushed forward and pulled her from harm's way, into the very alley where he hid!
The man's grip on her tightened.
"Gracias," she whispered, her voice still shaky.
The smell of a wet dog assailed him. Dayshifter! The man didn't release her. Instead he reached a hand under her peasant blouse and gripped her breast. A flash of silver appeared in his other hand, poised at her throat.
"No! Help! Help!"
Adrenaline flowed, completed the change. He kicked off his shoes, moved in stealth and shadow, a terrifying figment of the imagination. Rage overpowered him. His mission forgotten, he leapt toward the man, heard the snap as he broke the wrist holding the knife, then grabbed the man and tossed him overhead in the opposite direction. Her attacker hit the wall with a bone-jarring thud.
The coppery scent of blood coated the air. She edged away from him. The sound of her backpack scraped along the brick wall as she tried to slide past. She panted in shallow breaths.
He watched the vein in her neck as it pulsed. She blinked back tears. The piece of human garbage that had attacked her had nicked her with his blade. A small, shallow cut bled from her pale throat, and purple, finger-shaped bruises marred the exposed flesh of her breast.
Twin urges fought for control. He wanted to haul the other man to his feet and pummel him more, but he also craved--needed--to mask the other man's fetid scent with his own strong musk. He raised his head, searched her eyes, and tried to work his elongated jaws around human speech, to tell her he wouldn't harm her. But all that come out of his mouth were discordant grumbles.
The moonlight let her see him full in the face. She gasped, eyes wide in fright, then fainted right into his arms. He caught her before she hit the ground, her sweet weight safe against his chest. He swiped his tongue across the small nick on her throat, cleaning it and sealing it closed, then stood for a moment, looking down at the smooth contours of her face and form. Mi Dios, she was beautiful...and far too tempting to his senses.
More sirens signaled the arrival of back-up officers. The police were beating the rioters, shoving many of them into the back of police vehicles.
He could not leave her here. With any luck, he could carry her undisturbed to her hotel room and take care of her camera at the same time. He lifted her higher on his chest to get a better grip, then dug inside her pockets until he found the old-fashioned key attached to a plastic room number. Not that he would use the front entrance to get inside. At least, not looking as he did now, he thought with a grin. He scooped up his shoes and took off in a loping run toward his destination.
Once at the hotel, he repositioned her in a fireman's hold, dropped his shoes behind one of the flowering bushes, and leapt to the railing of the nearest balcony. He continued to climb until he found a room with its glass doors open. He knew he was on the third floor, but which suite was 306?
With one hand holding her lush bottom, he proceeded into the room. His ears twitched. Water from a shower ran in the bathroom. He padded across the carpet and was out the door before the occupant become aware of his trespass.
The brightly lit hallway made him an easy, if horrific, target. His lovely passenger bounced against his back while he scanned the door numbers. Indoors, away from the glow of the moon and its influence, he sensed the lunar hold weakening, but knew the wolf would not give way fully until the wee hours of the morning. He found number 306, opened the door, and bolted it behind him. Then he placed her on the double bed and removed her backpack. The camera had to be in there. He only hoped there would be time enough to search before she awoke.
* * * *
Everything inside Allison seemed to rise up, bubble over. All her silly fears and anxieties rushed ahead of logic. Her mind was fuzzy, the events uncertain. More like a collage of indistinct shapes that flashed a kaleidoscope in her mind's eye. She lay on a bed, in what she recognized as her hotel room, but she sensed she wasn't alone.
"Katarina? Kat?" she called, and tried to stand. Her knees grew weak. She sat back on the bed. "Ugh...what the hell?" She shook her head. Had someone drugged her? "I swear to God, Kat, if you slipped me something..."
She heard a noise come from the bathroom. Had she interrupted a burglar? She spotted her backpack on the dresser, one of the side pockets unzipped. Had she left it that way? Hell, she couldn't remember even returning to the room. There. That noise again--a faucet handle turning.
Her fingers trembled as she pulled her large metal flashlight from the nightstand. Not the best weapon, but since it was all she had, it would have to do. She hefted its weight in the palm of her hand as she stood. Swung with momentum, it should do some damage. After that, she'd need to run like hell.
The bathroom door creaked opened. Heart in her throat, she peered around the edge, ready to crack the flashlight on an unsuspecting head.
"Whoa, chica!" A strange man straightened from the sink, twisted, and pulled the flashlight out of her raised hand with blinding speed. She got a quick impression of burnished bronze skin stretched over whipcord muscles as
she tried to dodge the intruder's grasp. He loomed over her, a merciless figure in black.
She tried to kick him in the balls, but her head swam and she lost her balance. She fell back and almost kissed the carpet.
He reached out to steady her. "Please--wait! I mean you no harm..."
"What the hell are you doing in my room?"
"You were hurt. I found your key and brought you here." He sat the flashlight down on the counter and opened his other hand. A damp washcloth lay across his palm.
But instead of thanking him for his assistance, she flinched from his touch. Why? She made a quick study of his features--nothing there to fear. He wore a gentle smile on his lean face, and the faint lines around his mouth told her he smiled often. Spaniel brown eyes looked back at her, the essence of kindness. She tried to calm her urge to run. Fight or flight?
No way could she take him down. He looked as if he'd top her own height by at least half a foot, and appeared wiry. But she knew the body under the plain black T-shirt and ripped, black denim jeans packed solid muscle. How she knew, she couldn't remember. She frowned, deliberately shook off the strange sensation, and glanced down at his bare feet, then back up to his face.
"Sorry...but, do I know you?"
"We met briefly last night. My name is Javier López."
"I don't...López?"
His accent spoke of warm ocean breezes, darkest jungle, and sultry Latin nights. A shiver danced down her spine. He placed the washcloth against her forehead. His hands were large, the palms slightly callused.
"I don't believe we exchanged names at the time. You fainted and I carried you here. I am glad you are awake. I began to worry when you fell asleep after you fainted. I was afraid to leave you alone until I knew for certain you would be all right."
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