Beautiful Danger

by Michele Hauf

  Wouldn’t any man do the same if he had the supernatural skills of influencing women into his bed? Hell, that first night without protection. The thought sickened her.

  Most men were not sexual predators or physically violent toward women. The vampire was a unique predatory breed that relied upon blood and sex to survive. And he’d bitten her.

  Had he also persuaded her to believe he’d sealed the wound to prevent her transformation? Could the vampire taint be coursing through her veins as she sat here?

  She eased her hand along her inner thigh, wincing at the pain that did not seem to lessen. It had been a deep bite. She had bled almost to the point of passing out. Of course it would take time to heal. Why hadn’t he persuaded her to forget he’d done that? To perhaps instead make her believe it was an injury she’d taken during a struggle with another vampire while on the hunt?

  Domingos had been playing with her mind; she had no doubt about it.

  “He bit me,” she blurted out to Rook. “I think you need to know that. I— If he used persuasion on me, then I’m not sure if he was telling the truth about not transforming me. I could change. Oh, God.”

  “You’ll be fine,” Rook offered, his attention toward the front of the car, not even glancing at her.

  How could he know that? Was it that weird innate truth meter she suspected he possessed that told him she hadn’t received the vampire taint?

  Hell, now she was starting to lose it. She didn’t want to become a vampire. She had only wanted to represent the Order and serve them well. Live to serve. Serve until death. Die fighting. A simple motto to follow.

  And what had happened to her desire to avenge her husband’s death? Paused at number seventy-two? That wasn’t her style. She never gave up on a challenge.

  But somehow she’d decided to stop serving and to cease her quest for vengeance. Instead she had succumbed to the dangerous allure of a vampire.

  You’re smarter than that, Lark. You love him.

  She twisted her head toward the window and scrunched her eyes closed. No, it couldn’t be possible. She could never love a man who was like those who had killed Todd.

  But they didn’t kill him, you did. You were the one to plunge the stake into your husband’s heart.

  “We can forgive this transgression,” Rook said in the quiet of the backseat, seeming to sense that she needed reassurance. “You were manipulated. You have to understand that, Lark. You were under the vampire’s persuasion.”

  She nodded, silently accepting.

  Yet her heart screamed like those screeching violins in Domingos’s head that it was all wrong.

  She didn’t know what was right anymore.

  * * *

  The Order owned a concrete-walled warehouse in the thirteenth arrondissement. No windows, and only one access door that led up strong iron stairs to an upper floor reinforced by double walls. Sounds made inside were never heard outside. No matter how loud the scream.

  Lark followed Rook up the stairs, not questioning what this task was he had planned for her. It would be a trial, for sure, something to prove to him and the Order that she was still on their side and unworthy of banishment.

  Hell, anything would be better than another day lying prostrate on a cold stone floor.

  Her thigh pulled with each step. A reminder that her determination could be contaminated. Stupid mistake, that.

  She moved her left shoulder, and the tugging brand seared into her skin reminded of her dedication a year earlier when she’d entered the Order. Focused and ready to learn. Blinded by grief and the desire for vengeance.

  Use it now, a tiny voice whispered at her. Don’t make another wrong choice. You know your truths.

  She couldn’t understand her conscience until the door opened and inside she heard the struggles of a man against two others. He was held with thick ropes wrapped about his chest and arms, while another man beamed a small UV light at his eyes.

  Domingos yowled and fought against the ropes. The skin around his eyes smoked and burned.

  Lark’s heart thundered. She took a step toward the knights, wanting to tear them away from the tortured vampire—and then Rook’s hand fell onto her shoulder and he said, “The job.”

  Chapter 21

  “Release him!” Rook called. “He’s not going anywhere now that you’ve blinded the pitiful creature. Come in, Lark.”

  At the sound of her name, Lark noted that Domingos stopped struggling and lifted his head, tracking the thud of their footsteps across the concrete floor as they moved closer to him. The ropes dropped away from around his chest and arms and he stood, unbound, in the center of the room. The three knights stood close, but had assumed a militant pose, on guard, as Rook passed them and they stopped ten paces away from Domingos.

  “He give you trouble?” Rook asked one of the knights.

  “Wasn’t an easy bag. But we didn’t let him get up on the rooftops, like you warned us. He’ll be a good little leech now. Won’t you?” The knight kicked the back of Domingos’s knee, and he almost went down but managed to stay upright.

  Lark assessed that he’d incurred no injuries during the struggle. Not on the outside, anyway. But he couldn’t see. Though his eyes were open, the pupils filled his irises and Lark knew he was blind for at least an hour. He looked pitiful, standing there alone, his shirt hanging on his shoulders and torn at the buttons, obviously during the struggle. Fangs cut over his lower lip and blood spattered his chin, likely his own.

  What had she seen in this man that she’d allowed him to touch her, to kiss her, to make love to her?

  She shivered, remembering the trace of his hands over her skin. So gentle and reverent. She’d seen into his soul. He’d granted Lisa freedom and she, in turn, had given him back his music. Had it all been a lie?

  Apparently. What skills this creature possessed to have gotten into her brain to manipulate it so.

  Rook produced a titanium stake, twirled it once and paced before Domingos. “I admire you, LaRoque. You certainly gave us good chase.”

  “Did you tell him about the werewolves and Gunnar?” Domingos asked Lark.

  “She did,” Rook answered smartly. “We’ll take care of the matter.”

  That was the first time Rook had acknowledged that he’d taken Lark’s words to heart. Good. No matter what theatrics went down here in the warehouse, she had confidence Rook would see to Gunnar’s punishment and cease collusion with the werewolves. If she did any good for the Order today, it would be to expose a dirty knight.

  “Fine day when the Order of the Stake colludes with werewolves,” Domingos teased.

  One of the knights behind the vampire stepped forward, ready to punch Domingos in the kidneys from behind, but with a castigating look, Rook stopped him.

  “No, he’s not for us, boys,” he said. Turning, Rook approached Lark. He slapped the stake into her palm. “This one’s your kill.”

  * * *

  Domingos’s heart stopped when he heard the leader’s chilling announcement. He’d left the Shangri-La the moment the clouds had moved over the sun. Waiting not a block south of the hotel had been the black van filled with knights. A little off already with his thoughts jumbled about Lark, he hadn’t been prepared for their strike, which had come swiftly and with four men and hadn’t given him much chance for escape.

  Now he could not see. When he opened his eyes the world was painfully white and it felt as if the UV rays still seared his eyeballs. But he could hear. And the slap of the titanium stake into Lark’s hand cut through his dark and tortured heart and tore it wide-open.

  She would not do it. Could not.

  And yet she must. She was a knight. Slaying vampires was what she had been trained for. And if she did not wish to lose the respect of her superior and fellow knights, she mustn’t blink to fol
low orders.

  He’d always known it would come to this.

  Domingos had been right to guess that she’d left him this morning. For good. Had fled his madness and returned to the life she’d managed to fit herself into this past year. He didn’t think it was a good fit for her, slaying vampires and killing without thought, but he had no say in her life now. She’d escaped while getting out had been possible.

  At least he could be thankful for the few days he’d had with her. To hold her and get to know her. To feel the touch of her soul brushing against his. To experience moments away from the madness and pain. It had been beyond exquisite. He could die peacefully now.

  But he couldn’t imagine how difficult it must be for her. He wished he could look into her eyes and convey how much he loved her. She must know. He wanted her to know, despite her rejection of him.

  Lark’s footsteps tracked the concrete floor until she stood before him. With his sight gone, his sense of smell increased. He smelled the luscious sweetness of her skin, underlaid with a hint of rice pudding and rum, and champagne. Sex tinted that perfume and he decided it was the best smell a man could know before he died.

  And now he was thankful he would not be able to see the stake coming toward his heart, or the tortured look in his lover’s eyes. Twice now, she had been forced to stake the men she loved.

  Or would she smile as the titanium stake pierced his heart?

  “Bastard.” He heard the softly uttered word, and winced. So she did hate him. Unless...? Of course, she had to put on a facade before the Order. “You used me.”

  “Used? No, I—”

  He could not deny biting her thigh had been cruel and unusual. If he could take it back he would. But he’d thought she’d understood it had been beyond his control.

  “I’ve been under your persuasion all the time.” Her voice wobbled and he thought he smelled a salty teardrop.

  “No, Lark, I told you I would never do that.”

  “Liar!”

  The blunt end of the stake landed hard upon his chest. The warmth of her fingers wrapped about it and slammed against his body, permeated his skin.

  Why did she believe he’d persuaded her? He had not. It was something he reserved only following the bite, and he’d never used it after biting her because she had given him permission—

  Hell, had the Order convinced her of this? She was too strong for such underhanded tactics. No matter how she felt regarding his betrayal of her trust, she must not believe he could ever persuade her against her will.

  “How did they do it?” he asked. “Make you believe that lie?”

  “This is tiring,” Rook said from somewhere to Domingos’s left. “Reduce him to ash so we can get out of here.”

  “You would not grant a dying man a last wish?” Domingos tried, unsure what, exactly, would be his request, but it was a time buyer.

  “That’s not the way we do things,” Rook answered.

  But Lark said, “Tell me. What the hell do you want before I ash you, longtooth?”

  * * *

  The heat of him was intense. Standing so close to him, Lark could feel the essence of Domingos race all over her body. The stake remained, right over his pounding heart, ready for termination. She had only to squeeze the paddles. He did not smell like rum and champagne—they’d had sex less than twenty-four hours earlier—so he must have showered. Yes, she’d left him in the shower. His familiar smoky scent instead rose to taunt her.

  At the time they’d made love, she had felt in her body, in control and that she was doing exactly as she wanted, and not being coerced. Maybe? Sorting out her thoughts was difficult now that she knew he’d persuaded her.

  And now he had the audacity to convince her the Order was lying to her? Idiot vampire.

  Today she would claim kill number seventy-three. No matter that déjà vu rattled inside her brain, threatening to bring up tears. Twice now she’d been forced to stake a man she had thought to love.

  You did love them. Both of them!

  She slammed the door on Lisa Cooper. Lark was who she had become, and that woman didn’t need tears. This staking was going to be much easier than the last time.

  The vampire had requested a last wish, which he did not deserve, but she did want to hear what he thought was so important before she ashed him.

  Her finger twitched on the titanium shaft. “Tell me!”

  Domingos spread out his arms, not seeing her, yet his dark eyes seemed to look right through and into her soul. “I go to my grave willingly and gladly knowing it is my lover who wields the stake. I had hoped it would be this way, if it was to ever come to this.”

  “Stop stalling and tell me your last wish,” Lark demanded.

  She didn’t want to listen to his pretty words, in his voice that strafed along her spine and melted into her soul, becoming her. Was this more vampiric persuasion?

  “Very well.” Domingos bowed his head toward hers and nuzzled his nose aside her ear. She stiffened, knowing Rook watched keenly. As well, the other knights stood but a few paces behind the vampire. “Kiss me,” he whispered. “And then kill me, because your kiss will devastate.”

  Lark stepped back, drawing the stake away from him, and looked down and aside. Kiss him? What a ridiculous request. She would never.

  You must! He is the man you love.

  Twisting her head against the intrusive voice, she had the thought that the vampire’s madness had worn off on her. Hearing voices? Was it possible Rook had lied about the persuasion? How could she believe it so deeply? Yet if she struggled for that belief, then something must be off, yes?

  Hell, she was confused. And her heart seemed to clatter against her rib cage, while her hands had grown clammy. If she delayed much longer she’d find herself back on the kitchen floor, kneeling over a man who begged for the stake to be free from the threat of vampirism.

  You don’t need to go there now. Domingos makes you strong. Trust him!

  “Give the vampire what he wants,” Rook announced from behind her. “It will serve you, our wayward knight, fitting punishment to kiss the enemy.”

  Lark shook her head, refusing. She gripped the stake so hard her bones ached. She could not. She would not. Not after his betrayal—

  And yet how she desperately wanted to kiss Domingos one last time. To perhaps learn from his kiss the real truth.

  You know the truth. Don’t lie to yourself.

  He’s never lied to you.

  “Please, Lark,” the vampire said so softly, she thought she might be the only one in the room who could hear. And something about the tremble in his voice cleaved to her core and rattled her need to remain the unattached machine who had slain dozens of creatures without so much as a blink.

  Sighing, she stepped forward, but inches from the vampire, and decided a quick peck on the cheek should fulfill his absurd request nicely. Yet when she leaned in, Domingos’s mouth found hers and without touching her elsewhere he held her there, endlessly. The world receded. The knights standing nearby ceased to exist. In fact, the Order no longer existed. She was merely Lark—or perhaps even Lisa Cooper. Taking what she was given, and answering back with a desperate need.

  Freedom. Don’t sacrifice it again.

  And she fell, deep into Domingos, nestled by his darkness, and sighing into his madness. A vampire whose bite made her crave and plead for yet another and another bite. Not her enemy. Simply a man who had been wronged in such an evil way his very soul had been contorted.

  And there, deep within his kiss, she remembered that she loved this man because he was kind and gentle with her, and had allowed her to see beyond the foolish need for blind revenge. He had given her hope, and in turn she had given him back his music.

  And she knew, against all reason, this man had not manipulated her. Why she believ
ed otherwise was a mystery she would solve. But until then...

  “I love you,” she whispered into his mouth.

  Domingos grabbed the stake from her hand. With his other hand, he wrenched her body around, gripping her hard up under the neck. She allowed it, not wanting to fight, not wanting to put herself back on the side of the man who glared at her now, the one who had trained her, the one who had lied to her.

  How had he made her believe the lie?

  King, her conscience screamed. It had been his doing.

  “Back!” Domingos demanded. “Or I stake her in the heart.”

  He shuffled backward toward the wall, and remembering his blindness, Lark made a slight adjustment in his trajectory by easing him to the right and toward the door.

  “Let him go!” Rook shouted to the knights who approached their escape, hands reaching for their stakes and weapons. “Idiot longtooth won’t get far. He’s blind.”

  “She’ll lead him out of here,” Debraux, one of the knights, protested.

  “Maybe.”

  Lark met Rook’s eyes and couldn’t read him. Was he giving her a head start? Or merely playing with her? She knew it was the latter. He would let her and Domingos get outside, yet while it was night, she wouldn’t get far with a blind vampire. The knights would be on them in minutes.

  Minutes were all she needed.

  Gripping the door, she opened it and tugged Domingos through. He slapped the stake back into her hand as she directed him to take the stairs down. Using the wall as a guide, he stumbled once, but made it to the ground floor with ease.

  “You can’t see anything?” she asked as she tugged him down the street and turned abruptly into a narrow, dark alley.

  “No, but you lead well. I can hear their footsteps clattering down the stairs.”

  “Then we’re going to silent mode. Trust me?”

  “I do.”

  “I love you,” she said, and wanted to explain about why she’d believed he’d persuaded her, but there was no time and it was too risky to make any noise.