by Amy Miles
“Well done,” a masculine voice praises. Gentle hands cup her head. A cool glass presses against her lips. She protests, weakly fighting to pull away. “Don’t,” he whispers, tilting the cup. Its taste is sweet, unlike anything she has ever experienced before.
The delicious blood pours down her throat. Pain instantly gives way to need as she clings to the cup, slurping down every last drop. She cries out, rolling onto her back as her right side is set ablaze with rapidly healing fires. Her ribs snap back into place, skin regenerates and missing strands of hair rapidly regrow. Her vision clears.
A man of unearthly beauty stares down at her. His face is veiled by long, flowing raven black hair. Pale skin, more exquisite than the finest silk, caresses her cheek, wiping away a drop of blood from the crease of her mouth.
“How do you feel?” the stranger asks. His accent is clipped, foreign, despite presenting a perfect English accent.
Roseline sits up. Flexing her muscles, she winces at the lingering pain, but that will soon fade. “Much better. What did you give me?”
He does not answer. Instead, he offers his hand, kneeling to help her rise. Roseline hesitantly accepts. Her eyes widen at the spark his touch induces. Some unknown power electrifies his skin. He smiles knowingly but offers no explanation.
“Thank you for your help,” she replies, stepping back. His piercing eyes sweep over her, marking the receding wounds.
“You are welcome.” He turns, crossing his arms over his chest. The tailored black suit pulls taut over his lean body, as he observes her fallen opponent. “A friend of yours?”
Roseline chuckles, rubbing the tension from her neck. “Yeah, we go way back.”
The man grins, turning his back on Davros. “I’d hate to see what you do to your enemies.”
“Oh, it’s much worse.” Her smile falters as she notices her fallen sword at the edge of the abandoned dance floor. “Excuse me. I’ll be right back.”
She bounds over to the scabbard. Her fingers curl around the hilt as she slides it out of its sheath to check for damage. Thankfully, it is unharmed. The warrior within her nods, satisfied to have her weapon close once more. The leather strap falls over her finger, severed but repairable.
“I believe this is yours, as well.”
She turns, surprised to see the stranger holding her other sword in his hand. Her gaze lifts to the spot nearly fifteen feet overhead where Davros buried it in the wall. “How did you do that?”
“We all have our secrets, Roseline.”
Her stance stiffens. “How do you know my name?”
A knowing grin brightens his smoky eyes. “I know a great deal about you and about your quest.” He approaches, offering her the weapon with an open expression of peace.
Air hisses past her teeth as she closes the gap between them. “Who are you?”
The man bows low, never breaking his intense gaze. “My name is Malachi. I am a friend.”
She eyes his grip on the sword, monitoring his steady heartbeat. He shows no sign of malice. And yet…
Inhaling deeply, Roseline crouches into a defensive stance. “It was you.”
Malachi rises, the corners of his lips tighten. “I’m afraid you will have to be more specific.”
“Out on the street,” she replies, “you were the one following us.”
“Us?” he questions, his brow dipping with confusion. He glances to the empty room. “Do you have someone else with you?”
Doubt enters her mind. What if she is wrong? His confusion seems sincere, and yet, she has never smelled anyone quite like him before. A heart beats in his chest, blood pumps through his veins, but his scent is…unique.
“They are not far,” she replies vaguely, rising slowly from her crouch. Stiffness lingers in her muscles where pain should have been, a reminder of this stranger’s compassion. Surely, the act of offering his own blood should lend to some amount of faith.
His lips smooth into an easygoing smile. “Then they must join us.”
Roseline glances around at the nearly deserted pub. Does he mean here? “Where exactly? One of my friends is injured,” she hedges.
As Malachi approaches, deep compassion softens the hard planes of his face. “I have a home not far from here. He will be safe there. I have an excellent doctor on call should your friend require his services.”
Her defenses spring back into place. “I’m not going to your home.”
Malachi flips her sword in the air, catching it effortlessly by the tip. He offers the hilt to Roseline. She stares at him, trying to figure him out.
“I have the answers you seek, Roseline, but you must first choose to trust me.” He leans in close. “I think I can help you find Gabriel.”
She hisses, jerking back. How could he know? Her suspicion wars against the warm smile on Malachi’s face. Doubt floods her mind for a second time. Can she risk Nicolae and Fane’s life for the chance that this stranger can help her track down Gabriel? What if she doesn’t take the risk? Could she live with knowing there was something more she could have done?
Sensing nothing more than the image Malachi presents, Roseline nods, tucking her sword into its scabbard. “I will go with you, but know that if you try to harm me or my friends, I will stake you to the ground, set you on fire and savor every moment that it takes for you flesh to melt off.”
Malachi’s gaze appears to harden, but his lips curl into a smirk. “Fair enough.”
Chapter 17
Roseline watches Malachi’s back as he marches confidently ahead. He pays little attention to the slush that soaks through his designer shoes, barely gives a shake of his coat as a taxi sprays him as it barrels down the street.
A sense of mystery hangs around the man, something Roseline cannot exactly place her finger on. What is he? Surely, not a human. His smell is too dark for that, almost tinged with the same smoke that swirls in his eyes.
Judging by his ability to retrieve her sword, he must be some form of immortal, but from where? She has met her brethren from all corners of the globe and none has shared his particular scent.
Maybe it is just his blood coursing through her veins that is making her a little paranoid, but even the shadows seem to peel away from the walls to meet up with him. She glances over at Nicolae to see if he has noticed. No chance of that. He looks like a hunchback, struggling to sustain Fane’s dead weight.
She is unsure if it is stubborn pride or a show of gentlemanly behavior that keeps him from allowing her to help carry Fane. No matter the reason, she finds his decision both annoying and comical.
“Tell me again why we are going with this guy,” he grunts, forcing one foot in front of the other. His boots slip on the slick pavement but he quickly regains his footing. Roseline hovers nearby in case he should take a face dive.
“He knows about Gabriel.”
“So you automatically assume he’s on our side?” he snorts, struggling to look at her around Fane’s hip.
“No.” Roseline shakes her head. “I doubt he is offering this information for free. He wants something. We just need to figure out what it is. Think you can play along for a bit?”
His shrug comes out disjointed under Fane’s weight.
Unable to shake her riled nerves, she checks behind her for the tenth time to make sure they are not being followed from the club. Not that there were many immortals left to care, but the nooks and crannies along this street could easily afford a prime hiding place.
Her tangled mass of curls scrape her back as she faces forward, loose pins jab at her shoulder blades. Roseline plucks the offending pins from her hair, tossing them carelessly into the gutter.
“What’s with Fane’s face?” she asks, marking the crest of broken bones along his cheek. “I don’t remember it being that bad earlier.”
Nicolae grimaces. “I couldn’t risk letting him wake up again. He kept calling your name. Stupid fool would probably throw himself on a guillotine for you.”
Guilt pierces her heart. Yes, that sounds exactly like
something Fane would do. “So you knocked him out?”
“Yeah, but only after I gave him some blood to save his life,” he winces, flexing his right hand, “and I’m pretty sure I broke a knuckle or two.”
“Ha,” she laughs, shaking her head, “serves you right for beating on a defenseless man.”
Nicolae fights to keep a stern expression on his face. “You know you would have done the same.”
She nods. “No doubt. Thanks for watching him for me.”
He glances over at her, watching the purple bruises around her brow and jawline slowly recede. “I came back for you.”
Roseline sighs. “I knew you would.”
“The door was stuck.” His voice is edged with suspicion.
What good would it do to confirm that she blocked the door? The warrior in him would feel betrayed. No. It is best for him to think the door was wedged during battle and leave it at that.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to carry Fane for a bit?” Roseline offers, changing the subject. She reaches out to take Nicolae’s burden but he pulls away.
“No. I’ve got him,” he grunts, shifting Fane once more.
Definitely stubborn, she shakes her head as his steps grow labored. Fane is not a small man.
“Almost there,” Malachi calls back over his shoulder. His lilting voice ricochets off the storefronts. “Just one more block.”
Roseline frowns at the familiar stretch of road. They should be able to see Nicolae’s Hummer by now. “Did you move your car?”
Nicolae swears, lurching around to look up the alley. All that remains are tire tracks in the gray slush. He swears. “What the heck? I’ve been robbed!”
They both look up as Malachi appears before them. “Not to worry. You will find your vehicle, safe and sound, in my garage when we arrive.”
Nicolae’s fingers grip tightly against Fane’s flesh. “You took my car?”
“Yes,” Malachi nods, appearing ignorant of the building storm, “my chauffeur is an excellent driver. He will take good care of your vehicle.”
Roseline stifles a laugh as Nicolae turns an incredulous glance in her direction. “Is this guy for real?”
“Apparently.” She hides a grin behind her hand as Nicolae glowers at her.
Malachi glances between the two. “Is there a problem?”
“You’re darn right there’s a prob-” Nicolae’s growl is cut short.
“I think,” Roseline inserts herself between the two men, “Nicolae is merely relieved to find that his car has not been stolen…in the traditional sense, I mean.”
“Of course,” Malachi smiles tightly as he scrutinizes Nicolae over Roseline’s shoulder. “Everything is under control.”
A faint glint appears in his eye as Nicolae mutters a few choice words. “You said we were close,” she smiles, putting enough pressure on Nicolae’s forearm to keep him in check.
“My vehicle is just there.” Roseline follows Malachi’s finger to a blacked out limo.
She purses her lips, wrestling with the smirk pulling at her lips. “Not trying to blend in at all, are you?”
Malachi’s eyes glint in the dim streetlight overhead. “That has never been my style.”
“Obviously,” Nicolae mutters darkly as he heads for the rear door. Roseline swoops in to open it for him. Nicolae drops Fane roughly onto the leather seat, his forehead thunks against a seatbelt. Nicolae grunts, shoving Fane’s legs inside before following him.
“Care to join me up front?” Malachi asks, pausing next to her. Roseline turns to meet Nicolae’s disapproving glare. Malachi smiles warmly at her protective companion. “I assure you, she will be perfectly safe.”
Nicolae shrugs. “It’s your funeral.” He sinks back into the seat and pulls the door shut. Roseline hesitates. She really should ride with Fane, but she cannot force herself to give up the chance to extract details from Malachi.
What might he reveal to her during their trip? Does he know what has happened to Gabriel? Can he tell her where to find him?
“This way.” She glances up, blushing as she realizes Malachi stands with his hand offered to her. Skirting his fingers, Roseline hurries to the passenger door and slides inside. She darts a glance over her shoulder, grateful to hear Fane’s steady breathing. Nicolae grins as he pulls a bottle of champagne out of the small icebox nestled within the carpeted wall.
“Don’t even think about it,” she laughs, turning back to watch Malachi quickly round the hood. As he takes up position behind the wheel, his finger flips a switch to raise the barrier between the front and rear cabin.
“It’s a bit of a drive,” Malachi says, pulling smoothly away from the curb. Despite the limo’s length, it weaves easily through the inner city streets. They merge into light early morning traffic. In only a couple hours, these roads will be a bumper-to-bumper clog in London’s arteries.
She can feel his intense gaze as they burrow through the heart of the city. Determined not to look at him, Roseline fixes her gaze forward, watching as the streets blur past. “So where exactly is your home?”
“I have an estate on the outskirts of town.” He offers nothing more.
“An estate? You say that like it’s a common thing to own a mansion in London.”
A wide grin stretches across his angular face. “To me, it is.” He waits until Roseline turns to look at him. “We both know neither of us resides among the humans, like mere common folk. People like us are accustomed to certain…luxuries.”
Roseline crinkles her nose at his words. “You speak of the humans as if they are vermin underfoot.”
Malachi tips his head. “Yes, I suppose I do.”
His heartless comparison settles uneasily in her stomach. She has never viewed herself as better than the humans. Just…different.
She attempts a new line of discussion. “How do you know so much about me?”
Malachi turns his attention back to the road. His fingers curl tightly around the steering wheel. He is obviously none too thrilled by the shift in topic. “It is my job to know.”
“Your job? Someone hired you to find me?”
“In a sense, yes.” He flashes a dazzling smile at her. “My employer has asked that I guard you.”
“But why?” she says, tapping her fingers against her thigh. All of this talk about guarding makes her wonder if that was his purpose tonight. If so, he did a lousy job. “Guard me from what?”
“Not from what. From whom,” he responds, glancing in the rearview mirror to change lanes as he merges onto the dual carriageway.
A chill creeps from the crown of her head down to her toes. Until this moment, she had not sensed any danger outside of Vladimir’s revenge. Why would anyone else be interested in her? Is this somehow linked back to her relationship with Gabriel?
“Am I in danger?” Her stomach clenches at the thought of another fight. She needs time to heal. As does Fane.
“Yes,” his dips his head, “and no. The greatest danger was if I was unable to track you down in time.”
“In time for what?” she asks, holding her breath.
Malachi smiles. “That is no longer an issue. You are safe as long as you remain close to me.”
Roseline bristles. “And what exactly can you do, that I am incapable of?”
“I do not mean to insult your or your loyal companion, but the men who seek you are unlike anything you have encountered before.”
The car swerves back off the main road, slowing for the approaching roundabout. Snowy hills span the windscreen. During the summer months, those hills are carpeted with lush green grass, dotted with clusters of sheep, but now they are barren, lifeless.
Malachi breaks the silence. “As unlikely as this may seem, there are some forces in this world that even you have no experience with.”
“And you do?” she questions, watching him closely.
She can see his indecision, the way he presses his lips into a thin line, the faint tic in the corner of his right eye. “Yes.”
Roseline openly observes him now. Silky black hair falls over his shoulder, veiling part of his face. A prominent brow sweeps down into the gentle curve of his nose. His skin is paler than hers. His jaw pulls taut as he smirks. “Trying to figure me out?”
“Yes.”
His deep laugh bounces around the small space. “And have you come to a conclusion?”
She frowns. “Your gaze is kind, if not annoyingly penetrating. Your scent is unfamiliar to me and your touch is charged with some sort of unique energy. Your speech flirts back and forth between modern and something far more refined.”