Nightwalker
The First Dark Days
Novel
Jocelynn Drake
Synopsis
For centuries Mira has been a nightwalker—an unstoppable enforcer for a mysterious organization that manipulates earth-shaking events from the darkest shadows. But elemental mastery over fire sets her apart from others of her night-prowling breed . . . and may be all that prevents her doom.
The foe she now faces is human: the vampire hunter called Danaus, who has already destroyed so many undead. For Mira, the time has come to hunt . . . or be hunted.
To Mom and Dad
You believed in me first.
Acknowledgments
The road here has been long, and at times ugly. The list of people who have helped me get here is equally long, and I want to thank everyone who laughed with me, held my hand when the dark closed in, and shared their lives with me, even if it was only nervous small talk in a slow-moving line. You’ve shaped me and in turn shaped my words.
However, there are a few people I need to thank specifically. Thanks to my brilliant agent Jennifer Schober. Your patience, endless enthusiasm, and belief in me have meant more than you will ever know. Thanks to my amazing editor, Diana Gill, for taking a chance on a newbie and demanding that I be the writer I always wanted to be.
A special thanks to Kim Harrison, Rachel Vincent, and Joseph Hargett. For years you have been my personal cheering section, editors, friends, champions, and when I needed it, a valuable reality check. Thanks for putting up with me.
And thank you to my family. Thanks, Stephen, for reminding me cartoons and video games are still an essential part of living no matter how old I get. Thanks, Nate, for always making me laugh, even when I thought it was impossible. Finally, thanks, Mom and Dad, for pointing out that I would be much happier as a writer than a chemical engineer. You just may have saved the world.
Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
About the Author
One
His name was Danaus.
And what I remember most were his eyes. I saw them first by lamplight; a flicker of dark cobalt as he paused a distance from me. His eyes were the color sapphires were meant to be, a grim sparkle of pigment. I stared at those eyes, willing time to slow down as I slipped into those still, stygian depths. But it wasn’t the waters of the Styx I swam in, but a cool lagoon of Lethe where I bathed in a moment of oblivion.
He stopped on the deserted street outside the edge of a pale pool of light thrown down by a wrought-iron lamp, his eyes darting up and down the empty expanse. He drew in a deep breath. I think he could sense me watching from some perch but could not peg my exact location. His right hand flexed once at his side, and to my surprise he stepped forward into the light, his night vision momentarily destroyed; taunting me with the bait he dangled before my eyes.
I slowly ran my tongue over my teeth. Not only was he impressive to look at, but there was a confidence about him that begged my attention. I was half tempted to step away from the shadow of the chimney and allow the moon to outline my slim form. But I hadn’t survived for more than six centuries by making careless mistakes. Balanced on the ridgepole of the three-story house across from him, I watched as he continued down the street. His black leather duster flared as he walked, snapping at his heels like a chained wolf forced to follow its master.
The truth was, I had watched him for more than a month. He’d blown into my territory like a cold wind and wasted no time destroying my kind. In the past weeks he had killed nearly half a dozen of my brethren. Almost all had been fledglings, with less than a century to cut their teeth upon, but it was still more than any other had dared.
And these killings had not been spineless daylight stakings. He hunted each nightwalker under the caress of moonlight. I had even watched some of these battles from a hidden perch and barely kept from applauding when he knelt, bloody, over each of his prey, cutting out the heart. He was speed and cunning. And the nightwalkers were bloated on their own inflated sense of power. I was the Keeper of this domain, entrusted with protecting our secret; not protecting those who could not protect themselves.
After weeks of watching my would-be prey, I thought it was time for formal introductions. I knew who he was. More than just another Nosferatu hunter. Something wonderfully more, with a vibrant power all his own. I wanted a taste of that power before he died.
And he knew of me. In their final seconds some of the weak ones had mewled my name, hoping my identity would buy them a last second reprieve. It hadn’t.
I sped silently along the rooftops, leaping over the gaps and landing with the sure-footed grace of a cat. Slipping past him and down two more blocks to the outer edge of the historic district, I stopped at an abandoned home with a widow’s walk and worn red brick that would serve as a nice meeting place. Its single turret and dark windows gazed out toward the river like a silent soldier.
The night air was warm and thick despite the fact that we hadn’t had any rain for more than two weeks, leaving the brown lawns struggling from yet another rough summer. Even the crickets seemed to put forth only a halfhearted effort with their chirping, burdened by the oppressive heat. The light breeze that blew in from the sea carried with it more moisture, thickening the air until it carried a weight all its own. I had come to Savannah more than a century ago, seeking anonymity, an escape from the world that had consumed me for nearly five hundred years. I loved Savannah’s grace and history, the ghosts that seemed to haunt every shadowy corner and rambling house. Yet I could do without her oppressive summers. I’d spent too many years in cooler climes.
The abandoned house was half hidden behind enormous oak trees dripping with Spanish moss, as if guarded by a pair of grand dames swathed in antique lace. The front of the property was lined with a tall, spike iron fence ending in a pair of stone pillars that flanked the path up to the house. I sat on the top of the left pillar with my legs crossed, waiting for him. The subtle throb of my powers tumbled from my body. I wanted him to follow the trail until he came to me, like the pied piper trilling his merry tune for the children of Hamelin.
Danaus stopped when he reached the edge of the property to my left and stared at me. Yes, it was brazen, and maybe even a little overconfident on my part, but I didn’t want him to grow too sure of himself. He would have to work for his blood tonight.
With a slow smile, I rolled off the pillar, disappearing behind the spike fence and into the deeper shadows of the overgrown yard. I cut through the air as if I were made of the night, disappearing through an open window on the second floor at the back of the house.
Waiting in a former bedroom, I listened. Anticipation coiled in my stomach, my body tingling with the thrill of the hunt, so rarely had I the chance to pit myself against something that could actually destroy me. I’d killed my share of human hunters, but they hadn’t been a real challenge, waving their silver crosses about and praying to a god they had abandoned until that moment of final judgment. After so many long centuries, there were too few ways in which to feel that rush, to dance along the razor’s edge and r
emember, even if only for a breath, what it had meant to be alive. Danaus would help me remember.
This hunter was different. He was as human as I was. His body was only a shell, barely capable of restraining the power that seemed to pour from him like a river.
Downstairs, the front door exploded open, banging against the wall. I smiled; he knew I was here waiting for him. I strode across the hardwood floor, moving into the master bedroom, the heels of my boots echoing through the empty house. Now he knew exactly where I was, too.
Peace, Mira, I reminded myself. No reason to rush this. You haven’t hunted him for more than a month to snap his neck in a careless moment.
No, I would put an end to his destruction of my race and enjoy it as I did so.
Once in the bedroom, my steps quieted until I didn’t make a sound as I crossed to the far side of the room. I leaned into the empty corner, letting the shadows fold around me like a cloak, falling into the darkness that had long whispered secrets of the night and death. Around me the old house creaked and sighed as we both waited.
Danaus finally appeared in the doorway, his shoulders so wide they nearly brushed the sides of the entry. I stood silent for a moment, enjoying the slow, even rise and fall of his chest. He was perfectly calm. He was tall, maybe six feet, with raven black hair that hung wild to his shoulders. His cheekbones were high and his jaw strong and hard like granite. Along the way he had shed his black coat, and his right hand gripped a six-inch silver blade that caught the moonlight.
“You are the one they call Danaus,” I said. My voice slithered out from the shadows while my body remained hidden. His head jerked toward me, his eyes slits of blue in the darkness. “They say you killed Jabari in old Thebes.”
I stepped forward, the shadows sliding their arms about my body, and paced across the room so he could see me clearly for the first time. In the soft light that poured through the windows, my pale skin glowed like white marble. I moved no closer to him, giving him a chance to size me up.
“But you missed Valerio in Vienna,” I said, curiosity lifting my voice. “And Yuri waits for you in St. Petersburg, though he is not half as old as Jabari.”
“There’s still time.” His voice was like a growl in the back of his throat.
I paused, staring at him for a moment. I couldn’t place the accent, and I’d heard many over the centuries. It was old, very old. Not nearly as old as Jabari’s Egyptian lilt, but something that hadn’t been uttered in ages. It would be something to ponder, but I had more pressing queries.
“Maybe,” I conceded with a slight nod. “But instead you came to the New World. While I may be one of the oldest here, I am far younger than Valerio. Why travel such a distance?”
“Aren’t you called the ‘Fire Starter’?”
I laughed, a deep throaty sound that curled through the air and brushed like a warm hand against his cheek. The ability to touch another with your voice was an old trick that came naturally to some nightwalkers. It had few real uses, but was great for unnerving your opponent. Danaus shifted from one foot to the other, but his expression never changed.
“Among other things.” I walked back toward the opposite wall, but this time I moved a few steps closer to him. His muscles tightened but he didn’t step backward. It was enough for me to brush against the circle of power that enveloped him, rubbing against my bare skin like warm silk. It also gave him a better taste of my own power. By the time I reached my original corner, something had changed in his eyes.
“You were at the Bonaventure cemetery three nights ago,” he said.
“Yes.” The word came out a whispered hiss.
“I killed two vampires that night.” He said it as if it should have explained everything.
“So? Since entering my territory a month ago, you have killed five nightwalkers.”
“Why didn’t you try to stop me?”
I chuckled softly, with a slight shake of my head. Try. Were we both truly this arrogant? I lifted my shoulders in an indifferent shrug. “They were not mine to protect.”
“But they were vampires.”
“They were fledglings without a master,” I corrected him. Pushing off the wall, I started to walk toward him. “A master you killed more than a week ago.” Of course, I’d been planning to kill Riley myself, but Danaus beat me to it. Riley had been expanding his own little family without my permission, and a balance had to be maintained in order to preserve our secret.
Danaus moved, mirroring me as he stepped out of the doorway. He turned so his back was to the wall as we circled each other. His steps were graceful and fluid, like a dance. The knot tightened again in my stomach and my body hummed with energy.
I took a single step forward, testing him, and Danaus lashed out with his right hand. Jerking away, I kept the blade from slashing at my face. Yet, he surprised me when he immediately spun back around, lifting his left hand to reveal a Saracen blade curving up the length of his arm. His first move had been a feint to get me to expose my throat. I dropped into a spin kick, clipping one of his feet before he could move. The hunter stumbled as he backed away, but remained standing. Balanced on the balls of my feet, I pressed my fingers to the dusty hardwood floor.
“Nice sword. Gaelic runes?” I inquired, as if making idle small talk, but my eyes were locked on him. The hand holding the sword tightened. It was an exquisite blade, with a line of runes etched down the side. I couldn’t read them, but I would have wagered that they were more than just decoration.
He grunted, which I took for an affirmation to my question.
“Thanks for not coming at me with a stake,” I said, standing. He looked at me, his dark eyebrows briefly meeting over the bridge of his nose. “It’s so cliché.” The right corner of his mouth twitched before he could stop it.
“You would have set it on fire,” he said stiffly.
“True.” I waited a heartbeat, then crossed the distance between us, hitting him in the chest with both hands. Air exploded from his lungs. The blow threw both of his arms involuntarily forward as he stumbled back. I kicked out with my right foot, hitting his left hand. The impact loosened his grip and sent the scimitar spinning across the floor, to clatter against the far wall. Unfortunately, he recovered faster than I expected and swung his right arm forward, grazing my cheek with the dagger.
The unexpected stab of pain screamed through me, and I jerked back out of arm’s reach. I hissed at him, fangs bared, my body hunched as if prepared to spring. Yeah, I know. The hiss was even more cliché than a wooden stake, but the grating sound erupted from my throat before I could think about it, let alone come up with something a little more civilized. I’m 603 years old, not an Ancient.
Again I forced myself to stand and relax. Danaus drew in a few ragged gulps of air before his breathing evened out. Breathing would be painful for a while, but at least he still could. I lifted my left hand to my cheek and then moved my fingers into my line of sight; my eyes never leaving his tense form. Blood covered two fingers. Slowly, I licked them, letting the copper taste coat my tongue. The pain in my cheek was already gone and I could feel the wound closing. In another moment there would only be a smear of blood.
That bit of blood had been enough. The taste lit the lust, sending it burning through my veins. Sure, it had been my blood, but it was all the same; vampire, human, and even whatever Danaus was. It all pulsed with power from the soul, the very essence of life, and I knew this time it would be his I tasted.
I rushed him again, but Danaus was ready. He swung the blade at me, once again going for my throat. I easily caught his hand. He swung his left fist at my face. I batted it away. Squeezing his right hand, I tried to force him to drop the dagger without breaking his hand, but despite the pain, he wouldn’t drop it. Out of the corner of my eye I saw his left hand go for another weapon at his side.
“Fine.” The single word escaped in a growl as I grabbed his left wrist. I swept my leg beneath his, throwing us both down. Lying on top of him, I pinned both of his
hands against the floor. Sure, he was heavier than me, but even with all his muscles, I was still stronger. Vampirism has its perks. Sliding along his body, my leather pants slipped along his legs until I was straddling him. I smiled down at him, rubbing against the hard bulge in his pants. He didn’t carry a gun. Unless you put a shotgun in our mouths and pulled the trigger, you really couldn’t kill a nightwalker with a gun. It generally didn’t even slow us down.
“I thought you were glad to see me,” I purred, unable to keep the laughter from my voice. Danaus glared at me, his eyes hardening into cold gems. I knew better. The violence turned him on, not me. The thrill of the hunt.
He stared at me, his mind turning over thoughts I wished I could hear. Something about me bothered him. Sure, I was beautiful, but all nightwalkers were a pretty face and a nice body. If his attention was that easy to catch, he would have been dead long ago.
The question that flickered in his eyes was the only reason I think he had not actually tried to kill me yet. We’d taken a few nice stabs at each other, but no killing blows. The other fights I watched had been quick. Each of his attacks were precise and efficient, planned to end the battle and take down the nightwalker. Maybe we were still sizing each other up, enjoying the building tension, but it felt like there was more hanging unsaid in the ether.
With my hands still locked on his wrists, I pulled backward, lowering my face until my chin rested on his sternum, my eyes locked with his. I could feel the muscles in his body tighten beneath me, but he didn’t jerk or try to throw me off. Despite the fact that my lips were barely an inch from his chest, I couldn’t bite him at that angle. We both knew this, so he lay still, waiting.
Drawing in a deep breath, I let his scent fill me. I could smell sweat and that certain musky scent of man, but there was more, the wind, a distant sea, and best of all, the sun. The scent was so strong I could taste it, conjuring up ancient memories of basking naked in the midday heat.
I needed to get off of him, to put some distance between us. I was becoming giddy on his power as it wrapped its arms around my cool flesh. Giddy, along with other things I knew would serve us no good tonight, except maybe kill him a little faster. And I so wanted to do this slowly, to enjoy the fight that he offered.
Nightwalker Page 1