Falling from the Light (The Night Runner Series Book 3)

by Regan Summers

  “Yeah.” I shook my head. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s how they cope with always being hungry.”

  I turned off the main road, which looped toward a covered valet area, and aimed for the parking garage in the back. Our tail closed to within a couple of car lengths and an old tension wound its way through my limbs. My gaze moved on a steady rotation through the mirrors and out both windows. Being followed, even by a friendly, had me on alert.

  Even in the partial shade, the concrete was sizzling when we tumbled out of the car, dragging our bags with us.

  “I hope the elevator’s close,” Mickey said as we shoved through the door in a frenzy of crinkling bags.

  “There probably isn’t one since they require electricity. Vampire bellboys can carry anything the guests might bring, anyway.”

  The building was clean and very, very quiet. That’s difference number one between a human place and one occupied by vampires. Their spaces were quiet—thick walls and doors stuffed with insulation and none of the background hum of electronics. Flashbacks of standing in foyers, hallways, and offices, waiting for vampires to sign my clipboard, rocked through me. But I was a guest here, nothing more.

  Yellowish, lacquered wainscoting stretched to the end of the hall. The walls above were covered in fabric rather than wallpaper, light with small red-and-green shapes, like distantly spaced paisleys. Oil lamps hung from dropped hooks at even intervals, and the artificial light would have been pleasant if the building wasn’t pressing down like a bunker. The fact that it felt like we were going to turn the corner and find swinging saloon doors was a little disconcerting, but I guess we were in the West. The olde West.

  Through the thick walls, a tendril of vampire energy reached for me. Being with Malcolm, opening to him, had made me more sensitive to it. But it wasn’t just him. I could feel them all now, their power and their emotions: interest, anticipation, that raw grate of hunger. I’d expected to expand my horizons as I got older, maybe pick up some new hobbies. I hadn’t anticipated finding myself intimately aware of people I’d considered dangerous for most of my life.

  “Why do you keep looking back?” Mickey asked.

  “Wondering if our guy’s coming in.” Mal considered this place safe, but he’d never navigated the halls as a human. I wouldn’t mind backup.

  “You know—” Mickey gasped, and the temperature in the hallway dropped about fifteen degrees. I spun, my hand diving into my bag in search of pepper spray.

  A female vampire stood a few feet from us. She wore a starched white button-down shirt and black pants. Her hair, also black, was wrapped in an intricate knot at her nape, and the power she emitted nearly bowed the walls away from her. Pulse pounding, I maneuvered around Mickey, nudging her back with my elbow.

  The vampiress slipped through the space between us and I sucked in a breath when she lifted a lock of my hair. The wide expanse of her upper lip drew back, revealing a row of even white teeth and two rippled patches of skin over her eyeteeth, like the scar tissue from a burn. I had no idea what it took to permanently scar a vampire. Not anything good.

  “You wear another’s hair.” Jewelry clinked on her wrist, metal rings and stone. Her voice was soothing. Her eyes, black and glittery like a snake caught in bright moonlight, were not.

  “Mickey,” I managed, “go to the room.” Maybe Thurston was there. Maybe Mal and Soraya had returned. Maybe, even in a hotel, this vampiress wouldn’t be able to cross the threshold to get to her. The female’s head tilted to the side. Her eyes fixed on Mickey as the girl scrambled past, snagging the bags off my wrist.

  “She’s not really anyone you need to worry about,” I mumbled. Those dark eyes snapped back on me and I tensed before the trembling started. Most vampires retained habits, motions, from their human lives, or fell back in mixed company. Not this one.

  She stared, motionless. No tells, and I couldn’t catch a distinct sense of her. The lamps around us flickered, the flames guttering before they picked up again. What would she do next? Start chanting and pull my still-beating heart out of my chest? Disappear in a plume of bat wings and smoke? Bite my head off, literally? I wanted someone to round the corner at the end of the hall so badly that the print on the wallpaper started swimming in my vision.

  “Everyone here is mine to worry about,” she said finally, black eyes blinking as though she were waking up. “I am Chev. This is my home.”

  My home. The atmosphere actually tightened when she said her name, and a big chunk of the ambient power gelled around her before it stretched away. An image of massive wings, spanning wider than the building, out over the desert, filled my mind. Jesus. I hadn’t been able to pin her down because her power was everywhere. Master Bronson might be stronger, but his power was threaded throughout a massive territory. She had only this building, on a single stamp of land. She could probably tell when worms rolled over under the ground.

  “We appreciate your hospitality,” I said. If I hadn’t spent years standing up under vampire scrutiny, I couldn’t have managed it.

  “I have permitted your presence as a favor to Malcolm Kelly.” She nodded absently, as though she was carrying on another conversation in her head. “Which puts us even. Do not interrupt or in any way solicit the guests. Do not venture into the feeding rooms.”

  Of all the things that wouldn’t be a problem. “Yes, ma’am.” I kept my tone light and polite even as anger bloomed. As if I was some bite junkie who’d snuck in hoping to score.

  Her head tilted to the side. “My rules offend you.”

  Did it offend me to be thought of as a blood whore for any sucker I could get my pathetic human hands on? Li’l bit. Was I going to tell her that?

  “No, ma’am.”

  Her gaze lowered, and all the fine hairs on the back of my neck stood up as she focused on me.

  “You bear the imprint of a vampire but you are unmarked.” It was almost a question, then her voice darkened. “And Malcolm Kelly somehow forgot to tell me this.”

  “My apologies.” My restless legs kept trying to turn and direct me to the door to the parking garage, but while the sun might stop her, that wasn’t the end of her territory.

  “Unmarked is unclaimed,” she said, patient rather than irritated, “and unclaimed humans do not remain that way for long among guests such as ours.”

  “I’m not looking for trouble, I swear.”

  “You come willingly to a house of the undead, so you’ll forgive me if I do not believe you.” Her eyes glittered, a little burst of light rather than the usual foxfire glow. It faded as she got down to business. “Use the door you entered through. Stay off the lower floors unless you are chaperoned. Those are for named guests only. This floor is humans and servants. You may access the roof at will, but I will not stand for disruptions. Feeding is not permitted in the pool. Send your servant to collect your meals or anything you need.”

  “Right. Perfect. Will do.”

  “Violence and force are not allowed in my territory, not by anyone. As you are unclaimed, punishment will be mine to decide and there will be no negotiation. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” I took two steps, making a conscious effort not to hug the wall as I passed, then stopped. “Um, speaking of my…servant. He’ll need to feed. How can he…” How did you ask if the hotel had a blood buffet?

  “He may inquire with Guest Services. You have only to permit him to leave you.”

  “Good. Thanks. Thank you. This…” I swept my arm wide. “It’s a beautiful place you have here.”

  “You seem more restrained than Malcolm Kelly. I hope you’ll be a good influence on him for the duration of this visit.”

  I didn’t run, but I rounded the corner pretty damn quickly. Chev hadn’t attempted to influence me—a rarity from a vampire—but the conversation hadn’t exactly been comfortable. Finding my room was easy. It was the one with a vampire standing outside of it, sporting colossal sideburns and a heavy frown.

  “Señorita?”

  Ma
ybe it was my enormous relief, or the chemical need for comfort after dealing with Chev, but I was really happy to see him.

  “Hey, Thurston.” I nearly apologized for leaving him out in the heat, but caught myself. A superior vampire wouldn’t apologize for such a thing, and we were maintaining protocol. The key turned with a solid thunk. “Have you been standing out here all day?”

  “These are your rooms.”

  How was that an answer? “Do you have one of your own?”

  He shifted his weight and squinted as though looking into the distance. I rolled my eyes and pushed the door open.

  “Thurston, you can’t stay in the hall.” He hesitated and I crossed my arms, holding the door open with my heel. Time to be all mastery. “Get in here or I’ll make you go back to the car again.”

  He did a big man’s impression of slinking as he dodged past me into the room, then turned in a circle, probably seeking a place to stow himself. The sitting room was spacious, with large, geometrical paintings where the windows should have been and two open doors with the shapes of beds beyond them. A metal locker stood in the corner, probably for securing electronic equipment. There might even be a phone or a TV in it. Mickey had spread her purchases over an orange couch, three low-backed yellow chairs, and a rusty red table. It looked like a department store had exploded on a sunset.

  “What did that witch want?” she asked, hands on hips.

  “She was just, you know, welcoming us.”

  “I prefer hugs and pastries.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe she’ll work up to that.” I turned to find Thurston staring, like he’d been focused on the back of my head. “We met Chev on the way in. The owner. She said that you can ask the front desk for…um…for when you get hungry.”

  “Should I go now?” he asked, uncertain.

  “If you want,” I muttered, distracted by a sudden rush of warmth. I drifted toward the door as Mickey started speaking to Thurston in Spanish. She was her usual enthusiastic self. His responses were brief and tense. I opened the door and leaned against the frame as Malcolm walked into view.

  He wore a thin brown sweater over a white T-shirt, and the cuffs of his dark pants were red with dust. Petr shuffled along beside him, his limp more pronounced as he pointed something out on the armful of paperwork he carried. Mal raised a hand to wave him off and, anticipating it, Petr shoved a couple of pages into his palm before falling back.

  “Of all the hallways in all the prickly vampire hotels in all the world, you walk into mine,” I said. “Whatcha been doing?”

  Faint lines crinkled around his eyes and his dimple emerged as he smiled.

  “Communing with scrub brush and cacti. It’s therapeutic, and pointy. What are you…”

  His smile faded as he stared past me. I turned. Mickey held a pair of tighty-whities in one hand and plaid boxers in the other. Thurston slumped in the armchair in front of her, glowering up from beneath heavy eyebrows. Mickey tsked and gave me an exasperated look.

  “Tell him he has to choose one.”

  “What? No. I’m not telling him that.”

  “He can’t go without.” She shook them at Thurston. “You cannot go without.”

  Malcolm backed away.

  “Don’t you leave me here with this,” I hissed.

  “As if I’d leave a lady in distress.” Malcolm’s arm snaked around my waist and he swung me against his side. “Come on. Let’s see if we can find something to erase that scene from our memories.”

  “Are we going to drop acid?”

  “I was thinking dinner, but do what you need to.”

  Chapter Five

  Malcolm and I sat in a red booth, sharing a side like we were at a diner, except the booth was velvet instead of vinyl. And diners didn’t usually have Asiatic lilies floating in a carbonated pond inside the tabletop. Or a view of vampires and their huge stacks of luggage entering a lobby like they were boarding the Titanic two stories below.

  “This is the best sandwich ever,” I declared, blissing out on smoked turkey and blistered Hatch peppers. Malcolm arranged papers over the table, blocking out the water and flowers eight by eleven inches at a time.

  “Have another,” he said.

  “Urgh. As if I could fit it.” I pushed my plate aside so that I wouldn’t embarrass myself by licking the aioli, and leaned forward.

  It was nearly night and vampires swarmed the lobby. Those entering through the shelter of a valet tunnel were greeted by a team of hotel employees, all dressed in black pants and white shirts like Chev. I didn’t get owning your own place and wearing a uniform, but it made the staff appear to be everywhere. Good for making people feel like they were being waited on hand and foot, better as a deterrent if anyone was considering misbehaving. Guests arrived in intervals, or maybe actually by appointment since sitting in a car in the sun, waiting for the line to creak along, would suck. The groups swirling through the lobby were more colorful and unique. Oddly, there were almost no lone vampires, just a few darting to and from the concierge desks. The low totem pole guys who couldn’t sit around plotting and basking in luxury all day.

  Mal had Soraya, and in Santiago he’d had a little band that he’d trusted. But the rest of the time he was surrounded by Bronson’s people. How hard was it to walk alone when everybody else was part of a bonded group? It must be like high school, but where the cliques were killers in addition to being dicks.

  “How well do you know all the people here?” I asked. He glanced up, surprised. He glanced out at the floor, his gaze taking in and measuring the groups lined up and posing as they arrived.

  “I know the ones I need to know.” He leaned back, the energy that had momentarily tightened returning to a smooth flow. “When working with a crowd, it’s a matter of gathering good intelligence ahead of time and keeping up on the latest news before you walk in the door. Once you’re with them, it’s still just a collection of individuals.”

  “And disguises. You can’t be the only one who’s masquerading as someone else.”

  “No, but that’s not specific to vampires.”

  Point taken.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Petr should have done better in selecting a name for you. You don’t look like an Andrea. How do you like the car?”

  “It’s glorious. A tad conspicuous. Is that for a reason?”

  “So your bodyguards have a decent target. They already reported that you’re driving evasively.”

  “Efficiently.” I raised a finger and followed it with an eyebrow. “I drive efficiently. If they can’t keep up with a boat the size and color of the actual sky, that’s a them problem.”

  His lips quirked. “You don’t like it? We’ll get you something smaller. What was the car you had in Santiago?”

  “A bag of bones with a lawn mower engine and no dignity. That’s a cheap shot, Malcolm Kelly! That car was the low point of my life.” Actually, Santiago had featured a number of low points. And scary points. I rubbed at my wrist. It still ached on occasion.

  “Hey. That’s all done.” He pulled me closer and rested his cheek against my head.

  I nestled in. “You’re better at moving on than I am.”

  “The effect of a long existence. We learn to ignore unpleasant things once they’re done.”

  It was a skill I was starting to admire. I was okay, apart from the occasional nightmare. I rarely remembered them, but they bothered him. Those he wasn’t ignoring. Maybe life wasn’t all sunshine and roses, but if bad dreams were the worst thing about my relationship with a vampire, I guess that wasn’t so bad. Things would be better the sooner we left this place, though, and that meant getting to work.

  The entire table, other than my empty plate, was covered. Black and white photocopies of maps. Handwritten notes and drawings. My eye snagged on the sketch he’d placed on the far corner, as far from me as possible. A bone-thin figure drawn in charcoal, lying in a bed staring up with blank eyes. A glass of water and pill bottles on the side table. Not dead but no sunshine
and roses there, either.

  “Who’s your artist?”

  “Vesta. One of Bronson’s soldiers.”

  “So how are things going with…” I couldn’t quite say “Richard Abel.” Okay, I could. But I didn’t want to.

  Mal spread his hands. “You tell me.”

  Dates, most of them ranges. Addresses, some with accompanying images captured in pencil and charcoal, others with short descriptions. Names, also with date ranges in addition to what looked like running medical notes.

  “What’re those?” I asked, my stomach turning.

  “Feeders. The only blood bagged for feeding is on the reservations down here, and he’s stayed off the radar. Didn’t steal, didn’t mail order.”

  “Might not have known where he’d be when it arrived.”

  “He had one feeder at a time.” Mal slid a couple of pages toward me and I felt his gaze linger when I started to read the statements, made in hospitals or to the police. “Approached them out of the shadows, glamoured them. He didn’t drink directly, but made them cut and bottle it. Then he’d turn them loose and grab someone new. He selected them for their age and relative health. Moved on every ten days no matter what shape they were in.

  “So he didn’t want the responsibility of thralls. Doesn’t sound like he had any use for the people he’d snatched other than blood.” Ridiculously, that was a relief, that he only wanted their blood. “The last name is almost three months ago. You have locations up until a month ago. What happened then?”

  Mal shrugged. “He might have stored enough up to tide him over.”

  Or he’d stopped turning them loose. I shuddered. “You talked to these people?”

  “They were neglected. Heat. Exposure. Dehydration. Some of the locations didn’t have utilities. Basically he ignored them. Sometimes they didn’t see him for days.”

  “There was no…” I fumbled. I felt like I was getting a headache. They were all young, male and female, mostly street kids. Vulnerable. Vampires had saved my life – the courier job meant money which meant security. But these sketches could have been me, at a different time, in a different place.