It was late when Stephen finally turned his steps toward home. Dawn was an hour away. He'd killed the night walking the streets.
Stepping inside, he shook the rain from his hair and sat down in his living room, absorbing the house's sounds. Cassandra was gone, sent away with a hefty severance package and a minor memory loss. He'd contemplated attempting the procedure with Madeleine but rejected the idea. Madeleine would never submit, and she'd fight the block for the rest of her life. If she managed to break the mental hold he had on her, she'd tell the world. And damn, if anyone could convince the secular, cynical world of today that vampires existed, it would be Madeleine.
Madeleine.
He dropped his head against the back of the chair and stared into the dark. Her mind was open to him but still strong. The temporary block he'd put on her last night would have to be reinforced by a blood connection. His eyeteeth pressed against his lower lip as the thought and the memory blended together in a sweet fantasy. Even as he savored the dream, he growled, his body tightening.
Pushing aside his physical cravings, he renewed his resolve. He'd wait a few more days. Let the Council wonder. And then he'd finish Madeleine.
Until then, he was staying away from her. He nodded into the darkness. Far away.
Three nights later, as he sat in that same chair staring, he brooded on his failure to do just that. Each night he'd woken from his daytime death, felt his resolution crumble, and before the night was half over, found himself standing in her living room.
What was it that drew him to her? She was mouthy, opinionated, and entirely too bold. He smiled into the darkness. Maybe that was it. She wasn't afraid of him.
No, he mentally corrected. She was afraid, but that hadn't stopped her. She'd faced him anyway. Too many times this week he'd found her watching vampire movies or reading books on the undead, unrepentantly trying to find a way to break free.
It was pointless, of course. The only way he would leave her life was by death—his or hers. He'd offered her the chance that first night, knowing she couldn't do it. Perhaps, if she knew the truth, she might be willing. She might then decide it was worth it.
It was times like these when he longed for human senses—wished he could drink alcohol and feel its effects. Something to blur the edges just a bit, make the memory of her taste a little less sharp. He licked his lips. Her flavor lingered. And with good reason. Only thirty minutes ago he'd had Madeleine pressed against her bedroom door—her blouse unbuttoned, her lips swollen from his kisses—and her throat releasing soft sighs of pleasure. He wanted those sighs—wanted them to be screams.
He dug his fingertips into the arms of the chair until he felt the wood crack beneath his palms. Damn, he wanted her, but he hadn't—wouldn't—take her. He shook his head at his own reluctance. He didn't want to make love to her, then kill her. He didn't need the memory. He silently mocked his own reluctance. It was almost human.
"You look dreadful, if you don't mind my saying so." Gayle's droll comment was a welcome distraction. Stephen had invited the blond vampire over for company and to act as the voice of reason. He shut his eyes. A sure sign his life had spun out of control—Gayle as the voice of reason.
"You haven't been feeding." Gayle tapped his finger on his lip. "Hmm, what could it mean? The pet, what was her name? Madeleine, isn't it? She's taking up all your interest." He winked as Stephen lifted his head to glare at him. "And none of the sweet young things who visit my place will do?"
"I'm fine."
"You're pale." Gayle poured himself across the chaise lounge, the personification of stylish boredom. But there was an intelligence in his eyes that stopped Stephen from believing the appearance. Gayle was more than he seemed. "When did you feed last?"
"I said I'm fine." Stephen didn't want to have this discussion. He didn't need a mother hen. So, he hadn't felt like feeding. No one interested him. Not even for a quick bite. He'd last fed when he'd bitten Madeleine four nights ago. His body throbbed with the hunger, but the thought of taking one of the young women from Gayle's bar held no pleasure for him.
A bite didn't have to be sexual. In most cases, it was methodical and prosaic. If his frame of mind were right, he'd simply satisfy the physical requirement. But his thoughts were scattered. He wanted Madeleine. Wanted her not only as a blood source but also as a lover.
"Where's Cassandra?"
Stephen looked up, shocked that Gayle even knew her name. He'd always done his best to keep his household inconspicuous. "She's gone."
"That's uncomfortable."
"I'll find another when this is all over." It hadn't been difficult to send Cassandra away. She'd been convenient, nothing more.
"How will you know when it's all over?"
Stephen tensed. Madeleine had asked him the same question.
"When it's finished." When vampires stop dying. And Madeleine is dead.
The time he'd spent with her over the past four nights hadn't revealed any secrets. At least none that helped. He'd learned much about Madeleine, but nothing that indicated she was anything more than she appeared—a human who'd accidentally found a vampire's lair. It didn't happen often.
But with each night, with each new human secret, he learned how dangerous she really was.
"You told me to listen to rumors, and that's what I've been doing."
Stephen glanced up, hoping he looked casual. "And?"
He'd tried investigating the Council deaths on his own, but his history with them closed more doors than it opened. It wasn't that he cared about the Council being killed off one by one, but whoever was doing it had decided to frame him. And as the chief suspect, no one was prepared to trust him with their secrets—like which vampire was working with a human. It had to be a human. He looked at his own hand. The alternative was too frightening to contemplate.
"You're the topic of most of the latest gossip," Gayle drawled. "It gets more outrageous as the days go by. That you beat Dylan. That you're working with this human pet—"
"Madeleine is not a pet," Stephen snapped.
"Well, that would be a little more believable if you were a little less defensive. Mostly, they want to know why you haven't killed her."
Stephen nodded. It was time. He had no reason to allow her to live. And his future sanity dictated he break free of her—soon.
"Pass the word. It's done tomorrow."
He could feel Gayle's eyes watching him as he stood up.
Gayle followed him seconds later, taking Stephen's hint that it was time to leave. They stopped in the doorway. The rabid curiosity that usually lived in Gayle's eyes was muted, suppressed by a concern that Stephen chose to ignore. He had to focus on what needed to be done.
"Come see me." Gayle's voice was a whisper. "After you've done it."
Chapter Seven
"So, what's with the sudden fascination with the undead?"
Madeleine flinched, sending a long blue streak across the paper she was signing. She stared at the ruined page for a moment before looking up at Charlotte, her secretary.
"What do you mean?" Madeleine asked, hoping she sounded curious instead of cautious.
"You've been hauling in a new stack of books every day." Charlotte slapped her hand on today's pile. "I thought maybe we got a new client—Count Dracula."
"Uh, uh—" The words locked in Madeleine's throat. As they had for four days now. Four days of mentally shouting "vampire!" and having only stuttering silence come out of her mouth. For some reason, she could say it to Stephen, but to anyone else, the word froze in her throat. She could almost feel the hand on her neck, ready to squeeze at the slightest indication that she might reveal one of the "secrets" Stephen was so intent on keeping.
I'm going to kill him. It was a threat she'd made a number of times in the past four days. At first, it was the normal societal threat of saying, "I'm going to kill him," but not really meaning it.
Madeleine was moving past that stage, frustration and the humming in her head changing it into a r
eal desire to kill him. If only she could figure out how to do it without actually hurting him. The feel of the stake in her palm and his emotionless voice directing her on its use were stark memories that haunted her. She'd tried again last night, picking up the stake and imagining herself putting it into Stephen's chest. The memory turned her stomach.
"Just an interesting topic," she finally answered when she realized Char was still waiting. Charlotte nodded, but she didn't look convinced.
Don't ask, please don't ask any more questions. She didn't have any more lies to tell.
"Well, if you're going to start advertising, just remember 'defender of the undead' will take up a lot of space on the business cards."
Madeleine laughed but it sounded forced. Needing a quick change of topic, she handed the ruined signature page to Charlotte.
"I messed this one up. Can you print it again?"
Charlotte nodded, her eyes flaring with concern as she walked away.
As soon as she was gone, Madeleine dropped her face into her hands and growled. Dating a vampire was hell on her life. She straightened. Not dating. We are not dating.
We're just spending lots of time together.
And making out at the end of each evening. Damn, it sure sounded like dating to her.
That first night had set the pattern for the following three. Each night, she went home and tried to ignore that she was waiting for Stephen to appear. She'd almost managed to convince herself the strange flutter in her stomach was fear, but she knew it wasn't. It was anticipation.
The nights flew by, filled with Stephen—in reality and in dreams. The dreams continued their strange evolution. They still left her breathless and aching in the morning, but now she saw him smile. The darkness had faded and left behind a warm touch and seductive power.
She stared at the document in front of her. Her eyes saw the words, but her mind was too busy and too tired to comprehend their meaning.
It should have shocked the hell out of her—spending all her free time with a vampire. Instead, the thought of him sent a tingle of pleasure through her body. Madeleine took a deep breath and tried to smother the feeling. She didn't know why she kept trying to suppress it—it hadn't worked yet. But she had to do something to stop from getting more involved. This wasn't some nice boy next door. This was a vampire with fangs and mental powers. And really nice shoulders. And very talented lips.
Even the cries of protest from the voice of logic were fading, slowly silenced by the rest of the noise in her brain.
She clenched the pen tightly in her fingers.
It had started the morning after Stephen's second visit. Faint and hissing, each day the noise had increased until it was a tiny roar, like a thousand voices whispering to her. Madeleine opened her mouth to release the tension in her jaw and neck. Her concentration was gone, and her work was stacking up.
Madeleine. The sound vibrated just above the hissing in her ears.
She tilted her head and listened harder. The buzzing became more distinct, her name a clear cry within the mumbling.
Great. Now the voices in my head are calling me by name.
A clean signature page appeared on her desk, and Madeleine focused on making her hand work properly. Charlotte waited silently and took the page away when she was finished.
Madeleine lifted her hand unconsciously to the two puncture marks at the base of her neck. It had become a habit in the last four days—at first, because she couldn't believe they were real and then because it reminded her of Stephen. His mouth on her skin, the sweet touch of—
She dropped her hand. She wasn't going to think about him. She crushed the tiny flame of rebellion in her body, the one that longed to relax and luxuriate in the fantasies that tempted her.
She'd allowed herself to be distracted by the small flicker of light in his eyes. Somehow over the past four nights, she'd found herself wanting to fan that flame and help him push the darkness back. She'd tried to ask him about his "conversion" again, but he'd refused to answer her questions. And he wouldn't talk about Danielle. Any time the questions got too personal or too near to emotion, he'd refuse to answer.
He may be a vampire, she thought, rolling her eyes upward. But he's still male.
Tonight would be different. Tonight, she was going to get some answers. About Danielle and about vampires. Tonight she wasn't going to let him distract her from her mission. No more hot stares or long lingering looks. No more soul kisses that left her hungry for more.
Still hungry. She glanced down at her blouse. The thick lining of her bra helped hide the fact that her nipples were tight, the memory of his touch too close to the surface for her body not to respond.
She pounded her fists on the desks.
I don't have time for this at work!
"Madeleine, are you okay?"
Oops. "Yes. Sorry. Carpal tunnel exercises." Char's eyes squinted, and she opened her mouth as if she was going to ask a question. Madeleine had to stop that. She smiled and laughed, hoping Char would think it was a joke.
Madeleine. Come…
The muscles in her neck tightened. That was the other item to put on her list. Ask Stephen how to get the voices out of her head. It was irritating enough with just the humming and buzzing, but now that they'd actually started on words she could understand, she wanted it stopped. Her one saving grace was that the whispering in her head stopped after sunset. Just another reason to anticipate the coming of night.
It was almost a relief when the alarm clock on her desk released its loud, annoying ring. That was the sign the sun was about to go down.
"Time to go home," she called to Charlotte.
"Madeleine, we've got work to do. Lots of work."
"I know, but it can wait until tomorrow. I don't like you out after dark." Madeleine had made up a story about a pack of wild dogs running through the city at night. Char hadn't believed it, but she'd finally agreed to be home before dark each day. It wasn't much, but it was the only protection Madeleine could give her. The weirdness that had become her life would not—would not—spread to her friends.
"Does this have anything to do with those books you're carrying around?"
Madeleine shook her head, unwilling, unable to answer. "Please. For me. Just for a little while longer." I hope.
She had no idea how long this would last, how long until Stephen came for her.
Char sighed. "Okay. I'll go lock myself in my house until sunrise."
"And—"
"And not invite anyone in. I've got it. It's weird, but I've got it." Char didn't understand and Madeleine couldn't explain. Not yet. Probably not ever.
Charlotte pulled her raincoat off the tree stand in the corner and draped it over her arm. The sun had left its mark on the day, and it would be a hot, sticky ride home. "That guy's out there again."
Madeleine felt a familiar tickle of anticipation, then stopped. The sun was still up. It wasn't Stephen.
Nick.
"I'll talk to him."
She'd noticed him the morning after Stephen had bitten her, when her mind was still cluttered with the previous night's revelations. Nick had been open about his presence. He followed her to and from work. At night, she could see him in the shadows across from her building, his eyes bright against the darkness. He never approached her, never threatened, but if he was making Charlotte nervous, Madeleine would tell him to back off.
But why was he watching her? Was it for Stephen? Or someone else? There had to be other vampires in the city, but she' d never met any of them. Except Dylan. And Nick, but she wasn't sure he was really a vampire. If Nick was a vampire, why was he out during daylight? According to Stephen, all the books she'd read, and movies she'd watched over the past few days, sunlight was a definite no-no for vampires. The rest of the legend varied from movie to book to Internet article. She could find out the truth. She had a real live vampire to ask, but she wasn't going to do it. Stephen would no doubt offer her the stake again. She wasn't quite ready for that.
>
"Well, good night."
"Night," Madeleine called as the door closed behind Char. She had to get home as well.
In the silence, the noise in her head returned, louder.
Madeleine. Madeleine growled, finding the sound comforting and loud enough to make the whispering fade. Sundown couldn't come soon enough. Only two things worked to dull the noise in her mind during the day—conversation with a real person and fantasies about Stephen. The conversations she'd been a little short on, but not the fantasies.
She absently fingered the bruise on her neck. Random thoughts rushed through her mind—vampires, Stephen, sex, voices, Stephen, sex.
She needed to talk to him, really talk to him. Right after he told her how to get rid of the voices in her head, she'd tell him to stop with the fantasies. They were intriguing but very distracting. A nagging voice warned her the fantasies were her own creation. Stephen had somehow implanted the first ones in her mind, but they'd changed since then. She'd never had sexual dreams before. But then, she'd never met someone like Stephen before.
A quiet knock on the door jerked her from her introspection. Nick filled the open doorway.
"It's getting dark. You need to get home," he announced.
Madeleine was struck by the age in his eyes. He looked tired, weary. Haunted.
They reminded her of Stephen's eyes but without the power.
"I was just leaving." She smiled, trying to give him some small comfort.
"You don't want to be out after dark." His voice echoed the warning in his words.
"I know."
"And you might want to get some silver."
She stopped in mid-gather on her desk and looked at him. "What?"
He lifted his chin toward the stack of books on her table. "Silver. It actually works." His eyes searched the room as if looking for another presence. "Get some." He spun around and walked away.
Silver?
Silver Dagger Page 10