by Karen Chance
He took a step towards me, hands held out in front of him as if to show how harmless he was, and I saw that they were almost clean again. As he came closer, a final stain on the pad of one palm dissolved, vanishing into his skin like a drop of water into desert sand. I realized that I was scuttling backwards like a crab, crying and swearing, but I didn't care. I slipped in blood and went down, and screamed harder when I saw that my legs were covered in red, like roses had bloomed on my hose and boots. Tomas came towards me slowly, speaking calmly, as if I were a skittish colt he was trying to tame. "Cassie, please listen. We've bought some time, but we must go. There will be others."
I slipped again and fell on my butt, bruising it on something hard. Some part of my brain that was still coherent recognized the shape of the object, and I snatched my gun from beneath me. "Don't come any closer or I'll kill you." I pointed it at Tomas and, despite the fact that it was shaking wildly in my less-than-steady grip, I could tell he knew I meant it. His eyes, usually soft and warm and open, were opaque black mirrors now. I couldn't see anything past them, and I didn't want to. God, I didn't want to.
"Cassie, you must listen to me." I looked into that handsome face, and some part of me detached itself to watch another illusion shatter and die. I thought I'd finally done something good, that I'd actually helped someone, saved somebody, instead of always watching every damn thing I did end in pain—either mine or someone else's. I should have known it was too good to be true, that he was too good. Way out of your league, Cassie, my girl, I thought as my back hit the door. Maybe you should start smaller, adopt a kitten next time—only I knew there was very little chance that there would be a next time.
I could hear the thud of music from the club through the door, some kind of chant mixed with techno, and it sounded like heaven. I wanted to lose myself in the crowd, make my way up to the street and run like hell. I was the hiding champ, and in the tourist district it would be easy to become an anonymous member of the happy, Friday-night throng. I had a separate bank account under yet another fake name and an emergency stash of nondescript clothes in a locker at the bus station, and I'd memorized every back alley in a fifteen-block radius. I'd get away all right, if only I could lose Tomas.
I slowly slid up the door, using it to steady myself and cursing my high heels. My skirt rode up but I didn't bother to straighten it; flashing Tomas was the least of my worries. I felt behind me with a hand slick with blood and finally found the doorknob. I fell through the opening on unsteady legs, slammed the door behind me and scrambled around the bar. I couldn't get a deep breath and my body convulsed like it wanted to be sick, but I held on. I didn't have time for that now.
The light show had started, and the bouncing, gyrating mass of dancers was slashed through by blinding blasts from the strobes. The pulsing rhythm and the noise of the crowd made me immediately deaf, but I didn't need to hear Tomas to know he was back there. The strobes leached the color from the blood on me, turning it alternately black and silver. The low lighting let me blend in without causing a stampede, although I doubted I looked normal. I slithered through every opening, trying to think as I ran, but my higher brain wasn't home, and all my instincts said was "Faster!" I tried, because there was nothing else to do but wait for him to catch me, but I already knew it wouldn't be enough.
I was halfway across the dance floor when Tomas grabbed me. He spun me around to face him, and I felt a hand slide through the burnt back of my T-shirt to meld our bodies together. It probably looked like we were dancing to everyone else; only I knew that I couldn't pull away. He had an iron grip on my gun hand, forcing the weapon down to my side and away from him. I wouldn't have tried to fire anyway. My palm was so sweaty that I was having trouble just holding on to the thing, and there were too many people around to risk a shot going wild. Besides, unless I missed my guess, a bullet wouldn't do much more than irritate him.
His fingers slid up my naked spine to the outline of my ward. He traced the edges almost reverently. "I heard stories of this but never believed them." His voice was full of something that sounded like awe. Somehow he made me hear him despite the deafening music, but I wasn't interested in conversation. I twisted, trying futilely to break his hold, and cursed the useless ward. It must have been exhausted by the previous fight or else it didn't work against those at his level, because it had no reaction to his touch.
"Cassie, look at me."
I fought him, knowing from childhood that looking a vampire directly in the eyes made it easier for him to control you. After the scene in the storeroom, there was no doubt in my mind what he was, and I desperately didn't want him in my head. Given that he'd gone right under my vamp radar and posed as human for months, there was no chance that I was dealing with less than a third-level master, and possibly higher. Make that probably, considering that, on rare occasions, I'd seen him walk around in full daylight, which even Tony couldn't do without risking a lot worse than a sunburn. Not that his level mattered; if he felt like it, any master could have me clucking like a chicken with little more than a glance.
Once, I'd had a level of protection from that sort of thing, but with my old defender the very one wanting me dead, I was fair game; no one would even avenge any harm that came to me. For all I knew, Tomas would get a bounty for bringing me in. Tony didn't mind paying for revenge, and considering how much I'd cost him, he'd probably pay up with a smile. Was that why Tomas had killed the other vamps, seeing them as rivals for his reward? How the hell much was Tony offering for me, anyway? And why had Tomas waited so long to cash in?
I struggled and fought but everyone ignored us, I guess under the assumption that I was merely a lousy dancer. Tomas just clasped me tighter. Considering how seldom I touched him, it felt weird to be held so intimately now. It was hard to remember that this was Tomas. My brain had put him firmly in the friend category and was resisting moving him over to the file labeled psycho-assassin vampire. The way he was holding me wasn't helping the confusion—his hand felt a lot more than friendly as it slid up and down my almost bare back, pulling me into a dance far slower and more sensual than the music called for.
Contrary to legend, his body felt warm against mine and as smooth as muscled satin, but he may as well have been carved of steel for all the hope I had of breaking his hold. My pulse sped up and I thought I would faint when he bent his head and I felt lips trailing over my neck. I think my heart actually stopped as he delicately kissed the skin as if tasting the pulse under the surface. It felt like my blood could sense him, as if it moved slower and thicker in my veins, waiting for him to set it free. I broke out in a sweat that had nothing to do with the heat of so many bodies crowded into a small place. Was he going to kill me right there, in front of a couple of hundred witnesses? A chill ran through me when I realized that he could probably get away with it. He could definitely carry my body off and no one would think anything about it; all they'd see was Tomas taking care of his roommate, who'd fainted in the heat. What a gentleman.
I should have known something like this was going to happen. Every time I trusted someone, he betrayed me; every time I loved someone, she died. Since Tomas was already dead, I guessed the pattern held true.
"Please don't fight me." His breath over my clammy skin made me shiver. The suggestion ran like a drug through my veins, bathing me in a comfortable, rosy glow that took away some of the fear and most of the pain, but also made it harder to think. It wasn't as strong as if I'd made eye contact, but it still made me feel like I was surrounded by heavy water instead of air, with every tiny movement more of a struggle than it should have been. Not that it mattered: my efforts were doing nothing except sending dull pains through my sore wrist and exciting him. Nothing showed on his face, but his body was not as fully under control, and I could feel him stretched tight and firm against his jeans.
He brushed warm lips over mine. "I don't intend to hurt you," he whispered. If there had been any point, I'd have reminded him that whether he did the assassination himsel
f or merely turned me over to Tony, the end result would be the same. But I didn't have time to say anything before his lips ghosted over mine again; then suddenly his control snapped and he covered my mouth in a bruising kiss that had none of the previous gentleness.
His arms tightened, pressing me against every inch of him, kissing me almost desperately, like a starving man at a feast. That strong hand slipped farther down my back until it found the edge of my short leather skirt and pushed it up. He suddenly lifted me completely off the floor and settled me against his waist, so that I had to twine my legs around him or fall, and the sensory overload was enough that it took me a minute to realize that he was dancing us back towards the storeroom. Apparently he preferred his kills to be private.
He was still kissing me when the first burst of energy radiated off him, sending a shudder down to my fingertips. Either something had broken his concentration or he wasn't bothering to shield anymore. And why should he? I was probably the only sensitive there, and I already knew what he was. He may have looked the same to everyone else, but to me, it was like his skin had been dipped in molten gold, causing him to shine like a miniature sun in the dark room. The amount of energy pouring off him raised little hairs all along my arms and at the back of my neck as it swirled and crackled around us. The very air seemed to gain weight, feeling like it does right before a storm breaks—everything was suddenly clearer, brighter, and more sharp edged. All that force soon found a focus. It hit me like high tide at the ocean, drenching me in wave after wave of his power, making it hard to remember why I was fighting, or much of anything else.
He broke off the kiss and I made a small, involuntary sound of protest before he slid his mouth down to my neck again. But this time I didn't mind; this time, it seemed a curiously tender gesture, although a small part of my brain noted that his hair fell across my ruined shirt, hiding it from the brighter lights near the bar. Lucille, who was filling an order a couple of yards away, gave me a surprised thumbs-up as we slipped behind the counter. I didn't try to call for help. I rationalized it by asking what Lucille could do against even a baby vamp, much less a master. The truth, though, was that I simply didn't care. But Tomas must have thought I was about to be foolish, or maybe he didn't want to take chances. He kissed me again, and whatever his motives, there was no doubt that he knew what he was doing. The silken feel of his lips on mine muddled my thoughts even more and, when we finally broke apart, I was too stunned to remember not to catch his gaze. My mind immediately froze, all thoughts except Tomas simply not there anymore, like a switch had been thrown in my brain. The light dimmed and the music receded until all I could see was his face and all I could hear was the pounding of my pulse in my ears.
Why had I never noticed the way his eyes tilted so enticingly upward? The lashes were a black silk fringe around the tiny flames the bar's lighting caused to dance in his pupils. Something in me reacted to the heat I saw in that stare, because my hands acquired a will of their own and began tracing the flat planes of his stomach through the insubstantial barrier of his shirt. All that seemed to matter was the feel of those hard muscles under that silky skin; all I wanted was to work my way up to his neck and bury my hands in that gleaming fall of midnight hair, to see whether it was as soft, thick and heavy as it looked. But then I was distracted by the sight of a dusky nipple bared by one of the many gaps in his shirt, the sort of thing that had driven me to distraction more times than I could count. I discovered that it tasted as good as it looked, as good as I'd always known it would, and it tightened nicely under the efforts of my lips and teeth as if it had been longing for my touch. All things considered, I barely noticed when Tomas carried me back into the storeroom and shut the door with his foot.
He drew a deep, shuddering breath and slowly pulled away from me. After a moment he spoke in a hoarse voice completely unlike his usual tones. "Give me the gun, Cassie. Someone could get hurt if it accidentally goes off." The sound of his voice, harsh and curiously flat, cleared my head a little. Seeing my first attacker helped, too. He was lying in three pieces, having been eaten completely in half by the ward. Through the wreck of his body, I could see blackened splinters where part of a lopsided pentagram had been burnt into the wooden floor. I stared at the sight, feeling slightly dizzy and very odd. All of a sudden, I got the joke: someone could get hurt. Now, that was funny.
I clutched Tomas to keep from falling, my gun dangling uselessly against his back. He took it from my limp hand and tucked it away somewhere. I didn't see where he put it; it simply disappeared. He was looking at me with concern, and suddenly that was funny, too. I started to giggle. I hoped Tony paid him well—he was a riot.
"Cassie, I can carry you if you want, but we must go." He glanced at the clock on the wall. It said 8:37.
"Look, we have time to make our appointment." I was still giggling, and the voice didn't sound like mine. I vaguely realized that I was about to become hysterical, then Tomas moved. The next thing I knew, I was back in his arms and we were outside, running along a darkened road so quickly that the streetlights all blurred together in a long, silver line. A second later, two dark shapes joined us, one on either side.
"Sleep," Tomas commanded as the world raced past. I realized that I was terribly tired and sleep seemed a very good idea. I felt warm and comfortable, although my head was spinning so much that it looked like the night sky rushed down to meet us or that we were flying up to the stars. I remember thinking dreamily, right before I drifted off, that as deaths go, this one wasn't so bad.
Chapter 3
I woke tired, aching and seriously freaked out. My mood wasn't improved by the fact that Tomas was looming over me so that his blank, upside-down face was the first thing I saw. "Get away from me!" I croaked as I struggled into a sitting position. I had to wait a few minutes for the room to stop moving, and when it did, I was less than thrilled with what I saw. Great. I'd been dumped in Hell's waiting room. The small chamber was carved out of red sandstone and lit by only a couple of scary-looking wall sconces. They were made out of what appeared to be interlocking knives and held actual, evil-smelling torches. That told me right away that I was somewhere with a lot of powerful wards, which would have interfered with electricity. Not good.
The place would have been perfect as a torture chamber, except that instead of iron maidens and thumbscrews, it was furnished only with the very uncomfortable black leather sofa where I was lying and a small side table with a few magazines. One was a copy of the Oracle, the equivalent of Newsweek for the magical world, but like most waiting-room reading matter, it was several months out of date. I'd dropped by a certain coffeehouse in Atlanta on a weekly basis to read it, in case anything happened in my other world that might affect my new life. I doubted that the cover story for this edition, on the effect of cheap Asian imports on the magical medicines market, fell into that category, however, and the other was just a scandal sheet, PYTHIA'S HEIR MISSING! the three-inch title on this week's Crystal Gazing screamed, TIME OUT OF WHACK! I rolled my eyes but stopped because it hurt. Guess the MARTIANS KIDNAP WITCHES story they'd been leading with had sort of run dry.
"Mia stella, the Senate assigned Tomas as your bodyguard; he cannot leave you," a familiar voice reproached gently from beside the door. "Do not make things difficult."
"I'm not." After what I'd been through, I thought I was being reason personified. I felt seriously nauseous, so tired that I swayed when I forced myself to stand, and my eyes burned like I'd already had the good, hard cry I wanted. But I wasn't budging. "I don't want him anywhere near me."
I ignored Tomas and an unfamiliar guy wearing seventeenth-century court clothes and concentrated on the only friend I had in the room. I had no idea what Rafe was doing here. Not that I wasn't glad to have him—I could use all the friends I could get—but I didn't know where he fit in. Rafe was short for Raphael, the toast of Rome and the favorite artist of the papacy until he'd made the mistake of turning down a commission from a wealthy Florentine merchant in 15
20. Tony had been trying to compete artistically with the Medicis: they had Michelangelo, so he needed Raphael. Rafe told him he already had more commissions than he could handle, and that, anyway, he painted frescoes for the pope. He wasn't about to travel all the way to Florence merely to paint a dining room. It hadn't been a good move. Ever since, Rafe had been painting whatever Tony wanted, including my bedroom when I was a child. He'd made my ceiling full of angels that looked so real, for years I thought they watched over me while I slept. He was one of the only people at Tony's whom I had ever regretted leaving, but I had snuck away without so much as a good-bye. I had no other choice: he belonged to Tony and, if asked a direct question by his master, had to tell him the truth. So if he was here now, it was because Tony wanted him here. It lessened my joy at the reunion somewhat.
Tomas said nothing, but he also didn't leave. I glared at him, but it didn't have any obvious effect. That was a problem since I needed to escape, and the more babysitters the bigger the challenge. There was also the fact that even looking at him made so many emotions surge through me that I was getting a headache. It wasn't the violence that bothered me so much. I'd seen enough growing up that I could shrug off the events at the club now that I was over the shock that Tomas was the one doing them. That I was no longer kneeling in a pool of blood helped, as did the fact that the vamps he'd killed had been trying to do the same to me. My attitude could be summed up pretty simply: I was alive, they were not, go me. Surviving at Tony's taught you to be practical about these things.
I also gave Tomas credit for saving my life, although I'd probably be far away from harm by now if I hadn't gone to warn him in the first place. I was even willing to overlook him carting me off without a word of explanation, considering that I hadn't been in any frame of mind for a calm discussion. All in all, I figured we were about even, except for the betrayal part. That was something else. That I wasn't likely to forgive anytime soon, if at all.