From the Dark

by Michele Hauf

  “This is my friend’s house. Jesse Olson? He said I could use it for a few months.” He slapped the door with the heel of his palm, knowing to beat on it would only frighten her further. Though he didn’t sense fear. “I’m not a threat, I promise.”

  Well, not of the sort she might imagine. But she should be afraid. Very afraid.

  Michael pressed his forehead to the door. He couldn’t see her, but the smell of lilac pervaded any scent of fear he should be able to pick up.

  She’d said she held a knife? That could make him bleed, but it wasn’t going to slow him down.

  Concentrating, he followed the heavy exhales of her breath, tagging along with the inhales to enter her being. Once there, it was easy to tap into her heartbeat—furious and strong. Pulse racing, it teased him to the chase.

  Trapped behind a door, with no exit, a pretty morsel waited to be devoured. Just a moment was all it required, and surrender—willing or not. So long as there was fear, and the adrenaline eddied in her blood. Like bloody champagne, he would drink her dry.

  You’re here to fight that craving, remember?

  As if a whip to an open wound, a flicker of morality snapped Michael out of the blood reverie. He stepped back from the door, looking at it as if for the first time.

  What was he doing? He had come here to beat the addiction.

  “I—I think we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. My name is Michael Lynsay. I’m sure you know me.”

  “Why should I know you?”

  He could hear the rising confidence in her breaths. Calm crept in. Not so easy to surrender to his persuasion with confidence. Good. It would make resisting the temptation easier as well.

  What had she said? She didn’t know him?

  “Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of The Fallen? The hottest new band in the universe?”

  “Mr. Olson is in your band?”

  “You know Jesse? Right. You said you were hired?”

  “To work on the stained glass Mr. Olson wants incorporated in the large back room. I…we had an agreement, but we’d never set an official date for the work to be done. I had some free time on my schedule. Mr. Olson hadn’t mentioned there would be anyone staying here. And he did give me a key.”

  He did recall Jesse mentioning something about fixing the house up before moving in. Michael had thought it a waste of money for a home Jesse only planned to use a few weeks out of the year. And yet, the recording studio would lure the band then whenever they had free time. Or, in a pinch, it could serve as hideaway to a desperate vampire.

  “You still holding the knife?”

  “Yes.”

  Michael smiled. Pressing his hand to the door, he spread his fingers and closed his eyes. “You going to drop it?”

  Silence.

  And then—“I don’t think so. I’m not stupid. A girl has got to be careful with strangers.”

  He fisted his fingers, prepared to bang the wood, to break down the barrier, but something made him pause. He wanted to get to the other side. Using force would frighten the spoils—not necessarily a bad thing—yet a nagging curiosity darted to the fore and claimed his persistent need.

  Take this slowly. Enjoy the tease, and linger when finally the prize is won, yes?

  Yes. Michael nodded. He could do slow. He didn’t have to frighten them all. And until he knew what he was working with, he’d hold off on the fright fest.

  “How do I know you are who you say you are?” she called.

  Michael made a gracious sweep of his arm. “Open the door and see for yourself.”

  Such novelty. To control his need? And if she was pretty, well, nothing like indulging in some pre-exile debauchery.

  “But I don’t know your band. I rarely watch television or listen to popular music. I wouldn’t know you from the cable guy.”

  “Insane,” Michael hissed to himself. “Well, you’re probably the only soul on this earth who hasn’t heard of us. I’ve got a wallet and some ID downstairs. Hang on and I’ll get it.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Chuckling, Michael went down the stairs and retrieved his wallet. If their positions had been reversed, he might insist that she do the same. Two years ago. Before he’d indulged in the adrenaline rush. Now? That door would have been kicked inside, no questions asked.

  And yet he hadn’t kicked it inside, even after tapping into her enticing heartbeat. That was surprising. Had the mere act of segregating himself from temptation already begun to work at the cravings eating away at him? He’d been here half a day. Was it to be so easy as this?

  Striding back up to the second floor, he saw the bedroom door remained closed. He checked the knob. Locked.

  Her lack of trust edged up a flicker of indignation. And a sneer. Affront was the last thing he’d ever felt from the many fans who worshipped The Fallen. He wasn’t quite sure how to deal with this new experience.

  Tapping his foot, he counted to ten. It stopped the impulse to kick in the door.

  “Here.” He slipped his driver’s license under the door. “I blinked when they took the picture. No such thing as do-overs at the DMV.”

  He didn’t hear her pick up the small laminated card. Must be bending over it, inspecting.

  “You were born in seventy-nine?” the woman asked.

  “Yep, and it’s my birthday soon.” Yet he would forever remain ageless. “What about you?”

  “Er…eighty-one.”

  “Weren’t the eighties great?” Crossing his arms, he leaned against the doorframe. “Let it not be said the hair bands couldn’t kick it with the best of them.”

  “I prefer the classics,” echoed out the flat response.

  The license slid back under the door. Michael retrieved it. And waited.

  After what seemed like an hour, but was probably only a minute, the chain swung freely and the bolt shifted out from the lock.

  Michael waited to allow her to shuffle away from the door, before twisting the old brass knob.

  And in the next moment, when his instincts provoked him to leap and flash his fangs to ignite the fear, another part of him remained aloof, unwilling to react for the vision that stood before him.

  Something indelible swirled out from the bedroom to caress Michael against the cheek. It entered his pores, invading on a mist of lilac, which shrouded any tint of blood scent. Her. Pale, lithe, flowing.

  She stood as tall as he. All his life Michael had been athletic, yet awkwardly tall, which may be why he always noticed a woman’s height first thing.

  But the most amazing thing? That hair. Long breezy strands stained with copper here and there, but bleeding away to lighter, blond streaks elsewhere.

  No makeup, not a hint of greasy lipstick or smelly black mascara. He liked that. And what a statement those pale parted lips made, though he knew she hadn’t spoken.

  From behind the warning of the utility knife, dark eyes glittered as if something secret and wonderful waited inside. Faery tales in her eyes.

  Welcome to my grim tale, little girl.

  “Nice.” Michael stayed put. He could feel her anxiety push through the air and force an invisible hand against his chest. Stay back. No, it wasn’t nervousness, but…command. She was not afraid. “I didn’t get your name.”

  “Jane,” she said, taking a bold step forward. “Jane Rénan. You got a cell phone?”

  Fitting a palm to the doorframe over his head, Michael leaned inside the room. “I thought you did?”

  “A necessary lie. But if you do, we can call Mr. Olson and clear up this whole mess and verify who you are.”

  “Come on, how many long-haired suede-pants-wearing freaks have you seen that didn’t belong in a band? I’m legit, Jane. I promise.”

  “You had best hope so.”

  “You are a tough audience. I like that.” He shrugged a palm up his arm, and the chain mail bracelet on his left wrist clinked against the thin silver band he hadn’t removed in years. “I don’t have a phone, it was part of the
rules of my exile. No communication with the real world until I get my act together. I’m taking a break for a while. I’m…exhausted.”

  The word didn’t sound right, no matter what spin he put to it. He’d leave that to the press, who had taken the rumor and rolled with it. By now, the evening entertainment news programs should be preaching his departure to the masses and spinning it to death, as well.

  “Gotta rest and get my act together, you know?”

  “And you’re staying here to do that?”

  He nodded. “Got in early this morning. I’m supposed to be hiding away. Do you know how hard that is for me?”

  In but a blink of lash, she took him in, blond wavy hair to chain-wrapped boots. “I can guess that you must adore the spotlight.”

  He dropped his arms to hook his thumbs at the belt loops. Look all you like. “Am I that easy to read?”

  She shrugged; the knife remained ready.

  “You must have snuck in this afternoon. I heard banging, but thought I was having a bad dream until the music blasted. No one messes with the mix board.”

  “Sorry, I was curious. There was no car in the drive or the garage, and no sign the house was even occupied. Why were you sleeping during the day?”

  “Rest, remember?”

  Jane blew at a few strands of copper sneaking toward her eyelashes.

  Kill me now, sweetly and savagely, Michael thought. Plunge forward and push the knife into me and spill that gorgeous hair over my face. Take me into your soul. I promise I won’t bite.

  Maybe. Hell, what sort of idiot promise was that? Biting was the best part.

  Damn, she was—otherworldly. That was the word. And standing there in thin purple pajamas, rimmed in fancy silver stitching, she looked like a doll fallen out from the toy box, wanting to venture out on her own—but not without a weapon.

  She lowered the knife and shrugged a hand through her tousle of wild child locks. “I had intended to stay here while I worked on the windows.”

  “Ah.” Not sure how to react to that one, Michael nodded, but perused the floor.

  Another person inside his cozy little escape? Nothing wrong with that. And everything wrong with that. People, you need a break from them, remember? Right.

  “It’s cool,” Michael rushed out before his conscience could protest. “The place is huge. We can both stay.”

  Even as she shook her head negatively he could sense her surrender to the idea. Not your average woman, this girl. Jane. Simple name, but he suspected her soul was intricate and lush. And what he wouldn’t give to push his fingers into her soul and crush it in a loose fist, allowing it to ooze down his arm and into his own twisted soul.

  “I had hoped for privacy. Er, I have a…party planned in a few weeks,” she said. “Wouldn’t want to be in your way.”

  “I am a party kind of guy.”

  “Tea party?”

  “Oh.”

  Tea? Maybe she wasn’t quite the wild soul he suspected her to be. But those heartbeats…he could still feel them. As if he held them on his palm. And their perfect, calm rhythm was beginning to mess with his concentration.

  Weird. Usually he couldn’t tap a heartbeat unless he consciously tried.

  Since when had he needed to focus so hard to hold a conversation with a woman? It wasn’t as though he was an uncaged animal that would attack without warning. Michael Lynsay could work a crowd, appear normal before the press and at parties. He wasn’t that far removed from humanity.

  “I don’t think this will work, Mr. Lynsay.”

  No kidding.

  “It’s just Michael. Mr. Lynsay is the name the record company uses when they’re getting ready to lay down the law or hand me a list of all the wrong things we need to change on the album. Nice to meet you, Jane.”

  He held out a hand for her to shake. Touch me. Feel the beat of your life. It’s right there, in my hand.

  Knife wavering near her thigh, Jane studied his hand. Her pursed lips formed a pale bow. She would be so easy to take. One lunge, slide his hand up her back, coaxing her into his embrace, and she would be his. Forget the soul, he’d break his promise about not biting.

  Hell. It would be complicated sharing the place, especially with temptation right under his nose. Temptation pounding in his temples, like blood rushing across his tongue and pouring down his throat in a sweet sticky fall of life.

  Maybe that was what he needed? To be around it, yet know he couldn’t touch it, because the consequences would prove harsh. He couldn’t use this woman, and then walk away.

  And why not? Who would miss her?

  His best friend, who had hired her, and knew she would be here, for one. Michael would never hear the end of it if Jesse knew he’d bitten the woman he’d hired to do the windows.

  Hadn’t he slaked his thirst hours earlier? And he’d freaked himself because he’d almost killed the nameless blonde. Almost. He had seen her vein pulse.

  He should not consider taking another victim so soon.

  Not unless she was laced with adrenaline.

  “Michael?”

  In the periphery of his struggling thoughts, Michael reacted to the vision before him as if he were pushing through a fog, and when through it, the room became clear and his senses twisted out of their pining desire for satisfaction.

  And Michael smiled. Joy filled him. Quickly overwhelmed, he surrendered to the sudden emotion, the fruity, awkward lushness of happiness.

  He looked down at his untouched hand, wondering, as Jane walked toward the far wall where a huge plastic tub of lilacs perched. She placed the knife on the marble counter. She hadn’t touched him, and yet, he had felt her. Inside him. Like a pulse that commanded his own heartbeat. It had been…magical.

  “I’ve no right to say whether or not you must go or stay.” She crossed her arms and fixed him with a firm attitude. “But I’m not leaving, so I guess that means we must share. Which means, we’ll need some rules.”

  Touch me again, he wanted to say. Give me back that moment of lightness!

  Instead, Michael said, “I’ll stay out of your hair.”

  It sounded good, but did he really believe he could keep his fingers from twining into that wild froth of sun-drained copper?

  “I’ll either be sleeping or in the recording studio. Deal?”

  Her eyes shimmied from his face, over his arms and to his feet. She nodded.

  He wondered if Jane was in the mood for a midnight snack.

  Take it slow, the moral part that yet lived inside him suggested slyly. Draw it out. Seduce. Enjoy the lingering play. It will be worth it.

  And if Jesse knew he had exiled the monster to live with a gorgeous beauty possessed of faery tale eyes? The man would have a cow.

  Good thing there were no phones here.

  Chapter 5

  M ichael stood in the kitchen, his back to the window that overlooked the gardens and the setting sun. He hadn’t slept last night after meeting Jane. He didn’t need to sleep any more than a few hours a day, though he often slept more simply because there wasn’t a lot he could do in the daylight. Sure, he could go outside, even walk beneath the sun, but that lasted but a few minutes, before his eyes began to water and burn, and the feeling of such incredible loss of energy forced him back inside.

  He wasn’t about to explode into a million pieces like some of the more dramatic tales of vampires described. The burn ate much more slowly at his flesh, but it did burn, and he preferred to avoid the pain.

  So. Here he stood. Not as alone as he’d intended. And nowhere near as calm as he felt his mission to beat the addiction should find him.

  He was so aware, ultra alert to the other presence in the house. Even though she was on the second floor, at the other end of the building, and behind a closed door, Michael felt her heartbeat pulsing at the tips of his fingers.

  He looked at them now. Tapped his middle finger to his thumb. Life. Intriguingly fresh and cloying in its presence. Her life.

  This was not
normal. He had no difficulty working a party or press event without once tapping into any of the myriad heartbeats that pulsed around him. He did not scent a potential victim’s blood unless he focused, and centered onto that person. Reading the person for potential, gauging their interest in the man that stared at them, and their willingness to surrender to a force they couldn’t explain, but innately felt. Called the persuasion, he used it sparingly, for more often than not, it wasn’t difficult attracting a woman’s attention.

  So why could he swear he scented Jane now? Lilacs and powdery sweetness. All the way down here in the kitchen. It didn’t seem possible. But it felt so real, he pressed his palm over his chest, as if to still the stir of her intrusion.

  She, intruding into him? That’s not the way it should go. He always intruded on them, teeth first.

  “This is not going to work,” he murmured. Sharing the house with a woman who tempted him even when out of his sight? “I’ll have her on her back before morning, with her blood spilling down my throat. What’s one more final hurrah before I go cold turkey, eh?”

  It had to be this way. The habit was strong, sending out insistent urges to feed. Too bad there wasn’t a twelve-step program for blood drinkers.

  But until there was, Jane had better keep on her toes.

  Jane was a little surprised Michael hadn’t popped his head in to the workroom to check on her today. Not that she required checking up on, but it seemed odd, they two alone in this house, and to not talk? The door to the recording studio had been closed when she’d walked by earlier. He must be busy with tasks of his own.

  Maybe it meant he was standing good on his word to stay out of her hair while she worked. Thoughtful of him. The last thing she needed was distraction. Even though—no, she shouldn’t think it.

  But she did.

  She hadn’t been able to remove his image from her brain as she slept a fitful night. Those eyes, so blue and delving, would not leave her thoughts.

  A certain sensual awareness had oozed from the man like moonlight glimmering through a blue piece of glass as he’d stood in the doorway to the bedroom. Michael Lynsay absolutely glittered with appeal.