Night Born

by Linda Thomas-Sundstrom

  When someone bumped her, she shrugged off the touch. A second jostling came, and she looked around to see, at eye-level, a light blue pin-striped shirt with an open collar.

  Edging that shirt was a black leather jacket.

  Danika’s heart ramped up its beat until her ears filled with the sound. Her muscles seized. She held her breath. This mysterious male was very close, and she knew better than to look up. Never look into a vampire’s eyes. She didn’t know a hell of a lot about what to do in such a situation, but she knew that.

  And dammit, had she already looked into his eyes from across the room? Had that mistake been an invitation?

  She focused on his shirt’s top button. Tall sucker, for sure. Looking any higher, beyond that button, would be chancy, dangerous, suicidal. If her trembling body was right in its reaction, tilting her head back would mean exposing her neck to a formidable parasite.

  God! Where had he come from? Why hadn’t she paid better attention or made a break for it when the idea first struck?

  Oh, yeah, her heels had been stuck to the floor!

  “You like this painting.”

  The vampire’s voice was as darkly rich as his jacket, and poured over her like molten dread. A moment of panic came that took a lot of effort to control. This was the voice of a creature who had evaded capture for centuries, and might still have traces of her mother’s blood on his breath.

  Danika felt the color drain from her face.

  “I’m curious as to why you like it,” he said.

  The room seemed to swell around Danika, making breathing difficult. He was changing the consistency and texture of the space he had invaded, manipulating his surroundings to better suit his brutal intentions. His presence here seemed to suck all substance from the dispersing crowd.

  Trying desperately to maintain her equilibrium, Danika said, “I think you know why it interests me.”

  “Do I? Is it the color, line or form? It would be nice if you’d tell me what attracts you.”

  “Sorry. Don’t have the time. I have to be on my way, but I’m sure there’s a brochure about this piece in the lobby.”

  As she turned, a hand caught her sleeve. Without thinking, Danika slapped it away. Her knees were wobbling uncontrollably, her fear was mounting. There didn’t seem to be enough oxygen to go around.

  I’m not ready for this.

  Strangely enough though, the vampire didn’t drag her from the room, shove her up against the wall and dig in, as she might have expected. Instead, he steadied her wobble with a hand on her elbow, then immediately removed his touch, as if sensing she’d find it distasteful. As if vampires were polite parasites.

  Was the room too crowded for his taste, even though the other art lovers couldn’t have stood up to him, or against him, even en masse? His looks alone were intimidating. Vampire strength was legendary.

  “So,” he said in a lowered tone, the quality of which would have had silk sheets written all over it if he’d been anything other than what he was. With him, those sheets would be stained an unhealthy bloodred.

  But then, Danika reminded herself, it’s what they do. Their ability to sound like sex on legs was one of their many talents, part of their allure.

  Thank heavens she’d heard that story.

  “You’ll just run away?” he asked. “Before I know your name?”

  “Don’t you mean before you know my blood type?”

  Danika refused to lift her gaze from that tiny top button, and couldn’t see anything beyond that. His broad shoulders were blocking her view of the doorway, and there was no doubt he would be so much faster in a race for the exit.

  Seems she hadn’t been mistaken about him. She knew this by the depth of the nerve burn inflaming every single cell in her body. This was a vampire, even if it wasn’t the one she would soon be after. And since her mother had left that scrap of paper in her drawer in an envelope with Danika’s name on it, with the name of the Baroque painting that carried this monster’s likeness in it—this had to be the one. Him.

  Alexander.

  Far older than sin itself. A lord in ancient times that some stories suggested might also once have been a knight in medieval British realms. An experienced vampire. Strong, practiced, crafty. And she was a bug in his web at the moment, and in serious trouble.

  She had to say something. Anything. If she didn’t, she was afraid she’d start screaming. Since he hadn’t responded to her last question, she tried another, hoping to bide time until her legs would work properly. In her favor, other people still milled about. Surely he wouldn’t attempt anything here in public.

  “How many of them are you in?” She alluded to the painting with a visibly shaky hand, cursing herself for this further sign of weakness.

  As with the previous question, this one appeared to temporarily stump this lord of the vampires, as if he hadn’t been expecting anything so flagrant and direct.

  An idea flickered in Danika’s mind that there was a chance he hadn’t recognized her after all, and that it now was too late to start over. She had blown her anonymity with both of her questions.

  Shit.

  “Twenty,” he said. His voice now carried an audible cadence of sadness—again, as if blood drinkers had such emotions. “Twenty, in all.”

  He added several beats later, “How did you find me?”

  Sick to her stomach, feeling faint, Danika wasn’t sure she’d be able to remain standing much longer. Twenty. He was admitting to being in twenty paintings, and the number registered in some part of her brain that wasn’t numb with fear because the vampire next to her was admitting to being a vampire. Just like that. No games or ploys necessary.

  “The question on the table now is how you discovered this,” he said in a tone born of darkness itself; equal parts erotically husky and seductively soft. “Is that why you’re here? To find me?”

  “Are you asking if I’m some kind of sadistic groupie?”

  “Are you?”

  “Well, in a way, I guess. I can’t explain now. I really do have to go.”

  The vampire didn’t move out of her way. He was toying with her, as if already trained on his next victim. It was incomprehensible that he wouldn’t know her after having recently sampled her mother. Slayer or not, familial likeness ran deep.

  “Please don’t go yet,” the vampire Alexander said calmly. “We were just getting acquainted.”

  Mesmerizing. Danika reflected on that word. This vampire was mesmerizing. No doubt about it. His voice, his looks, his steadying hand on her sleeve… The wide shoulders and the hint of flesh visible between his the open collar of his shirt that showed off the faintest trace of dark, silky chest hair… Those things were somehow inhibiting her ability to move; stapling her in place as if some hidden part of herself had a secret agenda and wanted more from this dangerous liaison than a good staking.

  These feelings had nothing to do with the extremes of her own sadness. This creature was sexual. An inexcusably rapacious kind of sensuality that was not as overt as finding a black panther beside her, but close. The way he turned his head, his slow grace and the blowback effect he was having on her nerves served to temper the realization of how human he appeared at first glance.

  From what she’d seen so far, he was the personification of perfection in every way, no doubt for the sole purpose of attracting females. And he was good at it. She’d give him that. Her body was already reacting to his allure in places she didn’t care to think about. Her thighs were pressed tightly together. Her breasts were straining toward him, independent of all the nasty things she was thinking about the savage traits of blood drinkers.

  “Why am I attracted to you?” she asked without meaning to. Another giant mistake in procedure, and a hideous admission of his effect on her. Dammit. She wanted to kick herself. She wanted to bolt for the door, and that wasn’t happening with this brute in the way.

  God alone knew why she might be supernaturally attracted to him, though it might have something
to do with their unique relationship. A Slayer and her target were chained together by fate, and driven to find each other with a compulsion that exceeded all boundaries. When they came face-to-face, it was possible some of that sense of urgency became corroded, mixed up, misidentified. But never enough to knock the objective from their minds. On either side.

  “I’m not sure there are rules governing attraction,” he replied readily enough. “I feel this, too. You’re very beautiful, you know. More than that, I find you intriguing. You’ve discovered me when so many others have failed. Surely you can see how the answer as to how you found me might be important to—”

  “The future antics of a cold-blooded killer?”

  Without looking up, Danika felt his focus intensify. With that extra attention came an unexpected round of heat that further dampened her forehead, as well as other unmentionable places.

  She tried not to gasp or make any other sound as she rode those hot flashes out. She refused to close her eyes or give this vampire the satisfaction of seeing her squirm. But it felt as though he had the ability to touch her without moving a muscle. As though he might be thinking of touching her, and those thoughts had substance enough to feel like phantom hands sliding down the front of her body…over her breasts and abdomen and ending up between her legs. This phantom extension of the vampire beside her seemed to stroke her there, with experienced fingers.

  “Stop it,” Danika said breathlessly. “I don’t know how you’re doing this, but fortunately there are witnesses here to any real abuse.”

  “You assume I’d hurt you?” he said.

  That made Danika glance up slightly.

  “It’s not a trick question,” he added when she remained silent.

  “Isn’t it?”

  “As luck would have it, I don’t possess the traits you’re obviously assigning to me.” His lips showed no hint of a wry grin or fangs. “You think you know what I am. This, along with the depth of attraction we’re experiencing, makes further discussion a necessity, don’t you agree?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t agree. I’m sure you can see my reasoning.”

  He wasn’t radiating the refrigerated cold she’d expected. There was no sign whatsoever of the chill she had earlier attached to his presence. This vampire, centuries old and not even remotely showing his age, stood beside her with his hands at his sides, and yet she felt she’d been branded with his touch. Her nerves continued to burn suspiciously, as if they’d skip the part about the definition of the term vampire.

  She wanted to look up, see his face, find what secrets hid behind his eyes. But she didn’t dare. The fact that he just stood there, talking to her as if she was a potential date instead of next week’s dinner, while somehow managing to impose his inner fantasies on her in so physical a manner, was a nightmare that required her undivided attention. One slip, one more falter, and bye-bye Danika.

  Already, and against her will, her chest was a mere inch from his. Her treacherous body, deep inside, was keening desirously. If his voice and thoughts could elicit this kind of behavior from someone who knew better, what damage would an actual touch do?

  No way in hell I’m going to find out!

  She refused to be the next bloodless victim on this beautiful blood-drinker’s marble floors. She had to leave, and hope he wouldn’t follow. Only a full retreat would enable her to shake off her reaction to his presence. Truly, she hadn’t been prepared for this caliber of monster. Honestly, she wasn’t anywhere near being ready to take on this job. Her mother had let the explanations go for too long.

  She needed to know why the lure of this particular vampire was so strong, when he was surely the epitome of evil. And most of all, why, in spite of knowing what he was, she was feeling torn—wanting to jump his sexy bones, while wishing just as much to exterminate him.

  Love and hate—so close in resemblance? Vampire and Vampire Slayer—opposites too closely connected for their own good?

  Had her mother felt this way, too? Is that why she lay dying? Because this vampire used his voice and looks and the semblance of sanity to bring his nemesis down?

  Danika felt ashamed for her reactions, but not defeated. If she had a weapon in her pocket right then, she would have used it.

  At least, she’d have tried to use it.

  “I won’t hurt you,” he reiterated.

  He had leaned forward. His mouth was next to her ear.

  “Not here. Not anywhere,” he whispered, his breath stirring the hair at her temple like a soft summer breeze.

  The sensation trickled down Danika’s spine. Of course, he didn’t mean what he said, no matter how sincere he sounded. This was just another trick, aimed at gullible idiots. She would not be suckered by it or him. And when she took on her heritage, if she lived that long, she’d come for him with weapons blazing.

  “I wonder if vampires are known for keeping promises,” she said, pushing him away with both hands, feeling a solid, muscled chest beneath his shirt, hearing his leather jacket creak lightly.

  But he didn’t move. Proof that he was so much stronger.

  And he’d been way too close to her neck.

  Despite that, beads of moisture continued to gather between her breasts and thighs, as if the workings of her mind had suffered a complete split from the more carnal desires of her body.

  “Most of us aren’t known for our promises, true,” he admitted. “But I’m not most, and my word is good. How can I convince you I’d just like more time to talk this through?”

  “Not going to happen. Let me go, right now.”

  The corner of his lip twitched. Danika’s gaze locked there.

  “I’m not holding you here,” he said.

  Wasn’t he? What the hell…

  Danika was mad, flushed, shocked at her own inadequate behavior and ready to shout. Obviously reading this, the glorious, leather-clad son of a bitch she was sure had all but killed her mother grinned. And there were the tips of his fangs, lethally sharp, very white against the fullness of his bottom lip.

  The shock of seeing the fangs ricocheted through Danika with a rush of pure adrenaline that broke the spell holding her in place. She took a staggered step back and spun sharply on her heels. Whether out of personal amusement or a temporary adherence to his promise not to harm her, the vampire let her go.

  She walked briskly through the galleries, the sound of her heels striking the floor echoing loudly in the cavernous rooms. She passed through the lobby and reached the museum’s exit without once looking over her shoulder. Not having to. He was there, beyond sight, beyond reach, probably laughing.

  The phrase easy pickings came to mind.

  Danika flew down the steps to the street, and stopped on the sidewalk in confusion. Which way should she go, when she knew in the pit of her stomach and in the depths of her soul that this vampire would find her whenever he chose to?

  He had touched her, spoken to her, breathed her in. It had been a huge mistake not to run from him earlier, but how big and how far would that mistake now go?

  She couldn’t lead him to her mother.

  The night air on the street was damp, thin and filled with pungent city smells. Cars came and went noisily. Moonlight spread across the concrete sidewalk, casting long shadows that stretched in all directions.

  Danika stood among those shadows for a full minute, holding back oaths of frustration. Then, overflowing with anger blackened by the despair of the imminent loss of her only remaining family member, she decided in favor of seeing her mother before her mom’s last breath. So she took off in the direction of the hospital, where only the tiniest hope for answers remained.

  Chapter Two

  Alex watched her go. But he couldn’t let it end there. All the reasons why he couldn’t let her disappear were piling up. This woman was attractive, yes, yet also so much more.

  Others beside himself had noticed.

  She wasn’t a Slayer, but had a Slayer’s eyes. Emerald-green. Intelligent. With just that little spl
ash of black-gold in them that gave her away.

  He recognized those eyes.

  Against all odds, a potential hunter had found him by identifying him as a subject in his own art collection. Catching him more or less unaware.

  However, there was a more urgent matter at hand. Those other eyes he’d felt sharing his attention on the girl were hovering. This was bad news. He’d tried to keep her with him for that reason and so many more. She had pinpointed him easily. He wanted to know how she’d managed it, and why, since she wouldn’t have been privy to the unique relationship he had with her family.

  She was the Slayer in waiting. Next in line. Almost there. She smelled of sweet wine that had been infused with something tangy in the curing barrel. The energy skittering through her had been a rush, a turn-on and notably different from all other women who had pursued him. Facing her wasn’t remotely similar to facing the scores of Slayers who had, over time, tracked him down.

  The other monsters had seen her with him, and this was bad news. They’d be after her now, and nowhere near as sensitive or appreciative of her uniqueness as he was, Alex was willing to bet. Those vampires were very distant cousins of a diluted strain who had never been taught manners or how to behave—and wouldn’t let her off so easily.

  While there were hundreds of pert, attractive young femmes on the streets for them to feed from, the monsters in the periphery had also been sidelined by this one. Too new to be attached to a Slayer, all of them had the ability to recognize one, and there were too many cagey creatures on the loose, created by bites from other vampires in a kind of perpetuating madness.

  Alex felt some of those others moving after her—a flow of darkness, like a wave, carrying in it the stench of death and destruction. Frowning, he whispered to the woman who had captured his focus, “If you think I’m bad…”