She lifted a brow and retorted, “I don’t know that.”
“Yes, you do.”
Vivienne glared at him. She did feel safe around him, but how was a person to know that another person wasn’t crazy? Especially as she’d barely met him only twice before. She flushed when she remembered the things he’d done to her last night. She’d slept with a man she barely knew and had enjoyed every minute of it. Even now, as she thought of the names she would heap on people in her situation, she found she couldn’t regret last night.
She pulled away and the hand at her waist fell as he straightened to his full height. Vivienne was in no way short, standing at five eight, but Conall still had several inches on her. She suspected he was taller than her father, making him inches taller than six feet. He wore a dark turtleneck, jeans, and combat boots, a stark contrast to the expensive suit she’d seen him in yesterday. But God, it didn’t take anything away from his sex appeal. He’d looked scrumptious in the suit, but he looked rough and manly, very sexy, now.
Spinning away, Vivienne put even more distance between them. She doubted it would help her traitorous body, but the space made her feel better. She’d already acted like a loose woman last night, but at least she could have some class about it during the day.
“Where are my clothes?” She paused and added as an afterthought, “And my bag?”
She didn’t see him move, she was turned away. She didn’t hear him move. The man was silent, but she felt him, somehow, and knew that he was right behind her. It was almost as if her body were a sensor and it reacted every time he came close.
“Downstairs.”
She shook her head and turned to face him.
“Can you bring them up.” It wasn’t a request. She wanted her clothes. It was after ten in the morning and she was in Cedar Creek—oh hell, how was she going to get back to the city? She hadn’t driven here. He had! Then she remembered taxis. Thank God for taxis. They went everywhere.
“Soon.”
“What?” She tugged at the robe. The thing was coming undone again. “Why?” Vivienne swallowed and faced him. “Look, Conall—um—last night—I don’t—I’m not like that—don’t—I don’t do things like this so….” She cleared her throat and looked back to the rumpled sheets of the bed. “I just need my clothes and your address so I can call a cab, and you’ll never see me again.”
His fingers caught her chin and he forced her look at him. His expression was serious.
“I know what you are and are not, Vivienne, and I have every intention of seeing you again.” She opened her lips to protest but his finger touched them, silencing her as a vivid image from last night replayed in her mind and sent her to all shades of red in the span of a few seconds.
He chuckled as if he knew what she was thinking. She pushed his hand away and walked to the other side of the room.
“Take a shower. When you’re finished, your clothes and bag will be here.” Turning to glare at him, she saw the upward tilt of his lips. “Are you hungry?”
“No.” She was.
“Come down after you’re dressed.”
Vivienne gave a quick shake of her head, feeling her curls bounce around her face. “What’s your address?”
“Come down and I’ll tell you.”
Vivienne scoffed and rolled her eyes. He smiled and turned to leave.
“You know, some people would call this kidnapping, Mr. Athelwulf.”
Slowly, he turned to face her. “Some people would, Vivienne….” She opened her mouth to speak but he effectively cut her off. “But not you.”
Her scowl was back in place as he grinned and walked from the room.
***
What was that?
Drew groaned, rolled over, sat up, and placed both of her hands over her eyes. The sound came again, the sound of something shattering. Was that glass? She immediately went on guard.
She looked at the time. It was after ten, so both Viv and Max were at work. The only reason she was still home was because it was Thursday and on some Thursdays and Fridays the gallery opened at noon. She sat still, and listened. Someone was moving around in Vivienne’s bedroom. Slowly, she came off the bed and reached under it for her baseball bat. Clutching it to her stomach, she silently crept to Vivienne’s bedroom.
When she stood before the opened door, the sight that greeted her wrung an involuntary scream from her lips. Feathers, glass, rumpled sheets, piles of clothes. Someone was definitely in their apartment! A curse reached her ears and as fear held her rooted to the entrance of Vivienne’s room, a glass vase was suddenly thrown from some hidden part of the bedroom. She watched as it spiraled upward, spinning before coming down to the ground in a loud crash. Glass exploded in all directions, and a piece nicked at her lower leg.
The slight pain forced her into action. Drew turned and ran, praying she got out of the apartment before whichever psycho was in there caught her. She opened the door and ran down the hallway, screaming as she did so. She’d never been so terrified in her life.
She’d just arrived at the ground floor when someone caught her. Drew tried to pull away, but the person enveloped her in warm arms. She focused on his face and relaxed. Max. His hair was slicked back, his face serious. She didn’t think to ask why he wasn’t at work; she was simply glad he was there. Collapsing against his chest, she breathed frantically and gasped out, “Max, someone’s upstairs. In Vivienne’s room.”
He didn’t react as she expected. Instead, a frightening stillness came over him. He easily set her away from him. “Wait here.”
“No! Max, it’s too dangerous. Let’s just call the police. Oh God, Vivienne left for work this morning, didn’t she?” Drew’s eyes widened. “She wasn’t here, was she? She’s at work, right?”
He nodded and then he was running toward the staircase, his boots slapping against the linoleum floor. Drew stared after him, feeling her unease grow. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust that Max could hold his own against a thief: she knew he could. Max knew karate, and some other martial arts, but still she worried. What if there was more than one? And no doubt, they had guns! Panic set in. Max couldn’t dodge bullets like Neo in The Matrix. This was real life, not some Keanu Reeves movie.
She’d dropped her baseball bat in the hallway. Drew looked around, ignoring the curious looks she was receiving from some of the tenants, and decided she was going after her bat and then she was going after whoever had decided to rob their apartment. They’d picked the wrong damn day, and the wrong people!
***
Max arrived in Vivienne’s bedroom to find it as he’d expected: trashed. He did a quick check, even behind the door. The room was deserted. Vases were broken. Her bed was ripped apart. It was obvious someone had been searching for something. Her jewelry was tossed carelessly across the room, the first indication that this was no ordinary robbery. He felt anger pulse in his veins.
Hearing a slight shuffle, he ran from Vivienne’s room into his own. A man, dressed from head to toe in black, ski-mask included, was holding a framed picture in gloved hands. Max immediately knew which one: their graduation. Vivienne stood between him and Drew as they all smiled happily for the cameraman. As soon as he entered, the man dropped the frame and ran toward him. The first blow caught him in the jaw, and sent him spiraling backward before he regained his footing and charged the man.
Max had landed a few solid punches to the man’s face when he was thrown backward by an unseen force. He attempted to move but couldn’t. An unseen force pressed him down. The man was suddenly over him, staring with eyes as pitch black as night. Max’s gut coiled. Suddenly the man pulled the ski-mask from his head, revealing pale skin, black eyes, and a tattoo of a cross on his neck. He’d seen the man before, one of the questionable ones in his father’s employ.
“Pathetic.” The man’s voice was slightly disoriented but Max understood him well. He stooped, so that he could lean closer to Max, and shook his pale hair. “And you call yourself a tracker, half-breed?” He
chuckled in disbelief, lips parting farther as if to say something else. Before he could speak, he was flung backward, his body hitting the wall with a resounding thud. A groan escaped his lips.
Max bounced onto his feet, and quickly followed, lifting the man and slamming him against the wall once more. Another groan came from the intruder as his lips peeled backward to reveal his now bloody teeth. The force of the impact had split his lip.
“Who sent you?”
A smirk touched the man’s lips and Max concentrated on his trachea. He willed it closed. The man’s eyes widened and he began to struggle, his hands clawing at the invisible restraint at his throat.
“Your father,” he croaked out and Max allowed him to breathe as that information sank in. The bastard! His father had specifically assigned him the task of locating Vivienne but he’d obviously never trusted him enough to see it through. This only reaffirmed his reasons for keeping her a secret.
“How many trackers were sent?”
The man hesitated only a few seconds before he said, “Two.”
Max narrowed his eyes. As far as he knew, there were trackers in every race. By nature, weres were trackers, as they depended on their animal instincts to help them locate creatures. The vampire race had its fair share of trackers as well, though it was unknown how many. The witches trained their trackers, putting them through years of grueling and intense hardships before the title was bestowed. They were skilled fighters, quick at deadly spells, and extremely good with mental shields. They were also very at ease telling lies. He’d been lying for more than five years now….
“Where’s the other?”
“Following the girl.”
“Where is she?”
The man shrugged his shoulders and Max used his hands this time to cut off his air circulation.
“Okay, okay.” Max eased his hold ever so slightly. “She’s with a man.”
He knew that. What he didn’t know was whom. When midnight passed to reveal no Vivienne, he’d had a strange feeling. It wasn’t like her to stay out so late, especially as she had work the next morning. Still, he’d given her the benefit of the doubt, deciding that she was a grown woman, and perhaps, just perhaps, she was out with her colleagues. He’d waited until two before he decided to call, and that was when a man had answered. Through the phone, Max had felt the man’s anger, his rage, all of it directed at him. There had been no ill feeling toward Vivienne. He’d attempted to find them, but was blocked by a witch, one he hadn’t been able to trace.
“Who?”
“We don’t know. I swear.”
Max almost scoffed. He could swear on Luna herself and Max wouldn’t believe him.
“How did you track her here?”
The tracker blinked and Max stared into red-tinged brown eyes. He repeated his question and squeezed lightly at the man’s throat.
“Last night, we felt her powers. Traced it to a hotel. She was gone but her bag was still there. We found this address on her state ID.”
Max almost cursed. He’d felt something last night, but had been unsure of what it was. It had made him uneasy but he’d never thought it might have been Vivienne, until now.
Suddenly, the man’s eyes lifted to a point beyond Max’s shoulder, and his lip curled, neither smile nor frown. Instinct and experience had Max releasing him and dropping to the floor. A dagger came sailing through the air and embedded itself into the man’s chest, impaling him against the wall. A shrill scream escaped his lips as Max ran at the other man, knocking him to the floor and in one smooth motion, pulling off the ski mask that covered his face.
He was older than the previous attacker, faster and stronger, and their powers clashed as both struggled for dominance. The tracker flipped Max over, wrapped his hands around his neck, and combined all of his powers to squeeze.
As his air supply shut down, Max felt himself dying.
The tracker must have felt it too, for he smiled and began to speak.
“Did you think you could beat me, halfling?” The smile faded and Max’s lips opened though no sound emerged. “I always thought you were weak, unworthy to be called a tracker.” His hands tightened. Max’s body grew cold. “The Grand Wizard should never have given such a weakling his name—even if he is his half-breed son!”
The insult barely stung anymore, so accustomed was Max to hearing them. His body shook once before he twitched and went utterly still. His eyes remained open, staring sightlessly upward.
***
Grunting, the tracker stood, glaring down at Max in disgust. He turned to the other tracker staked against the wall by his dagger. Weak. Moving over to him, he retrieved his weapon, barely blinking as the man disintegrated instantly, turning to black ash before vanishing completely.
About to collect the framed picture on the floor to produce as evidence of betrayal, as a means to explain to the Grand Wizard why his son was dead, he froze. A haunting cold pushed through the layers of dark clothing he wore, chilling him to his bones.
The tracker turned just in time to see Max standing upright, his hands loose at his sides, his skin so pale it looked slightly blue. Those eyes were not the voided black of a witch, but a startling electric, swirling blue. His hair was now ink-black, blowing almost peacefully around his face by—by what? There was no wind….
“What the fuck?” he hissed out before an invisible force punched into his stomach, slamming his body into the wall, once, twice…he lost count. Finally, it stopped and through the pain, he tried to summon his powers. Bound. Shock pulsed through him in waves. His powers were bound, meaning while he could feel them, he had no way of summoning them. He was an ancient tracker, at the mercy of a halfling.
Eyes peeling open, he saw Max standing directly before him and for the first time in many years, he felt a twitching of fear.
“What are you?” He tried to keep the tremor from his voice. Did not succeed. “What the fuck are you?”
“I’m a half-breed.” The voice was demonic, haunting. Max suddenly placed a hand right over the tracker’s heart and the coldness swirling around the room seemed to lodge directly in his chest. Max drew in a deep breath, one that seemed to last forever, and the tracker felt his body grow weaker.
What’s happening? His eyes closed. His limbs went limp. Disbelief settled in when he felt his life force slipping out of him and going directly into the halfling….
***
Drew released a high-pitched scream as she watched the scene unfold in Max’s bedroom. Her baseball bat forgotten, she watched in dread as some type of creature straight out of a Sci-Fi movie sucked the life out of a man! She knew it was impossible, but that was what was happening. The thing inhaled deeply, and something like white mist was being sucked through his mouth and nose. She wanted to run but couldn’t. Her legs felt like stone pillars.
Where was Max? What the hell was this thing?
Upon hearing her scream, the creature dropped the man, who was probably dead, and turned to face her. As she stared into a frightening yet beautiful face, Drew was transfixed. The baseball bat slipped from numb fingers as the creature reached out a hand to her. Shaking her head, she willed her legs to move backward. Pulling her gaze away from it, she searched the room for Max. With fear in her heart, she called his name. Once. Twice. Max did not appear. Didn’t call out to her. Where was he? She began to tremble. Had this thing killed him?
She backed away further. The creature moved. Drew turned and was about to run when she heard Max’s voice call to her, “Drew….”
Turning immediately, her eyes bypassed the thing as she searched him out. “Max! Max, where are you?”
“Drew,” the voice came again, and it took her the span of seconds to recognize that Max’s voice was coming from the thing.
She gulped, but found that her feet were glued when he took another step forward.
“Max?” Her own voice was quiet, disbelievingly so.
The blue man stopped before her. Drew blinked, and found herself looking direct
ly at Max. He was pale, extremely so, and sweat beaded his forehead. His lip seemed curled in pain, but it was Max.
“You—you’re the…thing?”
He looked away. Drew shook her head. Stepped back. He followed.
“Drew, wait.”
“No! What the hell is going on here? What are you?”
“Drew,” his voice sounded pained, and he clutched his stomach. “Just calm down, okay?”
She released a hysterical laugh, which turned into more hysterics when she looked beyond Max to find that the man on the floor had vanished! Tears pooled in her eyes, but still she laughed.
Max was suddenly holding her. She struggled, lashing out at him as she tried to escape. He was a monster. Max was some sort of blue monster. He whispered something in another language, and pulled her closer to him. She fought him. His voice was stronger when he spoke again. Drew tried to pull back and found she couldn’t. Her legs gave out under her and his arm at her back was the only thing keeping her upright. The voice came again. This time it was soothing and gentle. She slumped against him, her mind screaming even as she slipped from conscious thought.
***
Vivienne was surprised to find her clothes had been washed and ironed. A slight, dark-spice aroma that reminded her of Conall touched her nostrils as she slipped into them. The woman who’d brought her clothing and bag had been very quiet, watching her, mostly, during her brief stay in Conall’s bedroom. Vivienne had felt red creep into her cheeks at being so scrutinized by his maid, whom she suspected the woman was, especially as the maid seemed to know exactly why she was still there. Feeling gauche, Vivienne had thanked the woman but she’d simply stood there, staring at her with raised eyebrows. It wasn’t until she told her, in very nice words, to leave, that the woman had moved, telling her blandly she’d wait outside to take her to Conall.
Dressed, and armed with her bag, Vivienne had stepped from the bedroom to find the maid waiting for her. They did not speak as Vivienne followed her down a carpeted hallway, filled with large to life-sized portraits that Conall had probably purchased from museums or art shops for a pretty penny—the burdens of the rich—and then down another hallway, this one as bland as the other was opulent, and finally down a carpeted staircase. No wonder the man had maids. It would take an army to keep this place clean.
Taken by Moonlight Page 10