Shadow Image

by Jaye Roycraft

Ric straddled the cycle and started it. “Trust me,” he said, turning his head toward her. The rumble of the engine was nothing compared to the purr of his voice. “Get on.”

  She swung her leg over the bike, and her feet found the passenger foot pegs. Almost as quickly her hands found their way around his waist, and when Ric reached the road and opened the throttle, her grip tightened automatically. He didn’t push the bike above forty-five miles per hour, but the ride was exhilarating nonetheless. The balmy air whipped at her, stinging her skin and whipping her hair across her eyes, but more powerful than the rush of air was the feel of Ric’s hard body against hers, as hot as the wind. She closed her eyes and pressed her cheek to the thick mass of his hair held in place at the back of his neck. His hair felt cool and smooth against her skin. Everything else felt wonderfully warm.

  In ten minutes that passed much too quickly, they were at the lakefront. There were a few families and a number of kids, but the small park was by no means crowded. Shelby and Ric sat on a bench at the edge of the sandy beach. The evening sun glimmered off the gently rolling waves of Lake Michigan, sending gold sparks to dance on the crests.

  Ric laid his arm along the top of the bench just behind her shoulders. “So tell me what happened today to make you so upset.”

  As glad as Shelby was to have someone to talk to, and as close as she had become to Ric in the past few days, it was still hard to open up. It was a long-time habit to keep her feelings to herself. Revealing too much made her feel vulnerable, and vulnerability was the one feeling she hated as much as losing control.

  She took a deep breath. “It’s just the pressures of the job. And this homicide. Small towns aren’t used to this kind of thing happening. The public doesn’t understand the work involved. All they know is TV, where all it takes is an hour to solve a case. Cops are supposed to be miracle workers.”

  “And doctors.”

  She looked at him. He took off the sunglasses, tossed them to the far end of his side of the bench, and scooted closer to her. The hand that had rested along the back of the seat rose to smooth her windblown hair, and those unusual amber eyes ringed by black seemed to fasten onto hers like buttons slipping into holes. She felt caught, unable to look away.

  “Yeah, doctors, too. I think that’s why I can talk to you about this. Not many people would understand.”

  He nodded. “So no progress at all? What about the assault on Lucius Moravich?”

  She stared into his beautiful eyes. She felt like telling him everything. “I talked to Judson Tuxbridge again. He fit the description of the assailant. Jud said he was home all evening.”

  “So he’s not a suspect?”

  “Suspect or not, I’ve got no proof. I can’t even do a lineup. Digger said he didn’t get a look at the man’s face.”

  “Are you going to question Jud again?”

  “Not unless some additional evidence pops up.”

  Ric looked away and gazed out over the water, his hand slipping back down to grip the wooden bench. She expected him to squint at the low sun, but he didn’t. He didn’t even blink. His eyes panned the horizon slowly, and Shelby was reminded of stories she had heard from elderly residents of Shadow Bay who saw mirages over Lake Michigan. Some swore they could see the traffic and harbor lights of the Wisconsin shoreline. Others claimed to see shapes on the horizon. All insisted the images were real, not illusory. What vision were Ric’s golden eyes seeing now?

  His eyes shifted back to hers. “Do these rumors about you and me bother you?”

  The personal question startled her. He seemed like two different men. As the doctor, he was all business. When the glasses came off, though, a very warm man seemed to emerge from the dark shadow of the cool, confident doctor. “Yeah. I don’t like rumors.”

  “I don’t either. I’ve been the target of a few myself.”

  She scrunched her brows together. She so badly wanted to learn more about him. “Is that why you left Eidolon Lake?”

  He smiled. “No.” He stroked her hair again, and his gaze dropped to her neckline, where she wore her ruby pendant. His fingertips grazed her cheek, and he turned his hand to run the pad of his thumb down her neck to the base of her throat. He rubbed the ruby between his thumb and forefinger then caught the gold chain between his fingers and followed it to the nape of her neck.

  She couldn’t breathe, and the sudden pounding of her heart drowned out the shouts and screams of the playful children.

  Ric lifted his head, and his eyes found hers. “Do you want me to stop calling you?” His words washed over her as softly and insistently as the lapping of the water on the beach.

  “No. I think I need you in my life right now.” She reached behind his head, stripped the band out of his hair, and pulled a thick strand to her face possessively. “Don’t stop.”

  “Stop what? Calling you or touching you?” His voice was little more than a whisper.

  “Either. Both.”

  She tugged on his hair until he leaned forward and obliged her with a kiss that was so long and deep that she thought of another Michigan water myth—that of the bottomless lake.

  Bottomless. That was exactly what it felt like. He was pulling her farther and farther down into a dark abyss with no bottom, no end. By the time he broke the kiss, she was shaking. He drew her into his arms, and she laid her head against his chest, content to hold on to something strong and firm.

  “You’re tired,” he whispered. “Just tired. Everything’ll look better when you’ve had some sleep.”

  She nodded, rubbing her cheek against his mesh shirt. “I can sleep late tomorrow. I have the next two days off.”

  “Spend tomorrow evening with me. Get caught up on sleep, run errands or whatever you need to do, then spend the rest of the day with me.”

  She shifted her position, curling herself so that she was half on his lap and half on the bench, but so that she could see his face. She played with his hair. It was so long that it hung halfway down his upper arm, past the bottom of his short sleeves. “I’d like that. There’s a Moonlight Madness sale downtown tomorrow night. Have you ever been to one?”

  He shook his head, letting out a shaky breath that was almost as quivery as she felt. She wasn’t used to making strong men quivery. She decided she liked the feeling.

  She singled out a thin strand of hair so light as to be blond and wrapped it around her finger. “Enough about me and my problems. I want to know more about you. Do you still have family in France?”

  “No.” His voice was so soft she could barely hear it. “They all died a long time ago.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ve lost family, too.” She knew from her experience as a cop that it was one thing to be around dead strangers, but quite another thing when the loss was that of a friend or family member. She fished around for a change of subject. “So how come a good-looking guy like you isn’t married? Eidolon Lake aside, I’m sure you’ve known lots of pretty girls in your life.”

  “My profession proves an obstacle, as I’m sure yours does for you.”

  She would never have thought so five days ago, but maybe she had a few things in common with Ric after all. “Never been married? Or engaged?”

  Another hushed “no” was his only answer.

  She sat quietly in his embrace and watched the ripples and swells of the lake. It was a soothing sight, and she would have been content to nestle in his lap all evening.

  A whisper brought her out of her daze. “Hunger.”

  She stirred in his arms. “What?”

  He cleared his throat. “You hungry?”

  “No.”

  He rose from the bench easily, holding her then setting her on her feet. “Let’s go.”

  “Where?” In spite of the attraction and intimacy she felt with him right now, she wasn’t sure she was ready for Ric to t
ake her home with him.

  “Just for a ride. Don’t you trust me?” He grabbed his sunglasses and the tie to hold back his hair.

  She smiled. Trust wasn’t a thing as easily embraced as a comforting moment on a park bench.

  He took her on a half-hour ride along the back roads of Cristallia County, not racing, but taking the many turns and inclines in a leisurely fashion. Shelby was just happy for the excuse to hold on to Ric so tightly, and when he pulled into her driveway, she felt strangely disappointed. She wasn’t ready for more, yet she longed to be with him. He shut off the engine, but she didn’t move. After a moment, he slid off the bike, taking her with him. He escorted her the short distance to her front door.

  Holding her close, he said, “Look, you’re exhausted. If I did anymore right now you’d hate me later on. Come on, admit it. You would.”

  She looked up at him. “Hate you. Yeah.”

  He kissed her, and she fell again into that murky, dark pool, sinking deeper and deeper until he released her. “I’ll call you tomorrow afternoon. We’ll do whatever you want. I’m game for Moonlight Madness.” When he smiled at her with the dark glasses in place, he no longer looked like the warm man. The shadow of the doctor was back, and the smile took on a cold cast. She shivered and was glad for once that she couldn’t see his eyes.

  RIC MADE IT BACK home, but he was shaking by the time he arrived. He went inside just long enough to take off his shirt and glasses before returning to the front yard. He needed space and air to breathe, and not even the wide open windows of the tower room or the screened porch could afford him what he needed right now—to be part of the night, free and unrestrained.

  He had once again been on the verge of losing his control with Shelby Cort. He thought that the increased exposure to her would accustom him to handling his baser instincts, but it didn’t seem to work that way. If anything, she aroused him more and more each time they met. It was old-fashioned physical arousal, but it was also the bloodlust. He wondered which was more agonizing in its denial.

  But this last meeting had been necessary. He’d needed to know what she had wanted with Judson Tuxbridge and if she considered him a suspect in either the killing of Kyle Carver or the attack on Lucius Moravich. Tux appeared to be safe. She had no evidence to pursue him further. Ric had seen no need to compel her again. Besides, it seemed that the times he had compelled her in the past had only created more problems than they solved.

  Be truthful with yourself. The thought came from what passed for vampire conscience—the tiny voice that reminded the Undead that, while it was standard procedure to lie to and deceive both humans and other vampires, survival depended on being truthful to oneself. If he were to tell the truth, he would admit he saw Shelby because he wanted her. Every other reason was just an excuse.

  The memory of her pressed tightly against him on the bike and of her coiled in his lap like a contented cat stirred him all over again. And when he remembered the sight of her ruby pendant clinging to the base of her neck like a drop of blood, uncontrollable hunger seized him. He needed to feed. It had been too many days since he had had fresh blood.

  It was still early. He had time to go out in search of a source before Eva or Ormie arrived for their one-on-one meetings. With urgency now, Ric ran inside to put his shirt back on. When he pulled the front door open to leave again, a stranger stood before him.

  Driven by his hunger, Ric would have thought the arrival of a stranger on his doorstep to be pure providence. Except for one thing.

  It wasn’t alive.

  Seven

  “I HEAR YOU’VE been looking for me,” stated the stranger.

  The creature was almost as tall as Ric, and his jeans and sleeveless shirt displayed the kind of exaggerated muscular physique found in only a gym or a prison. But Ric didn’t concern himself with either the man’s height or bulk. He did take note, though, of black hair as shiny as a raven’s wing, cobalt blue eyes that glowed with an inhuman fire, and pale skin that gleamed like frosted glass. These were the telltale signs of vampiric age and strength and meant more than all the muscles of the vamp’s formidable body.

  Ric knew three things immediately—that this being was at least two hundred years old, that by Tux’s description he was the elusive Joel Branduff, and that Ric, in his present state of hunger, was at a distinct disadvantage. Branduff couldn’t have appeared at a worse time. Ric’s self-control, command over his vampiric attributes, and cool dispassion were all like disobedient children—unresponsive and running wild. Even so, he was of no mind to make things easy for this creature.

  He resisted the impulse to show his teeth to the stranger. Fang-baring was as much a juvenile display among the Undead as mooning and flashing were among humans. “Looking for you? Don’t play games with me. I don’t even know you.”

  “Don’t you? Come, now. Who’s playing the games?”

  The unruly child named Patience was joining his brothers in waywardness. “Who are you, and what do you want?” Ric’s question was almost a growl, relaying more by its tone than in the words. Challenge. Warning. Ric hoped the stranger would heed the message. A life-and-death struggle with another vamp during the first week on the job was not something that looked good on an Overlord’s performance evaluation.

  “I’m Branduff, as I’m sure you’ve guessed. A little bat whispered in my ear that you’ve been searching for me, even going so far as to invade my old haunt on Dead Creek Drive. I know who you are—the famous ex-Paramount Doctor Death. Well, you don’t look like much to me, and I know you no longer have friends in high places, as they say. I also don’t fancy you hunting me down like some damn enforcer when I haven’t broken any of our laws.”

  Ric smiled, a cold sneer that stopped just short of a full-blown snarl. The bloodlust was racing through his veins, and he could feel the heat and abandon building in his body by the moment. “If you hadn’t decided to play the role of maverick bad-boy, I wouldn’t have had to go looking for you.”

  “The decision to avoid your silly little council meetings is a personal choice, not a crime.”

  “I didn’t say it was a crime. But when I need to talk to all the Undead in the county and you decide instead to play hide-and-seek, you bring the consequences down on your own head. So don’t blame me for your displeasure in being hunted.”

  Branduff spread his arms wide. “Well, I’m here now, Your Grace. What do you want with me?”

  Normally Ric wouldn’t respond in kind to such insolence, but his beast, urged on by the bloodlust, wasn’t about to allow such disrespect to go unpunished.

  “Tell me, Mr. Branduff, are you a hotspur by nature, or just stupid?” Before the creature could answer, Ric grabbed him by the neck and hauled him off his feet. Branduff’s neck was thick, but Ric’s fingers were like talons, digging deep into muscle. “If you know Doctor Death, my friend, you know what I can do. This hand can heal, but it kills just as easily, and if you have any doubts about the power of the Hand of Death, I’ll be only too glad to give you a demonstration.”

  Though held fast, the man didn’t squirm, and he made no sound of surrender. His words were strained, but clear enough as he said, “Yes, I know what you can do, De Chaux, and you don’t scare me. I came here of my own free will. Unhand me, and I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

  Ric threw the man’s body across the yard. Branduff hit the ground hard but rolled to his feet.

  Just as quickly, Ric flew to the edge of the yard and pulled a small sumac out of the ground by its roots. A demonstration of the Hand of Death was in order. He held the shrub as he spoke, turning it so that it held Branduff’s attention. “A body was unearthed earlier this week in the old privy hole of a house on Salt Lick Road. The body was drained of blood. I don’t give a damn about the human. What I do care about is protecting our kind against evidence the human law enforcers might find that would pu
t us all at risk. And I care about ensuring that this doesn’t happen again.” By the time Ric finished speaking, all the leaves on the sumac had darkened and withered, and the flower clusters were as hard and brown as pine cones. He dropped the dead plant to the ground and crushed it under his boot. “Did you do this thing?”

  Branduff stared at the dead tree and then spit on the ground. “Your little side show is meaningless. You can’t kill me like that. Even if you could, it’s forbidden.”

  That was true enough. It was forbidden for the Undead to prey on each other with deadly force. Beings of such power, with no morality or conscience, needed something to balance the scale in order to prevent the mass destruction of vampirekind. That balance started with members of the hierarchy like himself—Paramounts and Overlords—and extended to the network of enforcers throughout the world. If an Overlord were to engage in a deadly battle, a high-ranking enforcer would be sent to investigate. Perhaps even the Directorate would get involved. It was not a pleasant thought.

  True, Branduff was a rogue. Perhaps Ric could kill him and get away with it, but such thinking was pure arrogance. How many humans committed murder thinking the same thing, only to find themselves in prison down the road? Perhaps Branduff traveled with a rogue pack. No, killing was too risky. Still, it didn’t hurt to bluff.

  “Oh, I think I could send you to the True Death easily enough, but it would be much more satisfying to just render you insensible—to turn you into the vampire equivalent of a vegetable. I ask you again—did you do it, Mr. Branduff?”

  “I did, and it was as poor a feast as I’ve ever had. He was small and scrawny, and his blood was poisoned by enough drugs to fill a pharmacy.”

  “Why did you kill him? You’re no child to be dropping your food and making a mess.”

  Branduff shrugged. “I had nothing to do with it. The human was stoned. He fell and hit his head. But I wasn’t about to let a fresh body go to waste, so I took advantage of the free meal. All I did was feed from him and put him in the hole.”