Darkest Hours

by S. K. Yule

  Avril’s voice wavered up faintly from the ground. “Ebony, are you okay! Ebony! Answer me!”

  She released his coat with reluctance, her body already craving the lost contact, and bent to retrieve the phone from the ground at the exact moment he did. Her hand came to rest upon big, warm fingers already gripping the cell. Sparks shot through her when she touched him, and electricity ran up her arm. She jerked back as if she had been scalded. If he felt it, he didn’t betray it in anyway, keeping his steady, unflinching gaze fixed on her. Both of them stood, and he held the cell out to her. She took it, careful not to touch him again.

  Putting the phone to her ear, she said, “Avril, I’m okay. I just dropped the phone. I’ll call you later, okay?”

  “If you’re sure your okay, girlfriend.”

  She kept her gaze on him. “Yeah, I’m sure.” I hope. She flipped the phone shut and shoved it back in her purse.

  Was she okay? She didn’t know this man, and now that she had finished ogling him, she became aware of the tense way he held his frame in complete control. Not one muscle twitched in betrayal of any emotion. He reminded her of a medieval knight waiting for battle, eerily still and accepting of his possible upcoming slaughter. She sensed an aura of danger about him. She couldn’t explain it, just a feeling. He seemed . . . different somehow, but for some unknown reason, she also knew he wouldn’t hurt her. She’d be willing to bet her life on it.

  She moved around him. “I’ll just be on my way now.”

  He never uttered a word. Those turquoise eyes coldly assessed her every move. His face never betrayed one tiny emotion. Couldn’t he have at least acknowledged my apology? Yeah, right. Who was she kidding? He probably couldn’t even understand her mumbling.

  The warmth of embarrassment crept up her neck into her cheeks, and she felt as if she were back in third grade talking to a boy she had a crush on. Standing here gawking at some male, however mysterious, dark and gorgeous he may be, was ridiculous and immature. A warm, giddy feeling raced through her veins, strange, invading, confusing, and she tried to ignore it blaming the recent events of her stressful day.

  Taking one last look over her shoulder at him proved too much of a challenge to resist. Wow, there should be a law against men who look that good. She thought it a little strange that she had never seen him until today and stranger yet, that he was hanging out in the alley. Well, no matter, she wasn’t the police, and he wasn’t actually doing anything wrong anyway. Was he? Pulling her jacket closer around her body, she hurried on after deciding she didn’t want to know.

  She felt drawn to the dark stranger and couldn’t fathom why. Even now, she was bombarded with the urge to turn around and go back with every step she took away from him. She had no business having such feelings for someone she didn’t even know. She had dated a couple of nice men, but no male had ever really caught her interest . . . until now.

  He could be a serial killer for Christ’s sake! No, her instincts told her he was good, and all she could think about was going back to run her fingers through that dark mane of hair to see if it was as silky as it looked. He called to something deep and unfamiliar inside her that she didn’t quite understand.

  Why did she have to run into him at this particular time in her life? Even if he had been interested, which he clearly wasn’t, what could come of it? No sane man would want her now that she had a death sentence looming over her. No, now she would just be considered a burden and nothing more. She laughed out loud. Yeah and like I’d know how to handle a man like that anyway. Geez, what an idiot. Yet her brain whispered, “But you wouldn’t mind trying would you?’

  She rubbed her arm lightly. The lingering tingle from his touch sent another jolt through her body, yet this time it was more of a warm caress, comforting, beckoning. What the heck was that all about? Determined to clear him from her mind, she set a fast pace for home.

  Chapter Two

  Ashe Aleksandrov stood in the alleyway, waiting for the shadow drifter he had been dogging for days to reveal its hiding place. He had never come across a drifter that was this cunning in the past. The creatures had been exhibiting strange behavior lately, things out of character he didn’t like. The changes seemed to hint at an uprising, but for an uprising, there needed to be a leader. The shadow drifters had no leader. They couldn’t work together, never had. The slimy things were evil incarnate, made from the devil himself, and how any of his kind would choose to become such was beyond his comprehension.

  Most humans had a misconception of immortality. Immortality seemed a good idea, until seven hundred years had passed you by in the blink of an eye, and you had nothing to show for it. Pretty much everyone you had come to care for in the world would be dead. Yes, he was one lucky bastard to have a wonderful family, but the thousands of humans he had befriended over the years were all dust. Even finding the one being destined to be your life mate was next to impossible, and if you did find that person, it didn’t always have a happy ending, and boy didn’t he know it. Memories that could still cripple his heart with pain and steal the breath from his lungs rushed in at him.

  1502, somewhere near Transylvania

  The approaching men on horseback, all with grime covered faces and swords capable of cutting through flesh, muscle and bone chased all rational thought from Ashe’s head.

  Shara’s pointing finger and sudden shrieking, “It’s him! He’s evil! A creature of the night! Kill it! Kill it!” fueled the men’s blood-thirsty desires as they circled him. They drew their weapons and stared at one another as if a huge contest were about to begin with the winner being the first one to remove Ashe’s head from his shoulders. The horses snorted and nervously pawed the ground, sensing the tension growing in the air.

  Ashe could smell the stench of the sweat and dirt on their bodies and tasted the anticipation flowing through their veins. The woman he loved had betrayed him, and now she thought to dispose of him as if he were trash. Though he had been distracted momentarily by the pain of her betrayal, he now sneered at the men, almost laughing as he knew if they had any idea at all what they were up against they would all be running as fast as they could away from him.

  Ashe was a vampire and warrior, a fine-tuned killing machine, enhanced with supernatural speed, strength and senses, who found no human a threat. Yet, he was smart enough to know that one tiny mistake in battle could cost his head. Twenty blood-thirsty men bent on staking, decapitating, and maiming him in any way, might get a little tricky, but he still knew what the outcome would be . . . their deaths.

  He took a deep breath, turned the pain throbbing through his veins like a drum into anger, forced his mind to concentrate only on the ensuing fight, and pulled his trusty sword from its scabbard almost comforted by the familiar hiss of steel against steel.

  A white-hot rage shot through his blood, consuming him, and a red haze covered his vision. He ran at the men in a blurred pace too fast for them to see, and removed the threat of each, one by one, dealing quick death blows with the razor sharp blade. Blood sprayed his face with each slice, and only a few minutes had passed before the last hiss of breath echoed in his ears as his final enemy died. His muscles quivered as he stood among the slain bodies, and steam floated off his overheated body dancing on the cool air.

  He turned his focus on Shara standing a few feet from the fallen men, her eyes huge with surprise and fright. Good, she should be scared. He could barely leash the fury biting and clawing his insides, screaming and demanding that he kill her. Just a few hours earlier he had thought her the most beautiful woman, but now the sight of the long red locks cascading over her shoulders emphasizing the blue eyes and slender form he had once adored made his stomach clench in revulsion.

  He made a vow right then and there that he would never trust another woman as long as he lived, and that would probably be a hell of a long time. They were manipulative creatures that would only cause pain. Shara’s hands were stained with the shattered remains of his soul, and he would never give anoth
er woman that power over him again. A tear slid slowly down his cheek, and his heart struggled to beat through the pain. He vanished, accepting that he would never lay eyes on her again.

  Fuck! He hated those memories, tried to drown them, keep them safely tucked away in a corner of his brain, never to be let out. Yet, even after all these years, on occasion they would sputter to the surface and slither through his mind to spread their venom. He knew everyone had to suffer the death of a loved one at some point in their lives, but no mortal could begin to comprehend losing those you loved over and over for eternity, and to lose the one chance of having a mate, someone to share your infinite years with, someone to love, to cherish, the chance to have babies. It was almost too much for him to bear. Simply put, he was tired.

  Shaking his head, he had to admit he could see the allure of becoming a shadow drifter. For the mere price of your soul, Satan himself would grace you with the gift of immunity to any emotions involving compassion, joy or love, effectively dousing your ability to care about anything or anyone but yourself. Yet, it was only a cruel mirage. He bet not one single vampire who turned shadow drifter had stopped to weigh the odds, had never considered that the balance of good and evil was necessary for life. One could not lack all that is good and expect to have a normal life. Yes, the pain of losing those you loved would be gone but would be replaced by constant malevolent urges eating away at your once sane mind.

  He, better than any, could understand how the pain of years of heartbreak could drive anyone to contemplate a life without such emotions. Yet, he doubted any of those who had readily given his soul could fathom how fast the darkness would stain every fiber of their being, turning them into nothing but shells of their former selves. There was no saving them, for once Satan had your soul it was lost to you forever. The only option was to dispatch them home to hell, and that’s where Ashe came in.

  The breeze picked up and blew dead leaves and debris around his feet, flaring the bottom of his coat out into a circle. The small town of Plainview was only one of the many towns near his home in St. Louis. The many small towns surrounding his home proved to be quite a hot bed of activity, and he and his brothers had slain numerous shadow drifters. His home was surrounded by a mixture of well-to-do areas and unsavory locations that most avoided after dark. To him, the dark locations where junkies could be seen selling crack and hookers trying to look inconspicuous dotted the streets were perfect hunting grounds. These places proved attractive to shadow drifters as well as the small, quaint unsuspecting ones.

  After all, who would really pay attention to a dead junkie with no family or the hacked up prostitute in the Dumpster? But, Ashe knew they were humans too, no matter what poor choices they had made or what life circumstances had landed them in such situations. Ashe didn’t care if the shadow drifter’s next victim was the girl next door or the whore on the corner, he would not hold judgment, and both had the same value to their lives. Both wanted to live, and neither deserved to be murdered.

  There had been a number of chaotic and tragic events that had taken place on the outskirts of Plainview over the last several days which steered him to the conclusion that this area would most likely be the shadow drifter’s next target. His assumptions proved correct, and he had quickly caught the scent of his prey shortly after his arrival. He had watched the people for awhile and knew exactly why they would be easy targets.

  Just as had been proven with other small communities, everyone trusted everybody. Most of the houses in the neighborhood had doors propped wide open, inviting the clean scent of fall in. Small towns had an uncanny knack for being trustworthy, its inhabitants usually thinking nothing bad could happen there. The unsuspecting individuals proved easy prey. Like taking candy from a baby. If any of the people knew what lurked in their town, watching, waiting, they would lock themselves inside and cower in a corner.

  Just as he was sure the shadow drifter was about to show itself, a tiny blonde woman crashed into him. His words had been stolen by shock, and he had watched her in silence as she mumbled something at him. She was now hurrying down the alley past him. During his long existence as a vampire only one other mortal had ever seen him while he was shielded. That was over five hundred years ago. The other human had been the woman who was supposed to be his mate and love him forever . . . the woman who had betrayed him.

  Blondie’s big, green eyes reminded him of flawless emeralds, and he had imagined how passion would turn them a darker, deeper shade. Her scent of honeysuckle had flowed through his nose into his lungs and embedded deep into his being as if imprinting itself on him. She wasn’t classically beautiful by any means, but her long blonde hair, heart shaped face with hints of pink coloring her cheeks, pert little nose, full lips and very curvy body made her one attractive package. Short women didn’t usually hold much appeal to him being six foot four, but this time his cock disagreed and did a standing ovation for Blondie.

  Nice, plump breasts, full hips and shapely legs definitely made him forget that she was barely over five foot, and the way her snug jeans lovingly hugged every curve of her ass sent shivers of desire crawling deeper through his veins. He didn’t go for the anorexic, twelve year old boy look that so many women and men seemed to think was the epitome of being beautiful nowadays. He went for women who looked like women, curvy, full breasts and full hips. She fit that bill perfectly.

  Blondie had craned her neck back so far to stare at him, he thought she might snap it, and what a shame that would have been. The gentle curve of it had beckoned to him as well as the blood that pulsed and throbbed through her jugular. A vivid picture of him piercing that smooth skin, pulling her essence deep, while plunging his body into hers over and over played through his mind like a movie, stretching the tiny strings of his control to near breaking point. That thought had not been a welcome one, and he immediately discarded it under the do not open file in his brain. Since Shara, he had not tasted a woman during sex. While it heightened the act, it was too personal in his opinion and should be reserved for someone you loved.

  He never planned to revisit that unpleasant road and kept his feeding strictly for sustenance. It kept things simple and uncomplicated. He was not a man to mince words either. No woman he had taken his pleasure from over the years had ever been mistaken that their tryst would lead to anything other than sex. He was relentless in letting them know in no uncertain terms that the only thing they would share was a mutual act of slaking needs, and no emotions would be involved on his part, ever. He would never hit or abuse a woman, nor would he lie to one about his lack of emotions. If he sensed any of his partners had a problem understanding his conditions, the encounter would end then and there.

  He was a skilled lover, and the women he bedded were completely satisfied with the arrangement. He’d ease both of their body’s sexual demands, and they would be happy with whatever trinket he gave them, whether it was a diamond necklace or simply a fulfillment of lonely needs. Only a few had complicated things by falling in love with him. Those few he walked away from without looking back. He knew it had not been love and had more to do with how he could pleasure their body. Women had a way of confusing an orgasm with love.

  His dark brows furrowed when he recalled the spark Blondie’s touch evoked. Erotic sensation had whispered at emotions he thought long dead, and he didn’t care to question why. The touch was a mere brushing of skin when she had reached for the cell phone at the same moment as he, but it was enough to awake the beast in him. It demanded he take her, claim her so no other would dare even look at her. After she had said a quick good-bye to whomever she was talking to and dropped the phone in her bag, she muttered an apology for running into him at the same time she sidled her way around him.

  The quick look she had given him over her shoulder as she walked away hadn’t escaped his attention. He hadn’t sensed fear from her, put that backward glance down to curiosity and watched her lovely hips sway with each step she took away from him. How was it that she had seen him? Only o
ther vampires or immortals, with the exception of shadow drifters, could see him in his shielded state. The only mortal that could see a vampire while shielded was supposed to be that vampire’s viata amant or life love, but there had to be another explanation.

  “Like hell will I go through another Shara episode,” Ashe growled to himself as he abruptly turned and started to follow Blondie.

  He should be heading home now instead of following her. After the encounter with Blondie, he no longer felt the shadow drifter’s presence in the area and knew it must have shimmered far away. He figured it must have sensed him when his guard was down for those few minutes and probably wouldn’t return now that it knew it was being hunted. Although, this town seemed to be filled with trusting souls, and that might prove too easy of an opportunity for the drifter to pass up.

  He glanced at the graying sky. He didn’t enjoy being in the daylight any more than necessary but at least the late afternoon removed some of the sun’s intensity. It wouldn’t burn him like vampire lore suggested, but his eyes were overly sensitive to it, and even though shadow drifters liked the sunlight even less than vampires, their twisted minds believed they were less likely to be tracked during daylight hours. They were wrong, and many had found that out while being dragged down into the bowels of hell after Ashe’s sword had removed their head.