Wilder, J. C. - Shadow Dweller 1

by OneWithThe Hunger(lit)

He certainly appreciated her choice in underclothing. But he was surprised that a woman as conservative as Shai would dress like a seasoned harlot beneath her street clothes.

  It would be so easy to kill her, he thought dispassionately. He knew exactly where to touch her slender throat and, in mere seconds, she'd be one of the dearly departed. Just another victim found dead in their bed in the city called New York.

  He looked at his hands, his pale skin gleaming white in the moonlight. They didn't look like they were over nine hundred years old. Nine hundred years of murder, mayhem and blood. He stroked his chin. For Shai's sake, it would be more humane for her if he did kill her with his hands. Quick and efficient, no fuss no muss. No mortal would want to live through what he'd planned for her. But even when he'd been human, he hadn't been humane.

  A mirthless smile curved his mouth.

  Oh, how he wanted her. More now than the first time he'd laid eyes on her. Every year, the desire had grown stronger until he'd reached this breaking point. Sitting outside of her bedroom window watching her sleep, lusting after her yet unwilling to touch her.

  Yet. Soon her time would come.

  A faint, self-deprecating laugh escaped him.

  She stirred in sleep, a frown marring the perfection of her face. As if she knew he was there, she turned her face and twisted her body away from his gaze as if to avoid him. The silk half-slip tightened, sliding up to reveal the tops of her stockings and the tiny black thong panties she wore.

  The vampire's breath caught in his throat and a faint hiss of air escaped him. Her panties left nothing to the imagination. Moonlight gilded the perfection of her skin, the smooth slopes and tantalizing indentations.

  Her backside was larger than considered fashionable by today's standards. But it was perfectly round and taut. He preferred his women to be shaped like women, not sticks with boobs. This beauty had something to hang onto, a backside that would fill his ample hands admirably.

  He longed to slip in her window and grab her, pulling her against his raging erection. To bury himself in her softness until she cried. He pictured himself in bed with her, her body moving against him, her eyes sleepy with lust.

  A growl escaped his throat.

  With one last look at the sleeping woman, he turned away. Mortal women. They were the downfall of many a vampire. To meld with living flesh, breathing and crying out beneath him, on top of him, it didn't matter. It was an addiction and he was in serious need of a fix.

  Weakness was weakness and it had to be either destroyed or appeased. He glanced back at her. It was rare that a mortal had reached him the way she did, the way she always had.

  Just as her mother had many years before.

  He bared his teeth. The moonlight seemed even more brilliant than it had been before. It was time to feed and feed he must. Clicking his jaw in frustration, the vampire caressed her one last time with his gaze. Moving with the near silence of one of the very old, he leapt from the window to the alley thirty feet below.

  He landed with a gentle thud and straightened, checking to ensure his clothing was in perfect order before moving toward the mouth of the alley and the darkened streets beyond.

  Shai's time would come, as would her companions. He knew that for a certainty. Unfortunately her friends were average, not exceptional like her. If they'd been exceptional, he might have spared them. The only possible exception was Jennifer. She could be a problem. But the rest of them would serve their purpose and serve it well.

  First things first, though. There was a merry game to be played. The players in this drama were in place and act one had already commenced.

  Laughter filled the night as the vampire faded into the shadows.

  "So who's the woman?"

  Val started, the forgotten book falling from his fingertips to land on the pine floor with a hollow thump. He looked up to see his unexpected visitor standing near the fireplace, a bemused expression on her face. "Miranda, what a lovely surprise. I didn't hear you pop in."

  A silvery laugh echoed in the expanse of the library. "That's a new one." Miranda shed her black velvet cape and draped it over the back of the chair across from him. She stooped to rescue the leather-bound book from the floor. "Wuthering Heights," she read, carefully closing the cover. Her crimson fingernails gleamed in the subdued lighting as she stroked the priceless binding. "First edition, even. Dreaming of unrequited love, my friend?" A smile danced across her face as she perched on the arm of the opposite chair.

  "Just enjoying a classic, my dear." Val rose from the chair to reclaim his book from her.

  She didn't release it. "What's her name?"

  "And why do you think a woman is on my mind?" he asked, careful to keep his tone light.

  Her smile turned sad, almost disappointed. "And who knows you better than I? You can fool others, but you can never fool me."

  He brushed his finger down her cold cheek. The first time he'd laid eyes on her, he'd thought Miranda was the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen. Hair as black as night fell in thick luscious waves to her tiny waist. Skin the color of clotted cream, by contrast her lips were full and red. Deep blue eyes framed in sooty lashes stared, unflinching in their regard of him. Tall and built like a Rubenesque statue, she was perfection wrapped in a rich, black velvet dress. She was a woman many men would desire.

  Miranda was his dark angel, his savior. She'd saved him from himself many times through the years they'd been friends and confidants. But he also knew she wanted more, much more than he could give. It pained him to hurt her so. When he'd met the red-haired angel last night, he'd known it was inevitable that someone would be hurt. Unfortunately, it would be Miranda.

  "Never you, Miranda," he whispered.

  She released her grip on the book; her gaze unwavering as she folded her hands in her lap like a prim spinster at an afternoon tea. "She's mortal?"

  "Yes." His tone was resigned. Didn't she see that he didn't want to hurt her with this?

  "Do you love her?"

  Anger surged to life. How could he dare love any mortal woman? Their relationship would always be doomed to failure and loss. A vampire would always outlive a mortal, many lifetimes over. "How can I love her?" he bit out. "How can I love anyone?"

  "The same way any of us can love." Her tone was soft, her voice musical, sensual. It was that voice which had pulled him back from the edge many times. He felt the lure of it even now.

  "I've only met her once."

  "She must be quite the woman to have captured your attention."

  "It's only lust." He said the words, but they rang hollow to his ears.

  "If you believe it's only lust, then you're a bigger fool than I ever knew you were." She looked down to pick at imaginary lint on her skirt. "You realize that mortals can be our downfall?"

  "Yes."

  She abandoned her task, raising her gaze to meet his. "Do you want to die that badly?" she whispered.

  "No, not anymore. I have you to thank for that." He moved away from her and toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. "I don't know how to explain it." Burgundy velvet drapes were pulled back to reveal the clear, starry night. The shadows beyond the glass beckoned his soul and, for the first time in many years, he wanted to curse the night which enshrouded him.

  "You don't have to explain, Val," Miranda spoke softly. "You owe me nothing."

  "No, you're wrong," he said, his voice harsh. "I owe you everything." He turned to the beauty who stared at him with the face of love. Love that would ease the crushing loneliness of his life. Love he could never return. "Everything."

  "You owe me nothing you will not give willingly." Her tone was pained as she rose from her perch. "I'll take nothing you do not offer of yourself." She picked up her cape and moved to stand before him, her cool fingers caressing his face as if committing it to memory. She dropped her hand as tears filled her eyes. "I take my leave of you with a heart filled with love for the boy you once were, and the man you've become."

  She vanished, leav
ing the faint scent of jasmine and a delicate tingling on his skin. His heart heavy, Val turned, his eyes once again searching the darkness of a New York night. How had his life come to this?

  * * *

  Chapter 3

  Shai frowned at the gorgeous roses on her desk. One dozen long-stemmed, blood-red roses in a black glass vase sat near the edge of her scribbled-on blotter. They'd been waiting for her when she'd returned from lunch and now, three and a half hours later, she was no closer to determining who'd sent them. There'd been no card with the gift.

  She drew her fingertip over one of the half-opened buds. Their sweet scent surrounded her, invoking a longing she'd never dreamed even existed.

  Over the years she'd worked at the Times, she'd seen her co-workers receive beautiful bouquets for birthdays and anniversaries or for no reason at all. Something to tell them they were loved. How many times had she watched them being delivered, all the while knowing it would never happen to her.

  She'd dreamt for years of her Knight In Shining Armor only to realize she was allergic to horses.

  A bitter smile touched her lips as she caressed the fragile petals of a delicate bloom. Soft as a lover's kiss. Unbidden, images of the man she'd met the night before entered her mind. He'd occupied her thoughts ever since she'd risen early that afternoon to get ready for work.

  Valentin.

  Even his name wrought faint shivers of awareness over her skin. He was, without a doubt, the most handsome man she'd ever seen. And she'd certainly never had a reaction like that to another living soul.

  Her cheeks colored at the thought of her sudden arousal when she'd laid eyes on him. Normally she avoided men like the plague. They made her feel nervous, anxious and lacking. But Val drew her like a moth to the flame. She frowned. That was a bad analogy. Was she trying to warn herself that she'd get burned?

  A sigh escaped her. What did it matter anyhow? She'd likely never see him again anyway. He wouldn't recognize the frumpy woman who sat behind her desk tonight. She was nothing compared to the woman in the naughty lingerie sitting in a restaurant while laughing and talking with her friends.

  "They found another one."

  Shai jumped, gasping as her finger caught on a thorn, tearing the unsuspecting flesh. Blood welled through the cut in a brilliant red bead. She reached for a tissue, watching the droplet shiver with her movements.

  "Found another what?" Shai wrapped the tissue around her finger before looking at her boss.

  The night editor of the Times, Mariah White strolled into the tiny office Shai shared with three other junior employees. In one hand, she carried a sheet of fax paper and a well-chewed pencil in the other. She planted her generous backside on the corner of Shai's desk and dropped the paper in front of her.

  Weary, Shai leaned back in her chair and rubbed her forehead with her undamaged hand. She wished she knew what the heck was wrong with her. She'd met a handsome man last night and now, twenty-four hours later, she was all maudlin and acting silly. This wasn't like the normally stoic, unemotional woman she was comfortable with.

  "Hello?" Mariah waved her pencil in the air. "I'm not talking for my health here. Wake up."

  A yawn escaped before Shai could stop it. "I'm sorry. What were you saying?"

  "Body. Another woman, same MO as the others." Mariah snatched a chocolate drop from a jar on the desk and popped it into her mouth. "Found behind the old Festival Garden Theater on Forty-Second. Just came across the fax not five minutes ago."

  "Sounds like the place to be." She yawned again, reaching for her ever-present notepad and tape recorder.

  Mariah helped herself to another candy. "I knew you'd say that." She slipped off the desk and headed for the office door. Pausing in the doorway, she turned back. "I am curious, though. Why are you taking such a personal interest in these murders? Brett Springer is writing them for the paper and murder isn't usually your beat."

  Shai pushed herself out of her chair and stifled a groan. "Everyone has to have a hobby," she said dryly. She pulled the tissue off her finger to inspect her wound. The bleeding had stopped, leaving a tiny red scratch. She dropped the tissue in the trash.

  "Maybe you need to get out more."

  No, I got out too much last night.

  She forced a smile, hoping it didn't look as fake at it felt. "Maybe you're right."

  "Of course I am. That's why I make the big bucks." Laughing at her own joke, Mariah vanished out the door.

  Shai stuffed the tools of her trade into her large handbag and tried to gather her strength for the coming ordeal. To think, ten more minutes and she would have escaped for the evening. Home to her quiet apartment. Home to a good book, some canned soup and a good night's sleep.

  Boy, she had rotten luck.

  The cab ride to the old theater was quick. The streets of New York City were relatively quiet at 2:30 A.M. and the traffic was light. A large crowd was gathered at the end of the alley behind the theater when Shai's cab pulled to the curb.

  The muggy August air smacked her in the face as she opened the door. She'd lived in New York for most of her life, but tonight the scents in the air were alien. The smell of too much garbage, too many people, of human waste and dirt. And the underlying scent of fear and violent death.

  Not again-

  "Hey lady, youse gonna shut da door or just stand aroun' all night?"

  The cab driver's strident voice interrupted her musing. "Oh, sorry." She shoved a five-dollar bill into his hand then slammed the door.

  "Youse wants me to wait?"

  "No, no thank you."

  He gave an abrupt nod and sped away from the curb, leaving her fervently wishing she'd gone with him.

  She shouldered her bag and turned to scan the crowd, trying to ignore the churning in her gut. Why would people stand around a desolate street in the middle of the night at a murder scene? What drove someone to do that? Didn't they realize that someone had died violently and it wasn't a joke? It wasn't television. It was real life and it was painful and ugly.

  Relief washed over her as she spied a familiar face.

  Detective J.B. Henry stood just beyond the bright yellow police line. Henry and Shai had first met when he'd arrested her for stealing food. She'd been eight years old and slowly starving to death on the streets of New York. He'd taken her to Children's Services, who'd found her a place to stay and helped her get a good education. If it weren't for him, Shai was pretty sure she wouldn't have been alive today.

  After she'd graduated from SUNY with a degree in journalism, her first job had been writing the Police Beat section of the Village Investigator newspaper. She'd always made sure to mention the cases he worked on. Keeping him in the public eye had helped him to move up the ranks of the NYPD quickly. In return, he could always be counted on for accurate information and a good exclusive.

  Shai shoved her hair off her sticky forehead, squaring her shoulders for the oncoming ordeal. She clipped her plastic PRESS badge onto the collar of her cotton blouse as she slipped along the edge of the crowd. She ducked under the tape while the harried patrol officers fended off curious onlookers. She sauntered up to Detective Henry.

  "Lots of lookie-loos for this early in the morning."

  Reminding Shai of Albert Einstein with his wild hair and droopy mustache, Henry looked around, a scowl on his face when he spotted her. "What are you doing here? You know better than to cross the police line."

  "And you know me, Henry, just like a bad penny. One never knows where I might turn up." She grinned.

  "Boy, isn't that the truth." His cop eyes took in her rumpled tan slacks and white cotton blouse. "Long hours again?"

  "When aren't they?" She glanced at the sheet-draped figure surrounded by a knot of cigarette-smoking detectives. "I went out to dinner with friends last night. It turned into a late evening." She nodded toward the victim. "And now this."

  "What's his name?"

  Confused, she looked at him. "Whose name?"

  "The fella..."

/>   "What fellow?"

  "The ones you went out with last night?"

  "Now, who said it was a man?" she asked, exasperated. First her friends, now Henry. Did everyone think she needed a date?

  "I can only hope," he grumbled.

  "Keep trying, Henry." She smothered a grin and waved a hand toward the body on the ground. "What's the story?"

  "Shai," he said sternly.

  She shook her head. "Just between you and me, Henry. I'm not writing this one."

  He gave her a doubtful look, then shook his head as if to indicate she was crazy. "Same as the other three. Prostitute accompanies a john into an alley, nails him and then her throat gets ripped out." Henry shrugged. "Nothing new with this one."

  "I heard from someone at the coroner's office that there was no sign of semen with the other three. No sign of latex residue either," she mused, hoping he'd add more information.

  "It is a puzzling one, all right. One would think that girls like them would use condoms, for heaven's sake. However, this one isn't like the others." Henry started walking toward the corpse, leaving Shai to follow.

  "What's different?"

  "She's not your average good-time girl. She's an expensive piece from an escort service."

  Shai dogged his steps. "Why would an expensive woman like that do her business in an alley in the middle of the night?'

  "That's the question of the hour." Henry shook his head. "What is this world coming to?" He waved the junior investigators away from the corpse.

  "No good, that's for certain." She was disappointed that he didn't add more to her statement, but she didn't let that deter her. Henry could be a fount of knowledge when properly persuaded.

  She tried to brace herself to look death in the face. It was never pretty, and she was sure this one would be worse than most. So far, all of the victims had been young and beautiful and this one would probably be the same. So many lives ruined, such a waste.

  Henry motioned to a uniformed officer to pull back the blood-stained sheet. "She was a looker all right," he commented.