Tall, Dark & Fangsome

by Michelle Rowen

  He was quiet for another moment. “I know you went to see Gideon again. I waited outside the hotel for you.”

  “Lurking in the shadows.”

  “It’s what I do.”

  “Quinn told me what you plan to do. Kill Gideon.”

  His lips thinned. “Do you take issue with that decision?”

  My bottom lip quivered. “Maybe I’m just not comfortable with the idea of murder.”

  “You seem upset.”

  “Do I?”

  “Yes. Did something bad happen?”

  “Other than hanging out behind a restaurant with a guy in a mask who won’t answer any of my questions?”

  “What happened with Gideon?” His voice was tense. “Did he hurt you?”

  “You know, it’s funny. He’s never laid a finger on me. Well, not in the way you might think.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “He wanted some of my blood tonight. Thought it would ease his pain. I gave it to him.”

  His eyes narrowed. “And did it work?”

  “Surprisingly, yes.”

  “And then what did he do? Threaten you further? Remind you of his power over you right now?”

  “Not so much.” I shrugged. “Then, if you really want to know, he kissed me.”

  “He did what?”

  The sharp, louder reply took me by surprise, and I glanced at the man who stood in the shadows. I had no idea why I was sharing all this with him. Call it cheap therapy. “What can I say? I guess I’m irresistible when I’m bleeding.”

  He swore under his breath. “Perhaps I’ll kill him right now.”

  I looked at him strangely. “What do you care what happened? He didn’t hurt me.”

  “You…” He cut off whatever he was about to say. “It sounds as if you’re defending his actions. I thought that you were distraught over what happened, but now I’m sensing that you might not mind such attention.”

  “You’re sensing that, are you?” I said dryly.

  “Maybe you enjoyed it.”

  I glared at him. “Maybe I did. And maybe that’s why I’m upset.”

  “Interesting.” The word was very cold.

  “Glad you think so.”

  “I have heard that you like receiving the romantic attentions of handsome vampire hunters.”

  My face burned at that. “You heard that, did you? Gee, I wonder where?”

  “To me, that seems a bit… what is the word?”

  “Stupid?” I finished for him. “I believe you called me that the other night in the alley. You were right then and you’re probably very right now.”

  His lips curved. “I think I prefer the term ‘naïve.’ ”

  “Thank you for your opinion.”

  His gaze fixed on me so intently that I felt scorched by it. “Do you think Gideon is another hunter you can help redeem?”

  “You never know.”

  He shook his head. “As I said… naïve. And entirely self-absorbed. You have a hard time seeing this situation objectively.”

  I glared at this mask-wearing man, my anxiety from before now nicely replaced by a swell of anger. “For your information, Gideon actually wants to kill you, now that you’ve popped up again after a century of being who-knows-where. He wants me to lead him to you in return for a grimoire that will help break my curse. But I haven’t told him anything about you.”

  “You don’t know anything about me other than the fact I’m here to protect someone who seems to actively shun any potential protection.”

  I deflated a bit at that. “I’m sorry. I know you’re trying to help, really. If it wasn’t for you, I would have hurt that fledgling the other night in the alley—maybe even killed her.”

  “Nothing happened.”

  “Only thanks to you.” I crossed my arms over my chest, feeling exposed by my multitude of weaknesses and mistakes. It was time for me to head back home to George’s and chalk this day up as another craptastic one. I touched my gold chain. “I’m worried I’m not going to find a way to get rid of my curse. And one day I’ll lose control and end up really hurting someone if there’s no one there to stop me. And now Gideon seems to hold my only answer.”

  He was silent for a moment. “There are ways to find the strength to fight back against the thirst.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “You sound like you speak from personal experience.”

  He turned away and I thought that was it, he’d just vanish into the darkness. But he stopped. “I believe there is great strength inside you, Sarah. You simply need to believe that as well.”

  There was something about the way he said my name—something in the quiet rasp of his voice that suddenly struck an odd sense of familiarity inside of me.

  I moved toward him just as he was about to walk away and grabbed his arm. “Hey, wait a minute—”

  He turned slightly. For a split second I could see his face up close, aside from the mask. His mouth, his chin and jaw line, and his eyes. I was now close enough to also catch the briefest scent of his spicy and strangely familiar cologne.

  “Go home,” he said roughly, and then he quickly walked away from me.

  I’d been walking around in a fog with blinders on the other two times I’d seen him. Even tonight I’d been too preoccupied by what had happened with Gideon to really register anything specific. He’d tried to stay just out of sight. He’d tried to disguise his voice around me.

  I figured that was just part of the mysterious Red Devil deal. But it wasn’t. Not completely. He was doing it so I wouldn’t figure out who he really was.

  But now I knew. The truth of who the Red Devil actually was suddenly hit me in the face like a tidal wave.

  It was Thierry.

  Chapter 8

  Holy mother of crap.

  Thierry was the Red Devil.

  In a daze, I made my way back to George’s, let myself in, and shakily fired up the Internet. I had an unreliable old laptop Amy had lent me and I must admit that the wireless connection was borrowed from the neighbors—“stolen” is such an unpleasant term, isn’t it?—but it worked and I had to do some research. Every minute I was away from the Red Devil I questioned what I’d seen. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I’d dropped some LSD and not realized it. Maybe I was tired, or projecting… or completely insane. I had been feeling more than my share of loopy after seeing Gideon, after all.

  There had to be a more logical explanation, because on what planet did it make sense that he was Thierry? Why wouldn’t he have ever said anything to me?

  Other than his tendency toward keeping everything in his life a secret, that is.

  I mean, this was major.

  The thing about Thierry that made it hard to believe was that although he was wonderful and sexy and I was crazy about him, he’d never struck me as a vigilante type. At all. He preferred to avoid situations of conflict. In fact, he’d always insisted that it was safer to stay hidden than risk meeting the wrong end of a wooden stake. Everyone who knew him, or knew of him, was aware that this was his preferred method of dealing with intense situations. However, he would fight if he had to, and I knew that he could kick some major ass. I’d seen him throw a man right across a room in a fight. Actually, that man had been Quinn, but that was another story.

  But this?

  This was unbelievable. And yet, down deep, I felt there was a part of me that had always known the truth.

  Okay, that was a big fat lie. I had absolutely no damn idea.

  I launched my web browser and searched the term “red devil,” which brought up links to rock bands and vacuum cleaners. Not very helpful, obviously. I added “vampire” and “vigilante” to the equation. That brought up a few obscure references. Nothing solid. I searched for a whole hour until I found one small sketch of him. It wasn’t a good one and it may have been done by someone who never even saw him in the flesh. But the mask was right and the mouth was similar. It wasn’t proof, but it was something.

  There wasn’t much information o
n him at all, actually, and what I did find only confirmed what I already knew. He saved vampires from hunters and he’d disappeared completely a hundred years ago—coincidentally around the same time Thierry began a century of staying out of the vampire social scene.

  Until he met me, that is.

  Veronique was interested in the Red Devil. She wanted to have an affair with him and had said as much to me. I knew that he’d saved her life a long time ago so they’d obviously met face to face. She’d given me zero indication that she had any idea it was Thierry. How the hell couldn’t she know who he was? I mean, she’d known Thierry for six centuries, hadn’t she? I’d known him for only three months and I recognized him immediately.

  Well, almost immediately. Close enough.

  The next morning, after tossing and turning all night in bed, I called Veronique’s room at the Windsor Arms hotel and she agreed to meet me for coffee.

  “Good morning, my dear,” she began when we met at ten o’clock. “Am I to assume that you are now curse-free and wanted to celebrate with a close friend?”

  She, of course, meant herself. I truly wish I had even a fraction of her self-esteem.

  I pulled out the thousand dollars that remained of what she’d given me and explained to her what happened with the teenaged wizard and the eradication that didn’t happen.

  “I’ll pay the rest back as soon as I can.” I pushed the money across the table toward her. “I’m sure I’ll be able to save that much in the next… um… well, I’ll write you an IOU in the meantime.”

  She frowned. “So you’re not cured.”

  “Afraid not.”

  “That is terrible news.”

  “Tell me about it.” I sighed. “If you happen to speak with anyone from the Ring, could you let them know that I’m working on it and for them to pretty please not kill me just yet.”

  “I will certainly do that.”

  She continued to look disturbed by my news, and that made me very nervous. Veronique never looked this disturbed.

  “Is there something wrong?” I asked tentatively.

  “Would you consider having this eradication in the future? Even if it meant losing your memories of being a vampire?”

  I clenched the mug of coffee in front of me. “I don’t know.”

  “Are there any other ways to get rid of this curse?”

  Other than handing over the Red Devil, aka Thierry, on a silver platter and possibly playing evil tonsil hockey with Gideon?

  “I’m still researching some options.” I touched my ugly necklace. “But at least I have the gold chain. I don’t plan on removing it even if it turns my neck green.”

  Her eyes lowered to my throat. “Yes, you do have a Carastrand.”

  I blinked. “A what?”

  She leaned back in her chair and nodded at my chain. “A Carastrand.”

  “I didn’t know what it was called before. And Thierry didn’t tell me.”

  “Thierry doesn’t know everything,” she said simply. “I remember clearly when the nightwalkers existed in great numbers. Mostly in London and Paris. This was in the nineteenth century. They looked so very human. In fact, some of them never developed vampire fangs at all, instead needing to tear at their victim’s throat in a horrifically violent manner.” She shuddered.

  I touched my chain. “I researched it but I couldn’t find any information on it. I figured it was a secret cure.”

  “A Carastrand dampens dark magic and dark natures. That is its purpose. The name is from the Spanish for face, ‘cara,’ which is to mean it is for appearance only. Its strength dissipates quickly, as it takes a great deal of energy to keep nightwalkers in control of their hungers. Unfortunately it’s only a temporary solution.”

  This info came like a sucker punch to my gut. “Temporary?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Thierry didn’t know this,” I said. “Or he didn’t mention it.”

  “Like I said, my husband doesn’t know everything, my dear.” She reached across the table to touch my hand. “I feel that you still have some time. You’ve only had the curse for a couple of weeks, yes? The strand should sustain you for a while longer. But you must take care that it isn’t broken. I witnessed a nightwalker once who wished to control himself, so he wore a strand as you do now. In a fight it was torn from his throat, the clasp broken, and even when repaired it did not work its magic again.”

  “What happened to the guy who lost his strand?”

  “What happened to all the nightwalkers,” Veronique said gravely. “He was eliminated to ensure the safety of others.”

  I shivered. “So even though he wanted to be good, he couldn’t.”

  She shook her head. “However, he was a nightwalker from the beginning. Your tendencies come from an artificial source of magic. Perhaps they can be controlled.”

  “You’re just saying that to make me feel better, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I am. Does it help?”

  My stomach churned. “Not so much.”

  “So you see that you cannot simply discount this potential eradication out of hand, even though the side effects are undesirable.”

  “I need to think about this.”

  All of my memories gone or risk becoming a nightwalker 24/7 whether or not I wanted to be. I had to get rid of this curse. The grimoire Gideon allegedly had now became a beacon of hope for me. I had to get my hands on it.

  “Now,” Veronique said. “Let’s talk of less depressing matters, shall we?”

  “What do you want to talk about?” I asked weakly.

  “The Red Devil,” she said evenly. “Have you seen him again?”

  “I… I actually have. Yeah.”

  “And have you mentioned my interest in exploring a relationship with him?”

  I stared at her for a long moment. “The subject hasn’t come up yet.”

  Her lips thinned a little. “I understand. You do have other issues to consider. However, if you could tell him that it is I, Veronique—”

  I held up a hand. “No offense, but setting up a devilish booty call for you is a bit low on the list at the moment for me, as I’m sure you can understand. But I do want to talk about the Red Devil.”

  She tilted her head to the side. “I am not interested in a booty call, I am interested in a relationship, a romance with the most interesting man I’ve ever met. I took you to be a romantic, Sarah.”

  “And I am. Depending on the day.” I forced all curse-related thoughts temporarily out of my already crowded brain. “What exactly is it about the Red Devil that appeals to you so much? I mean, you could have any man you want.”

  “Yes, that is very true. But ever since I met him nearly two hundred years ago, I have kept him in the back of my mind and all men since have paled considerably in comparison to that memory. Our meeting was so momentous, so intense and incredible, that I dream about him to this very day.”

  “Tall guy, about six feet,” I said. “Dark hair, broad shoulders, gray eyes.”

  “Yes. Handsome with or without the mask, I would imagine.”

  “So you got a good look at him. You actually saw his face.”

  “Yes.” She closed her eyes and sighed like a fangirl. “I even kissed him to show my gratitude.”

  Tramp. “So he didn’t look familiar to you at all? Is there anyone you’ve ever met who you think might be the Red Devil after hours?”

  She smiled. “Much like a modern-day superhero with a closely guarded secret identity?”

  “Sure. Something like that.”

  Her forehead creased slightly in concentration. I imagined that she was thinking of meeting the Red Devil, being rescued by him, and then never seeing him again despite the “be my lover” vibe-fest she was sending out.

  She slowly shook her head. “I have met a great many people, human, hunter, and vampire, in my life, and there is nary a one that I believe could be masquerading as the Red Devil.”

  Seriously? She seriously didn’t know?
<
br />   “Just thought I’d ask,” I said.

  She leaned over the table. “Why? Do you know who the man is behind the mask?”

  “Nope,” I lied. “But it is something to think about.”

  “Indeed it is.”

  I pushed the small stack of hundred-dollar bills the rest of the way across the table to her. “Here. As I said, I’ll pay you back the rest when I get a new job. Maybe they’re looking to hire staff at Darkside.”

  “I’ve heard Darkside has recently been sold. Vampire real estate is a fluid thing. It is likely the new owners will close up shop to protect themselves and their investment.”

  “Even with… Gideon Chase… dead and buried?” I said carefully. “Is it still that dangerous?”

  “Especially now. The hunters’ need for violence has become even more indiscriminate than before.” She pushed her small cup of espresso away from her. “That’s why I want to make every day count. Time is of the essence for me.”

  “What for?”

  “To become a part of the Red Devil’s life, of course.” She frowned at me. “Honestly, Sarah, you seem very distracted to me today.”

  No shit, Sherlock.

  She pursed her red lips and glanced around at our surroundings. “Did you have a meeting with Barry scheduled after this?”

  “Barry?” I repeated. “Barry Jordan? The man who hates me with every small fiber in his tiny being? No. Why?”

  “Because he is staring at you rather intently right now.” She shrugged her elegant shoulders. “A coincidence, I’m sure.”

  I looked around the small café but saw no one I recognized. Then I turned to the window facing the sidewalk.

  I jumped. Barry Jordan stared straight through the pane of glass at me next to my face. He was the same height standing as I was sitting so when I looked we were face to face.

  He didn’t look amused. He jabbed his right pointer finger at me and then curled it as if he wanted me to come outside.

  I looked past him to see Amy but there was no one else with him.

  “I think he’s trying to tell you something,” Veronique observed.

  I held a hand to my ear and looked at Barry again. “What?”

  He already looked frustrated with me.