"And that's why you're here?"
"Partially.” It was no good lying to her—she would sense it the minute he tried. And if she was involved in the disappearances, it would only make matters worse.
"And you're not here alone."
It was a statement rather than a question, and unease slithered through his gut. Elizabeth knew about Nikki. How? Had she checked the hotel register when she'd felt his presence this afternoon, or had she known all along that Nikki was here with him?
Their chance meeting might not owe so much to chance as to planning. “She's not a companion. She's a thrall."
It might have been dangerous telling Elizabeth that, but it was just as dangerous not telling her. Even if she wasn't involved in whatever was happening here at the resort, he wouldn't put it past her to seek Nikki out and play a few games with her. He'd seen her do it to lovers of her other fledglings too often in the past. And Elizabeth's games always ended with bloodshed. But if she thought Nikki no more than a thrall, a servant to his wishes and desires, she might leave her alone. Elizabeth raised an eyebrow again. “I remember telling you about thralls. You swore at the time you could never do it to another."
"I've sworn a lot of things over the years.” He shrugged again. “But I found I just needed the company." "You always did. It was one of your failings as a vampire. You'd rather talk to your prey than eat them." He smiled slightly. “Still do."
She sighed softly. “Where did I go wrong?"
"You didn't."
He touched her hand, briefly wrapping his fingers around hers. Her palm was heavily blistered, which could have only happened if she'd grabbed something silver. Perhaps a silver knife—just like the one that had stabbed Jake.
Her pulse was slow but steady. She wasn't worried by his appearance here. Maybe she thought he presented no real threat. “So tell me,” he asked after a moment. “Why are you here?"
"Why am I anywhere?” Her gaze met his, challenging him. Ask what you came here to ask , it said. Don't play games with me.
He let go of her hand and picked up his wine, taking a drink. “Are you here to hunt?"
"I hunt every day, Michael, no matter where I am."
True. But it wasn't so much the sweet strength of human blood she was addicted to, but the rush of her victim's fear and loathing, the sense of power and utter domination such a killing gave her. And while there had been a spate of disappearances from the hotel, all but three of those had returned. If Elizabeth was hunting, she wasn't doing it here or in nearby Jackson Hole.
"What happened to Vance Hutton?"
A slow smile spread across her face. “What do you think happened to him?" He studied her for a moment. Hutton was dead, consumed by Elizabeth—that much was obvious from the amused light in her eyes. He would have been too tasty a morsel for her to resist. Michael wondered where she'd dumped the body. “Are you involved in the disappearances?" Excitement began to overtake the amusement in her eyes. She'd always liked a challenge. “Maybe.” She paused. “Are you here to stop me?"
He met her gaze steadily. “Maybe."
"Interesting. What if I say I am not in this alone?"
"Then I would ask who else is."
"And if I said that it was a person more powerful than you and me put together? That if you valued your life you would leave the hotel and not come back?"
It wasn't a warning, and it wasn't threat. It was merely a statement of fact. Yet fear echoed in the recesses of her eyes. Whoever this man was, she hated him, even if she worked with him. “Then I would ask why do you not take your own advice."
She touched his knee, the warmth of her fingers pressing heat clear through to his bones. He frowned slightly. Nikki's touch had contained the same sort of fire when the flame imps had taken possession of her. “I have never run from anything in my life, Michael, but you have. I think you should continue to do so."
Her words reminded him of Nikki. She, too, refused to run in the face of most dangers. In some ways, she and Elizabeth had the same sort of strength, the same sort of courage. “I have work to do here, Elizabeth. I'm not leaving."
She took her hand away and sighed. “Then I may be forced to stop you."
"You can try."
She met his gaze. After several seconds, she nodded. The lines had been drawn. If he stepped over her mark, she would kill him. Or try to.
She smiled slightly and motioned to the dance floor behind them. “One more waltz, for old times sake?" It was her way of saying good-bye, of closing the door on everything they had once shared. Her way of saying the next time they met, there would be no history between them, only the present. He held out his hand. “In memory of the laughter and the good times we once shared,” he said and led her to the dance floor.
Chapter Fourteen
Nikki leaned against the patio railing and stared moodily at the distant mountains. Half an hour had passed since she'd left Michael, half an hour that had stretched like eternity. She so desperately wanted to go down there, to meet the woman he'd loved enough to give up life for. Yet she couldn't. If she was to have any hope of holding his affections, holding him, she had to trust him. Even if it meant she risked losing him.
He loved her . He might not want her in his life, but he loved her. Of that much she was certain. And she was certain, too, that under normal circumstances, he was not the type of man who gave his heart then roamed once he had.
But did normal rules apply when the woman in question was the vampire who had turned him? How much of a hold did this Elizabeth still have on his mind, his affections?
She bit her lip, then pushed away from the railing and went back inside the room. She couldn't stay here any longer. The same questions had been going around and around in her brain and were driving her crazy. She needed to do something, anything, to get her mind off what might be happening in the bar below.
Looking for Matthew was out. There was no way on this Earth she was going down into those tunnels alone—not at night, anyway. And if Rodeman was a captive down there as well, then he too would just have to wait.
She headed to her bag and dug out the bra belonging to MacEwan's niece. She'd had no real sense of direction from the few readings she'd taken, but maybe, if she concentrated enough, she might be able to get some hint of Rachel's location. And if it was down in those tunnels with the other two, then she might just raid the minibar and get plastered. Better that than sitting here letting her imagination go crazy. She sat down on the plush leather sofa and opened the plastic bag. Holding the silken wisp of material in her hand, she closed her eyes and reached deep.
Images came, muted flashes of color and sound. She frowned, trying to focus on the where rather than the what . The images had a slight sense of distance—Rachel wasn't in the hotel, or the tunnels, but she was still somewhere nearby. Music swam around her, country music, alive with the sound of thumping feet. Boot scooting , she thought. Laughter mingled with the twang of guitars, accompanied by the melody of many voices. She reached deeper ... and suddenly she was with Rachel, becoming one with her thoughts and her actions...
The room was crowded, and the air a putrid mix of sweat and beer and lust. The scents rolled over her, churning her already agitated stomach. The heat was intense, washing in waves across her skin, as intoxicating as the echoing sound of a hundred hearts, all beating a rhythm only she could hear. Her canines lengthened in anticipation. She kept to the shadows lining the edges of the room, looking for someone solitary, someone who wouldn't be missed.
He had taught her that much, at least.
Fear trembled across her skin. He wouldn't be happy that she was here. She rubbed her arms. She needed to eat so badly it was an ache burning through her stomach. She couldn't survive on his meagre rations any longer. She needed more.
In the deeper shadows near the band she saw a man watching the crowd and drinking a beer. There was loneliness in his thoughts and his eyes. His heartbeat was rich and strong, a siren's song that made her mouth water. Perfect.
She walked up to him. His pulse rate increased, and excitement lit his thoughts. She led him onto the dance floor, ignoring the ache, the need. Waiting heightened the thrill, the anticipation of the kill. They danced. She tasted the sweat glistening on his neck, felt the rapid beat of his pulse under her tongue. Could feel his excitement pressing against her stomach as he pulled them together. Time, she thought, time.
She let him lead her outside. He took her to a truck and touched her, kissed her, loved her. Excitement thrummed. She waited, holding back, until he was deep inside, the waves of release shuddering through him. Then she took him, tasting his blood, draining his life, and relishing his shock and the realization of death, letting it wash over her until her own body shuddered in glorious release, and he was nothing more than a lifeless corpse beneath her.
But the hunger still stirred, as yet unsated. It had been too long. She adjusted her dress and walked back to the bar. Where there was one, there would be more...
...Nikki dropped the bra and scrambled to her feet, running for the bathroom. The next few minutes she spent hanging over the toilet, throwing up what little dinner she'd managed to eat. When there was no more to lose, she slid down the wall, leaning her head back and closing her eyes. God, what was that? How was it possible that she could suddenly immerse herself so completely in another's mind that she felt every damn sick craving and desire as if it were hers? Her stomach churned, threatening to rise again. She wished she had something to wash the bitter taste from her mouth, yet still felt too weak to get up and get some water.
"Nikki?"
Michael's voice rose out of the silence, soft yet filled with concern. Wishful thinking , she thought. Surely he was still in the bar, with her.
"Nikki?” he repeated, voice and concern sharper.
Suddenly he was beside her, his fingers pressing warmth into her cheeks as he held her face. “What's wrong?"
She opened her eyes. He knelt next to her, eyes rich with worry. She touched his lips with her fingertips, trailing them down his chin and neck and pressing them against his chest. His heart beat a rhythm that could only be described as erratic for a vampire. He was definitely real, not some ghost her fevered imagination had brought into being.
"Damn it, woman, will you answer me?"
Her gaze jumped to his. The concern is his eyes was so strong she might have named it fear in anyone else. “I'm okay. I just need a drink."
He fetched a glass of water and sat beside her on the floor. His arm brushed against hers, and warmth pulsed through her body, erasing the chill.
"What happened?” he asked.
She rinsed her mouth with the water and spat it out in the toilet. “I tried tracing the whereabouts of MacEwan's niece."
"And?"
He didn't sound surprised. Maybe she was becoming predictable. “And I not only found her, but became a part of her.” She shuddered and took a hasty gulp of water, half wishing it was something stronger. “She's hunting, Michael. I was with her when she fed." He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and drew her toward him. She rested her cheek against his chest, listening to the steadying beat of his heart. She felt so safe, it was almost scary.
"You should have pulled out sooner.” He brushed a kiss across the top of her head. “If you don't, you run the danger of losing yourself in the other person's desires." She glanced up at him. There was a smudge of red on his cheek. Lipstick, from a kiss. This close, she could smell the other woman's perfume, a sickly-sweet scent reminiscent of orange and honey. But he was here, not with her , and for now, that was all that mattered.
"But why is this happening now? Is it some sort of fallout from you sharing your life force?"
"No. It's an ability you've always had.” He brushed the hair from her eyes, tucking it gently behind her ears.
Her skin tingled from his touch, and her heart began to accelerate. Deep inside, a familiar ache began. One she had no choice but to ignore. They didn't have the time. Or rather, Rachel's next victim didn't.
“But it's something I've never been able to do until recently." He raised an eyebrow. “Think about what you do. Psychometry is the ability to pull images of past events from certain objects, is it not?"
She nodded.
"But that is not what you do, is it? You use the objects to pull images from the present, to see where the owners are or what they are doing. Not strictly psychometry, more a light mind-meld, using the object in hand as a link."
Put like that, he was right. She'd never thought about it before. “But why is it showing up now?"
"It's probably a result of the mind-meld we did to find Jake. Up until then, you hadn't realized the full extent of your capabilities."
Another shudder ran through her. Touching someone's mind so intimately that she felt their needs and desires wasn't a capability she wanted. “We have to stop Rachel. And we have to stop her tonight, before she kills anyone else. But we can't kill her. Something strange is going on with her." He rose, then pulled her up as well. “We may have no option.” He tugged her so close their bodies molded against each other, then wrapped his arms around her waist. “Have I ever mentioned the fact that you smell delicious?"
She grinned. “Even when I've been throwing my guts up in the toilet?"
"Even then,” he said and brushed a kiss across her lips. “Let's go capture this vampire of yours." Right then, with her lips still tingling from his brief kiss and his arms around her waist so tight it felt as if he would never let her go, moving was the last thing she wanted to do. But move she had to if she wanted to stop Rachel killing again.