"So this is not so much an offer of help, but a way of protecting me while you continue your own search."
"Precisely.” He turned and offered her an arm. “May I escort you free of this mill? The paths tend to be uneven."
"My sight is as good as yours, vampire.” She brushed past his offered arm and strode away, as if to prove her point.
He chuckled softly. He'd never met such a fiercely independent woman before, and while it was annoying, it was also extremely refreshing. Would she be this feisty in bed? Somehow, he suspected the answer would be yes.
He followed her, enjoying the sway in her walk, the flash of calf. She hitched her skirt up as she reached the longer grass, revealing lithe, well muscled legs. Not a woman who spent most of her time on her back, that was for sure.
He lengthened his stride to catch up with her. “So, what does the witch do when she is not hunting killers?"
"I do not spend my time whoring with drunk or sober louts.” She cast him a sideways glance. “What does the vampire do?"
"For the most part, try to stay out of trouble."
"Some things never change,” she muttered. “Vampires, no matter what the age, are a close-mouthed lot."
He raised an eyebrow. “You've associated with vampires previously?"
"Yeah.” She looked at him, and there was something in her eyes that strangely stirred him. “You might even say I love one."
"If the feelings are returned, then why are you here alone?" She ducked her gaze away from his. “Because my vampire went away."
"Ah. I'm sorry."
She shrugged. “It doesn't matter."
It mattered a lot, if the sense of hurt and frustration he was picking up from her was anything to go by. Though why he was picking such things up from her was something he didn't know. “Would it help if I say vampires rarely stay in relationships for long?"
Her gaze came back to his. Amusement touched the amber-lit green depths. “So I've been told.” She hesitated. “Have you had many long-term relationships?"
"Very few."
"How many is very few?"
He raised an eyebrow. “That is none of your business."
She smiled, and he couldn't help feeling her amusement came from a joke he should be able to share.
"You called me a whore, but I can count the number of men I've had on a couple of fingers. Can you say the same, vampire?"
He studied her for moment, wondering why this seemed so important to her. Wondering why the thought of her having had a couple of lovers tore at him so. “That depends on what you term a relationship."
"More than just sex. And more than a few nights."
"Ah, well.” He paused, thinking back through the long years of aloneness. “Maybe three." Her eyebrows raised. “Really?"
"Really.” His voice was a little sharper than he'd intended. “Watching someone you love grow old and die is never easy. Mostly, it's better not to love."
"Then why not make your lover a vampire?"
"Are you always this damn nosy, woman?"
"Yes. And I tend to nag when I don't get the answers I want."
"All women nag. It's an ability I'm sure you're born with." Amusement touched her eyes. “And it seems men are born with the innate ability to sidestep questions."
"Then let me answer yours. Turning your lover into a vampire almost never works, because the fledgling stage of vampirism is basically a madness that can last ten or twenty years." They skirted the old pump house situated on the southern edge of the pond and continued on. The scent of another person touched the air, and he raked his gaze across the night. The old man was rustling about in the bushes lining the far edge of the pond. Hunting or spying? Or something else entirely? Maybe he should check out those bushes once day had broken again. He wasn't sure why he thought daylight would affect Kinnard when he wasn't a vampire, especially when he'd seen Kinnard moving about in daylight, though not during the midday hours.
"And that,” he continued firmly, returning his thoughts to the blonde and her questions, “is all you're going to get out of this vampire."
She raised an eyebrow, amusement rich in her eyes. “You're very touchy when it comes to personal matters."
"You don't know me, so you can't say what I am or am not."
"I wouldn't bet on that, Michael."
Actually, he wouldn't bet on it, either. He had a vague suspicion this woman knew him better than anyone else alive. Maybe she was a witch.
"Any idea where this so-called ceremony might take place?" She shook her head. “I suspect it's probably happening in one of the mines, but there's so many, we could never check them all in one night."
He could. Or he could at least check which of the mines currently had life in them, and go from there. But Dunleavy would sense his presence the minute he got anywhere near those mines, and the fiend had proven adept at disappearing in the past. Which again left him with the woman and the possibility of using her as a decoy.
An option he didn't like, and one that had not worked well in the past. His gaze went back to the bushes. Kinnard had gone. Interesting. “Does Dunleavy intend to kill the men in some sort of ceremony, or does he merely execute them?"
"There's no ‘merely’ about an execution."
He glanced down at her. “If he merely kills them, it could take place anywhere. If he intends to perform a ritual, wouldn't that lessen the search area? Don't such ceremonies require specific locations?" She hesitated. “Yes."Again, he got the impression that he knew more about magic than she did. “Such as?" She bit her lip, her expression one of fierce concentration. It was the sort of look an unprepared student might have when asked a question by a teacher. “It would need to have limited access. And depending on the type of ritual he performs, it would need to be big enough to cater not only to the protection circle, but a ritual fire and perhaps a sacrifice table."
Michael nodded. “Then that cuts down our search area. There are five mines that are big enough to cater to those requirements. One of them is the Standard Mine, which we just left." "It won't be that one. He intends to use that the night of the new moon." He raised an eyebrow. “Couldn't he use the same area twice?"
"He could, but I doubt that he will. He has to follow a set pattern."
"Why?"
Her gaze slid from his. “Because he has a ceremony to perform on the night of the new moon, and the lead up to that ceremony does not include killing anyone else on the site."
"You sure?"
"Yes."
Despite the conviction in her voice, he very much suspected she wasn't sure. “There is one way we could easily find out."
She glanced at him, eyebrow raised. “How?"
"Vampire's can move with the speed of the wind. I could very easily check out the five mines for the presence of humans, and then come back here.” And, in the process, he could check out Kinnard's disappearance while keeping her at a safe distance from trouble, should it arise. She stopped, crossing her arms as she looked up at him. “We both know you could have suggested that when we were standing in the middle of the Mill, so what's suddenly made you change your mind?"
"I merely wish to make your search easier."
"Crap. You've seen something, haven't you?"
The woman had to be a witch—either that, or she had some form of telepathy that somehow breached his shields, allowing her to read his thoughts. “If we continue as we are, we will not have time to search all the mines before your midnight deadline."
"Fine.” Her voice was flat, angry. “Go."
He caught her hand and raised it to his lips, inhaling her intoxicating scent as he kissed her fingers. “I won't be long."
"I believe that as much as I believe the reason you're going,” she replied tartly. He smiled, stepped back and let the night cover him.
For several seconds Nikki glared at the spot where he'd been standing, and she silently cursed him. She'd forgotten just how frustrating he could be—which really only showed how much he'd changed in the time they'd been together.
But, thanks to the spell he was under, he was back to telling her nothing and trying to get rid of her the minute anything dangerous appeared on the horizon.
While she had no doubt he would check the mines, she also suspected he was going to check what Kinnard had been up to. If she'd noticed the old man foraging around in the shrubs, Michael surely had. And he was about to learn yet again that she wasn't going to be left behind, where it was supposedly safe. She hitched up her skirt and walked back towards the pond. Just as she reached the old pump-house building, a scream rent the air. She froze, a chill racing across her skin as she stared towards the town. It had come from the direction of the whorehouse and had been a sound of sheer terror. Someone was dead. Horribly dead. Of that she was certain. And Seline had warned her about ... There will be five people killed, the old witch had said , two on the first night. Stop them, if you can.
Nikki had fallen into a trap, all right, but it wasn't the wolves. It was believing what Kinnard had said about the rangers and thinking that the rangers were the two who would lose their lives tonight. God, she was a fool.
She turned and raced down the hill. People were out in the streets, some simply standing there, some running towards the whorehouse.
She pushed past the small crowd standing in the doorway, then hesitated, glancing around. Sobbing was coming from the room to her left, but it was the stairs that drew her attention. Blood that was fresh and bright dribbled slowly down each step, its source an unknown well at the top. Nikki swallowed, then lifted her skirt higher and carefully made her way up the stairs. It wasn't until she reached the landing that someone tried to stop her.
A big man with red hair and matching cheeks stepped forward, one large hand outstretched. She sidestepped the pool near the top stair then came to a halt, her gaze unwillingly following the needle fine trails to the doorway on the right. The door was closed, but that wasn't stopping the blood. God, what had happened in there?
"Sorry, Miss, it's better that you don't go any further.” His voice was gravelly, but gentle. “It's not very pretty."
There was a sheriff's badge on the left pocket of his khaki shirt, but it was the plastic kind they sold in toy shops. His pants were also khaki, and Nikki very much suspected she'd just found one of the missing rangers. But did that mean the others were also in this crowd, or was this another of Dunleavy's little games?
"I've had medical experience,” she lied. “I might be able to help."
"There's no one left alive in there to help, Miss. Best you go back down the stairs."
"Sorry, can't do that."
She tensed, expecting him to react, to try and force her back down the stairs, but all he did was shrug and step back. “Then let it be on your head."
Nikki's gaze went from the ranger to the door, and her stomach clenched. She didn't want to step through that doorway—no sane person would—but she had to. She was here to do a job, to stop a killer, and something in that room might provide a clue.
Gathering her courage, she stepped to the door and wrapped her fingers around the handle. After taking a deep breath to calm the churning in her stomach, she carefully opened the door. For a moment, she simply couldn't believe what she was seeing. It looked for all the world like some youngster had gone crazy with a can of paint. Red was sprayed across the walls in insane patterns, and dripped steadily from a thickening blotch on the ceiling. Two men were covering body parts with white sheets, a tough task when there were so many parts, many of them no longer resembling anything human. Her gaze went to the window. When she saw what was sitting on the sill, she put a hand to her mouth, holding back a scream that seemed to stick somewhere in her throat. Then her stomach rose, and all she could do was run—from the horror of the room, from the overripe smell of blood, and from the grotesque remains on the sill.
Remains that were the image of her .
Chapter Seven
Nikki got as far as the side of the building. Once there, she lost what little she'd eaten over the day. When there was nothing more than dry heaves left, she stumbled to the back of the building and sank to the ground, leaning her head back and closing her eyes.
Dunleavy was sick.
Though she'd never doubted it, she now had proof positive. What manner of man could do something like that? God, he had to be insane. Inhuman...
The thought stopped her cold. Dunleavy wasn't human, and he couldn't be judged by those standards. He was a vampire, a worshipper of dark Gods, and a shape changer. A monster.
And monsters didn't think like the rest of humanity. Jasper had certainly proven that .
"Are you all right?"
Michael's voice rose out of the night, soft yet filled with concern. Wishful thinking , she thought. He was probably too busy tracking down Kinnard to worry about what she was doing right now.
"Are you all right?” he repeated, his voice, and his concern, nearer. 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 in front of 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.