What would the voices make of this scene? Confronted with not only one vampire, but two? They would never comprehend, or take the time to realize that Dameon was a hero, not a villain. No, Dameon was in danger, her thoughts computed rapidly, as she recognized Tom Schlesslinger's voice out of the hum of other voices.
"Dameon." She tugged on his arm. "You must leave. I'll—think of something. We'll meet at your house afterward and everything will be all right, I promise," she whispered, her eyes caressing the thin, tired planes of his face.
He raked his fingers through his disheveled hair, dislodging a single strand, which fell over his forehead. A hunted, desperate look crossed his face. "I..." he began just as Tatiana rose up before them, and the voices grew louder and closer.
"I heard shouts," a feminine voice was asserting. "Someone could be hurt!"
Tom's bumptious, loud voice was booming. "I saw some fellow runnin' like he had done some'in wrong..."
"Oh my God," Jen croaked. With a shaky hand, she pointed in disbelief. Tatiana had risen and literally turned into a black swirl of smoke, which poured itself into a starling preening beneath a nearby tree. The bird reminded Jen horribly of the owl she had seen not long ago. The starling flew up, eyes red and glowing, and let out one derisive squawk before disappearing into the inky night.
Dameon swore under his breath. "There is no time. I will deal with her later. I can't leave you, chérie, but it looks as if I must." His eyes caressed her, as a reckless, mocking note filled his voice. "Are you sure you won't join me?" He reached out a hand, as if hungry to pull her close to him.
Jen shook her head, her throat thick and swollen. "I have to come up with a cover story. Wait for me later," she whispered hoarsely.
"Always," he promised, tearing his eyes from her. And then, a swirl of black smoke covered him, and he became one with darkness. He was gone.
As the voices grew closer, Jen snapped out of her sudden trance, stricken by Dameon's reality-bending departure. Crouching near the wounded man, she began to call out. "Help! Is someone there? We need help here! " And followed with a series of, not exactly simulated, cries of panic.
Footsteps thundered and crashed through the trees. Tom Schlessinger, Rita Irman and Mel Lipman burst onto the scene, wide-eyed, a gamut of worry, shock and excitement pasted on their faces. Jen watched as they absorbed the gory scene. Her brain fumbled frantically to string together a plausible story.
"Thank God you came by. I was so scared I didn't know what to do. I couldn't leave this man...to get help, and..."
Tom Schlessinger broke excitedly into her explanation. "I knew this was going to happen. The cops wouldn't listen to me, wouldn't take it serious..."
"Are you hurt, too, Jen? Were you attacked, too?" Mr. Lipman asked.
Jen dumbly shook her head. Licking her lips, her voiced squeaked out in a trembling whisper. "No, but we need to call an ambulance; this man has lost a lot of blood."
Rita Irman was shaking her head, voice shrill. "See, I knew we should have done something besides talk. Maybe we could've stopped this from happening." She threw Tom Schlessinger a pointed look.
Schlessinger glared at her without responding to her remark. "We've got here something unnatural, something sent by Satan," he intoned. His glance swept Jen's face, his tiny eyes hard and seeking.
Rita turned too and stared at Jen. Jen shrank back and forced her gaze down on the victim.
Rita came and brushed Jen aside, pressing her own fingers on the man's wound. "You better go call an ambulance. This man doesn't have a moment to spare." She snapped at Schlessinger, spurring him into a trot.
Schlessinger paused. His glance went from Jen to Rita. "You better watch her," he said brusquely before leaving. Mr. Lipman gave all three of them a curious look, but said nothing.
Mr. Lipman sighed and peered at Jen over his glasses, openly curious. "Jen, did you see what happened to this poor man?"
Jen strove to speak calmly. "I was taking a walk when I heard screams. I ran and fell." She paused to show them her scraped face and arm. "That's how I got hurt. By the time I reached this man, he was on the ground, moaning and bleeding. I never even saw what attacked him. Of course, I was terrified, but felt I couldn't leave with him bleeding like this." After her recitation, she slanted an avid look from under her lashes at Rita and Mr. Lipman to see if they were swallowing her story. Their faces looked strangely expressionless and stonelike in the silver wash of moonlight. Neither replied for a long minute.
Rita spoke up, brusque and tense as always. "Something's going on around here, and we have to find out what it is." She stared pointedly at Jen, who flinched and looked away. Mr. Lipman frowned but nodded.
I can't let them find out about Dameon, she thought tensely. Better they're suspicious of me. She flashed back to Dameon's inhuman transformation and fought back a shudder. She hadn't had time to deal with that yet. Maybe I'm crazy for still wanting him, she thought.
She must keep her cool and her story straight, for Dameon's sake.
She ached to be with him and chafed at the obstacles stopping her from going to him. She worried about what state he was in, and was overcome by the fear that the worst was yet to come. And, of course, Tatiana was still out there. A most terrifying thought Jen forced herself to repress.
Grimly, she turned her attentions to the scene before her, shaken from her reverie by the man on the ground who was suddenly muttering loudly and feverishly. The three of them immediately huddled around the victim, three shadowy shapes surrounded by darkness. Jen could only imagine what a strange picture they made.
"I gotta keep running. He's going to catch me—kill me, I know it..." the injured man moaned.
Jen nearly exclaimed out loud in disbelief over the word "he.”
The victim continued, "I was just trying to get even, man. Didn't know what I was dealing with. Rich dude with a silver Rolls made a fool out of me and my friend. Stopped us from taking the old lady's car...played with our heads..."
Jen froze in shock. The car jacking incident. She hadn't recognized him at all. The man rolled his head back and forth, his eyes opened, white-rimmed and unseeing. "His fault that I fell on my face, made a fool out of me. Just wanted to get back at him, followed him here, knew he lived here. Tried to warn everyone when I found the throats cut." The rolling eyes suddenly focused on Jen, who stiffened. "No one listened, then I saw the dude sneaking around in the middle of the night, killing animals and drinking their blood and then he was carrying bags of blood! I knew what he was. I tried to warn you, lady..." His face grew whiter and his eyes rolled in the back of his head. "La Faim, La Faim," he intoned, his voice fading. "He's going to kill me..."
Jen's soul shriveled. She was tempted to put her hand over the delirious man's mouth. She could acutely feel Mr. Lipman and Rita exchanging significant glances over her head.
"Bags of blood—Satanism?" Rita said. "What the hell is going on?"
They then turned to stare at her. Jen returned their looks without wavering. She was implicated, and they were actually giving some credibility to the man's ramblings. Mr. Lipman bent closer to the man while Rita continued applying pressure to the seeping wound. In the dim light, they made a ghostly picture. The victim must have lost consciousness again. Thank God.
"Who is this La Faim? Where does he live?" Mr. Lipman was as cool and controlled as a prosecutor interrogating a witness. Jen felt her heart leaping into her throat; she wanted to shout, It's all wrong, he's not telling the truth. It was Tatiana who nearly killed him. Dameon and I saved him. That horrible Tatiana must have hypnotized the man into believing a false, incriminating version, which would implicate Dameon.
Jen was overwhelmed with the desire to flee the scene, to warn Dameon. So intense was her longing that she nearly missed Mr. Lipman's next question.
"Son, what is your name? Do you have parents we can notify?"
Rita Irman grumbled from where she knelt. "We should be calling the police..."
It was
all coming together for Jen. The man in the woods and the man in her yard were both the same person lying drenched in his own blood. He was going to be the finger on the trigger pointed right at Dameon unless she could think of something.
The red-headed youth was moaning and talking again. "My name is Luke Keller, but don't call the cops, man. They're already on my case..."
Rita frowned and shook her head as she continued to apply pressure to the young man's gushing wound.
Mr. Lipman was pacing and straining to see through the darkness. "I do hope Mr. Schlessinger has the emergency vehicle and the police alerted and on their way."
Jen stood up, unable to wait, unable to bear the suspense. A sharp wind turned her skin into goose bumps. She had to discredit this Luke Keller for Dameon's sake. "Look, guys, I don't think we should take too seriously anything this kid says." She took a deep breath and forced her intense gaze onto their faces, radiating earnestness and righteousness. She must convince them. "I found him and there wasn't anyone else around. He never mentioned anyone trying to attack him..." She injected healthy scorn into her voice, and was careful not to repeat Dameon's name. "As for him warning me or the rest of us...he's obviously just trying to cover his own rear."
She watched Rita's and Mr. Lipman's faces closely to determine if her words made impact. Rita started to look convinced, but Mr. Lipman was frowning and looking concerned.
Unnervingly, the shrill screams of sirens rent the air. Jen's heart lunged into her mouth. The police were near. She had to warn Dameon about Tatiana's trick before the police looked for him. Despite her assertions to the contrary, she knew the police would take Luke Keller's allegations seriously enough to interview Dameon.
She had to help Dameon. Staggering to her feet, she put her hand to her forehead and prayed that she looked sufficiently pale. She groaned loudly Mr. Lipman and Rita both turned in synchronization and stared at her. Jen felt the hysterical urge to laugh out loud. Swallowing hard, she forced her voice into a weak whisper.
"I think I better go home and lie down, guys." She hurried on before they could voice their protests. "I know I'll have to eventually talk to the police, but that can wait till later. I'm very shaky and my head is really starting to spin. I must have knocked it hard when I fell. I have to go before I get sick right here." Jen could feel their disapproval. She knew they thought she shouldn't leave the scene, but forestalled any more conversation by turning away and stumbling as quickly as she could.
Jen heard Rita's annoyed tones increasing in volume and following her through the night. "Of all the things, what came over her? Didn't that punk mention she was involved with the guy who attacked him? Really, the police will..."
The rest of the words were lost in the wind. Jen tightened her resolve and refused to give in to the wild fear that threatened to swallow her. She must remain calm and warn Dameon.
She noticed for the first time that her hands were stained with Luke Keller's—the carjacker's—blood. The irony that Keller was the one who had brought Dameon and her together and might now be the instrument of Dameon's exposure was not lost on her. She would have to wash the blood off when she got home.
Chapter Fourteen
Dameon stared at the computer screen and then closed his eyes. He was sickened, shaken to the marrow of his bones, by the night's events. Jen in the grips of that mad gorgon, Tatiana. His heart had nearly stopped. His blood had turned to ice when he’d first witnessed her danger. He blamed only himself.
He turned off the screen. Results of the tests on the South American plant were inconclusive. Sighing, he rose, his thoughts turning to more pressing matters. The conflict with Tatiana was not yet over. He pushed his clenched fist against his forehead and stood motionless as the wind outside howled past. The confrontation with her had left its mark. The mutated chemicals in his blood were racing, triggering off dangerous responses and reflexes.
Trembling, he watched the heavy streamers of dark clouds cut across the lopsided white moon. Pain, pure, nerve-shredding, physical, mindless pain was tearing through his body, similar to withdrawals since his body was struggling to go into vampire mode. He gritted his teeth and growled. He could hear his own heavy breathing. It was a Catch 22. He would suffer with the injections, he would suffer without. But to keep his vampirism at bay, he needed the treatment.
Blind with agony, he lurched through the doors and staggered up to his bedroom where he kept his kit. The room was dark. Not bothering to find the light switch, he used his nocturnal vision to locate the case. Steadying his shaking fingers, he knew Calvin would want to be called in to help. Loyal Calvin, who Dameon had helped long ago.
Back then, he had been too late to save Calvin's son from Tatiana. Leonard had been nothing but a human chew toy for Tatiana. But at least he had saved Calvin's life, who had lost not only his beloved child, but a functioning larynx as well. War wounds from Tatiana.
Calvin was always willing to put his loyalty to Dameon above all else. But he could not bring himself to wake Calvin, to recount the horrors of this night. The night that seemed to go on forever. As the drug hit his bloodstream, waves of freezing, burning agony followed till every nerve and every vein seemed to twist and writhe. He closed his eyes against a type of torment no human being could withstand. He felt rather than heard Calvin's presence. Calvin's perceptive eyes took in Dameon's posture and expression, and he made an anxious, questioning gesture of concern.
Dameon struggled to control his breathing and looked up from where he was leaning against a wardrobe. "What is it, my friend?" he gritted though his clenched teeth. "I'll soon be fine."
Calvin pantomimed a phone ringing, and in an instinctive flash, Dameon knew it had been Jen who had been calling. Lost in his own hellish misery, he had not heard the phone ring. He punched the answering machine button. He had purchased the irritating piece of equipment recently because of Jen, not wanting her ever to be cut off from him.
Her voice came breathlessly on. "Dameon? Where are you? The man Tatiana attacked is under some delusion it was you who assaulted him. She must be behind this." Fear and frustration edged her words. "He mentioned the carjacking, and says he followed your Rolls Royce." Her voice stumbled suddenly. "He babbled something about blood, and claimed he was trying to warn us—me, in particular. The police and ambulance were on their way when I left." He could feel her anxiety radiating from the machine. "I can't wait. I'm on my way..." The machine abruptly cut her off. Dameon let loose a string of vivid French profanities. At Calvin's stricken expression, he accurately read the question in his eyes.
"That damned Medusa showed up and took down a human in Jen's woods, and roughed her up, as well." He rubbed the scratches on his face, which were rapidly healing. "I nearly killed Tatiana, Calvin." His voice dropped to a whisper. "I don't know why I didn't. Yes, I do. Claudia, who was kind and helped my mother. But, it's a debt that can only be stretched so far." His tone roughened and hardened as he looked into Calvin's eyes. At Calvin's grimace, he replied, steel behind each word, "Tatiana has spent centuries pursuing me in the name of something she calls love. But lamias can not love. They can only possess or destroy. I've been patient, but no more. I will finish it with her, my friend, never fear. I will finish her."
He gratefully sipped the glass of bourbon Calvin poured for him as the raging, torturous attack on his body subsided. The bourbon wasn't really good for him, but on occasion, he enjoyed the taste. His hands were still shaking, but the pain was lessening. And to think, this treatment was better and less painful then his mother's original brew. He debated whether he should search for Jen, but was afraid, in his present state of mind, his intuitive powers would fail and that they would cross purposes.
* * * *
Jen drove wildly over the dirt road, eyes blurry with fear and strain. Twice, she nearly ran head first into the rail siding the road. When Dameon hadn't answered his phone, she had rushed out to her car, grabbing her purse and her jacket. She had to reach him.
The tem
perature had unexpectedly risen and had combined with the increased moisture in the air, creating a thickening blanket of fog. Jen could barely hold onto the wheel. Long curls of white-gray fog were beginning to blanket the ground, spiraling up to trees. Wisps of condensation brushed the car, leaving ghostly, white vapor on the windshield. Nervously, Jen switched on the wipers. The black sky was soon coated in low, ashen clouds, obscuring the moon.
Her mind could not stop playing scenarios of Dameon in custody, being questioned, and worse, being discovered. He could escape. He had means which no human had. But if the media got the story, he would be hunted ruthlessly. Crazies would be out in force, armed and ready to kill. He wouldn't be safe anywhere. They would never listen to reason, that he wasn't a monster, wasn't dangerous. A quick flash of how he'd looked when he'd been fighting Tatiana, how even to her he had appeared scary, burned through her brain. Jen crushed the thought.
She squinted hard, and braked instinctively as she thought she saw an animal in the middle of the road. Her eyes were playing tricks on her. The old Tempo swerved and she automatically drove into the skid before adjusting the steering wheel. She knew her actions of leaving the scene and leaving her home would not sit well with the police, but couldn't spare the energy to worry about them or their concerns. Only one thing mattered. Dameon.
In minutes, she came up to Dameon's house. The enormous, Gothic structure loomed like some giant leviathan through the fog. Lights shone through the second story windows. Thank God. He was home.
Jen parked haphazardly, gravel shooting in the air, and sprang out of the car. Tense, she waited impatiently for someone to answer the doorbell. It would all work out, she promised herself. Everything would be fine.
Chapter Fifteen
Dameon pulled open the door just as she was raising her fist to knock. He had heard her drive up the path and was waiting.
Kiss Noir (BookStrand Publishing Romance) Page 16
