Kiss Noir (BookStrand Publishing Romance)

by Robynn Clairday

  The sounds of something crashing below had shaken her from her pleasant thoughts. Uneasy and even afraid, though she didn't know why, she'd grabbed the robe she found hanging next to the sink. At first, she'd been confused and had gone down the wrong staircase. Growing increasingly frightened by the thuds and shouts, she'd plunged crazily down the labyrinth of hallways until she found the right staircase. She had nearly fallen in her rush down the stairs.

  Catching herself on the banister, she'd been horror-struck as she watched Tatiana wrestling Dameon. In that heart-stopping moment, she'd been convinced that Tatiana would win and murder both Dameon and herself.

  Still paralyzed by shock, she watched as Dameon turned victor and overpowered Tatiana. She had been unable to drag her eyes away when Dameon metamorphosed so eerily. His face had tightened and hollowed, the flesh drawn sharply from the bones. His eyes were terrifying red flames, just as she had seen during those moments in this house and in the woods. He exposed his long, sharp teeth, appearing more animal than man. She couldn't look away even while he slashed Tatiana's throat with his fangs. Afterward, his wild growl resonated through the walls. It was the cry of the beast after he makes his kill.

  It was at this exact moment that Dameon looked up and spotted her on the stairway. On legs of water, she made her way down the rest of the stairs. Dameon was still as a statue, standing over Tatiana's ashen remains. His face was white as snow and he looked dazed. Jen moved closer to him, trying to comfort him, reach him through his frozen state. She swallowed a lump of nausea rising up in her throat as she stared down at the pile of dust that was Tatiana.

  Dameon slowly and mechanically removed a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the blood from his mouth. He stared down at the blood spotted handkerchief with stunned loathing.

  "Dameon," she whispered, softly touching his arm gently, as if he were a wild deer she was trying to tame, "Dameon, you had to do it. It was self-defense. She left you no choice."

  He didn't answer her.

  "Dameon," she tried again, her growing anxiety over his unnatural stillness overcoming her revulsion from the scene. "She was going to kill you and me. You saved my life. What else could you have done—let her kill us all? She was a monster. She forced you to do it. You can't blame yourself for her insanity."

  When he spoke, his voice sounded ancient and rusty, as if he hadn't used it in centuries. "Her mother, Claudia, is not a good woman, but she was a good friend to my mother. My mother had been served a warrant for trafficking with the Devil. They would have killed her. Claudia saved her. I was across the continent. I wasn't there to help her."

  "I know, I know," she murmured helplessly, patting him. He felt as hard and cold as stone.

  "I'll have to collect her ashes and return them to Claudia. It's the least that I can do," he said in the same mechanical voice.

  The front door opened behind them. Calvin, laden with packages, was grinning and red-faced from the biting wind. He was practically skipping, all traces of the somber, emotionless butler removed. He came to an abrupt halt when he saw the two of them staring at him. The grin slowly shriveled and died from his face.

  Carefully, he piled the packages on the small marble table in the hall. He and Dameon exchanged glances in a wordless communication. His own face now white and blank, Calvin stood in the hall, reluctant to enter the room they were in. He looked for a long minute at Tatiana's remains, surrounded by broken china and splashes of tea and sugar, then slowly turned around to face Dameon. He was shaking his head and gesturing insistently.

  Dameon replied in a dry tone, one heavy eyebrow raised slightly. "Jen agrees with you. She also believes Tatiana's demise was inevitable—and just." The bitter, self-irony in his voice was painful to hear. He continued on, his tone blacker by the minute. "You didn't know, Jen, that vampires can kill their own. The penalty is that you must absorb a part of the loser's spirit and carry them within you forever. No one, not anyone, is truly safe around us." His last sentence was sharply edged with double meaning.

  Jen recoiled from the message he was sending her. Calvin's sorrowful eyes swept both Dameon and Jen as if he wanted to say or do something helpful. Jen caught his gaze and tried to reassure him with a shaky smile, but her lips were quivering too hard. Calvin stared across at Dameon who remained lost in his own world. His face fell even further. Shoulders hunched and looking defeated, Calvin trudged down the corridor. His melancholy was contagious, weighting down her already bleak mood.

  "He forgot his packages," she said softly, watching Dameon.

  "It doesn't matter. Not now," he answered, his tone heavy and despondent, his face remote and grim. "Nothing does, chérie."

  "This has been a shock for everyone. We both need to rest, and a chance to recover from this traumatic experience. Let's go upstairs." She tugged gently on his arm. "Let's put this behind us for now. You'll see, eventually we'll be able to put this in perspective. We can forget all of this." Her voice broke into a plea.

  "Can we?" His eyes met hers. Their black emptiness chilled her. She saw no light in them, none of the loving warmth that had exclusively shone for her. It was worse than a glance from an utter stranger. He turned his back on her and woodenly walked toward the stairs, mounting each step as if it were his last.

  She pulled the sash of the robe tighter around her waist and grabbed the hem up in one hand. She followed him up the stairs. Her heart was beginning to beat faster. "Dameon. " She struggled to catch up and grabbed his arm. He halted without turning. "Don't shut me out, please." Her voice shrank to a hoarse whisper, and a lump rising in her throat made it difficult to speak.

  "Chérie," he replied, his voice heavy with pain. "Don't do this. It is hopeless."

  "What? I don't understand." Tears were beginning to gather in her eyelashes and she fought them back. She would not capitulate. She would decide her own fate, for once. Not even Dameon could make choices for her. She hung onto the railing as she trailed him up the steps.

  When they reached the landing, Dameon turned. He spoke as if they were mere acquaintances. His voice was so polite and so devoid of all feeling.

  "If there is anything you need before you leave, let me know. Otherwise, Calvin or I will bring your car to the front door for you while you gather your things together."

  "What? What are you saying?" she demanded. Her voice was wobbling with the strain to hold the tears back. Her nerveless fingers dropped the hem of the robe she'd been holding.

  "Let's not fool ourselves. Last night"—he paused, but refused to look at her—"was wonderful. But we have no future. You and I both know that." Resolutely, he turned his back again to her and started down the hallway.

  Emotion rose and swelled within her. A huge wave of wrenching fear, pain and anger was growing and filling every cell in her body. Heart in her throat, she was dumbstruck watching him walk away from her. He couldn't be tearing her heart out with a few meaningless words, without a backwards glance. No. It couldn't happen. She began to run, her bare feet sliding over the slick parquet floor.

  "Dameon!" She didn't realize as the word tore from her throat that she had screamed out his name until the echo bounced back, shocking her ears. She sounded loud and strident. He stopped and faced her. His face was marble and ice. Scratches and bite marks from Tatiana showed on this throat and jaw. Lines heavily scored his face. His black eyes were fixed straight ahead and he still wouldn't meet her eyes.

  "Dameon." She drew closer to him and looked up at him, determined to make him meet her eyes. "You can't be serious. You can't simply dissolve our relationship. It takes two people to make or break a relationship, not one." She gave an outraged laugh and grabbed his hand. It was icy and lifeless in hers. "After last night, we deserve a chance." She shook him lightly. "I've accepted your world, and now you want to shut me out, simply because"—she struggled for words—"a woman—a psychotic, dangerous woman—tried to kill us both and you were forced to kill her instead."

  He didn't answer.

&n
bsp; "Dameon?" she pleaded. Her whisper dwindled till her voice was a barely audible rasp. "Don't do this to us." She held out her hands in entreaty.

  For the briefest of seconds, his eyes turned to her, and their unfathomable black depths opened to reflect the same hellish agony that was inside of her. his lips trembled as if to speak and then determinedly tightened. His eyes shut down, hard and empty, and refused her entrance again into them. He turned away from her and began to walk away again. Shaking and ill, she stared at his implacable back. It couldn't end like this.

  Crying out, she threw herself at him, gripping him feverishly with both hands, vaguely aware in the back of her conscious mind that she had lost all control of herself. She thrust her arms around his waist and pulled herself around to face him.

  "I won't let you do this. Vampire or not, you don't get to decide for me." Her voice was belligerent to cover the naked pain.

  For a second, she thought she saw a flicker of a smile, but his face instantly turned back to stone. She gripped him tighter. His lips thinned in a stubborn line.

  She grabbed the front of her robe, yanked it open and tugged the collar of her shirt down to expose her throat. "Let's solve the problem right now. You bite me or suck me, or whatever it is you call it, and I'll become like you. Our dilemma will be over."

  She waited, shaking hard.

  He stared down at her, shocked. With strength she didn't realize she had, she fiercely ripped her shirt in two. Now, she stood before him with her throat and entire torso bared. "There," she panted, "you have more than enough skin to work with." Her body burned and shivered. "What are you waiting for?"

  His hands fell uselessly to his sides.

  Sobbing, she grabbed his hands and tried to pull him close to her exposed neck. "Damn you, why won't you listen? Didn't you hear me..."

  He finally moved, taking a step back. She looked defiantly into his stunned face.

  "Chérie, what are you doing? My Jen, you don't know what you are asking," he whispered in a voice thicker and huskier than normal. Pain contorted his features. He grabbed and pressed her two clenched hands within his and lifted them to his lips. The warm touch of his mouth against her skin destroyed the last threads of her control and she began to cry noiselessly and helplessly. He crooned tender words in French to her as he pulled her close. She allowed herself to be cradled in his arms, the wild anger draining from her body.

  Inexplicably, darkness surrounded her and swallowed her. The world began to recede. From a great distance, she heard him whisper against her hair, "Foolish, foolish girl, my precious love..." She tried to speak, but nothing came out. She felt his hands gently touch her face, her eyelids. Those were the last words she heard, the last sensations she felt, before falling into unconsciousness, into a black abyss that devoured her.

  * * * *

  Dameon removed his hands. He felt despicable. He had put her in a sleep trance. He had used an unfair advantage, his powers controlling her against her will. But what else could he do? Self-loathing nearly left him paralyzed. Determination, a sense of protection and love, forced him through the motions. He lifted her limp body easily. He would take her home. Later, he would return her belongings and car. Blind with despair, he struggled to continue his plan. He would not give in. This time, he wouldn't give in to his selfish desires.

  Swiftly, he shrouded the two of them in a black cloud. In mere seconds, they had transported to Jen's bedroom. Cobbs looked up from where he was lying on the bed and whined piteously. Outside, the sun had lost its battle with the storm clouds, and fog continued to drift and cover the earth. Gently, Dameon settled her prone figure onto her bed next to the whimpering dog. He allowed himself one last moment to gaze at her face .He must memorize it to last him forever. Never would he see it again.

  The pain was so great and raw that he felt as if every cell in his body was solidifying into cement in defense against it. He bent and kissed her lips one last time. He looked down at her one more time and devoured her image. And left her forever, only to live in her memories and, he hoped, dreams.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The sound of ringing relentlessly permeated her deep sleep. Never before had she experienced such a heavy, impenetrable state, dreamless and timeless. Slowly, she surfaced from the dense velvet of her consciousness. The shrill ringing continued to assault the air. Jen sat up, for a moment unable to lift her eyelids. Cobbs lifted his head. Limbs weighted and dull, she moved to the window and lifted a corner of the curtain to squint through the window.

  Her eyes took time to focus and clear. A marked police was parked in her driveway. Just as the ringing stopped, she saw a policeman descend from her doorway and climb into the car. She didn't know why they were here, but had a vague sense of wary self-protectiveness. She didn't want to talk to them, but didn't know why.

  She blinked in the dim light of the room. She felt as if she were recovering from a two-day binge, except she never remembered feeling this disoriented from a hangover. Feeling lost, she sat, waiting for her thoughts and feelings to assemble themselves into some form of coherency.

  * * * *

  Calvin was moving as quickly and efficiently as possible. He had already chartered a plane, and had a truck waiting discreetly in the back. For a second, an uncommon tear blurred his eye. He hadn't felt tears since his son had died. But there was no time to give in to sorrow. Dameon had already left with Dumas, and Calvin had asked to arrange the removal and transportation of all desired belongings. The rest would be divided among the club. The house would be dealt with by a management firm.

  The club. A stroke of genius on Calvin's part was his association with the Vampire Clubs found throughout most of the world. The members were devoted and fiercely loyal to their beliefs. Of course, rarely had any of the members ever had the honor of meeting a genuine vampire. The real ones shunned any such publicity. But Calvin was very clever and discreet, and they always thought he was the vampire. Which was the way he wanted it.

  Surprisingly, members were close-mouthed, and never did one word leak out about his association with them. They were extremely loyal and close-knit. A surprising array of professions and economic levels were represented. He had called his contact, Jean-Paul Little, speaking with his rarely used electronic device. Jean-Paul immediately galvanized the members into action and thus provided the truck and made the charter reservations in his own name. He was, after all, a very wealthy business owner in the mail delivery business. It was very convenient.

  Calvin directed the moving and loading until he realized that he was redundant. The men and women moved silently and efficiently as if they were professionals. Each and every one of them treated him with extreme courtesy, almost deference.

  He watched as a slender, silver-haired woman sporting an enormous three-carat diamond ring sailed past him, carefully holding a small stack of beautifully wrapped packages. She smiled at him as she passed by. She was obviously used to handling rare and expensive objects. A tall, Indian-American man gently rolled up the tapestry carpets. He wore Armani and a Rolex and he reeked of capitalism and power. He was almost subservient to Calvin. A middle-aged man with a ponytail and overalls efficiently moved furniture while a plain young woman in ragged jeans and a T-shirt slowly wrapped candlesticks. There were about fifteen of them moving in total silence and careful, yet speedy efficiency.

  Members of the Vampire Club came from all walks of life. These were a group of people who admired and even worshipped vampires, and who believed on some level that they, themselves, were a breed of vampire. They hungered for more than the earthly world could give them. While most of their supernatural powers seemed to be contained to the cerebral, they were awed to come in contact with the genuine article.

  Of course, what they didn't realize was that it was Dameon who possessed the powers they craved. Calvin didn't feel dishonest. He just didn't disabuse them of the notion. It was better this way.

  He sighed before going to the library. He would pack Dameon's belov
ed books himself. He stopped and pulled out a silk-wrapped square from his breast pocket.

  It was a photo of Jen that he’d stolen from her room. He had crept in while she was in her trance sleep, unashamedly breaking in. He found her memento box and discovered a perfect picture of her. She was smiling and holding her dog. The sun had turned her hair into golden fire. Cobbs had watched him silently, intuitively recognizing Calvin as a friend and not a danger to his mistress. Calvin had been careful to put everything back as it was before leaving. He knew the picture would be important to Dameon. Something he could cling to over the years.

  Calvin grimaced. If only he could convince Dameon that he shouldn't give up on happiness with Jen. But Dameon was so far out of reach, so far removed from any advice he could give. Grief and anguish had cast Dameon into dark realms, so deep and intense, no mere words could reach him.

  He sighed, looking down at Jen's smiling, happy face, and winced. How would she take it once she woke? He put the picture away, unable to contemplate such pain.

  * * * *

  Jen decided to take a shower, certain the hot jets of water would clear her head. She closed her eyes against the steaming, powerful water stream and vigorously washed her hair. Rubbing herself hard with a towel as she stepped out of the shower, she got a glimpse of the radio clock on her bureau, which flashed the time and date. It was November 1. Shock began to electrify her, awakening brain cells till sluggish and numb. What happened to Halloween? October 31? What have you done to yourself? Gone on some kind of a bender? she scolded herself, trying to inject some humor in the situation and failing dreadfully. She had lost an entire day.