Fury filled his glowing green eyes and he attacked again. The grip he had on her arm tightened and he shook his head, shredding muscle. The human pit-bull was going to break her arm, if she didn’t get him to release her.
Rachel slammed his nose as hard as she could, spilling more blood. He grabbed her arm, while his other hand latched onto her throat and began to squeeze. She gasped, then choked. Blood roared in her ears and black spots appeared before her eyes. He was going to kill her. She fought harder.
It was one thing to contemplate taking her own life. It was quite another to have him take it from her. He didn’t have the right. No one did. Rachel thrust her hips forward and kneed his groin. He grunted and released her arm, but the hand around her throat remained.
She tried to break the grip on her neck, using every technique she’d been taught, but nothing worked. Rachel hit him until her palm hurt, then hit him some more. His nose was now bent at an odd angle and made a strange whistling snort every time he inhaled. She reached for his fingers and began prying them off one at a time. A small sliver of air passed through to her burning lungs. He tightened his hold. The chain on her neck sliced her skin, then Rachel felt the links snap.
“Fuck you,” she grit out.
He didn’t respond to her curse. Instead, his head whipped around. He stared into the darkness, his gaze searching the shadows. Beyond the dark side street, the lights of Paris twinkled. One second he was strangling her and trying to rip her arm off, the next, he ran…taking her broken St. Michael medal with him.
“No!” She cried out in anguish, grasping for what was no longer there. “Give it back.” Pain knifed through her heart and Rachel dropped to her knees. She coughed and cried as she gulped air into her lungs. Her neck felt naked without the comforting weight of the medallion. When he’d ripped it off her, it felt as if he’d ripped away her last connection to Paul, too.
Her forearm burned like he’d doused it with acid. She clutched her injured limb, then glanced at the woman lying on the ground. She didn’t appear to be breathing. Rachel crawled to her and felt for a pulse. There wasn’t one.
“Damn it.”
She forced herself to her feet and stumbled to the corner. The perp ran down Boulevard Raspail and ducked into a darkened area. He hadn’t gone far. If he got away he’d be back on the streets in a few days to do the same thing to another woman.
Rachel scrambled down the sidewalk. She gave a quick glance at the oncoming traffic and rushed across the road. Horns blared as the Parisian drivers narrowly missed her. No one braked or gave her a second glance.
She pushed on until she reached what looked like a small park. Rachel kept to the shadows. She couldn’t afford to let him catch her off guard. He’d done it once and it had nearly killed her. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she saw a tall wrought iron fence running alongside a small green gothic-looking building that resembled an ornate garden shed.
The wrought iron ended at a small gate, which squeaked in the cool evening breeze. A short nose of an entrance poked out the front of the building. Metal mesh covered the front door. Or at least it had. The mesh had been ripped away. Rachel glanced down and saw a lock lying on the ground. It had been smashed. She hadn’t seen a weapon on him—with those teeth he didn’t need one. Yet he’d obviously been carrying something, unless he’d suddenly become a character out of a James Bond film.
Rachel knew she should call the police. It was the sensible thing to do. But by the time she found the number and someone who could understand her broken French, the killer would be long gone and so would Paul’s necklace. She couldn’t allow that to happen, even if all she managed to do was find his hiding place. Despite what the department shrinks thought, she didn’t have a death wish…most days.
She pushed the gate open. The metal screeched, announcing her arrival. He’d have to be deaf not to have heard her. Rachel cringed, but kept going until she could squeeze through. The light over the sign above the building had been smashed. Broken bits of bulb crunched under her boots.
The main door was open a crack just enough for her to see the darkness beyond. Rachel turned back and grabbed the mangled lock. It wasn’t a perfect weapon, but at least it would aid her punches. Maybe she could knock out his expensive dental work this time. He wouldn’t be so tough without the fangs.
Rachel walked back to the door and inched it open. She tilted her head and listened. She could hear the soft fall of footsteps growing fainter by the second. He was getting away. She took a breath and stepped through the opening. The door slid shut behind her, extinguishing what little light had been cast.
She pulled out her lighter and flicked it on. A closed door stood to the left. A tiny archway that opened into a crude office, which lay empty except for a lone chair, flanked the door. Rachel raised the lighter and spotted a ramp, leading off to her right. There didn’t appear to be anywhere else he could’ve gone.
Terrific.
She shored up her courage and followed. Rachel stepped lightly, praying the sound wouldn’t carry. She could barely hear his footsteps now. Soon she’d lose him completely. The ramp ended abruptly at a set of winding stairs. Rachel couldn’t see the bottom.
What in the hell was this place?
She moved her head. Her neck stung, reminding her once more why she was here. Rachel flipped the lighter closed and began a slow, steady descent. Every twenty or so stairs she’d stop and listen. She couldn’t hear his footsteps any longer, only the steady drip of water pinging off rock. The air had gone from fresh to stale. It reminded Rachel of the time her friends had dragged her to Howe Caverns in Upstate New York. But this wasn’t a cave. They were in the heart of Paris. So where was he leading her? The sewers?
Rachel was about to call it quits and turn around, when the stairs ended abruptly. She couldn’t hear anything over her pounding heart, but the steady drip, drip, drip of the water. Did she dare use her lighter again? What if he was waiting in the shadows? Did she really have a choice? You’ve come this far. No going back now. Rachel flicked on the lighter.
The mouth of a pitch-black tunnel greeted her. She slowly turned in a circle, but the room was empty. The fact that she was alone should’ve been a relief, but it wasn’t. The tunnel appeared to be the only way to go unless she wanted to climb the hundred or so stairs she’d just come down. Then what? She’d still be in the same situation she was in a moment ago. The killer had something of hers. Something Rachel wasn’t willing or able to let go of just yet.
She stared into the dark tunnel unable to see more than a few feet. The blackness seemed to swallow the light. If she hadn’t been claustrophobic before, she would be now. Rachel couldn’t stretch her arms out without hitting rock walls. The narrow corridor had a low ceiling and loose gravel floor. The man would’ve had to hunch over to walk through it.
The place seemed to press in around her as Rachel walked down the tunnel. The slight slope told her she was going even deeper underground. It was impossible to be quiet with gravel beneath her feet, so she kept the lighter on. This was the weirdest sewer system she’d ever seen.
Rachel stopped every few yards to listen. It was hard to hear anything with her mind playing tricks on her. The sound of dripping water grew louder and the tunnel eventually opened into a larger chamber. A dark doorway stood on the far side of the room. She checked the area, then walked over to the door. The sign above it was written in French.
‘Arrete! C’est ici l‘empire de la mort.’
It was easy enough to translate: Stop! This is the empire of the dead.
“Wonderful,” she murmured, half expecting someone to cue horror music.
Rachel hesitated for a second. Was this worth risking her life over? Her partner’s face flashed in her mind. She stepped through the archway and came face to face with…a wall of skeletal remains.
The bones rose from the floor and stood over ten feet. Twelve inches was all that separated them from the ceiling. Faces of people who’d lived long ago stared at
her from empty eye sockets, their bones neatly arranged in macabre designs. There were thousands of them. Thousands of bodies that had been culled from the cemeteries around Paris and piled like kindling. Realization dawned. She knew where she was. The freak had lured her into the catacombs.
Suddenly the room was too warm. Rachel pulled at the front of her jacket, as her heart slammed into her ribs. There were miles and miles of bone-filled tunnels down here. According to the brochures she’d picked up in the airport, the place was such a maze that people routinely got lost and died.
No one would hear her scream this far below the surface. And even if they did, they’d never be able to find her. So much for discovering his hiding place and reporting it to the police. She had to get out of here.
Rachel took a step back—and slammed into a hard male body. It was impossible. He couldn’t have gotten behind her. There was nowhere he could’ve hidden. She couldn’t breathe. For a moment, fear kept her paralyzed, then panic set in. She opened her mouth to scream. A large pale hand covered her lips before Rachel could draw breath. Her lighter burnt her fingers and she dropped it, plunging them into darkness.
She elbowed the man and tried to smash his nose with her head, but only succeeded in hitting his chest. Rachel braced, expecting a fist to the face. The man made no attempt to strike her. Why should he? He had her right where he wanted her.
A warm breath brushed her neck. His jagged teeth flashed in her mind. He was going to bite her just like he’d bitten the woman and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do to stop him.
“No.” The plea came out garbled behind his hand, but Rachel knew he understood. “Don’t.” She jerked her head and only succeeded in hurting herself.
“Stop fighting,” he hissed, tightening his grip.
Her breath rushed past his long fingers and Rachel did the only thing she could. She bit him.
“Ow, stop that!” He pressed his face closer.
Rachel tensed and began to tremble as she waited to feel the slice of those fake fangs on her flesh. The pain never came. Heat from the body holding her began to sink into her bones. A moment later firm lips brushed her earlobe and she quivered.
What was he playing at?
Nuzzling her hair, he inhaled. “American. Figures,” he said with distaste in a low French accent. “If you are here to explore the catacombs at night, then you must have a death wish, mademoiselle.”
*
TWO
“You’re trespassing.” Gabriel Dumont ignored the smell of wild flowers coming from the woman’s hair. Sheer will alone kept him from burying his nose in her dark tresses once more. Instead, Gabriel released her.
The woman scurried away, but didn’t go too far, which meant she had some commonsense.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a flashlight. Not that he needed it to see, but he had no doubt she did. “The catacombs are closed. You want to tell me what you’re doing down here?”
“Are you the police?”
“No,” he said.
Her soft Asian eyes narrowed as she carefully took in his appearance. The woman wasn’t as young as he’d initially thought. Mid thirties if he had to guess. The press of her warm lithe body had thrown him off, but he was glad to be wrong. Time seasoned a woman. Made her more interesting and far more beautiful in his opinion. Though time had little meaning to creatures such as himself. Gabriel kept still. He attempted to look harmless, when he was anything but.
She opened her mouth to reply, but stopped. He could tell by her expression that she was trying to come up with a plausible story for her presence. Smart and beautiful. Was she simply a tourist trying to sneak in to the catacombs after dark? There were plenty who tried and succeeded. Not all got out to tell of their adventures.
“Do you work here?” she asked, attempting to commandeer the conversation.
This was a woman used to being in charge. Gabriel’s lips quirked. “Why else would I be here?”
Her mouth thinned.
She didn’t like his answer. Well too bad. He couldn’t tell her the truth. He couldn’t tell her that this was the entrance to the Otherworld. Her human brain wouldn’t accept it.
“I was attacked by a man. He came down here.” She ran a trembling hand through her hair.
“And you followed him?” Gabriel corrected his earlier assessment of her. The woman was clearly insane. Only an insane person would pursue their attacker into the catacombs.
“He took something of mine,” she said softly. “I want it back.” She glanced around, her gaze hopping from skull to skull. “Did you happen to see anyone else down here? Did anyone pass you?”
“No.” He shook his head. “Only you.” It was the truth. He’d seen no one but her.
Had someone come down here without his knowledge? He’d have known if a human entered the catacombs. He would’ve smelled them like he’d smelled her. The only thing he’d detected in the last hour was his own kind. Surely she hadn’t chased a Sang. Their kind rarely stooped to thievery. Either she was lying or there was more going on here. He’d find out the truth soon enough.
Gabriel watched her closely. She didn’t miss much. He rarely met humans who paid attention to their surroundings. “What did he take, Miss? Miss?”
“Rachel Chang. And you are?” she asked, sidestepping part of his question.
She was good at changing conversational direction. He’d give her that. “My name is Gabriel Dumont.”
“Can I see your eyes, Mr. Dumont?” she asked, taking another step back.
Gabriel blinked at her question. Why did she want to see his eyes? He slowly raised the flashlight beam to his face.
“They’re blue,” Rachel said, then visibly relaxed.
He frowned. “I know. Is that a problem?”
She waved the question away. “I need to notify the police. There’s been a murder.”
This time his eyes narrowed. “I thought you said you were attacked and robbed.”
“I was,” she said. “The man who attacked me killed a woman.”
Gabriel ran a hand over his face. So much for spending a quiet evening at home. “Let’s start at the beginning, shall we?”
She groaned in frustration. “We don’t have time. All this talk has allowed him to get away. We have to get back to the scene of the crime.”
Gabriel’s jaw clenched. “At least tell me what he took.”
“My St. Michael medal.”
That hadn’t been the answer Gabriel expected. He’d thought for sure she was going to say a diamond ring or a Rolex watch. Why was a worthless trinket so important to her? What wasn’t she telling him? “St. Michael medals are easy to obtain. Allow me to get you another.”
*
“Thanks, but I’m only interested in getting mine back.” Rachel forced herself to concentrate on finding the quickest way out of the catacombs. The place was a maze. It twisted and turned, snaking back on itself like a coiled serpent. In the dark, everything looked menacing, including her savior.
She was sure Gabriel hadn’t been the man who’d attacked her, but she couldn’t shake her unease. She rolled her shoulders, but the sensation of being watched didn’t go away. The killer was nearby. Maybe he was waiting for an opportunity to attack Gabriel. She wasn’t going to be responsible for another death tonight.
“Can we go?” she asked.
“Right this way, madam.” He motioned for her to go ahead of him.
She lifted her chin. “After you.”
His lips quirked and he gave her a slight nod. “Very well.” He handed her the flashlight.
“What’s this for?”
“You need it more than I do,” he said.
He led her through the catacombs straight to the stairs.
“I don’t suppose there’s an elevator?” she asked.
“Americans have the most interesting sense of humor,” he said, then started up the stairs.
Rachel shined the light in front of her. She couldn’t help but not
ice the play of muscles in Gabriel’s thighs as he climbed. His broad shoulders filled the entire space between the wall and the railing. And she got an eyeful of cute butt, when he stopped to make sure she was still behind him.
“Keep moving,” she snapped to hide what she’d been doing.
The look he shot her told her that he wasn’t fooled.
Rachel was huffing by the time they reached street level. She hadn’t smoked in years, but her lungs still hadn’t forgiven her. She looked at Gabriel. He wasn’t sweating. He wasn’t even out of breath. Maybe he was used to the climb, since he worked down there. She stared at him, trying to get a better look at him now that they were under a streetlight.
Gabriel’s raven-colored hair framed a boxer’s face. His features were several fights past handsome, but strangely intriguing. Lines bracketed his blue eyes, but she couldn’t gauge his age. Rachel craned her neck. He was taller than her assailant, well over six feet. She couldn’t help but notice how nicely his broad shoulders filled out his jacket. Under different circumstances, she might be interested in pursuing him, but now wasn’t the time or the place. She tore her gaze away, when he caught her looking.
“It’s this way.” Rachel led him to the side street where she’d last seen the body. “She’s right over…” The woman had vanished. All trace of her was gone.
Rachel pointed the flashlight at the sidewalk. The pavement glistened with moisture, but there wasn’t any sign of blood. She crouched down, ran her hand over the sidewalk, and looked at her fingers. They were wet. Had someone cleaned it?
She searched the bushes and behind the trees, then along the cemetery wall. The woman had been lying in the middle of the sidewalk where the man dropped her. Maybe she’d been further along the street than she had realized. Rachel continued down the road, then stopped.
“Where is she?” Gabriel crossed his arms over his chest.
“She should be right here. I don’t understand.” Rachel scanned the shadows. Nothing moved and nothing stood out.
Gabriel glanced up and down the street. “Are you sure she was dead?”
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