A Candidate For The Kiss

by Angela Knight

  "Let go, you bastard! Somebody get him off me..." He clawed at Jackson, who ignored him, jaws working. Anders' voice spiraled into a shriek. "Shit! He's drinking my blood!"

  Jackson growled like a rabid wolf.

  Around them, the other agents watched while their prisoners stared in horror. One of the Feds made an abortive movement toward the two, but none of the agents seemed surprised by Jackson's bizarre behavior.

  Dana fumbled for her camera. She didn't know whether the photo would even come out in such poor light, since she didn't dare use a flash. But she damn well wanted a shot of a Federal agent trying to rip out a prisoner's throat with his teeth. Bringing up her Canon, she started clicking off shot after shot.

  "Archer, they're all right!" an agent yelled at Jackson as he knelt beside the two men who'd gone down. "He caught `em in the body armor. Looks like broken ribs. Somebody call EMS!"

  Jackson—Archer?—stiffened, then jerked up his head and shoved the ex-con away. An agent began yelling into a radio, calling for medical assistance.

  Anders stumbled back, clamping a hand to his bleeding throat as he stared at Jackson. "You were drinkin' my blood! What kind of sick motherf..."

  "Go to sleep!" Jackson roared.

  Anders dropped as if somebody had put a bullet in his brain. Dana blinked at the ex-con, sprawled flat on his back in a bramble bush. She hadn't even seen Jackson hit him.

  There was a long, long silence, broken finally by Anders' gentle snore.

  "Jesus" Satterfield lifted his head off the ground to stare at Jackson with an expression of wild-eyed horror. "You're some kinda fuckin' vampire!" He rolled his eyes at the agent crouching next to him, naked terror on his face. "We knew there was Jews running the government, but nobody said nuthin' about no vampires..."

  Vampires in the FBI, Dana thought. Yeah, right. That hood you like to wear must cut off the circulation to your brain.

  As for the fangs she'd thought she'd seen when Jackson had grabbed Anders—well, that had obviously been a trick of the light.

  "You ain't gonna get away with this," Satterfield babbled. "I'm gonna tell my lawyer. There's laws against drinkin' people's blood..."

  Jackson looked at the white supremacist coldly. A smear of red glistened on his mouth, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. "You too, mastermind. Sleep."

  Satterfield's eyes rolled back, and his head hit the ground.

  Dana gaped. This time she knew Jackson hadn't touched the white supremacist; he'd been all the way on the other side of the clearing. The agent had just... commanded Satterfield to sleep, and he'd slept. Like magic. As if Jackson really did have a vampire's psychic powers.

  But that was impossible.

  The man who crouched beside the fallen agents got to his feet and walked over to Archer. "You always go out of your fuckin' mind when one of the men gets hurt." He shook his helmeted head. "It's a good thing you're magic, or we'd never be able to explain this kind of shit."

  "Yeah, well, the smell of blood makes me cranky." Archer shouldered past him to kneel beside the two injured agents, who'd just begun to stir. "How you doing, guys?"

  "Ribs feel... like I got stomped... by the Dallas Cowboys," one of them gasped. "What the hell happened?"

  "You got lucky. It could have been your head" Archer rocked hack on his heels. "You want me to do something about those ribs, Roberts?"

  The man winced and took a deep breath. "Yeah. I'm not... feeling particularly macho at the moment"

  "Okay, look me in the eye" He bent close to the injured man and gentled his tone. "Feel the pain drain away, George." His voice was a low, hypnotic croon. "Going. Going. And gone."

  Roberts let out a sigh of relief and relaxed, the white lines around his mouth smoothing. "Thanks, Archer. You're better than Demerol any day."

  Hypnotism, Dana thought desperately. He's not a vampire, he's some kind of hypnotist.

  Yeah. That made sense. The vampire thing... well, that was just plain ridiculous.

  "You're welcome." Archer straightened. "But I still don't want you jumping up and running around until you get the ribs taken care of. You could hurt yourself without knowing it." He glanced over at the other man. "How about you, Stevenson?"

  The second agent licked his lips and looked uncomfortable. "I'll pass, boss. I'm not that bad."

  "Don't be a dumbass" Roberts sounded annoyed. "Archer's not gonna hurt you. I know you haven't been with us long, but..."

  "It's his choice, George." Archer shoved to his feet. "Stevenson, if you decide you want help after all, don't be too proud to let me know."

  "It's not that I don't trust you," the agent said hastily. "It's just the idea of somebody else being in my head..."

  Jesus, Dana thought, stunned. Maybe this guy actually does have some kind of psychic powers.

  Uneasily, she flashed on the image of Archer's teeth buried in Anders' throat. Could it be true? Could he be a vampire—the kind of soulless demon her fundamentalist father had always said was abroad on the earth?

  No. No way. This was getting too much like an episode of The X-Files. She didn't know what was going on here, but it couldn't possibly be what it looked like. There had to be some kind of perfectly logical explanation for all this that didn't involve capes and coffins.

  There'd better be. Otherwise the only paper that would touch this story would be The National Enquirer.

  Licking her lips, Dana aimed the camera at Archer and prepared to take another photo just as he lifted his head, looked straight up at her and called, "Get any good shots, Ms. Ivory?"

  Dana froze.

  "Who the hell are you talking to, Archer?" The agent who'd checked on Roberts and Stevenson moved to join him, looking up at the treehouse over their heads.

  "Remember the newspaper reporter the sheriff warned us about? She's up there taking pictures." Propping his fists on his lean hips, Archer stared upward. Dana knew the treehouse window was shrouded in utter blackness, yet he looked as if he could see her clearly. But that was impossible. Unless...

  Jesus, she thought, unable to deny the weight of the evidence any longer. He really is a vampire.

  "She's been up there with a microphone since before we arrived. I can hear her breathing and the tape recorder running." Archer shook his head. "Then she started snapping photos, though God knows why—she's not using a flash, and there's no way in hell they'll come out."

  "Oh. Well, you can handle it." The agent looked around at his comrades. "Come on, let's load these morons up. Where the hell is EMS?"

  "Dispatcher said they're on the way," somebody called back.

  As Dana watched, frozen, the men hauled their prisoners to their feet. It took some sharp calls and shakes to rouse Anders and Satterfield, both of whom staggered and blinked once they were finally upright, disoriented as drunks.

  "Look, Ms. Ivory, nobody's going to hurt you," Archer called, his tone patient. "You can come on down now. I just want to talk to you."

  And then he'll look me in the eyes and make me forget the whole thing ever happened, Dana thought.

  Like hell. She wasn't losing the story of a lifetime to some vampire's mental magic, badge or no badge.

  Dana looped the camera strap over her head, then grabbed her tape recorder and mike and jumped to her feet. Wheeling for the door, she took a single lunging step forward.

  Her left foot smashed through a rotten floorboard.

  Dana fell, equipment tumbling. She caught herself on her hands and one knee, only to feel her ankle twist with an agonizing wrench of pain.

  Biting back a frantic curse, she tried to jerk free. All she got for

  her trouble was a jagged board digging more deeply into her trapped leg. Dana gritted her teeth, grabbed her thigh in both hands and pulled. The board dug deeper, bringing tears to her eyes. Something hot rolled down her ankle.

  Great. Here she was, trapped and bleeding with Tall, Dark and Toothy waiting to pounce.

  "Calm down. You're just making it worse
"

  Dana looked up to see the vampire standing silhouetted in the door of the treehouse.

  Chapter Two

  He could see the reporter plainly with his vampire night vision, though Gabriel Archer knew the room must be pitch black to her.

  "So," she demanded as she glared up at him through her platinum blonde bangs, gray eyes narrowed with a mixture of fright and defiance. "Are you going to bite me next?"

  Archer killed the impulse to purr, "Oh, could I?" Instead he gave her an easy smile. "I wasn't planning on it."

  "Well, that's a relief." But she didn't look relieved as she crouched there on the floor, one long, slim leg caught in a jagged hole in the rotten wood, her full breasts quivering with every agitated breath.

  She was young, Archer judged. In her mid-twenties at most. And lovely, with a narrow, delicately angular face and a thin nose that tilted just slightly at the end. Under that shaggy mop of moonlight-pale hair, her eyes were the misty gray of clouds after a storm, wary and wide. It was the kind of face you'd expect to see peering out from beneath a mushroom—except there was nothing fairy-like about those centerfold breasts.

  Or that courtesan's mouth, Archer thought with a stir of hunger. Her lips were full, pouting and exotic, parted slightly to reveal straight, white teeth. There was a wealth of erotic potential in that mouth.

  Her feminine scent only added to the temptation: gently musky, blending with the sharp copper of blood to set Archer's appetite burning. She must have cut herself in that fall.

  God, he'd love to kiss it and make it well.

  Looking at her, scenting her, Archer felt a ravenous heat. He might consider himself a professional, but his body was a creature

  of sex, blood and seduction. A woman like her could feed all his favorite hungers.

  Unfortunately, the middle of a mission was not the time to indulge.

  While Archer worked for self-control, Dana's features smoothed as though she were reaching for calm herself. She sat back, bracing her hands behind her. The position arched her spine, and Archer took shameless advantage of the darkness to eye her breasts. She was wearing a bra under that cotton shirt, but he was willing to bet it was little more than a veil of lace over her tempting flesh.

  "Just how many vampires does the FBI have on the payroll?" Dana asked, sounding as cool as Sam Donaldson grilling the President. A real feat considering the rapid heartbeat he could hear slamming out her terror.

  The question startled an admiring laugh out of him. "Damn, you've got guts. No brains to speak of, but guts to spare."

  "Just doing my job, Agent. And you didn't answer the question."

  "I'm not with the FBI. It's another federal agency altogether."

  "Called?"

  "I could tell you" Archer smiled slowly as he put his own spin on the old spook joke. "But then I'd have to bite you."

  "I could guess, and you could nod," Dana suggested boldly. "The Bureau of Vampire Intelligence? The Central Vampire Agency?" Her full mouth twitched in an impish smile. "Fangs `R' Us?"

  "The Federal Office of Inquiry and Analysis." She wouldn't remember it in ten minutes anyway.

  "Never heard of it."

  "I'd be worried if you had."

  "Sounds more like accountants than vampires."

  "That's the idea."

  "How long have you been a vampire, anyway?"

  Archer shook his head. "I can't believe you're trying to interview me. Not thirty minutes ago, you watched me come close to tearing out a man's throat. Most people would be babbling right about now."

  "I'm babbling on the inside. How long have you been a vampire?"

  "Two hundred and twenty-six years." He just wanted to see her reaction.

  She didn't give him one. "How long have you been working for the government?"

  "Two hundred and twenty-three."

  That stopped her, but she rallied. "So what were the Founding Fathers like?"

  "That thing about the cherry tree is a myth, Washington's teeth were ivory rather than wood, and Congress was just as big a pain in the ass as it is now."

  "That doesn't surprise me."

  "Nothing much does, does it?"

  She smiled slowly, ambition and confidence in her eyes. "I mean to play in the big leagues, Mr. Archer. I can't afford to be taken by surprise."

  I'd like to take you. Slowly. "Why don't you come down to the fire where we can see each other better, and we'll continue this conversation," he said, his voice far more husky than he'd intended.

  "Where we can see each other better. Right," she said, sounding surprisingly tough for somebody with that face. "Translated: where I can look deep into your eyes and you can put the vampire whammy on me. And suddenly all my questions will disappear."

  Archer grinned. "Smart girl."

  Her tempting lips peeled back from her pretty white teeth. "You're not messing with my head."

  "Don't you think it's best all around? It's not like anybody will believe you."

  "They won't have to." Dana snorted and gingerly pulled at her trapped leg. "What kind of moron do you think I am? I'm not blowing my chance at a national story because of your overbite"

  He walked lightly across the rotting flooring to kneel beside her. She shrank back, but Archer ignored the movement and reached down to twist the broken length of board away from her calf. "It won't hurt you to forget a detail or two. You'll still get your exclusive."

  "Forget it. I'm not thrilled about having somebody else edit my copy. I sure as hell don't want you editing my head." Dana pulled her leg free with a tiny gasp of pain, then cautiously felt for the wound

  in the darkness. He could see it wasn't serious, though she could probably use a tetanus shot.

  Archer sighed and stood, reaching down to pull her to her feet. "Ms. Ivory, I'm afraid you've missed the point. I'm not giving you a choice."

  Dana narrowed her cloud-gray eyes in anger. He could almost see her busy little brain working out her chances of escape. The results evidently didn't please her; her shoulders slumped. Then she mustered a glower. "You've got no right to rape people's minds just so you won't be inconvenienced."

  "Inconvenienced?" He snorted. "Ms. Ivory, if people knew what I am, they'd hunt me down like a rabid dog."

  "So what about government officials? They've got to know about you," Dana bent and started to feel around in the dark for her camera.

  "Only the few who need to. To others, I'm just another operative. The rest have never heard of me at all. And I keep it that way." Archer scooped up the camera, microphone and tape recorder, then handed the whole armload to her.

  "Thanks," Dana grumbled. He took her elbow to guide her toward the door, where she ended up giving the pile back to him so she could climb down the treehouse ladder.

  She moved stiffly as she crouched to feel for the first rung with her foot. Archer suspected her injured leg was hurting, but when he offered to help, Dana aimed such a cold look up at him that he shrugged. Delicate jaw set, she began to descend, her long, slim hands white-knuckled as they gripped the rungs. He climbed after her, holding her gear in one arm.

  When Dana reached the ground, she immediately turned her back on him. Archer smiled in reluctant admiration, recognizing her stubborn determination to make his job as difficult as possible.

  The clearing was empty except for the dying fire. His men had gone, headed for the sheriff's office and the nearest jail to book their prisoners. His unruly body immediately began to see the possibilities, but Archer reined in its eager leap with his habitual self-control. Business first. He wanted to change her memories and be done with it; he'd had enough of her pricks to his conscience.

  But he'd make it up to her, Archer told himself. As soon as he checked on his men, he'd give Dana an exclusive about the arrest and finish up the paperwork.

  Then, once duty was served, he'd turn his attention to seducing her.

  Archer loved a good seduction. The sweet, hot quest to discover what aroused a woman most, the
erotic dance of temptation once he found the key to her heat. Especially when the woman had this one's fire and will—not to mention edible little body. She'd be both a challenge and a pleasure.

  He dumped her equipment on the ground and moved up behind her. "Look at me, Dana." Softly, he added, "I promise I won't hurt you."

  Dana whirled on him, gray eyes snapping in the firelight. "The hell you won't."

  "Then I'll be quick." Archer locked his gaze on hers, the way the Countess had taught him two centuries ago, and reached for her mind with his own. He expected the usual easy tumble into alien memories, feelings, hopes and fears.

  Instead he felt... Nothing.

  Her gray eyes didn't widen, didn't glaze, didn't falter from his in their cool, defiant stare. It was as though she looked at him through a glass shield.

  Archer felt a quick spurt of delight at the unexpected resistance. He forced it down. He'd gotten his hopes up before when he'd encountered this kind of mental barrier, only to be disappointed again and again. If he pushed a little harder, her mind would yield to his control the way all the others had.

  He gathered his considerable psychic power and stabbed it like a rapier straight between those wide gray eyes.

  There. He waited for her to open to him...

  "Are you going to do whatever it is, or not?"

  God. Archer stared at her, staggered. His mental thrust should have punched right through her resistance, opening her mind to his. But it hadn't.

  She was a candidate for the Kiss.

  Finally, after two hundred and twenty-six years, he'd found a woman who could survive rebirth as a vampire.

  Maybe, Archer cautioned himself. She had the psychic strength, but there was more to it than that. Much more. He needed time, time to examine and probe. Time to decide what to do.

  Suspended between hope and wariness, Archer stared at her. She met his gaze stubbornly, her features set in rebellion.

  Candidate or not, he realized Dana Ivory was going to be a problem.

  For one thing, what was Archer going to do about her knowledge of his vampirism until he decided whether to change her? He had no idea if she could be trusted. He'd survived in his country's service all these years through ruthless secrecy, but Dana could force him into the glare of a national spotlight even if she never used the word "vampire." Once her story hit the Associated Press wire service, he was screwed. There was no way he could influence all the thousands of editors who used the AP into killing the story.