by Michele Hauf
He nodded against her body but couldn’t bring himself to speak the truth he knew without doubt—the vampire must leave the hunter.
* * *
When Lark woke on the bed, she spied Domingos sitting in the easy chair near the patio door, naked but for a pillow clutched on his lap. The curtains were pulled against the rising sun, yet his goggles sat on the glass-topped table, within reach.
Yawning and stretching, she inspected the wound on the inside of her thigh. It was ugly and ragged, but it would heal. Probably scar, but that mattered little to her.
He’d almost killed her. Yet she could summon no reason to run away from him in fear. She’d feared him for moments last night when she’d struggled to stanch the bleeding behind the closed bathroom door. And then when she’d opened the door, and she had looked into his tormented gaze, she’d seen him, the man who had promised never to hurt her.
He might fight the madness forever. She was strangely okay with standing alongside him for that fight. Because she had seen into his soul, and knew it was good.
Sliding off the bed, she tiptoed into the bathroom and turned on the shower. He’d didn’t join her, and she was sad about that. Space was probably what he needed. Because she suspected he was fighting his inner voices and his own morals right now. She twisted off the water.
Forgoing a shower for now, she answered the urge for distance and food. Dressing in the same clothes she’d worn yesterday, and wishing she had something different, she pulled her hair back into a ponytail, then padded out into the room and tucked her feet into her shoes.
“I need a decent breakfast, maybe something savory,” she said as Domingos strolled past her into the bathroom. “I’m going to head out and find a pastry shop. I know there’s a fancy one in the shopping center not too far away.”
“Yes, good. I’m going to shower.”
“I love you,” she tried, but the vampire closed the bathroom door without responding. “I really do.”
Closing the room door behind her, she headed out, wishing he’d answered with I love you back.
Exhaling deeply, she took a moment to get her bearings. Her body ached in that sweet way it did after a night of lovemaking, yet her thigh pulsed with real pain. She looked a mess. This would be a quick run for sustenance, a few breaths of fresh air, then back to face her lover.
They had plenty to talk about.
Lark didn’t get farther than ten steps from the hotel entrance when a sleek black limo swerved before her, blocking her from walking forward. From out of the backseat swung two knights outfitted in Order gear. They worked efficiently. One wrangled her arm behind her back while the other injected her with what she knew was a tranquilizer at the side of her neck.
Her eyelids fluttered, and she caught a glimpse of Rook sitting in the backseat before blacking out.
Chapter 20
Domingos stepped out of the shower and dried off, afterward using the towel to wipe away the fog from the mirror. It was a habitual action that he couldn’t seem to drop. Wasn’t as though he could actually see himself in the mirror.
Tossing the towel aside and staring at his clothes piled on the floor, he wished he had something clean to change into. Lark’s blood had spattered his shirt when he’d attacked her last night.
What kind of animal had he become? He’d violently attacked the woman he loved. And she could have bled to death had he not settled and gotten the insanity under control.
Had she not touched you and called you back to sanity. She always does that for you. She is your savior.
And he had to protect her now by walking away from her. It was the right thing to do.
He didn’t hear her out in the room, so she must still be out eating breakfast. It had been a while since he’d gone into the bathroom. Maybe she needed some time away from him? But she would return eventually. And he thought it best if he was not here when she did.
“Really?”
He stared hard at the mirror, thinking if he looked long enough he might see a glimmer of a reflection. Yet he was no longer worthy of a reflection.
“Can I leave her?” he wondered. “I love her.”
And what kind of man told a woman he loved her and then took a hike? If she loved him as much as he believed, then returning to an empty hotel room could devastate her. He didn’t want to hurt her that way.
“Much better than killing her.”
And that was it. He must choose the lesser of two evils to save Lark.
He strode out into the room and tugged on his shirt and pants. He’d guessed at the time wrong. It had been an hour since Lark had gone out. Where was she? It was closer to noon than breakfast time. Had she decided to do a little shopping? Linger over some food?
Maybe she’d decided to take the same hike he was contemplating?
Domingos landed on the end of the bed and sat there, staring out through the pale sheers at the blurred image of the Eiffel Tower.
“She left me?” His heart thudded and his throat went dry. Something in his brain tittered and cackled that laughter he hated so much.
It made a hell of a lot of sense. And, since meeting each other, neither of them had been using much common sense. Had the hunter won over the woman who had fallen in love with the vampire? Perhaps she had returned home for a stake.
In which case, Domingos should get the hell out of here.
Yet it was daylight, and the sun was high. He fingered the goggles. They would only protect for so long. He couldn’t navigate the streets back to his home, clear across the city. Not unless he took the Metro. Still, he risked burns to his skin because he had no gloves or a hood.
He was stuck here. And maybe that was for the best. If Lark returned, they’d face each other with the truth. And if not, then he would know for certain that he’d lost her.
* * *
Lark stood before the marble-topped desk that mastered Rook’s office. The office was located beneath the chapel in the lower level of the cathedral. All the Order rooms were situated underground. The main floor was a front for tourists.
Beneath her feet stretched an Aubusson carpet that hailed from the seventeenth century. The walls were hung with weapons ranging from medieval-era maces and halberds to modern-day throwing stars and blades. The Mac—the only thing on the desk—flashed a screen saver that featured a Zen sand garden raked into a circle.
Rook was a yoga master, and had tried to instill in her the peaceful yet mind- and muscle-taxing practice of yoga. Who would have thought yoga could be so challenging? She’d never been able to concentrate beyond her busy thoughts to hold a pose for very long.
Woozy yet, she managed to hold her own and stand upright. She figured she must have been kept in the holding cell for three hours, because that was the usual wear-off time for the drug they’d injected into her vein.
Rook, clad in steel-gray Armani, stood but three feet from her, yet he leaned back on the edge of the desk, his legs crossed casually at the ankle and his arms resting over his chest. It wasn’t a defensive pose, nor was it chastising. He often let long minutes pass without speaking. Allowing her to think about what she had done, as if she were a child who’d misbehaved. And always, his all-seeing gaze bored into her very soul. His still disposition freaked her sometimes.
But the jig was up; she knew that. Somehow, someone in the Order had learned about her involvement with Domingos. Hell, she knew who it was: Gunnar. After she’d knocked him out at her apartment, he’d likely returned to the fold and tattled on her. Which she had expected, but she’d thought to start figuring things out this morning, not to be whisked away from her lover’s arms before she even had a decent breakfast. And a shower.
Hell, she could guess what Rook was thinking about her appearance.
Her thigh ached. She should have been walking, exercising the musc
le, but lying still for hours while sedated had allowed the muscles around the wound to swell.
“You know why you’re here,” Rook offered, standing now, approaching her and closing their distance to but a foot. He smelled like cloves, which reminded her of the rum pudding she and Domingos had shared so intimately last night. “I’m ashamed for you, Lark.”
“Don’t be. I’m a big girl. I can get in and out of trouble all by myself.”
The slap to her jaw would have been expected if she’d been all there, completely clear of the tranquilizer. Instead Lark lost her footing and stepped quickly not to fall over. She resumed calm, wincing at the sting of the strike. The man never held back his strength against her.
“You were my best knight,” he said, now standing so close she could head-butt him, but she thought better about doing that. “It was a simple assignment. How difficult can it be to take out one deranged vampire?”
“You don’t really want my answer, do you?”
Another slap, this one equally as hard. So, she would speak only when prompted.
“He’s infected you.”
No, she wanted to protest. Domingos might have bitten her, but he had been careful, sealing the wound with his saliva to ensure that the vampire taint did not transfer to her. And he’d done the same to the wound on her leg. Perhaps that was the reason she wasn’t feeling all there. Blood loss had weakened her.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “I couldn’t possibly know everything you do. But you’re wrong. I’ve trained knights far longer than you can comprehend.”
Yeah? So, how long was that? Decades? Centuries? She really wanted to know what the guy’s story was and whether or not he was paranormal. But another slap would not appeal to her stinging jaw.
“I’ve gotten inside your head, Lark. I’ve lived there while training you, and I remain in the recesses. I know how you function. And I know what it takes to break you down.”
“Then you must also know that Gunnar is working with pack Levallois.”
“Is that what the vampire has led you to believe? LaRoque has used persuasion on you.”
“No, I—”
This time she blocked his slap, and, standing there, her forearm fending back his hand, the two held a stare-down that would reduce any sane mortal to plead for forgiveness and then run for protection. Rook was a master of martial arts and could kill with but his hands. Quickly.
His skin was cold, always so cold. He couldn’t be completely mortal. But she’d never dared ask what it was that made him something more, so strong, and at times seemingly able to read her thoughts.
“I can see the truth in you, Lark.”
Yes, he’d said that to her many times before. That was the line that always made her wonder if there was something about Rook that allowed him to see a person’s truths, like a supernatural mind reader. Demonic?
So why couldn’t he comprehend the truth she’d confessed about Gunnar and Levallois?
“The vampire has controlled your mind.”
Domingos would never do that. He’d promised he would not. And she hadn’t felt the persuasion as she had from Vincent Lepore.
Lark straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. It was difficult not to wince at the pain in her thigh, but she did not want Rook to learn about that injury. That would mark her as a failure and she might then not leave this office alive. Good thing the other bite was on her breast, safely hidden from his inspection.
“You’re thinking about all the times you’ve been together, wondering how he did it,” he put out there. “Damn it! That vampire has ruined you.”
Never. But she wouldn’t protest. Instead she hoped Domingos was not at the moment thinking something crazy like that she had left him.
The office door opened and in walked a tall man with spiky brown hair and piercing eyes. Lark immediately lowered her head and studied the floor. The man requested that Rook join him out in the hallway.
“Stand right here. Do not move,” Rook instructed her, and left to go talk to King.
Lark would not move. Because he would know if she so much as inhaled incorrectly. Why King was in the building was beyond her. He rarely set foot in Order headquarters, choosing to remain an enigma. Knighting ceremonies were about the only occasion Lark knew he visited.
After two minutes, both men returned. Rook followed King, who approached her. Lark lifted her chin, trying to avoid eye contact with King, but also wanting to look at him because he was so fascinating to her. Who was he? How had he come to organize this group of mortals who stalked vampires? Had a vampire harmed his family? Had that been the catalyst? The Order was centuries old. He couldn’t be human if he was the actual man behind it all.
He gave her the chance she’d been hoping for. King stepped directly before her, and took his time gazing into her eyes. As handsome as Rook, the man had an angular face that held a chiseled beauty, possessed of a calm sternness. She noted the muscle in his jaw pulsed angrily.
Wooziness stirred with her brain. He was powerful. He was her leader. She had betrayed him.
“How are you this afternoon, Lark?”
“I’m...well.” Odd question. As if they knew each other and he was concerned about how she felt. Which she knew was not true. “And you?”
“I’m concerned. Rook has filled me in on your status.”
“If I could just—”
A tilt of the man’s head gave her pause. She had no idea his level of patience and whether or not he wielded the same lightning-swift reflexes as Rook, and had no desire to test him.
“The vampire LaRoque,” he said in a level, deep tone as he laid a palm on her shoulder, “persuaded you, Lark. Do you understand?”
She nodded. Perhaps he had. Persuasion was a vampire’s sneaky way of getting into a mortal’s mind and influencing the person’s thoughts. Had Domingos persuaded her compliance? Her love for him? Because really, a hunter falling in love with a vampire? What kind of crazy had she imbibed? The vampire was insane, and he must do what he could to survive—like tearing open her artery to get to the blood.
King tilted his head, his gaze not veering from hers. She trusted him. He would not steer her wrong. He was old and wise.
“You do understand,” he said decisively. “Good, then.”
With a curt nod, he turned, said something she couldn’t hear to Rook, then strode out of the office.
When the door closed, Rook filled the spot King had just stood in. This time he clutched her upper arms gently, reassuringly, with his cool hands. “You’re our best knight, Lark. I’ve got another assignment for you, but it hasn’t arrived at the warehouse yet. Wait in the chapel for me, will you?”
A private entrance to the chapel stood at the back of Rook’s office. With a nod, Lark dismissed herself and hustled into the chapel. When the door closed behind her, she released her held breath.
Her lover had used persuasion on her?
“That bastard.”
She fell to her knees upon the hard fieldstone floor, clutching for her breaking heart.
* * *
King waited for Rook outside his office door. Rook joined the man he’d known for what seemed like forever and they strolled down the hall toward the elevator. They took it down a floor, not speaking. The tension was thick, but it didn’t make him uncomfortable. Rook felt no need to speak until King prompted his thoughts.
The elevator doors opened to an underground private parking area. Once outside, King glanced toward the security camera and motioned Rook aside to stand in the blind spot near the concrete wall.
King was a thoughtful man and never spoke unless he had something to say. “After all the centuries I have devoted to the Order of the Stake, I will not allow a pack of werewolves to bring us down.”
“I believed her when she sai
d Gunnar was working with Levallois,” Rook said. “She had no reason to lie about it.”
“That is incredible. But yes, I agree with your assessment of the female knight. She is trustworthy, despite her siding with LaRoque.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Gunnar is out.”
“Before midnight, I assure you.”
“And LaRoque gets the stake.” King added quickly, “But make sure it’s done by the right knight.”
“Of course. Also to be completed tonight. What about the pack?”
King’s jaw pulsed and he clasped his hands together before him for a moment’s thought. “You and I will have to dig out the silver bullets. It’s been a while since we’ve shared the hunt, eh?”
Rook slapped his hand into King’s, sealing the agreement. “I look forward to it. Let me deal with the immediate stuff first. I’ll ring you when it’s done.”
With a nod, King strode over to a waiting black BMW. The driver opened the back door. King had never learned to drive, nor had he expressed the desire to do so.
One of these days, Rook decided, he was going to take him out to a pasture and teach him the necessary driving skills every twenty-first-century man should know.
* * *
Lark waited in the chapel three hours before Rook poked his head in and, with a nod, gestured for her to follow him down the hallway to the elevator. They rode that down to the parking garage where a car waited. She was glad he was a man of few words; she didn’t want conversation with him, anyway.
She was conflicted about Domingos and hadn’t been able to stop arguing with herself while sitting in the chill calm of the chapel. But really? No, she was no longer conflicted. Clearly the vampire had persuaded her. How dare he?
And yet some inner niggling seemed to want to grasp that idea and rip it to shreds. But why would she believe such a thing if it wasn’t true?
The vampire had good reason to use persuasion on her. It had kept her from killing him, hadn’t it? And he’d gone so far as to have sex with her, many times. That was the part that didn’t jibe with her rationale. It made sense that he’d persuade her not to kill him, to think of him as an ally and try to get away from her. But why lure her into his bed?
