by Debra Webb
“You see,” Viktor bemused. “You have the sickness.”
Evan resisted the urge to storm across the room and pound the bastard senseless. “You’re wrong.”
Viktor quirked an eyebrow. “Am I?” He studied Evan for three beats. “You have all the symptoms. A sensitivity to light, touch, sound. Even now, the medication provides little relief. You are this close—” he held his forefinger and thumb within millimeters of each other “—to breaking. You need the healing that only one thing will give.”
Evan tamped down his mounting rage. That’s what the fool wanted, to keep him off balance. “The damage was caused by the explosion.” The same explosion that had killed his entire team…three years ago. He was supposed to have died, as well, but somehow he’d hung on by a thread. But when he’d come out of the coma, he’d been left with side effects from the extensive trauma. All his senses were greatly enhanced, but not in a good way. The slightest vibration of sound pounded against his eardrums causing excruciating pain. Light, natural or artificial, blinded him. He could literally smell a person’s fear, hear his heart thumping in his chest, feel the urgency of his every need and desire.
It was a fate worse than death.
“You would not have survived had you not carried a portion of my genetic material…you know that, Hunter, even if you refuse to admit it,” Viktor said with much smugness.
“I place no merit on the supernatural,” Evan protested. “Not then, not now.”
“So foolish.” Viktor sighed. “Why did you ever agree to work with the FBI’s paranormal studies unit? Were you the token nonbeliever?”
“We were all nonbelievers,” Evan countered. “Our work was quite specific. Find a logical explanation for all so-called psychic phenomena. Just as we did when we discovered your breed.” He used the term merely because Viktor insisted his followers were a special breed, not quite human. But Evan knew better.
“I allowed you to analyze me,” Viktor reminded. “Off the record, of course. You’ve seen my pathology. You, of all people, know what I am.”
“I will admit that you have a rare disease. We discussed this before.” Three years ago, in fact. That’s what Evan and his team had come to Boston to investigate. Nearly a month later, he was satisfied with his findings and he’d fallen in love during the course of that investigation. But fate had other plans for him. When he returned to Washington, an emergency had sent him and his team back into the trenches. They had barely gotten on the ground at the new site when a freak explosion at the private airfield ended the lives of every single person involved.
Except Evan Hunter.
“Have you checked your blood lately?” Viktor challenged. “I’ll bet you have the same. Not only because of what occurred between the two of us, but because it was likely always there. You simply never had an awakening to make you aware of who you really were.”
“What occurred between us,” Evan shot back, “was attempted murder.” During the final hours of the investigation, both he and Viktor had snapped. They’d fought, both fully intending to kill the other, but Viktor had backed off, in all likelihood preventing Evan from committing murder. “We both wanted to kill each other.”
“Agreed.” Viktor moved to a sideboard on the far side of the room and poured himself a drink. He offered the same to Evan, but he declined. “You pushed me too far, Hunter. I had shown you the proof and still you would not believe. I was more angry than I can ever remember being.”
“You showed me that you had a cult following,” Evan returned, refusing to admit otherwise. “That there were people willing to believe your fantasies and commit to you for sexual gratification. Then, like now, one of your own kind sold you out.”
That this bastard had touched Rowen in any fashion sent vengeance roaring through Evan’s veins as fiercely as it had three years ago, made his brain throb with the need to explode.
“I cannot convince you, eh?” Viktor downed his liquor and set the glass aside. “Then let me tell you what I think is happening here. It is not, as you suggest, one of my kind.”
Viktor sauntered back to where Evan waited, his arrogance escalating. “I believe someone from your team leaked the truth about me and my followers. And now that someone is out to destroy us.”
Evan was the one scoffing now. “Impossible. We told no one. Our reports were highly classified, not to mention buried beneath mountains of red tape. If word got out, it didn’t come from us.”
“It must have,” Viktor argued. “Not one of my followers would have dared speak of our existence.”
“Why such unwavering faith? It happened before.” This time Evan was the one sounding arrogant and smug.
Hatred burned in those dark eyes. “This time is different,” Viktor said without hesitation. Three years ago, a band of his followers had gotten out of control, had gone on a feeding frenzy that brought unwanted attention to Viktor and his dark world.
“You talk about the truth,” Evan confessed, knowing he should not do this but determined to end circular discussion. “I’ll give you the truth. My team and I made a decision to leave the truth about you and your followers out of our final report. Meaning, there’s nothing to find and no one to tell. All those involved with the investigation who knew this truth you speak of are dead.”
“Except you,” Viktor reminded.
Evan moved a step closer. “I have kept your secret as promised.”
Viktor tilted his head questioningly, his smugness giving way to curiosity. “Why? You said yourself that you don’t believe in our kind. What was your point?”
“To prevent those who would be foolish enough from turning a cult into a breed.” There were plenty of people out there just looking for an excuse to believe in this kind of dark world. It wasn’t real. Evan had no intention of making it real.
Evan surveyed the enormous room that was only one of many in Viktor’s castle—the place, the atmosphere, all of it was just for show. Viktor wanted to believe he was a vampire, so he put on the whole dog and pony act. It made him feel better about the truth. He had a disease. One that required regular transfusions of fresh blood.
“That I can sense your thoughts, that I hardly age at all, none of this plays into your conclusions?”
“Lots of people have heightened senses,” Evan argued. “That doesn’t make them vampires. Aging is relative to the genes we inherit. You are who you are, a product of your ancestors.”
Viktor was annoyed again but, to his credit, he remained visibly calm. “Mark my words, Hunter, the killer is one of yours.”
“Perhaps,” Evan allowed. “Just make sure you don’t go after revenge. I don’t think you want that kind of attention.”
Viktor smiled. “Why, didn’t you know? That’s what you’re here for.” He shook his head slowly as amusement gained center stage in his expression. “You still don’t understand. I spared your life three years ago because I had an epiphany. A vision, if you will.”
“You spared my life,” Evan said evenly, “because you knew if you didn’t back off, I would kill you. Then we’d both be dead and this conversation wouldn’t be taking place.”
“Believe what you will, but there is a reason for everything, Hunter. I let you live and you survived that explosion because fate knew that you were the only one who could stop this when the time came. That time is now. We are both here and it is happening.”
“I guess we’ll just have to agree to disagree.” Evan fixed him with his a gaze that left no doubts as to what he meant when he added, “Just remember, Viktor, I’ll be watching you and your people.”
“What about your beautiful friend?”
A new jolt of outrage seared through Evan and he had to clench his hands tightly at his sides to hold back the cry of pain.
When it had passed he said from between clenched teeth, “Stay away from Rowen or I will end this for you. And this time, nothing will stop me.” He turned to walk away. There was nothing more to say. He had to get back. Rowen was entirely
too resourceful to leave unattended for long.
“You realize she is supposed to die, do you not?”
Evan turned slowly so as not to bring further suffering upon himself. He fought the crashing waves, but he was very near his breaking point. “Don’t go near her again, Viktor.”
“You won’t be able to defend her much longer, my old friend,” his nemesis said frankly. “You grow weaker. The medication takes its toll. Time is running out.”
“I can still do what needs to be done,” Evan threatened bluntly.
“There’s only one cure besides the healing,” Viktor tossed out to waylay him once more.
By healing, the bastard meant partaking of blood. He was truly convinced of his status as a vampire. He wanted Evan to believe he was one, as well.
Evan leveled his gaze back on the misguided man’s. “And what cure is that?”
“Death,” Viktor explained knowingly. “The only way to stop the overload of sensations you suffer without the healing is death. It’s coming for you, Hunter, just as it is for your beloved.”
ROWEN AWOKE TO A debilitating headache. She lay there for several seconds, hoping the worst would pass. When she reached down to throw back the covers, her hand froze and her mind grew still, focused inward.
This was not right.
Her eyes flew open and she blinked repeatedly to adjust. Where the hell was she?
The mattress, the texture of the covers, felt wrong.
When her vision had cleared, she sat up, then held her head in her hands until the room had stopped spinning. Taking slow, deep breaths, she focused all her senses on determining her current location.
A table lamp near the bed gave off a dim glow. A bedroom of some sort. The room’s furnishings consisted of the bed and a side table and the one lamp.
Perhaps Viktor Azariel had somehow tricked her into coming back to his castle…or maybe she’d never left at all. Had she dreamed the past few hours?
Fear slid through her veins with biting force, stealing her breath and her courage in one fell swoop.
No. She hadn’t imagined anything. This, she glanced around the room, was real.
She threw back the covers and bounded out of the bed. A moment’s recovery was required before she could walk, but as soon as the dizziness passed, she examined her prison. Checked the door. Moved from one window to the next to find each boarded shut behind the draperies preventing her from escaping, as well as seeing anything outside.
Inhaling deeply once, twice, she decided there was definitely an old smell, but not the same dank, cave-like smell of the ancient castle Viktor called home.
Okay. Windows boarded shut, door locked…
There had to be a way out of here.
Rowen suddenly stopped and stared down at herself. She wore her nightgown. The one she’d selected to put on after her bath last night. Or was it still night? But why couldn’t she recall putting it on or going to bed? Had she dreamed the bath? The near drowning in her own tub? Was she still dreaming?
No, no. This didn’t feel like a dream. She ran her fingers through her hair, tried to clear her mind.
The last thing she remembered was drinking the wine and falling asleep in the water. Almost drowning.
Well, she’d wanted some deep sleep; she’d definitely gotten that.
She froze.
Maybe she was dead.
“Slow down,” she told herself. Deep breath. One more. No panicking. She wasn’t dead. She just couldn’t remember what had happened. Kind of like when she left Azariel’s house. A little lost time. But she definitely wasn’t dead. How crazy was it that a woman who solved murders for a living could be so damned afraid of dying herself? Not that anyone wanted to die, but this was an unreasonable fear…almost a warning that she had every reason to worry.
Forget that, she ordered. Focus on escape. She moved to the door. No sounds from the outside. No sounds inside, either.
She pressed her ear to the door that separated the room from God only knew what and listened. Nothing.
After searching the room from top to bottom, including under the bed, she found nothing. No purse. No clothes. No nothing. Just a few dust bunnies skittering across the wooden floor.
Disgusted and feeling weak again, she sat down on the edge of the bed and tried to remember the events of the previous night in chronological order.
Assuming it was the next morning at this point.
For all she knew, it could be the day after that.
Had another body been found?
Did Merv and the chief realize she was missing?
Oh, God, what about Princess?
She had to think.
She reviewed the whole day. She’d felt odd when she left Viktor’s, couldn’t account for those missing hours. Then had gone home. Walked Princess. Took a bath. The rest was blank until waking up just now.
Okay, rule out the less likely scenarios.
Since the windows were crudely boarded shut and she still wore her own nightgown, she hadn’t been committed or admitted to any sort of hospital. And she definitely wasn’t at home.
The place didn’t smell like Viktor’s castle, so he probably hadn’t taken her hostage since she was on to his connection to two of the murder victims.
That left just one likelihood.
Hunter had kidnapped her. He’d been going on and on about how she wasn’t safe. Maybe he’d slipped over some edge and taken her with him.
Panic knotted in her belly. She knew where that would lead. She stood and paced the room, wrestled with the building anxiety.
Walk it off. Let it go. Concentrate on the problem at hand. No panic attacks allowed.
She had to get out of this room.
What the hell was going on with Hunter? Had he lost his mind? Had he been in some sort of mental institution for the past three years?
Should she consider him a real threat?
Maybe so, she admitted, as she glanced around her prison.
Then again, maybe he hadn’t nabbed her at all. Maybe it was the killer in the South End Murders case.
More of that tension worked its way through her insides. But they weren’t even close to a suspect, discounting Viktor Azariel. But the killer might not know that.
If the killer wanted to get rid of her, why didn’t he just erase the threat, murder her as he had the others?
She was back to motive.
No one dies for naught.
Dr. Forrester was right. And so was Azariel. There was a reason for these murders; she just hadn’t found it yet. Hadn’t latched on to the one tie that bound them all together in one neat little package. But that tie existed. She was certain of it.
The metal-on-metal click of the key turning in the lock wrenched her attention in that direction.
She looked around for a weapon, but there was nothing other than the pillows. Well, that would have to do. She grabbed the closest one and used it like a shield. Steeled herself for fighting her opponent.
The door opened and Hunter stepped into the room.
“You son of a bitch!” She slammed him with the pillow. He flinched as if it actually hurt.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” She lit into him again, banging him on every side with the fluffy weapon. She wanted to hurt him. This wasn’t going to get the job done and, yet, she couldn’t control the frenzy that had overtaken her.
He snatched the pillow from her hand and threw it back onto the bed. Rowen fought to catch her breath…to calm herself and think rationally.
“When you can talk reasonably, I’ll be back.”
“Wait!” she cried when he was about to walk out and close the door again. She couldn’t let that happen.
He hesitated, his eyes still hidden with those confounding dark glasses.
“What’re you doing, Hunter?” She spoke calmly despite the wrath and confusion whirling inside her. “What happened to you?” He was a former FBI agent. Was at the top of his career three years ago. How had he fal
len so far?
“I warned you that you were in danger,” he offered flatly. Where was the emotion? Where was the man she used to know…the man she had loved?
“And this is supposed to help?” she demanded. “I have five murders to solve, in case you didn’t notice. People are dying. I need to be back out there on the streets doing what I do.”
“You’re not safe out there. This is the only way to protect you.”
“Who’s going to protect me from you?” She dared to move closer, wasn’t actually physically afraid of him. Not really. “You’re the only one causing me trouble, Hunter.”
“You don’t have all the information you need to make an informed decision.”
When he was about to depart and close the door behind him, she threw herself in his path. “Don’t you dare lock me up in here again!”
“You’ll have to trust me, Rowen. I know that can’t be easy for you considering our past, but it’s your only option.”
“Can’t be easy for me!” Okay, that pushed her over the line of reason. “You make me fall in love with you and then you walk away? You already left me with only one option, Hunter. The option of forgetting you existed.” She shook her head, still unable to believe his nerve. “Then you suddenly show up here again and expect me to just fall for whatever line you throw my way?”
“We’ll talk again later,” he repeated, clearly vexed by her determination not to believe him.
“No!” She refused to move. “We’ll talk now.”
She felt him analyzing her from beneath those dark shades. He wasn’t sure just how far she would push. Well, he’d better understand this now—she would not be treated like a prisoner.
“Are you hungry?”
Hungry? He was out of his mind. That was the only logical explanation. When she was about to launch into him with another tirade, she remembered Princess. “How can you expect me to eat when my dog is at home alone with no food?”
Incredibly, that appeared to give him pause.
“I can’t believe you didn’t think of that. I have to go home or my dog will starve.”
