Night Falls on the Wicked

by Sharie Kohler

  Heat surged through her at his insulting words. “And is that how you get your kicks?” She angled her head. “I mean, if I’m mentally deficient? Does giving a ‘retard’ a hard time make you feel like a man?”

  His friend hooted and tossed back his head. “Bam! She got you there again!”

  Darby twisted her wrist, trying to break free. Ned clung tighter than ever, his face flushing a purply red and his breathing falling even harder. “Well, aren’t you the smart one after all?”

  “Ah, let her go,” Ned’s friend reprimanded. “You’re scaring her.”

  Ned smiled and she knew that’s what he wanted. What would satisfy him. He was that rare breed of man that thrived on intimidation and fear.

  “Let her go.”

  She recognized the deep, cultured tones before she swung a look over her shoulder. Ah, hell. A shudder rippled through her. She didn’t need him to come to her rescue. She had the situation under control.

  The diner quieted—a real feat considering the number of people talking and eating. The clank of glass and silverware stopped. Any moment Sam would poke his head out from the kitchen and then the shit would really hit the fan. He might not mind her less-than-friendly attitude with the customers, but it had never threatened the flow of business before. Sam was a businessman, hoping to retire in the next couple of years. Even he had his limits. She winced. She might be leaving town sooner than planned.

  “It’s nothing,” she growled and motioned him away. “Go away. Sit back down. I’ll get to you in a minute.”

  “He a friend of yours?” Ned demanded.

  “No,” she replied. That much was true. She didn’t even know his name. “Just a customer. Now let me go. I have a job to do.”

  He released her and rose to his feet, his chair falling back with a crash. “Who are you? You new to these parts? Don’t recall I’ve ever seen you before.”

  “Who I am is unimportant.”

  “Aw, Ned. Sit down.” Maggie arrived at Darby’s side to chastise. “No need to get your feathers ruffled. You haven’t even had dessert yet. We’ve got blueberry pie. On the house. I know it’s your favorite. You want whip cream?”

  “Yeah, Ned, sit down and stop stirring trouble,” someone called out from across the diner.

  The vein in Ned’s forehead throbbed. He glanced around, a wild look in his dark, moist eyes as he realized the tide was against him.

  With a grunt, he dropped back down in his chair.

  Maggie squeezed Darby’s arm and whispered for her ears alone. “Go on, honey. I’ll finish up at this table.”

  Darby nodded jerkily, bitter resentment filling her throat. “I could have handled it,” she muttered as she passed the stranger, careful to keep a safe distance. He smelled good. Clean and piney like the outdoors.

  She strode behind the counter and faced him as he reclaimed his stool. The normal sounds of a busy diner resumed as she reached for her pad. She stared down at the paper, intent on not meeting his stare. After yesterday, she knew the mistake that would be.

  “What will you have tonight, sir?”

  A heavy pause, and then, “I didn’t mean to upset you. You just looked like you could use some help.”

  She breathed through her nose. “I’m not upset,” she said tightly. “Now. What will you have tonight, sir.” Keep it casual. Don’t engage.

  A long moment passed until he finally answered her. “What’s good, Darby?” The question fell evenly, mildly, as if he spoke her name all the time. As if they were old friends in the midst of a conversation. Stupid name tag.

  Her gaze snapped up. Too late, she was caught in the snare of his eyes. They weren’t quite glowing. Not like yesterday. But they were still that deep, mesmerizing indigo that sucked her in. Such an impossible color. She couldn’t look away.

  “Tonight’s special is meatloaf.”

  “And that’s what you recommend?”

  She paused. “Stick with the cheeseburger. The meatloaf’s hit-or-miss and I haven’t heard anyone raving about it tonight.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll have that cheeseburger, Darby.”

  She swallowed. A shiver scraped her skin at the way he said her name, his accents softening it, rolling the r. She could love hearing that every day.

  Sucking in a breath, she scribbled down his order and turned away. Even when she realized she forgot to ask after his drink, she didn’t go back. Not yet. Not until she managed to get a moment for herself. She needed to brace herself before returning to the trap of his eyes.

  She turned in his order and seized a waiting tray of food. She worked automatically, like something cold, a robot without thought and emotion, a simply functioning machine, performing the tasks she’d done now thousands of times over the last three years. And she told herself it was enough.

  It was surviving.

  She didn’t let herself consider the emptiness of that thought. The alternative was pain. Death and misery. Not simply to herself but to untold others.

  She didn’t need the distraction sitting at the counter, the man that screamed danger despite the fact that he had helped her out tonight. When was he leaving?

  He exuded danger—that was the promise she read in his deep gaze. He tempted her with a break from the emptiness, an escape from her numbing life. In his eyes, she felt again and knew that the rush of sensation, hot and cold, good and bad, was not far behind.

  She saw his order waiting at the window and stared bleakly at the plate of food that meant her return to him. Taking the plate, she faced the diner, intent on dropping it in front of him and running. Customer service be damned.

  “Now that’s a feast for the eyes,” Maggie said as she came up beside her with a tub of dishes.

  “Who?” Darby asked with deliberate vagueness as Maggie poured two coffees.

  She snorted. “As if you don’t know. He’s the reason you’re acting all jittery.”

  “I’m not. Just on edge. Like everyone else.”

  Maggie sobered. “I’m sad about Corey, too, but don’t go blaming some guy because you’re upset about Corey. Honey, we’re all devastated, but it’s times like these when we especially need the comfort of others. Especially when the guy looks that damn good.”

  Darby lowered her gaze, feeling Maggie’s accusation keenly. “He’s no one. Just some guy passing through.”

  Maggie gave a throaty laugh. “Honey, don’t you know? Sometimes those are the best types.”

  Darby paused, thinking, processing this as she observed him reading the local paper, no doubt poring over the details—few as they were—of Corey’s slaughter.

  She considered Maggie’s words and the possible truth in them. Whoever he was, he wasn’t from around here. Which meant he wouldn’t be staying. So why should she worry so much about him?

  He looked up from the paper as she set his plate down in front of him, sliding the ketchup bottle within reach.

  “Looks good.”

  She started to move away but found herself pausing.

  He looked at her so intently that there was no way she could move in that moment. He took a bite, chewing slowly, his jaw working.

  “Good,” he announced, staring at her though, as if he were talking about something else. Not food.

  He wiped his mouth with a napkin before tapping the paper with a blunt-tipped finger. “Guess killing those wolves didn’t take care of the problem, huh?”

  “No,” she answered slowly as he took another healthy bite of his burger. Just watching him eat fascinated her. “It didn’t. Too bad for Corey.”

  “Knew her?” he asked.

  “Yes. She worked here.” She shrugged awkwardly, uncomfortable revealing how affected she was by Corey’s death.

  He nodded. “I read that in the paper.”

  “She left a little boy behind.”

  “That’s a shame. Life—” He paused, groping for the right words. He just shook his head. “Life is hard.”

  Normally this would have come across as
dismissive and uncaring. Normally such a cavalier remark would have pissed her off. But she didn’t get that vibe from him. He meant what he said because he knew. He knew how hard life could be. He knew firsthand.

  She suddenly felt herself hoping he wasn’t just passing through. That maybe he was sticking around.

  Just as soon as the thought entered her head, she shoved it out with a mental curse. Dangerous, stupid thinking and she knew better.

  “Yes, it is hard.”

  He stared at her, his eyes so deep and peering that she feared he could see inside her to all that was wrong with her. She winced. And that would be a lot.

  “You don’t think wolves did this,” he uttered. A statement, not a question.

  He pointed a finger where the paper rested on the counter just in case she was confused about what he was talking about. She wasn’t confused. At least not about that. She did wonder why he seemed so interested in what she thought, however. And why was he so interested in the wolf problem? Or rather, the lack of wolf problem.

  “I don’t know what killed Corey.”

  “But something did. And you know it’s not wolves.” He picked up a french fry and bit into it with clean, even teeth. “Interesting. You seem to be the only one around here to share that sentiment.”

  She glanced around the busy diner, aware that most of the conversation centered around what was going to be done about the wolves. She frowned. If the true threat was what she suspected, there was nothing any of these people could do.

  Nothing except bar their doors and pray.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, rising from his stool. He dropped a bill on the counter. “It will all be over soon.”

  “What do you mean?” She cocked her head.

  He hesitated for a moment like he wanted to say something. “Everything will work itself out. Just don’t go wandering around at night.”

  And she knew. He knew what … things… were killing people around here. He suspected the same thing she did. She stared at him, hoping for more elaboration.

  He didn’t give any. “Good night. Darby.”

  A small tingle trailed down her spine at the sound of her name on his lips. He seemed to say it almost as an afterthought, like it was something he wanted to experiment pronouncing on his tongue.

  As he walked away, she glanced down at the large bill on the counter. “What about your change?” she called, snatching up the money.

  He ignored her, continuing out the door and into the cold night.

  SEVEN

  Niklas walked swiftly through the snow, his booted feet hitting the snow-covered pavement hard, as if each step could jar some sense into his head and remind him of his purpose here.

  He cut through the murky, purple air. Night was falling. They were somewhere close, ready to strike again. This time, he’d be there. He lifted his face and breathed in. It was there. A trace of Cyprian and the rest of them. The sickly sweet scent of blood always clung to them and stayed behind on the air.

  This was the part he hated. The waiting. The tense holding of his breath as he listened, as he felt, scenting the night air, letting his instincts guide him.

  He cast a glance over his shoulder at the brightly lit diner fading behind him. A steady stream of people continued to enter the establishment. The usual dinner crowd combined with those morbidly curious about the murdered waitress.

  In the future, he would eat somewhere else—if he didn’t catch them tonight, of course. He still had tomorrow night though. Certain waitresses were simply far too distracting. He breathed in. He could still smell her. Clean skin and fresh vanilla. He wondered if she tasted the same. He shook his head as if he could dislodge the thought with the fierce motion. She fogged his head with needful thoughts. Thoughts of tangled limbs and sinking himself inside her softness.

  He’d thought it was a good idea to eat there considering the pack’s latest victim had worked there. He thought he might find out some information, although he probably knew more than anyone else about what exactly was going on. He sure as hell knew that the local wolves hadn’t gone on a killing spree. He knew that. And so did she.

  Darby. The waitress. She wasn’t all that she appeared to be.

  As curious as he was about her, as interesting as he found her, he needed to forget her. He was here for one reason and it didn’t involve getting entangled with a woman.

  He swung his gaze upward. A latticework of branches lining the sidewalk blocked his view of the sky, but he didn’t need to see it to know. He could feel it, in the pull and itch of his own flesh, in the hum of his bones. There wasn’t much time left.

  He located his Hummer at the end of the block. Shooting a glance around his shoulder, he made sure no one was about as he popped his trunk and armed himself with additional weapons.

  It was time to hunt.

  Closing the trunk, he took off running, diving between buildings. He followed his gut, not using his eyes but that sixth sense he’d possessed since he was sixteen and his world changed forever.

  As dusk turned into night, he left the town behind. The blood rushed in his veins as he ran through snow-draped woods. His racing steps were silent in the hush of the forest. An animal of the night, he surrendered to his instincts, all stealth and speed, as dangerous as that which he hunted.

  Their howls soon filled the night. Distant, but he followed the sounds, jumping over a frozen creek and vaulting over a five-foot drift of snow.

  Their howls grew frenzied and he knew they were closing in on prey. He ran harder, pushing himself. Cocking his head, he inhaled the ripe scent of them on the air and stopped abruptly. Pressing a palm to a nearby tree, he leaned close to the frozen bark and inhaled.

  One of them had passed here, brushed against the very spot his hand touched. He dropped to a crouch and assessed the ground. Fresh snow covered it, but he ran fingers through the powdery white anyway, sensing they’d passed over this ground.

  Suddenly the howls stopped, swiftly dying in the air. And he knew they’d found their prey.

  He took off again, grunting as he vaulted over frozen ground, jumping off a steep craggy hill and landing in a roll until he was on his feet again. The silence told its own story and he ran until his chest hurt. The sound of running water reached his ears.

  He broke through the trees and jerked to a halt at its bank. Immediately the tang of freshly spilled blood hit him, powerful and cloying. His gaze zeroed in on the human remains scattered near the side of the partially frozen river. Blood covered the snow for several feet, staining it a deep red so dark it nearly looked black.

  He was too late. They’d fed and he was too late. They were gone.

  DARBY STAYED LATER THAN usual, helping clean up. But then it had been an unusual night, starting with the news of Corey’s death and the diner’s sudden surge of business, and then ending with her encounter with the stranger. Another encounter. It seemed odd at this point that she still didn’t know his name.

  As she headed out the back door, she was too tired to think about heating up a can of soup as she’d planned. Even though her stomach rumbled in hunger, weariness won out. Her bed with its electric blanket tempted her more than the prospect of hot chicken noodle.

  As she moved along the short walk to the wooden stairs that led to the upstairs loft, the wind suddenly blew a fierce hiss. The sound reminded her of an angry beast … and she’d met a few of those in her life to know. Goose bumps puckered her flesh.

  She stopped and looked around. No one else lurked outside. For some reason, she thought about the stranger and his warning to not wander around at night. Not that there was much help for what she was doing—not if she wanted to sleep in her own bed tonight.

  Her gaze scanned the diner’s back lot. Sam’s truck still sat parked beside the Dumpster, empty, its windows dark eyes that only emphasized how alone she felt at this moment. Tall, snow-dappled trees closed around the broken-up concrete, stretching to the night sky. And of course, there was the moon, full and glo
wing, watchful as an eye in the sky.

  She reached for her necklace beneath her sweater, rubbing her fingers over the three pendants, taking comfort in their presence close to her skin. The necklace had been a gift when she turned thirteen and her powers had first begun to assert themselves. Her mother had hoped they wouldn’t—had hoped she would be different. Normal. Normal enough to not attract demons.

  Satan’s spawn had a particular aversion to milk—the food of life—salt and holy water. Each pendant contained one of these three elements and served to protect her. How much protection it offered, she couldn’t say, but she would take whatever help she could get.

  And there was the blistering cold of her environment, not to be overlooked. That was perhaps the greatest help of all. Born of the fires of hell, demons could not withstand extreme cold. Their powers of manipulation were always weakest in such climes. So Darby endured living in climates too cold for a demon to thrive.

  The wind blew again, the sound it made unearthly as it cut into her face like the sharp pricks of a knife. Almost like a moan.

  Awareness settled over her, knotting her shoulders. Her gaze darted around, looking for something where nothing appeared to be. Appeared. Her hand tightened around her keys until the relentless metal cut into the tender flesh of her palms. Appearances meant nothing.

  Darby knew too well that the world was a place where the wind was sometimes something more than wind. Where shadows weren’t always shadows. Where girls who worked in diners were something else, too. Even when they didn’t want to be. Even when they would give anything to be something else. Something normal.

  Turning, she quickly moved for the stairs, taking two jarring steps at a time, her every instinct commanding her to seek shelter, sanctuary. Her fingers located the right key on the ring in readiness. Her instincts were well honed. She knew to trust them.

  “You’re sure in a hurry.”

  He was waiting for her in the shadows of her small porch. He rose from the chair tucked in the corner, blocking her from reaching her door. She should have noticed his heavy breathing sooner. His nose was bright red, and she guessed he had been waiting for a while.