Falling from the Light (The Night Runner Series Book 3)

by Regan Summers

“When I’m away,” Malcolm said, speaking to me but watching Thurston right back, “he’s yours to command. At all times, your safety is his first and foremost priority. If you don’t find him useful, I’ll remove him from your service. Sit.”

  The last was said to Thurston, who sank into a chair, his shoulders folding down around him like broken wings. I practiced deep breathing as Malcolm turned and walked out.

  This vampire had no hive to protect him and, as far as I could tell, no means to support himself. He was essentially homeless. Threatening him with death—a really dramatic, gruesome death—just because he resented his position was overkill.

  I forced a smile and unclenched my jaw. “Hi, Thurston.” I managed to stop myself from apologizing for Malcolm’s harsh actions. Vampire Protocol didn’t allow for apologies from the winners.

  “Mistress,” he said. The word was a solid, begrudging thing. I didn’t blame him.

  “This is my friend Mickey.” I jerked my thumb in her direction and she scooted forward in her chair. She’d been wide-eyed around Eladio, who radiated menace and disdain. Sad Thurston was somehow even more exciting for her. “Mickey, this is Thurston. You’re both from Santiago, so if you’ve got a secret gang sign, now’s the time.”

  Mickey greeted him in Spanish, which drew his dark, leaden gaze to her. She was a chatterer, infectiously sweet, and she spoke his native language. Recent experience had taught me that could be a comfort on a very basic level. Maybe she could soften him up.

  “Would you guys excuse me? I might be a while.” I scooped up my backpack and headed for the back. Thurston rose fluidly beside me. I pivoted so that my back was toward the wall and held up a hand. “Please, stay. And, you know, be nice to her.” I didn’t say no biting, but I glared at him so he understood that my friends were not playthings. He dropped his chin so fast it was like he’d been knocked out by an invisible foe. Or by the reminder that Mal would kill him if he did anything wrong. I gritted my teeth to keep from cursing.

  It was colder in the open bay of the massive cargo plane. The floors and walls were a series of symmetrical metal braces intersected with nets meant to secure goods we weren’t carrying. I opened the next box and stuck my head in. Soraya stood in the center of the room, arms crossed over a fitted red turtleneck. The candlelight flickering from the end tables on either side of a leather couch caught the whites of her eyes and the red of her lips. The mahogany skin of her hands looked soft and smooth, and her nails were short and pink. A couple weeks ago, another vampire had lopped off one of her hands. I was glad—and creeped out—to see that it had grown back.

  “How’s it going?” I asked, closing the door behind me. To say she wasn’t good with small spaces was an understatement. She blinked slowly, her long lashes brushing her cheeks, then lowered herself onto the couch.

  “Fine.”

  The hard-ass liar. I smiled tightly and crossed between the couch and two straight-backed wooden…thrones, I guess. Weird that each box had its own design. “Excellent.”

  “Thurston is of the old discipline,” she said as I grabbed the handle. I paused. “He wronged you and expects to be punished. In his mind, he cannot assume a place of worth. He has to earn it, and have it bestowed upon him by others.”

  I glanced at her. Her hands rested on her thighs, and she was so still she could have been stuffed.

  “Just because he expects to be treated badly doesn’t mean we have to do it.”

  Soraya shrugged. “He’s existed within constraints for twice your lifetime. It is paralyzing, the notion that you have to make a decision of your own for the first time since you can remember. You can use him as you like, but you should not hesitate to strike him. It will make him more comfortable.”

  There was no way me punching the guy was going to make anyone more comfortable.

  “That is screwed up.” I grabbed the sides of my stupid dress and pulled it up from where my backpack was trying to shove it off.

  “No, that is normal,” she said, “mistress.”

  I growled. She knew I hated that, the titles that vampires gave to the humans they didn’t want treated like crap. Still, it was good to see the hint of a smile on her face as I left the container. Her sense of humor made Sora less scary. But only a little bit.

  The last box in the plane was the largest, stretching at least twice as wide as the others. It must have been the penthouse cage, separated from the others by about twenty feet, whereas the first two were only a couple of steps apart. I knocked twice before going in.

  It was dark inside. Not candlelight dim, but fully blacked out. I closed the door and swung my pack off my shoulder. Malcolm moved from my right to my left, pacing so silently that I felt but did not hear him.

  “So, hi. Buenos dias. Buongiorno. Hello. I think we missed that part of the greeting before.”

  “Hello.”

  He’d endured Bronson’s treatment, and we were leaving. Maybe, as quick as that, he was over it. Or maybe Thurston wasn’t the only male on this plane who was used to being kicked around.

  “You’re angry.” He didn’t ask it like a question. I held up a hand, disorienting since I couldn’t see it, but I knew that he could.

  “Soraya gave me the lowdown so you don’t have to explain.”

  “But you’re still angry.”

  “Why did you bring him if you’re prepared to end him?”

  The warm buzz of his energy softened as he approached. His chest materialized beneath my hand. He covered my hand with his, and the feel of him coursed over and around me.

  “If I’d left him behind, he would have been executed. At least here he gets to make the choice of whether to continue his existence.”

  “What? Why?”

  “It is Bronson’s territory. Even if Bronson does not swear it, his fealty isn’t negotiable. He assaulted you while I wore the cloak of power.”

  “Was that the cloak with the buzzard feathers on it?”

  “Those were raven feathers. Buzzard is so last year. And you know what I mean. Deceiving or assaulting the Master or the Master’s magistrate is equivalent to treason, which should make his existence forfeit. Bronson only released him with the understanding that he’d continue to be punished for every single transgression.”

  “You can’t decide not to punish him? Like, maybe give a guy a second chance?” Everything was so extreme with vampires. In how they defined themselves in relation to each other, and in how far they would go to hurt each other…and those who got in their way.

  “You don’t agree? Fine, then you’re fully in charge of him. Feeding, education, discipline.”

  “No. Uh-uh. No. I want less to do with vampires. Less.” The skin on the back of my neck prickled at the thought of trying to command one.

  “Then I’ll have to ask you not to challenge me when I inflict—”

  “Son of a bitch, Malcolm.” I thumped my fist against his chest. “Fine. I’ll…deal with him.” Surely a vampire would accept direction from a human if his life was on the line. “But you don’t get to touch him. And neither does Soraya.”

  “Of course not.” He sounded way too happy about that.

  “You wanted me to accept responsibility for him, didn’t you?”

  “You’ll be an excellent guiding hand for him.” His hand brushed my cheek and he spoke softly. “Be harsh with him, Syd. Some vampires are prisoners of their routines, even if they aren’t good ones.”

  “That’s not limited to vampires.” I’d fallen into that trap as a kid, believing I had to accept the hands I was dealt because I didn’t deserve better. I was over that. Mostly.

  “You’re the definition of flexible. He can learn from watching you.”

  I laughed, the sound turning into a spastic giggle as a shiver shook through me. Lord, it was cold. I reached back, hunting for my zipper. “Yeah, that’s what he needs. Me teaching him how to behave like a proper vampire.”

  “If you make a monster out of him, you still have to keep him.” Malcolm
turned me around and undid the hook at the top of my dress. The zipper snagged and he made a frustrated noise and tugged the material, jerking me around with it. I slapped my hands against the door to keep from falling over.

  “Feel free to rip it off. I don’t intend to wear it again.”

  His knuckles grazed my shoulder blades and then the material and all its devious restrictions tore away. Leaning my head back, I sighed in relief. “Thank you.” I bent down to retrieve my backpack, but the second I touched it, it moved away.

  Malcolm’s hands closed on my hips. So that’s how it was? I straightened until my back brushed his chest. Even though I was inches from the wall, because it was so dark it felt like I was standing in the middle of nothing and he was the only solid thing in the world. I smiled. His hands brushed against my ribs, tickling light, and I pressed back into him, relishing the heat and hardness of his body.

  He kissed the back of my neck, licked a hot path to my earlobe and bit it, not quite gently. A quick twist of his fingers and my bra tumbled away. I started to turn, but he herded me forward until I was pressed against the door. Sensitive skin met cold metal and I gasped, squirming until his hand slid down my front and pressed between my legs. The other arm wrapped around my chest, a band of heat where everywhere else I was covered in goose bumps.

  “Mal?” I whispered.

  “Do you know how difficult it was to send you in with Bronson, when you looked like this? So much. Beautiful. Skin.” He punctuated each word with a kiss to the side of my neck. I gasped again and my legs began to quiver as his hand moved, the firm, familiar touches exotic in the strange environment. “Did he try to seduce you?”

  His voice had a hard edge but I laughed breathlessly and arched against him. It felt as if he was singeing my cold skin. “I don’t think I’m his type.”

  He took two steps back, pulling my hips flush against him while leaning forward until I bent with him. I rested my arms against the door. His fingers quickened, sliding easily and wonderfully against my body. His other hand covered my breast and pinched my peaked nipple. I rested my forehead against my arms, rocking back when I could move.

  “What did he ask you?” His breath was hot against my shoulder, his body growing hard behind me.

  “He wanted…” I began to shake. “…to reminisce about the old d-days. Said it was impossible to find g-good help anymore.” He’d also requested a field trip to a business that, according to its cheerful Internet presence, was as bland as bland could be. I had to find something, though, because there was no way I was going to be the cause of more of Malcolm’s pain.

  But this wasn’t the time to think about that. Using what little remained of my focus, I pushed myself upright and turned. Wrapping my arms around Mal’s neck, I pulled his mouth down to mine.

  He smelled like a cold winter day and tasted like spiced brandy, and I wanted nothing more than to tear his clothes off and fill myself with him. He shrugged out of his jacket while I navigated the complicated business of his buttons.

  “Do you have a bed in this cage?” I bit the side of his neck and he grabbed my ass, lifting me until I wrapped my arms and legs around him. He found my mouth again as he carried me through the darkness and I squeaked when we dropped abruptly.

  My left knee was wedged between him and the side of a chair while my right leg stretched over the opposite arm.

  “My, what a small bed. However do you sleep in it?”

  “Up,” he murmured, light swirling in his half-lidded eyes.

  I shook my head. “What up?”

  Understanding dawned when he shifted and reached down to undo his pants. The brush of his hands against my bare center made me jerk. I gripped his shoulders and pulled myself up, rewarded when his lips closed around my nipple. Groaning, I slipped my hands into his hair as his clever tongue swirled and teased. My hands slid down his chest and he stilled momentarily. I kept moving, unable to stop, lightening my touch as I realized what I was feeling. My fingers traced and bumped over jagged, ridged lines.

  Those hadn’t been there earlier.

  “Mal?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  I shook my head, unable to speak as my throat closed up. Vampires repaired quickly and they could take a lot of damage. If these cuts had been nothing, they’d have already healed. And it hadn’t been my imagination earlier. He wasn’t warm—he was fever-hot.

  He kissed me, hands cupping my face for a moment before they slid down the sides of my neck. “They’ll be gone in an hour but I don’t want to wait an hour.”

  He refused to show weakness around other vampires, which was fine—healthy, even. But it was just us.

  “You should rest. Won’t that help?”

  “If I rest I’ll have to think about it, and I don’t want to think about it,” he said fiercely. “Distract me. Please, let me take care of you.”

  It was the please, wrapped in need, in deep longing, that did it. I nodded, and his arms encircled me. He slid across the seat, releasing my trapped leg. It left me in a graceless position, straddling him with one leg dangling over the arm of the chair. But it was difficult to care. His power rippled as he slowly lowered me onto him.

  He began to move, filling and stretching me, surging up as he slid me down. I leaned forward, bringing our bodies together in a way that made stars build behind my eyes. Touching his face, I traced his eyebrows and cheekbones, the soft curve of his lips and the hard ridges of his emerging fangs. I nipped at his lower lip, then kissed him carefully as my body coiled tighter and tighter. He moved us faster.

  “Do something for me,” he whispered, voice tight. I moaned my assent. His hand covered mine and slid it down between our bodies. I leaned forward in his arms and tipped myself over the edge.

  Chapter Three

  We found the bed eventually, and at some point he lit a pair of fat, white candles. The plane finally reached smooth air and I dozed, sprawled over Malcolm, our legs entwined.

  A change in the sound of the engines dragged me back to consciousness. I yawned, and Mal’s hand played across my back while I stretched and rolled off of him. His skin was smooth and pale, and muscles rippled beneath the surface when I skimmed a hand over his stomach. If I could have stayed there for the rest of my life, I would have been somewhere so far beyond happy there wasn’t even a name for it. But that wasn’t how things worked in reality.

  “We need to get up,” he murmured. Neither of us moved right away.

  “Where are we headed?”

  “A casino.”

  “Oh, hell yes. I’m so going to hit the blackjack table.” I sat up and, when I finished rubbing sleep off of my face, found Malcolm staring at me. “What?”

  “You might wait until you feel the place before you decide to gamble.” He rose to dress and I watched him for a moment, admiring the casual strength of his body, the broad shoulders and dimples at the small of his back. Then I registered what he’d said.

  “Until I feel it? What kind of a casino is this?”

  “It’s at a vampire resort. In a sovereign nation.”

  “I thought we were going to Arizona.” I swung my legs over the side of the bed and wrapped the comforter around me.

  “It’s on tribal land. Each nation chooses their own rules for interacting with vampires.”

  “And this one’s friendly?”

  “As friendly as can be. The entire tribe is vampire. Has been for a hundred and fifty years.” He opened a heavy-duty black trunk, one of six stacked along the wall, and handed me a set of clothes.

  “I’ve got stuff in my backpack.”

  “You won’t be able to camouflage yourself like you do when you work. Having a runner there would raise even more curiosity.”

  “More than what?”

  He paused, idly stretching his light sweater this way and that in his hands. Then he looked up and, with his head still inclined, he seemed uncertain.

  “You’ll be with me.”

  “Right.”

  He
shook his head and jerked his sweater on, then ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t have a human stable. I don’t have anyone who belongs to me. But you will. In their eyes you’ll belong to me, and I attract a certain amount of attention.”

  “Mmm-hmm, on purpose.” Where was he going with this?

  “Not necessarily on purpose. How many vampires have you encountered who don’t have a master?”

  It took me a moment, and the realization cooled me. “You and Richard Abel.”

  “That’s more than most vampires have encountered. I worked for Bronson because he’s powerful. I don’t have a hive to support and protect me, so I have to be selective in who I deal with and how.”

  “What he did to you—”

  “Isn’t the worst thing.”

  “Mal.” I rubbed my eyes, angry and confused.

  “I’m known to this crowd,” he went on, like it was no big thing, “and I engage a persona when I’m among them. It’s rooted in who I used to be, and I’ve embellished over the years. If they know me as a gambler, someone who doesn’t have a lot of control or ambition, they won’t suspect me capable of much else. It’s helpful when it’s just me.” He made a restless gesture. “But it will mean that you need to look like… It’s important that nobody takes an overt interest in you.”

  “I can’t blend with vampires,” I said.

  “No, you can’t.” He shook his head, then nodded solemnly. “But you’ll need to blend with feeders.”

  My stomach turned to lead. “My mother was a feeder,” I said flatly.

  “I know.” His eyes were soft, apologetic.

  “So I have to space out regularly, and cover myself in scars?” I tilted my head. Did he not understand? “Do I need to lose twenty pounds and fret over how there’s only enough food for two more meals, three if I skip one?”

  “Sydney.” He crossed the space between us in an instant, and I flinched when he cupped my face. “If I had the choice, I wouldn’t take you here at all. But Bronson’s asked something of you, something that requires you to be here.” He raised his eyebrows until I nodded confirmation. His eyes sparked. “Then this resort will be the safest place. And it’s only temporary. Very temporary.” His lips pressed against my forehead and I shook my head and pulled away from him. My eyes were hot, but I was years past crying about family.