by Michele Hauf
“Vampires. Jesus.” She made a face.
The man she’d been tight up against hadn’t been some ephemeral bit of mythological mist. He had been solid, and interesting in all the right places.
“No mistake about that.”
If she hadn’t come to her senses, she’d be even sorrier now about the whole ordeal.
Madison smacked the mattress with her open hand. She had placed herself in a bad situation, and luckily had come out of it reasonably well. But she had also been distracted, big-time, from the after-hours search for her brother. Distractions she couldn’t afford.
“So why does this hotel room lack a minibar, as well as an all-night pharmacy in the lobby that could cough up an aspirin or sleeping pill?”
Her nerves were shot, she couldn’t breathe properly, and there was no way she’d open that window, a crack, even if she didn’t really believe there were vampires or some other things out there.
Flipping over on the bed, she knocked over the half-full box of Band-Aids that Teddy Jones, now holed up down the hall with another member of the television crew, had graciously provided after seeing her safely back to the hotel. She waggled her toes, lacerated with superficial cuts and fairly sore, though she’d been fortunate enough to have avoided broken glass.
Losing her expensive shoes was a drag. She had discarded the designer Choos somewhere near the club and would have to replace them with a cheaper pair. The silver stilettos had been a rare twenty-fifth birthday splurge last year.
“Shall I send you a bill for the shoes?” she asked.
If she met the handsome maniac at the club again, she’d register a complaint in person. Going beyond that, she might also press charges for scaring the wits out of her. Again, she glanced to the window to make sure it was closed.
“Sucker,” she said.
In the morning, in the daylight, and prior to her crew’s meeting for updates on the Yale Four case, she would hit a department store for some forgiving footwear. She’d already done ten interviews with the families of those girls, as well as some potential witnesses. The morning broadcast cameras wouldn’t need to include any shot below her knees.
She’d also need to use extra makeup to cover the dark circles that would no doubt appear from a lack of sleep, and perfume to mask the scent haunting her.
Tugging on the edge of the rumpled sheet, Madison looked to the window for the twentieth time.
“Feeling claustrophobic,” she muttered.
In Miami, in her modern high-rise condo, the windows were always open at night. No one in their right mind would attempt to climb up the outside of a twenty-four-story building to bother her, unless they were related to Spider-Man. No one would probably bother her here, either, in this busy hotel, in her cubbyhole on the sixth floor, unless the invader happened to be one of Stewart’s vampires. A Protector, maybe.
She blinked slowly, in disgust, and said, “Don’t even start.”
On the desk were stacks of files pertaining to her assignment. She had a few more interviews to do. If she had stayed in tonight to work on those files, none of this would have happened. No chiseled, fake vampire. Nothing embarrassing.
Then again, hindsight wasn’t worth much these days. The four young women who had vanished while vacationing in a civilized country didn’t have the option for a do-over.
She hoped to God those girls were alive. After tonight, she could see how one false move might have been the key to their downfall. If her crew hadn’t shown up when they did, there might have been a chance she wouldn’t have made it back in one piece.
Next to those case files on the desk sat her laptop, loaded with her brother’s files on monsters. She’d had to work hard to crack his password.
“Absurd,” she said, her gaze straying to the window. No one could actually be out there. Her memory pulled up something. A warning, or a threat, issued by a blond stranger that she hadn’t registered at the time.
“You will be marked now, from this day forward, as mine.”
“Frigging nonsense,” she snapped.
Nevertheless, she found herself at the window, searching the street below.
She saw nothing out of the ordinary. A few people meandered toward the palace and Green Park. Other than a handful of cabs and cars, London had gone quiet.
Leaning against the wall, Madison smoothed her hair back from her face. The movement caused the masculine scent she’d tried so hard to get rid of to waft over her. Coughing once, she lunged for the bed.
On her back, with the blanket pulled up to her chin, she traced small visible cracks in the ornate, slightly luminous white ceiling plaster, hoping counting cracks would be better than counting sheep. Hoping to avoid erotic fantasies about strange men...with fangs...
Even though her hand had already slid under the elastic band of her underwear, to the same spot he had touched.
* * *
St. John felt Madison sink beneath the surface of consciousness. Cautiously, he climbed over the window’s iron railing and entered her room.
He was trespassing, but the need to see her was great. Dark had a tendency to draw dark, which was a viable reason for him being here, and maybe why the fledglings had been drawn to Madison as well.
There was something about her.
She lay curled up on the bed, with her knees to her chest. A thin, well-worn white T-shirt replaced what had earlier passed for a dress, and was equally as sexy.
Her lithe body took on softer aspects in sleep, when she didn’t expect surprises, though her position told him she wasn’t comfortable. Faint sounds came from her each time she moved—noises so very inviting to a hungry soul.
“I’m far too interested in you,” he said, watching Madison’s eyelids flutter as if she might sense him beside her.
“For the first time in a long while, I hunger for a mortal. I am a man, you know. Not in the way other mortals might define the term, but my desire remains the same.”
A twitch in Madison’s right cheek made him want to touch her, but he didn’t dare.
He was aware, even now, of the darkness she harbored. It sat beneath her taut, ivory skin. She and her brother had come here under the auspices of following the case of the missing American girls, yet her brother had already shown his true hand. Stewart Chase had ulterior motives for arriving in London, and look, St. John wanted to tell Madison, where that had gotten her brother.
“Are you like him? Do you share your twin’s need to find creatures that aren’t mortal? Do you also hunger for the supernatural?”
There were so many kinds of vampires, he thought. Those who drank blood, and those who soaked up the very essence of others in a different way, by taking away their freedom.
Mortal souls thrived on freedom. Madison’s soul needed more freedom than others, he supposed, which is why she took chances. Madison Chase, the gutsy newscaster, went to any lengths to unearth a story. This is what made her dangerous to his cause. Exposing the immortals in this city would be a stupid move.
“I wanted to look at you when you aren’t looking back or looking away,” he said to her. “Few women turn the heads of beings like me. Few cause us to look beyond ourselves and our long pasts.”
She wasn’t awake, or listening. Her fingers moved restlessly on the pillow.
“A moment more. Only that, Madison.”
St. John leaned over the bed.
Breath. Touch. Skin. Scent...
He ached for the woman on those sheets. His fangs were extended, and throbbing. She had made him hard. She had made him laugh, severing the bottomless world of melancholy from which he never completely escaped. Madison Chase had lightened his world for a few brief moments, and then she had left him wanting.
Her fine crimson hair spread out over the white pillow in coronas of radiant sunfire. Transp
arent skin stretched beautifully over the planes of her delicate face. Staring at her made St. John wonder if he might find some kind of salvation in his nearness to her, if only for a while.
There was no real future here. They weren’t alike. Though his body and hers would fit together perfectly, her life’s spark was what separated them.
“Can you blame me for wanting what you have to offer? I can feel your heart and your heat from here.”
If allotted the time to get to know her better, Madison still would have been hard to handle and out of bounds. If there were to be a replay of their intimate moments in the alley, he might actually learn to care for someone like her, when his agenda couldn’t strain that far.
Madison was a television darling, but she hadn’t dealt with the likes of the Hundred who ruled this city and what went on there. For them, and the ring of immortals surrounding the Hundred, there could be no long-lasting peace if they were discovered. The world wasn’t ready for what they represented.
A low murmur escaped from Madison, as if she had heard that thought. St. John didn’t step back. He was experiencing longings formulated from centuries of ignored, pent-up emotion.
He had to know everything about Madison, and he had to stay away from her. He wanted to settle himself between her long legs, and could not do so. It was essential for him to find out how much she knew about Protectors and vampires, when even this small closeness brought pain.
“You must not find your brother,” he whispered to her, observing how his breath stirred one glossy strand of her hair. “You won’t like what you’d see.”
His hungry gaze traveled down the length of one pale arm to find the imprint of a breast, outlined behind the thin fabric of her shirt. His body pulsed with the effort of his restraint. He snapped his fangs angrily.
He had to get away, quickly. The turn of her head had exposed more flawless skin, and his attraction to that bit of naked flesh was disconcerting.
“I’ll leave you now.”
Turning from the bed, he tucked in his fangs. A weaker being would have acted on the cravings, but he had never been weak. He had, in fact, been chosen for his strength and honor. The gift of immortality had been bestowed upon him because his Makers had known he would uphold that honor at all cost.
At the window, St. John spoke again. “You have never come across the likes of the Hundred, and must keep off their radar, Madison.”
Filled with regret so tangible that he could taste it, St. John left his sleeping beauty, refusing to look back, turn back or change his mind...already hating the necessary separation.
Chapter 7
The knocking sound seemed to come from a long way off. Annoyed, Madison rolled over.
The sound came again.
This time, she came fully awake and glared at the door in the haze of the early-morning light coming through the window.
“Chase, you in there?” Teddy called from the hallway. “Open up.”
A surge of adrenaline propelled her into alertness. Grabbing the blanket off the bed to cover up with, she padded to the door and yanked it open.
“Ted? What’s up?”
“Why didn’t you answer your cell?” Teddy’s voice was tinged with wary excitement.
“It didn’t ring.” Madison looked to the bureau, where she usually put her phone. “Great. I must have left it somewhere.”
“Well, that’s bloody inconvenient,” Teddy said. “Get dressed and be out here in five.”
“Why?”
“I’ll tell you then. It’s something you’ll want to hear.”
Knowing better than to prolong the five minutes Teddy had asked for by demanding more details, Madison closed the door. There was no time to worry about the dreams, or that damn window. The dimensions of the room were small enough to prove that she was alone in it.
She knew the routine. Her makeup case sat in her bag by the desk, ready in case of emergencies. Clothes were on hangers and easy to grab. Shoes... Hell, her feet hurt just standing on the carpet.
She wiggled into jeans, pulled a loose black sweater over her head and slipped her aching feet into a pair of worn athletic shoes. With everything she’d need to be camera-ready in hand, she stepped into the hall in just three minutes flat.
Every member of her crew was there, crowded into the narrow hall and looking rumpled. Madison tossed her things to the assistant in charge of details, and tore an elastic band off her wrist to tie back her unruly hair.
“Dish,” she said.
“There’s news,” Teddy explained as they headed for the stairs. “The police have found something they think might be important.”
“Pertaining to the girls’ case?”
“In lieu of you not answering your cell, I got the wake-up call to get our butts in gear and get over there to find out.”
“There’s a hotel phone in my room,” Madison pointed out.
“Have you heard how loud that thing is? It would have woken the entire hotel and scared the pants off everyone, including you.”
“Yeah, and a rap at the door wouldn’t do that.”
“It was a gentle rap,” Teddy said.
Madison threw him a sideways glance. Teddy appeared to be more rumpled than the rest of the guys. That call for action he’d mentioned must have just happened. Then again, Teddy always appeared to have just gotten out of bed. His short dark hair stuck up at odd angles. He hadn’t shaved. His blue shirt was partially unbuttoned, and untucked. It appeared that Teddy had also had a sleepless night.
“Where are we going?” she asked, racing with him and the other crew members down five flights of steps, hearing the bump of the equipment bags they carried striking the walls.
“The London Eye,” Jerry, the new assistant, said.
“That’s the big Ferris wheel thing,” Teddy clarified. “By the Thames.”
“What do we know?” Madison brushed through the lobby toward the revolving glass doors that showed a white van with its door wide open waiting curb-side. The crew had gotten the rented vehicle here quickly.
The others began storing the equipment inside. After they’d jumped in, the metal door slammed behind her, and they took off.
“Okay. What?” she said, looking to Teddy.
“Clothes,” he said. “They found some clothes.”
“Belonging to the girls?”
“No.”
The fine little hairs on the back of her neck lifted.
“Whose clothes?” she asked.
“There’s a whisper about a possibility they might belong to your brother.”
Although Madison tried to take this news in, she had a hard time digesting it.
“Stewart?” she managed to say.
Teddy nodded. “The network told me that the authorities are hoping you might be able to identify the items. I said we’d be there shortly, before the morning newscast, and that we didn’t want the police coming to get you.”
“Thanks.”
It was a miracle she’d gotten that one word out. No further conversation seemed possible. Someone had found what they believed might be her brother’s clothes? Clothes he wasn’t wearing?
Her empty stomach turned over.
The ride was short at that early hour. As the sun rose in the east, the London Eye appeared above a sparkling glint off the Thames—a humongous, permanent carnival ride perched on the bank in front of a block of centuries-old buildings. She had always wanted to go up on the Eye, in one of the glassed-in baskets that provided a bird’s-eye view of the rooftops of London. Now, the contraption was still, and slightly ominous in its silence.
“Are you going to be okay?” Teddy asked.
She nodded. “When were these articles discovered?”
“Either sometime last night, or early th
is morning. That’s all I know.”
The van stopped in front of a line of yellow crime tape. The sight of that tape rendered Madison speechless.
A male uniformed officer met the van, but Madison hardly took in the guy’s features. She was out of the van in seconds, with Teddy showing his press badge behind her.
She rushed toward the three men in suits standing near the ticket booth for the Eye. Suits were always the guys to see in situations like this.
Situations. Hell, what have they found?
“You’re expecting me,” she said to them without taking her attention from the Eye itself.
Where were the clothes she was to identify? How had they been found? Who had found them and why did these cops assume that whatever had turned up might belong to Stewart?
Most of all, she wanted to know how they knew Stewart was her brother, and where to find her.
She thought about asking all of those things before any of the men had offered a greeting. She was on the other end of the crime spectrum here, not only reporting on missing cases, but involved on a personal level. She had to keep it together, somehow. As a representative of her network, she had to stay grounded.
“I’m Madison Chase,” she added for clarification.
One of the men turned to her. Six feet in height, with close-shorn brown hair, dark eyes and an age she gauged to be approaching forty, he said solemnly, “Sorry to get you up so early. I’m D.I. Crane. Thanks for coming, Miss Chase.”
She nodded at the detective inspector. “You have something for me to see?” There was no time for any “cut to the Chase” jokes that had become so prevalent in her job. This detective wore a serious expression.
“We do. Can you step this way, please?” he said.
He moved away, and then stopped to wait for her. Swallowing her fear, and knowing she would have to look at whatever they had found, no matter how sick she felt, Madison followed him, passing several other uniforms until she and the detective had reached the entrance to the Eye itself.
