by Michele Hauf
He’d told her he had a tip, and hated to think what that kind of atmosphere might do to a Slayer who was awakening. But if she got her story, she’d leave the city and be safe from those who preyed on the Slayers who threatened to prey on them.
She had scented his blood. He’d seen this in her. If Madison happened to see a drop on the carpet of that hotel, would that further hurtle her toward her future? Toward the very thing her brother had come here for, before it all went bad?
He had to be careful. He smelled that Otherness in her now, on him, in her lingering scent—the addicting peppery flavor that heralded the reason he’d been drawn to her.
The fact was...he should have known from the beginning. It was a grave oversight. A rueful one. He didn’t make mistakes often.
Stewart Chase had come to look for vampires, and had been bitten by the vampires he chased. To ensure that Madison got out of London before becoming a full-fledged Slayer, causing more trouble, hurting herself, he had to leave his attraction to her behind.
Christ, the thought hurt.
Nevertheless, it had to be done.
After all the time he’d spent alone, the woman he’d bonded with wasn’t truly mortal at all. Not completely. She was a vampire’s natural-born enemy, and would soon have the strength to prove it.
And he couldn’t tell her about his own task, or how important it was for him to maintain his disguise, allowing the Hundred to trust him. To her, he’d be one of the monsters. She’d never know the whole story.
As he got off the elevator, St. John glared at its open door. He’d be willing to bet that if any of his brethren had ever run across a Slayer, none of them had dared to bed one.
He should leave now. If he didn’t wait for Madison, she might go back to her room. She might be safe for a while, on her own.
“You might never know what you are.”
His voice was hushed, almost angry. “Yet I told you about the hotel around the corner, and that the missing American girls had been there. What media-savvy newscaster would let that tip go unheeded?”
Damn...this...dilemma!
In no way could he actually afford to explain that her brother had been right about London, and that due to Stewart Chase’s beliefs, her twin had become monstrous in his own right.
He dared not tell her that by aiding her here, in London, with Simon Monteforte and the rest of the Hundred looking on, more harm would come to her than good, and that because of her brother, her death warrant may already have been signed.
Death warrant.
Simon Monteforte had become a prime suspect in St. John’s search for the hidden traitor to the Hundred, and if Monteforte was creating scores of rogue vampires for some sinister purpose, the old immortal could easily send the monsters Madison’s way.
Damn and blast. He was stuck. Damned if he helped Madison, and damned if he didn’t. His longing for her was so viciously palpable, even now, he wanted to pry the elevator doors open with his teeth, and get back to her.
“And when you find out that vampires helped to kill the humanity in your brother, what then?” he said.
Yes, what then?
Ignoring the pressures building inside him, St. John paced in the lobby. It was too late to do anything but await his lover, who was not only in serious danger, but ultimately the enemy of every nonmortal creature, anywhere.
It was too damn bad there were so many of them.
* * *
When she could breathe normally, Madison went to the window. The item St. John had left on the sill was her cell phone. There was no use in wondering how he had gotten it.
She jumped when the phone buzzed, and pulled up a text message from Teddy. You might want to take a look at the video footage. Something strange about it.
Who in the world, she wanted to shout, had time for more strangeness?
Although St. John wasn’t in the room, she felt his nearness. St. John’s vibe was subtly sexual, like a kiss of moonlight on sun-warmed flesh. Like swallowing parts of the night, and perilously close to metaphysical intercourse. Her senses were blaring, shouting, warning, that he was waiting for her.
In order to get the information he possessed, she had to see him. If she could help to solve this case, and find her brother, they could all go home.
From the neckline of her dress, Madison retrieved D.I. Crane’s business card. She looked at it for some time, hearing those whispers in her head again, this time clearly in St. John’s voice. “Your only chance is to accept what help I can give.”
Palming her phone in one hand and the detective’s card in the other, Madison weighed her options.
Then she noticed the blood on her fingers.
She ran her fingers across her mouth, and found another trace of blood. Their lovemaking had been rough. Her mouth hurt.
But there were girls to be found. A brother to be found.
She picked up her shoes and said to St. John, in case he somehow was actually listening with that spooky telepathic connection, “Just so you know, I told Detective Crane I was with you last night. You’re the first place he will look if anything happens to me.”
Inwardly cursing her ability to place herself in danger in situations where information was at stake, Madison added one more thing.
“It’s for them this time. Those girls. Not for you, or because I need to see you again.”
She showered off quickly, and stepped past the dress on the floor that still smelled like her lover. She exited the room quietly. Four girls and one man were already missing. Odds were against her possessing the personal magic necessary to keep out of that count if she continually placed herself in the path of danger.
She’d had trouble keeping on track lately, but would have to gear up for the game. Maybe, just maybe, Christopher St. John really was a good guy, besides being phenomenally good in the sack.
“Yeah, well, I never said I wasn’t stupid,” she muttered, tucking herself into the corner of the elevator as the contraption began its descent. “If I had, I’d be lying.”
Chapter 13
She was not prepared for the breathtaking sight of Christopher St. John in the hotel’s ambient light. She had to speak to keep from beating at him with her fists over the chaos he was causing with her resolve.
“I have a funny feeling that your voice speaks to me inside my head,” she said.
“The voice of good conscience, I hope,” he returned.
“If this leads to those girls, I’ll be the first to let you know.”
He nodded. “My car is waiting, as promised.”
“If the place we’re going is around the corner, I’d rather walk.” She really needed a blast of chilly London air to cool her off.
Acquiescing, St. John moved aside without touching her, though she was sure he’d thought about it. Worse yet, she had. He had donned a fresh shirt and a black leather jacket, brought to him by the chauffeur of his car, no doubt.
“I hope there aren’t any gangs roaming around tonight.” Her tone was harsher than she would have liked. Self-defense, she guessed. St. John was staring at her mouth, at the blood she tasted on it.
She wiped her lips with the back of her hand.
“I can assure you those same monsters won’t be here,” he said.
She felt a stir of air on the side of her face when he waved off his driver. The car he’d alluded to was a black Mercedes. St. John, himself, was a streamlined Ferrari.
He wore expensive clothes and had a chauffeur, and had never actually mentioned what he did for a living. She hadn’t thought to ask. Big reminder: she knew nothing about him, and her skills as a journalist were sadly lacking whenever he was around.
Taking a quick visual sweep of the street turned up an uncomfortable lack of people. The incident in her room remained a sile
nt undercurrent between herself and the man beside her as they walked.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“The hotel is called Germand.”
The deepness of St. John’s voice was similar to a smooth caress between her thighs. Her mouth wasn’t the only body part feeling bruised as she pulled those thighs together.
“Inside, there’s a private area where local businessmen and dignitaries often go,” he explained.
“Dignitaries? What would four college girls be doing in a place like that?”
“They would have to be invited.”
Madison stopped walking. “College girls? That doesn’t sound right.”
There wasn’t any point in explaining about her instincts and how they worked, especially since her initial instincts hadn’t been wrong about him. But she knew something. The place St. John was taking her to was off. Just hearing the name of that hotel gave her shivers. The Germand wasn’t right, somehow.
“Do you go there?” she asked.
“Never.”
Somehow, that made her feel better. When St. John walked on, Madison followed.
“I take it someone saw the girls there?” she said.
“They stayed at the hotel for a couple of nights.”
Madison stopped again, perplexed. “Are you kidding? Why hasn’t that come out?”
St. John turned around to face her. “Maybe they were broke, flattered, and it was an offer too good to refuse. Maybe their parents never told them about the possible perils of accepting attention from strangers.”
“The people working there didn’t come forward to talk about it, or provide what may be an important detail in the case?”
“The staff at that hotel are notoriously discreet.”
“They’re also withholding information from an investigation.”
“You know sometimes things aren’t completely black or white, Madison. However, they did tell me, when pressed.”
When he brushed up against her, meaning to urge her forward, unexpected jolts of electricity shot through Madison. Although she kept walking, she gave St. John a sideways glance.
Did he also feel the heat burning between them?
Planning to say something about that, she stopped abruptly, as if someone had yanked on her arm. Scanning the dark street, she was caught off guard by a distant voice. Not St. John’s voice this time, but a thin voice, sounding tired, and strained.
Madison forgot to breathe. She felt her face drain of color. She recognized that voice.
“Stewart?” she whispered. “Is that you?”
* * *
Seeing Madison spin, St. John dropped all semblance of calm and reached for her. Pulling her with him, he backed toward the building.
“It’s my brother,” she said. Her face was as white as paper. Her eyes had taken on a haunted cast.
Stewart Chase, damn the beast, had found his sister.
And his own decision not to get close to her again had just blown to pieces.
“It’s Stewart,” Madison insisted. “He’s here.”
The new vibration ruffled across St. John’s skin with a recognizable chill. It was her brother, all right, but again, not the same one she was expecting, and Stewart had the fangs to prove it.
This new turn of events was a fine mess. Finding her brother would seal the lid on Madison’s coffin. She’d know for sure about vampires and Others, and was in a convenient position to expose them, if she didn’t attempt to take matters into her own hands first.
Ninety-nine of the immortals comprising the Hundred weren’t killers, but they would act to protect their own, if it came to that. Only one of them was a cold-blooded murderer. He wanted to find that one. Especially now, before that killer found the next Slayer.
He tightened his hold on Madison to keep Stewart Chase’s presence away from the woman who wanted it most, surprised that her twin had been able to locate her so quickly, when Stewart had only recently been turned.
He hoped that Stewart wasn’t so far gone yet that he’d harm his sister, though he’d harm her enough just by showing himself.
Go from here. He sent a silent message to Stewart. You will hurt her more if you stay.
“He called to me. He’s here.” Madison was twisting in his grip. “Where is he? Why doesn’t he come out?”
“You may have only thought you heard him.”
“Bullshit. I can feel him.”
“Come on.” St. John led her quickly to the sidewalk. “The hotel is just there.”
Shaking her head spread crimson curls that were now a blatant contrast to her colorless face. “Help me,” she said. “Help me, St. John. Christopher. Please.”
Maybe the please did it. Possibly it was the stricken look on her lovely face, and the way his heartbeat entwined with hers. He was one of the most powerful creatures on the earth, but in that moment, as Madison’s eyes met his, he felt powerless to resist her.
“If it is your brother, he can follow,” he said, fisting his hands to keep from taking what he wanted. Madison’s mouth. Her body. Her innocence about the existence of monsters.
Due to what he had become such a long time ago, he also selfishly wanted her soul. Because only with her soul surrendered, could he truly have her, truly protect her.
“One thing at a time, Madison. Possibly that one thing will lead to another.”
He could almost guarantee that it would.
The Germand’s doorman eyed them solemnly, then bowed his head and stepped aside. St. John took one more look over his shoulder, at the street, where Stewart’s vibration was like broken glass along his neural pathways. The man had been changed, bitten by the wrong sort of vampire. The Ancients hadn’t cared overmuch about the aggressive young American attorney knocking at their door, or what he might have had to say about bartering for their help with the missing girls.
Stewart Chase, in his current incarnation, was a wild card, an anomaly, and still killing vamps. At least for the present.
“I don’t like this place,” Madison said, balking just past the door.
St. John hardly heard her. It wasn’t her brother now who had drawn his attention.
He sniffed the air, and swore beneath his breath. Outside, nearby, more visitors were coming, the likes of which St. John hadn’t sensed for quite some time. Monsters he instantly knew the feel and taste of. The atmosphere stank of their imminent journey here. The fabric of the night was shifting to accommodate them.
Surprised, St. John looked from the street to Madison, with real concern. Blood Hunters were on the prowl. Fanged invaders were on their way. Nosferatu, an ugly name that made most immortals cringe.
Along with the scent, a full picture appeared in his mind, and the image was damnable. This new plague wasn’t coming to London for the sport of killing humans. Not if there wasn’t an army of them.
Another spike along his nerves told him these monsters had to be coming for him, personally. There was no other reason for letting a few select Nosferatu loose in a city, other than having a target of consequence. Outside of his search for the traitor among the Hundred, and more and more vampire kills, there was nothing out of the ordinary going on.
The thought stopped him cold. His cover had to have been blown. His commitment here had been compromised.
Having found the whereabouts of a Blood Knight, someone had sent Nosferatu to find him. Creatures notorious for prying secrets from other vampires in the most gruesome of ways would hope to peel back the pieces of his golden vow in order to reveal that vow’s source.
Grotesque in the extreme, warrior Nosferatu were strong, mean and driven. They were the minions of a strong master, their Prime, and were vampiric hit men of the worst kind. Soulless hellhounds, bent on destruction. Though a small number of them couldn’t
take him down, the damage they would inflict on London streets while trying to find him could bring long-hidden secrets into the open. Innocent people might be slaughtered by the dozens. Mortals could finally find out what else walked among them.
Who had done this?
Whoever it was knew about him, and also knew him well enough to figure that he might barter to keep the lives of the people in this city safe. They might assume he’d trade information on his origins, in return for saving the city from a bloodbath.
With an uncharacteristic uneasiness, St. John focused on Madison. Her back was rigid. She fought to maintain an outward appearance of calm when that calm had been stripped from her.
He hoped to God she wasn’t picking up on his own tenseness with her up-and-coming Slayer sensitivities. He had pledged to protect her from the darkness, but the presence of these particular monsters, sent for him and spiraling closer, was about to change everything...if he didn’t find them first.
In order to save the woman at his side, the only way for him to help her, and so many others now, would be to get clear of all of them and, when the freaks arrived, go after the abominations coming after him.
Someone else would have to watch over Madison in his place.
A nosy detective, maybe.
Madison had pleaded for his help, and he couldn’t oblige. He couldn’t allow her, or any other innocent, to get in the crossfire of an old feud.
A shock of cold pain between his shoulder blades made him turn. He scanned the room. Apart from the oncoming wave of fanged creatures, this hotel had also been compromised. A noticeable heaviness lay on the air. Shadows hid in the corners. Something sinister had just occurred here.
“I’m sorry,” he said to Madison. “We have to go. I shouldn’t have brought you here. It’s no longer safe.”
The stricken expression on the face of the woman with whom his soul had braided told him she awaited an explanation that she would never get. He had to remain here, and face what lay in this hotel’s shadows before doing anything else. It took a monster to fight a monster, with any hope of success, if that’s what the atmosphere of the Germand indicated.
