Afterimage

by Jaye Roycraft

  She carried two packed bags into the living room and set them down on the floor. The lights were on in her studio. She stepped into the doorway and stopped. Drago was studying her paintings with the same attention he had paid them during his first visit, lightly running his fingertips over the texture of the canvas, like a blind man reading Braille. She watched his eyes shift up and down, side to side, on each image, and when his gaze lingered on a specific detail, it was almost as if she knew that he was seeing her intentions exactly. She wanted to laugh. How could he? He was one of the Undead. An unholy monster without a soul. How could he know what was in her heart when she executed each detail? And yet that was the feeling she had. He was standing in front of ‘Crossroads.’ Her favorite. The painting Jaime had called ‘somber.’

  He looked at her, and the way his eyes pored over her was just the way he looked at her art. As if he knows me. She didn’t know what to say.

  He saved her the trouble. “The crossroad. There is a very old legend in my native country that the Undead wait at crossroads to drink the blood of the unsuspecting as they chance by.” He smiled, the first she had seen on him tonight. “Just a fairy tale, of course.”

  She drew a deep breath. She was wrong. He had no idea what the painting was about. “I had something quite different in mind when I did that one.”

  “Of course you did. But the crossroad is an endlessly fascinating subject, no? There is the symbolism of the cross, of course, but there are scores of legends involving crossroads, and most of them have to do with evil.”

  Marya was not amused. “I thought you were in a hurry.”

  “And so I am. While you were packing, I made some calls. Revelin Scott is indeed a Southeast Region enforcer. He was just transferred here within the past month from the Circle in England. Apparently the transfer was the Directorate’s doing, not the Brotherhood’s. A result, perhaps, of my complaining about the ineptitude of the local enforcers. Apparently the transfer stirred up quite a hornet’s nest among the Brotherhood hierarchy.”

  She led him back to the living room. “I don’t understand. What has all that to do with me?”

  “I think, mademoiselle, that it has more to do with me. Come, then, if you’re ready. Scott is stationed in Jackson. I think it’s time we paid him a little visit.”

  At the door he stopped and faced her. “Oh, and mademoiselle . . .”

  She picked up her bags and looked at him.

  “If there is any more killing of vampires to be done, please leave it to me.”

  Six

  MARYA SETTLED into the leather passenger seat of Drago’s car, and as he pulled onto Interstate 20 it struck her how completely her life had just changed. And in the most bizarre way imaginable. She had made no plans beyond this day. The only thing that had been on her mind for the past week had been killing Alek Dragovich. Now, somehow, she was in his hands. Figuratively speaking, of course.

  She looked at him as he drove. She didn’t want to, but he was impossible to ignore. She couldn’t imagine a stranger traveling companion than a vampire. And not just any vampire. L’ enforcier. She stared at his profile. The nose was just slightly curved. That, she thought, along with the peaked eyebrows which always seemed to relay boredom or incredulity, was what gave his face such a haughty cast. She was tired, but she certainly wasn’t going to close her eyes and relax with him sitting so close to her. She decided that conversation was the best way to stay awake. Besides, there were plenty of things she was curious about.

  “Where did you go when you left my house just a little while ago?”

  He stared at the road, and for a moment she thought he wouldn’t answer. “To heal,” he finally said.

  “I was hoping you had crawled away to find some deep, dark hole to die in.”

  With that, he did glance quickly at her. “You flatter yourself, mademoiselle. That solution you injected into me was extremely dilute. True vampire hunters make their own silver nitrate, and in concentrations much stronger than that drugstore concoction you bought.”

  “It must have done something to you if you had to heal yourself.”

  “A precaution, nothing more.”

  Heal himself. She suddenly had a bad feeling. “What exactly did you do?” Her voice was sharp, but she didn’t care.

  “You have your father’s knowledge. What do you think I did? I fed.”

  She closed her eyes, turned away from him, and covered her face with one hand. If one of her neighbors had died because of what she had done . . .

  “Don’t concern yourself. I have become very adroit in feeding without killing my victims. It’s not wise to leave a trail of bodies in one’s wake.”

  She didn’t know if she believed him or not. “But I did cause you pain. At least admit that.”

  He shook his head. “Sorry to disappoint you, mademoiselle.”

  Liar. She had caused him pain. She knew it. She had seen it in his face. Vain, arrogant vampire. Afraid to admit to a mortal that she had successfully struck even a tiny blow. She would have to be very careful about ever believing a word he said to her. They rode the rest of the way to Jackson in silence.

  IT WAS A QUICK trip to the state capital, though, and in less than an hour they found a motel to stay at. Marya’s relief in arriving, though, was short-lived. At the desk, Drago requested one room instead of two. She interrupted him and politely told the desk clerk they wanted two rooms, feeling her cheeks flame with embarrassment as she did so. Drago took her arm and gently steered her a few feet away from the desk.

  He kept his hand on her and pulled her close enough to whisper in her ear. “One room, cherie. Two beds, but one room. That’s how it will be.”

  She shivered at his closeness and made sure she didn’t look at his eyes. At this proximity, they would be too forceful. “There’s no reason not to get two rooms. I’m not going to run away.” Her anger made it hard to whisper, but she was already mortified and didn’t want to make more of a scene.

  “I need you where I can keep an eye on you at all times. This affair is too important for me to take any risks. But don’t worry. You’ll be perfectly safe with me.” This close, his voice was as persuasive as his eyes. All refined silk, smooth and sensual, but with that persistent undercoat of wickedness.

  It was another battle it seemed she wouldn’t win. She said nothing in return but exhaled a small sigh of resignation to let him know she wouldn’t argue further.

  “Stay here,” he ordered. He returned to the desk.

  As if she wanted another dose of embarrassment. Marya watched the desk clerk, but there was no smirk on the woman’s face, only an obvious appreciation of Drago’s unique appearance. Who was she kidding? Her gaze shifted to Drago. The man had stunning looks, damn him. She hated herself for the thought, and she felt another flush heat her face. She prayed this thing with Scott would end quickly and that Drago would let her go back home. She shifted her gaze to the clerk and saw the woman eyeing her in a questioning way.

  Drago returned to her side, but turned his back to the clerk as he spoke. “The woman prefers to hear from you that one room is satisfactory. So we will return to the desk together, you will tell her that one room is fine, and you will give me a kiss convincing enough that she does not call la police on me. C’est compris?”

  Marya couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “I will do no such thing!” she whispered.

  “Have a care, mademoiselle. An incident serves neither of us.”

  She had no choice, damn him. “All right.”

  She took a moment to take a deep breath and compose her features. Arm in arm they walked back to the desk. This is never going to work.

  “One room is fine, ma’am. We had a little argument earlier tonight, but I’ve decided to forgive him and save him the cost of the extra room.”

  If I think about it, I w
on’t be able to do it. So she just did it. She turned toward him, tilting her face up. He did the rest, taking her mouth gently with his. His lips were surprisingly warm and soft, but it was a quick kiss. Before she knew it, he was pulling away from her. She could see the desk clerk smiling at her in a way that told Marya she would be crazy not to share a room with this man. Drago winked at the woman, but before Marya’s anger could flare again, Drago had her turned toward the hallway.

  He smiled as he followed her into the elevator. “An excellent performance, mademoiselle. You almost had me fooled.”

  Once the door closed, she let her anger loose. “Why didn’t you just cloud her mind into believing one room was fine?”

  “Ah, an excellent idea. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “I hate you.”

  He smiled again, this time showing teeth. “I know you do, cherie, I know you do.”

  THEIR ROOM WAS a suite, spacious and well appointed, and the beds were queen size. No matter how nice the room was, though, the bottom line was that she was sharing it with a vampire. It would have been hard for her to share a room with any man, even a man like Jaime Buckland whom she liked and was attracted to. It was simply the way she had been raised. Women weren’t promiscuous, and they didn’t display themselves to men. But to share a room with a vampire . . . and after what this one just did to her . . . Well, the thought was almost unbearable. Hopefully, by sometime tomorrow she would be going home. It was a pleasant notion, and she tried to keep it in the forefront of her mind. It was certainly better than thinking about the kiss that she could still feel on her lips. Drago’s mouth had been soft and sensuous, and his touch had been tender—the last thing she expected from a vampire.

  But as soon as she started to unpack he stepped to her side.

  “Give me your bags. And your purse.”

  She froze. “What?”

  “I need to make sure you don’t have any more silver nitrate, needles, knives, or bazookas with you. I don’t care to have a vampire-hating aberration try to kill me in the middle of the night.”

  She felt her cheeks flame all over again. “Don’t be ridiculous. Do you really think I’d be so foolish?”

  “You were earlier tonight.” He held one pale hand out to her.

  She gave him her bags and watched as he went through her things. She waited in silence.

  He finished his task and looked at her. “Come over here.”

  “Why?”

  “I need to make sure you have nothing on your person.”

  Her heart started pounding. “I don’t.”

  “I have to be certain.”

  “Please . . . take my word for it.”

  “Ah, but trust is something you and I don’t share, non? Come here. Surely it cannot be as bad as kissing me.”

  That was the problem. Kissing him hadn’t been bad. And now he wanted to put his hands on her. She forced herself to remember what he was—a cold, Undead creature that survived from the living force of others. She stepped up to him and turned her gaze away from him. She felt his hands on her body, checking her pockets, her waistband, and even her brassiere. He wasn’t rough, and there was a dispassionate efficiency to his movements, yet the feel of his hands on her was more disturbing even than she had feared.

  “Done.”

  She looked at him and tilted her head to the side. “Satisfied?”

  “Oh, I’ll sleep much better now, believe me.”

  The chill softness in his voice cascaded over her like a winter rain, and she felt the resulting shiver down to her bones. She wanted to slap him, but resisted the impulse. She didn’t care to know what his reaction would be to more violence on her part.

  They both very badly wanted a shower, but Drago suddenly decided to play the gentleman and let her go first. The hot water felt wonderful—soothing and refreshing—but more than that she felt clean again, as though the water had rinsed away her improper thoughts of Drago. She scrubbed herself thoroughly, then dressed in clean, long pajamas and a long robe. Feeling almost right again with the world, she exited of the bathroom, eager for bed. Still, she forced herself to keep from running. Keeping what little dignity that wasn’t already in shreds was important. She turned off the lights on her side of the room and slipped into bed. When she ventured a glance toward the bathroom, Drago was out of sight. Good.

  Marya pulled the covers high and closed her eyes, but sleep wouldn’t come. It had been too stressful a day, and the present situation wasn’t any better. The sound of the shower running was soothing, and she hoped it would put her to sleep, but it didn’t. The sound ceased, and contrary to what she knew she should do, she opened her eyes. A moment later he exited the bathroom wearing black silk pajama bottoms and nothing else. His black hair was wet and uncombed and fell in heavy, slick strands at the sides of his face. She couldn’t help staring at him. She tried to keep thinking of him as the monster she knew he was, but in point of fact, he was a magnificent figure. He wasn’t huge and brawny, but lean and muscled. The smooth, graceful lines of his torso seemed to perfectly match the refined elegance of his voice. If he was aware that she was watching him, he gave no notice. No doubt he was used to women staring at him. Only when he turned off the remaining lights did she finally slip into slumber.

  THEY BOTH SLEPT late the following morning. Drago woke just before noon, and when he saw that Marya was still asleep, he remained in bed. He had driven nearly the whole way from New York to Vicksburg without a break, and he suspected that Marya was properly done in by her ordeal of the day before. He wanted to laugh. Her ordeal indeed! He was the one who had nearly been dispatched from Midexistence to Hell.

  He hadn’t dared admit to the girl just how close she had actually come to killing him. It was a basic maxim that all young vampires learned early if they wanted to survive. It was concealment—the ability to disguise emotions, mask intentions, seal up will, and to tame defects and hide them. One never allowed an opponent to know what one was thinking or feeling. Over the years Drago had elevated the ability to an art.

  No doubt thanks to her father, the girl had stumbled upon one of the deadliest means to destroy a vampire—silver nitrate. Thankfully, she didn’t have the experience or expertise of a true vampire killer. Professional vampire slayers, with the latest increases in technology, were discovering new and horrible weapons every day to use against the Undead. Some were even filling hollow point cartridges with silver nitrate or garlic, or scratching a cross into the business ends of bullets.

  In truth, the girl, even with her amateur knowledge, could have easily killed him had she either been able to inject more into him or if the silver had been in a higher concentration. As it was, it had been a dilute solution and he had been able to feed immediately. He had found a man down the road from Marya’s house from whom he had taken a healing quantity of blood—not enough to kill the man, but enough to negate some of the silver’s effects. But the silver, as watered down as it had been, had burned. Burned like Hell. His immediate instinct had been to dispatch the girl right then and there, and it had taken all the strength of his will to overcome the rage of the moment. The only thing that had stopped him was his desire to find out why she wanted him dead. He was glad now that he had been able to control his lust for her death. It truly seemed that someone else was involved in this affair, and Drago very badly wanted to learn who that someone was.

  Revelin Scott. He thought about the Brotherhood enforcer he would be confronting later that day. Scott was a day vampire, as few of the Undead were, but as most enforcers were. Tolerance to light made them more effective in their job, eased their travel, and made them harder to kill. Even so, the meeting with Scott would not be until this evening. Drago needed more information.

  He had learned a little about Scott last night, but the brief rundown hadn’t been enough. There hadn’t been time before, but there was now. H
e eased noiselessly from the bed, picked up his cell phone, and called Paris. He spoke to Philippe and relayed his request. Philippe would call him back. Drago turned, and his gaze landed on Marya.

  Her covers had been thrown off during the night, but her long-sleeved and long-legged pajamas revealed little skin, unlike her sleepwear of the first night he had seen her. He smiled at the memory. The girl was prudish in her dress and actions—a consequence, he imagined, of her Romani upbringing. Yet that first night the circumstances had been providential. He had seen her nearly naked, and the scent of her blood, even with the caustic tinge of her dhampir heritage, had aroused him. Even last night, with her very proper pajamas and robe on, she had roused not only his senses, but his blood. And the kiss . . . He knew she would never admit it, but he had felt her reaction to his kiss, and it wasn’t revulsion. That alone had awakened an ardor in him he thought not to exist. How was it that this girl, an aberration, had more power to fuel his desires than the most beautiful girls in all of Paris?

  His cell phone rang.

  SOMEWHERE IN her consciousness, the sound of a phone intruded into her dream. Marya cracked her eyes open, and she vaguely wondered if the vision before her was truly real. She was sharing a room with a half-naked vampire. Drago.

  It was real.

  She watched him, much as she had done the night before. His hair was dry now, ruffled by sleep, yet still it fell in shiny, straight strands to flow across his shoulders. Other than his hair, though, his appearance was the same as it had been last night. He spoke on his cell phone, his voice as soft as a brush of satin against skin, but even if it hadn’t been, she wouldn’t have been able to listen in on his conversation. He spoke French.