by Connie Hall
Since leaving the airport, Takala had felt eyes on her, and it hadn’t subsided. The sensation caused a prickling on her neck that refused to go away.
She glanced behind her at the only other person in first class. The woman wore a knit brown pantsuit. Her dark brown hair was cut in a boyish bob. She was sleeping. Takala decided the jumpy feeling had to be the product of her imagination.
Earlier she had heard a few voices come from coach class, but now the only sound was the distant throb of the jet engines. The whole overnight flight must be bedded down for the evening. She hadn’t seen a stewardess in an hour. What time was it? She looked at her watch. Two o’clock in the morning. They must be somewhere over Europe.
She didn’t know if it was nerves, or the sugar buzz she’d gotten from eating so much chocolate, but she just couldn’t sleep. The light on the complimentary cell phone blinked green, and she snatched it up and left her seat so she wouldn’t wake Lilly.
The Boeing 747 was a wide-body with three aisles. The coach section was full to capacity. She chose the left aisle and walked back to the restroom. As she suspected, most of the passengers were sleeping, but a few glassy-eyed insomniacs were watching movies or listening to music through headphones. She dialed Fala’s cell-phone number.
A sleepy voice said, “Yeah.”
“Fala, it’s me,” Takala whispered so as to not wake up anyone.
“Where are you, and why weren’t you here to welcome us home?”
“Sorry, on a case.” Takala paused at the door to the head.
“You know Nina ran away and got married?”
“Yeah, she told me.”
“She told you before me?” Fala sounded a little disappointed.
“I think she thought you might disapprove.”
“Well, he’s a shifter. That’s not too bad.”
“Rich, too. That always helps.”
They both chuckled at that.
Fala was the first to speak again. “So, what kind of trouble are you in?”
“I’m not.”
“Then why is Grandmother in the prayer cave? She says she needs to pray for you. What have you done?”
“Nothing.” Takala hoped Meikoda knew nothing of her current adventure and was only cleansing her soul. She didn’t want to tell her older sister about Lilly. She knew she’d be angry for trying to find their mother. She, like Nina, believed that their mother wanted nothing to do with them. “Can you put Stephen on the phone?”
“For what?”
“I just need to ask him about someone he might have worked with at B.O.S.P.”
“Oh, all right— Wait, I have to tell you this. Nina told me not to say anything, but you should know. I saw Akando with a strange redhead today—”
“I know all about it.”
Fala said, “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t care anymore.” A lie. His cheating still hurt like a giant was stepping on her solar plexus. What really smarted was how quickly he’d moved on and how blind she’d been to believe he had cared for her at all. She forced more conviction than she felt into her voice. “We’re history.”
“Sure you don’t want to talk about it?”
“No, he’s shown his true colors. I don’t know what I saw in him. Be glad you didn’t marry him.”
“Believe me, I found the right guy. Stay in touch, sis, okay?”
“Okay. Now put Stephen on, please.” Takala made a face at the tan door of the toilet as she heard Fala say, “Here, honey, for you.”
A lot of rustling in her ear, then Stephen’s deep voice. “What’s the problem?”
“What do you know about someone named Nightwalker?”
“He used to be my boss.” Stephen’s voice seemed to clear of sleep. “Stay away from him.”
“Too late. What I need to know is, can I trust him?”
“You can’t trust any vampire,” Fala said in the background. The phone must be on speaker, Takala realized.
“What if he warns me about someone. Can I trust his word?”
“I’d say so unless he has an ulterior motive,” Stephen said. “Basically his scruples are intact. He’s only malevolent if you get in his way. What’s this all about?”
She ignored his last question and asked, “Is he the type who would kill his own men to set up another agent?”
“Not if the agents were loyal.”
“Would you trust him with your life?”
“If we were both on the same side—what’s going on, Takala?”
A whoosh of icy breath brushed her neck and ear. It was like opening a refrigerator door. She panicked, even as cold hands snatched the phone from her grasp. She heard Stephen shouting her name until the phone clicked off, then someone pushed her through the bathroom door.
She stumbled inside. Before she could turn to ward off her attacker, hands caught her elbows and shoved. Her hips hit the sink as she wheeled and looked into Nightwalker’s face.
His eyes were inches from her. For a few heartbeats, they faced each other, breathing heavily, eyes locked.
Up close, his pale skin glowed with a pearly luminescence that didn’t seem to have clear-cut lines, the edges of his features just a tad blurred, as if his power strained at the physical boundaries of his body. Purple eyes peered out from under thick blond lashes, the intelligence in them almost palpable. He had a rugged roman nose that fit perfectly in the handsome planes of his face. His glossy blond hair was slicked back in a ponytail, adding a roguish quality to his features. The ruthlessness of his sunken cheekbones fought with the dimple in his chin and added a pleasant edge to his face that couldn’t be trusted. He wore a perfectly tailored black suit and a starched white shirt without one wrinkle. Not even his tie had been pulled out of line during the struggle. And his cologne smelled like spicy butter rum, a scent that might have made her mouth water…if she hadn’t been feeling threatened.
His eyes steadily turned the color of blackberry wine. The depths looked bleak and endless, like a long, empty tunnel. Because vampires didn’t have to blink, his stare had a relentless piercing quality, like that of a falcon, as if he hovered above her ready to dive.
All her self-preservation bells rang at once. Her heart felt like it had parachuted out of her chest and was dropping fast.
Then his eyes changed. The whites were disappearing, the pupils dilating.
She felt his will batter her. It was a thousand-pound weight throbbing in her skull. She tried to move, but the undertow of his trance-inducing eyes trapped her. Fear slithered along her shoulders, hummed down her spine.
The black orbs probed her, reached deeper, grasped for control. The edges of his form seemed to shift and blur from his unearthly force.
Then something inside her rose up like a wall, and she suddenly had a fighting chance. His underworld tug was strong, but it struggled to penetrate her white magic, the source of her strength. She locked gazes with him, aware she might lose this battle at any moment, and she hated losing a fight—especially to a vampire who had attacked her first.
The tiny bathroom seemed to shrink in size, and all she could feel was his chilly breath on her face. He had both hands on the sink, trapping her between them. He wasn’t physically touching her, but he might as well have been. His dark aura was steadily drawing over her like an iron blanket, his will lashing at her own.
“Look, bloodsucker, you can’t glamour me.” She found her voice, but it was strained, uneven. “Got that?”
The lids of his eyes flicked ever so slightly in surprise that she had fended off his power this long. Then a slow, ruthless grin twisted up the corners of his mouth, exposing the tips of his fangs. “But your sweet words only provoke me into wanting to try and glamour you.” His voice was slick and silken and echoed in her mind like he was inside her head with a bullhorn.
“I warn you, don’t try it!” Takala knew if she didn’t break this mind lock, she wouldn’t stand a chance. She knocked his arms away and aimed for his jaw.
He caug
ht her hand with superhuman speed. They arm wrestled midair as he said, “You can’t resist me.”
“Wanna bet?” Takala was surprised by his strength. Vampires might be able to move faster than she, but one-on-one they weren’t much stronger. But this one was. It felt as if her fingers were set in solid granite. Her whole arm trembled as she strained against his strength. He wasn’t struggling at all, and she knew he wasn’t using a quarter of his strength. If he chose to, he could crush her hand and send her down on her knees.
“That was unwise.” His voice softened to a deadly hiss.
“Sometimes you just gotta take risks.” She went for him with her other hand.
He grabbed that one, too, jerked both hands behind her back, and kissed her.
His will invaded her in a huge gush, sweeping into her like a windstorm, crashing into every crack and crevice. She had lost this round.
For a second, the full brunt of his power held her muscles, her bones, her veins. It was like radioactive dye being breathed into her, burning at first; then his darkness oozed inside her and she felt herself becoming powerless and groggy in his arms. She grew aware of his cool lips, rough and pressing. Then they absorbed her human heat, and they were hot and ruthless and mesmerizing. That was her last thought before he claimed her mind.
Striker wanted to continue the kiss, to subjugate her, to savor the heat of her lips and body engulfing him, but he couldn’t allow himself to take advantage of her in that way. No, it was bad enough he’d given in to the desire to kiss her. He could have forced his will on her by just touching her. No doubt about it, Takala Rainwater tempted him, a morsel for the taking. But he had only one resolve, and that was to find out if she worked for Raithe.
He broke the kiss and stared down at her face, at the strong curve of her jaw. His fingers itched to touch her square chin, and he gave in to the desire.
At his touch, her closed eyes fluttered.
He traced the line of her jaw as he stared down at the ginger-blond lashes, a little darker than her coppery gold hair. They formed thick crescents on her high cheekbones. Her full lips were swollen from his kiss, the sweet scent of chocolate still on them. He couldn’t draw his gaze from her tanned face; it had a reddish golden glow that mesmerized him. He didn’t think he’d ever seen more beautiful feminine features assembled in one package.
Something about her seemed familiar. What was it about her that tugged at him, that reminded him of someone? It was there, buried in the eons of his life. He just couldn’t retrieve it.
Takala moaned seductively and pressed her shapely pliant body against him. He hadn’t noticed it before now, but there wasn’t an ounce of extra flesh anywhere on Takala Rainwater. She was all hardened, lean muscle. Her back and shoulders rippled with it. She had the physique of a female bodybuilder, slender hips, indented small waist, and high rounded breasts, all held together by sinew. Strong, yet so intoxicatingly woman. He felt his body responding, and he cursed.
She inflamed dormant desires and sensations that he had controlled for two centuries. He thought he had evolved past all that, exorcized those demons. But there was no denying it: he wanted her right now. And the danger of being near her was growing by the second.
He forced his mind back on the mission and his resolve to stop Raithe. He quickly propped her down on the toilet and rested her head back on the wall. Then he unwrapped the scarf from around her neck. He inhaled the overwhelming scent of her blood, and he had to fight the desire to place his lips against the pulsing jugular vein.
You have her under your power. Taste her blood. Take what you want and need. He heard Raithe’s old voice in his head, tempting him.
No, he wasn’t like Raithe. He wasn’t a monster. He used to be. For hundreds of years now, he’d led a monastic life of self-denial, atoning for his past evil transgressions—that is, until Takala Rainwater crossed his path. He reminded himself he had more willpower than to let a piece of tempting human baggage destroy all he’d worked so hard to accomplish.
He felt a tremor of sheer will run through him as he made himself concentrate on the task at hand. He half expected to find Raithe’s puncture marks on her neck. When he saw only Tongue’s claw prints slashing sideways across her skin, slightly swollen and red, he felt relief. Though he wasn’t entirely convinced that she wasn’t one of Raithe’s minions. He had to invade her thoughts to be absolutely certain of it.
He didn’t have to verbally ask her questions, all he had to do was probe her mind. He immediately detected a brain animated by magic; the insidiousness of it grinding and scraping the edges of his mind. And her thoughts were surprisingly an open book, not obstructed by dark forces as Striker had first suspected.
Takala had arrived at Lilly Smith’s house from a lead she had received from a friend. She wasn’t certain she trusted Lilly. She hadn’t told Lilly they were mother and daughter yet. He was getting recent feelings of love and hate for someone named Akando. So, she was above suspicion. He had expected the opposite, hoped for the opposite.
Now he had an innocent to take care of, and he’d seen evidence of how selfish and manipulative Culler could be. But weren’t those the very characteristics of a first-rate undercover agent? And not any agent, but one who had infiltrated Raithe’s organization. Her deceptive and malicious talents had to be second nature to her.
No doubt Culler would use Takala Rainwater, then get her killed. He had to make sure Takala continued to suspect Culler, so he whispered in her ear, “You will under no circumstances trust Lilly Smith or anything she says to you. You understand?”
“Yes.”
“Now, you will wait here five minutes, then return to your seat and forget everything about this encounter.”
“Okay.” She spoke without opening her eyes, in a lazy, dreamy voice.
He picked up the phone and hit the redial button. He heard Stephen’s voice say, “About time you called back. Fala and I were worried sick.”
Striker didn’t want the whole Rainwater clan destroying his chances of catching Raithe, so he decided to put their minds at rest. “It’s me, Winter,” he said.
“Nightwalker. Where’s Takala?”
He stared down at her. She was sprawled across the toilet, her eyelids closed but pulsing behind the lids. “She is indisposed at the moment.”
“You better not let anything happen to her,” a husky female voice said. “Or I’ll find you and rip your head off.”
“I suppose that is your new sweet bride.”
“Yeah, and I’ll show you just how sweet I can be if you hurt her,” Fala said.
“Be quiet, Fala,” Stephen said. “Listen, Dark, is Takala mixed up in something bad?”
“Not really. I know she is innocent. I will make sure she’s unharmed and see that she returns home”
“You better,” her sister said.
Striker clicked off. He didn’t much like domineering females who threatened him, even if she was the Guardian and could probably back up her threats.
He put the phone in Takala’s hand and wrapped her fingers around it. Then he exited and warped up to first class. The speed at which the jet was flying only enhanced his ability, and he felt a little lightheaded when he paused at the doorway. He’d never get used to airplane travel.
Katalinga perked up from pretending to sleep and she nodded to him. She motioned with her eyes toward Culler, who sat across the aisle from her, sleeping quietly, her mouth agape.
He moved in behind Culler. As he looked down at her, the image of his agents being murdered surfaced. He had to hold back a desire to exact retribution for them as he touched her shoulder.
She woke with a start and pulled off the sleeping mask. Instant recognition. She leaped to grab him, but he already had made contact. He languished in her fear for a split second, then he took control of her thoughts.
She slumped back in the seat, and he probed her mind. He could only find her most recent memories, of being attacked at her home, hiring Takala to accompany her to
Paris. She, too, was afraid of something, but that was a gray area, and he knew he’d hit a charmed part of her brain. He concentrated, fully pouring all his force into her, but he could not break the weaver spell. He’d never come up against such powerful magic. Raithe had outdone himself. Striker would just have to wait and see who she was meeting in Paris.
He erased her memory of their encounter, then he left her. He acknowledged Katalinga on his way back to his seat. Then he spotted Brawn in coach, watching a movie. He sat between two elderly women, who were asleep, one snoring like a jackhammer. Striker had used astral projection, so Brawn hadn’t been able to follow his movements, but he could see Brawn clearly now, and they exchanged a glance.
After another section, he found his aisle seat. A woman with a young daughter slept in the seat beside his, the little girl nestled up next to her mother.
Striker put back on the cap and sunglasses and sat down. He heard the bathroom door open, then smelled the scent of Takala Rainwater’s blood before she walked past him. It was a brand of O positive that he would never be able to get out of his mind. She looked perfectly normal, oblivious to him. She kept gazing at the phone in her hand as if she couldn’t quite figure out why she was holding it.
She moved past him with an air of graceful invincibility, and he fought the desire to follow her. He had remained desensitized for so long, this sudden attraction was more than unnerving. He watched the sway of her slim hips and remembered the heat of her lips and body, the pulsing of her jugular beneath her lovely skin. He wrestled with the desire to extend his fangs, but instead turned and looked out the airplane window. All he could see was darkness and hints of the moon drifting in and out behind clouds. No reflection of himself, only a cap and glasses floating in open space. But he knew if he had one what he would see: a vampire fighting for control. He gripped the arms of his chair so hard he heard the metal crunching. He let go and frowned. Somehow he would conquer this attraction to her.
