Nightwalker

by Connie Hall

  She hit the television.

  It crash-landed next to her.

  She threw herself at his spine and watched him fall to the ground with a loud thud. She stood and rubbed her fingers and arm and knew she’d be sore all over later.

  She ran out of the room, stepping over the two agents and headed down the stairs to hail a taxi.

  Takala saw a cab sitting outside the hotel. It crept forward and stopped in front of her.

  She opened the door and looked at the back of the driver’s head. He wore a snap-brimmed cap. A thick lock of black collar-length hair stuck out below the cap. She could only see his eyes in the rearview mirror. He spouted something in French.

  “You speak English?”

  “Yes, madam,” he said very slowly, enunciating each word.

  “Where would you like to go?”

  “The Quai de Bercy, number 180.”

  He nodded.

  “Big tip in it if you get me there pronto.”

  “Yes, madam.”

  Takala hopped into the backseat.

  The driver sped down the street. She noticed that the streets were starting to come alive with trucks making early deliveries. It was still dark, but the sun would rise soon. She asked, “What time is it?”

  “Four in the morning.” The driver cut his eyes at her in the mirror.

  Something about his shifty eyes she didn’t like; then the locks on the doors snapped into place with a grating click.

  Takala’s hand went instinctively for her gun. She clasped the hilt as she said, “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing but car locks.” He shrugged, his eyes darting nervously to the rearview mirror. “When I reach a certain speed, they engage.”

  She noticed tail lights behind her now, reflecting off the rearview mirror, right in her eyes. Was she being followed? The car had appeared out of nowhere; now it was on the taxi’s bumper, taking an aggressive position.

  Takala eased the Glock up and jammed the barrel in the back of the driver’s neck. He didn’t flinch. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, buster, but it ends now.”

  He grinned, a set of sharp fangs gleaming in the mirror. “I beg to differ, madam. It has just begun.”

  Takala heard the rear windshield break. Her neck stung. Oh, no! She reached behind and pulled out a small dart. Someone in the car following them had shot her. Raithe’s goons, no doubt. “What did you just put in my bloodstream?” She held the dart. It turned blurry and shifted. Suddenly five of them appeared. Then darkness took her.

  Chapter 22

  Striker was already hidden across from the warehouse at 180 Quai de Bercy. It was one of many large turn-of-the-twentieth-century brick warehouses, the brick cracked and weathered, almost black in places.

  No lights shone in the dirty windows. Two exits, a set of huge bay doors at the front and back. The warehouse faced a dock that ran along the Seine. In the front lay quayside railroad tracks, long in disrepair, rotting in the tarmac that didn’t cover them.

  A strong smell of decaying fish and creosote hung about all the warehouses in the area. It made Striker grimace. He was hiding in the shadows, his back pressed against a grain terminal, its huge silos behind him. His agents were in place, all angles covered, but he had given orders that no one should enter when Culler arrived. He would go in first. He wouldn’t have another repeat of the destructive killings Culler had given him last time.

  That was when his phone vibrated. He opened it and saw Katalinga’s face. “We have her, boss. Just like you said. She’s a handful.”

  “Tie her down, keep her drugged. I do not care, just keep her safe.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Striker closed the phone and smiled to himself. He had felt her white magic warring with his dark powers and knew his mind control wasn’t working on her. It was a good thing he’d had another set of agents keeping tabs on her. He couldn’t afford to let her interfere, nor did he want her harmed. She was the only innocent in all of this.

  Striker felt Raithe’s soul, stronger now. He was close. He could hardly believe what he was sensing. So many years of tracking, so many cat-and-mouse games. Now Raithe just appears. Much too easy. This was a trap. Maybe Raithe decided to stop becoming the hunted and become the hunter. He’d wait Raithe out, certain he’d find out soon enough what his game was.

  Katalinga glowered over at Tongue and Vaughn. She didn’t mind Tongue, a little overbearing sometimes but okay. It was new recruits who irritated her. They never followed directions. She wished Brawn was with her. They made a great team, when he wasn’t flirting with her. Secretly, Katalinga liked it, but she’d never admit it to herself or to him.

  Katalinga had seniority, and she was the OIC on this mission. She used her most authoritative voice. “Tell Blake to stop, and we’ll pick up Takala. I want her with us.”

  “Right,” Tongue said, her wide lips gleaming. She pulled out her phone and thought of Blake, the driver of the car ahead of them. The phone did its magic and Blake answered. “Hey, pull over, we’re picking up the mark.”

  “Right.”

  Blake found a fire zone and pulled the taxi over. The street was empty and still dark. A good place for the switch.

  Katalinga pulled in behind the taxi.

  Vaughn said, “Do we get out now?”

  “Yes, stupid.” Tongue glanced at him. “Just follow my lead and don’t say a word.”

  Katalinga shook her head. She almost felt sorry for Vaughn.

  She watched as Vaughn gathered Takala in his arms. Apparently, fallen angels were still powerful.

  Suddenly the sound of wings became a roar. The sky filled with black, blurs of flapping dark wings. Bats. Thousands of them. Not small bats, but large hummers, the size of hawks, the kind you saw in South American caves.

  They swooped down, moving in unison, as of one mind. They snatched Takala’s body from Vaughn, a black cloud of them lifting her in tandem while the others bit him, beating him in the face until he fell, screaming, covering his eyes.

  Tongue tried to leap for Takala, but the creatures overpowered her, too, swarming around her like bees, biting and screeching.

  “What the hell!” Katalinga was out the car in breakneck speed, but the cloud of bats filled the sky in black ink, disappearing over the city with Takala.

  “No, no, no! Tell me this didn’t just happen,” Katalinga yelled.

  “What the hell was that?” Blake said, walking back to them.

  “Our execution if Dark finds out about it,” Katalinga said.

  “Who the hell was controlling the bats?” Vaughn said.

  “Gotta be a sorcerer,” Tongue said, holding a nasty bite on her hand.

  “Not necessarily,” Katalinga said. “Could be a demon or a vampire.” She brought up the truth that they had been dancing around. “And there’s only two I know powerful enough do that. The director and—”

  “Don’t say his name.” Blake’s thick black brows darkened into a line beneath his cap.

  “Who’s gonna tell Dark?” Vaughn said, shaking his head as he stood.

  Katalinga and Tongue looked at each other, then pointed to Vaughn.

  “You can,” they both said at the same time.

  Three things hit Striker all at once. His phone rang, a taxi pulled up in front of 180, and the sky filled with the pulsing of thousands of wings.

  He went for his phone first, his eyes on the sky above him. A black cloud had blocked out the moon and clouds, darkening the sky in impenetrable black. The torrent of thousands of wings beat the air into a whirlwind. He felt the minds of the bats locked by a force: Raithe’s.

  “Yes,” he said, looking at Vaughn’s pale face.

  “We lost her, sir. Bats got her.”

  Striker couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Before he could get angry or reply, he watched the bats descending in a spiral toward the warehouse, a dark form hidden in the middle of the throng.

  Striker slammed the phone closed and was about to
command the creatures of the night to bring Takala to him, but they swooped down and dropped her through a ventilation window that ran a fourth of the length of the roof. Her body fell through the glass.

  His heart leaped into his throat as he heard the shatter of glass. Then the bats disappeared into the night.

  At that moment, Culler leaped out of the taxi and darted into the warehouse. Like clockwork. All timed to perfection.

  Striker used his phone and barked an order for his agents to not come into the warehouse until he gave the signal. Then in seconds he crossed the street and stood to the side of the open doorway.

  Instantly, he could smell Takala’s blood, pungent in the air. He heard her heartbeat steadily thumping. Still alive. He felt the band around his chest tighten as he frantically searched for her.

  His gaze scanned the hundreds of shipping crates, some stacked almost to the ceiling. Long, narrow walkways separated the rows of crates. Overhead, a rusting steel walk circled the warehouse and formed a path down the center. A swing-arm crane stood above it with a hook and cable attached to it for moving the heavy crates.

  He spotted the hole in the roof, the glass jutting out in jagged angles. He didn’t see Takala. But he felt Raithe’s evil closing in around him.

  Someone lit a lantern at the end of the warehouse. He moved inside closer to the light. When he saw Culler holding a lantern and standing at the end of an aisle, he paused. Out of the shadows, six vampires appeared on top of the crates near her.

  Culler grinned, a “gotcha” smile.

  “So nice of you to join us.” Raithe’s voice cut through Striker as he stepped out from the shadows into the sphere of the light. He held Takala up by the back of her jacket with one hand, dangling her like a puppet. Chains bound her feet and hands. The metal pulsed and glowed gray with some type of magic.

  After all this time, Striker thought he would experience something more at seeing Raithe again—hatred, anger, loathing—but his only feeling was for Takala. He wanted to snatch her away from Raithe and fly her to safety, but Raithe held the back of her neck in a way that with one jerk he could snap it. Frustration ate at Striker. If he moved a hair, Raithe would kill her.

  His archenemy appeared remarkably unaltered, same cruel gold eyes, high forehead, patrician nose, thick black hair, though he’d shaved it short; the face of the demons that ran within Striker. He looked the same, though black eyeliner outlined his eyes and his ears and nose were pierced. He wore black silk pants, boots, and a red velvet shirt that opened down to his navel, exposing a heavy gold dragon necklace. He had always preferred the soft texture of velvet against his skin and wore his clothes so it exposed some part of his body, vainly believing he was beautiful. He appeared no older than forty, much younger than his true age of two thousand years.

  He bared his fangs and brought Takala’s face close to his. She bled from a cut on her forehead. He licked the wound, deliberately slathering her blood over his lips and mouth. In that moment, Striker saw himself, glimpsed a darker side of what being a vampire looked like. He hated himself at that moment, because his fangs had extended and he was fighting an ever-present desire to taste her blood. And so were all the other vampires present, bloodlust glistening in their eyes.

  “I sense your concern. She is fine,” Raithe said in a singsong voice. “Umm, very nice indeed. Potent.” He ran his tongue around his lips. “You found a tasty morsel here. I can smell you all over her. Was she a good lay? Maybe I’ll find out before I kill her.”

  “Up to your old tricks, I see.” Striker kept his voice composed, though dread stirred within him. His safety didn’t matter, but seeing Raithe anywhere near Takala turned his blood to molten fire. He knew he couldn’t let his anger get in the way. He must stay focused to fight Raithe and get Takala out of here alive.

  “You know me, never run out of them, Domidicus—wait, it’s Striker now, is it not?” He didn’t wait for Striker’s reply and said, “Goes quite nicely with that new highly principled persona of yours.” Raithe laughed, a discordant sound that carried through the warehouse.

  “You have me. Why not settle this between the two of us?”

  “Because—” Raithe’s expression turned ugly and vicious “—I owe you years of pain and aggravation, my old friend. At first, this vendetta of yours amused me, but recently you have cost me greatly. Quite frankly, I’m hurt. Is that any way to thank your maker? I care for you, treat you as a son and then you hunt me, ruin my business affairs, then send an undercover chit to infiltrate my family. You have no loyalty, Domidicus.”

  “I could say the same of you.”

  Raithe’s lips lifted in a sideways grin. “You’ll never get over your family, will you?” He shrugged. “They were humans. What good were they to you? You would have killed them eventually, if I had not. Your sister’s blood was quite tasty, I should add.” He gave Striker a bored smile.

  Striker wanted to yank Raithe’s heart out right then, but he would not let Raithe know he had any effect on him. He had seen Raithe disarm his opponents mentally, pick them apart until nothing was left. He had to stay focused.

  Takala’s eyes fluttered open.

  “Ah, Sleeping Beauty wakes.” Raithe still held her up by her collar with one hand. If he chose to, he could snap her in half like a fortune cookie. Striker tensed as Raithe said, “How are you, my dear?”

  “Where am I?”

  “You have had a busy, busy night.”

  “It would have been nice if I’d been awake to enjoy it.” Takala’s eyes cleared and focused on Striker now, then back to Raithe. She made a face and said, “I’m guessing you’re Raithe?”

  “Tasty and clever, too—at your service.” He smiled, his fangs glistening red from her blood.

  “You drugged me.”

  “No, that was Domidicus. He can be more cunning than I.” Raithe winked at her. “But alas, it made capturing you child’s play.”

  She turned her gaze on Striker. “That true?”

  Striker nodded, hating that look of betrayal in her eyes.

  “Where is Lilly?” Takala had spoken to Striker, as if she had already passed judgment on him for his duplicity. “You better not hurt her.” She glowered at Raithe. “You, either.”

  She struggled now, to no avail. The enchanted chains held her tight.

  Raithe, sounding like the perfect host, said, “Please put her mind at rest, Lilly.”

  Culler stepped into Takala’s limited line of vision. “I’m right here. Thank you for being so concerned.”

  Takala’s beautiful face fell when she looked at Culler. Her eyes glistened with tears. “How could you set up agents and have them killed and lure Striker to his death? What’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing, but there is definitely something wrong with you. Why did you become Striker’s plaything? He’s only using you to get to Raithe and me.” Culler pointed to Raithe and herself with a flourish of her hand.

  “I know that.” Takala stared at him with such knowing coldness it left a chill in his chest. “I know this is all about revenge.”

  Culler looked speechless, as if she hadn’t expected that response.

  Striker hated looking into her beautiful eyes, seeing the hard wall that she had erected. He wanted to tell her how he felt, but Raithe would certainly use it against him. He couldn’t tell if she seriously believed what she was saying or was just trying to be convincing to fool Raithe. Either way, he went along with it. “I’m glad you realized the truth.”

  “See, what’d I tell you.” Culler threw up her hands in victory.

  Takala’s lips hardened into a tight line. “Great. Now that we have that straight, I’m sick of being in the middle of this.” She glowered at Raithe, then Striker.

  “It’ll be your last irritation before you die,” Culler said.

  “You’re truly wicked.” Takala’s words were bullets aimed straight at Culler. “I didn’t want to believe it. Tried not to. But you’re evil personified.”

  “
I’m sorry if I don’t live up to your standards. Who the heck are you to judge me, anyway?”

  “I’m your daughter, that’s who.”

  Culler only grinned. “Hear that, Raithe? I’m her mother. I don’t feel like a mother.”

  “Well, the truth comes out now, doesn’t it?” Raithe’s lips lifted in a sideways twisted grin.

  A dam of emotion seemed to break inside Takala, and she blurted, “Where were you all my life? Why didn’t you come to see us? Did you care so little?”

  “I’m not the motherly type.”

  Culler looked to Raithe for support. “Tell her.”

  “She’s not.” Raithe shrugged and dropped Takala.

  The chains around her ankles were so tight, she couldn’t keep her balance and she tumbled sideways.

  Striker wanted to catch her, but Raithe snatched a handful of her hair as she went down.

  Her head snapped back.

  Raithe held her off the ground by her hair, one hand gripping her throat. He glared at Striker, daring him to make a move so he could snap Takala’s neck.

  Takala’s brow wrinkled in pain. She swallowed hard, cutting her eyes at Culler, and rasped out, “That’s an understatement.”

  “Be nice.” Raithe dug his fingertips into her wind-pipe.

  Takala coughed and stiffened, gritting her teeth, fighting the crushing power.

  Then Culler kicked Takala hard in the gut.

  Striker had never felt so powerless in his life. It took all of his willpower to stay rooted to the floor. He wanted to carry Takala off to safety, console her in his arms, but he knew one wrong move and Raithe would destroy her. He could only watch helplessly as Takala’s eyes glazed over with tears, more, he suspected, from the emotional agony of betrayal from her own mother, than any physical ache.

  Tears rained down Takala’s cheeks as she managed to rasp at Culler, “Striker was right about you. You’re a cold-blooded waste of humanity.”

  Striker kept his gaze on Raithe’s hand, waiting for him to make a mistake and free Takala’s throat. All Striker needed was a split second. One quick distraction.