Running in the Dark

by Regan Summers

  Her eyes sparked. “Yes.”

  “Eesh.” My mouth stretched into a loose grimace. I opened and closed it, wondering at the sudden slack plasticity of my entire body. Chile didn’t mess around with its painkillers.

  “He was killed in an uprising.” We glided around a corner, and Soraya’s eyes unfocused. Her hands flexed and tightened in her lap. “I remained there, the world growing and building above, the earth itself shifting around me. I thought I would be there forever, aware of the passage of all time but unable to move.”

  I pulled my shirt away from my neck, breathing hard as claustrophobia threatened. “That’s awful,” I whispered. She nodded, then shrugged, but her shoulders stayed up a long time before she released them.

  “Malcolm Kelly dug me out. When he realized I was a person, he chose to treat me as such.” She glanced at me. I could just make out her eyes and teeth in the dim interior. “Most people, vampire or human, would have walked away. I was a stranger, weak, and Bronson had offered him a lot of money for me. Someone in that position does not have many friends.”

  My eyes widened. “You’re the thing.” Her gaze narrowed on me. “You’re what—who—he stole for Bronson. And wouldn’t hand over.”

  “Master Bronson.” She said his name like it was steeped in venom. “Yes. I am the thing he wanted.”

  “Mal told me that Bronson was going to kill him over some botched robbery. I thought he’d tried to steal from the Master and got caught. But he, what, was contracted to find you?” I was babbling, but Soraya merely nodded instead of telling me to shut up. “And Bronson agreed to let you go free in exchange for Malcolm swearing an oath of service.”

  “It’s not so simple as this. Malcolm refused to fulfill his initial bargain. A threat of death was the beginning of the renegotiation. He had to produce something Bronson wanted more than my services, and he…did not take the negotiation seriously.”

  “What did he offer?” The car swayed around a corner and my head swung with it.

  “To introduce him to a better tailor.” Her mouth twisted, first up, then down. “For his impertinence, he was beaten. I did not see him for some days.”

  “Bronson had him beaten for days?” My head dropped back against the seat. I couldn’t imagine it because I didn’t want to visualize Malcolm being hurt like that. Intentionally. Systematically. That pretty much made it torture, didn’t it? Over a lame joke. He’d said Bronson wanted to break him but I hadn’t thought he was serious.

  “It was no longer about me. Malcolm dared to insult him, in public. After that, Bronson would accept nothing less than his service. Him, in essence. Sometimes he seems to forget about Malcolm’s slight. But not often.”

  “And you stuck with Mal because he stood up for you?”

  “Because he cared for me.”

  “Well, I can see why he would,” I slurred. “You’re super tough. You can totally pull off short hair, and you’re gorgeous. What man wouldn’t fall for that combination?”

  “He did not fall for me. It is more like…” She watched me as I slumped farther in the seat. “Sydney?”

  “What did you give me?” Her face swam in my vision, becoming more Elephant Man than hot. The mouth part of her moved, and sound filtered in as if from deep underwater. Like a whale song. I raised a hand and pointed at her, and she shut off.

  Chapter Twelve

  I burrowed closer to the source of warmth and rubbed my feet together, doing my best to stay asleep. It didn’t work. Maybe because I was soaked with sweat and itching, fiercely and almost everywhere.

  Maybe because I wasn’t alone.

  A vampire leaned over me in the dark. I woke fully beneath closed eyelids, felt along the soft sheets beneath me, hoping to find something hard or sharp to defend myself with. Lips pressed lightly against my collarbone and I drew in a sharp breath before relaxing. I might confuse his energy with Vorster’s, but I knew how Malcolm felt against my body.

  “How long have I been out?” And why did I sound like I’d deep-throated a batch of smoked corn cobs?

  “Nearly twelve hours.” His lips moved against my skin before he drew back. “How do you feel?”

  I stretched cautiously, rewarded by nothing worse than moderate pain and sore muscles. Malcolm’s power wrapped around me, a light sheet enveloping my entire body. “That is the last time I use Soraya as a pharmacist.”

  “She has several things to atone for.”

  A match struck and I squinted as Malcolm lit four candles nestled in a large, carved piece of yellow stone. He sat beside me on a queen-size bed in a plain room the color of dead roses. Beyond him a door opened to a study, with bookcases against the wall and papers and maps strewn over a round table. On the other side of the bed, a bathroom beckoned.

  I smoothed the furrows on Malcolm’s forehead with my fingertips, traced a dark eyebrow and the sharp angle of his jaw. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” He smiled, but the expression was strained. Memories rose from the marsh the painkillers had made of my mind. I lowered my hand and sat up. He shifted away.

  “Why in the hell did you let your doorman kick me to the curb? You told me to come here if I had a problem, and I had a problem. Was there a secret handshake you forgot to mention?”

  “He didn’t know you because I haven’t told anybody but Soraya about you.” He raised both hands, palms out. “I’m sorry. You recall how Bronson still has a spy in his organization?” That would have made me feel better if he hadn’t been using a tone meant to convey that he was reasonable and I was out of line.

  “Yes, and I also recall how that spy is in goddamn Alaska. Is there someone fresh off the boat from Anchorage running around asking about me?” My voice rose and Malcolm stood, clasping his hands behind his back. The feel of his power retreated, leaving me chilled.

  “The allegiances within Bronson’s organization are complicated. You can’t blame Eladio. Human women inundate the club nightly, seeking…”

  If I could have generated heat with my glare, he would have burst into flames.

  “I don’t blame Eladio, Mal. You knew I was here and you didn’t acknowledge me. You knew something was wrong, for me to be here, but you ignored me. You let him think that about me, let him treat me like trash.” My voice broke on the last word.

  “Sydney…”

  He didn’t say anything beyond my name, so I swung off the bed and walked toward the bathroom. My legs trembled, and I tried to make up for it by stomping. I glared over my shoulder when I reached the door, lowering my voice so that, even though he could, I wouldn’t have to hear how unsteady it was.

  “Someone named Hendrik Vorster is looking for you. He’s what was waiting for me when you turned your back and let your guy throw me out of your club. I don’t know how well you’re acquainted with him, but in my experience, he isn’t very nice.”

  Candlelight dappled him in warm light, but his face was hard and set. Golden fox fire moved in his eyes, and he looked like a stranger, like an exotic sculpture, beautiful but empty of emotion. Just moments earlier, under the security of darkness, he had kissed me. I wasn’t in agony. The pain in my chest and shoulder had reduced to a feeling like a deep muscle bruise, which meant that he’d been with me a significant portion of the time I slept. That implied he cared, but he still didn’t say anything.

  I closed the door with a loud, precise click, and tried to ignore how very thin I felt inside. I had a healthy ego. Sure, it had endured a lot of hacking and chopping over the years. Parents more interested in drinking than providing a real home. Boyfriends who considered girls nothing more than possessions, and even then I’d been less important than the new gun or the old car. Strangers who hooked up with couriers for kicks, but weren’t interested enough to call the next day. But to have someone treat me like I mattered, not my body, not my connections, but me…and then to have him take that away… It was like falling from a great height. Painful and numbing and accompanied by some bitter version of resignation. I didn’t even h
ave the energy to curse.

  The lights worked, though the counter was covered in thick half-melted candles. I glanced at the mirror and let out a shaky breath. My collarbone was a swath of black and purple, but the bone no longer protruded from beneath my skin. My knee had improved, the swelling having gone down considerably, and my road rash was cheerfully scabbed over. Not bad for a pathetic human. Being able to walk would make leaving a lot easier. Being clean would make me less conspicuous. And if Malcolm wanted me to obey his rules but wasn’t reliable, it was time to go.

  Clean breaks were always best.

  I brushed my teeth and stepped into the glass and tile shower enclosure. The soap and shampoo smelled like Malcolm and I tried to ignore that, focusing instead on the side jets. My skin was too tender to take advantage of them and—as soon as I packed my shit and got to the airport—I’d be done with decadence like that.

  “Goodbye, pointless luxuries,” I muttered, turning my back to the water to rinse. “It’s been nice knowing you.” The lights flickered and went out. I glared blindly upward as water dripped into my eyes. “Awesome.”

  I’d just managed to grope my way to the towel rack and cover myself, when the door opened. Malcolm moved along the counter, lighting candles one by one until I could no longer differentiate the real flames from the mirror images. He stopped at the end, shoulders tense beneath the black fabric of his shirt. His lack of reflection made him seem massive, the only solid thing in a room full of wavering light.

  I took a deep breath and steeled myself. “Mal—”

  He crossed the space between us in an instant. I jerked when his hands wrapped around my arms. He leaned his forehead against mine and I shivered as his molten agitation swept over me.

  “I’m sorry this happened, Sydney. I’m sorry that I didn’t come and get you myself, that I didn’t explain what you are.”

  “And what am I?” I whispered.

  “You had every reason to doubt me, but I’m sorry you did.” He sounded earnest, and worse, he sounded hurt, which confused me.

  “Do you know what I see, Syd?” He raised his head and the intensity of his eyes had nothing to do with the smoke circling there. My heart tripped into my throat. “You’re this slick little thing, almost impossible to catch hold of. You’re moving forward while the rest of the world is static. Not because you’re being pushed, or under orders, but because there’s something burning inside you. It’s impossible not to want to feel you turn that passion on me. And when you do…Jesus.

  “I know that you don’t need me.” He shook his head when I opened my mouth to protest. “You care for me, but you don’t need me. I have trouble handling that. Sometimes a lot of trouble. But you shouldn’t doubt the way I feel about you. I—”

  I held a hand up. “Stop, stop, stop.” He was going to say something or ask a question that was more than I could answer. I wrapped my hands tight in the fabric of his shirt, to steady them or hold him close. Since when was I the kind of girl a man said things like this to?

  Since I met him, I guess.

  “Will you stay?”

  Giddy thrills sprang through my mind, and heat coiled lower in response to the feel of him against me, but inside I was swimming. It was too much to process. “I didn’t say I was leaving.”

  “You were saying goodbye to the fixtures. I took it as a sign of imminent departure.” His eyes searched mine. “I don’t want you to go.”

  I wanted out of danger, wanted to know what the hell was going on, but I didn’t want to leave him. Not if, despite all his restrictions, he was trying to make us work. His fingers stroked the backs of my arms, and when he leaned down to kiss me, his eyes never left mine. I rose to meet him. He tugged the towel free and ran hot hands over my hotter skin. I groaned, wanting to melt against him. But I needed answers, and I needed to stay focused to make sure he was answering the questions I was actually asking. And while he might think I was direct, that I didn’t play games, I wanted him to think about what he’d done. Because it had fucking hurt. I sidestepped away from the tricky vampire with his skilled hands.

  “Clothes?” I avoided the brilliance of his eyes and headed for a sliding panel when he gestured into the bedroom. The closet was full of pimp clothes, like his wardrobe had been tailored and bedazzled by Morticia Addams. At the end were a few normal black suits.

  “So who is Hendrik Vorster?” I pulled a black dress shirt from a hanger. It was the softest damn cotton I’d ever felt. I dropped it over my head, grimacing at the pressure in my upper chest. He caught the hem of the shirt and smoothed it down over my waist and hips. His energy snapped against my skin as his lips trailed softly down the back of my neck. “Malcolm? Use your mouth for talking.”

  He sighed, a plume of heat against my skin, and I wished I was fully dressed. This seemed like it was going to be the kind of conversation that warranted pants. And maybe a bulletproof vest.

  “We used to work together, before we were changed.”

  “What did you do?”

  “We were thieves, and we were good. After the change, we were undeniable.”

  “Like street urchins picking pockets for porridge money?” He grabbed me by the waist and set me on the high bed.

  “Like art. Backroom treaties signed in secret. Diamonds in excess of thirty carats, but only if unusual hues.” His eyes crinkled as he smiled. I could see him enjoying a heist far more than middle management. “We specialized in stealing from people who had stolen from others, and recovering things thought lost.”

  “You know, Robin Hood plus Indiana Jones equals sexy as hell.” I slid my leg up the inside of his thigh. “Is that why you did it, ’cause you always wanted to play with whips and get the girls?”

  “Why did you become a runner?” He ran a hand through his hair, backed up, but then didn’t go anywhere. “I did it for the money, for the power that came with money, for the way people treated me when I had a little of both. Jesus, I did it because it was fun. Because I was good at it. We were good at it. He did it because he liked to take. He’d go back after a job, despite the risk, just to see their faces when they discovered their loss.”

  His expression went blank, but his eyes were smoky darkness. They’d been close, Mal and Hendrik Vorster, and probably for a long time.

  “They’re sick. Ill.” He stared at the candles, unseeing. “They don’t quite believe it. They just stand there, waiting for whatever it is to turn up and restore their world. That’s how he looked when I backed out of our last deal. And that…” He started pacing, power flowing around him. A picture frame vibrated on the wall as he passed, and I pressed a hand to my chest to steady my breathing.

  “So that’s his deal? He wants something back?”

  “It’s beyond that now. He contacted me shortly after we got here. A letter asking me to meet. The hundredth such letter he’s sent. I’ve never responded. He’s never come to Chile before, but after Bronson pulled out so many of his people, it was probably easy to slip in. He’s been doing this for years, alternately asking to meet and baiting me. Several years ago he hired mercenaries, sent them to take…” He made a helpless motion with his hands. “They take people from around me. Shopgirls at stores I frequent. Neighbors. For no other reason than because they’re near me.”

  When I met him in Alaska, he’d lived miles from the nearest town, at a solitary house in the woods, when all of Bronson’s other people lived in the city. I hadn’t really thought about it at the time. “How long has this been going on?”

  “Seven years.”

  “God. But he…they…leave the people you care about alone?” His expression flattened and the idea that occurred to me was unpleasant. “Malcolm, how long has it been since you…dated?”

  “Also that long. I haven’t allowed myself…” His energy sank and became muddled, as though it was bruised. “He glamours them, toys with their minds until they start to crack. If that doesn’t come soon enough, he enthralls them, forces them to attack me, to hurt themselves.
”

  “Malcolm.” I slid off the bed, padded across the room and wrapped my arms around him.

  “Our choices remain with us for a long time,” he said, and I took our to mean vampires. “Especially our mistakes. And his need for vengeance has grown stronger.”

  “He has a runner,” I murmured, “one of my couriers. He thought she was me…or he thought she was the one you were with. She’s…he bit her.”

  “Yes,” he said, and my heart sank. Because that was normal behavior for Hendrik Vorster. His snatching me off the street hinted that he wasn’t on the straight and narrow, but biting a courier—and then keeping her—meant he probably didn’t follow any rules.

  “I thought we wouldn’t have to worry about him here. He’s afraid of Bronson, and can’t influence you. I believed that would be enough, which was stupid. How did you get away from him? Did you stab him? Set him on fire?” His lips quirked up, a little of his regular good humor breaking through.

  “That was the old me. I’m all reformed and conservative these days.” I gave a Boy Scout salute. “I fe—jumped out of the car.”

  “Of course you did.” He leaned forward, cradled my face between his hands and kissed me hard. “I’ll find him and take care of this, I promise.”

  “I might be able to help.” I held up my fingers. “Two things. One, he had a local with him, but the guy wasn’t happy about working for him. Thurston.”

  “Guillermo’s man,” Malcolm said immediately.

  “Used to be. Guillermo’s gone, and Livia’s the top dog now.”

  “Livia?” His expression hardened. Maybe she hadn’t filed her taking-over-the-hive paperwork. “What’s the second thing?”

  “I saw two men deliver what might have been a vanload of stuff from Goya Worldwide to this Livia the other night. I was coming to tell you that when, well…I think they’re distributing. They had a whole flock of visitors. Maybe Vorster’s behind that, or was working with Livia?”

  “The substance started coming in months before I got here, and he doesn’t work well with others. Still…” He ran a hand over his face, and when he took it away, the warped edges of his energy straightened. Back to business, which was a relief. He looked me over in an appraising way. “Do you feel well enough to go for a ride?”