Dark Knights 1: Eternity of Darkness

by Shana Nichols

  “Need you ask?” He took her hand and steered her toward the narrow, tree-shaded street.

  As they sat at a small round table in the back of the bar in the rue des Rosiers, Stefan fed thoughtfully from a crystal stemmed glass, savoring the salty, metallic fluid that sustained him. Alina urged him to order a second glass while she sipped daintily on the aperitif she’d had the barman lace with half a thimble full of anisette.

  “Relax, cousin. I know you don’t hold Claude in the highest regard, but he certainly can be trusted to stake out the area where you last saw Reynard, in case he should return.”

  Stefan shook his head. “I know. But I’d rather be there myself. We can’t let Reynard kill again.” The old ones of their clan -- his mother included -- had begun to fret. They worried that this string of killings by an evil vampire would become widely known to mortals and set off another vampire hunt like ones that had thinned their numbers in centuries past. Hunts that had lost them powerful elders like his father and Alina’s, either of whom could have taken Reynard and defeated him, one on one.

  As a result, the d’Argent clan Alina led was young by vampire standards. They needed experience, fast. Claude was a prime example. Stefan was actually fond of his clansman and in less serious circumstances, would have shrugged off his ineptitude as simply a lack of experience.

  Alina shot a disgusted look at the laceration on Stefan’s cheek. “Males. Every one of you suffers delusions that you’re indestructible. I told you when I asked you to join the hunt -- against my better judgment, mind you, for I hate to risk losing you and having to tell your mother she’s lost another loved one -- not to take undue risks. It would destroy your mother to lose you, too. Reynard has a few hundred years on you, and you’d do well to remember it.”

  “I know.” The last thing Stefan wanted was to cause his mother more pain. “Surely there’s a way to counter his advantage.”

  “Go at him very carefully. And I order you not to go alone. Forget your foolish notions of chivalry and fair play. Use Claude. Alexandre, too, for I fear we’ll not be able to keep him down much longer.” Alina paused, her expression serious, but full of obvious distaste for Reynard. “Among the three of you, I’m sure you’ll be able to find a way to destroy Reynard.”

  Stefan nodded his agreement, although it rankled to admit he didn’t have the strength to take care of Reynard alone. As he drained his glass, though, he realized Alina was right. Getting rid of the serial killer was more important than pandering to his own ego. “The more I think of it, the surer I am that he’s about to change his pattern of killing on the first night of the full moon.”

  Setting her glass down, Alina looked at Stefan, her expression troubled. “You mentioned him not appearing near the murder scene until a few days before he strikes. What makes you believe he’s in Chicago now to stalk his next victim?”

  “The rose. The past three kills, he’s marked seven days before the full moon with a white rose on the doorstep of his victims. And the notes he’s sent you. The first few arrived after the killings and merely named the city, but now they’re -- “

  “I know. The notes are now arriving days in advance, naming the victims. I received this one just as I was leaving to meet you. It gives not only the next victim’s name, but her address as well.”

  “Give it to me.”

  “Here.” Alina pulled out an envelope, the kind mortals used for formal invitations, and handed it to Stefan. “Don’t fly off until we’ve finished this discussion, no matter how much you’ll want to. As soon as I read the message, I contacted Claude, ordered him to take a hotel room overlooking this house. He contacted me as we were walking to the bar to assure me that Louis hasn’t shown his face.”

  His hand not quite steady, Stefan slid the heavy vellum sheet from the envelope, opened the single fold, and focused on the three lines written in ornate script, in reddish-brown ink -- no, blood. Vampire blood. Julie Quill. Twenty-eight Delaney Street, Chicago.

  He clenched his fists, tried to curb his rage at the macabre invitation to a killing yet to take place. A challenge by Reynard, a boast that nothing his pursuers could do would stop him. That he was invincible.

  Stefan managed to stifle a few choice words unfit for his royal cousin’s ears. “Think, Alina. For over a year Reynard maintained identical patterns. A note, naming a city, sent from that city the day of the killings there, the first day of each full moon. A victim, eerily similar in appearance to you. Then, subtle changes in the notes. The roses left on the victims’ steps seven days before the murders, as well as the ones left with the bodies. I say he’s going to alter the pattern of his killings even more. Kill at times other than on the full moon.”

  Alina leaned forward, clasped both of Stefan’s hands. “I’m afraid you may be right.”

  “I’ll keep Claude watching Ms. Quill while I find and stake out Reynard.” Stake. That was the operative word. If he had his way, Stefan would destroy the killer vampire before he struck this Julie Quill. He’d relish sinking every centimeter of his sharp-pointed rowan stake into Reynard’s evil heart. Chopping the head off his lifeless body. Watching the sun turn it into nothing but a pile of dust.

  “No,” Alina said, her tone commanding. “We can do no less than protect this woman with the best we have. That’s you. Go to Julie. Do whatever you must to gain her trust. Be with her every moment of the day and night. Use the vampire persuasion for which you’re so well-known. Seduce her. Employ force if you must, but don’t let her out of your sight. Let Claude keep an eye out for Louis. Meanwhile, I will get a team set up so, by the time the moon waxes again, you can communicate with them all when Louis makes his move. Until then, it will have to be you and Julie together.”

  Stefan clenched his fists. How like Reynard to taunt them, boast of his ability to take out victims right under their noses. “I don’t like it, but I suppose Reynard has reason to believe he can outsmart us all. Are you sure you trust me to watch over this woman he’s marked as his next victim?”

  “There’s no one I trust more. With your history, you should be able to remain focused and disciplined, even around a beautiful mortal who’s under your seductive powers.” Alina smiled, but from the glint in her eyes, Stefan imagined she was playing mental matchmaker. He could practically hear her brain grinding away, wondering if putting him in proximity with Reynard’s next intended victim would awaken his passion, cure the emotional darkness he’d embraced for nearly two centuries.

  By this time Alina should have learned. Accepted his decision to remain emotionally aloof, to resist temptation until such time as he chose to single out a female of his clan and claim her. But no, Alina was a hopeless romantic, certain there was a mortal woman who’d steal his heart, make him willing to risk all to claim her. “I’ll do what you say, but you’re wrong. This woman can be no more to me than an assignment. Hopefully a very pleasant one.”

  “Speaking of pleasurable assignments, cousin, who do you have watching over you? You do realize, do you not, that Reynard imagines his final victim will be you.”

  Alina smiled. “Your mother and mine have set a full dozen d’Argent vampires to guarding me. Would you like for me to call them out of hiding, reassure you I take no unnecessary risks?”

  “That won’t be necessary. I trust you. It’s probably for the best that they don’t show themselves, for if Reynard should attack you, they can take him from behind.” Stefan hated the need for subterfuge, the knowledge that he lacked the power to confront this enemy directly and succeed. “Shall we go now and visit Alexandre?”

  “Yes. He’s recovering quickly now, and I’m certain he’ll insist on joining you in Chicago long before the next full moon.”

  * * * * *

  Late the next afternoon, Stefan spotted a small, elegant bar across the street from Chicago’s Lincoln Park, not more than a block from where Julie Quill lived. After his long journey, he needed the darkness, sought the cool, welcoming atmosphere inside. He stepped through the dark
wooden door, the tools of his trade neatly ensconced in a black leather satchel he’d bought this morning at Louis Vuitton’s Paris showroom.

  Though he’d fed yesterday, his mouth watered at the thought of sipping something cool, wet, rare. A spritzer of AB-negative, made with sparkling water from one of France’s finer springs. Pity this wasn’t a vampire bar. More was the pity that he hadn’t located one yet among the clubs and eateries in this upscale neighborhood or along Rush Street. He’d taken Alina’s warning to heart. He’d feed more consistently, wherever vampire sustenance was available. He had to keep up his strength, and he couldn’t afford to be choosy.

  He sat at a table in the front, close to a plate-glass window overlooking Lincoln Park, watching the mortals pass by and inhaling the aroma of steaming sausages, hard-boiled eggs, the pungent aroma of dark beer on tap. Consciously, he smiled, being careful not to show his fangs. Blending in with the other customers who apparently made this their after-work watering hole didn’t seem too difficult.

  In front of him, a couple sat close together on the same side of the tufted, red leather booth, their sides touching, the man’s arm cradling the woman’s shoulders. As though he’d come straight from work to meet his girlfriend, the man wore a gray pinstriped business suit. She wrapped her fingers around the burgundy striped tie he had on, caressing his skin beneath the placket of the second and third buttons of his starched white shirt.

  Stefan’s cock stirred as he watched the man slide his hand down the back of his girlfriend’s short T-shirt and caress the line of skin above the waistband of her low-riding jeans -- blatant sexual foreplay. It had been too damn long since he’d taken a lover. Too long since he’d enjoyed a woman’s touch, her kiss, the heat of her body warming his cool, dry skin.

  No. Sex drained his energies. He needed to focus now on destroying Reynard...protecting the killer’s next intended victim. Come to think of it, though, part of his assignment could easily involve appeasing his long ignored sexual appetite. On one plane, that disturbed him. On another, the idea had his slow heartbeat accelerating, pumping blood, anticipating...

  “What’ll you have, handsome?” A buxom, dark-haired waitress smiled down at him.

  Stefan hesitated. “A draft, please.” He couldn’t drink it, but the aroma of dark imported beer would tickle his nostrils while keeping him from drawing undue attention from the other patrons in the bar.

  “Comin’ right up. Can I get you some peanuts? A sausage?”

  “No, thank you.” It was damn inconvenient, having to pretend he was a human. “Perhaps later.” He coughed, covering his mouth with one hand. Wouldn’t do for the waitress to notice his fangs, though he’d found few people actually took that close a look -- or if they did look, they apparently didn’t place any significance on the fact his incisors were longer and more pointed than he’d ever observed on anybody outside the vampire clans.

  For a long time Stefan nursed the dark, rich brew, occasionally lifting the frosted mug and wetting his lips. The taste of hops and wheat was pleasant on his tongue, but he dared not swallow. Even now, after all this time, the memory of having imbibed a mortal’s drink of choice once when he’d been young and foolish -- or rather, of having suffered through the after effects of having done so -- remained vivid in his mind. A day spent tossing in his bed, doubled up from the pain in his gut, retching for hours until all the stuff came up, was an experience he had no intention of repeating.

  He set down the mug, glanced at the scene on the street outside. Dusk made the light green leaves of towering elm trees glisten against a darkening sky. He liked the mysterious, sensual look of the tree-lined boulevard just as night was falling, the dim street lamps glowing in the deepening dusk.

  As his attention lingered on the peaceful tableau, a frisky dachshund came into view, checking out the messages left on every tree and bush, as was the nature of a dog. Stefan enjoyed watching the canine, observing its simple joy in the act of being walked. His gaze rose the length of the bright-blue leash, to the dog’s owner.

  He sensed that he’d just found Reynard’s next victim, and if he’d imagined he could seduce her and stay detached emotionally, he was most likely wrong. Like Alina, this woman was blonde and beautiful. She even had a similar, brilliant smile and a way of walking that conveyed self-confidence. From her carriage, her smile, and the ladylike swing to her walk, Stefan concluded that she knew she attracted male attention, and liked the knowledge that she did. His cock twitched in silent salute.

  He spotted Claude, following the woman at a none-too-discreet distance. Yes, this was Julie Quill. Concentrating, he made contact with his associate. “I’m here now, Claude. Go back to the hotel and stay on the lookout for Reynard.”

  The couple in the booth next to him rose, apparently deciding it was time to take their lovemaking to a more private setting. The woman handled the tip by putting her hand in the man’s pants pocket to draw out some folded money, obviously giving him an intimate caress in the process. Discomfited at the flagrant loveplay, Stefan glanced away, shifting his gaze back to the window.

  He bolted up straight in his seat, his testicles tightening in cold dread. There stood Reynard, next to the woman on the sidewalk. The bastard looked like thousands of others who walked along the shady boulevard bordering the park. Reynard bent to pet the dog, laughing as though he thought it funny that the small creature’s hackles rose and she bared her small, sharp teeth.

  At least the dog knew when it had met a foe.

  In the short time he’d been part of the hunt, Stefan had seen this in his mind a hundred times: Reynard’s smiles, his courtly manner, his slow enticement of his victim until the next full moon, when he’d taken her, promised ecstasy and delivered death instead. Now he was witnessing the killer’s seduction dance in real time: the meeting, contrived to look accidental.

  He tuned in on the casual conversation.

  “May I see you home?”

  There it was, the first step, an offhand invitation delivered in a genteel, deep voice tinged with the slightest hint of a European accent. Damn, Louis’s pitch wasn’t all that different from conversations Stefan himself had struck up with countless beautiful women over the centuries. His stomach muscles clenched. He’d never killed a lover by design. Never killed at all but once, when he’d been young and reckless, carried away by bloodlust.

  Though he and Alina had agreed he wouldn’t let the killer know of his presence, something compelled Stefan to get closer. Move within striking range in case Reynard decided to amend his schedule. Stefan rose, laid some bills on the table, and stepped outside, unable to fight down the certainty that, predictable as the killer had been over the past twenty months, this time he’d alter his pattern. Stefan crept closer, staying in the shadows of the trees, listening. Delving into his prey’s mind, hoping Reynard wouldn’t sense an adversary’s presence and draw down the curtain on his private thoughts.

  Belle Jolie, I cannot wait...dine on your luscious flesh...end of the full moon’s waning.

  Stefan imagined Reynard’s incisors lengthening, as though in readiness for the appearance of that slender crescent in a midnight sky.

  Reynard’s words erased any doubt in Stefan’s mind that this was Julie. And if Stefan read Reynard correctly, the killer planned to strike again in no more than a few short days.

  Stefan’s instincts hadn’t been too far off. His muscles quivered with the need to act, but he held back, concentrating on his prey, wanting to catch all the nuances of thought in the other vampire’s twisted mind.

  Staying far enough back to avoid detection, he watched and listened, but it was as though Reynard had deliberately blocked off his innermost thoughts. He spoke to Julie of his travels, the weather, the fact his favorite flower was the rose -- the white rose. Stefan’s gut twisted, but Julie obviously caught nothing sinister in that admission, for she remarked that she liked white roses, too.

  Stefan sensed Julie’s innate kindness, her enjoyment of people and her surr
oundings. Her smile was open, trusting. Too trusting. Her thoughts seemed as open as Reynard’s were closed.

  Reynard was wooing her with vampiric compulsion. Stealing away the wariness of strangers that she’d have learned at her mother’s knee. Stefan had to clamp down on his own impulsive need to take the killer down right now.

  Apparently Reynard’s only emotion was rage, his only motivation revenge and retribution. Though he strained his mind, Stefan intercepted nothing soft in his prey’s feelings. Reynard apparently didn’t even harbor overtly lustful thoughts -- and if any woman could raise a made vampire’s lust, it was this one. She certainly raised his own libido more than a notch or two.

  Stefan dared not wait to make his move until Alex rejoined them. He had to do something to thwart the killer now, before it was too late. Hanging back, out of sight, he followed Reynard and Julie to the pristine brownstone at Twenty-eight Delaney Street, in plain sight of the hotel where the old woman who’d accompanied Reynard from the airport had checked in earlier. Where Claude was supposed to be, keeping a watchful eye on Julie’s house and watching for Reynard’s return.

  No doubt Claude had stationed himself in the hotel lobby once he realized Stefan had taken over surveillance of Julie. Stefan imagined his associate would be diligently scanning the faces of all who entered or departed, hoping to spot Reynard. Stefan shook his head. It would have been too much to expect that the other vampire might have ventured outside, be baking in the late afternoon sun to be in better position to spot their prey.

  Stefan couldn’t influence Reynard’s thoughts, so he zeroed in on Julie’s mind. He had to reach her, compel her to obey his desperate plea. Don’t let him in. He means you harm.

  That little dog of Julie’s faced off against Reynard, its short legs planted firmly on the concrete stoop, hackles raised and teeth bared.

  “Noodles, no.” Julie bent, lifting the dog just as it prepared to sink her fangs into the fine wool of Reynard’s gray slacks. “I don’t know what’s gotten into her. She usually exhibits better manners with people she meets.”