Dark Knights 1: Eternity of Darkness

by Shana Nichols

  When Noodles lunged against the leash, and it slipped from Julie’s slack grip. Julie spun, crying out as her pet made a dash for something -- maybe one of the feral cats she often saw hanging out in alleys behind the hotels. A horn blared. Tires squealed on the asphalt pavement. Julie screamed, then bolted after her pet. A black SUV bore down on them. Noodles was surely going to die. She was going to die, too. The driver screeched to a halt mere inches from her frozen body. Unable to make herself move, she stood, trembling, her eyes closed. She’d survived, but no way could the driver have missed hitting Noodles.

  “Lady, get the fuck out of the road,” the driver yelled. “What are you, crazy?”

  “I’m... I’m sorry.” Julie tried to move, but her legs wouldn’t obey her brain. Oh, God, she couldn’t bear looking. Seeing Noodles smashed on the pavement.

  A strong arm encircled her waist, tugged her out of the path of the vehicle. “Be on your way, man. Can’t you see the lady is in shock?” The voice surrounded Julie like a caress. A voice like the mellow, supremely male one she’d heard inside her head last night. “This is yours, I believe?”

  When she opened her eyes, she saw him. The beautiful man she’d been ogling...and Noodles, looking small, helpless, and unharmed, apparently quite satisfied to be held in the crook of her savior’s muscular arm. “Oh, yes. Thank you.” When she reached out to retrieve her dog, their hands touched. Sensual awareness sizzled, set off by the merest hint of physical contact. Did he feel it, too? “Thank you so much. I don’t know if I could have stood it if I’d lost... What can I do to repay you?”

  “I’m sure you’ll think of something appropriate. I’m Stefan d’Argent. At your service.” One eyebrow lifted, giving him a slightly sardonic expression.

  “Julie. Julie Quill. And that’s Noodles. Noodles, you’re a bad, bad girl.”

  He glanced down at her dog, who seemed in no hurry to leave the safety of his arms. “Noodles almost became part of the pavement out there.”

  “I know.” Guilt washed over Julie, because now, as a few moments ago, she found herself mesmerized, her body responding to the simple proximity of him. She’d nearly lost her precious pup, and all she could think about was this gorgeous man -- Stefan seemed a very appropriate name -- and how she imagined she’d feel if he touched her the way he was now stroking an appreciative Noodles. “I can’t thank you enough.”

  He set Noodles down, but made no move to hand Julie her leash. “There is a way.” He caught and held her gaze, and the heat that sizzled between them nearly made her jump back, take refuge in the night. “My flight arrived hours later than I planned. I’d had reservations at the Marquisa, but the manager apparently thought I’d canceled them and sold my room to someone else. You might allow me to pass the rest of the night in your guest room.”

  Julie didn’t invite strangers in for coffee, much less to spend the night, but she found herself nodding, holding onto Stefan’s hand while he held Noodles’ leash. The innocent contact seemed not innocent at all -- charged with sexual energy she sensed he held in tight restraints.

  It was weird. As though a force outside Julie had taken over her will, made her acquiesce to this stranger’s every request. As though their meeting -- their future together -- was destined by some higher being. Devil or angel, she didn’t know.

  “Are you new to Chicago?” she asked, trying to regain some equilibrium, some sense of normalcy.

  “Yes. My home is in France. From your accent, I assume you’re not a native Chicagoan.”

  “You’re right. I grew up in New Orleans. My father still lives there. I suppose I moved to spread my wings, but I miss him. Independence isn’t always all it’s cracked up to be.” Standing here, volunteering details of her life to this compelling stranger, made no sense. It was as though some outside force had taken over Julie’s brain. Filled her with feelings she couldn’t understand. Compelled her to explore the sensations that had overcome her the moment she saw him.

  “No. My family’s very important to me. I try not to stay away from them too long. Though I’ve been grown for a long time, my mother still worries about me.”

  Ah. Here was a man who was not only gorgeous and as sexy as anyone Julie had ever met, but who also cared about his family. “I’m sure she does. Come on now, admit some of your faults. Everybody has them.”

  He grinned. “I’m a paragon of virtue. Just ask Mamá.”

  The French pronunciation that would have sounded so affected coming from most of her friends somehow seemed right from Stefan, though his accent was so slight Julie would almost have thought him a native-born American. She paused under a street lamp and glanced at her watch. “Oh, my, you must be exhausted, and here I am keeping you up. Let’s go inside and get you to bed.”

  When she unlocked the door, he held it open for her. “I’m a night person. You’re not keeping me up at all, but please. Feel free to leave me to my devices and take to your own bed.”

  Julie didn’t want to say goodnight to her fascinating guest. Not yet. And she didn’t feel comfortable leaving him alone, awake in her apartment while she slept. “Could I fix you a late-night snack, first?”

  “No thank you.” He lifted her hand to his lips. “You’ve been too kind already.”

  The touch of his lips to her knuckles heated her -- not just at the point of contact but throughout her body. She wanted more. What had come over her? She didn’t fall in bed with every good-looking man she met. Didn’t entertain lustful thoughts about strangers. Well, she never had, until she met Stefan.

  That she yearned for him to take her boggled her nerves. Damn it, she should never have let him in, never invited him to stay. Julie told herself she’d been a fool, was even more a fool now because she knew she’d drag him to her bed if she didn’t get away. She had to steel herself against whatever it was about him that seduced her senses, without him having made any overt effort to approach her sexually.

  She had to recover some perspective, and it was certain she wouldn’t get it standing in the same room with him. She’d scurry off to her bedroom and lock the door, as much to keep herself inside as to keep him out. “Well, I believe I’ll get a little something for myself and go turn in. Tomorrow I’ll give you a guided tour of the local haunts, if you’d like.”

  “I’ll be looking forward to it.” Though his touch on her hand was light, unthreatening, his gaze scalded her, hinted he’d exact far more from her if she’d allow it.

  If she’d allow it? She’d welcome the touch of his large, well-shaped hands...his incredibly sensual mouth. The thought of having his body on hers, in hers... Face it, Julie. You want him to take you, more than you’ve ever wanted a man before. She imagined lying in the cocoon of his arms, safe from... What on earth was she thinking about?

  She’d always prided herself on being self-sufficient, on not needing a man to be complete. Why was it now, with this total stranger, she longed to have him possess her...consume her. “I’m afraid I haven’t prepared very well for overnight guests,” she said, surprised she’d found the strength to utter the words as she unsnapped the leash from Noodles’s collar. “Until tomorrow, I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with the couch.”

  He flashed a smile, a very white smile that revealed prominent incisors -- a small, endearing imperfection that made his perfect male appearance just that much more intriguing. “I don’t mind.”

  “You say that now. I’d put you in the guest room, but the smell of linseed oil and canvas primer would probably choke you. I just primed a new canvas in there today. Hold on, I’ll get some bed linens so at least you’ll stay warm.”

  Later, after they’d worked together to spread a sheet and blanket over her living room sofa, Julie bid Stefan goodnight. Instead of trotting along behind her, Noodles curled up at Stefan’s feet.

  Strange. While she was basically a friendly dog, Noodles didn’t usually take to strangers right away. Not the way she’d latched onto Stefan. Of course, she seldom took an instant dislike f
or anybody the way she had this afternoon with Mr. Reynard. As Julie rummaged through the kitchen for some of the fruit and yogurt her guest had declined. Maybe whatever seductive quality Stefan had that had drawn her in also had worked on her dog.

  Mmmm. The yogurt hit the spot. If only it eased the needy feeling low in her belly the way it satisfied her hunger.

  Still pondering the instant, nearly hypnotic attraction that had her longing to join Stefan and appease another hunger, Julie padded to her room and crawled in bed. Sleep wouldn’t come. What if he were a psycho? No, he couldn’t be. Yes, he could. She got up, crossed the room, and checked the lock on the door.

  Why had she done that? She wanted him to come. To take her. The feeling was primal, unquenchable by social mores. And he was here. In her house, on her living room couch, in close enough proximity that she could take a dozen steps and... No. She couldn’t.

  She had to. Kicking away the covers, she got up, tiptoed down the hall. He slept soundly, so soundly she couldn’t make out the motion of him breathing beneath the lightweight blanket. He needed his sleep. Not the attentions of a woman whom he’d bewitched.

  Twice more she got up, intending to go to him, stopped at the last minute by the realization that it was too much, too soon. Despite the illogical, inexplicable passion for him that sizzled through her veins, they were virtual strangers, together due to an inexplicable twist of fate.

  * * * * *

  He was famished. Unlike those callow youths of the d’Argent clan who’d been pursuing him for months, Louis Reynard could not go for days, even weeks, between feedings. Late that night, he rose from his bed, determined to find sustenance ere morning broke, rendering him virtually impotent until the sun disappeared once more in the western sky.

  Though the soft bed, clean Egyptian cotton sheets, and the other amenities of the small but luxurious hotel pleased him, the lack of likely victims in its immediate vicinity did not. Noting that his present d’Argent shadow napped peacefully on a sofa outside his room, Louis made his way outside.

  He could have killed the young pup -- Claude, if he recalled the sleeping vampire’s name correctly. But that would have been too easy. It was not yet time to draw the ire of all the d’Argent hunters, which he’d certainly do if he destroyed one of their own. First he must marshal all the forces of his own clansmen and prepare for out-and-out vampire war. War he knew would come, once he’d left victims circling the earth and returned to Paris. Once he’d destroyed Alina as she’d destroyed his hope -- his dream of omnipotence in the vampire world. His fantasy of becoming whole again.

  Besides, Louis didn’t relish drinking vampire blood -- even blood from one of Alina’s followers. Mortals’ blood tasted...younger, more refreshing. Only Queen Alina’s own lifeblood would bring him the ultimate in gratification. As he prowled the nearly empty streets, he considered the satisfaction he’d gain, taking his next victim right under the watchful eyes of d’Argent hunters.

  The elation he’d feel when he destroyed them, and Alina with them.

  The waning moon illuminated Louis’s way. He remained alert, on the lookout for a vagrant, anyone who’d not soon be missed. Far afield of the hotel now, moving under the elevated train tracks toward the Loop, he stalked a likely victim into a darkened alley, waiting for the man to pause in his search for whatever it might be he thought he’d find.

  Ah. A bottle. He might have known. From the man’s halting gait, Louis deduced he’d already drunk more than his share. Still, no more sober victim presented himself, and Louis was weak with hunger. Moving quickly, for the man needed no more alcohol in his blood than apparently was already there, Louis swooped down, grasped the scraggly hair on his victim’s head, and bared his throat. A northbound train rumbled noisily overhead, almost drowning out the clatter of glass breaking on the brick alleyway. The glass shards bombarded Louis’s legs, but he hardly noticed the pain. He’d already sunk his fangs into the victim’s jugular and was gorging himself on fresh, warm blood.

  As he fed, Louis savored the slow, steady build-up of sexual tension that reminded him of years ago, of the pretty young virgin he’d raped the day her father had buried him alive. His fangs sank deeper, and he sucked harder, seeking that blessed release that had been denied him since his death. He imagined himself swelling, expanding, almost felt the rush toward climax...

  His victim’s loose, damp flesh grew cold under his hands. The flow of blood slowed, then stopped. He’d sucked the man dry, and still he wanted more. More that he could never have, more that he could never hope for since Alina had turned him down. He was destined to remain a eunuch, to be denied even a vampire’s satisfaction from his feedings.

  Disgusted, Louis let his victim go. The bum sank to the ground with a thud. Dead. Louis straightened, stared down at the empty husk of a mortal, then shook glass shards out of the cuffs of his custom-tailored slacks.

  No one would ever miss this creature, another hapless drunk, a street person whose rancid body odor mingled with the smell of the rotgut whiskey he’d dropped when Louis had attacked.

  Louis himself felt a bit tipsy. Following the elevated tracks, he retraced his steps to the hotel, shuddering when his gaze caught the two crosses etched into double doors of a church he passed along the way. Suddenly reeling, he shut his eyes tightly, staggered as quickly as he could past the repugnant symbols.

  Damn the d’Argents and their immunity to all things Christian that were anathema to the vampires of his own clan. Damn their ability to move about in the light with relative impunity. Damn their very un-vampirelike ability to copulate and procreate much as mortals did. Fuck every one of them. Especially the beautiful Alina d’Argent. She shouldn’t have laughed when he’d asked her to merge their clans.

  More important, Alina shouldn’t have become so angry she lost her renowned composure and told him he didn’t have the tools to keep her satisfied, or the means for using them.

  Why couldn’t she have buried the centuries-old feud? They could have been happy together, two powerful vampires, joint heads of two ancient vampire clans. Louis stumbled a little, but quickly righted himself. The drunk must have imbibed even more than Louis had thought.

  The liquor was making him maudlin. Baring his fangs at a growling dog, he thought back on the women he’d destroyed, savored the knowledge that every time he killed another beautiful blonde woman, he made Alina suffer. The d’Argents had always been cursed with too strong a sense of social obligation, a weakness that had cost them their elders one by one, left the clan in the hands of the relatively young and foolish Alina.

  The beautiful Alina. Inspiration as he’d searched the Earth for her surrogates, surrogates to feed his hatred as well as his flesh. Inspiration now as he made his way back to the hotel. Stumbling, he cursed. Quickly, he righted himself and continued on his way, concentrating on his next victim, the beauty he’d met in the park at sundown. Julie Quill. Tall, lithe, with hair like pale corn silk and a smile he imagined stole mortal men’s breath, Julie looked so much like the bitch vampire queen, Louis knew he couldn’t wait until the full moon to consume her. Destroy her. He’d catch his pursuers unaware, take her under the crescent moon. Once more he’d show Alina he possessed powers superior to that of the determined young d’Argent hunters she’d sent to bring him down. Power to destroy all she held dear.

  Just five more days. He’d do it now, but for the centuries-old superstition within his clan of taking significant action only on one of the four lunar cycles. With luck, the d’Argent vampire hunter he imagined would now be patrolling the lobby of his hotel wouldn’t figure out in time that Louis had changed his pattern. And Louis would have struck another blow for Reynard, another against the snobbish d’Argent clan.

  The last of the hunters Alina sent had gotten too close for comfort, though. Louis was grateful that one was out of the picture for now, and that Alina had left that bumbling child, Claude, in charge. Still, it didn’t matter if the other one returned. He could defeat any of them. All
of them.

  Alina deserved to suffer. More than that, she deserved to die. No woman, vampire or mortal, turned Louis Reynard down and lived to tell about it. Not for long. Sooner or later, he’d catch Alina away from the faithful followers who surrounded her. When he did, he’d destroy her as surely as she’d trampled his dream of merging their two powerful clans and restoring his manhood.

  He’d destroy the hunters who protected her, on his own timetable. First he’d demoralize them by carrying on his bloody quest for vengeance under their very noses. Then he’d take Alina, drain the last drop of blood from the fickle vampire queen.

  “I’ll be invincible.” Long ago he’d convinced himself that drinking of her blood would imbue him with her powers. “Invincible,” he mumbled to the waning gibbous moon. Just then he tripped on a loose stone paver on the sidewalk and slammed down onto his knees. Letting out a string of curses in every language he knew, Louis dragged himself upright and hobbled the few additional blocks to the hotel. Damn his sot of a victim, because now he was going to have to sleep off a drunk.

  He paused a moment outside the hotel’s revolving door. Had to give the appearance of sobriety. Couldn’t let the d’Argent see his present weakness. Squaring his shoulders, Louis stepped forward, grasped the hand rail. Still trying to feign sobriety, he stared at a dark-haired young man wearing jeans and a dark sweater as they passed through the revolving door.

  Through the haze of alcohol, he searched his memory. There was something familiar...yes, that was it. The eyes. Clear, green. Not cool, but smoldering with emerald fire. D’Argent eyes. This must be another of the Young Ones. It wasn’t Alexandre, the reckless youth who’d challenged him in a vampire bar in Argentina, apparently under the illusion that silver bullets would have done him in. And it wasn’t Claude, who’d been sleeping outside his room when he’d left. Louis had seen him before, though. He’d swear to it. Perhaps...yes. This was the one who’d had him staked the other night in Atlanta, would have destroyed him but for his terrible aim. Bumbling fools, every one. They’d been chasing him halfway around the world, but he kept on outsmarting them.