Dark Promises: Midnight

by Elisa Adams

  Not for the first time she got a prickly feeling, like someone was watching her. She looked around, but no one seemed out of the ordinary. Rather, she lived on the outskirts of Los Angeles and everyone seemed out of the ordinary. No one stuck out, though, at least not that she could tell. Still, she couldn’t shake the strange feeling that she was being watched.

  In the past couple of weeks she’d had a couple of instances where she thought she was being followed. When she turned around, no one was there. She was probably being paranoid, but she had a strange knot in the pit of her stomach. It had been building for a while, but something told her today was the day. Something was going to happen.

  She wasn’t going to wait around for it to happen here.

  She was about to leave when a woman came up and tapped her on the shoulder. “Excuse me. I couldn’t help but notice you look just like the woman who used to play that vampire. What was her name? Twilight? Sunset?”

  Amara lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the bright light of the sun. “Midnight. That’s me.”

  The woman shook her head. “No. That’s impossible. That woman died.”

  “What?”

  “I read it in the National Gossip yesterday. That’s why she was replaced with that other girl. You know, that Mitzy Anderson. All the magazines say she’s going to star in the next movie, since the original actress is gone now.”

  “No, I’m not dead. I did play Midnight Morris in the first five films.”

  The woman turned to her companion, a middle-aged man. “What was her name? Emily something or other?”

  This could not be happening. “My name is Amara. Amara Daniels.” A few months ago, she was the hottest thing in town. Now everyone thought she was dead? She was willing to bet that Derek and Robby had something to do with that bit of gossip.

  “That doesn’t sound quite right.” The woman frowned and shook her head. “I could swear it was Emily. Emily Douglas?”

  Oh, for heaven’s sake. This was getting her nowhere. “How did the Gossip say she died?”

  The woman shrugged. “Something about silicone poisoning. An exploding breast implant.” Her eyes lit up. “Yes, that was it. Do you remember when we saw that movie, Peter? I told you then that those breasts had to be implants. I guess I was right.”

  Now Amara was fuming. Call her names, lie about her death all they want, but don’t ever call her breasts fake. These babies were real, and she had the straining back muscles to prove it.

  “I hate to disappoint you, but you’re wrong.” She glared at the woman. “They’re real.”

  “Heavens, dear. I don’t know what you’re getting so worked up about.” The woman shook her head and put her hands on her hips. “You’re taking this much too personally.”

  That was it. She wasn’t going to sit around and listen to this for another second. She gulped the rest of her coffee, left a couple of bills on the table, and stalked away from the couple. As she walked down the sidewalk she could hear them still talking about silicone-induced deaths and Mitzy Anderson. She wanted to scream.

  * * * * *

  Midnight Star Dies from Implant Poisoning.

  Marco crumpled the trashy newspaper in his fist, tossing it into a trashcan as he walked by. Ninety-nine percent of what was reported in that paper was garbage, but every once in a while a story held a grain of truth. He’d seen her a couple of days ago—he knew she couldn’t be dead, but some part of him refused to accept the story as a lie until he saw her for himself.

  He paused on the sidewalk outside her townhouse. He couldn’t sense any noise or movement inside. She wasn’t home, but at this time of the day, that was nothing new. He thought he might know where he could find her—at the little café where she read the paper most mornings.

  His fixation with her had started a few months ago, when he’d happened to catch her latest movie. Although he didn’t approve of the subject matter, Amara Daniels had intrigued him from the first. She inspired in him both fascination and aggravation, which had led to his obsessive behavior of late—behavior becoming increasingly difficult to control.

  What had started as an innocent curiosity mixed with a dash of anger had turned into something more, something he didn’t quite understand. Something he didn’t want, but there was nothing he could do about it. He’d felt like this one other time in his life, and that had ended horribly. He couldn’t let that happen again, yet he couldn’t seem to stay away.

  The café was just a short distance from her townhouse, but the sun blaring on his back bothered him to no end. He adjusted his sunglasses and kept his head down until he could get under the shelter of one of the umbrellas that covered the tables. Once there, he sighed in relief, both to be relatively protected from the sun, and because she was there.

  This time she wasn’t alone. An older couple stood next to her table. The woman appeared to be arguing with Amara. He strained to hear what was being said, but was only able to catch the end of the conversation before Amara got up from the table and walked away.

  She headed in the direction of her townhouse. His car was parked there, so he had no choice but to follow. He kept his distance, though, not wanting to spook her. Women these days were unpredictable. She was just as likely to attack him as call the police if she felt threatened.

  She went inside, closing and locking the door behind her. He stayed back, but he was close enough that his ears could pick up the metallic slide of the deadbolt lock clicking into place. He should have left then and there, having proven that she was indeed alive.

  He didn’t.

  He leaned against his car, his gaze focused on that locked door. It was nothing to take personally—she didn’t even know he was there, but somehow he felt slighted. He closed his eyes and groaned. This was getting to be too much. He had to do something, before this obsession took over his life.

  * * * * *

  Amara sank down onto the couch, tears welling in her eyes. This was it. She’d auditioned for everything she could find, and nobody wanted her. She was washed up at thirty-three, and she didn’t have a single marketable skill to fall back on.

  She probably should have listened to her college advisor when he’d told her a liberal arts degree wasn’t going to get her very far. At the time she’d blown him off, telling him she was going to be a big star someday. Acting was all she’d ever wanted to do, but her current step-father from hell had insisted she go to college for at least two years. If she’d listened to someone, anyone, who’d offered advice, she might not be in this situation now.

  Her savings would cover her for a little while longer, but pretty soon she was going to have to find a job, preferably one that didn’t involve serving greasy french fries or taking off her clothes. Unfortunately that seemed to be all that was available.

  So what was she supposed to do? She’d scanned the classifieds for two weeks and had yet to come up with an opening for an ass-kicking, lipstick wielding, party loving female vampire with a love of all things dark and dangerous. The closest thing she could find was a salesgirl at a local sex shop, and somehow she doubted that would pay very well. The perks would be good, if she had a man, but she was going to try being single for a little while. She was still reeling from Derek’s trip to the other side.

  A knock at the door stopped her thoughts short. She got up to answer it, wondering who would bother to visit a dead woman. If it was the press, which was a definite possibility, she wasn’t prepared to deal with them. She was still in a funk from her messed up life and couldn’t be held responsible for her actions.

  She reached for the doorknob, but pulled back. A feeling of trouble hit her hard, like a physical blow. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, waiting for the feeling to pass. It usually did. This time it didn’t. She should just walk away, pretend she wasn’t home. She couldn’t. She needed to open the door, even knowing that opening it would change her life forever.

  She gulped and unlocked the deadbolt, the sharp click of the lock sounding h
ollow and grim. She’d felt things before, but never anything like this. She’d never sensed that she was in actual danger, but helpless to do anything about it. The knob turned easily in her hand and she swung open the door, unable to shake the sense that she was inviting her own doom.

  One look at the man standing there and her mouth went dry. A cold sweat broke out on her brow and she shook her head. She’d seen him before, around the café a few times. His presence had never bothered her there, but there was a big difference between sitting a few tables away and having him standing so close she could feel the tension that radiated from him. If she’d been able to get her legs to move, she would have run away screaming.

  His hair was brown, with the faintest hint of lighter brown streaked through it. It was cut fairly short, but long enough on top to look ragged. His eyes were a few shades darker than his hair, so deep they could almost be called black. There was something about him she couldn’t quite pinpoint, something that had the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end.

  She swallowed hard before speaking, hoping to hold onto that last little thread of composure. He probably had a very good reason for showing up on her front porch, looking like some kind of maniac. “Can I help you?”

  “Are you Amara Daniels?” His voice was deep, almost hypnotic, and very faintly accented. Was it Spanish? Italian? She couldn’t be sure.

  “Um, yes.” She spoke slowly, cautiously. She tried to figure out what it was about him that had her senses on high alert, ready to fight or flee at his slightest movement. It could have something to do with the dark expression, the dark clothes, and the dark stubble that lined his jaw.

  Or it could be the fact that he was at least six-three, built like a linebacker, and had placed his foot in the open door so there was no way she could close it.

  “I thought so.” His eyes glittered with a strange light, almost animal-like. He regarded her with an arched brow, his expression a cross between intrigue and anger. She involuntarily backed up a step, trying to figure out a way to get the door closed so she could get to the phone to call the police.

  “I won’t hurt you.” He gave the door a quick shove and was inside before she could do anything. He slammed the door behind him and locked the deadbolt. “Not much, anyway.”

  She backed into the kitchen, blindly reaching behind her for the phone. She picked it up and lifted the receiver to her ear. The line was dead. Her heart raced and a thin film of cold sweat broke out over her brow. She did not want to end her life like this.

  “What do you want?”

  He took the dead phone out of her hand and set it on the counter. He skimmed a finger along her jaw. “I want to teach you a lesson.”

  “What?” Her voice came out as a squeak. “I’ve never even met you. What did I do to you that made you want to hurt me?”

  He shook his head and clicked his tongue. “Do you really think your actions in those movies don’t have consequences?”

  Oh, God. This guy was a total psycho. “I didn’t do anything. I’ve never tried to hurt anyone. Those movies were just movies. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t you?” He smirked. “In your world, vampires are all-knowing. Of course, you have no idea what we are really like.”

  We? She blinked at him. Did he really think he was a vampire? “What did I do to you that has you so angry?”

  He sighed deeply. “It’s just you, Amara. Just you.”

  He continued to stroke her jaw, and she couldn’t stop the little tingle that ran through her. She was scared out of her mind, but there was something else there, something harder to define.

  Something she refused to define, since the man was obviously certifiable.

  “What are you going to do to me?”

  “I’m going to show you the truth.” He smiled, but there wasn’t a hint of gentleness in it. “You will understand, no matter what I have to do to get through to you.”

  He fisted a hand in her hair and pulled her head back. “Do I make myself clear?”

  “Clear? Oh, yes. Crystal. I promise not to make fun of vampires anymore. I will be a good little girl and—“

  “Shut up!”

  “Sorry.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her, the set of his mouth grim. “Not another word.”

  She clamped her mouth shut and swallowed hard. Her vision faded, and the last thing she saw before she hit the floor was the deadly look in his eyes.

  Chapter 3

  Fuck.

  Now what was he supposed to do with her? It would have been much easier to walk her to his car. He couldn’t exactly fling her over his shoulder and carry her out. Surely she had nosy neighbors. All of these snotty little neighborhoods did.

  He looked down at her, a twinge of guilt knifing through him. He hadn’t meant to scare her this badly.

  Or had he?

  Maybe. Impulse control wasn’t exactly his strong point.

  She was a lot smaller than he’d expected. On the screen she’d looked so big, like a larger-than-life fashion doll with her obviously dyed bleach-blonde, teased into a puffy mane and eighteen pounds of makeup covering her face. She had those big breasts, too, but he’d wondered if they might be real.

  Lying in a heap on the kitchen floor, her light brown hair fanned out around her, she looked almost frail. But even through regular clothes, he could see a hint of that killer body he knew she possessed—the one she flaunted with abandon in the movies.

  He had to stop that train of thought right now. If he was going to teach her any kind of a lesson, and he definitely planned to do just that, he would have to carry out his original plan. His plan most certainly did not involve admiring that incredibly curvy body in any fashion—as much as he’d like to. Later, there would be plenty of time for that. Now the question remained, how was he going to get her home?

  “Hey, Amara. Wake up.”

  Nothing.

  “Amara?” He bent down and shook her lightly. She stirred, but didn’t open her eyes.

  Wonderful. He should have planned this better. If he’d just sat down and thought about it a little longer—

  Without leaving him much time to react, Amara jumped up and took a swing at him. Something hard clipped him on the side of his face. She pulled her arm back to swing again, but he was ready for her this time. He grabbed her wrist and squeezed. She cried out and dropped whatever it was she’d been holding, the object clattering to the floor.

  “Let me go!”

  He snorted, holding her off with minimal effort. He had to admit, though, that he hadn’t expected her to be this strong. For such a little thing, he could picture her holding her own easily with almost anyone.

  But not him. She wasn’t any match for him. No woman was, and he made sure they were all aware of that. “Why don’t we take a little ride in my car?”

  She stilled and glared at him. “Is that some kind of a euphemism for sex? Is that what you want from me?”

  He laughed. “I’m not looking for sex.” Although seeing her in person may have changed his mind on that. “I just want to talk to you for a little while.”

  He rubbed his jaw, which was aching a little from her blow. “What did you hit me with, anyway?”

  “A teakettle.”

  “A teakettle?” He’d been shot at, stabbed, run over, and stuck in more life-threatening situations than he could count, but no one had ever smacked him in the face with a teakettle before. It was a little unsettling that she’d tried to beat him up with a kitchen tool. What was she going to do next, try to give him a haircut with a cheese grater?

  “If you come willingly, this will be much easier.”

  She shook her head. “That’s not going to happen.”

  “Then I guess I’m going to have to make you very uncomfortable.” He pulled a length of twine cording from his jacket pocket and bound her hands behind her back. She struggled, and it almost shamed him that he was enjoying her fear.

  Almost. He couldn’t quit
e make himself feel the remorse he should probably feel.

  He shouldn’t be feeling bad. In the back of his mind, somewhere, he knew what he was doing was wrong. But this fixation he’d developed had clouded his better judgment. He’d feel the guilt later, probably more than he could handle, but now he just felt the need to find a way to rid his thoughts of her.

  She ground the heel of her boot into the top of his foot in a last ditch effort to save herself. He laughed at the idea of such a little woman getting the better of him. It had never happened before, not even while he was human, and he wasn’t about to let it happen now. He started to tighten the bonds around her wrists even more, but changed his mind at the last minute.

  Instead, he pulled her against him so her arms were flush with his chest, her hands dangerously close to his cock. He made the mistake of inhaling her scent, a rich blend of cinnamon and spice, and it nearly drove him out of his mind.

  He resisted the urge to groan and reminded himself that he was here for a reason other than sex. Although the thought of getting her naked in his bed held more appeal by the minute, he had more important things to do first.

  Pushing aside her hair, he leaned in and licked the tender skin of her neck. “Do you know what I’m going to do with you?”

  “The only thing I want you to do is let me go.” She wiggled against him, unaware that every movement sent a jolt of fire through his body. Her fingers brushed his rapidly hardening cock. He could feel how hot they were even through the fabric of his jeans. He inhaled more of her spicy scent and fantasized about what her blood would taste like.

  He would taste her, possibly in more ways than one. But not yet. He resisted the urge to sink his fangs into her delicate flesh for a small sample. For now, he contented himself with tasting the fear that lingered on her skin, along with a sweet, almost sensual note he hadn’t planned on.