The Thorndyke Trilogy 2: Dancing at Midnight

by Lynne Connolly

  Not exactly the typical vampire of legend.

  Dalton raised his brows, the typical supercilious aristocrat. “So they play at being vampires. A good cover, maybe. I’m going to get her.”

  “Do you think they know about us?”

  “That’s what I’m here to find out. But they’ve moved in to premises on the same street, they’re doing the vampire club thing… It seems likely. And if they are, your lady is in danger.”

  Nathan choked back his protest. She wasn’t his lady. Except—Oh fuck. He ran his hand through his hair. “I’ll go. You’re in more danger than I am, if they’re expecting vampires.”

  “You’re not a trained agent.”

  Nathan gave his friend a look of derision. A look he well deserved. Vella got to her feet, pushing her papers back into a plain blue plastic folder. “I’ll lock these up and be with you.”

  Nathan glanced at her feet. “In those shoes?”

  Vella sniggered. “Regency gentlemen, meet woman. For most of my life, I’ve been wearing heels high enough to give me nosebleeds. And these are good weapons. But to put your minds at rest, I’ll slip into some street shoes and jeans.” Nathan hadn’t mentioned it, but Vella’s tight pencil skirt didn’t give her much of a fighting chance.

  The jeans came as a relief, because there was no putting off Vella.

  Catching Nathan’s skepticism, she aggressively stuck her hands on her hips. “What? Because I don’t like her, you think I’d leave her to the mercies of the PHR? Get outta here.” Betraying her fifty years as a New York resident, she shrugged and strode away with a short, “I’ll catch up with you.”

  Good, because Nathan wasn’t waiting for anyone. He strode out of the club, shocking Smokey, who hadn’t expected anyone leaving at this hour and was supervising his staff ushering in the guests for the evening. Nathan didn’t stop to explain but shouldered his way through the throng.

  He reached out to Kristen’s mind but met nothing. Not even a trace. Once he hit the street, he broke into a run, passing other establishments until, on the other side of the street, the sign flashed a leering red. VAMPIRE HEAVEN. Normally he’d think it cheesy. Now he hated its sinister promise. If they’d hurt her, he’d destroy every last one of them. They hadn’t seen anything until they’d seen a fully-grown dragon mad as hell and ready to flame the world.

  A vague hum troubled his mind. Outside he couldn’t hear anything, but inside the club, it felt like the kind of signal that jammed radio waves.

  “You’re right. It’s sonic,” Dalton said, communicating deep into Nathan’s mind. He sounded as cool as Nathan was hot. “It can jam telepathy in some minds, especially the new and unpracticed.”

  “She only just started using it. Talking back to me.”

  “You told her what you are?” Dalton sounded startled. He was out of sight, but Nathan sensed his proximity.

  “No. That comes next.” If he found her, he’d come clean. Even if her brother was more than an employee, but a member of the PHR.

  Maybe she’d gone in to see him, to tell him she’d met a Talent. No, he’d detected no uncertainty, no probing or questions, the kind of thing he’d expect if she were PHR. But she’d arrived at his house by accident. She’d nearly died getting there.

  The PHR was an organization of fanatics. They’d willingly sacrifice themselves to get to Talents and take them off guard. Even more if they could get to more of the members. So maybe she was a mole? He dismissed that thought too. Whatever she was, despite his efforts to keep her at a distance, she’d burrowed her way under his skin.

  He crossed the street, not bothering to check on traffic, but he got lucky. Nobody knocked him down. Not that he’d have let that stop him from getting inside that building.

  Ignoring the muscle at the door, he strode into the place, his eyes adjusting to the gloom almost immediately. The obligatory short dark passage, as much for crowd control as effect, led to a room where badly balanced music thumped. It hit the ears uncomfortably.

  The room was predictably sleazy and dismal. What the fuck had the pentacle to do with vampires? Shit, this owner had his myths in a real twist. That was promising, because Nathan was still not convinced this was a PHR cell. They didn’t usually display themselves so blatantly, nor did they appear so amateurish. Typically they planned and attacked out of the blue, but centered here, they must know they’d attract—

  No, with this kind of flashy confusion, Talents would do what he just did. Dismiss them as wannabes. A double bluff, that was all. A clever move.

  He still couldn’t use telepathy.

  Dalton kept in touch with him, not the other way around. Nathan could be communicated to, and he could answer if Dalton held him in his mind, but Nathan couldn’t initiate a conversation. That sucked.

  “I told you the training came in useful.”

  “You’d better teach me when this is done because sure as fuck this isn’t happening to me again. Nobody blindsides me.”

  “Except a leggy brunette.”

  He didn’t reply to that taunt. Only Dalton would dare tease him like that when he was in warrior mode. Maybe one other man, but he was honeymooning.

  The thought of a Talent being trapped made his blood run cold, even as he circled the place, searching visually for Kristen.

  The main room was comfortably filled, too many people to take in all at once. He kept his senses guarded, and he detected one or two attempts at intrusions, but nothing he couldn’t deal with easily. Not Talents, unless they were deliberately trying to be clumsy. He kept his shield up, the one that showed him as a human being, the owner of Maskerade, someone hunting for a woman who should be in the club across the street. Damn. How long had the people here been watching him? And who here was a member of the organization?

  A fast movement to his left alerted him a second before the blow landed. Or would have landed, had he not jerked to one side. A heavy fist streaked past him, so fast it made a whipping sound.

  He spun on one heel and blocked the next blow, glaring at the aggressor. A man, more muscle than brains, if the astonished look on his face was any guide. He was so big he probably got away with one punch most times. The clientele sat around chatting, some on the dance floor. Nobody had noticed.

  Nathan held him off easily once he added a little dragon strength to his block. “What the fuck do you want, man?” His words burst past the music into the guy’s face.

  “Didn’t you notice the ticket office on your way in? Or do you think you have some kind of pass? If so, let’s see it.”

  “I’m looking for somebody.” But to get rid of the guy, he dug his free hand into his pocket and found a bill. He passed it over without checking the denomination. Although it went against the grain to give any money to the bastards, it was the easiest way. Decking him would probably attract other muscle, and then he’d have to fight his way through to Kristen.

  Instead of dropping his arm, he grasped the man’s forearm, dragging him close until they were nose to nose.

  “Where’s my friend?” He projected a picture of Kristen into his head, taking the opportunity to look around and plunge deep. This guy wasn’t PHR. He was a wall, sent to block and delay him.

  Shit, Kristen was in trouble. Tension invaded him, spread from the bully’s head. He might not be PHR, but he knew the boss had her. Somewhere in this building.

  The guy’s shock helped Nathan penetrate his mind before he had time to regroup. His thought processes were all over the place, complete chaos. But Nathan saw a vision in the man’s mind. She was sitting with a guy with long black hair and pale eyes, his face close to Kristen’s. She was paying him deep attention, but she wasn’t being held against her will. At least, Nathan saw no restraints. But he couldn’t tell where she was.

  He released the muscle, told the guy mentally that it was just a misunderstanding. The man nodded in agreement, although they hadn’t exchanged a word, and walked away, casting one puzzled glance behind him. He didn’t know where Kristen wa
s. He was no help.

  Nathan slid by the bar. Which one of the idiots behind it was her brother? They all looked the same in the dim light. There was one easy way to find out. “Stu!”

  At once, someone left the knot of staff at one end and came over to him. With a sigh of relief, Nathan recognized Stu. “Hey, hi. Can I get you something?”

  They had the same eyes. The shapes of their faces were the same, with the pointed chin. When the youth smiled, the dimple at one corner of his mouth flashed. When he saw that in this guy’s sister, it drove Nathan crazy.

  “You’re Kristen’s brother.”

  Eyes wary, the kid nodded. “I mean, I’m not her—”

  Nathan waved a weary hand. “Don’t bother. I need to know where she is.”

  If he hadn’t known who Stu was before, he did when he tried to enter the boy’s head. Nathan met a blank wall. Either someone had taught these two well, or they were naturally gifted with a psi-defensive barrier. Some humans were.

  But it added to his suspicions. Nathan would have to push past the barrier, and then Stu would know because it would hurt. Shit. Nathan had to take care not to make too many waves. Yet. He’d make as many as he liked getting her out though.

  If she wanted him to, he’d get Stu out too. It might choke him because the kid could well have enticed her in.

  “She’s needed at the club,” he said now.

  “She’s in a club.” Stu’s mouth flattened.

  “Not my club. Do you think she’d give up Maskerade to come here?”

  Stu shrugged. “Why not? She could be the star here.”

  Not to mention being able to keep an eye on her brother. Her contract forbade her to dance for money anywhere else without permission. She’d have to come to Nathan to break the contract, because he’d had it written that way. And there was no hope in hell he’d ever give her permission to dance here, even if it wasn’t a hotbed of sedition. This was the kind of club frequented by students, the low paid, and people after a quick thrill.

  “Where is she?”

  Stu stood back and folded his arms across his thin chest. “With my boss.”

  “And where would that be?” Had his boss taken her out of the club?

  “I don’t think so,” Dalton said. “If he had, I’d pick something up.”

  “Nobody left around the back,” Vella said, her first communication since Nathan had stepped inside Vampire Heaven.

  At least the jamming hadn’t worked on them. Although the nature of the communication told Nathan that Dalton was bearing the brunt of all the conversations, keeping his mind locked with Nathan’s and channeling Vella.

  So it was worth having a trained agent around.

  “Take me to her,” he suggested mildly and opened his mind to let Dalton through, to channel his strength through Nathan.

  Sure enough, the boy’s eyes glazed mildly as he accepted the suggestion. “She went into the smaller room. He’s probably taken her to his office to sign the contract.”

  Ah.

  Nathan spun around and followed the direction of Stu’s vague gesture. “Let him go, Dalton.”

  “Not yet. He could come in useful when we want to leave. Sometimes getting in is the easy part. It’s getting out in one piece that’s hard.”

  Nathan knew that. His time in the armed forces had shown him that in abundance.

  He passed through to a smaller room, where about twenty people were sitting around, drinking and chatting. Much like the larger room, except the music was softer, enabling conversation. No Kristen. He couldn’t even sense her, and that was frustrating as hell. Nathan hadn’t realized how many times a day he’d reached out and grazed her mind until she wasn’t there anymore.

  Now an odd sensation surrounded him. Loneliness. That was it. He hadn’t felt that in a fuck of a long time. Not alone, but lonely. As if nothing mattered, that he didn’t matter.

  Getting Kristen out had become more than rescuing her from the PHR. After all, she was mortal, so what the fuck would they do once they found that out?

  He spied a small, discreet door painted black to match the décor. That looked like a private entrance. There was even a leather-clad dude standing to one side of it, guarding it from unwanted intrusion.

  It didn’t get more unwanted than a shape-shifting dragon in a PHR cell.

  Nathan didn’t kid himself. Even with Dalton and Vella outside, the PHR had the skill to capture him and kill him. Administer the drug that would render him incapable of shape-shifting, and he would be no stronger than any other man. Or just overpower him, knock him out. A bullet would work, hitting him too fast for him to shape-shift. Oh yes, he was in danger here. Coming in on his own was a foolhardy act, but he hadn’t wanted to put anyone else in peril. This mission was too personal. It had to be Nathan who saved her, who came for her. Nobody else.

  He tried to take the guard down mentally, but this guy was no patsy. His mind was ready, barriers up. He had short hair, a plain black T-shirt and jeans, nothing fancy and no posing. If he’d hurt Kristen, Nathan would hurt him twice as much. Ten times.

  Nathan forced a smile to his face, although it was the last thing he wanted to do. “I need to get inside. The guy in there is interviewing one of my employees.”

  The bouncer stared at him, took his time replying. “She’s discussing a business deal with the boss.”

  “What’s his name?” The ancients said that knowing someone’s name was power. It wasn’t that. It was knowing their essence, delving down deep into their souls and uncovering everything they were.

  Knowing what someone called himself in this incarnation didn’t mean a great deal, unless the person had allowed it.

  “Trent De’Ath,” said the bouncer, arching his brows, as if everyone knew the name.

  Once learned, never forgotten. Nathan didn’t snigger, although he wanted to. “That’s his real name?”

  “Everybody says that. Yes, it is. Now, if I’m not mistaken, he might want to see you too.”

  Oh shit. The PHR had used her to draw him into a trap.

  Chapter Eight

  Nathan closed the door gently on the man outside. Whatever came next, at least he’d found Kristen and she was alive. He knew better than to take advantage of the subtle invitation this room possessed. Sorcery of some kind lurked here, an insidious beckoning that if he hadn’t expected it would have drawn him into opening his mind.

  The PHR specialized in destroying Talents wherever they found them, but they weren’t above using plotting and guile. They organized in cells, which was why it was so difficult to get rid of them. When Talents rooted out one cell, another popped up somewhere else. The members guarded information carefully, only gave details to a selected few.

  Nathan couldn’t do anything about taking this cell down tonight, but if he got out of this place in one piece, he’d take care of it.

  “Good evening,” he said politely. He stayed where he was, near the door, but he longed to go to the couch where she sat and drag her into his arms.

  The man called De’Ath looked up. The color of his eyes was pale, almost colorless, as if he lacked pigment there.

  His skin was pink, and his lashes blond despite the raven shade of his hair.

  They probably thought Nathan was a vampire. That gave him a definite advantage, since he wasn’t vulnerable to the same things. They probably hadn’t bothered to get Cephalox, the drug that would temporarily kill his dragon.

  “Trent wants to offer me a job,” Kristen said with a sweet smile. “I could be a star here.”

  He stared at her. Shock reverberated through him. She was looking at him as if staring at a stranger. The desire to kill somebody, anybody, seized him again, but he fought it down. He’d been a warrior in his time, and he knew the value of a cool head. He’d try to talk Kristen and himself out of here first. The odds were stacked against him; he’d already realized that from the strength of the muscle and the anti-telepathy buzz. These people weren’t amateurs.

  H
e’d get Kristen out or die trying.

  Death held no terrors for him, and that formed part of his strength. Because he didn’t care, he’d go that much further to get what he wanted.

  Except he’d never have the chance to hold Kristen close again. A pang of regret hit him right in the solar plexus. Maybe he did want something else now. She’d made him vulnerable. This wasn’t the best time to discover that.

  “You’ll be a star at my place.” Nathan kept his voice low and unthreatening. “It’s your choice, darling. Your free choice.”

  Dalton’s snort echoed in Nathan’s head. “She’s in a trance.”

  He hadn’t needed Dalton to tell him that. Her eyes betrayed her, the pupils unusually large in this surprisingly well-lit room. Now that Nathan was this close, he could contact her mind, but wary of a trap, he only skimmed it. Even that superficial graze told him she wasn’t thinking normally. The patterns of her mind were disrupted—some quelled, some working in a different way.

  “I’m bringing her out. She doesn’t belong here.”

  “Maybe.” Dalton sounded cautious. “But she doesn’t belong with us.”

  “At the moment, she doesn’t belong anywhere.” Except with him. That certainty anchored him and told him he was doing the right thing coming here tonight, risking his life. On the surface, he was all Nathan Beaumont, club owner.

  “You’ll have to negotiate with me before you can agree to dance anywhere else.”

  “Unless she does it for free.” When De’Ath touched her hand, Nathan wanted to cut the bastard’s arm off. He could do it too, with a partial shift and a slash of his claws.

  “If she wants it, I’ll let her go. Come with me, Kristen. We have a lot to talk about.”

  Kristen glanced at De’Ath, her eyes anxious, and he nodded. The tension left her shoulders, which dropped slightly as she turned to face the man. “Then I’ll see you again.”

  He exchanged a telling look with Nathan, who met his eyes unflinchingly, careful to hold his mental shield firm. “And I’ll see you again too. I look forward to welcoming you back.”