The Thorndyke Trilogy 2: Dancing at Midnight

by Lynne Connolly

  Jay had remained defiantly English but lived in Texas now with his very Texan vampire girlfriend. Wife, Nathan corrected himself. And the notion occurred to him. Why not marry Kristen? The very idea made him suck in a breath. Was he really that sure? Immediately the response came. Yes, he was.

  He was ready, and this time he wouldn’t make any mistakes. He’d go at her pace, but he wanted her with him all the way. No aging and dying. Or if she couldn’t bear the thought of conversion, he’d age and die with her. This was it for him.

  The thought made him so happy he was in danger of walking around with a permanent smile on his face, like some kind of loon.

  His cell phone rang. Only a few people had this number. Kristen—now he’d called her on it—Smokey, and Dalton. Well, Dalton was sitting opposite him, so that let him out. His heart lifted when he saw Kristen’s number.

  “Hi. I’ll be with you early tomorrow,” he said.

  “Glad to hear it,” replied a male voice, one it took him a moment to recognize. Trent fucking De’Ath.

  Fury roared up in him, and fear in equal measure. He sat straight in his chair and switched the phone to speaker. “What do you want, you bastard?” He sent a quick ID to Dalton through their telepathic link.

  Dalton’s eyes widened, and he uncrossed his legs and lowered them to the floor.

  “I have a guest you might want to speak to. But not yet. You know who it is. Make that two guests.”

  Vella? Someone else? Then Nathan caught up. Stuart. “What makes you think I care enough about either of them?” He let his voice become relaxed, drawling the words, making them deliberately slow. How the fuck could he stay so calm? “You have proof?”

  “It’s in your sitting room. Which, I think I’ll demand from you as part of the price.” A picture announced its arrival with a ding. A photo of his great room flashed up, obviously taken recently. He allowed nobody into that room except Kristen. Someone had managed to snap a picture, and in it, the TV was on, showing the news and the headline behind the announcer. Today’s headline and a time. Eleven thirty pm.

  His breath caught and his dragon thundered to the surface. Nathan forced him back down. “What have you done?”

  “Come and find out.”

  Had the bastard booby-trapped the apartment? His blood ran cold. All the people in his building, twenty or so by his rough reckoning, could be in danger there. De’Ath wouldn’t care who he destroyed on his way to personal aggrandizement. Having met the bastard, Nathan had no illusions about who De’Ath was really interested in. No twisted principles of PHR victory warmed Trent De’Ath’s heart. Only the glory of Trent De’Ath. Nathan didn’t need to transmit his concerns to Dalton.

  His friend was already on his feet and talking telepathically. “I’ll get someone else to move the girl. Anyone from the Thorndykes will do. I’m coming with you. I’ll arrange transport.”

  Nathan didn’t bother to argue. If he could have gotten hold of Jay, he would have, but Jay was on his honeymoon somewhere in the Mediterranean, showing his new wife the sights of Europe. And one big advantage. Nathan had Smokey and Vella and a few others. That would have to do.

  “So what do you want?”

  “Come and see me tomorrow at ten. When it’s nice and light.”

  Nathan grinned inwardly, a spark of a plan forming in his mind. De’Ath still thought he was a vampire, and vampires only possessed their full strength between sundown and sunup. In between, they were the same as other mortals, except for their ability to communicate telepathically, their longevity, and their sheer badassness. No vampire lost his reason completely. What Dalton lacked in vampire strength by day, he made up for by his skill with weaponry and martial arts. He was also as cunning as a fox, vampire or no. Killing with his bare hands wasn’t just a nighttime activity for Dalton Thorndyke.

  But De’Ath might be expecting that. What he wouldn’t expect was a fully functional dragon. The only risk was that De’Ath had a syringe of Cephalox handy, but that stuff was expensive and hard to get hold of. And from Dalton’s research, they knew the cell hadn’t been active long, so they wouldn’t have the supplies that other, older established cells did.

  Deliberately, he cut his emotions off and buried them deep. He couldn’t cope with the absolute despair that threatened to take hold when he thought of the love of his life in the hands of a monster like Trent De’Ath. If he let himself wallow in any kind of emotion, he was lost. Despair and anger were his enemies now. He needed clear thought and tactical handling. Like a sword fight when the opponent was as skilled as he. He wouldn’t assume De’Ath wasn’t his equal until he knew better. Talents had been brought down with that kind of thinking too often in the past.

  “I’ll be there,” he said and cut the connection. De’Ath would want to taunt him, and Nathan didn’t have time for that. The man wasn’t about to give Nathan any more clues. He needed to get back now, like yesterday.

  What that fucker could be doing to her… Once Nathan got her free, he’d take great pleasure in killing De’Ath with his hands—no weapons, nothing. Just a slow squeeze around his throat. Better still, he’d turn dragon and flame the guy to ash.

  “I’ll do this on my own,” he said abruptly. Then there’d be no witnesses.

  Dalton gave him a look of disbelief, dark brows arched over his eyes. “Are you fucking kidding me? You know me better than that.”

  “I’ll probably be breaking the law.”

  Dalton wasn’t impressed. “Bring it on.”

  Still Nathan’s conscience nagged at him. These days, breaking the law brought dire consequences, and Talents weren’t immune to those. “It could ruin you.”

  “Again? I think I have enough Swiss bank accounts to cope. Shut up. You can lead, but apart from that, I’m in.”

  Well, he’d tried. “Let’s get moving, then.”

  Within half an hour, they were in the skies, one of the helicopters at Dalton’s disposal taking them to their destination. They’d get the drop on the bastard if they arrived early. Nathan got busy making calls, and by the time they reached the roof of his apartment building, he had a team ready. A shape-shifter he knew, Vella, Dalton, and Smokey, plus a bulletproof car. Then the so-called experts could move in and dismantle the cell, if there was anything left when he was done.

  He didn’t fucking care. If he had to torch the street, he’d do it. And if De’Ath hurt her, he would. Without compunction.

  They landed and he was out, not waiting for the rotor blades to stop revolving. Dalton was on his heels, and they sped down to his apartment. Vella had scanned it for booby traps and sent a text to indicate it was all clear.

  Nathan stormed in and flung open every door, searching for evidence.

  “In here,” Dalton called from the study.

  Nathan raced in and stared.

  On his desk lay a sheet of white paper. Ordinary printing paper. Or it had been before the object on it had covered it with distinctive brownish-red blotches.

  Nausea roiled in his stomach, blended with the yearning he always felt in her presence. Because this was part of her.

  Before he could stop himself, Nathan touched the finger that lay on the previously pristine sheet. “It’s hers.” A forefinger. The cunt hadn’t even taken a little finger.

  He’d seen death and destruction before, but not this close. Not so personally, viscerally evident.

  For that, Nathan would take all the fingers the bastard possessed, and maybe the rest of the hand too, before he killed him.

  A red tide of fury rose and swamped him in pure emotion.

  Dragon—fire—destroy.

  When Dalton put his hand on his arm, Nathan shook it off. Nathan’s skin shimmered with green scales already breaking through.

  “He wants this,” Dalton said slowly, deliberately enunciating every word. “He wants you off balance. Anger will give him the advantage. You know that, fuck it, so get a hold of yourself.”

  The words penetrated, partly because Dalton used
his telepathy to push them in.

  But it took a while. He looked away because he would go into pure animal fury if he stared at the finger anymore.

  Breathing deeply, he forced himself to remember that as far as he knew, the rest of her was safe. They’d already linked at a deep level. If she were dead, he’d know. There’d be a void deep inside him. Although he couldn’t connect with her telepathically right now, they had a link that went so deep, nothing except death could eradicate it. But she could be in pain, near death, or drugged stupid. He just couldn’t tell until he could establish a telepathic link. That other awareness of her went deeper into his soul.

  He counted, he struggled, and managed to get some of his control back. Enough to work with. The residual edges of his mind still simmered and bubbled. He had an extra task now, to keep hold of his anger.

  “There’s no note,” Dalton said.

  “There was no need. What does he think he’s gaining with this?”

  Dalton grabbed a plastic bag and wrapped it around the finger before crossing to the small refrigerator behind the wet bar. He stowed it away carefully. Nathan watched but made no comment.

  “He wants to provoke you. Remember, we’re not underestimating him. We’re assuming he has Cephalox in hand, in case you turn out to be a shape-shifter. He’s PHR—my people found a paper trail—so he knows more about us than he has any right knowing. He can hypnotize Kristen, so he might have her under his thrall. In which case, any drift of the dragon in her mind, and he’ll know it.”

  “We’ve planned for that,” Nathan said dully. Inside he was busy building a barrier around his anger. He would use it, that fury, to fuel his actions but not to control them. He’d been a soldier, a warrior. He knew how to do that. He could do berserker rage or the cold, calculating attitude of the assassin. For now, the assassin was called for. He’d box the berserker in for now. But only for now. “He’s half insane. Most PHR people are. Fanatics.”

  “Fanatics sometimes win.”

  “He won’t.” Nathan turned on his heel. “Come on. Let’s get moving.”

  The discovery had also cost them some time, but nothing mattered now except getting Kristen back.

  * * * *

  An hour later, Nathan strode into Vampire Heaven, disdaining the doorman who tried to stop him. He only shoved him aside, too concerned with getting access to the club to bother himself with the mortal standing in his way.

  Dalton was watching from an alley across the street. Vella was stationed behind the club, and the shape-shifter, a female called Rebecca, was on the roof. Nathan had let them all deep into his mind, so anyone trying to detect his thought processes would fail to find that thread.

  He couldn’t trace Kristen’s position, but that didn’t surprise him. The jamming in the place made it difficult, and De’Ath might have kept her unconscious.

  Coming to a halt, he faced De’Ath sitting on one of the bar stools in the middle of the dance floor. Nobody else was in sight, but Nathan had no doubt De’Ath’s henchmen were lurking nearby. “Where is she?”

  De’Ath smirked. “Safe. For now. To get down to business, I’m offering an exchange.”

  The aroma of stale beer rose to sicken Nathan more. “Let me guess. You want me.” He put his wrists together and held them in front of him. “If you think you can handle me after nightfall, you’re welcome.”

  “You’ll be in no state after sundown to transform,” De’Ath said. He motioned, and Nathan heard steps behind him. He didn’t need to turn around to realize it was Stuart, and like his sister before him, his mind was disordered. De’Ath had disturbed the natural processes just as if he’d shoved a spoon inside the skull and stirred it.

  Stuart took Nathan’s forearms and dragged them behind him, fastening them at the wrists with what felt like zip ties. Nathan tried not to sneer. He could get rid of them anytime he chose.

  Stuart stepped aside, his face blank, but thought processes still went on. Not his, but De’Ath, doing the mental equivalent or reprogramming. If he remained under De’Ath’s control much longer, they’d become permanent.

  So Nathan had someone else to rescue. He let the link between his mind and Dalton’s blossom so Dalton could see a dim version of what Nathan was seeing.

  “I haven’t agreed yet,” he said.

  De’Ath shrugged, his wrinkled T-shirt riding up and showing a strip of his belly, white against the stark black of his clothes. “You will. You know what will happen if you don’t. And if you’re thinking of your friends outside, don’t bother. We’ll take them too if you don’t agree.”

  Was the man completely mad?

  “I want to see her first.”

  “Fair enough.” Taking his time, De’Ath climbed down from the stool, nearly stumbling when he reached the floor. He had to clutch the seat to steady himself. Not so cool, then. He glanced at Nathan, his smile fixed in place. “Follow me.”

  With Stuart behind him, Nathan let De’Ath lead him to the back of the building and up a flight of cement stairs to a small room about halfway up the building. From an open doorway a woman peered at him. She was sitting at a desk, a laptop before her. Nathan would like to see what that laptop held. He transmitted his position and who he was with to Vella. She acknowledged his message.

  De’Ath flung the door open with a dramatic flourish and a greasy smile. “There. You can ensure she’s alive.”

  Kristen lay on a narrow bed, coarse sheets twisted under her naked body, bloodstains marring the faded blue color of the cotton. Someone had bound her poor hand. But evidence of the damage remained, not just in the bloodstains but the way the bandages passed over the place where a finger should be and was no longer. She was unconscious, and when Nathan tried to link his mind with hers, he found only sleep. Her breasts moved gently as she breathed in and out. Nathan wanted her covered.

  De’Ath would know that. Another attempt at provoking Nathan into a killing fury to blur his thought processes.

  “She’s under because I say so,” De’Ath said. “I can bring her around, but you can’t.”

  She was his insurance. If Nathan killed De’Ath, she’d stay under forever. So he had to keep De’Ath alive. Bummer.

  Walking slowly across the room, he reached out to her as deeply as he dared. Nothing. Only echoes of the sleep and a deep hibernation she could never enter on her own. He couldn’t find her essence.

  Fuck. Turning, he met De’Ath’s triumphant gaze. Let the bastard enjoy it while he could. “What do you want?”

  “You. You’re the first real-life vampire we’ve ever caught.”

  This room had no windows, and De’Ath and his henchman were standing between Nathan and the door. He had to get her out of this room and somewhere he could fly.

  And he had to keep De’Ath alive, which complicated matters. He wanted to question the bastard before he died. The plan was simple. He’d find where she was, pick her up, shape-shift, and get the fuck out of there, with Vella and the others coming in to clean up. If he shape-shifted now, he couldn’t carry Kristen and an unwilling De’Ath.

  He turned to Kristen. “She’s not well. I want her out of here.”

  De’Ath laughed. “It won’t do any good. Not until I say so.”

  Vella linked with him. “He’s right. That kind of trance is too deep for anyone except a Sorcerer to get into. And it would be so invasive they’re likely to damage her.”

  “There’s one way,” he replied, but he didn’t elaborate. The notion had just come to him. He’d do it—even if he was labeled a pariah—if he could, but he couldn’t think about it now. Couldn’t do it now.

  He’d convert her. The Talented world utterly forbade converting someone without consent. Both parties had to be agreeable, or the one doing it would be guilty of forcible conversion and condemned to death. The only thing that would save him would be her agreement post-conversion, but he’d never discussed it with her. She’d never given her permission. Apart from her penchant for toy and model dragons, had she
ever evinced a desire to join him? No.

  He couldn’t bear the thought of her death. He’d give his own for her if he needed to, and he’d do it without hesitation.

  Dare he take the risk? If it was him in danger, he’d do it without blinking, but with Kristen… No.

  His mind worked as De’Ath clearly didn’t want it to. That alone made him determined to win.

  What was De’Ath’s weak point? What did he care about more than anything else?

  Himself. Nobody else. Nathan sensed no significant other, nobody figuring in De’Ath’s mind as someone he’d risk anything for. “We need to take De’Ath alive.”

  “I got that,” Dalton said grimly. “Get her out of there. Leave him to us.”

  “Yeah.”

  For a prime objective, that worked for him. “Alive,” he insisted.

  “Yeah.”

  He had to trust them, although he’d rather trust nobody with Kristen’s well-being. He stood next to the bed, letting her presence wash over him. Although she couldn’t see or hear him, she was still there, still breathing, and he needed that.

  “You know I won’t go anywhere until I know she’s safe.”

  “Bring her with us.” De’Ath nodded to Stuart, who crossed the room, knife in hand, and sliced off the plastic cuffs.

  Although De’Ath had shielded his mind, he wasn’t aware of one thing. Nathan had years of experience, some of it dealing with evil bastards like him. He might know that Nathan was a dancer but not the rest. Not the fighting in two world wars and other conflicts, not the years of experience soldiering.

  De’Ath wanted Nathan to fight him. To pamper De’Ath’s ego, to prove to his colleagues that he was the best. To put a Talent on his score sheet. Nathan wouldn’t do it, even though he longed to get his hands around the bastard’s neck. So much that he could feel it, the bones cracking under the pressure of his fingers, the air coughing out from his throat.

  Because if he did that, he’d lock Kristen into a world of her own where even he couldn’t reach her. Only that most terrible of creatures, a Sorcerer.

  Instead of going into a destructive rage, he bent to lift Kristen. If they thought that would hamper him, they were so wrong. She lay in his arms, warm and sweet, breathing regularly, but no other signs of life enlivened her form. His heart ached. De’Ath went ahead, then Nathan. Stuart brought up the rear.