She automatically catalogued the scene, so she could give her statement to the police later. He released the woman. She slumped to the ground like discarded rags. The man grinned, his attention now riveted on the new arrival.
Rachel knew that the fact she was a petite Chinese-American woman made her look like an easy target, but her size was deceptive. “Before you do anything stupid,” she said, knowing it was already too late for that, “I think you should know I’ve called the police. I’m placing you under citizen’s arrest.” She pointed to the sidewalk. “Get down on the ground.”
If the dark-haired man understood her, he didn’t let on. He kept approaching at a steady pace. The light should’ve revealed his face, but the shadows seemed to follow him, obscuring his pale features. It didn’t matter. Rachel was sure she could identify him from his eyes alone, although they didn’t seem as bright as they’d been moments ago. Must’ve been a trick of the light.
“Stay back,” she said. “This is your last warning.” Rachel held her hands up like her Krav Maga instructor taught her to do. It looked like a defensive posture. It wasn’t.
The man smiled, giving her an up close and personal look at his mouth. He had abnormally long incisors that had been filed into jagged points. He used his blood-covered tongue to caress them as he closed the distance between them.
Give an asshole prosthetic fangs and he thinks he’s a fucking vampire.
Rachel took a step back, a chill snaking down her spine. She didn’t dare look over her shoulder; he’d be on her before she could make it twenty yards. She needed to draw someone’s attention. The man must’ve read her mind because in a blink he went from ten feet away to in her face. Rachel didn’t have time to scream as he slammed her into the wall surrounding the cemetery. She landed with a sickening thud. The air rushed out of her lungs with a loud whoosh as pain shot through her body.
She blinked to clear her vision. The shadows still obscured his features. Rachel brushed at the darkness as he approached. He growled. She gagged as his coppery breath fanned out over her face. The guttural sound grew louder. It was the only warning she received.
Instinct made Rachel throw her hand up a second before his teeth clamped onto her forearm. Her leather jacket ripped as he tore through the thick material like it was made of butterfly wings. His sharp incisors punctured her skin. The excruciating pain snapped her out of her initial shock.
Rachel drove her palm into her attacker’s nose and heard something crunch, then saw blood splatter across his face. She wasn’t sure who was more surprised. Her hand came away covered in crimson. She swung again, but her slick palm only grazed his cheek.
Fury filled his glowing green eyes. The grip he had on her with his teeth tightened and he shook his head, shredding muscle. The human pit bull was going to break her arm, if she didn’t get him to release her.
Rachel hit his nose again, spilling more blood. He grabbed her arm, while his other hand latched on to her throat and began to squeeze. Blood roared in her ears as he tried to kill her. It was one thing to contemplate taking her own life, it was quite another to have him take it from her. Rachel thrust her hips forwards and kneed his groin hard. He grunted and released her arm, but the hand around her throat remained.
She tried to break the grip on her neck, using every technique she’d been taught at the police academy, but nothing worked. Rachel hit him until her palm hurt, then hit him some more. His nose was now bent at an odd angle and made a strange whistling snort every time he inhaled. She reached for his fingers and began prying them off one at a time as he tightened his hold. The chain on her neck sliced her skin, then Rachel felt the links snap.
“No,” she gritted out.
He didn’t respond to her plea. Instead, his head whipped around. He stared into the darkness, his gaze searching the shadows. Beyond the dark side street, the lights of Paris twinkled. One second he was strangling her and trying to rip her arm off, the next, he ran . . . taking her broken St Michael medal with him.
Rachel dropped to her knees, clutching her injured arm and coughing as she gulped air into her lungs. It took a second to remember the woman lying on the ground. She didn’t appear to be breathing. Rachel crawled to her and felt for a pulse. There wasn’t one.
“Damn it.”
She dragged herself to Boulevard Raspail and saw her attacker duck into a nearby building. He hadn’t gone far. Rachel had no doubt if he got away he’d be back on the streets in a few days to do the same thing to another woman.
She forced herself to her feet and stumbled down the sidewalk. Rachel gave a quick glance at the oncoming traffic and rushed across the road. Horns blared as the Parisian drivers narrowly missed her. No one braked. She pushed on until she reached a small park that butted up against the building she’d seen the man enter.
Rachel stepped over the low fence, keeping to the shadows. She couldn’t afford to let him catch her off guard. He’d done it once and it had nearly killed her. A tall wrought-iron fence ran alongside the green gothic-looking building that resembled an ornate shed. Rachel continued across the garden until she reached the end of the grass.
The wrought iron ended at a small gate, which squeaked in the cool evening breeze. A short nose of an entrance poked out of the front of the building. The door was covered in metal mesh. Or at least it had been. The mesh had been ripped away. She glanced down and saw a lock on the ground. It had been smashed. She hadn’t seen a weapon on him – with those teeth he didn’t need one. Yet he’d obviously been carrying something, unless he’d suddenly become a character out of a James Bond film.
Rachel knew she should call the police. It was the sensible thing to do, but by the time she found a phone, and someone who could understand her broken French, the killer would be long gone, along with Paul’s necklace. She couldn’t allow that to happen, even if all she managed to do was find his hiding place. Despite what the department shrinks thought, she didn’t have a death wish . . . most days.
She pushed the gate open. The metal screeched, announcing her arrival. He’d have to be deaf not to have heard her. Rachel cringed, but kept going until she could squeeze through. The light over the sign above the building had been smashed. Broken bits of bulb crunched under her shoes. The main door was open a crack, just enough for her to see the darkness beyond. Rachel turned back and grabbed the mangled lock. It wasn’t a perfect weapon, but at least it would aid her punches. Maybe she could manage to knock out his expensive dental work this time.
Rachel walked back to the door and inched it open. She tilted her head and listened. She could hear the soft fall of footsteps growing fainter by the second. He was getting away. She took a breath and stepped through the opening. The door slid shut behind her, extinguishing what little light had been cast.
She pulled out her lighter and flicked it on. There was a closed door on the left. It was flanked by a tiny archway that opened into a crude office, which lay empty except for a lone chair. Rachel raised the lighter and spotted a ramp, leading off to her right. There didn’t appear to be anywhere else he could’ve gone.
She shored up her courage and followed. Rachel stepped lightly, praying the sound wouldn’t carry. The ramp ended abruptly at a set of winding stairs. She couldn’t see the bottom.
What in the hell was this place?
Her arm ached and her neck began to sting, reminding her once more why she was here. Rachel flipped the lighter closed and began a slow, steady descent. Every twenty or so stairs she’d stop and listen. She couldn’t hear footsteps any longer, only the steady drip of water pinging off rock. The air had gone from fresh to stale.
Rachel was just about to call it quits and turn around, when the stairs ended abruptly. Did she dare use her lighter again? What if he was waiting in the shadows? Did she really have a choice? Rachel’s heart began to pound as she flicked on the lighter.
She was standing at the mouth of a tunnel. It appeared to be the only way she could go unless she wanted to climb the hundred o
r so stairs she’d just come down. If Rachel hadn’t been claustrophobic before, she would be now. The narrow tunnel had a low ceiling like the entrance of a tomb. She couldn’t stretch her arms out without hitting rock walls.
Rachel began walking. It was impossible to be quiet with loose gravel beneath her feet, so she left the lighter on. She stopped every few yards to listen. It was hard to hear anything over the pounding of her heart. The sound of water dripping grew louder. The tunnel eventually opened up into a larger chamber. Rachel read the sign above the door. It was written in French: ARRÊTE! ICI C’EST L’EMPIRE DES MORTS.
It was easy enough to translate: STOP! THIS IS THE EMPIRE OF THE DEAD.
“Terrific,” she murmured, half-expecting someone to cue horror music.
Rachel stepped through the archway into a nightmare. Walls of human remains rose from the floor nearly touching the ceiling. Faces of people who’d lived long ago stared at her from empty eye sockets, their bones neatly arranged in macabre designs around their skulls.
Suddenly the room was too warm. Rachel pulled at her coat as her heart slammed into her ribs. The freak had lured her into the catacombs. There were miles of tunnels down here, according to the brochures she’d picked up in the airport. No one would hear her scream this far below the surface. They wouldn’t even find her body, if he didn’t want it to be found. So much for discovering his hiding place and reporting it to the police. She had to get out of here.
Rachel took a step back – right into a hard male body. She couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. For a moment, fear kept her paralysed, then panic set in. A large pale hand covered her mouth before Rachel could draw breath and scream. Her lighter burned her fingers and she dropped it, plunging them into darkness.
She elbowed the man and tried to smash his nose with her head, but only succeeded in hitting his chest. Rachel braced, expecting a fist to the face. The man made no attempt to strike her. Why should he? He had her right where he wanted her.
A warm breath brushed her neck. His jagged teeth flashed in her mind. He was going to bite her just like he’d bitten the woman and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do to stop him.
“No.” The plea came out garbled behind his hand, but Rachel knew he understood. “Don’t.” She jerked her head and only succeeded in hurting herself.
“Stop fighting,” he hissed, tightening his grip.
Her breath rushed past his long fingers as she bit him.
“Ow, stop that!” He pressed his face closer.
Rachel tensed and began to tremble as she waited to feel the slice of those fake fangs on her flesh. The pain never came. Heat from the body holding her began to sink into her bones. A moment later firm lips brushed her ear lobe and she quivered. What was he playing at?
Nuzzling her hair, he inhaled. “American. Figures,” he said with distaste in a low French accent. “You must have a death wish, mademoiselle.”
Two
“You’re trespassing,” Gabriel Dumont said, ignoring the smell of wild flowers coming from the woman’s hair. He resisted the urge to bury his nose in her dark tresses once more. Instead, Gabriel released her. She scurried away. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a flashlight. Not that he needed it to see, but he had no doubt she did. “The catacombs are closed. You want to tell me what you’re doing down here?”
Her soft Asian eyes narrowed as she carefully took in his appearance. The woman wasn’t as young as he’d initially thought. Mid to late thirties if he had to guess. The press of her warm lithe body had thrown him off. He was glad to be wrong. Time seasoned a woman. Though it had little meaning to creatures such as himself. Gabriel kept still, trying to look harmless, though he was anything but.
She opened her mouth to reply, but stopped. He could tell by her expression that she was trying to come up with a plausible story for her presence. Smart and beautiful. “Do you work here?” she asked, attempting to commandeer the conversation. This was a woman used to being in charge.
Gabriel’s lips quirked. “Why else would I be here?” It wasn’t like she knew this was the entrance to the Otherworld. Was she simply a tourist trying to sneak in to the catacombs after dark? There were plenty who tried and succeeded. Not all got out to tell of their adventures.
“I was attacked by a man. He came down here.” She ran a trembling hand through her hair.
He arched a brow. “And you followed him?” Gabriel corrected his earlier assessment of her. The woman was clearly insane.
“He took something of mine,” she said softly. “I want it back.” She glanced around the cavern, her gaze hopping from skull to skull. “Did you happen to see anyone else down here?”
“No.” He shook his head. “Only you.” Gabriel watched her scan the area. She didn’t miss much. He rarely met humans who paid close attention to their surroundings. That’s what made them such easy prey. “What did he take, miss? Miss . . . ?”
“Rachel Chang. And you are?” she asked, avoiding his question.
She was good at changing conversational direction. He’d give her that. “My name is Gabriel Dumont.”
“Can I see your eyes, Mr Dumont?” she asked, taking another step back.
Gabriel blinked at her question, then slowly raised the flashlight beam to his face.
“They’re blue,” Rachel said, then visibly relaxed.
He frowned. “I know. Is that a problem?”
Rachel waved the question away. “I need to notify the police. There’s been a murder.”
“I thought you said you were attacked and robbed,” he said, feeling suddenly uneasy.
“I was. The man who attacked me killed a woman.”
Gabriel ran a hand over his face. So much for spending a quiet evening at home. “Let’s start at the beginning, shall we?”
She groaned in frustration. “We don’t have time. We have to get back to the scene.”
“At least tell me what he took.”
“My St Michael’s medal.”
That hadn’t been the answer Gabriel expected. Diamonds, yes. Gold maybe. But not a worthless medal. “They are easy to obtain. Allow me to get you another.”
“Thanks, but it wouldn’t be the same.” Rachel forced herself to concentrate on getting out of the catacombs. She was sure Gabriel hadn’t been the man who’d attacked her, but the place was making her uneasy. She rolled her shoulders, but the sensation of being watched didn’t go away. The killer was nearby. Maybe he was waiting for an opportunity to attack Gabriel. She wasn’t going to be responsible for another death tonight.
“Let’s get out of here,” she said.
“Right this way, madam.” He motioned for her to go ahead of him.
“After you,” she said.
Rachel was huffing from climbing the stairs by the time they reached street level. Gabriel wasn’t even out of breath. She stared at him, getting a better look now that they were under a street light. Gabriel’s raven-coloured hair framed a boxer’s face. His features were several fights past handsome, but strangely intriguing. Lines bracketed his blue eyes, but she couldn’t gauge his age. Rachel craned her neck. He was taller than her assailant, well over six feet. And she couldn’t help but notice how nicely his broad shoulders filled out his jacket.
She tore her gaze away, when he caught her looking. “It’s this way.” Rachel led him to the side street where she’d last seen the body, but the woman had vanished.
She searched the bushes. The woman had been lying in the middle of the sidewalk where the man dropped her. Maybe she’d been further along the street than Rachel had realized.
“Where is she?” Gabriel asked.
“She should be right here. I don’t understand.” Rachel scanned the shadows.
He looked up and down the street. “Sure she was dead?”
Rachel glowered at him. “Positive. I checked her pulse.”
“Maybe someone reported the incident and they’ve already picked her up,” he suggested.
“I’m not sure h
ow the Parisian police work, but back in New York we don’t clean up a crime scene this fast,” she said. “Where’s the tape? Where are the homicide detectives? Someone should still be here canvassing the neighbourhood for witnesses.”
Gabriel stiffened. “Are you police?”
“Homicide detective,” she said absently, ignoring his broken English.
He inhaled again. “Have you been drinking, detective?”
Rachel tensed. “I had a few flutes of champagne with dinner, but I know what I saw.”
“Is this perhaps an elaborate ruse to get out of a trespassing charge?” Gabriel asked.
Her almond-shaped eyes narrowed to glittering slits. “Listen, if you don’t believe me that’s fine. Just point me in the direction of the nearest police station so I can report the incident.”
“OK.” Gabriel reached for her arm to turn her towards the station. She winced. He instantly released her. “Are you injured?”
“I’ll live,” she said. “The guy bit me after he bit the woman. He’d reshaped his teeth. Fancied himself a friggin’ vampire.” Rachel snorted. “More like a drugged-out psycho.” She shook out her arm and winced.
Gabriel maintained a placid expression, when inside his thoughts were in turmoil. If what she was saying was true, then it was possible Rachel had been bitten by a vampyre. “May I see?” he asked.
She shrugged and unbuttoned her coat. The second she slipped it off, the scent of blood filled the air. Gabriel swallowed hard, his nostrils flaring to draw the delicious fragrance in. “That looks bad. You’re going to need stitches,” he said, fighting the urge to lick her arm from wrist to elbow.
Rachel glanced down. “It’ll wait.”
“You really should get that seen to.” He looked away as his mouth began to water. It certainly looked like a vamp bite, although it was in an odd location. Most vamps preferred to feed from softer tissue.
“Police station first. Hospital second.”
“As you wish, detective.” Gabriel was nearly mad with the desire to feed by the time they reached the station. Without a body to back her claims, Rachel was just another tipsy tourist who’d been mugged. The police would take a report, check out the scene, then it would be filed away.
Love Bites UK (Mammoth Book Of Vampire Romance2) Page 2
