Kiss of Darkness
Chapter 11

For an instant, terror filled her. It couldn't be...
There had been so many years when she had run, when she had spent her days and nights in hiding. There had been years when she had thought she had managed a real escape. Then she had finally realized that she would never live in peace if she didn't face the truth, and become a hunter. And still, no matter what pretense of confidence and assurance she had cultivated, there had still been the awful and absolute fear, the horror....
She bolted up to a sitting position, all thoughts of exhaustion gone, ready to defend herself. But she wasn't being attacked. Not physically, at least.
Bryan MacAllistair was seated in the huge wing chair that flanked her bed. She had no idea how long he had been there. He could have been there when she entered the room; she had never so much as glanced around.
She hadn't seen him. Worse, she hadn't even sensed his presence!
She fought for control.
Swinging back a lock of hair, she clasped her arms around her knees and stared at him, slowly arching a brow. "What the hell are you doing in my room?"
He smiled grimly and queried, "What were you doing in mine?"
"Trying to find out who you are," she said flatly.
He lifted his hands. "My credentials speak for themselves."
"Your credentials are bullshit."
"I beg to differ. I'm not entirely sure about yours, however."
"My diploma is at my office," she informed him dryly.
"And I imagine it's completely in order," he said pleasantly, then stood, walked over and sat on the foot of her bed.
"What were you doing at the hospital?" he demanded.
"I knew the girl," she said indignantly.
"So you dressed up like the cleaning woman to visit her corpse?"
"What wereyou doing at the hospital?" she demanded.
"I went to kill a vampire," he said bluntly.
She swallowed, staring at him. No, gaping. "You've been listening to your own lectures too long, Professor."
"Get off it."
"What?"
"Don't try to turn your psychology on me. You know what's out there."
"I..."Who the hell was he?
"You know that's what the girl has become," he said. It wasn't a question; it was a statement. "You know it, and your buddy the cop knows it.How you know it would make an entertaining story, I'm sure, but the truth is, you both know exactly what's going on."
She let her lashes fall. Then she sighed. "There has been vampire activity in the area before," she told him. She felt a chill. She forced herself to think, rather than feel. "So how doyou know the truth of what's going on? Who the hell are you? Where did you come across a situation like this before?"
"All over the world," he said curtly. "We're dealing with the here and now, though, and that's what matters."
"I see. So...have you taken it on yourself to rid the world of vampires?" she asked, genuinely curious despite all her suspicions about him.
"I don't think any one person can rid the world of vampires. Like all other creatures, they have an instinct for survival. These days some of them hide as suburban housewives and stockbrokers. But I've been following one in particular."
"Oh?"
"The creature in Transylvania. The one who took Mary, and is apparently in New Orleans now. The one known as the Master."
"The Master?" He even knew her enemy's name. "The Master," she repeated, then could have slapped herself. She was starting to sound like a parrot. She was unnerved, and she needed to keep it together. Repeating his words would get her nowhere.
And of course the Master was in New Orleans. Had Romania been a tease? Had he known that she would be there? She had felt the evil before she had gone, no matter how hard she had tried to deny it. She knew it now. Knew it every waking moment. Knew it from the color of the sky.
There had been times when it had almost been possible to believe it was over, that the Master had been killed, that the darkness might never come again. But he had always been out there. And that was why she had to hunt.
But there was no way to explain any of that, especially to a man who needed to be explained himself.
"You were going to stake Mary!" she said.
"You bet. She's a creature of the Master's now. There's no choice."
She stared at him. "I believe, then, that we're on the same side."
"Are we?" he asked. "I don't really know you."
"And I don't know you."
"Those kids trusted you," he said quietly. "And look what happened to them."
Dear God, that hurt. But it was true.
"I knew nothing about that party until I received Jeremy's note," she said, and that, too, was true. "What were you doing in the area-without lifting a finger to help?"
He didn't reply but let out a soft groan of exasperation. "What matters now is this-you should stay out of it," he told her.
"What?" she demanded.
"I don't know whatyou know about the Master, but trust me, you're up against something you haven't encountered before."
"Oh?"
"There have been times through the years when vampire hunters, warriors, even kings, tried to kill him. They all failed. He has learned skills throughout the centuries that allow him to evade those who would stop him, and he's constantly on the move." He stood suddenly, pacing, and she was stunned by the ardor in his voice. "I have dedicated my life to finding this creature, to stopping him. There is no greater evil that walks the earth." He turned to her. "You need to take a step back. Youand your friends. Whatever strength you think you have, whatever you think you know, you are facing a danger with a greater strength than you can begin to imagine."
She frowned, taken aback by his fury.
She answered slowly. "Trust me, it's not like I want to make contact," she said softly. "But I don't really have any choice. Because of what happened in Transylvania, I'm involved whether I want to be or not."
"You need to step back. I can't watch your back and defeat this creature."
"I can watch my own back," she snapped in return. "And who do you think you are, anyway? Some kind of great vampire slayer?"
"No, but as I told you, the Master has been my quest for some time now."
"But you'd kill all vampires if you could?"
"Of course."
"But..."
He laughed bitterly. "Are you going to suggest that some of them are actually good? If so, you're in greater danger than I had begun to imagine. Trust me, there is no such thing as a good vampire."
She looked down quickly. "I beg to differ. I've heard of some."
He hesitated, taking a long, deep breath. Then, rather than argue with her again, he startled her by walking to her side. "There's just something about you...you remind me so much of someone I knew once."
The tone of his voice seemed to stir an old emotion, deep in her heart. "Maybe," she murmured huskily, "we've crossed paths before."
He shook his head. "No," he said, the pad of his thumb caressing her cheek. "She was...evil. And she is dead. Dead and gone. And if she were not...then I would have to kill her myself. As far as the Master goes, I have been close, so close that I could smell the fetid stench of his breath. I will see this through, and I will prevail. But to do so, I have to know you'll be stay out of it, stay safe."
Her heart seemed to take a little leap. How could this be?
How could she feel such a shattering depth of passion for a man who had just walked into her life? How could she feel-as insane as it sounded-that she had known him before?
The great love of her life was so long gone.
"You underestimate me," she told him.
He sat beside her. "Trust me," he said.
"If you'll believe in me," she told him. "So what do you know about the Master?"
"I can't tell you how long I've been tracking him. Long enough to know his strength. I know the dominatrix who works with him is rumored to be the newest incarnation of his creature Katherine, a British countess believed destroyed in the reign of Louis XIV. She didn't begin her existence in that guise, of course. She was an evil created long before. It was easy then for such creatures to disappear from one place and reappear elsewhere. Some say she moved on to China, to Cairo...to countries in turmoil, where murder is not so easily noticed. And if so, then she, too, must die before this can be over. You simply don't know what you're up against with the two of them. I beg you, listen to me on this."
Jessica turned away from him, shaking her head. "Maybe we're both asking the impossible."
"What is it about you?" he asked very softly. "I just can't walk away."
She turned her head lowered, then slowly raised her eyes to his. "So what do we do?" she asked.
"You could listen to me. You see, I...failed once. I let someone down. I lost her. That same steel and resolve, courage, confidence, are part of you, too. And the way that I felt then..." He took a deep breath. "I touch you, and I'm paralyzed with the fear of losing you as I did her.
"Don't be afraid for me. Please."
She spoke in a whisper. He was so close, and suddenly a yearning filled her that was stronger than any fear for what the future might bring. Once upon a time, so long ago, there had been hope, no matter how bitter the reality of life. And then...
But now, when he touched her, hope and belief stirred in her heart again, along with a yearning, poignant, sad and agonizing, yet beautiful, as well. Turmoil raged around and within her, but it didn't matter, not at this moment.
Perhaps similar thoughts rode through his mind, because he didn't speak again. He simply kissed her. And this time there was no almost-maddened desperation as there had been before. This time his lips spoke of whatever was real and fine within the soul and the very heart. She kissed him in return, seeking the answers neither spoke, an end to the war of need raging within her, expressing her own yearning to touch something long gone, to experience the spiral of erotic fantasy and raw rapture he could create.
In seconds, questions were forgotten, answers were no longer needed.
Her fingers found wanton pleasure in moving delicately over his face, his body, finding the obstruction of clothing, slipping beneath it. His flesh heated beneath her touch as her hands softly moved down the line of his back, curved over the tautness of his muscled form. She reveled in the pressure of his body against her own as her lips traced seductive patterns down the length of his throat; she stroked and teased with her tongue, with the sinuous movement of her own body against his.
She cherished the madness, the oblivion, she found in his arms. Desire rose higher, and she lost all thought, all fear, all sense of the future. There was only the here and now, nothing more, the thunder of her pulse against the clamor of his, lips, tongues, fingertips. His lips against her breasts. The liquid tender touch of his tongue, urgently insane. Her fingers, stroking against the aroused length of him. The two of them twisting and rolling, finding new positions in which to touch each other. His caress against her inner thighs, the flicker of her tongue upon the hardness of him, his arms wrapped around her, drawing her against him again, mouths meshing again. And then, at last, the streak of molten steel inside her. Pleasure burst through her in a shower of relief, and she felt his fierce tremor and release at the same time. She lay there, dazed, the room becoming real again, savoring the feel of slick flesh against slick flesh and the feeling of succoring arms, something she had never thought to feel again. She felt a sense of amazement and security, and yet she found herself fighting against the desire to lose herself so completely.
Sex was one thing, truth was another. And now, more than ever, she needed distance.
"Jessica?"
The sound of his voice, rich, husky and deep, seemed to stroke her soul.
"I'm so tired," she whispered, and that was the truth.
With a sigh, he held her. She feigned sleep, and in a few minutes, it became real.
Nightmares again.
She was alone, a different person, in a different place, a different time.
Born to war, born in sin, a bastard, she learned to wield a sword, learned to fight.
Learned to kill.
Learned the hardest lesson of all. Courage.
Remnants of memory, faded and torn, remained of a time when her fight had been just, when lives had been at stake, an entire nation at risk.
And then...
Death but no peace. Waking in an agony far beyond that of death and with a hunger that seemed to rake inside her like a thousand daggers. Awaking to the maddened laughter of a hated enemy, who commanded her to serve, mocked her, swore that all she had loved were dead and he had won, so she was now a prize of war.
To the victor went the spoils.
The Master-for that was what he called himself-was the power, but from the beginning she defied him. She endured the pain of unnatural hunger, determined that though her soul might be damned, she would not allow her will to be twisted. The focus of her existence became to fight his power. And she escaped. For years, she managed a strange kind of life beyond death....
She escaped him at last, dined upon the rightfully condemned, found it a blessed bounty to be able to release the innocent, but despite her efforts, she became known as a creature of evil.
Then the Master found her again.
But years had passed; she had gained strength. They met upon a tor in the Highlands. He thought to take her with his will and his bare hands. He was not expecting her to be prepared with sharp wooden stakes.
But he wasn't killed, only injured, and he retreated.
They met next in the dark fog of the Carpathian Mountains, where ancient legend and fear ran deep, where the horrors of life were sometimes far greater than the horrors of death.
It was there that she slew the thirteen guardsmen stationed outside his castle to destroy her before she could reach him. Could she have bested him if she had not caught him unaware? She didn't know. He had been at his great table, eagerly reading an ancient text. She entered like a soft silver mist, seducing first, and then when he was unaware, staking him....
But the stake was not enough, and so the battle was begun. He taunted her, reminding her that he had destroyed Ioin, the mighty knight who had been her love.
Perhaps he hadn't realized how much power she could access from her pain, because he underestimated her strength. She fought with renewed vigor. His head was attached by little more than bone and a few shreds of cartilage, his limbs and torso gashed. She chased him through deep underground crypts, and there she lost him. Exhausted, still she forced herself to turn the crypt into a prison that would hold forever-silver crossbars everywhere, holy relics-knowing he was there, hidden, unseen. As she finished, she knew her nightmare was not over, for she heard his whispered vow. He would survive. He would find her.
She awoke in a cold sweat. Damn Bryan MacAllistair. Being with him was a sweet ecstasy she had never dared dream of knowing yet being near him also evoked nightmares of the past.
She was cold, she realized. Horribly cold. Of course. He was gone; she was alone.
Glancing outside, she saw that the day was waning.
She bolted out of bed and sped back into the shower, then dressed with an ever-growing sense of urgency. Running downstairs, she nearly ran over Stacey.
"Jess-"
"Where's our lodger?"
"Bryan?"
"He's the only one we've got," she said curtly. "Where is he?"
"He's gone. And he told me not to let you leave."
"What?"
"He said I needed to keep you here. That it was crucial you stay home tonight."
"My God! He knows something. Something is happening tonight."
"Jessica, honest to God, he scared me. I think you really should stay home tonight."
"I can't. You know that."
"Yes, you can. You can let someone else-"
"Stacey, he could get himself killed. I've got to go. You stay here. You know the drill. Call Jeremy, make sure he and Nancy either come here-which might be the best idea-or go to my office. Before dark. No, don't call him, find them both-even if you and Gareth have to comb the streets-and bring them back here. I've got to go."
"Jessica, wait. At least-"
"I have to go."
She ran out of the house and was in the driver's seat of her car before Stacey even made it out the door. A growing sense of urgency filled her, and though Stacey's intentions were good, talking to her was costing too much time, and none of her words could change anything. Jessica waved, taking advantage of an immediate chance to slide out of the driveway.
At Maggie's house, she banged on the door impatiently. Maggie let her in, finger to her lips. "Kids napping," she whispered.
Jessica nodded, taking a deep gulp of air. "I think I'm in severe trouble."
"That poor girl...dead. And the corpse disappearing. The mayor's office is screaming, and Sean is...in a vise," Maggie responded.
"Maggie, he's after the vampire."
"Of course he is. It's his job," Maggie said, frowning.
"Not Sean. Bryan MacAllistair. I can't figure it out. Who the hell is he? What is he? How does he know...what he knows?"
"Let's go in the kitchen," Maggie suggested. "I don't want to wake the children."
Jessica followed her to the other room, where Maggie, ever practical, poured coffee for them.
Maggie sat down at the breakfast table. The daily paper was open on the table, as if she'd been reading it when Jessica arrived.
Jessica paced in agitation. "Maggie, he was there, in the morgue, ready to stake Mary. Except she came back so fast, it was amazing. She should have needed hours of darkness."
"It was still light?" Maggie asked.
"Barely dusk."
Maggie drummed her fingers on the table. "It has to be the Master at work. We should have known it. You never should have gone to Transylvania."
"Oh, come on, Maggie. I can't spend my life hiding."
"We should have known," Maggie repeated softly. "I haven't seen anything like this sky in years. I think you were being conned, lured."
"To Transylvania?"
"Yes."
"How could the Master have been luring me? He doesn't-didn't-even know I'm here, living in New Orleans."
"Maybe he did know."
Jessica shook her head. "No, to him, I'm dead."
"Think about it. I could be right. I wish the others were here. You should have waited. We should have had help. There's no way you should have gone alone. I think you walked into a trap."
"We're getting off track. Bryan MacAllistair...I can't figure him out."
"He's definitely not a vampire?" Maggie asked, then answered her own question. "No, I would have known."
"But what is he, then? He knows there are vampires out there. I'm sure he's killed them before. But he's obsessed with the Master."
"Well, if heis a vampire hunter, that's not a surprise, considering the Master is pretty much evil incarnate," Maggie said.
"He scares me," Jessica murmured.
"Bryan MacAllistair?" Maggie arched a brow, delicately sipping her coffee. "I thought he affected you in quite a different way."
Jessica flushed. "That too," she whispered. "And that's what's wrong! I haven't felt like this...haven't wanted..."
"Haven't given in?" Maggie suggested.
Jessica shook her head. "It's as if I've known him forever. As if we somehow belong together."
"But?"
"Maggie, what if he were to discover just who I am? No, that's impossible," she said, trying to assure herself as much as her friend.
She waited for a reply, but Maggie was silent for a long time. Finally she said, "I think it would be a good idea to find out as much as we can about him." She tapped the paper meaningfully.
"What is it?"
"His lecture series is listed here. The next one is on villains in history and legend."
"And?"
"He'll be speaking about Katherine, Countess Valor."
"Katherine Valor..." Jessica shook her head. "She died. Thousands of witnesses said so. It's in all the history books."
"Maybe your vampire hunter doesn't think so," Maggie offered.
Jessica shook her head again, as if dismissing the possibility. Then she whispered, "How can he be so familiar to me?"
"Maybe youdid know him before," Maggie suggested.
"Impossible. He reminds me...but I saw him die, Maggie.I saw him die ."
"Forget that for now. You have to get out there and find Mary. That's a priority. Sean has a really good man watching over the morgue attendant who was bitten. So you shouldn't bother with the hospital at all. Focus on the big stuff. The Master will know you, now he's here. And Mary's friends will be vulnerable. You need to protect them. As to the professor, we can do some research," Maggie said. "In fact, I can start on that right now."
"Maggie, you can't go running around out there. You have a family to take care of."
"I'm not running around anywhere," Maggie told her. "I'm heading straight to the Internet."
Bryan hadn't slept. He hadn't dared let himself relax.
Lying beside Jessica, he'd felt a rush of emotion that had been all but paralyzing.
The need to fight, to protect this woman.
And sheer dread. A pounding in his mind, as if something dark, heavy and oppressive had settled over him. A feeling like the one he had experienced in Transylvania.
There had been long moments when he had stayed at her side and held her, savoring the sensation of warmth in his soul, of completeness. He couldn't remember ever feeling such a sense of being where he should be as he'd felt then, his arms around her, her body so intimate and trusting against his own.
He yearned to remain.
And because of that, he was at last spurred to action.
He left the house after delivering something that was both a plea and a threat, hoping Stacey would have some influence with Jessica. But whether she did or did not, he knew he had to move.
When he arrived at Jessica's office, receiving no answer to his persistent knocking, he simply picked the lock. No sign of Jeremy and Nancy.
He had to admit, the place was impressively protected. Still, it wasn't Mary's ability to get in that worried him-it was the fact that Jeremy might be all too willing and eager to welcome her.
As he stood there, there was a tentative knock at the door.
He opened it.
An attractive but worn-looking woman in her thirties was standing there, along with a sullen boy of perhaps seventeen. The kid was all in black. Bryan was certain he had been dragged here.
"Hello. Can I help you?" he asked.
"We were looking for Miss Fraser," the woman said.
"I'm afraid she's not in today."
"Oh." The woman looked distressed.
"Is there anything that I can do?" he asked.
To his surprise, the sullen teenager suddenly spoke up. "Hey, you're him!"
Bryan arched a brow.
"You're that professor." He turned to his mother, a look of enthusiasm on his face. "He was in the newspaper. He talks about vampires."
The mother appeared to be horrified, ready to back away and run.
"I really am a professor," Bryan explained. Assessing the situation, he added quickly, "I warn people about cults, along with talking about legends and beliefs."
For a moment she just stared at him. Then she flushed. "Maybe you can convince my son to stay out of the cemetery."
Bryan looked politely at the boy, hiding the fact that he had felt his pulse quicken. "Oh?"
The kid shrugged, looking unhappy. "Hey, it's New Orleans, you know?"
"As if we haven't been through enough," his mother muttered.
"Do you meet friends in the cemetery?" Bryan asked. "The thing is, dark, isolated places create an atmosphere where criminals...evil...are present."
The woman stretched out her hand, looking as if she'd crossed an inner Rubicon. "Myra Peterson. My son, Jacob."
"Perhaps I could speak with Jacob alone for a minute," Bryan said.
Myra Peterson looked uncertain for a minute. "I...well, I..."
"I think I might be able to help," he said.
She nodded. "You're a friend of Jessica's? Have you worked with her? But you're a teacher, not a psychologist."
He stared at her. "I can help," he repeated.
"I...." she murmured, staring back at him. "Yes, of course. Thank you."
He nodded, a grim smile on his face. "Jacob?"
The boy looked a little surprised, a little intrigued-and suddenly frightened, but he walked ahead of Bryan into the inner office, looking over his shoulder.
Bryan shut the door behind him.
"What the hell were you doing in the cemetery, Jacob?" he asked.
"What?" Startled by the tone of Bryan's voice, the boy spun and looked at him.
"You heard me. What the fuck were you doing in the cemetery?"
The kid's jaw dropped. "You can't talk to me like that. I'll tell my mom."
"Go right ahead. But first, you'll tell me what you were doing in the cemetery."
"Some people I know, they're talking about something cool coming here, to New Orleans. A leader, like a master vampire or something. And we'll find everything our hearts desire."
"So a vampire is going to be hanging out in a cemetery?"
Jacob reddened and flushed. "Yeah. I guess skeletons don't offer much blood, but the thing was...there were other people there."
"People who think they're vampires?"
Jacob stared back at him, then nodded.
"You're being taken, kid," Bryan said flatly.
"Hey, I just-"
"You want a place where you can belong? Fine. Everyone wants that. But this ain't it, believe me. Think about it. What would a real vampire want? Blood-and slaves. You need to stay the hell away from these people."
The kid's eyes flickered away from his. "But...what if...I mean...it sounds cool to be a vampire."
"Kid, vampires just want to suck you dry. Yeah, you may come back. In agony. Then you go after every-one you love. Then a bigger, stronger, tougher, older vampire uses you, letting someone catch you instead of him, and you're toast."
Jacob was staring at him eyes wide and full of fear.
"What?" Bryan said harshly. "Did you think some vicious creature out there wanted a few more pals?"
"You...you're acting as if...as if they're real."
Bryan shrugged. "One way or the other, getting involved with anything to do with vampires can only lead to disaster. So what did you find out in the cemetery?"
"Nothing."
"You're a shitty liar, kid."
Jacob moistened his lips, unable to meet Bryan's eyes.
"Where were you told to go?" Bryan persisted.
The kid kept silent, shuffling uneasily.
Bryan strode to him, taking him by the shoulders, grabbing his chin and forcing him to look up. "The girl in the hospital is dead, Jacob. Dead. Was she killed by a vampire? You'll never see that written in the papers. Will she come back as a bloodsucker? Hey, who knows? If so, will she have her heart staked and her throat slashed? You bet. Don't go to any party, kid. Save yourself. Where the hell is it going to be?"
"I don't know. Honest! There were whispers about going to the graveyard. Not the St. Louie. The nice one."
"Lambs to the slaughter," Bryan murmured.