Читать книгу Urban Sensation - Debra Webb - Страница 8

Vibrations shattered through his brain. Pain followed in their path, exploding in the very cells of gray matter, inhibiting his ability to concentrate on anything but the horrendous agony.

Evan Hunter felt his way through the darkness until he reached the door. The misery writhed inside him…building with each step he took. He prayed for death, even when he knew it would not come. Too easy, he’d decided long ago.

Whatever his sins, God had apparently concluded that he deserved this ceaseless torture.

Not even sleep provided relief anymore.

Only silence…only distance. And the mind-numbing drugs his doctor had prescribed, which he now refused to take.

Nausea roiled, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth as a second onslaught of tremors in the air set off its usual chain reaction of physical suffering. His entire body seized, shuddered with the intensity before he wrested back some semblance of control.

He jerked open the door and blinked against the invading glare of the night. He grunted at the burn searing his retinas before he squeezed his eyes shut. Where were his shades? He’d forgotten about the full moon. Forgotten about the clear night sky and all its punishingly bright stars.

“Mr. Hunter?” a voice whispered.

Evan resisted the instinctive urge to open his eyes again—couldn’t handle any more exposure just now. No need to look. He would have recognized the voice and the scent of his visitor even if he hadn’t gotten that fleeting glimpse of his silhouette in the moonlight before closing his eyes.

“I…I have your supplies, sir,” the man croaked.

Evan didn’t speak, just stepped back for Marty Kenzie to scurry inside far enough to leave the two bags of supplies on a table a mere four steps from the door.

“Payment is there,” Evan told him, his voice low, guttural from the pain, as he groped in his pocket for his protective eyewear. The sound of skin rasping along cotton fabric echoed harshly against his eardrums. His fingers curled around the shades, dragged them from his pocket and slid them onto his face. With that barrier in place, he risked opening his eyes once more.

His hand shaking with trepidation, young Marty Kenzie picked up the envelope containing the money for the food, as well as payment for services rendered. That same uneasiness incited his heart to pound so hard in his thin chest that Evan worried for the boy’s well-being. When he had shoved the envelope into his pocket, Marty worked up the courage to turn around, to allow his anxious gaze to settle on his employer.

“Thank you, sir,” he murmured.

Evan said nothing to that.

Marty crossed the four steps back to the door as swiftly as he dared, careful to keep his gaze on that single, narrow route of escape. He was afraid of Evan…of who and what he was. But he kept coming back because Evan paid him more than anyone else had or would.

“Marty.”

The young man stalled in the doorway. His posture screamed of just how badly he wanted to keep going…to flee for his life. The terror that had been mounting since he’d stepped up onto the rustic porch made his limbs tremble.

“Yes, sir?” Marty offered quietly without turning around.

“Next time, only knock once.”

Marty nodded, then rushed away, careful not to step too heavily…cautiously avoiding the boards he knew from experience squeaked beneath his underweight frame. He flung himself into the old car he hoped to be able to replace once he finished his masters and started his career in architecture. He remembered in the nick of time not to slam the car door. Sweat had by now risen on his skin, forming a film that heightened the anxiety already radiating through him.

Evan closed and bolted the door, blocking out the world, before his courier could start the engine of his vehicle or turn on the headlights.

Impatient to satisfy the questions haunting his every thought, conscious as well as unconscious, he moved to the side table and fished through the bags, his hands rustling loudly against brown paper until he found what he wanted.

Evan took the Boston Reporter Marty Kenzie had found at one of the large chain bookstores in Richmond and relocated to the chair where he spent most of his unstructured time. Magazines and newspapers lay in organized stacks around his reading area. All delivered by Marty or his predecessor. Here, this deep in the mountains, there was no home delivery of newspapers or even any mail. No telephone. Wouldn’t have been any electricity had Evan not invested a small fortune in the local utilities company for installation of the service. The cost was of no consequence. He had little use for his money now.

He sat down and clicked on the reading lamp occupying a prominent position on the table near his chair. The lamp was adjustable and equipped with a special nonglare, low-wattage bulb. Its twin resided on a similar table next to his bed. There were no other lights in the house.

He unfolded the paper, anticipation making his hands tremble the way Marty’s had moments ago, as he read the headlines his dreams had already forecast.

Vampires In Boston. Third Victim Discovered. Police Baffled.

Evan read on, his jaw set against the anger brewing deep in his gut. When his eyes found her name in bold black print, fury roared through him, tripping that internal alarm that warned of the misery that would follow. But he didn’t care. She was in danger. He had sensed as much for weeks, had dreamed of her fate more than once.

Now he had proof that his concerns were not just nightmares brought on by dwelling in the past. The danger was real. It was happening now.

There was only one way to alter her fate.

Risk his own.