Читать книгу Beautiful Danger - Michele Hauf - Страница 11

Lark picked through the remnants of her life in the living room. The smell of rank wolf seemed to linger on everything. Actually, it wasn’t so much a smell as a feeling. They’d touched her things, violated her sanctity. In the bedroom, she fit the back door into the frame as best she could. Under her bed, she located the violin she’d owned since she was thirteen, still in its case, safe.

The plan was to take away only what was important and leave as quickly as possible. She couldn’t trust the wolves wouldn’t return. And this place was no longer livable. It needed to be physically cleaned and warded.

Gathering her valuables was easy. She pulled a manila envelope from the safe at the bottom of the linen closet. Inside were bank numbers and some credit cards and stock certificates. She should have put them in a security box at the bank, but she didn’t trust banks.

The violin was too large to carry around with any stealth, so she had to trust leaving it behind and, again, tucked it under the bed. Everything else was expendable. Save the picture in her bureau drawer. She retrieved the folded photograph and tucked it in the envelope without looking at it. She remembered his face. But the face she remembered was much different from that on the glossy photo paper. The image in her memory had hardened and grown thinner, desperate.

“Stolen,” she whispered as she tucked the envelope into a backpack. A soul stolen in a slow and methodical way that tortured her to consider what he must have endured.

The vampire LaRoque was living, breathing evidence of such torture. She hated looking at him. And at the same time she couldn’t turn away from Domingos’s crazy gyrations and manic actions. That bedraggled soul needed some tender attention.

In a way, coming en garde with the vampire might prove her penance. She deserved to pay for the suffering she had not been able to stop. And what better way than to stand up to it and face it in all its horrid and terrifying glory?

Changing into a pair of leather pants, gray T-shirt, the Kevlar vest and her cleric’s coat, she then gathered her weapons. Half a dozen stakes, some blades, brass knuckles and a retractable garrote that hooked at her belt. A vial of holy water also fit in a loop on her belt.

Pausing in the kitchen, she picked up the black shirt Domingos had given her and, without thinking, pressed it to her nose. Smoke was the only scent she could get off it, and yet the soft fabric tempted her to hold it pressed against her cheek longer than any sane woman should.

How many times had she done the same with one of Todd’s shirts after he’d been away a few nights on a job? Her husband’s leather-and-pepper scent had always made her smile.

The vampire didn’t have a scent, beyond smoke, and that disturbed her only because she wanted him to have a telltale odor. Something to remind her…

Lark shoved the shirt away from her face and dropped it as if it were suddenly on fire.

“Don’t think like that. You are not attracted to a vampire.”

Even one who would offer the shirt off his back with the sun glinting on the horizon?

“Even so,” she chided her thoughts.

Grabbing the gear she’d stuffed into a black nylon backpack, she locked her front door because it felt right—even though the back door was off its hinges—and shuffled down to street level. She dialed Rook as she hailed a cab and slid into the backseat, telling the driver to “Drive until I know where I’m going.”

The phone clicked and a gruff French voice answered. The second-in-command to the Order’s leader went only by the single moniker, which Lark suspected was a code name and not his real one.

“Rook, I need a safe house for a few days.”

“You are having trouble with the assignment?” he asked in thick French. He never used English, though she knew he spoke it. He looked down on Americans, of which, she was an expatriate.

“No, I stumbled onto some werewolves last night. Pissed them off. To thank me, they trashed my place.”

“I’ll send a cleaning crew and ward master immediately.”

“Thanks.” The ward master would provide the plastic seal, so to speak, over her newly cleaned apartment. Should make it safe to return without fear of intruders.

“Were they Levallois?”

“I don’t think so.” She hadn’t a physical ID on the entire pack, but noted that Domingos had not killed any of them, which led her to believe they had not been his target wolves. “So the safe house?”

“I can manage one for a couple days, which is all you’ll need. It’s located in the fifth arrondissement, tucked along the Jardin des Plantes. But tell me your progress with Domingos LaRoque. He has been eliminated? You haven’t reported in, which is very unlike you. Are you sure you’re not having trouble with this one?”

Lark sighed and tapped her fingers upon her knee. It had begun to rain, darkening the morning sky through the water-streaked cab windows. Somewhere out there a vampire who needed to wear goggles to protect his eyes against the UV rays must be rejoicing over this weather.

“I ran across him, but the situation with the wolves aggravated it, and I wasn’t able to make the kill.”

She heard Rook’s soft yet admonishing tut on the other end.

Always an astute student, no matter what the study, Lark had taken to the Order’s training program with zeal and a determination that had surprised even herself. She’d always been a girly girl who liked fashion and partying, and, well, the idea of exercise and martial arts, and honing her muscles and fighting skills had never been on her radar. But tragedy had altered that girl, changed her into something adamant. Something Lark still didn’t recognize in the mirror.

After being knighted into the Order of the Stake, she’d proven herself a ruthless hunter. When she went after a vamp, it was dead less than twenty-four hours later. Nothing could dissuade her from her quest.

“I’ve got the situation under control,” she said.

Oh yeah? What was that stupid “one day to live” deal you made with LaRoque? A vampire! You don’t deal with them. You slay them.

Every hour she allowed the vampire to breathe, she let Todd down a little more.

“Expect to hear from me tonight,” she said. “What’s the address?”

Rook gave her the address to a safe house, along with a digital entry code, and after hanging up, she gave the cabdriver directions.

The safe house was clean, the walls bare of decoration, and the modern furniture a plain beige leather accented with uninspired black pillows. Lark didn’t like it. She needed personal things around her to make her feel…

Admit it, Lark. You don’t feel safe here.

It was called a freakin’ safe house for a reason. But nothing she looked at reminded her of home. Of him. Yet would anything ever bring back that feeling of safety, of feeling loved and cherished?

Had it ever been love? Or simply her clinging to the idea of love, marriage and happily ever after?

Shoving away doubt, she sighed. She wouldn’t be doing this if it hadn’t been love.

“Only a few days,” she said, and dropped her backpack on the floor by the beige sofa.

Even the rug was uninspired, no texture or color. At home she’d liked to dig her bare toes into the thick, soft pile of the sapphire rug before the gray leather sofa. More than a few times she and Todd had made love on that rug.

Shaking her head rattled at the intrusive memories. Looking over the rug, she decided flat and no color was best for her now.

At that moment a knock on the door startled her hand to her hip, fingers glancing over the stake. Perhaps it was Rook come to check on her? Made little sense. The man oversaw the Order from his office and the training facility; he didn’t often go out in the field. If contact was required with a knight, the knight went to Rook. And forget ever casually running across King, the leader of the Order. It never happened.

“Lark,” called from the other side.

The skin at the nape of her neck tightened. How had he found her here?

She strode to the door and jerked it open, not fearing that he would rush inside to attack her. They’d made a deal. And besides, he needed an invite.

The scruffy vampire leaned against the door frame, goggles pushed onto his forehead and head bowed. He wore a turtleneck beneath a hooded jacket, and leather gloves. The only skin visible was on his face, and the scarf hanging about his neck clued her in that he used that as a mask.

“Did you track me?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Why? What’s wrong with you? Most people would put distance between them and the one person who had explicitly stated she’s of a mind to kill you.”

“It’s afternoon,” he said. “I’ve still got a good eight hours before our deal expires. May I come in? It’s raining out.”

“The rain won’t make you sizzle.”

“Actually, it feels great on my skin.” He tilted up his head to show the side of his jaw where the scruffy beard revealed red skin, as if plunged into hot water, yet not beset with a boil. “It was sunny when I set out after you.”

“Is that why you keep a beard? To protect as much of your face as you can?”

“No. I hate this stuff.” He stroked the thick black facial hair. “I just haven’t gotten to a barbershop lately. They don’t keep the same hours as I do.” He rapped the air in the exact position of the threshold, and his hand did not penetrate the invisible barrier to Lark’s side. “Pretty please? I promise I won’t bite. And I’m getting soggy.”

“I thought we had a truce? Me not stabbing you. You not biting me.”

“It makes me feel special to know you intend to hold good on that.” All kinds of snark in that statement.

The vampire winced as heavy raindrops spattered his face.

Lark sighed and stepped back. She would not invite him in. That was insanity. Yet he looked so pitiful. Like a wet kitten scamming for a pat on the head. If she even began to relate him to the homeless menagerie she’d helped in the past…

“You’re not hearing tunes right now?” she wondered.

“I’d hardly call them tunes. But no, no cats screeching in my brain. The whispers are there. Always prodding me. You going to invite me in?”

“I have no reason to.”

“Can’t we be civil to each other during the truce? I want to get to know you, Lark.”

“I don’t understand why.”

“Because you’re pretty, and feisty. And maybe I came so I can get my shirt back from you.”

“It’s not here. It was torn and—” had no scent beyond the smoke, which had frustrated her “—not wearable.”

“It’s one of few I own.”

Struck by that confession, Lark swallowed back surprising guilt. Maybe the guy was homeless? And she’d taken his best shirt? Because what he was wearing now didn’t look much better. The linen scarf and turtleneck looked thin. Though there were no holes in the jacket and he didn’t smell like smoke now.

“Please,” he said. He shook his head like a dog against the wet, yet it was that erratic shake that clued Lark he battled inner demons. “She’s dangerous!” The vampire chuckled lowly, and slapped his arms across his chest as if to stave off the insane mirth.

“I am dangerous. And you…” she started.

Baffled her. Yet at the same time, the man’s presence tugged at some inner threads that coiled about her heart, threads she’d thought severed and the ends singed.

Before her better judgment could strangle her conscience, Lark invited the vampire inside. Because he looked pathetic standing there with his goggles and burned skin and dripping hair. Damn her, but she’d never been able to walk past a stray kitten, either.

Rook would have harsh words for her if he discovered she’d invited a vampire into one of the Order’s safe houses. Hell, the man would speak with his fist. He had never been averse to punching her while training.

Lark closed the door but clenched the doorknob, clenching her jaw as tightly as her fist. What was she doing? Had such merciless training taught her nothing? Getting friendly with a vampire—not even with the excuse to cozy up to the subject—was strictly forbidden. Vamps were known to charm and manipulate, yet beneath the sometimes sexy—or crazy—exterior, they were nothing but deadly predators.

Domingos wandered to the couch, but before he could sit she asked him not to. He flicked her a wondering look over his shoulder.

“You’re filthy,” she stated. “Your clothes look like something you dragged out of a Dumpster, and your hair…Hell. Why don’t you clean yourself up?”

He shoved his hands into his pockets and, head down, simply stood there.

And Lark’s shoulders wilted. Why must she be so cruel? The alley cat only wanted to be picked up and stroked, not scolded for his appearance. The man wasn’t all there in the head. He probably didn’t even comprehend his tattered attire. Fashion couldn’t be a concern if he had in mind only to slay werewolves and, hell—to survive.

Lark straightened. This knight wasn’t going to abandon her hard-earned training at the first pitiful meow from a stray. “Don’t you have wolves to slay?”

“Thought I’d enjoy my free day,” he muttered, looking longingly at the couch. “I’d clean up if you wanted me to.”

Lark crossed her arms. “Is that so? You going sweet on a hunter, vampire?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know the meaning of that word. Sweet. Heh. Only dark and heinous in my world lately. I am getting a bit scruffy. Call it camouflage. Helps me blend when I’m stalking wolves.”

His chuckle was maniacal, and it set the hairs upright on Lark’s arms. He jerked, as if with Tourette’s, trying to shrug off the strange outburst.

Once, Todd had brought home a stranger who, due to his tics and constant shouts of nonsense words, she suspected had that very disease.

Oh, Lark, what would a little water and soap hurt?

It was apparent he was here for a visit, and she couldn’t shove him right back out into the rain. And conversation was not tops on her list, especially not with the enemy. Best to put him to work.

She marched into the bathroom, grabbed a razor and strolled back out to hand it to him.

Why did she care?

She didn’t. But this offer felt…familiar. As if she was doing something that she was supposed to do—something she’d once done willingly with her husband at her side.

“I get it,” Domingos said. “You need to clean me up before you stake me. For reasons beyond my ken.”

“I’m just offering a kindness, vampire. Take it or leave it.”

He snatched the razor and pointed to the bathroom.

“There’s shaving cream in there and you can use the towels. This place is stocked for men, so you’ll find everything you need.”

“An Order safe house?” he wondered as he strode into the bathroom.

“I’ll never tell. But you were never here. You know nothing about this place. We didn’t even talk. We’ve never had a conversation. Got that?”

Silence.

Lark waited, listening for the water to run, or for some sound that he was shaving. She slapped her arms over her chest, and now her conscience jumped up from the bleachers in revolt.

What are you doing? Rook will banish you from the Order. Todd would hate you for this. And you! Don’t you care about yourself? Because every moment you allow him to intrude on your life he pulls the emotional threads tighter and makes you…

Feel.

Sighing, Lark remembered the stray kitten she’d nursed for a few months when she was a teenager, only to have it die from feline leukemia on her lap one rainy fall evening. At least it had died safe and cared for.

And really? Todd wouldn’t have hated her for this act of kindness (though he would have raged to know the benefactor of her kindness was a vampire). If Lark had been the kitten magnet, it was Todd who had attracted the homeless. He had often taken in strangers. He’d bring them home, offer them a shave and a hot meal and then he’d send them off with a few crisp ten-euro notes in their pocket. Lark had always protested. They left a ring in the bathroom sink. They could be scoping the place out to later return and rob them. Todd would always dismiss her complaints, and later kiss away her protests and coax her into bed.

So here she stood. Razor secured in the homeless man’s hand. Assuming her husband’s role.

Dead husband. He’s not really your husband anymore, because he can’t be if he no longer exists on this mortal plane. Right?

Why did she cling to that label? Husband. It gave her no comfort to remember his last breaths. Nor did questioning whether or not she had truly loved him appease her aching heart.

She glanced down the hallway. Yesterday she had scuffled with the wily creature now lurking in her bathroom, and had almost taken a stake to the back of her skull. And today she was playing house with him?

Tilting her head back to prevent tears from spilling down her cheeks, Lark noticed Domingos stood in the bathroom doorway holding out the razor. Shaving cream frosted his chin and jaw.

Bother. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t do this myself.”

“Why not?” She walked into the bathroom and found he’d set out the shaving cream can on a towel draped over the sink. He moved in behind her and she looked up in the mirror. And saw nothing. “Oh.”

The Order had taught her about a vampire’s lacking reflection. She’d even used a compact mirror on a few occasions while out in the field to verify her marks before slaying them.

“Will you do it for me?” He offered the straight-edged blade that most barbers would sharpen along a leather strap.

She snatched the razor and looked along the keen edge. Sharper than the blades edging her coat collar. And a fine weapon, that with just a flick of her wrist—

“You would trust me with a blade to your neck?”

“Eight hours,” he countered.

“Closer to seven now.”

He sat on the toilet seat and lifted his chin. “I trust you.”

“Me. A hunter?” She approached, hand to one hip, blade hand held up in challenge. “What if I’m a liar? Best way to lure the enemy to his death is through deception. That’s Order rules 101.”

“You’re not lying to me now. I can feel you are impeccable in your manner and word.” He tilted back his head and waited.

If only she had as much confidence in herself. Yet lies were a bane she despised. She lied rarely, and would never trust a person who she felt could lie to her.

Todd hadn’t lied; she’d just never wanted to believe his truths.

For reasons beyond her grasp, Lark leaned forward and stroked the blade across Domingos’s jaw. The steel glided smoothly over his skin, softened by the spicescented shave cream. Turning to rinse the blade in the sink, she returned for a few more swipes. She was half finished before he spoke again.

“You’ve done this before.”

“My husband used to let me shave him. He said it was a symbol of his trust.”

“Just like I said. I trust you.”

The blade wobbled near his bottom lip, but she avoided nicking him. The vampire grasped her gaze and Lark noticed an oddity. One eye was golden-brown, while the other was completely black.

“What happened to your eye?” she asked.

“I think my pupil got blown out, or something like that. UV light. Fuck, I hate it.”

It must have happened when he’d been in captivity. “Does it hurt? Can you see out of that eye?”

“I can, but it’s the first eye to freak out if I don’t time the sunlight correctly. When the UVs hit my eyes, feels like a hot stiletto getting pushed through the pupils.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. Details. You wanted details.

No, she hadn’t. Maybe? No.

Lark tended the other side of his jaw. He was still and calm; she was surprised at his composure after witnessing his ticlike behavior and his raging at the inner voices.

“You’re not hearing voices now?” she wondered. “You seem pretty calm.”

“Strange, isn’t it? I’m not going to question. Though, as always, the whispers are present.”

“Just don’t start banging your head when I have the blade to your neck. Or do. It’s no biggie to me if your death is accidental.”

“You cutting my throat won’t kill me. You know that, hunter. But maybe you like taking a vampire’s blood, eh? Watching your victims bleed before you end their life?”

“Not at all. My kills are clean and quick. Never bloody, if it can be avoided. A well-placed stake reduces the vampire to ash.”

“I’d expect that from you. Efficient and graceful when granting death.”

She was about to protest that assessment. He didn’t know her. She didn’t grant death; she took out predators using skill and stealth, plain and simple.

What are you doing, Lark? Just get him shaved, stuff the euro bills in his pocket and send him on his way.

The vampire tilted his head to allow her access and closed his eyes, humming a few notes that she recognized as Mozart. Eine Kleine Nachtmusik? Interesting. And did his fingers tap the precise beat on his leg?

“Tell me about your husband. What happened to him?”

Startled by that question, Lark firmly gripped the curved metal handle of the blade before it could slice his skin.

With a deep inhale, she resumed calm. “Why do you assume something happened to him?”

“He’s dead. Otherwise he’d be protecting you right now. That, I know.”

A lucid assumption. This vampire was not crazy. Did he use the madness act to deflect from his true evil? If she had thought to keep her enemy close, he could be utilizing the make them think you’re not all there, and then strike method.

Suddenly Domingos grabbed her wrist and thrust away her blade hand. She struggled, planting her feet and lowering her hips to focus her strength at her core. She’d guessed his plan exactly—but when a ragged moan came from between his gritted jaws and his eyes closed tightly she realized he was having another manic episode. Music in his head? Didn’t sound so terrible if it was Mozart. But he’d said something about constant whispers. That sounded creepy.

“Damn it!” He kicked out a foot and clutched the sink with both hands, struggling against what seemed like his body wanting to rage and flail. “Get out!”

Lark backed toward the door.

“No! Stay! The voices—” He gasped and hung his head, heaving and breathing deeply. And with a chuckle that danced a rigid insanity, he looked up, then straightened, tilting his head up to expose the unshaved side of his neck. “Gone now.”

Closing her eyes and breathing through her nose, Lark vacillated between tossing the blade into the sink and finishing the job. She didn’t need this. Todd wasn’t even alive, so what could he care if she showed kindness to a homeless man on his behalf? The vampire probably wasn’t even homeless. He might own a fine estate and just didn’t buy new clothing or have a care for his appearance.

“Please,” Domingos said, “I’m good now. Finish?”

Heartbeat thundering, Lark exhaled and forced her body to stand upright from the defensive stance. Another inhale and she drew out the breath slowly as Rook had taught her to find her calm.

“You try me, vampire, and I will cut you.”

“Fair enough.” He tilted back his head.

And Lark returned the blade to his neck and slid it through the shaving cream. She wanted to do this more than she knew why the want existed. And the challenge of that ineffable desire kept her from ending this tense tête-à-tête with a rough dismissal.

“Your husband,” he prompted. “You were going to tell me about him.”

No, she was not.

And yet…

“Do you want me to arrange a visit with a psychiatrist? To talk about his death?”

Rook hadn’t waited for her answer before nodding and suggesting the option was always there. The implied message had been that if she’d taken him up on his offer, that would prove her weakness. Women were not meant to be knighted into the Order.

She hadn’t needed talk. Action had always worked best to soothe her aches, both physical and mental. Even after the horrible event early in their marriage—no, that was one thing she would not mentally revisit. She had enough on her plate as it was.

“He used to be in the Order,” she said quickly. And then more words spilled out before her heart could rule against the confession. “Todd Cooper was one of the best hunters the Order had. Until vampires captured him and tortured him for a year and a day.”

“Captivity hurts,” Domingos said, emotionless and still.

“Yeah? So does sitting at the edge of a big bed every morning, looking over at the undisturbed side and wondering if your husband is still alive, or if he’ll ever be set free.”

She drew the blade across the last narrow patch of stubble and then tossed it into the sink with a clatter. “I’m done. Wash up. Take a shower, and toss out your clothes so I can burn them.”

“I’ll have nothing to wear.”

“There’s men’s clothing in the bedroom. Help yourself. But don’t linger in the shower. This is not your wake. I want you to leave as soon as you’re dressed.”