Читать книгу Beautiful Danger - Michele Hauf - Страница 12

The cool shower felt so good, Domingos had lingered, his scarred back facing the shower stream, but not more than twenty minutes, he suspected. On the other hand, who knew? He’d lost the ability to gauge time without a watch since his adventure in the pack complex had damaged his innate sense of place—his very sense of self.

Or maybe it was the phoenix who raced through his blood, urging him toward the crazy train, which required no ticket but guaranteed him a lifetime pass. Just thinking about that other part of him made him chuckle.

Rubbing himself dry with a towel, he wrapped it about his hips, then slipped down the hallway to the bedroom. Rain drooled down the windows behind sheer white curtains. He was disappointed not to find Lark in the quiet, undecorated room.

Wanting to find a woman lying on the bed in wait for you? You really have slipped a cog, LaRoque.

“All my cogs, actually,” he muttered. “Heh.”

He listened and heard her moving about in the living room.

Why was she being so kind to him? He was still amazed she’d invited him in. He could now enter this safe house whenever he wished. It was bizarre that she would offer such compassion when not long from now she’d wield a stake against him. Of course, she had mentioned something about luring the enemy in with kindness.

Didn’t matter. She’d lose. He wouldn’t like killing her in defense. Maybe he wouldn’t have to. Perhaps he could injure her enough to keep her away from him. Because he wasn’t ready to die when their daylong pact ran out at midnight. His death mustn’t come until the rest of pack Levallois had suffered his wrath.

And after that? Come what may.

Wincing, because he hadn’t been concentrating on blotting his back carefully he’d dragged the towel across the tender flesh, Domingos gritted his jaw to prevent crying out.

Shaking his head back and forth, he tried to hold off the screeching that always accompanied his pain, but he wasn’t fast enough. His head filled with the horrid noise. So he shook his head harder, faster, trying to race the madness over the edge.

Slamming a palm to the closet door, he yowled.

Letting loose his voice allayed some of the dizzying noise. He waited, wondering if Lark would check on him after his outburst, but didn’t hear movement.

No one cares about you. Get over it, vampire. Slay the rest of the pack, then disappear. That’s how you have to do it.

Right. But he couldn’t do it naked.

Domingos touched the clothing hanging in the closet. All the items were fashioned in black and dark gray fabrics. Suit coats and slacks. Sweaters and a few crisp, ironed shirts. There had been a time when he’d possessed fine things and had taken care for his appearance. He’d liked deep purples and forest-greens for shirts, colors of royalty and wonder.

Wonder had fled his life.

Even after he’d been transformed to vampire against his will five years ago, he’d continued the personal care regimen and had slowly accepted vampirism, inch by inch, confidently growing into the creature he’d become.

Thanks to Truvin Stone, who had taken him under his wing a month after his attack, he’d learned all he needed to know about vampires. Truvin had hooked him up with tribe Zmaj, and they had taken him in within a few months of his transformation. He’d almost felt a semblance of family and companionship for his fellow tribe mates.

Monsters? No, his kind were simply a breed apart from mortals. He had been this close to grasping pride for his vampiric condition.

Until he’d walked right into a pack of smirking werewolves.

Pressing his face against the fine clothing, Domingos wondered over his thoughts. They were so clear. The mind-creasing whispers had left as if on tiptoes. Rarely did that happen, unless he was focused on tracking a wolf. Focus was the key to touching sanity.

Did Lark’s presence alleviate the cacophony? Did it somehow enter his brain and push out the rubbish and twisted shrapnel?

“Can’t be that easy,” he said, clutching at a shirtsleeve. “Never that easy.”

A black shirt loosened from the hanger, and he decided to go with it. He fumbled with the tiny pearlescent buttons, but managed to get it halfway buttoned from neck to midchest. He searched for a pair of jeans, but the most casual he could find were a pair of black leather pants, which fit him well, though they hung low on his hips. He’d lost weight while in captivity, and didn’t feel quite like the man he’d once been.

Make that vampire.

When tossed in the ring and surrounded by bloodthirsty werewolves, he’d learned to scrap, to fight dirty in order to preserve his life. No man would claim pride for the things he had done to survive. Yet he must own the heinous acts he’d committed. Besides, he’d gained the strength of a phoenix, and so he’d worry about his physical shortcomings some other time.

Back in the bathroom, he claimed his goggles, draping them around his neck, then decided to comb through his hair. It took a while, because even though he’d shampooed, his hair was horribly snarled. Bet he’d scared the shit out of Lark kissing her last night.

No, she’s a hunter. Tough girl like that can take anything.

Even your unwanted kisses.

He wished she hadn’t reacted so offensively to his kiss. But why should he have expected anything even close to acceptance?

“Well, that’s a one hundred percent improvement.” Lark leaned against the bathroom door frame.

He set down the comb and spread out his arms for her to inspect. “I feel like a new bit of tatter.”

“You look great.”

He rubbed his smooth jaw, momentarily forgetting his real life, and taking on the suave he’d once possessed around women. “You think I’m handsome?”

Her dark brow quirked above eyes that were so dark he couldn’t determine if they were midnight-blue or mossdeep-emerald. Lark, of the sparkling eyes and naturally rosy lips.

Not a bird. Don’t crush her. Or do! Yes, crush the mortal hunter—

“I’ll give you handsome,” she said, and strolled back into the living room.

“Really?” Had she just pronounced him attractive?

Domingos followed eagerly, a puppy that had been tossed a bone, and then he realized he was acting like a puppy that had just been patted on the head and he assumed a nonchalant, careless posture, not meeting her eyes. He could do casual with the best of them. “How much time left?”

“Six hours, give or take. Enough to give you a good head start. You going to leave?”

“Do you want me to?” Please say no. Don’t reject me.

“I need to shower, eat and…get things in order.”

That was a yes. It sure as hell hadn’t been a no.

“Now that I’m clean it’ll be harder to track my scent. Or wait.” He sniffed the air, noting the fruity scent. “Now I understand. You had me shower and use that smelly cherry shampoo so now you can track me even better. Well played, hunter. Very clever.”

“Leave, Domingos. I can’t do this.”

“Do what?”

“Be friendly with the guy on my hit list. It’s not working.”

“I think it is working.”

“It’s not supposed to work!”

“And you are losing your cool.”

He stepped up to her, his bare feet landing on the rough, flat rug before the sofa. He stood but inches from her body, defying her to look him in the eye, to see that he had once been like her. Human. Capable of emotion and—hell, all those other things he couldn’t grasp at the moment.

“Don’t do that.”

“Stop me,” he defied, not sure if she would stand good on her word, but prepared to go on the defense if she did not. “Does the big bad vampire with the broken fangs scare you?”

“Nothing scares me anymore.”

“Anymore? What used to scare you, Lark?” He took another step, and she didn’t back away, boldly holding position. He liked the challenge of her. It kept back the whispers. “Monsters under the bed?”

“Please.”

“Snakes? Spiders? Creepy crawlies?”

After a thoughtful pause, she said, “Falling.”

He noted her cool composure. Truly, not scared. She was a trained killer, through and through. And yet he’d just peeled back a thin layer from her hard exterior. “So, on the roof last night?”

She nodded.

“That’s the only reason I was able to kiss you. Because you were afraid of falling.”

“You think I’d ask to be kissed by a man with fangs?”

He ran his tongue along a fang, cursing the fact that he could not will them up as any normal vampire could. UV sickness had really worked a number on him.

A violin screeched in his brain. He caught his head against a palm.

“What is it?”

“Nothing but my own madness. Time to leave you.” As if mocking him, the violin played a series of notes that mimicked what he’d just spoken. “But not without one final plea for my life.”

Domingos slid his arms around Lark’s back. Pulling her to him, he bowed to kiss her. He wished his fangs were not down, but so be it. He was bruised, broken and beyond repair. The hunter would have to deal with it. He did not want to risk cutting her and tried his best not to let the fangs graze her lips too hard.

Warm in his embrace, her body felt liquid and bright, something that would never again be his to own. Tender, yet strong, she was a prize he had not earned, could never rightfully own.

When she gasped, he opened her mouth with his, but did not dash out his tongue. Too presumptuous. And the danger of poking her was real. He pressed a palm to her jaw and bowed his forehead against hers.

“Too sweet,” he murmured. “Never again mine.”

Dashing for the door, Domingos fled the temptation of softness that had been stripped from his life by the werewolves’ heartless blood games.

“He said he didn’t know what sweet was,” Lark said as she stroked a finger over her mouth. The rasp of his parting words had brushed her jaw and she still felt the tingle of that touch warming her skin.

Twice now the enemy had kissed her. And she couldn’t deny that her curiosity for the enigmatic vampire was growing stronger.

A kiss could be used to manipulate—by both of them. But she sensed no untoward intentions from Domingos. And that worried her. Because she liked a challenge. She needed that challenge to feel pride for a job well done. If the vamp was just going to stand back and let her at him with stake at the ready, what was the thrill in that?

As well, it mattered little whether she liked him or despised the very marrow in his breed’s bones; if the vampire wouldn’t stop kissing her she’d never be able to stake him. Never would she be able to move on to number seventy-three, and seventy-four, and so on. She’d be stuck, paused.

Because a kiss…? Well. Such intimacy. Their bodies needn’t even touch, only their mouths, breathing, tasting, granting permission. And in such a startling manner. She honestly did not know how to deal with it.

Lark closed the door and leaned against it. “What do I do now?”

Rook would slap her soundly and tell her to get a grip. If Todd were still alive he would—

“No,” she whispered. “He’s gone. When can I finally bury him so that my heart can move on?”

Only after she’d achieved her goal. A goal that had suddenly stalled at number seventy-two.