Beautiful Danger

“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.