Beautiful Danger

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.”

Chapter 5

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.”