"I don't give a damn if we have. Kinnard intends to come for you at midnight, and I'm not going to risk him getting past me.” He brushed his thumb across her lips and gave her a crooked smile. “I may not be able to remember your name, but I know I could not live without you."
"Nor I you.” She leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. She tasted of honey and butter and all the good things in life he'd longed for since his turning, and he had finally found them.
"But I can't—"
"You can, and you will."
"Michael—"
"No. If what you say about the ceremony is true, then by simply leaving, you destroy Dunleavy's plans."
"If I leave, he will begin killing off Circle members."
Dread clenched his gut, even though he wasn't entirely sure why. “What?"
She blew out a breath, puffing the blond-brown strands of fringe away from her forehead. “You and I are members of an organization known as The Damask Circle. Dunleavy has gotten hold of a list of our people. If I leave before the ceremony, he'll start killing the people at the top of that list and work his way down."
It was on the tip of his tongue to say he didn't give a damn about the list or the people on it, but he just couldn't force the words out. Because he did give a damn, even if he couldn't remember why.
"So he holds all the aces."
She shrugged. “He thinks he does. Me, I think we're in pretty damn good shape.” She hesitated, her gaze dropping to his thigh. “Well, I am, anyway."
He smiled and wrapped a hand around her waist, pulling her close. Her body was warm and familiar, the rapid beat of her pulse a siren's song that called to the man in him rather than the vampire. With her breasts pressed so snugly against his chest, he couldn't help being aware of her arousal, just as she was no doubt aware of his. He wished they were home—wherever home might be. Wished he had the time to give in to passion's flame and love her as thoroughly as she deserved.
But that wasn't an option right now. Not when there were a couple of madmen running around...
Or were there?
He remembered what she'd said earlier, remembered what Kinnard had just said, and frowned. “Have you seen Dunleavy at all?"
Her sigh was a sound of frustration. She stepped from his embrace and reached for the still steaming cup on the kitchen bench. “Once,” she said, “Just after he'd kidnapped you."
"But not since then?"
She shook her head and leaned her hip against the bench. The sunlight streaming in through the window behind her lent warm highlights to her hair, and in that moment he realized her natural color was brown rather than the blonde he kept seeing.
"Why?” she asked.
He crossed his arms. “Because I think it's odd we haven't seen him at all."
"I thought we'd decided that all this magic happening around us had him drained and basically immobilized?"
"We did. But what if that's what we were supposed to believe?"
She sipped her coffee and said, “Even if that were true, how come we haven't seen him?"
"Maybe we have. Maybe we just haven't realized it."
"You're the one who said you'd be able to see Dunleavy if he was around. Are you telling me now that's not true?"
"No. I said if Dunleavy was here, I should be able to see him, because you cannot hide the basic energy readout of a vampire."
"And Dunleavy is definitely a vampire, so why haven't you spotted him?"
"Didn't you say Dunleavy was also a shifter?"
"And a sorcerer. So?"
"So, what if he's a type of shifter we've never seen before? His energy pattern wouldn't be the same as most vampires, because most vampires come from human stock rather than nonhuman races, such as shifters."
"But even if that is the case, wouldn't you have noticed the difference? There's only us, those people down in the town, and Kinnard here.” She shuddered. “And whatever Kinnard is, he's definitely not human."
"No. He's that slug thing we saw taking advantage of the woman."
Blood drained from her face. She took a quick drink of her coffee, but it didn't bring the color back to her cheeks. “I knew he was a slime bucket, but I didn't suspect—” Another tremor ran through her. “Yuck."
"Indeed. But I'm beginning to suspect he's a whole lot more than just a nasty little creature."
"Meaning?"
"When I was talking to Kinnard in the stable, he said and did some things that got me thinking."
She took another sip of her coffee, then said, “Like what?"
"He said we'd seen Dunleavy more than a dozen times already. He also said that Dunleavy was a shifter with several forms."
"I told you that yesterday."
"You told me he could be a shifter like his brother, able to take the shape of anyone he has consumed. What I'm saying is that I think Dunleavy is restricted to two other forms."
"Kinnard's obviously said something else to make you think that."
"It isn't so much what he said, but what he did."
"And that was?"
"I threw the knife at him and got him in the shoulder. Blue fire erupted across his body."
She nodded. “That's consistent with silver being used against a shifter."
"Yes, but when I attacked him, he used magic to escape."
She stared at him for a moment, and then her eyes widened as what he was implying hit her.
"Yes,” he confirmed softly. “I think the man we know as Kinnard is actually Dunleavy himself."
Chapter Twelve
Kinnard and Dunleavy one and the same? As much as Nikki didn't want to believe it, it did make sense. It would explain why Dunleavy was nowhere to be seen, and why Kinnard had been able to cross the pentagrams unaffected. It had been his magic rather than that of his so-called master's.
"I should have cindered the little maggot when I had hold of him earlier,” she muttered. Instead, all she'd succeeded in doing was warning him that she had some abilities that weren't under the control of his magic. No doubt he'd now try to counter that.
She rubbed her arms. Michael caught her hand and pulled her back into his embrace. She closed her eyes and pressed her cheek against his chest, listening to the slow but steady beat of his heart. She wished her own would follow suit. In many ways, this was her first official assignment for the Circle—something she'd been wanting for months now. And yet here she was, so damn scared it felt like her heart was going to gallop out of her chest.
"That's natural,” Michael said softly, “if only because it is your first mission."
She pulled back enough to look him in the eye. That's not the reason I'm scared.
No?
No. I'm afraid of losing you. Which was ironic considering she'd joined the Circle to ensure she didn't lose him.
He kissed her forehead. That won't ever happen.
But it already had. Just for a few days, she'd had no idea where he was or what was happening to him. She didn't want to ever repeat that feeling—yet she knew it would undoubtedly happen, because that was the nature of their work. As he'd tried to warn her before she'd joined the Circle.
You can't guarantee that, she countered. No one can.
No. But I guarantee nothing short of death will ever keep me from your side.
She smiled and rested her cheek against his chest again. So the dead man vows.
The dead man doesn't make many vows, and he keeps the few he does make.
Have I ever mentioned how much I love you?
His smile swam through the link, filling her mind with sunshine. Not in recent history, no.
Then consider it mentioned.
I don't suppose you'd consider mentioning your name?
Amusement bubbled through her. I would, but simply mentioning it brings on an attack from the runes on your back. I think you have to remember in your own time. Besides, it wasn't as if he'd totally forgotten her. The strength of the emotions tumbling down the link were evidence enough of that.
&n
bsp; Speaking of runes, it might be wise to try washing them away again. I have a suspicion Dunleavy might make an attempt at getting to you through me—through the runes.
She pulled back again. “Now?"
"The sooner the better. He might be working on a spell as we speak."
She nodded and led the way to the bathroom. While she filled the basin with hot water, he stripped off his shirt. When the basin was full, she grabbed the soap and water, and began working away at the black marks all over his back.
"What are we going to do about Dunleavy?"
"We hunt him down and destroy him. At least now we know exactly what we're hunting."
Energy was beginning to touch the air again, and his back muscles twitched and jumped. Welts were flickering into existence across his skin, then just as quickly disappearing, as if the power touching the air lashed his skin. He didn't say anything, but she attacked the runes with greater vigor. How much time she had left very much depended on his resistance to the runes’ force.
"What about destroying the other pentagrams?” she asked. “At least then, Camille and the others who wait outside will be able to get in and help us."
"Kinnard warned that if we destroyed any more pentagrams, he'd destroy everyone left in this town."
"He's going to do that anyway,” she bit back. “You really don't think he's simply going to walk away after all this, do you?"
"Dunleavy has never walked away without causing as much havoc and death as he could muster."
She hesitated, but curiosity got the better of her, and she asked, “Did Christine get caught in one of Dunleavy's death and destruction binges?"
She caught his grimace in the mirror. “No. Christine paid the price for my stupidity."
"What happened?"
"We were living in Chicago at the time—"
"You and Christine?” she interrupted, surprised. “In the same house?"
"No, not in the same house.” His gaze met hers in the mirror, dark eyes filled with a heat that made her toes curl. “I have only lived with two women in all my years as a vampire. And I have truly loved only one."
She sighed softly. If there was one thing she was sure of, it was the fact that she'd never tire of hearing him say things like that.
He smiled. “We lived in the same district and had been lovers for years. When her husband died, she used his legacy to open a small milliner store. Over the years, her business, and her fame, grew."
She didn't bother commenting on the fact he'd basically admitted he and Christine had been lovers while her husband was still alive. Given the utter loneliness she'd sensed in him when she first met him, she could hardly take him to task for grabbing happiness where he found it. Besides, it had all happened long ago, and the people involved were long dead. “So how did Dunleavy get involved with her?"
"He didn't. I caught him trying to kidnap a woman and beat him up. My mistake was not killing him."
"Why on earth didn't you?"
He shrugged. “At the time, I thought I was doing the right thing. I didn't realize he was anything more than a blood thirsty vampire intent on a kill."
"I thought you killed blood thirsty vampires?"
"Nowadays, yes."
She raised her eyebrows. Did those words mean that Weylin's spell had faded to a point where Michael no longer thought he was living in the past?
"Back then,” he continued, his words confirming her thoughts, “I had more of a ‘live and let live’ attitude. At least until Christine was killed."
So Christine had been the first step on his road to becoming a key member in the foundation of the Circle. Patrick had obviously been the last. “How did Dunleavy know you were involved with her?"
He grimaced. “Christine's success made her very welcome at many society gatherings. I was her regular escort. Neither of us were exactly hard to track down."
"How did she die?"
"Dunleavy shot her. She bled to death in my arms."
"I'm sorry.” She brushed a kiss across his wet shoulders. “But at least being shot was a quicker death than what Dunleavy could have offered."
"That's the problem. He did do worse. He raised her from the dead and turned her against me."
And he'd been forced to kill her all over again. “Dunleavy deserved the death you gave him."
"Yes, he did. But here we are, and once again, others are paying for something I did."
"If there's one thing I've learned in my time with you, it's that the mentality and actions of psychos is not that of normal human beings. What's happening here is not your fault, just as what happened to Christine was not your fault."
"If I'd killed him—"
"You don't have clairvoyance. You can't see the future. Hindsight is wonderful, but at the time, you thought you were doing the right thing."
He smiled and turned around, drawing her into his arms and kissing her soundly. “Thank you,” he said, pulling away from the kiss and gazing down at her.
She raised an eyebrow. “For what?"
"For listening. For understanding. I have carried the guilt of Christine's death for a long time."
"Just as you carried the guilt of Patrick's death?"
The warmth in his face died a little. She saw the struggle in his eyes, felt, via the link, his instinctive need to shut her out battle with the desire to finally acknowledge, and therefore release, some of the pain of his past.
He pulled her close again, wrapping his arms tightly around her, as if drawing strength from her closeness. Which was ridiculous. If any man was an island, it was this vampire.
"I should have been in San Francisco to meet Patrick, but tracking down Dunleavy took time, and I was in Hartwood longer than I expected."
"So he landed in San Francisco and met Jasper."
"No, Jasper's twin. From what I could gather, the two became lovers."
She raised her eyebrows. “I thought a vampire couldn't survive on another vampire's blood?"
"They can't, but that doesn't stop them from having sex."
Well, no, she thought, feeling dumb for even asking such a question. “How long were they lovers?"
"Not long. There were only a few days between Patrick's arrival in the golden city and mine. He'd only been dead a few hours when I found him."
"So how did you know it was Jasper's brother who killed him?"
"Because Jasper and his brother were little more than fledglings, and neither were exactly careful about the clues they left behind with their victims."
Yet Jasper had been canny enough to survive the fledgling stage, and clever enough, after Patrick's death, to taunt Michael with the death of more friends down through the years. “So why did your brother take up with someone like that?"
Michael shrugged. “He was a knight at heart. He liked trying to save people."
Yet even the gentlest of knights could not save someone with hearts as black as Jasper's and his brother's. “Even if you'd arrived on time, you don't know that Patrick wouldn't have met the same death. One thing I learned from my years on the streets was the fact that fate cannot often be sidestepped."
"I know that. Accepting it is a different matter."
"Patrick made his own choices. You can't be held accountable for that."
"No.” He took a breath, kissed her forehead and turned around.
She continued scrubbing his back. The black lines were fading, but the buzz of energy was just as strong, and the welts rippled across his skin in a red wave.
"So,” she said, suspecting she'd better keep him talking, keep him distracted from the magic striking him. “How are we going to kill Kinnard—Dunleavy—when he can protect himself with magic?"
"I don't know. Magic is not my field of expertise.” His gaze met hers in the mirror. “And as much as I want you to leave, I have to say that this is one case where I think I need help."
"Well, you've got mine, whether you want it or not. Even if Dunleavy wasn't threatening to kill all and sundry, I wouldn'
t leave you here to fight him alone."
His amusement ran through the link. I seem to remember hearing words to that effect before.
Once or twice, she replied with a grin. Aloud, she added, “Dunleavy warned us against destroying any more pentagrams. What if he meant just the ones he's using to feed energy to the circle protecting this town? What if we destroyed the one he intends to use for the sacrifice?"
"Would it achieve anything?"
"Well, it might delay the ceremony for a while.” And even a few minutes could make a difference between finding and not finding Dunleavy.
"He'll have it protected."
"Then we take the protection out, too."
Michael nodded. “And then begin the hunt for Dunleavy himself."
It was a plan. Not much of a plan, but better than nothing.
He twisted around, grabbed the cloth from her hands and tossed it into the sink. “Let's get moving."
She didn't argue, just turned around and walked into the bedroom to grab her coat. The day was rapidly cooling, and the mines would probably feel like an ice chest tonight. She checked their hostage, happy to see he was breathing easier, then walked into the main room.
Michael was at the sink, washing the blood from her knife. He flipped it and handed it to her hilt first.
"The pentagram he'll be using in the ceremony will no doubt be protected by a larger circle of stone than the ones he has around his sacrifice pentagrams,” she said, slipping the knife back into its sheath, “I doubt whether my knives will be strong enough to move large rocks."
He nodded and bent, searching through the cupboards underneath the sink. “You do realize he can perform the ceremony without the benefit of a pentagram. All it really does is protect him and his victim from attacks from unwanted spiritual sources."
"But he's trying to raise his brother's spirit. If he tries it without the pentagram, he risks bringing something far worse into being."
"There is nothing worse that Emmett Dunleavy,” Michael said grimly. “You ready?"
She wanted to say no, if only because she had no desire to scramble around mine shafts again. But she didn't have any choice. So she nodded and headed for the door.
The day had definitely gotten colder. The thick gray clouds crowding the sky were now accompanied by a fierce wind that held the bite of winter. She shivered and hastily buttoned her coat.