Hearts In Darkness

Chapter Thirteen

Nikki stared at him. The tone of his voice told her how much he'd once cared for the woman below.

How much he still cared. Which didn't make sense if this woman was responsible for turning him.

"I loved her, Nikki. I willingly crossed the line."

Oh God.Just the sort of competition she needed right now, when everything was still so uncertain between them. But at least she finally understood the look on his face, the disappointment in his thoughts, when she'd asked all those months ago why on Earth anyone in their right mind would want to become a vampire. He'd made the choice, just like Monica. They'd both given up life to be with someone they loved.

She stared at the woman below. How in the hell could she fight someone with that sort of hold on him?

"What are you going to do?"

"Talk to her." His voice was still absent, but there was a smile in his eyes, as if he were reliving old times.

Nikki clenched her fists against a rush of anger. Railing against fate wasn't going to get her anywhere.

"Then?"

He shrugged. "What happens then depends very much on her answers."

"The vampires in the tunnel," she said in sudden understanding. "They were hers?"

He nodded.

"Why didn't you tell me? You brought me here to help you, Michael. But, damn it, how can I do that if you won't tell me anything?"

He finally looked at her, but his eyes were as distant as his thoughts. He was still lost in past memories.

"I had to be sure before I said anything. It's been a long time since we've seen each other, and I might have mistaken her scent."

"But if she's responsible for the vamps in the tunnel, then she might be involved with the kidnappings."

"Elizabeth likes young men, and she likes her harems, but she's not evil."

She clenched her fists again and barely resisted the impulse to hit him. "How can you know something like that? How long has it been since you've seen her?"

His gaze drifted back to the woman in the pool. "Two hundred years."

Two hundred years, and still he carried a torch for her. Nikki's throat felt so dry it ached. "Two hundred years is a long time, Michael. Anything could have happened in that time."

"She's close to eight hundred years old. If she was going to change, she would have done so long before

I met her."

Eight hundred years old?Nikki stared in astonishment at the woman. She barely looked twenty. You'd think that after all that time of undead life there'd be some damn sign of aging. "Ginger mentioned a woman helping the man that binds them—a woman who is a vampire. And it was a woman who kidnapped Matthew and hurt Jake, too. A little bit of a coincidence, don't you think?"

His irritation seared the link. "Don't jump to conclusions, Nikki. It's dangerous."

She snorted. "And so is getting so lost in the past's afterglow that you can't smell the shit that's under your nose."

He glanced at her, his expression so angry she took a hasty step back. "Do not speak of her that way," he warned softly.

Energy danced across her fingertips. She held her weapon in check and glared at him. "Then don't ignore me or brush aside my suspicious just because you hold fond memories of that woman. People change, regardless of what you seem to think. Don't let the past color your judgement of the present."

"I'm not."

"Aren't you? You haven't even talked to her, and yet you're saying she can't be involved with the kidnappings or Jake's stabbing."

He thrust a hand through his hair. Anger still whisked through the link, but it was muted by a hint of confusion. And guilt. "You never saw the woman in the warehouse, and there's more than one female vampire on this Earth."

But this particular female vampire was the only one who could totally destroy whatever feelings Michael might have for her . Nikki rubbed her arms, suddenly chilled. "Are you going down to talk to her?"

He sighed. It was a sound full of regret. "No. Not yet. Seline is expecting a report this evening, and we should be seen in the restaurant to keep our cover intact."

If this woman was involved in the kidnappings, then their cover might be well and truly blown. If Michael had sensed her presence then why wouldn't she, as his creator, know he was here? Jasper had always seemed to know where Monica was.

"When do you plan to talk to her, then?"

"After dinner. If she keeps to past patterns, she'll be in the bar, on the hunt for someone new to seduce."

She had a sudden vision of a black widow spider, and a chill raced across her skin. Did this particular widow follow tradition and devour its mates? And if so, how had Michael escaped her net?

He tucked his fingers around her elbow and propelled her away from the pool. He seemed in an awful hurry again. Annoyance flashed through her, but she held her tongue. Anger wasn't going to get her anywhere. That much was obvious.

They changed in their room and headed down to the restaurant. Dinner was a silent affair. If we're here to protect our cover, she thought, then we're making a damn mess of it. He barely said two words during her entire meal. But given her quickly-fading bruise, maybe people would think they'd been fighting.

After an hour of silence—an hour in which he'd either contemplated his untouched soup or stared thoughtfully out the window—she took the napkin off her lap and threw it on the table. "I gather you don't want my company when you meet the ex-." Her voice was tart, but she didn't really care. She grabbed her purse and stood up. "So I'll just head on up to our room."

His gaze jumped to hers. There was both understanding and annoyance in his eyes. "She's no threat, Nikki."

"No threat because there's no chance of a relationship between you and me, or no threat because you don't love her anymore?"

He didn't answer, and her anger stirred again. He was so pigheaded he'd probably turn to this damn woman just to get her out of his life. And all because of some vague, almost chivalrous concept that he had to protect her from the darkness of his life. As if she couldn't find enough darkness in her own life!

"Just don't forget what you came here to do," she continued. "Listen to what she says with your mind, not your heart." And remember what we shared. What we could still share, if only you'd give us a chance.

Not giving him the chance to reply and maybe break her heart, she made a hasty retreat from the room.

Michael scrubbed a hand across his jaw. The urge to run after Nikki, to hold her close and soothe away the hurt in her warm amber eyes, was so strong he actually half-stood. He sat back down, then grabbed his glass and downed the remainder of his wine.

He'd acted like a fool today. Acted like the young man he'd once been back in Dublin when he'd first set eyes on Elizabeth. And he wasn't even sure why. Hell, it had been a very long time indeed since Elizabeth had held any real grip on his thoughts or emotions.

Maybe it was simply the shock of feeling her here in America, the one place he'd always thought he would be free of her memory.

But Nikki was right. Two hundred years was a long time, and people could change. He had. He was no longer the young fool so rapturously in love with the dark-haired, doe-eyed Englishwoman that he'd willingly sacrificed life and all he had ever known to be by her side. No longer the man who had visited for a day of laughter in Paris two hundred years ago and ended up staying for more than a month. A month in which his resolution not to drink human blood, and maybe even his sanity, had been sorely tested.

There was a lot of darkness in Elizabeth, even if during his brief time with her he had never actually witnessed any real atrocities. He certainly couldn't deny she was capable of it, though.

She was his maker, and part of his heart would always belong to her. That was inevitable, and maybe even the reason he had acted as he had today. But his lifestyle had given him a strength she would never have, a strength that muted, if not cut, the ties that bound them.

It was probably the only reason he still lived to laugh and remember the good times with her. Most of her fledglings died young in her embrace.

He sighed softly, then rose. He'd better get this meeting over with. Given the furious state in which she'd left, he wouldn't put it past Nikki to go hunting Matthew or MacEwan's niece alone. She did stupid things like that when she was angry.

He was tempted to reach out through the link and tell her he was sorry for the thoughtless way in which he'd acted. But maybe it was better to wait until he could tell her in person. She deserved that much, at least. Besides, the more he opened the link, the harder it would be to keep it closed.

He made his way across the lobby and into the stylish bar. It was crowded with men and women dressed to the nines. Those who weren't sitting at the bar or around the scattered tables were slow dancing to the strains of a waltz being played on the piano.

He scanned the crowd and saw her sitting at the bar, watching a young man in the far corner. That the young man had a woman with him wouldn't have mattered to Elizabeth had she decided she wanted him.

As if she'd felt his stare, she turned around. There was no surprise in her dark, honey-colored gaze, only a welcoming warmth. Michael smiled. She must have sensed his presence near the pool earlier.

She stood as he approached, a smile touching her ruby lips. Like Nikki, she was short, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulders. Her dark hair had been pulled into the bun she favored for evening wear, and seemed to make her features look severe, almost gaunt. Or maybe they'd always been that way, and he'd never really noticed before.

"Michael," she said, her voice melodious, soothing. "So nice to see you again."

"And you." He kissed her cheeks and sat on the barstool next to her. "Didn't think I'd ever see you in this part of the world."

She grimaced prettily. "I still prefer Paris, darling. So much more civilized." She hesitated, generous lips curving into the smile he had once ached to see. "Do you remember Paris? We had such fun."

"Yes, we did." Until she had tried—and very nearly succeeded—in bringing back his bloodlust. He ordered them both drinks from the bartender then touched her face, running his hand down the silk of her pale cheek. Her skin was hot—hotter than what was normal for a vampire. "Do you still own that apartment?"

Her smile deepened. Heat flared deep in her eyes, echoing through him, though it was little more than the natural heat of a fledgling for his master. This time, it held no true passion.

Because of Nikki, he realized suddenly. Because of what she meant to him. Because he'd found with her what he'd been unable to find with Elizabeth.

"I go back there every year. You've never visited, Michael."

He smiled. "Life keeps me busy." Truth was, he'd never dared, even if in times of utter loneliness he had sometimes dreamt of doing so. Not for the sex, which he could get anywhere, but for the warmth and the laughter and the close companionship only a true lover could provide.

Longings that had disappeared since he'd met Nikki.

"So why are you here?" She regarded him over the top of her wineglass, her heated gaze touched by wariness.

He shrugged. "Work."

She raised an eyebrow. Wine glistened on her lips and looked like blood. His hunger stirred, as it always did when he was in her company. Her lust for blood, like her lust for life itself, was strong and always overran those not powerful enough to stand against it. As it had overrun him for more years than he cared to remember.

"The word is that you're working for some charitable organization now—that true?"

He nodded and wondered if she'd been checking up on him. Though surely Seline or the Circle itself would have warned him had there been any computer searches. "Yes. I hunt down missing people, stuff like that."

"And that's why you're here?"

"Partially." It was no good lying to her—she would sense it the minute he tried. And if she was involved in the disappearances, it would only make matters worse.

"And you're not here alone."

It was a statement rather than a question, and unease slithered through his gut. Elizabeth knew about

Nikki. How? Had she checked the hotel register when she'd felt his presence this afternoon, or had she known all along that Nikki was here with him?

Their chance meeting might not owe so much to chance as to planning. "She's not a companion. She's a thrall."

It might have been dangerous telling Elizabeth that, but it was just as dangerous not telling her. Even if she wasn't involved in whatever was happening here at the resort, he wouldn't put it past her to seek

Nikki out and play a few games with her. He'd seen her do it to lovers of her other fledglings too often in the past. And Elizabeth's games always ended with bloodshed. But if she thought Nikki no more than a thrall, a servant to his wishes and desires, she might leave her alone.

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow again. "I remember telling you about thralls. You swore at the time you could never do it to another."

"I've sworn a lot of things over the years." He shrugged again. "But I found I just needed the company."

"You always did. It was one of your failings as a vampire. You'd rather talk to your prey than eat them."

He smiled slightly. "Still do."

She sighed softly. "Where did I go wrong?"

"You didn't."

He touched her hand, briefly wrapping his fingers around hers. Her palm was heavily blistered, which could have only happened if she'd grabbed something silver. Perhaps a silver knife—just like the one that had stabbed Jake.

Her pulse was slow but steady. She wasn't worried by his appearance here. Maybe she thought he presented no real threat. "So tell me," he asked after a moment. "Why are you here?"

"Why am I anywhere?" Her gaze met his, challenging him. Ask what you came here to ask , it said.

Don't play games with me.

He let go of her hand and picked up his wine, taking a drink. "Are you here to hunt?"

"I hunt every day, Michael, no matter where I am."

True. But it wasn't so much the sweet strength of human blood she was addicted to, but the rush of her victim's fear and loathing, the sense of power and utter domination such a killing gave her. And while there had been a spate of disappearances from the hotel, all but three of those had returned. If Elizabeth was hunting, she wasn't doing it here or in nearby Jackson Hole.

"What happened to Vance Hutton?"

A slow smile spread across her face. "What do you think happened to him?"

He studied her for a moment. Hutton was dead, consumed by Elizabeth—that much was obvious from the amused light in her eyes. He would have been too tasty a morsel for her to resist. Michael wondered where she'd dumped the body. "Are you involved in the disappearances?"

Excitement began to overtake the amusement in her eyes. She'd always liked a challenge. "Maybe." She paused. "Are you here to stop me?"

He met her gaze steadily. "Maybe."

"Interesting. What if I say I am not in this alone?"

"Then I would ask who else is."

"And if I said that it was a person more powerful than you and me put together? That if you valued your life you would leave the hotel and not come back?"

It wasn't a warning, and it wasn't threat. It was merely a statement of fact. Yet fear echoed in the recesses of her eyes. Whoever this man was, she hated him, even if she worked with him. "Then I would ask why do you not take your own advice."

She touched his knee, the warmth of her fingers pressing heat clear through to his bones. He frowned slightly. Nikki's touch had contained the same sort of fire when the flame imps had taken possession of her. "I have never run from anything in my life, Michael, but you have. I think you should continue to do so."

Her words reminded him of Nikki. She, too, refused to run in the face of most dangers. In some ways, she and Elizabeth had the same sort of strength, the same sort of courage. "I have work to do here, Elizabeth. I'm not leaving."

She took her hand away and sighed. "Then I may be forced to stop you."

"You can try."

She met his gaze. After several seconds, she nodded. The lines had been drawn. If he stepped over her mark, she would kill him. Or try to.

She smiled slightly and motioned to the dance floor behind them. "One more waltz, for old times sake?"

It was her way of saying good-bye, of closing the door on everything they had once shared. Her way of saying the next time they met, there would be no history between them, only the present.

He held out his hand. "In memory of the laughter and the good times we once shared," he said and led her to the dance floor.