Kiss The Night Goodbye

"Didn't you?"



Her breath was enticingly warm against his mouth, but he resisted the temptation to kiss her again and said, “No."



She blinked and pulled her chin from his grasp. “If you want answers, vampire, you'd better start trusting me. We both know you cannot force the answers from me, because your telepathy isn't working right now."



"And how would you know that?"



"Because the same magic that has robbed you of your psychic skills has robbed me of my ... skills." Skills? Why would she use that word rather than magic? “Meaning this barrier you mentioned earlier?" She nodded, her nostrils flaring, as if she was as acutely aware of the smell of blood and death that surrounded them as he. She ran a slightly trembling hand across her forehead and said, “Look, can we take this discussion elsewhere?"



"In a moment.” He wasn't quite ready to go, simply because he wanted to keep her unnerved. He had a feeling it might be the only way to keep her out of trouble and out of harm's way. She stared at him for a moment, and he could have sworn he heard her swearing at him, even though her lips never moved.



"Did you find anything else?” she finally asked. “Is there any clue as to how the murderer got in here?"



"There's a connecting door. It leads into another whore's rooms."



"Have you checked it?"



"Yes. There's a window."



She frowned. “I didn't see any stairs other than the one at the side." Amusement ran through him. “Dunleavy is a vampire. Two stories is not much of a leap for us."



"Oh. Yeah.” Her gaze skated across the room before coming back to his. “Nothing else?"



"Other than the fact there didn't appear to be a struggle of any kind."



"How...” she stopped, swallowing. “How can you tell that in all ... this?"



"No blood or skin under the fingernails."



"Oh.” She went even paler, if that was possible. “Can we go now?” she asked quickly. He relented and stood to one side. She ran out. He caught up with her as she stopped in the middle of the road, sucking in great gulps of night air.



"You don't appear to have a strong enough stomach to be hunting the likes of Dunleavy." Her smile was slightly bitter. “Monsters don't bother me as much as some of their deeds."



"Then why hunt monsters?"



She snorted softly. “Because the man I love insists on hunting them."



"And he lets you? The man is a fool."



She looked at him, a strange sort of smile touching her lips. “He's not a fool. He just made a good choice."



"If you were mine—” He stopped abruptly. He had no right to be saying such things when Christine lay rotting in the ground, her death not yet avenged.



"Let's get you back home,” he said coldly.



Her gaze searched his for a moment, and then she picked up her skirts and began walking. “I'm not staying in that house tonight."



The thought of her staying at one of the hotels made him cold. “Where then?" His voice was sharp, and she looked at him, amusement playing across her lush lips. “I've arranged to rent a room from one of the rangers."



"And will the ranger be there?"



"No. He's staying at the Wheaten Hotel."



"Good."



She chuckled softly. “For a man who doesn't trust, and who claims to have no interest, you're acting a little proprietary."



He was, and he had no idea why. “You appear to be the only decent woman in this town. I have no wish to see you hurt, that's all."



Her eyes twinkled almost merrily in the darkness. “Then you'll accompany me to my new lodgings?" His gaze went to the surrounding hills. Dunleavy was out there somewhere. As was Kinnard. If he was escorting this woman, he wouldn't be out there finding them and exacting revenge. But, on the other hand, she appeared to have at least some of the answers he needed. Answers that just might help in catching the fiend.



He met her gaze again. “If you promise to answer my questions."



"I'll answer them, but I don't promise that you'll like or understand the answers." More riddles. This woman could have been vampire trained. He glanced at her house, noting there was no movement or life inside. “It's safe,” he said, stopping at the door. “I'll wait here." She didn't argue and was back within a few minutes with two heavy bags. He grabbed them both, slinging one over his shoulder and carrying the other. “Where to?"



"Five houses down from the corner of King and Prospect." Which was about as far away from the center of town and the drunken miners as you could get without straying into the hills. At least he wouldn't have to worry about louts harassing her while he was off hunting Dunleavy.



They walked through the dark streets in silence, though the night itself was far from quiet, with the miner's revelry singing through the darkness.



The ranger's house was in better shape than most in this town, though like the rest of the houses on this street, it could have used a good coat of paint. He followed her up the steps and stopped.



"I cannot go inside,” he said, offering her the bags.



"The ranger gave his permission for you to cross his threshold.” She opened the door and tossed the bags inside.



He raised his eyebrows. “I'm not sure it works secondhand."



"There's only one way to find out.” She stepped to one side and waved him through. He frowned, but walked forward. Nothing slapped against him with the force of a hammer. Energy did caress his skin as he walked through the door, but it was a warning that the barrier was in place, nothing more. And at least it meant other vampires could not cross this threshold without invitation. He walked into the middle of the room and turned around.



"I have lived several hundred years and never knew an invitation could be granted from a distance." She smiled as she closed the door and flicked on a switch. Brightness bit into the gloom. “Proving that even old vampires can learn something new.” She picked up one of the bags and made her way toward the dust-covered table. “You want to take off your shirt so I can tend to that wound of yours?"



"I came here for answers, not medical help."



"So you'll get your answers while I tend to the wound.” She patted the back of a chair. “Sit."



"I will not sit, and I do not want the wound tended. Why did you say that woman resembled you when she obviously did not?"



She sighed and gave him the sort of look a wife would give a stubborn husband. “Because this is not my natural form. I'm using magic to cover what I truly look like."



"Yet you said your magic won't work in this town."



"This type of magic does."



He studied her, not sure whether to believe her or not. “I feel no magic."



"Yet it is here, working. On me and on you."



The woman was definitely mad. Either that or she was trying to drive him insane. “There is no magic at work on me."



"No?” She raised an eyebrow, her gaze challenging. “Care to test that?"



"How?



"You take off your shirt, and I'll take off mine."



His gaze swept down her lush form, and longing surged through his veins. He clenched his fists against need and said, “Did Dunleavy send you here to seduce me? Is that your game?" She rolled her eyes. “If I wanted to seduce you, I think I'd be offering to show you something a little sexier than my back."



Back, front, it didn't matter. It was a part of her and innately seductive. “So you're not trying to seduce me?"



"Right now, no. Later, yes."



He couldn't help a smile. “I thought you didn't believe in free samples?" She raised an eyebrow. “I don't. Before this night is out, you'll agree to work with me." He didn't bother refuting her statement. He'd probably only be wasting air anyway, as she wasn't likely to believe him. Stubborn and this woman were old friends, he suspected. He glanced at the door, in half a mind to walk out and leave this crazy woman alone. Yet he couldn't, and he didn't know why. That made him wary—of her, and of his own attraction. And of the way it seemed so right, so natural, and yet so wrong.



"How does this magic work if I cannot see or feel it?"



"The magic I speak of comes in the form of symbols and pictures entwined around our spines."



"There is nothing on my back but scars I received from the last time I met Dunleavy."



"Want to bet those scars aren't scars?"



"You are crazy, aren't you?"



She merely smiled. “Go close that blind for me."



She pointed toward the window to his left, and after a moment, he obeyed. Her reflection filled the grubby pane of glass, and he watched, mesmerized as she began undoing buttons. A moment before her creamy flesh was revealed, he yanked down the blind and took a deep breath. It did little to cool the fever of his imagination. The itch to caress her warm skin once again...



"Okay,” she said.



He turned around. She had her back to him, and he let his gaze drink in the slender curves for a long moment before he noted the weapons strapped to her wrists.



"The witch is well protected,” he said softly, fiercely glad of that fact.



"I told you I could defend myself.” She glanced over her shoulder, eyes sparkling with amber fire in the bright light. Odd how the green had completely disappeared. “And I certainly did not strip to show you that."



"No.” He dragged his gaze to her spine. “There's nothing there." "Come closer. It can only be seen at certain angles." He obeyed, touching her creamy shoulders, turning her towards the light. Something glowed briefly along her spine—Celtic symbols, combined with images that resembled goddesses of old. He held her still and ran his fingers across the drawings. Her skin was warm under his touch, the needle fine lines even warmer. Power tingled across his fingertips, a heat that was somehow pleasant, almost welcoming.



"There is nothing like this on my back,” he said, allowing his fingers to trail down to the base of her spine. A quiver ran through her, and he snatched his hand away from the temptation to explore further.



"Take off your shirt and let's take a look.” She pulled her shirt back on, but didn't fasten the buttons, so that when she turned around, the folds of heavy fabric stirred, revealing tempting glimpses of paradise. He pulled off his shirt and turned around. Her touch played across his shoulder for a moment, pressing lightly against the rough bandages he'd placed there earlier. He winced. “I did not strip so you can investigate a wound that will heal well enough by itself."



"It may heal, but you'll have a scar if you don't let me treat it."



"I don't care about scars."



"I do.” Her touch trailed to his spine, her fingers so warm, and somehow so familiar, against his skin.



"No symbols,” he said, voice rough, “as I said."



Her hands were tracing patterns along his back, sending longing surging through his veins. He'd never reacted to a woman this strongly before. This was more than desire, more than mere lust. This was need. It was almost as if her touch was as vital to his life as the blood he drank every other day. He didn't know her. It had to be a spell of some sort. Had to be. He stepped away from her caress and spun around. “Now that you've seen the truth, how about telling me the truth?"



She crossed her arms. The action caused the top of her shirt to puff out, and his gaze was drawn to the revealing swell of her breasts. God help him, he wanted to caress those creamy mounds, wanted to caress her , kiss her, taste her—but it was wrong. So wrong. He had no idea why. He only knew he couldn't give in to this craziness.



"I've seen the truth,” she said, her voice soft and so sexy it seemed to tease his blood into a fever. “But obviously, you can't. Come with me."



She foraged in her bag and pulled out a small mirror. Then, without another glance, walked toward the door at the back of the table and disappeared down a hall.



He glanced at the front door. He'd never considered himself a coward, and he had never run from any challenge. But right now, he was beginning to think that's exactly what he should do. This woman called to him in so many ways, and on so many levels, that it was almost frightening. He'd lived a long time, had served his time in purgatory more than once, and had long ago resigned himself to companionship rather than love. A few hours in this woman's company had him thinking that his heart might not be as far out of reach as he'd thought. And yet, instinct insisted he couldn't touch her, no matter how powerful the attraction..



He'd survived many a dark and dangerous time by listening to his instincts. He wasn't about to abandon them now.



"Michael?” She appeared in the doorway again, eyebrow raised in question. “Do you want the truth or not?"



He wanted the truth, but he had a feeling he wouldn't be getting it. Or at least, he'd only get part of it. But he followed her down the hall and into a small bathroom that held a bathtub, basin and a mirror.



"Turn around so that your back is facing the mirror." He did so, and she handed him the small mirror she'd pulled from her bag. “Now use this to look at your back."



"All I see are scars."



She nodded. “But watch what happens when I touch them."



She placed a finger against his skin and began to trace the outline of one of the scars. Her finger was warm against his skin, her touch sending waves of energy tingling across his nerve endings. After a moment, the black and blistering skin began to disappear under her caress, becoming lines and symbols similar to what had been on her back. Her hand moved on, revealing the symbols entwined around his spine. As her touch moved, the symbols faded, becoming ugly scars once more.