Kiss The Night Goodbye

He swore and twisted around, smashing his fist against the snout of the wolf that tore at his thigh. Flesh and bone gave way under the force of the blow, but the wolf refused to release its hold. The frantic beat of the second wolf's heart warned that the creature was close. He dropped, dragging the first wolf down with him, his breath hissing from clenched teeth as the movement tore away more of his flesh. The second wolf missed by inches. It landed several feet away, scrabbling to gain purchase against the slick stone and stop the impetus of its leap before it slid into the flames. A yellow blur moved past it. Teeth gleamed. The third wolf launched—going not for extremities or torso, but straight for the neck, the jugular. Trying to kill, not maim. The witch had been wrong. Or Dunleavy's game plan had changed. He fisted the creature away, then reached around, unlocking the death grip the wolf had on his thigh. The wolf put up little fight—his blow had shattered the creature's nose, and the mere act of breathing had become a battle. One Michael ended by breaking the shifter's neck. He grabbed the creature by the front legs and rose. Agony burned through every nerve ending, its epicenter his torn and bloodied flesh. His leg buckled, and for a moment, he didn't think it would bear his weight, let alone that of the dead wolf. Forcing his knee to lock and hold, he swallowed nausea and blinked away the sudden sting of sweat. The air howled its warning, and he swung the dead wolf around, using it to batter away its pack mate. He staggered sideways, felt the caress of flames across his skin. Caught his balance, then blurred, running for the stone circle. The scrabble of claws suggested the remaining two wolves weren't far behind. And they were gaining with every step, because he could barely even run at human pace, let alone move with the inhuman speed of a vampire.



He felt rather than saw the impetus of their leap, noted the closeness of the stones, and dropped flat. Electricity buzzed across his face, and warning flickers of blue fire cut across the night. The black stones were within arm's reach, which is exactly what he'd intended.



The wolves twisted in midair, trying to reach him as they flew over his prone form. Maybe they weren't aware of the danger of the black stones. Maybe they simply didn't understand the magic involved. Either way, they hit the invisible shield, and the magic reacted. Blue fire flared brightly, surrounding the two wolves in tendrils of flame, burning them, consuming them, with very little fanfare. Once the two were little more than ash and scraps of bone that dusted the air around him, Michael pushed into a sitting position. Firming his grip on the dead wolf, he swung it as hard as he could at the nearest stone. Most circles like this were created to protect against intrusion from magic, the living, or the un dead. Very few were designed for protection against the dead dead, simply because, in most cases, there was no need.



The circle didn't react to the wolf's body when it hit the nearest stone and sent it ricocheting away. With a sound that was almost a sigh, the circle's energy faded away. Michael blew out a relieved breath. Now to get the man down from the ceiling. His gaze followed the line of rope holding the stranger up, and he saw that it was attached to the large boulder lying at the northern edge of the circle. He pushed to his feet, and hobbled over. Releasing the knot, he carefully lowered the stranger until he was far enough down to catch hold of him, and then he pulled him out of the pentagram area before lowering him completely to the floor.



At that moment, pain hit him.



Not his pain.



Nikki's.



Chapter Eleven



The man attacked, giving Nikki no time to think, just react. She ducked his blow, slashed with the knife, cutting through the thick material of his shirt and slicing a thin line across his stomach. The man's howl was one of fury more than pain, and he swung his fist. She fell back, but not fast enough, and the ring on his middle finger scraped across her jaw as the blow moved past. He followed the blow with another. Again she fell back, not really wanting to hurt this man, knowing by the glazed look in his brown eyes that he was attacking under Dunleavy's orders, not of his own volition. Her retreat was stopped when her back hit the railing. She swore softly and tried to step sideways. Heard the rumbled warning close to her thigh and knew the wolf wasn't going to allow an escape that way.



Nowhere to run. No choice but to maim.



The stranger's fist bit through the air again. She dropped and spun, sweeping her leg behind his, knocking him off his feet. He landed with a crunch that shook the whole landing. She scrambled forward, tried to chop a blow across his windpipe to temporarily paralyze him. But he caught her hand in his paw-like fist and squeezed so hard pain shot up her arm, and a scream forced it way up her throat. As if they had a will of their own, her flames appeared, dancing eagerly from her fingertips to the stranger's hand. For a second, pain was forgotten as she stared. It looked for all the world as if the flame imps had come to life.



The stranger howled and released his grip, shaking his hand in an attempt to rid himself of the slivers of flame that capered across his skin.



She switched her knife to her bruised hand, and completed the blow to the stranger's neck with her left hand. He made an odd gargling sound, his burning fingers forgotten against the greater need to breathe. The flames died as she rose, but warmth kissed her fingertips, as if the energy of the flames was being drawn back into her body.



Which was impossible, surely. She certainly hadn't felt anything like that when Lenny had tried to kill her. But then, she'd intentionally wanted him to burn. Wanted him to hurt, to suffer. She hadn't wanted to hurt this man. Just distract him enough to immobilize him. Something she'd done. Did that mean she had differing levels of control available? She hoped so. She really didn't want to cinder every single person she was forced to defend herself against. She sheathed her knife and stepped past him and onto the roof. Just in time to see a slug-like creature slither away from the naked form lying in the middle of the pentagram. It slid down through the cracks between the wooden roofing and disappeared. A shudder ran through her. Obviously, whatever that thing was, it wasn't overly choosy about who it had sex with. Male, female, near dead, dead ... It didn't really matter.



She blew out a breath and walked over to the body. It was a different man lying here, and while part of her wanted to know what had happened to the remains of the first victim, she very much suspected that it was better not to know.



He was lying in the middle of the star, his arms and legs outstretched, as if he were welcoming the death visited upon him. His expression backed this up—he was smiling, his blue eyes frozen in a look of warmth.



And like the first man they'd found on this roof, he had a small knife wound in his chest. Blood still trickled out, the flow sluggish as it crept down his side.



She glanced down at the black star etched into the roof. There was no sense of power coming from it, no tingle of energy cutting through the air. While the slug had crossed those dark lines without harm, she wasn't about to test them. If Camille and Seline had taught her anything, it was a high respect for magic. Just because she couldn't feel any energy coming from the black pentagram didn't mean it was inactive. Still, she had to do something about it. Dunleavy was using this place to feed either his strength, or that of his dark gods. For that reason alone, it had to be destroyed, and the only means she had to do that was her fire.



That would mean destroying evidence—this man, the bloody room downstairs, the woman's remains, her head...



She swallowed and tried to ignore the gruesome images that surged into her mind. Destroying evidence was a better option than leaving this pentagram here and allowing Dunleavy to use it to kill more people. And besides, given what she'd learned about the circle in the last few months, she very much doubted whether the police would even be aware that something foul had happened here. This place would be cleaned of all evidence, the survivors would be given the best medical attention and counseling available, and their memories would be “rearranged.” How the Circle would handle the dead, she didn't know—but if she'd learned anything about the organization, it was that they took care of those hurt. The families of the dead would be compensated in some way.



She reached down inside herself for the power of the flames. This time, she intended to burn, intended to destroy, and the flames that sprang to life across her fingertips echoed that intention. They were fierce, hungry, and didn't resemble flame imps in the slightest.



The scrape of a nail made her jerk around. The wolf had stepped onto the roof, and the flames reflected in its yellow eyes, making them glow eerily.



It stepped forward, its snarl low, fierce and deadly. She stepped back, the fierce golden fire of her flames burning back the fog, allowing weak sunlight to filter in and lift some of the shadows. But sunlight only made the wolf's intentions more obvious. It would stop her anyway it deemed necessary. From behind the wolf a figure rose. The stranger staggered to the roof's entrance, his face white, and his breathing still little more than a rasp.



"Get her,” he said, in a low, dead voice that didn't match the man or his injuries and oddly reminded her of Kinnard. “Just remember, injure, not kill."



The wolf stalked forward. She retreated, her gaze on the stranger more than the wolf. His brown eyes were still glazed, unblinking. Did that mean Dunleavy was controlling his actions, but not actually seeing what this man saw? Why else would he not react to the flames burning across her fingers?



The wolf walked around the edges of the pentagram. With the stranger blocking the exit to the stairs, she had no other choice but to back towards the far wall. Once she hit that, her only options were to either fight or risk the two-story drop.



Her gaze went to the pentagram. She had to destroy it. It was one source of Dunleavy's power, and the more they destroyed his supply options, the better chance they had. And the better chance Camille and the rest of the Circle had of getting in here to save the day should she and Michael fail. Not that they would fail, because she had every intention of marrying her vampire, and no psycho out for revenge was going to stop her.



Her gaze went to the stranger. She couldn't let him die, though, and she very much suspected that might happen if she flamed this roof. Dunleavy had his mind, and wherever Dunleavy was, it surely wasn't close enough to see the fire until it was too late.



The wolf had reached the top of the pentagram. A few more steps and it would be within launching range. She stepped sideways, raised her burning hand, and reached for more of the power surging through her veins.



"Burn this place to cinders,” she said softly.



Fire exploded through her, around her, and the air was suddenly thick with heat. The wolf yelped, a sound full of surprise, but she wasted no time seeing what had happened to it. She'd left it an escape route—over the roof edge. Shifters were tough—it could take a two-story fall without breaking a nail. She spun and ran for the stranger. When she was close enough, she launched herself at him, twisting in the air so that she'd hit him feet first. He didn't react, merely stood there dumbly, confirming her guess that Dunleavy wasn't using this man's eyes. She hit him hard, and sent him flailing backwards. He hit the landing's back railing, and with a crack that sounded like thunder, the wood splintered and gave way. With arms flailing, the stranger fell backwards into the fog and disappeared. She barely had the chance to swear before the impetus of her leap took her over the edge and down into that same fogginess.



"Oh, shit ,” was all she managed to say before the free fall experience was over. She hit the ground with enough force to jar every bone in her body and send her teeth through her tongue. She slumped face first into the dirt and lay there for several minutes, trying to remember how to breathe, trying to ignore the pain pouring through every nerve ending. She'd never fallen two stories before, and it was certainly an experience she never wanted to repeat. It damn well hurt. Concern flooded through her mind, and suddenly there were warm hands on her back, her neck, feeling for a pulse, checking that she was okay.



"I'm all right,” she murmured, and forced herself to roll over. “Just winded." Michael's face was dark with dust, and there were smears of blood near his temple, as if he'd dragged bloody fingers through his hair. “Are you sure?"



She wiggled her fingers and moved her feet. “I'm fine. Really." The relief and love evident in his gaze made her heart do its usual happy dance.



"I was in the mines and felt your pain.” He paused and frowned. “Odd, really." She smiled and touched a hand to his cheek. “Not as odd as you might think. Did you find anything?"



"Another circle. I destroyed it, though the pentagram is still viable.” He glanced up at the roof of the whorehouse. Orange flames were now visible through the rapidly retreating fog. “Looks like the one up there is in the process of being destroyed, though."



She nodded and grabbed his leg, using it to help her sit up. He winced, and as she pulled her hand away, she saw the blood. “What the hell...?"



He shrugged. “Dunleavy wasn't about to let me take one of his sacrifices without a fight. He had three wolves protecting the stones. I used one of their bodies to displace the rocks."



"Since your jeans are soaked with blood, you definitely need that wound treated." He gave her a gentle smile. “Blood is easy enough for me to replace. The man I rescued needs treatment first.” He paused, looking past her. “Who is that?"



She twisted around. The man she'd knocked off the roof was lying on his back not far away. “Dunleavy left him as a guard on the roof. He okay?"



"He breathes. His heart beats."



She glanced at Michael. “Can you touch his thoughts."



He frowned. Energy buzzed around them, a sharper heat than that coming from the flames above them.