Embrace the Darkness (Darkness Series) (8 page)

“Do you want to see my fangs again?” he asked with a smile—a smile that looked perfectly normal—and human.

Before she could respond, a chill shivered over her skin and the hair on the nape of her neck stood on end.

Gerard rose to his feet, sniffing the air like a predatory animal.

“Stay here,” he said. Then he vanished.

Chapter 5

Like hell.
Amber ran to the kitchen and retrieved her Glock. Comforted by its weight, she returned to the living room. Gerard was gone. He’d disappeared into thin air.

She closed her eyes, forcing herself to replay that split second in her mind. There was still no memory of seeing him move, but there was a near simultaneous memory of sound—the sound of her front door slamming shut.

Her shoulders sagged on a sigh. Gerard hadn’t actually vanished. He’d just moved faster than her mortal eyes could see. If he’d disappeared, he wouldn’t have needed to use the front door.

Relief flooded her veins. The realization wasn’t profound, but it kept her functional. As long as she could function, she could make rational sense of what she’d just witnessed.

Yeah. Right.

She took a deep breath and stepped toward the foyer holding her weapon angled across her chest, the barrel pointed toward the ceiling. The fine hairs on the nape of her neck stood on end.

Seconds before Gerard did his disappearing act, she’d had the sensation of being watched. It was the same sensation she experienced in Germany moments before her friend and fellow soldier, Andrew, was attacked.

Most of that night was a blacked-out blur, but she remembered being thrown against a headstone. Unable to move or scream, paralyzed with fear, she’d watched in horror as a vam—as something or someone ripped open Andrew’s throat and drained him of blood. Then, the creature had turned toward her. And—Nicolas saved her. Just as Gerard—

Was saving her now?

Hardly. Most likely, a more primal instinct compelled him to dash out the door sniffing the air like a wolf on the scent of a frightened rabbit.

Taking a deep breath, she steeled her nerves. Fear would never hold her immobile again. She would react with courage. And she would react quickly.

She held the Glock close to her chest and stepped off the beige Berber carpet onto the hardwood in the entry hall. Dark stains dotted the oak—blood droplets where Gerard had dripped onto the floor. A twinge of guilt made her flinch.

Had the wound caused him pain? Had it healed completely?

Her fingers tightened on the Glock’s textured grip. Frenzied thoughts of vampires and vampire legends filled her thoughts. Then another memory came rushing to the forefront—a memory from her childhood—deeply buried but never completely forgotten. Germany wasn’t the only time Nicolas had saved her from attack. He’d rescued her once before. When she was a child.

Nausea roiled up from the pit of her stomach. Was Gerard a threat?

“Nicolas?” she whispered.

“No. It’s me.”

Amber yelped and spun around. Years of training and experience saved Gerard from a second bullet. She lowered the Glock, forcing her rational mind to overrule her fear. If Gerard wanted her dead, he wouldn’t have announced his presence.

“Do you know how close you came to buying the farm?” she snapped.

His lips twitched but he didn’t smile. He did, however, eye her curiously, as if he wasn’t quite familiar with modern slang. “I’m not interested in farmland.”

She tried ignoring the contrast between his biting wit, naivety, and attractive exterior. He was far too appealing for comfort.

He leaned against the doorframe between the living room and foyer and folded his muscled arms over his wide chest.

A rush of heat twisted her insides into warm sensual knots.

Shit.

Ignoring the flush of unwelcome desire, she held the grip of the gun to her forehead and pressed it against her skull. Her head felt as if it were going to explode.

If vampires were involved in the Lifeblood murders, how would law enforcement bring the killers to justice?

Images of her and Reid sneaking through cold, dank catacombs at high noon with wooden stakes and silver crosses flashed through her mind.

Gerard stepped forward, eyes focused on the gun. “Who are you planning to shoot with that thing?”

She’d forgotten she was even holding it. Heat burned her cheeks as she holstered her weapon. “No one. As you’ve already pointed out, bullets won’t stop a vampire.”

He smiled faintly. “Silver bullets are rather effective.”

“Great. I’ll make a note of that the next time I put in a requisition for ammo.” Did munitions companies even make silver bullets?

She glanced at Gerard’s shirt. His wound no longer bled. And the way he moved—besides being inhumanly fast—indicated a complete lack of discomfort. “If it wasn’t for the blood on your shirt, I wouldn’t even know I’d shot
you
.”

"Que puis-je vous dire?"
he said with a shrug. “What can I say? I’m a vampire. The wound still aches and I’m sure I have a bruise but by tomorrow, there won’t even be a scar.”

“A bruise?” She’d frickin’ shot him. “It wasn’t a through and through or a flesh wound. There’s still a bullet inside you.”

He shrugged again. “You missed my heart, and it’s a foreign body. The bullet will work its way out through the original wound track when I fall into the regenerative sleep. When I awaken tomorrow night, I’ll find the bullet in my bed.”

Teetering on the edge of hysteria, she tried embracing her anger but could only manage impotent sarcasm. “Not your coffin?”

“No,” he replied with a touch of annoyance.

Meds. I need Meds.

She bent down to retrieve her purse from where she’d dropped it on the floor earlier. Then she brushed past him and into the living room. She needed to be on something a hell of a lot stronger than valium and Trazadone. She needed to add Paxil to her drug regimen. Because this was way more than post-traumatic stress. A hell of a lot more. This could push her over the edge—if she wasn’t there already. Until then, valium would have to suffice. And Trazadone at bedtime to help her sleep—despite the nightmares.

Her thoughts raced as panic ebbed and flowed, leaving her jumpy and unable to focus. She dropped onto the sofa, frantically searching her purse like a junky in desperate need of a fix.

Gerard stood in the doorway, leaning negligently against the frame. Amber ignored him.

Where the hell are my pills?

Taking deep, controlled breaths, she snagged the bottle, opened it, and poured a pill into her palm before popping it into her mouth. Then she swallowed with nothing more than spit.

“You think it’s a good idea to take that after drinking beer?” he asked, coming closer.

“Probably not.” Most likely, she’d have one hell of a headache in the morning. But the valium would calm her nerves and help her cope with this new version of reality—a reality she wasn’t ready to face. “Okay, who or what was lurking outside my door?”

“I don’t know, but he didn’t smell mortal.”

“Smell?” Was the man a vampire or a blood hound? She had a damn fine sense of smell herself, but Gerard didn’t smell like a vampire—not that she knew what vampires smelled like. Musty and old, she supposed, but he smelled good. Real good. But it was the smell of masculine skin and cologne. Not some moldy vampire scent.

A chill washed over her, sending gooseflesh dancing along her skin. She shook it off, determined to face her fears. She had combat experience. She wasn’t going to fall apart. Not this time. If a vampire had been lurking outside her door, she’d find a way to deal with it.

She pressed two fingers to the side of her pounding skull and prayed.
Lord, don’t let me be going crazy.

Gerard sighed, sounding more tired than annoyed, as he dropped down beside her on the sofa. He shifted his hips and angled his legs toward hers. Their knees bumped. So did her heart. He was too damn close and way too sexy for her own good.

“It was definitely a vampire,” he said, “but I didn’t recognize his imprint.”

“Color me stumped, but I have no clue what you’re talking about.”
Yep, that’s me. The crazy, hysterical female cop.

“Both vampires and mortals leave behind psychic imprints of themselves that linger long after they’re gone. It’s like a scent, but different. And mortals leave fainter imprints than vampires.” He sniffed once and then frowned. “You, however, have a strong imprint for a mortal.”

“Maybe it’s my perfume.” Except, she wasn’t wearing any. She’d just gotten home from work, and she didn’t wear perfume to work. She cleared her throat, avoiding eye contact. “So, are there a lot of vampires in the world?”

“Probably more than you’d think. But most keep a low profile.”

“Yeah, so low your friend Sonia doesn’t even have a last name.”

A flush crept up his neck to stain his cheeks. “She’s not my friend. But if you check your electronic records again tomorrow, you’ll find both a last name and an address for her on file.”

Anger stirred the ashes of a simmering resentment. She fisted her hands in her lap and glared. “I have paper copies that show nothing on her. Copies obtained through long hours of old-fashioned police work. ”

His flush deepened. “Your records are inaccurate.”

“What records? We found nothing.”

Gerard shrugged, unable to maintain eye contact. “Well there’s something there now. If you look again, you’ll find a Sonia Dalca in Bat Cave, North Carolina.”

The fury burned brighter. Amber embraced it. Anger was safer than fear—or attraction. Anger could keep her alive. Fear could get her killed.

She didn’t want to think about the other.

“We expended hours of man power in a fruitless search for Sonia because Dr. Harper and Vincent Maxwell refused to provide anything useful. Captain Stratford even searched local and FBI data bases without success. So, you better not be lying because I’ll go to that address, and I will question her.” Not that she’d believe a damn word Sonia said. The woman had the power to manipulate public records, effectively erasing all evidence of her existence.

Gerard nodded, casually crossing an ankle over his knee—not the least bit defensive. “She’s expecting you. And she
will
cooperate.”

Amber’s gaze flickered over his warm, sympathetic expression. He wasn’t judging her or trying to manipulate her. He even seemed to understand her anger and frustration. Her fury faded.

“Okay. Fine. So, why couldn’t we find anything on her before?” As if she didn’t know. Some kind of freaking vampire hocus pocus, no doubt.

His lip curled. “Sonia is a master at keeping our existence a secret from mortals.”

“So, why don’t you like her?”

His eyes widened a fraction before he schooled his expression. “What makes you think I don’t?”

“You wouldn’t make a good poker player either, Delaroche. Your eyes give you away every time.”

“But I was a spy during the French Revolution,” he said, a note of incredulity in his voice.

Seriously? His lips might lie but his eyes were a dead giveaway. “You’re kidding.”

“I fought with the Marquis de Lafayette here in America and in France.”

“You fought in the American Revolution—with Lafayette?” Well, at least that was something they had in common. He’d been a soldier too—over two hundred years ago.

“That’s how I met Vincent. During the war. After Cornwallis’s surrender, I returned to France and posed as a supporter of our king to gather information for the Marquis. But the radical Jacobin’s didn’t want moderate change. And evidently, I wasn’t good at subterfuge,” he added with a self-deprecating smile. “A Jacobin spy learned I was plotting against them.”

“Is that how you died?” Not a typical interview question, but her world had unexpectedly taken on the surreal atmosphere of a cult video game.

“I never technically died. After the Jacobin slit my throat, Vincent arrived. Before I took my last breath, he took what remained of my blood and fed me his. To save me,” he added when he seemed to notice her horrified expression.

“He made you a vampire!” The bastard turned his own friend. And Gerard was defending him.

His jaw bunched and a muscle jumped in his cheek. “Don’t judge what you can’t understand.”

If she’d had Vincent’s abilities, would she have let Andrew die? Would she have chosen an immortal mother over no mother at all? Her righteous indignation fizzled and died.

“You’re right. I shouldn’t judge. So, help me out here, Frenchie.”

“Frenchie?” His lip curled. “
Merde!
I’d rather you call me vampire.”

“Okay, Vampire,” she said, half smiling. “How can you so easily forgive Vincent for making you what you are, but you dislike Sonia for relishing her nature?” Was there something between Sonia and Gerard?

Unexpected jealousy burned like acid in her stomach.

“I don’t dislike her,” he said as if carefully weighing his words. “I just don’t understand her. She goes to great lengths to keep our existence a secret from mortals and yet she flaunts her nature as if being vampire was a privilege instead of a curse.” He ground his teeth. “Her wardrobe is designed to draw attention and she hangs out in Fang Clubs, drinking the blood of willing donors who believe she’s a pretender rather than the real deal. She’s a security risk.”

Revulsion made her nauseous. “She turns her donors into vampires?”

Gerard waved a hand as if shooing a fly. “Of course not. Drinking mortal blood doesn’t convert them. Blood must be exchanged before conversion occurs. The way Vincent exchanged his blood with mine. It’s a bit like the AIDS virus that way.”

Was Sonia willingly spreading the disease?

“Is she dangerous?” Duh. The woman was a vampire. Of course she was dangerous.

“She definitely has the potential. Not all vampires are as sweet and loveable as me,” he said with a sexy smile before his expression turned serious. “Some are deadly.”

“I’m a cop. Remember? I’m used to dealing with scumbags.” But not scumbags with supernatural abilities.