Serafina and the Virtual Man (23 page)

“Sera?” Tam interrupted, drawing her attention. “Are you all right?”

“Oh, dandy!” she responded with heavy sarcasm, spotting the stream of blood down the side of his throat and, worse, the two puncture wounds. “Shite, Tam, have you got Jack’s clipper things?” This was going to make life
really
difficult. Jack needed them to create believable-looking puncture wounds on his own neck… But hell, never mind; he’d probably get the chance after Tam “bit” him.

“No,” Tam said in apparent surprise, feeling his neck at the point of her frustrated gaze.

“That was me,” said the interloper helpfully. Without warning, he reached up to Tam’s neck, touching the wound with his fingertip before his hand fell back to his side.

Tam snapped at him, “I’m not gay, you know.”

Sera cast her eyes to heaven. “Did he tell you
he
was?” Couldn’t one actor spot another?

“He doesn’t say anything, in case you haven’t noticed,” Tam retorted.

Sera glanced at her henchman without affection as she picked up the dropped stick. “You know what, Tam? Your loyalty is becoming seriously suspect.”

Even in the darkness, Tam managed to look affronted. His acting had improved by leaps and bounds.

The other man said conversationally, “He can’t hear me.”

“Why, what did you stick in his ears?”

“Nothing. I’m not speaking.”

“Ah. I’m hearing voices in my head,” Sera said with blatant mockery.

“Aye,” Tam replied at the same time as the other man said, “My voice, at least.”

“And that would be because…?”

“You hit your head when you fell,” Tam answered.

“Because I’m a vampire,” said the stranger in the kilt.

Didn’t this idiot know when to quit? Sera took it upon herself to inform him. She stepped nearer and glared right into his handsome face. “So bite me, arsehole.”

This close, his dark eyes seemed to smolder. Every one of her nerve endings fizzed in confused warning. She wasn’t afraid of him, though; it was a long time since she’d been afraid of anyone. But neither was she stupid, and she gripped the sharp stick, ready to use in a flash, if necessary. She was prepared for anything he had to throw at her.

Except what he did.

He whispered, “I’d love to.” His lips curved into a predatory, devastating smile; his voice curled around her stomach, spreading heat where it had no business to be in this situation.

“Give it a rest, and go away,” she said crossly.

“Not a chance. I want to know what you’re up to.”

“I’ll call for help. Have you arrested or thrown out.”

The smile widened. “No, you won’t.” He didn’t trouble to elaborate. They both knew it was the truth.

Sera actually stamped her foot. “Christ, you’re annoying!”

“What do you expect? My supper’s been interrupted.” His gaze flickered to Tam, who was frowning uncertainly in their direction, and then returned to devour Sera in a way that would have been flattering had she not known he was playing a part. As it was, her treacherous body responded with a surge of blatant lust—which at least gave her one last, desperate idea.

She smiled at the stranger and leaned into him, stretching up on tiptoe so that her lips could reach his ear. He smelled of some elusive spice and sweet earth, and suddenly it wasn’t so difficult to act.

“I can tell you’re a man who likes excitement,” she murmured, letting her breath stir his ear, the soft, tiny hairs on his skin. His breath didn’t hitch, but at least he bent nearer her, betraying that he wasn’t unmoved. She smiled again, knowing she was so close he’d feel her lips almost touching his ear. “Wait here for me. I’ll be back in five minutes and we can…talk.”

On the last word, she let her breast brush against his chest. Whatever it did to him, her own body screamed awareness. Her nipples hardened, egging her on, while some intense, wicked excitement threatened to overwhelm her. Because she could win now, make him wait while she and her henchmen did what they’d come here for. And later, she could find out what the hell was going on, and if Ferdy had employed this guy too.

She leaned back, returning her feet flat to the ground. The stranger’s odd, dark eyes flamed with what she hoped was arousal. He said, “Why don’t we ‘talk’ first?” And bent over her.

She stepped smartly backward. “Tam,” she whispered. “I have to get rid of Tam.”

“I don’t mind Tam.” His gaze lifted from the rapid rise and fall of her breasts to her throat. His lips, full and sensual, parted as they smiled, revealing a glimpse of pointed canine teeth.

“Oh Jesus H. Ch—” she began in frustration, and broke off in mid-word as he lifted his hand to her neck, brushing her skin with one soft, blatantly sexual caress.

“It’s you I want,” he whispered. She felt no breath on her skin, no warmth from him to excite her, and yet his words thrilled from her mind to every nerve in her body. And then cold sliced through her like a shard of ice.

It blasted her. Yet there was no vision, only a profound, red-tinged blackness she couldn’t bear to look into. She caught a little fun and pleasure and humor from the mix, bleeding from the darkness, but the overwhelming sensation was of death and pulsating, unreachable memory, cold and black and terrifyingly profound. Although Sera was used to picking up emotions, even visions, from touch, it took her several disoriented moments to realize that this dreadful flood had grown out of the sensual caress of his fingertips, of the smell and feel that was uniquely him.
Him
, God help her.

She threw herself backward out of his awful reach, stifling the cry of agony that tried to burst from her lips.
Christ, who are you? What have you done…?

Their eyes locked. Sera heard only her own panting breath. The smile still curving the stranger’s lips began to die. He took another step nearer her, and she raised one useless hand to ward him off.

And someone screamed, loud and insistent.

Instinct spun Sera around, dragging her gaze and her body away from the stranger. At least, as she bolted through the trees in the direction of the scream, she called it instinct. In truth, as her feet pounded across the rough ground and branches caught at her clothes and hair, it felt a lot like relief.

Someone was following. She hoped to God it was Tam and not—

Her phone broke into song. She didn’t slow down as she seized it and clamped it to her ear. But she’d reached the edge of the trees now, and she could see the panic of people milling around the garden. Most of them seemed to be squashing into the ornamental maze.

“Sera,” Jilly’s voice said from her phone. She sounded shaky, breathy, her pitch higher than usual. “You’d better get over here. The maze. It’s Jason, Ferdy’s son. I think he’s dead.”

Sera stopped in her tracks. “
What?
“ Her ears were singing; her heart felt as if it had stopped beating. It had to be a sick wind-up, and yet Jilly’s silence on the phone said very loudly that she believed it. “Oh shite…” As Tam’s footsteps faltered behind her, she said, “It’s all gone tits up. You’d better get out of here fast.”

She didn’t look at him or wait to see if he obeyed. She began to run again toward the maze with an ominous feeling of the sky falling on her head. She was vaguely surprised when people made way for her to get into the maze. A woman in a strappy, black silk dress with a tear at the side, her face understandably white under her perfect makeup, even pointed out which way to go.

The body that was presumably Jason lay on the ground, with his distraught parents on one side. Mrs. Bell was tugging at her once beautifully sculpted hair and weeping. Jack seemed to be administering CPR, while Jilly stared down at his efforts, for once without a word of criticism.

Sera swallowed. “Ambulance?” she said to no one in particular.

“On its way,” said Jilly.

“What happened?”

“We just found him lying there,” Jilly said helplessly. “Me and Mr. Bell.”

Briefly, Sera met Ferdy’s gaze. There was genuine worry in his eyes, she’d swear. Yet behind it was the same gleam that had always bothered her. She’d no idea what it signified, beyond a lack of honesty, but it looked avid, obsessive.

Jack stopped pumping at the young man’s chest. “I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely. “I think he’s dead.”

With a wail, Mrs. Bell fell against her husband.

Please, no, please, no. Please don’t let him be dead…
Sera shifted position to follow Ferdy’s attention and saw the two, bloody puncture wounds in Jason Bell’s throat.

She stared, almost numb with shock, before she realized her fingers were clutching in panic at her own neck. At the very same spot the kilted stranger had touched.

She whirled around with a muttered “Excuse me,” and pushed her way back out of the maze.

The rest of the garden was almost deserted. The shadow of the woman in the strappy dress disappeared round the side of the house. But the figure she actually sought was striding, almost gliding, across the lawn: a tall man in a kilt who moved with the grace of a panther. And all the danger, she suspected, of a murderer. She ran after him, reluctant to shout in case he took to his heels. But he walked damned fast, and she had to sprint flat out before, breathless, she finally caught at his sleeve and yanked him round to face her.

He turned with ease, as if he’d always known she was there and wasn’t remotely surprised by her violent tugging. In the glow of the garden lights, he gazed at her in silence. Her words dried up in her throat. All she could think of was the icy blackness of his touch, the blackness of a man capable of anything; and the weird attraction of his profound, unreadable eyes.

“Was it you?” she choked out at last. “Did you kill him?”

He didn’t answer. His lips quirked as if they might smile but didn’t. Then he simply turned and strode away. After three paces, he broke into a run and disappeared round the side of the house.

Was that his answer?

Sera pounded recklessly after him, anxious to see where he went at the very least.

Although the side garden was full of shadows, none of them were human. And at the front, there was no sign of anyone at all except a middle-aged couple who were waiting to direct the paramedics. Sera ran out to the street and scanned both directions. It was empty. Not even a car moved. Only a fine trail of mist or car exhaust hovered in the night air. She could almost imagine it formed the faded features of her quarry.

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