Stroke of Midnight (29 page)

CHAPTER 10

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He'd left his Beretta and a cache of silver bullets. Nothing says "I love you" like guns and ammo.

I held the weapon in my lap, stroked the metal, absently checked the load. When the door of the suite burst open and a strange man flew inside, I flicked the sheet over both myself and the pistol. The guy had a crazy look in his eyes, but he didn't have a gun or a knife that I could see.

"Where's Philips?" he demanded.

"Never heard of him."

"You came with him. I saw you. I've been waiting."

He was breathing heavily. Sweat dotted his upper lip and his brow. He opened the curtains, and the silver sheen of the just-past-full moon streamed in. He bathed in the light as if it were cool water in the heat of a sandstorm.

"Who are you?" I demanded.

He turned toward me and his eyes glowed. Ah, hell. He leaped onto the bed, onto me, and I stifled a scream.

"Brendan Steiger. I wonder if Philips will even remember why I spent my life savings to buy his."

"Buy his what?"

"His
name
. His picture. His whereabouts." Steiger's voice, half man, half beast, scraped against my skin like a razor. "He's not here? I'll just kill you. Payback."

His head lowered, and he sniffed my neck, licked me from collarbone to cheek. I caught the scent of blood. He'd already been a busy boy.

The man's face began to change. His nose lengthened, his teeth grew, fur sprouted from his pores, but his eyes remained human.

"Even better," he snarled. "I'll make you like me. Then he'll have to hunt down his lover and put a bullet in her brain." He laughed and the sound melded into a howl. "I wish I could be here to see it."

"Too bad you won't be."

I shot him right through the sheet. Flames erupted from the wound, and his howl went on and on. I shoved the body away, but not quickly enough. I was covered in blood and my palms were burned. Nevertheless, I sat on the floor unable to move as the half man, half beast sizzled on the king-sized bed. This hotel was not going to ask me back.

Footsteps pounded down the hall. Clay stumbled into the room. One glance at me and he fell to his knees. "What happened?"

I didn't bother to answer. The mess on the bed should be answer enough.

"Come on, Maya. Into the shower."

I let him lead me from the room and urge me beneath the heated spray.

"You left me," I said.

"I had no choice. You wouldn't survive in my world."

"I've done pretty well so far."

Silence met my statement. Had he run off again?

I peeked around the shower curtain. He leaned against the sink, head down, shoulders bowed. I hated to see him so defeated.

"Why did you come back?"

He glanced at me, misery all over his face. "I tried to go, but I couldn't. I—"

"What?"

"I was worried. And I was right."

"How you figure?"

"The werewolf."

"I did just fine without you."

He scowled at the gun still clutched in his hand. "Dammit, Maya, I love you."

"Don't sound so happy about it."

"Just because I didn't leave tonight, doesn't mean I don't have to in the morning."

"Like hell."

I was feeling better minute by minute. Sure, it had been a shock to have a man break in, turn into a werewolf, and try to eat me, but I'd handled it. Everything would be all right, unless Clay really left.

I shut off the water, wrapped myself in a towel, took the gun out of his hand. "We're together, and that's the way we'll stay."

"You almost died. Because of me."

"I lived because of you. Time and time again. We're better together than apart. When are you going to see that?"

"You fainted at Canon del Muerto. Not that it wasn't a good thing at the time, but—It was too much for you."

"Wait a second, you think I fainted because of Jack? Joseph? Hell, whoever?"

"Well…" He shrugged. "Yeah."

"No, Clay. The spirits spoke. There were so many of them, I got dizzy. I asked for help and
bam
, out went the lights."

I expected him to scoff at my talk of spirits, but I'd forgotten who I was dealing with. If he could be a Special Forces werewolf hunter, the fact that I could hear spirits wasn't anything to write home about.

"You didn't swoon in terror?"

"Sorry, no. But you did rescue me. My hero."

"Knock it off. I can't stop seeing you covered in blood."

I spread my hands wide. "Washed right off."

His gaze narrowed. "Your hands are burned."

"They'll heal. Next time I'll know better."

"Next time?" He shoved his fingers through his hair. "There isn't going to be a next time."

"You know that's not true."

He made a sound of frustration and yanked open the door. I followed him into the bedroom. The first thing I saw was the man sitting in the wing chair reading my notes.

"What is this, Grand Central Station?" I pointed the Beretta at his head.

"No." Clay put a hand over the barrel and gently shoved the weapon down.

The intruder lifted his gaze from the papers to my face. "You should never shoot a werewolf in mid-change," he said, his German accent so heavy it would have been comical under different circumstances. "That leaves too many questions and a very big mess."

"I'll keep that in mind. Who the hell are you?"

"Maya, this is Edward Mandenauer."

I stared with renewed interest at the former spy and present leader of the
Jäger-Suchers
. Most likely a handsome man in his day, he now owned every one of his eighty-plus years.

He'd seen many things and all of them haunted his faded blue eyes and sagging, drawn face. He was scarecrow thin and basketball tall. His hands were gnarled, spotted, his fingers crooked from breaks that had never healed right.

"You cannot publish this." He lifted my notes in one hand and a lighter in the other.

"Wait!" I sputtered, but he brought the two together and flames licked at my hastily scrawled words. I sighed. "Have you ever heard of freedom of speech, private property, the public's right to know?"

"Yes." He dropped the rapidly decomposing paper into a tin trash can.

"How are you going to erase the memory from my head? Same way?"

"Put a sock in it," Clay muttered. "He might look like your favorite granddad, but he isn't. He's dangerous."

I glanced at Mandenauer, who shrugged. "I am."

I wouldn't have believed either one of them, except there was something in Mandenauer's eyes, something in Clay's voice, that convinced me.

"Fine." I threw up my hands. "I'll keep quiet."

I wondered if McDonald's was hiring. Because that was the only other job I was qualified for.

"Can we trust her?" the old man asked.

"What do I have to do?" I asked. "Write it in blood? Let you cut out my tongue?"

"If you don't mind—"

Since he said the words with a completely straight face, I didn't think he was kidding. Clay must not have either because he moved in front of me.

"Leave her alone. She's been through enough."

"Precisely. You should never have involved her, Clayton. You know better."

"The skinwalker blew up her house. I didn't have much choice but to take her along after that."

"And Joseph? Was he of any help?"

We exchanged glances. Mandenauer frowned. "What?"

"Joseph was the skinwalker."

"Impossible. He's been a trusted colleague for years."

"He got sick of being on the losing side. It's happened before."

The old man sighed and his shoulders slumped. If possible he appeared older than before. "Even the strong ones succumb. The allure of power is a human failing. Sometimes I think it would be easier to…" His voice drifted off.

"To what, sir?"

"Never mind." Mandenauer stood and crossed the short distance to the bed with a military bearing. "Any idea who this was?"

"Brendan Steiger," I said.

Both men glanced at me with a frown. I shrugged. "He was chatty. Something about payback."

Clay shook his head. "I don't remember the name."

"Why would you?" Mandenauer asked. "They don't wear dog tags while running through the forest." He waved a hand at the remains. "I will get rid of this. You must be going."

"Where?"

"Take Maya home."

"I don't have a home. Your pal Joseph blew it sky high."

Mandenauer's expression was both exasperated and exhausted. "Take her somewhere safe. We have a traitor in our midst."

"Steiger said he bought Clay's name and photo, his background and his whereabouts."

"
Jäger-Suchers
are turning up dead all over the country," Mandenauer murmured. "Now I know why."

"How many?" Clay asked.

"One is too many. But three, so far."

Clay cursed and I slid my hand into his. The old man lowered his gaze to our joined fingers. "What is this?"

"Holding hands. Show of affection. You should try it sometime."

"I have. It leads to more serious shows of affection." He studied us for several ticks of the clock. "Which I can see you've already sampled." He lifted his gaze to the ceiling and tapped his foot. "Agents are dropping like flies. If they aren't being killed, they're falling in love. What is the world coming to?"

"Oh, no. People falling in love. What a tragedy."

Mandenauer glanced at Clay. "Is she always like this?"

"Pretty much."

"Good. She'll need spunk to survive life with you."

"Spunk?"

Clay shrugged. "He knows a lot of words."

"I was alive when most of them were invented," Mandenauer said dryly.

"What's my next assignment, sir?"

"Disappear."

"I'm sorry?"

"The monsters know your name, face, and Social Security number. Until we find the traitor, you're in danger." His eyes met mine. "And everyone around you is too."

I tightened my fingers on Clay's and moved closer to his side. "You're not leaving me," I said.

"I can't." Clay motioned to the bed with his free hand. "They probably know about you too. Damn, Maya, I'm sorry."

"I'm not. I'd rather be in danger with you, than safe all by myself."

Clay searched my eyes. He must have found the truth there because he kissed me, sealing the bargain.

Together we left the hotel, then Phoenix, behind. We disappeared.
Jäger-Suchers
are good at that.

They still haven't found the traitor and a few more agents have died. We may have to stay hidden indefinitely.

At first Clay was antsy, then Mandenauer found him a new job. The far-reaching arm of the
Jäger-Suchers
needs a whole lot of fingers. The Internet has made Clay into a cyber-searcher. Tracking monsters online may not be as exciting as shooting them, but as he told me once before, someone has to do it.

I didn't have to apply at McDonald's, which was lucky, since we live a long, long way from any golden arches. Though the voices of the spirits remained behind in the Canyon of the Dead, hearing them, even for a little while, jump-started my muse. I can't write fast enough. Estelle says my next book should be a runaway hit.

It's the story of a spy during World War II. He discovers a secret lab in the depths of the Black Forest. You wouldn't believe what he finds.

And those dreams of pink ribbons and blue bicycles? They aren't just dreams any longer.

Don't miss sneak peaks at upcoming

sexy paranormal tales from

SHERRILYN KENYON,

LA. BANKS,

AND LORI HANDELAND!

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FROM

SEIZE THE NIGHT

SHERRILYN KENYON

Coming January 2005

Valerius pulled at the edge of his right leather Coach glove to straighten it as he walked down the virtually abandoned street. As always, he was impeccably dressed in a long black cashmere coat, a black turtleneck, and black slacks. Unlike most Dark-Hunters, he wasn't a leather-wearing barbarian.

He was the epitome of sophistication. Breeding. Nobility. His family had been descended from one of the oldest and most respected noble families of Rome. As a former Roman general whose father had been a well-respected senator, Valerius would have gladly followed in the man's footsteps had the Parcea or Fates not intervened.

But that was the past and Valerius refused to remember it. Agrippina was the only exception to that rule. She was the only thing he ever remembered from his human life.

She was the only thing
worth
remembering from his human life.

Valerius winced and focused his thoughts on other, much less painful things. There was a crispness in the air that announced winter would be here soon. Not that New Orleans had a winter compared to what he'd been used to in D.C.

Still, the longer he was here, the more his blood was thinning, and the cool night air was a bit chilly to him.

Valerius paused as his Dark-Hunter senses detected the presence of a Daimon. Tilting his head, he listened with his heightened hearing.

He heard a group of men laughing at their victim.

And then he heard the strangest thing of all.

"Laugh it up, asshole. But she who laughs last, laughs longest, and I intend to belly-roll tonight."

A fight broke out.

Valerius whirled on his heel and headed back in the direction he'd come from.

He skirted through the darkness until he found an opened gate that led to a courtyard.

There in the back were six Daimons fighting a tall human woman.

Valerius was mesmerized by the macabre beauty of the battle. One Daimon came at the woman's back. She flipped him over her shoulder and twirled in one graceful motion to stab him in the chest with a long, black dagger.

She twirled as she rose up to face another one. She tossed the dagger from one hand to the other and held it like a woman well used to defending herself from the undead.

Two Daimons rushed her. She actually did a cartwheel away from them, but the other Daimon had anticipated her action. He grabbed her.

Without panicking, the woman surrendered her weight by picking both of her legs up to her chest. It brought the Daimon to his knees. The woman sprang to her feet and whirled to stab the Daimon in his back.

He evaporated.

Normally the remaining Daimons would flee. The last four didn't. Instead they spoke to each other in a language he hadn't heard in a long time… ancient Greek.

"Little chickie la la, isn't dumb enough to fall for that, guys," the woman answered back in flawless Greek.

Valerius was so stunned he couldn't move. In over two thousand years, he'd never seen or heard of anything like this. Not even the Amazons had ever produced a better fighter than the woman who confronted the Daimons.

Suddenly a light appeared behind the woman. It flashed bright and swirling. A chill, cold wind swept through the courtyard before six more Daimons stepped out.

Valerius went rigid at something even rarer than the warrior-woman fighting the Daimons.