The Last True Vampire (9 page)

Holy shit.
What in the hell was going on?

The bus continued on its track, the driver oblivious to Claire’s distress. Michael was in that car. She’d felt his presence as surely as if he were standing beside her. A shout built up in her chest, the urge to order the driver to let her off too strong to resist. He was there, just a football field’s length away … two lengths … three.

“Stop!” The word burst, unbidden, from Claire’s lips. “Stop the bus!”

All eyes turned to Claire, but she didn’t care. She needed to get off the bus. She couldn’t explain it, but the urge was beyond reason. His need stretched out in the space between them, reaching deep into her soul and latching on with sharp teeth that wouldn’t let go.

“Is this an emergency?” the driver asked over the intercom. “I’ll have to call nine-one-one if this is an emergency.”

“Um, no!” Claire called back. She definitely didn’t need a visit from L.A.P.D. A rule of the hustle that needed no explanation: Avoid the cops at all costs.

“Then you can get off at the next stop,” the bus driver replied. “Because I’ve got a schedule to keep.”

*   *   *

“Stop! Stop the car. Now, Ronan!”

At first, Michael thought he’d imagined it. How could it be possible to feel her so strongly amidst a steady stream of traffic and bodies? But her presence burned in his soul, an inextinguishable fire that seared him from the inside out moments before he’d caught sight of her through the bus window. Michael’s fangs ripped down from his gums, tearing the flesh with the force. He cradled his head in his palms as the Collective assaulted him, the memories awakening centuries-old instinct that he was helpless to fight.

Mine.

Without question, Ronan slammed on the brakes, sending the car fishtailing on the city street, the low-profile tires of his Aston Martin screaming. Around them, motorists honked their horns, leaning out of their windows to shout obscenities. Michael gritted his teeth against the press of the Collective, his fangs delivering two sets of punctures to his lower lip from the strain. Blood welled inside of his mouth, the sweet tang combined with his mate’s proximity igniting his thirst.

The distance between them grew, stretching out within him until every tendon pulled taut, each muscle trembling under the strain. Michael shoved open the door, the metal groaning from the force. Ronan grabbed on to Michael’s collar to keep him inside and he turned to his friend, fangs bared as a feral snarl tore from his throat.

“Take it easy, Mikhail. Let me get off the fucking street before someone rear-ends us, or runs over your ass.” Clearly agitated, Ronan’s pupils flashed silver. As with any animal, it took only a small act of aggression to put a vampire—or dhampir—on the defensive. This would end badly if Michael didn’t get a grip, and he needed his wits about him if he was going to find his mate. Already the bus had traveled the length of a block … and another. Too far for his peace of mind, and growing.

Michael forced himself back into the seat and took a breath that was neither deep nor calming as Ronan put the car into gear and pulled into the first available parking space before coming to a stop. Ronan killed the engine and Michael pinched the bridge of his nose as he took several more deep breaths in a futile effort to calm the fuck down.

“Okay,
now
you can get out.”

Michael tore out of the car, taking a stumbling step, the hum of sudden lust coursing through him. “I can still feel her,” he rasped.

Michael let out a quick burst of breath. Though he craved the human’s blood, longed for her body, and wanted the strength she could give him, he’d tried to convince himself that his base desires were the end of where his obsession led. After tonight, however, he knew with certainty that he’d been lying to himself. “
Rodstvennaya dusha,
” Michael whispered. “The human truly is my mate.”

And she was close.

CHAPTER

7

Claire rushed to the front of the bus, all but bouncing with nervous energy. The next stop was five blocks away, but that was two too far. The sense that Michael was still near twisted her insides into a knot of anxious energy. A sense of euphoria swelled in her chest and it was all she could do to keep from stomping on the driver’s foot to get him to speed it up to the next stop. She was down the stairs and waiting at the door before the bus could come to a stop, and the second the door opened she hopped out onto the sidewalk. She headed back toward where the bus had passed the black car that she’d seen Michael inside. What in the hell was she doing? This was insane! But even as crazy as the idea of tracking down a ghost felt, she kept putting one foot in front of the other.

As she hustled down the sidewalk, Claire dug through her purse for the small canister of pepper spray and the pocketknife she carried with her at all times. She tucked the pepper spray into her left palm and the knife into her right. The blade was only about four inches long, not really enough to do serious damage, but it would work in a clinch. She was still seriously on edge from her conversation with the priest who’d come into the diner tonight. It had been a long time since she’d felt so unsafe.

In this part of the city there were more dark corners than brightly lit streets and every shady alley was an opportunity for disaster. Claire’s tennis shoes whispered over the sidewalk with each step, and it took a real effort not to sprint away from every cast shadow. In the jungles of Los Angeles predators frothed at the prospect of fleeing prey, just like beasts did in the forests. She’d be asking for trouble if she ran. And so, despite the urge to pick up her pace, she kept it nice and steady. Just an innocent stroll through the worn and neglected neighborhoods of L.A.

“You shouldn’t be out at night alone, Claire. Demons hide in the shadows.”

From the very shadows he spoke of the priest stepped from an alley thirty or so feet in front of her. Though she’d been prepared for a second encounter with him, it didn’t make his appearance any less unsettling. Had he been following her? In the dark of night, the whites of his eyes disappeared entirely, appearing to be nothing more than glistening obsidian orbs. The inky locks of his hair seemed to sway in a non-existent breeze, undulating like myriad serpents atop his head. Had his features been so angular and sharp before? Fear pooled hot in Claire’s stomach, the acid churning and burning its way up her throat.

She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. As if small talk were even necessary at this point. This man meant to do her harm and that was the only thing Claire needed to concern herself with. Her hand curled around the canister of pepper spray, her finger poised at the trigger. The pocketknife was a last resort and she eased the blade out with her thumb, ready to put it to use if need be.

The priest started toward her slowly, his calm, rolling gait reminding Claire of an animal on the hunt. His black patent-leather shoes didn’t make a sound as his feet struck the sidewalk, as though the concrete conspired to mute his presence. “You’re not running from me, Claire. Why not?”

Yeah, Claire, why the hell not?
She took one deep steadying breath and then another, digging the balls of her feet into her shoes, prepared to stand her ground. He wanted her to run. Wanted to chase her down. Claire refused to give him the satisfaction. From a young age she’d learned that she needed to be scrappy if she wanted to survive the life she’d been given. No way was she running from some creepy-ass dude just because he gave her the willies. “Believe me, buddy, I’ve seen my share of scary things. I don’t frighten easily.”

He paused. “Indeed?”

In the blink of an eye he was in front of her. Claire took a stumbling step backward, jamming her spine into a parking meter. How in the hell had he done that? One second three car lengths separated them, and the next he was standing right in front of her. He canted his head to one side, studying her as one animal took stock of another. A deep musky scent permeated the air and Claire stifled a gag as the priest leaned in toward her, sniffing the air like a dog.

“He’s had your blood,” the priest hissed with a hungry smile. “No doubt he’ll be tracking you.”

Claire stepped to the side and put several needed feet between her and the priest. Not only was he creepy; the dude also was obviously six eggs short of a dozen. “Look, I don’t want any trouble. I didn’t mean to filch on your territory. I won’t hit the club district again. In fact, I’m not planning to hit any districts ever again. Lesson learned. So let’s just go our separate ways and call it a night, okay?”

His sick smile grew and he bared his teeth, making him look even more like an animal. Claire’s pulse jumped in her veins as a trickle of fear seeped into her bloodstream.
Jesus.
What was she looking at here? One strong hand snapped up toward her and Claire brought the canister of pepper spray up, aiming it at the priest’s eyes as she depressed the trigger.

He shook his head, sending droplets of pepper spray flying. Aside from that singular action, he gave no sign that it even affected him. Claire stared, dumbstruck. In a flash of motion the priest reached out and seized her by the throat. His flesh was searing hot against hers, his thumb and fingers digging in just below either side of her jawbone, and she cried out in pain.

Her voice was nothing more than a hoarse rasp as she forced it past the restriction of his fingers on her throat. “Let me go … you son of a bitch!” With her right hand she struck out with the pocketknife, catching her assailant between his neck and shoulder. He drew in a sharp breath, seizing her wrist in his opposite hand and wrenching it backward until she had no choice but to drop the knife or suffer a broken hand.

“You’ve been soiled, Claire.” His fetid breath caressed her face, and her stomach heaved, threatening to empty the contents of her stomach. “Tainted. Marked by the beast himself.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her voice was a hoarse rasp as she struggled against him, but he held her in an unrelenting iron grip. The guy could give any MMA champ a run for his money and that was saying something considering he was maybe five-five and a hundred and forty pounds. “Please…” Any bravado she might have felt was long gone. Streetwise or not, Claire was way over her head and she knew it. “Please, just let me go.”

“I can’t do that, Claire. Fate must be realigned.”

Tendrils of black crept back into the whites of his eyes, spreading out in dark veins throughout the delicate skin of his eyelids. The heady, musky smell intensified and Claire gagged, swallowing down the bile that rose in her throat. She took in shallow gulps of breath as the priest’s grip on her throat tightened and he slowly raised her up off of the ground until only the tips of her toes made contact with the sidewalk beneath her.

He released her wrist and Claire clawed at the hand holding her. With a swift kick she connected with his shin, but she might as well have been kicking at a brick wall for all the good it did her.

“I won’t kill you, Claire,” the priest said almost conversationally. He kept her suspended in the air as though he could support her weight for the rest of the night without tiring. “Not yet, anyway. I can’t promise not to hurt you in the meantime, though. I do so love to exact pain.”

He released his grip on her throat and Claire tumbled to the ground in a heap. A sharp pang radiated from her hip bone upon contact with the concrete, but she didn’t have time to acknowledge it. She scrambled for freedom, her nails scraping against the sidewalk as she fought for traction with the slick soles of her tennis shoes. Behind her the sound of metal scraping against concrete drew her attention, and Claire’s heart jumped up into her throat.

She got to her feet not a moment too soon. Taking off as fast as her wobbly legs would carry her, she ran. The eerie silence behind her did little to assuage her fear, because she knew the priest was close behind.

With inhuman speed he overtook her, his body an immovable wall that appeared before her. Claire’s body made contact and she bounced back, her head smacking with a sick crack on the sidewalk as she landed. White lights twinkled in her vision. Addled, she tried to get up, but her limbs were heavy and her head spun. The priest settled down on top of her, straddling her waist. A perverse anticipation twinkled in his eyes and the inky blackness returned to swallow the whites of his eyes entirely. How could any of this possibly be real? His dark pink tongue darted out to lick his lips as he brought the flat of the pocketknife’s blade against Claire’s right cheek.

“It’s time to draw a little blood.” He angled the blade so that the sharp edge rested against the hollow of Claire’s cheek. “And coax the vampire out of hiding.”

*   *   *

His mate’s scream of pain reached Michael and heat seared through his chest, her presence calling to him in a way that no other’s could. Without a word he propelled himself forward and headed in the direction of her screams.

He pushed himself faster, the buildings a blur in his vision as he dashed the length of the city block. He came to a stop mere feet from the female he’d been searching for only to find her held securely in the embrace of a priest. But this was no ordinary clergyman, nor was he human. The beast held Michael’s mate tight against his body, one hand wrapped securely around her throat, the other clutching a small knife that he held against her jugular. Blood trickled down one of her cheeks, the scent igniting Michael’s thirst as much as it fueled his rage. The priest leaned in and, with his gaze locked with Michael’s, dragged his tongue up the length of Michael’s mate’s cheek, taking her blood on his tongue.

A snarl tore through Michael’s throat. He took a step forward and the priest pressed the blade into the delicate flesh of his mate’s throat. “Take another step, vampire, and I’ll spill this precious blood of hers. I’ll flood the street with it and you can watch her die.”

“Shit.” Ronan’s voice behind Michael was tentative, full of confusion. “This sure as hell doesn’t look good.”