“You do not know what danger you are in when you tempt me like that.”

“Tempt you? I didn’t—”

Her words were cut off by his kiss. His lips devoured hers and his forceful domination roused her. This wasn’t like the tepid kisses from before. She was getting a taste of his unchecked desire.

Striker’s fingers moved up and over her breasts to linger at her throat. He laid a finger on her jugular vein and left it there, feeling her heartbeat.

“You are too much of a temptation,” he whispered against her lips.

When she opened her eyes, she saw his fangs, extended and gleaming. The look in his eyes should have frightened her, sent her running from the hungry vampire who held her in his arms. But the only emotion she felt was all-encompassing passion …

About the Author

Award-winning author CONNIE HALL is a full-time writer. Her writing credits include six historical novels and two novellas written under the pen name Constance Hall. She is thrilled to now be writing for Nocturne.

An avid hiker, conservationist, bird watcher, painter of watercolors and oil portraits, she dreams of one day trying her hand at skydiving.

She lives in Richmond, Virginia, with her husband, two sons and Keeper, a lovable Lab-mix who rules the house with her big brown eyes. For more information, visit her website or e-mail her at conniehall_author@comcast.net.

Dear Reader,

We all share fantasies of meeting one on a dark night—am I right? But be careful, you may get what you wish for. And the vampire may not be the nice True Blood, Bill Compton type. You may meet up with the Nightwalker.

That’s what happens to Takala Rainwater. And let me tell you, Striker Dark isn’t named Nightwalker because he’s a pleasant sort of undead. He was formed before Christianity. Envision the transformations he must have witnessed, the wars and destruction on which he fed. He could have whispered in Nostradamus’s ear, chatted with Einstein, orchestrated civilisation to suit his whims and his hunger for blood. Now imagine putting your life in the hands of such perpetual evil …

Oh, yeah, I almost forgot to tell you about Takala’s sisters, Fala and Nina. You can read their stories in The Guardian and The Beholder.

Happy reading!

Connie Hall

Nightwalker
Connie Hall

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Chapter 1

Buckingham Palace

The call came at a most inopportune moment. Striker Dark reached for his phone while keeping his gaze on the queen of England. She cut her eyes at him for a split second, and, without missing a beat, she continued to address the dignitaries with stiff royal aplomb.

After a quick look around, he astral projected out the banquet room’s closest exit. He would take the call and get back before the humans present even realized he’d left his seat.

Two of the queen’s MI10 agents, a vampire and a leopard shifter, noticed. They were the only Supes (supernaturals) in the room who could follow his departure. They eyed him with distaste. MI10 was a highly classified counterintelligence agency within Great Britain, the counterpart to Striker’s own United States Bureau of Supernatural Phenomena. They both dealt with anything supernatural and kept it hidden from humans, and duties sometimes included protecting royalty and government officials. Two of Striker’s own agents were safeguarding the President of the United States right now. But MI10 agents thought themselves a cut above their Yank cousins, and for that reason Striker ignored them completely as he paused in the hallway.

His phone wasn’t your typical landline. A crystal, developed especially for him by the tech-support staff at B.O.S.P., drove the gizmo. His clairvoyant powers absorbed the energy it released, and it amplified them. It was like having an omnipresent stalker exploding in his head. Even before he opened the lid he knew something was dreadfully wrong.

His gut flinched, and he couldn’t believe the image appearing before his eyes. Hover demons floated and circled five of his agents.

Hover demons could be easily summoned; they killed for pleasure, unlike doom demons, who tortured their victims and demanded payment for their enjoyment. There were as many types of demons as there were types of angels. Angels and demons had their many uses, but Striker refused to summon hovers for anything. They were unpredictable, and in his line of work unpredictability was a detriment.

Black hooded robes covered the demons’ bodies and faces, but the flamethrowers and scythes in their hands were clearly visible. His agents were near them, on their knees, execution style. Silver chains crisscrossed their vampire bodies and held them immobile. Striker knew every one of the agents by name. He had trained them himself. They were the elite at B.O.S.P. How could this happen?

In the moonlit background, Striker noticed a wharf. Warehouse lights cast eerie shadows over their faded fronts. Boats rocked against the pier, and he saw the Suter’s Marina sign. He knew that place. New Orleans.

A hover paused, the edge of his robe rippling as he lowered the blowtorch and fired. Aquarius, a two-hundred-year-old vamp and one of Striker’s OIC’s, screamed. A rictus of pain and helplessness distorted his face.

Abruptly, the scythe chopped down on his neck.

His head rolled like a ball and settled near his knees. One blink of recognition from his eyes, and then the life left Aquarius’s face forever.

Another demon closed in on the next agent in line. Fizz! Chop! Fizz! Chop! Another shriek. Chop!

Striker wanted to feel sympathy or empathy, but there was nothing left inside to let him feel. He had lived too long on the earth, and it had killed his human sensitivity. It was as if the world had lost all its color and he observed it from an objective, sterile black-and-white environment now. Still, he couldn’t look at his own agents, the ones whom he directed and had sent to their deaths, without feeling the injustice. A tiny snarl lifted one corner of his lip, and he felt his fangs extend.

Suddenly the phone’s camera turned upward, and a female face he recognized spun into view. Real name: Skye Rainwater, aka Simone Poindexter, aka Lilly Smith. Code name: Culler. She stared back him. Her vibrant blue eyes filled up the screen, the dark, sooty lashes caked with mascara. Eyes so deeply entrenched in his mind that he’d see them the rest of his life.

“Hello, Nightwalker,” she said. “Enjoying this little show?”

Striker heard another yell, and it cut the back of his neck like the teeth of a chain saw. “Culler,” Striker said. “What the hell are you doing? Help them!”

“I have. Can’t you see that?”

So it was real. “How did you set up this blood bath?”

“Just called Aquarius and told him Raithe was receiving a shipment of girls.”

Aquarius should have known better, followed protocol and called Striker. It wasn’t the first time Aquarius had broken rank, only this time he’d paid dearly—with his life. “What has happened to you?”

“I’m tired of being out in the field, risking my life and doing your dirty work for the measly pennies you drop my way.”

“We invested half a million in your cover. That is a lot of pennies.” Striker’s voice turned low, soft and quite deadly. He envisioned wrapping his hands around her neck and squeezing…. “How could you betray B.O.S.P. like this?”

“I don’t live and breathe the agency like you. I’m a free spirit. And who are we kidding? This is your vendetta, not B.O.S.P.’s. Raithe just helped me see I was on the wrong side.”

“I will find you.”

“You can try.” She cackled, her eyes gleaming bright blue with malice. Then the screen went blank.

Striker thought of headquarters, and Mimi’s small angular face appeared in the screen. Anyone looking at her reflection could tell she was a dwarf. What her looks didn’t reveal was her penchant for voodoo. She looked bored until she noticed who it was. A grin spread across her face, and she batted her false eyelashes as she fluffed her curly blond hair. “Anything I can get you, boss?”

Striker knew she was referring to something other than work, but he always ignored her advances. And this was no different. He went directly to the point. “I need the dossier on Culler. Send it right away, and see what aliases you can find that are not in our files. And use the psychics. I do not want one stone unturned.”

“You got it, boss.”

“Any sightings of Raithe?” Striker had recently upped the bounty on Raithe in the paranormal community, but as of yet no one was brave enough to collect the three million dollars.

“No, sorry,” she said forlornly. She knew Raithe was on Striker’s top-ten wanted list.

“All right, then. Waiting on the dossier.”

He closed the device and shoved it in his pocket. He would apologize later to the queen. He didn’t have time for niceties or foreign diplomatic dinner parties. He had to find Culler.

She had been his only hope. What had happened to make her turn? They had been so close to catching Raithe. Striker’s lip lifted in a tiny snarl as he thought of his nemesis. Raithe controlled much of the underbelly of the human and vampire races. He dealt in everything from drugs to prostitution to providing living victims for vampires to drain and kill. A real nice upstanding vampire was Raithe.

Striker had been hunting Raithe for hundreds of years, and not once had he been able to get this close to him. It had taken ten years of undercover work, but Culler had finally gained Raithe’s trust. Striker didn’t want to think about the evils Culler must have endured and participated in to prove her fealty to Raithe. Culler kept assuring Striker that she was okay and didn’t need a psychological evaluation. She promised Striker she could locate Raithe’s den, but she needed more time. Through the years, she’d given Striker several leads on child-pornography rings and snuff-film makers, mostly throughout Europe, even a bordello filled with werepanthers Raithe tortured for his own amusement, but not the one thing Striker wanted: Raithe.

Then Culler had turned on him and joined Raithe. At the thought of his nemesis, Striker felt his fangs jut out more and scrape his lower lip. He tasted his own blood and realized he and Raithe were more similar than he cared to admit. They were both ruthless in their own way, both unable to stop until the other was eradicated.

Chapter 2

Takala Rainwater stuffed the last bite of a ham and cheese croissant in her mouth as she saw the road sign for the Woodlawn Terrace subdivision. A cemetery name if she ever saw one. Right up there with Pleasant Green and Quiet Acres.

She made an uneasy face as she turned right, finished off a can of Pepsi, and drove her MINI Cooper down the road. The streets of Fredericksburg looked like any other quiet residential neighborhood in February. Neatly groomed houses lined the block. Rows of dormant flower gardens waited for winter to end and spring to begin. Evidence of a recent snow still painted the lawns in a sheen of white. The pockmarked bodies of melting snowmen waved to her from some of the yards. The only evidence of death here was the name of the road.

She grabbed the note lying beside her and looked at the address Blake had given her. Blake Green worked for the FBI’s Data and Statistics Department. A friend since high school. He gleaned information for Takala’s private investigating agency, and in return Takala sprung for his dinner at a four-star restaurant once a month.

Blake had been searching for evidence of Takala’s mother for four years, since joining the FBI. Blake was a bloodhound when it came to finding information, and Skye Rainwater had become one of his obsessions. Finally he’d got a hit this morning. He had flagged the name, and someone must have been researching it, because the flag popped up. He had followed the electronic trail and called Takala all excited, telling her that he’d discovered information in the State Department database on Skye Rainwater. She had two aliases, Simone Poindexter and Lilly Smith. He also gave Takala Lilly Smith’s LKA (last known address) here in the States. Surprisingly, it was in Fredericksburg, Virginia, not seventy miles from the Patomani Indian reservation where Takala lived. He also added the usual caveat he did with all the leads he gave her: that the information might be bogus. In this case it could have been planted by the State Department to throw people off Skye’s trail. But it was a lead.

Takala wondered how her mother was connected to the State Department, but that was still a mystery to her and Blake. She vowed to worship Blake for the rest of his life and buy his dinner every day for the next twenty years. Blake’s ego had seemed worthily pandered to and satisfied, and they had left it at that.

Now Takala felt her heart pounding as she read the numbers. Forty-five was a couple of blocks away. This could be the moment for which she’d been waiting her whole life. Finally, she might meet her mother. Face-to-face. Up close and personal. No room to run.

She had a lot of questions for her, and they were the kind you had to look a woman in the eye while she answered them, like how does a mother just drop three daughters on the doorstep of her mother’s home and leave? Even though it was forbidden to speak of anyone who had been abjured from her tribe, Meikoda, Takala’s grandmother, had felt Takala and her sisters wouldn’t stop asking about their mother until they heard the explanation of why and how they came to live with her. After warning them that she could only tell them once, she had gone on to explain that Skye had left them because she’d refused to marry the man predestined to be her husband—that’s how it was for Guardians. They married whomever the Maiden Bear chose for them. But Skye had refused, spit in the face of the creator of her tribe’s white magic. Skye had abandoned her family, her preordained station as the Guardian, and her standing in the tribe to marry for love. It had ended badly, and her husband, Takala’s father, had died prematurely of lung cancer.

Meikoda said his death was Skye’s reprimand from Maiden Bear. And Skye wallowed in her grief, turning to drugs for solace, until she could no longer care for her own daughters. That excuse didn’t mesh if Skye had gone to work for the State Department. No, Takala wanted the truth, to hear it from her mother’s own lips. That was if she was still alive. This Lilly Smith could be a dead end.

But Takala couldn’t dampen the hope stirring in her, or the dread. What if she found Skye, and it didn’t go well? What if she offered no explanation and resented Takala looking for her? Takala decided she’d cross that bridge when and if she ever reached it.

She rounded a corner and slowed. Number forty-five was a modest two-story with a white picket fence. Even a Christmas wreath still graced the door. Real homey. Fit right in the burb-style neighborhood. Maybe Lilly Smith had a family of her own.

At the thought, Takala grimaced and spotted the taxi sitting out front. Plumes of hot exhaust billowed from the muffler, condensing as soon as they hit the cold air. Someone was on their way out.

Takala slowed, about to pull over, when a woman appeared at the door, carrying a suitcase. Takala compared the woman’s features to the old photo she’d found hidden in Meikoda’s hope chest. Her grandmother had said she’d destroyed every picture of Skye when the tribe renounced her, but Takala knew Meikoda couldn’t wipe out all the pictures of her only daughter. She had to have kept one, and Takala hadn’t given up until she discovered it. Since finding it, she’d only looked at it a thousand times.

The woman on the porch appeared about fifty, tall, with short jet-black hair. She wore sleek brown slacks and a matching cashmere jacket. Her makeup looked flawless on her square face. Lilly Smith glanced nervously up at the taxi driver, and the classic Rainwater bright blue eyes beamed. Yep. Give or take twenty years and about two feet of long, thick braid, this woman was a dead ringer for the image in the photo.

Takala felt her chest swell and a lump form in her throat. Could this really be her mother? She was about to pull over and discover the truth when all hell broke loose.

A woman popped out from behind a hedge in the next yard. The taxi driver leaped out of the car and ran toward the front steps. A black mist appeared, swirled; then the dark mass congealed into the tall form of a guy. Definitely not human travel arrangements. By his pale skin, he looked undead. A zombie maybe. But zombies weren’t capable of doing the human-fog-Houdini thing.

Lilly Smith had already seen her pursuers and was leaping over the porch railing. When she spotted Houdini, real fear filled her face.

Houdini must have had the ability to teleport, because he disappeared. Takala couldn’t track him until he reappeared at Lilly’s back and grabbed her.

Takala jumped into the action. She laid on the horn and stomped on the gas. The car hopped the curb, heading directly for the struggling Lilly. The other two thugs were in her path, and she barreled straight for them.

Seconds before her bumper reached them, they leaped aside.

A fist came out of nowhere and slammed through the driver’s side window.

Glass flew and rained down on Takala. A gust of wind picked up the photo and address and blew it out the busted window before Takala could catch it.

She cursed, whipped around and stared into the pink, lizardlike eyes of the person who’d broken her window. The creature looked female, but not all human. Her hair was whitish green, stubbly. A green, sticky ooze covered lips that were so wide they looked like a distorted image in a funhouse mirror. She wore a black jumpsuit designed so that the sticky proboscis that jutted from her belly could pop out unencumbered. It looked like a third hand but with suction cups for fingers. She clung to the car by it, her supple body crouched there like a fly on flypaper. The creature smiled; then her long, grotesque tongue flicked out.

Takala’s cheek stung as the creature’s hands grabbed her neck.

Takala slammed on the brakes, gasping, “Back off, Freakzilla.”

The shifter’s sticky fingers stretched like rubber bands, her sharp nails digging into Takala’s neck. “Who you calling a freak?” The woman’s long tongue flipped out and burned Takala’s forehead this time.

Takala could take a lot of two-skins, but gecko shifters just plain grossed her out; so did the little talking green guy on the insurance commercials. But this one was real and had broken her car window and was trying to strangle her.

“Okay, I warned you,” Takala gasped past the pressure on her neck. Then she elbowed the shifter in the face.

The blow sent the freak rocketing from the car window. The gecko two-skin hit a cement birdbath with a loud high-pitched squeal.

If Takala had been a normal woman, she felt certain the gecko shifter’s gluey body wouldn’t have budged. But Takala had the strength of twenty men. Unfortunately, she hadn’t been fast enough, and the shifter had raked her reptilian claws across Takala’s neck.

“Oooh! Gross.” Takala grabbed the bottom of her T-shirt and wiped the sticky green saliva from her burning cheek, then moved to the bloody claw marks on her neck. That’s when she saw Lilly struggling with Houdini.

Abruptly, Lilly’s body vibrated into a yellow throbbing orb. She spun out of his grasp and leaped straight through his body like a ghost. When she passed through and out on the other side, Houdini staggered and collapsed.

The atoms of Lilly’s body expanded like a rubber balloon, stretching her features into a grotesque ball. Then she blew a cloud of black mist from her mouth, and her body shrunk to normal size again. The dark energy funneled into a small tornado above her head. Then it headed back for Houdini’s body.

Takala had overheard forbidden whispered snippets of conversation among her aunts and her grandmother where they had spoken about her mother’s power. Skye was a spirit eater, capable of draining the energy from supernatural beings and temporarily paralyzing them. Takala’s tribe, the Patomani Indians, had a name for the power: egtonha. The power would have been invaluable to an agent. Was this truly her mother?

Takala floored the accelerator, crashed over a pretty picket fence, and skidded to a stop near Lilly, barely missing the downed Houdini. She motioned for Lilly to hop in.

The energy reentered Houdini, and he staggered to his feet. In seconds, he’d gain his full power back.

Lilly seemed to realize this, her gaze shifting between the two Supes coming for her, Houdini, and Takala. Then she leaped inside Takala’s car—the least of the three evils.

Takala heard Houdini’s icy warning. “You’re helping a killer. You’ll regret—”

Lilly slammed the door, cutting off his words. She looked over at Takala and yelled, “Drive.”

Takala floored it, taking out the other side of the fence and a flower bed. They hopped the curve and sped down the street.

Lilly said, “He set me up and wants me dead. Do you?”

“Nope. I’m riding the white horse at the moment.” Honestly, she didn’t know whom to trust. Houdini or the woman sitting beside her. Was Lilly a killer as he’d said?

“Thanks.” Lilly straightened the lapels of her cashmere jacket in a fussy manner. “Such a mess, isn’t it?”

Takala smelled the acrid scent of sulfur and magic on Lilly Smith as she said, “That’s an understatement.”

Striker felt the power forging a path through his body. He writhed and shook, knowing how it felt to be burned at the stake. He rarely if ever found himself vulnerable, but this was one of those moments. If it had been night, he would have been too strong for Culler to absorb his power. But it was morning, and the sun had drained some of his strength. Not even the tech-support guys at B.O.S.P. could come up with a solution to block that phenomenon. But he still had half of his powers. Culler and her friend would not get away. Not if he could help it.

When he could speak and move again, he rose and sniffed the air. He scented blood, human blood. The predatory side of him could detect the scent of blood from miles away. Not your typical brand, either. This was an enticing smell, different. Too aromatic and potent. The newcomer’s blood. He felt his bloodlust stirring—a craving he was certain he had mastered, until a second ago. He felt his world shifting a little out of kilter, and he clenched his jaw in irritation.

He barked at the two B.O.S.P. agents, “Bring in the cleaners, then dispose of this mess.” He motioned to the broken fence pickets and tire tracks running through the yards and the next-door neighbors peeking out the window. Cleaners erased the memories of humans and put the world back together in their ordered little universe. There were many types of cleaners in the supernatural world. Those who utilized dark magic caused adverse effects like strokes and Alzheimer’s. B.O.S.P. employed cleaners who were trained to use crystal erasers, the only safe type, that actually altered the atomic particles that made up human memory. “And find out who that woman helping her is,” he added, narrowing his eyes at the street they had disappeared down.

Tongue looked over at Vaughn, a new recruit. He was so new, no one but Striker knew his code name. “You get the license?” she asked.

Vaughn looked lost and shrugged.

Tongue rolled her lizard eyes. “That’s a fallen angel for you.”

“D-e-t-e-c-t 1,” Striker said, his tone turning soft and menacing, a sure sign he was losing patience with incompetence. His gaze raked both the agents, and that was enough of a reprimand.

They instantly snapped to attention.

Striker looked at them, but his mind was on the license plate, clear in his memory as the image of the driver. Long wavy ginger hair with streaks of golden blond running through it. One green eye and one blue. Dangly hoop earrings. Too much eye makeup and lipstick. Arrogant saucy expression. Didn’t seem to show an ounce of fear. Something about her seemed familiar to him, but he couldn’t place her. One thing was certain: if she got in his way again, she’d become a casualty. Striker smelled the enticing aroma of her blood emanating from Tongue’s fingernails, and he clenched his fists.

“She ain’t all human, boss,” Tongue said, licking the green sheen off her plump lips as if tasting the woman.

“Thank you for pointing out the obvious.” Striker found himself unpleasantly annoyed that Tongue could taste the woman. “Find out who she is and if she’s working for Raithe, while I track them.” He turned, and his body morphed into a sheet of black mist. When his essence disappeared, a loud clap of thunder followed.

Tongue and her partner looked at each other. Vaughn spoke first. “Man, he’s provoked. Never seen him upset.”

“Just be glad he’s not mad at you.” Tongue glowered at him, then pulled out a cell phone.

Chapter 3

Takala checked her mirrors for a tail. Clear so far. She had been forced to stop at a service station and find a quick fix for the driver’s side window. They had used Mylar plastic and duct tape. At least it kept out some of the cold air, but the flapping of the plastic was driving her crazy. Takala had the heater going full blast, though Lilly Smith was hunched in a ball as if she was cold.

Takala had found a scarf in her glove compartment and covered the bleeding scratches on her neck. She adjusted it now, still feeling the gecko cretin’s nails gouging her skin. If only she had some peroxide and antibiotic ointment. That would have to wait. She grimaced at the neon-pink scarf, but it went okay with her black jeans and black coat. And the blood spots on the scarf actually looked as if they had been added by the designer. For having been attacked, she didn’t look half-bad. Wounded or not, she cared about her appearance.

Takala settled back in the driver’s seat, aware of the uncomfortable silence between her and Lilly Smith. She felt Lilly’s keen eyes studying her. Finally Takala said, “Are you warm enough?”

“Yes, thanks.”

“So, where we going?”

“The Richmond airport,” Lilly said, uncertainty in the reply.

“Sure.” Takala nodded to assure Lilly Smith that she was okay with the drive.

“And thank you. I appreciate your help. They would have killed me back there.”

“No problem.”

Lilly took Takala’s measure for a long, uncomfortable moment, something in her shrewd blue eyes that hid more than just mere intelligence. “You’re a brave girl. You don’t seem afraid, even after all you’ve seen.”

“I’m not. Supernatural stuff doesn’t bother me.”

“If you stay with me, you might be more than bothered.”

“I’m used to living on the edge.”

“Really.” Lilly glanced at Takala as if she had no idea what danger was. She lifted her chin a few inches in a challenging, almost condescending way, the smug smile never leaving her lips.

“I’m a detective.” Takala swallowed her indignation, and it tasted bitter in her throat.

“A good one, I hope.”

“I’ve stayed alive this long.”

“You look young to me.”

“I’ve been in the business for six years.”

“Run a lot of background checks, do you?”

“No, I don’t like the research end. I’m more hands-on.”

Lilly shot her an I-guess-you’ll-do-in-a-pinch look.

No matter how hard she tried, her dislike for this woman was growing like a cancer in her gut. She felt as if she were being interviewed for a job and found lacking. Do a stranger a favor, and that’s how they repay you.

Stranger or not, was she really related to this woman? The verdict was still out, and she wanted to keep it that way. Two things Takala knew: Lilly Smith had trust issues, and she had a hard time feeling obligated to anyone. Not to mention she wasn’t very likable. Takala quickly changed the subject. “Who were those goons?”

“Unfortunately, State Department agents.”

So Lilly Smith actually worked for the State Department. One point for Blake. “When did the State Department start hiring paranormal hit squads?” Takala asked, playing along.

“I work—or shall I say worked—for a branch of the State Department …” Lilly paused as if weighing something, then said, “What the hell, I’ll tell you. It’s called B.O.S.P. Ever heard of it?”

Takala knew of B.O.S.P. Fala’s husband, Stephen Winter, a warlock, used to work as an agent there, but she didn’t know if she wanted Lilly Smith to know that, so she lied and said, “No, I haven’t.”

“Not surprised. Most people haven’t. They try to keep all humans in the dark about what goes on right under their noses. They’d probably have congressional hearings for the next century if they found out about all the paranormal activities in government.”

“The human zeitgeist can’t handle it.”

“But they got that television series, Supernatural, pretty on the mark.” Lilly laughed softly, a detectable forced note in her voice.

Lilly seemed to work hard at being sociable. Was this just her standoffish personality? Takala had hoped to find something warm in her, but as yet she hadn’t. “Sam’s my favorite,” she said flatly.

“Dean’s mine. So hunky, with that edge of evil.”

Okay, she might just have disagreed with her own mother for the first time. She didn’t know how she felt about that, so she lapsed into silence.

Lilly broke it. “That strength of yours is pretty impressive—” she considered Takala, her eyes sparkling like shards of blue glass “—but you seem human enough to me.”

“I am, in basics.” Takala turned the conversation back to Lilly. “So, you can inhale the powers of other creatures. Pretty interesting.”

“Only for a few moments. Too bad I can’t keep them.” A power-hungry glint shifted in Lilly’s eyes.

A cold chill gripped Takala. This woman could be her mother, but Takala didn’t know if she liked her or trusted her. “Why were those agents after you?”

“They want me dead.”

“Why?”

“I was working undercover for them. Some agents got killed, and I was set up to take the fall for it.”

“Know who set you up?”

“Nightwalker.”

“Who’s that?”

“The vamp who just attacked me.”

Houdini. Nightwalker. A vampire. The image seemed to fit. “Why’d he set you up?”

“He must have wanted me out of the picture.”

“He’d kill his own men just to take you out?”

“You sound skeptical. Believe me, he’s capable of a lot worse.”

Takala didn’t know if Lilly’s story was credible. Why not just go after Lilly? Why kill your own men? None of it seemed practical, but then a lot went on in classified government agencies that would probably make her hair stand on end. Not until Fala hooked up with Stephen had Takala found out that witches had infiltrated government positions. Some duly elected officials were possessed by demons. Others were just plain demons. Shifters, too. You name it, and you could find all manner of paranormal creatures in high places. And people thought Watergate was bad.

This Nightwalker vamp could be a real mean dude with limitless power to back him up. She knew little about vampires, other than the ones she’d dealt with in her line of work. Her clients were mostly human with human problems. Occasionally she was hired to protect women from a stalker, who sometimes turned out to be a vampire. She had helped Fala, her sister, the Guardian, the most powerful shaman on the earth, take out a few evil vampires and their dens. Mostly, though, vampires operated below the radar and stayed to themselves. Takala was glad she’d never come up against this Nightwalker vamp. She wondered why Stephen had never spoken of him. When she had some alone time, she’d have to call Fala and Stephen and get the skinny on Nightwalker.

“This Nightwalker dude must be a badass,” Takala said. “Never seen a vamp out in daylight. Thought they had to sleep during the day.”

“This one’s unusually old and powerful. Sunlight only weakens him.” Lilly’s brows met in a frown, and she said, “So, how is it you showed up when you did? You’re not working for B.O.S.P., are you?” Her eyes narrowed to slits as she studied Takala.

Takala took her attention off the road long enough to stare squarely into Lilly’s eyes. Then she lied with ease. “I was casing a house—cheating husband.” Takala shrugged nonchalantly. “Saw you were in trouble, so I helped.”

“I’ve ruined your case.”

“Nothing I can’t rectify. He’ll probably be there for a while anyway. He’s a bigamist.”

Lilly chewed that over for a moment, then said, “I don’t even know your name.”

Takala supplied her usual bogus moniker. “Tonya Richter.”

Lilly considered her a moment as if wondering if that was Takala’s real name. Then she said, “I’m Lilly Smith.”

Only one of her aliases. Takala grinned and said, “Nice to meet you.”

Lilly bobbed her head in kind. “Since I’ve disturbed your case, you have to let me compensate you.”

“No big deal.”

“I don’t like owing people.” Lilly thought a moment, the red of her lipstick making her mouth gleam as if it had been doused in shellac. “How does five hundred sound for your trouble?”

Takala had to find a way to keep Lilly near her. The sign for Interstate 95 appeared, and she hopped onto the highway to Richmond. Finally she said, “I don’t want to take money I haven’t earned. What about you hire me for protection?”

“I don’t know.” Lilly tapped her painted red nails on her arm and stared at the traffic ahead of them. “You might end up being more trouble than you’re worth.”

“I saved your life, didn’t I?” Takala sounded as insulted as she felt by this woman’s lack of trust.

When Lilly didn’t say anything right away, and before she could come up with a reason to say no, Takala said, “I could use the work.” She tried to sound more desperate than greedy.

“The economy. It’s killing everybody.” Lilly shook her head in disgust. “I guess I can hire you. If it doesn’t work out, then you’re gone. And if you’ve lied to me about being a B.O.S.P agent, you’ll regret it.”

Takala ground her jaw together and passed a Corolla blocking her way. Then she said, “Let’s get one thing straight here. I’m not lying, and I don’t appreciate your threats.”

“Noted.” A superior grin toyed with the curves of her red lips. “You must understand that in my line of work I can trust no one.”

“I get that.”

Her tone turned dismissive and businesslike. “I’ll only need your services until I get safely to France—if that long.”

“Okay. I usually get a hundred dollars a day for expenses, but I’ll knock it back to fifty if you pay for my ticket.”

“Sounds fair.”

This was a no-brainer. Takala didn’t have any pending cases at the moment. In fact, a mob boss had tried to abduct her a month ago for testifying in court against him. His thugs had almost killed her. If Fala, her older sister, hadn’t used her healing powers, Takala would be dead. She could also spend time with Lilly and see if she really was a murderer, much less someone she could even like.

Takala thought a moment and said, “I’ll have to call my boyfriend first and let him know where I’m going. He’s about to propose,” she added to gain Lilly’s confidence. “He just doesn’t know it yet.”

Lilly arched a dark brow. “Oh, one of those. Isn’t it comical that we can make men do anything we want?” She grinned sardonically.

Takala smiled back, but it was only a polite smile. Something told her Lilly Smith enjoyed manipulating more than just men.

Takala didn’t like talking on the cell phone while driving, but she had no choice. She pulled out her phone and hit 1 on the speed dial.

A woman’s high-pitched giggle sounded in her ear, then, “Oh, Akando. That feels wonderful.” Lust filled each word.

Another giggle.

Takala felt jealousy soar through her like a hot poker. “Who the hell is this?” When there was no response, she yelled, “Hello! Akando!”

A deep, sexy voice melted over the phone. “Hey, babe.”

“Don’t babe me. Who’s with you?”

“No one.”

“You’re lying through your teeth. I heard a woman’s voice.” Takala wished she was standing before him, because he wouldn’t have any teeth when she was done with him. “Who’s with you?”

“Just a friend.”

Another giggle, then a smooching, sucking noise. Takala felt a hole opening in the pit of her stomach, and her heart began being sucked down through it. Her chest ached as if he’d just put his foot through it.

She’d really thought Akando was the one. The love of her life. No! No! No! This wasn’t happening. “Just tell me the truth,” she said, the need to cry burning the back of her throat. She wouldn’t cry. Not over him.

He paused as if summoning his courage. She’d never thought Akando was weak until this moment. “The truth is, you’re sweet, and we’ve had a good time, but I want to date other women.”

“You told me you loved me.”

“I never said that.”

“You did.”

“I didn’t. I made a point of not telling you that.”

Had she heard only what she wanted to hear? She could have sworn he’d said it at least once. When she couldn’t remember the exact moment, she said, “You implied it.”

“I can’t help what you let yourself believe.”

“Let myself.” How could she have been so oblivious?

“Yeah, you got carried away.”

“Only because you made me believe you loved me.”

“Don’t blame me, babe. You came up with that notion on your own.”

Another feminine giggle near the phone.

The sound cut through Takala like fingernails on a chalkboard. “I guess we’ve both been deceived,” she said.

“No, I pretty much knew what I was getting into with you.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’re just too intense.”

“So that’s why you’re breaking up with me?” she asked, hating the whiny and weak sound in her own voice.

The woman spoke in the background. “Just hang up on her.”

“Don’t you dare,” Takala said. “Explain intense.”

“Insecure, clingy. You’re sweet, but …”

“But?”

“You scare me.”

The woman chuckled softly.

The knot in Takala’s throat grew baseball-size as she said, “You didn’t seem too scared when we slept together.” She heard her voice crack.

“That was different. You’re a good lay.”

“That’s all I am to you?”

“No, I mean—”

“Forget it!” Takala slammed the phone shut. Tears streamed down her cheeks in earnest, so much so that she couldn’t see to drive. She slowed and pulled the MINI over onto the shoulder.

“Everything okay?” Lilly asked softly.

“I thought he loved me. I thought he was the one, but he’s still in love with my older sister.”

“You’re rebound material?”

“I guess so.” Takala wiped at the hot tears on her face, smearing them across her cheeks.

“And you didn’t see it coming?” Even Lilly sounded surprised that Takala had been so unaware.

In all honesty, Takala had considered it. Akando had been betrothed to Fala, Takala’s older sister and the current Guardian since birth. It almost destroyed Akando when Fala chose Stephen Winter over him. Takala had been angry at Fala at first for hurting Akando; she’d had a crush on him since childhood. But it had not worked out because Takala had been there to nurse his emotional wounds. And she believed she could make Akando love her. Who would put balm on her own wounds?

Takala hiccupped and said, “I should have listened. My baby sister warned me not to get involved with Akando. I just didn’t want to hear the truth.” Why hadn’t Takala seen what was so obvious to Nina? Why was it Takala could read people in her line of work, knew the moment they were lying, but when it came to her love life, she was clueless? She thought of Fala and Nina. Both happily married to men who worshipped them. Why couldn’t she find someone? What was wrong with her?

Lilly Smith patted Takala’s shoulder. “Heck with him. You don’t want someone like that. There’s plenty fish in the sea.”

“I’m sick of trolling for them. I always end up getting the pointy end of the hook. Men are pigs.” Takala banged her head on the steering wheel, making the whole car shake.

“Tell me about it, honey,” Lilly said.

Takala felt Lilly Smith’s comforting hand on her shoulder, the hand of the woman who might possibly be her mother, and her sobs became uncontrollable.

Chapter 4

“You can’t take those.”

Striker shoved the sunglasses down onto the bridge of his nose and eyed the kid who’d just accused him of stealing. He looked about sixteen, with freckles and red hair, too young and naive to know he was annoying a vampire. Normally, Striker would have stopped to purchase the sunglasses and baseball cap, but he couldn’t let Culler and the woman out of his sight. He held the boy’s gaze while his will seeped into the young man’s conscience.

“I have paid for these,” Striker said, hypnotizing the kid with his eyes.

“Right, sorry, sir.” Like a puppet, the boy moved back behind the counter of the little gift shop.

Striker shoved the glasses back up on his nose, made sure the cap covered his hair, then he picked up a USA Today on his way out. He stepped into the flow of people moving toward the various airline ticket windows.

He spotted Culler and her friend about fifty yards ahead. It was hard to miss her companion, not because the scent of blood was all over her and his predatory sense of smell could find her in a twenty-story building in seconds, or that she was tall and head and shoulders above the crowd, but because she dressed like a rock star. Thick ginger-blond curls hung down past her shoulders. Her long legs were stuffed into tight black hip-hugger pants. Several spike belts of varying widths hung around her slender hips. She wore a tie-dyed T-shirt that left three inches of her flat belly showing. A pink scarf, dotted with blood, draped her neck. And over it a black leather bomber jacket. Silver studs spelled “Virgin” across the back of the coat. Black cowboy boots covered her feet and calves. Lethal silver points jutted from the tips of her boots. She held a small carry-on suitcase, and she kept scratching at the scarf around her neck. He didn’t much care for women who dressed ostentatiously or had an I-own-the-world air about them. The modest feminine medieval fashion for women was his favorite style, but that look was long gone, obsolete, just like that part of his life.

They went through the line, and Culler bought Rock Star a first-class ticket to Paris. On their way to Gate 5, they stopped at a row of shops.

Rock Star turned and looked nervously around. Striker was leaning on the wall near a water fountain, pretending to read the newspaper. She glanced past him as they paused at Arlene’s Tid Bits, a woman’s clothing boutique.

He zoned in his sensitive hearing and listened to their conversation.

“Let’s go in,” Culler said. “I need a toothbrush and makeup and clothes. It’s not fair. You carry an overnight bag in your car. I had to leave home with nothing.”

“Sorry.” Rock Star shrugged her shoulders. “Hazards of my job. When following people, you have to be ready at a moment’s notice to leave.”

What was her job? How deeply was she connected to Raithe? Rock Star could be higher up in his organization. What was the connection between Rock Star and Culler? Maybe Rock Star was the ticket he needed to find Raithe. By the enticing odor of her blood, he knew vampires would kill to have a taste of her. He’d like to see below the scarf. Was she just covering the scratches Tongue had left on her neck, or was Raithe’s mark on her neck? The thought brought a sadistic grin to Striker’s lips. He’d like nothing more than to find leverage with Raithe by using one of his own blood slaves. If she had been just a regular human, Raithe could easily replace her, and she would be useless to Striker. But this woman was a cut above, her blood like manna. Striker could only hope she was one of Raithe’s obsessions. An object Striker could definitely use.

“I suppose so,” Culler said.

“Look, I’m just gonna pop across the hall there, to the fudge shop. I can still keep an eye on you.”

“Don’t let that cretin make you fat. He’s not worth chunky thighs.”

Culler actually sounded like she cared. Striker thought she was the most talented liar he’d ever seen. She had to be to fool Raithe.

“This isn’t breakup eating. I’m just hungry.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

Striker watched them part, Culler stepping into the clothing shop and her companion heading for the candy store. He kept an eye on Rock Star while she watched Culler. Kids and parents lingered in the store. The kids begged for everything. The parents picked and chose for them. Rock Star walked down the cases and found the fudge. She pointed to almost every type.

The clerk’s eyes widened in disbelief. He asked if he’d heard her correctly. She wanted three pounds of peanut-butter fudge, along with everything else.

“Yes, eating for two.” Rock Star patted her slender belly.

“Sure it’s not twins?”

“Sometimes I think so.” She smiled at the clerk, a dazzling white-toothed grin that mesmerized the man for close to half a minute, causing him to drop several pieces of fudge on the floor. Stunning didn’t come close to describing her face at that moment. It appeared she knew how to wrap men around her little finger with just a smile.

Even with all the airport noise, Striker could zone it out, tune his hearing into the blood pumping through her veins. He could detect the minutest abnormality, and he didn’t hear the heartbeat of an unborn fetus. She was pulling the clerk’s leg. Why that slightly amused him, he didn’t know.

His phone buzzed, and he pulled it out. Mimi’s smiling face met him. “Hey, boss. Got the info you wanted. This new player is one Takala Rainwater. She owns Rainwater Detective Agency in Richmond. She’s full-blooded Patomani. Her sister is Fala Rainwater, the Guardian.” Mimi paused for effect.

Striker knew of Fala Rainwater. Who in the supernatural realm hadn’t heard of the Guardian? The Guardians were legendary in fighting evil; even his own kind had suffered at their hands. Striker had let Meikoda, the previous Guardian, operate as long as she had stayed out of his way. Fala could prove to be more of a problem. He’d read the dossier on her, an ex-police detective, generally considered a hothead. Striker hadn’t had a run-in with her yet, but she already had one strike against her in his book: she’d stolen Stephen Winter, one of his best agents. Made the idiot believe he was in love. At the thought of love, Striker lifted one corner of his lip in a snarl.

Mimi continued. “Her youngest sister, Nina Rainwater, has phenomenal psychic powers. She recently wedded Kane Van Cleave. These three chicks are loaded with white-magic power. Takala, the middle sister, has off-the-charts strength. The seer assures me she’s not involved with Raithe.”

“He could have had her charmed, and the seer’s eye blocked.”

“Got a point there. The seer said Takala’s searching for her mother, Skye Rainwater.”

The name hit him. Culler aka Lilly Smith aka Simone Poindexter’s real name was Skye Rainwater. She’d changed it when she entered B.O.S.P. So, were mother and daughter both killers? Both involved with Raithe. Or was Takala Rainwater really just searching for her long-lost mother? If so, she’d wish she had never found Culler.

“I want this on high priority. Dispatch two teams of our most competent agents to Paris, and have them standing by at Charles de Gaulle Airport. And send two more to me now—not Tongue or Vaughn.”

“Right.”

Striker glanced up just as Takala Rainwater was leaving the candy store. Her arms were laden with a grocery-size shopping bag and her carry-on. She must have bought ten pounds of fudge, but she carried it beneath her arm as if it weighed nothing.

Striker caught a whiff of the fudge, and it mingled with the sweet metallic scent of her blood. Blood was his candy, or poison, depending on how one looked at it. The potency skated through his senses. He took a deep, shuddering breath. His desire to taste Takala Rainwater was becoming more and more a forbidden temptation. But he would overcome it. He knew what happened if he didn’t. He could become like Raithe again, and that he would never let happen.

She paused at the door of Arlene’s Tid Bits, one eye on Culler, then rummaged through the shopping bag. She came out with a chunk of fudge. She licked it and moaned softly at the pleasure of the taste.

Striker imagined something very similar, only involving her neck or, better yet, the femoral artery that pulsed at the top of her thighs. The unbidden daydream dissolved when two of his agents appeared at his side. One was Katalinga, a lynx shifter. She had dark brown short hair, upturned feline eyes, and wore a brown spandex pantsuit that sheathed her body. She always looked as if she’d stepped out of the sixties. Brawn was a wizard. Tall and built like a wrestler. He had short-cropped auburn hair and deep, serious green eyes. He wore blue corduroys, a pin-striped oxford shirt, and a gray blazer.

“Hello, sir,” Katalinga purred. She had a Swedish accent, which only accentuated her r’s. “Reporting for duty.” She sniffed the air. “What’s that delicious aroma?”

“That would be one of our targets standing in front of that clothing shop behind me.”

“Her blood really smells delish.” Katalinga licked her lips. “We should get a copy of that for the lab so they can reproduce it.”

“Our techs are talented, but I doubt they can invent anything close,” Striker remarked.

He and the B.O.S.P. blood-dependent employees injected themselves with a serum that sustained them for twenty-four hours between feedings. It helped them when they were out on a mission. The serum left an aftertaste in the mouth, a “flavor” as the techies called it. Yet it could never come close to human blood. And he felt certain never equal the taste of Takala Rainwater’s.

The serum supplemented Striker’s usual diet of freeze-dried animal blood that he reconstituted. It was the worst-tasting substance imaginable, but he only drank it for survival, not pleasure. He couldn’t remember the last time he had enjoyed anything or found joy in anything but his work.

He’d had enough small talk and said, “Keep them safe and in view at all times.”

Brawn had been studying Takala Rainwater as she ate the fudge, and he appeared enthralled. “You mentioned two targets?” he said without taking his eyes from her.

“The other one is in the store at the register.” Striker felt a sudden pang. Was it possessiveness? No, more a feeling of familiarity. What seemed so familiar about Takala Rainwater? He couldn’t lay his finger on it. Other than her aromatic blood, she was nothing to him but a problem. Why should he care who looked at her? “We’ll switch off. You both are on now. I will check out the gate and make sure it’s clear.”

“Affirmative,” Brawn said.

Striker walked down to Gate 5, glad to have some distance between him and Takala Rainwater. He didn’t need distractions at present. What he needed was a moment alone with Culler, to discover what she knew about Raithe and if she was still in contact with him. And he would, tonight on the flight, when he had his full power. If she was charmed, he could break through it. He’d never underestimate Culler again. And Takala Rainwater … Well, he’d enjoy that encounter, probably overmuch. He looked forward to luring her into isolation, discovering her weaknesses and her needs, all the elements of hunting targets at which he excelled.

His fingers reached instinctively for the tiny vial of soil hanging around his neck. Still there. Over the years it had become a compulsion to check it. He was forced to carry it with him at all times during the day. It was the soil that enabled him to stay awake during the day, the earth of his vampire birth, the same ground in which his casket was buried. It was the one thing he shared with Raithe. Over the centuries it had turned to dust from age. He’d been forced many times to go back to Rome and dig up more soil. He had always hoped to corner Raithe there, but never had. One day and soon, he promised himself.

Chapter 5

Takala hardly felt the vibration of the Air France plane in the luxurious seat in first class. It beat being sandwiched into those tiny coach seats where she never had enough room for her long legs and she felt like a canned sardine. If you had to fly, this was as close to heaven as you would get.

She glanced over at Lilly. She had finally dozed off. She wore eye covers, and her blanket had fallen down to her waist. Takala bent and tucked it back up around her shoulders.

Then she reached for another piece of fudge. She’d lost count of the number of pieces she had eaten. It wasn’t only Akando’s defection bugging her; it was Lilly. She knew the longer she waited, the harder it would be to tell her the truth. The only proof Takala had that Lilly was her mother was the photo that she’d lost. She just didn’t trust her own instincts or Lilly right now. She really needed to know if Nightwalker had been right about Lilly. More than likely he was the killer, but she had to be certain.

Since leaving the airport, Takala had felt eyes on her, and it hadn’t subsided. The sensation caused a prickling on her neck that refused to go away.

She glanced behind her at the only other person in first class. The woman wore a knit brown pantsuit. Her dark brown hair was cut in a boyish bob. She was sleeping. Takala decided the jumpy feeling had to be the product of her imagination.

Earlier she had heard a few voices come from coach class, but now the only sound was the distant throb of the jet engines. The whole overnight flight must be bedded down for the evening. She hadn’t seen a stewardess in an hour. What time was it? She looked at her watch. Two o’clock in the morning. They must be somewhere over Europe.

She didn’t know if it was nerves, or the sugar buzz she’d gotten from eating so much chocolate, but she just couldn’t sleep. The light on the complimentary cell phone blinked green, and she snatched it up and left her seat so she wouldn’t wake Lilly.

The Boeing 747 was a wide-body with three aisles. The coach section was full to capacity. She chose the left aisle and walked back to the restroom. As she suspected, most of the passengers were sleeping, but a few glassy-eyed insomniacs were watching movies or listening to music through headphones. She dialed Fala’s cell-phone number.

A sleepy voice said, “Yeah.”

“Fala, it’s me,” Takala whispered so as to not wake up anyone.

“Where are you, and why weren’t you here to welcome us home?”

“Sorry, on a case.” Takala paused at the door to the head.

“You know Nina ran away and got married?”

“Yeah, she told me.”

“She told you before me?” Fala sounded a little disappointed.

“I think she thought you might disapprove.”

“Well, he’s a shifter. That’s not too bad.”

“Rich, too. That always helps.”

They both chuckled at that.

Fala was the first to speak again. “So, what kind of trouble are you in?”

“I’m not.”

“Then why is Grandmother in the prayer cave? She says she needs to pray for you. What have you done?”

“Nothing.” Takala hoped Meikoda knew nothing of her current adventure and was only cleansing her soul. She didn’t want to tell her older sister about Lilly. She knew she’d be angry for trying to find their mother. She, like Nina, believed that their mother wanted nothing to do with them. “Can you put Stephen on the phone?”

“For what?”

“I just need to ask him about someone he might have worked with at B.O.S.P.”

“Oh, all right—Wait, I have to tell you this. Nina told me not to say anything, but you should know. I saw Akando with a strange redhead today—”

“I know all about it.”

Fala said, “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t care anymore.” A lie. His cheating still hurt like a giant was stepping on her solar plexus. What really smarted was how quickly he’d moved on and how blind she’d been to believe he had cared for her at all. She forced more conviction than she felt into her voice. “We’re history.”

“Sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

“No, he’s shown his true colors. I don’t know what I saw in him. Be glad you didn’t marry him.”

“Believe me, I found the right guy. Stay in touch, sis, okay?”

“Okay. Now put Stephen on, please.” Takala made a face at the tan door of the toilet as she heard Fala say, “Here, honey, for you.”

A lot of rustling in her ear, then Stephen’s deep voice. “What’s the problem?”

“What do you know about someone named Nightwalker?”

“He used to be my boss.” Stephen’s voice seemed to clear of sleep. “Stay away from him.”

“Too late. What I need to know is, can I trust him?”

“You can’t trust any vampire,” Fala said in the background. The phone must be on speaker, Takala realized.

“What if he warns me about someone. Can I trust his word?”

“I’d say so unless he has an ulterior motive,” Stephen said. “Basically his scruples are intact. He’s only malevolent if you get in his way. What’s this all about?”

She ignored his last question and asked, “Is he the type who would kill his own men to set up another agent?”

“Not if the agents were loyal.”

“Would you trust him with your life?”

“If we were both on the same side—what’s going on, Takala?”

A whoosh of icy breath brushed her neck and ear. It was like opening a refrigerator door. She panicked, even as cold hands snatched the phone from her grasp. She heard Stephen shouting her name until the phone clicked off, then someone pushed her through the bathroom door.

She stumbled inside. Before she could turn to ward off her attacker, hands caught her elbows and shoved. Her hips hit the sink as she wheeled and looked into Nightwalker’s face.

His eyes were inches from her. For a few heartbeats, they faced each other, breathing heavily, eyes locked.

Up close, his pale skin glowed with a pearly luminescence that didn’t seem to have clear-cut lines, the edges of his features just a tad blurred, as if his power strained at the physical boundaries of his body. Purple eyes peered out from under thick blond lashes, the intelligence in them almost palpable. He had a rugged roman nose that fit perfectly in the handsome planes of his face. His glossy blond hair was slicked back in a ponytail, adding a roguish quality to his features. The ruthlessness of his sunken cheekbones fought with the dimple in his chin and added a pleasant edge to his face that couldn’t be trusted. He wore a perfectly tailored black suit and a starched white shirt without one wrinkle. Not even his tie had been pulled out of line during the struggle. And his cologne smelled like spicy butter rum, a scent that might have made her mouth water … if she hadn’t been feeling threatened.

His eyes steadily turned the color of blackberry wine. The depths looked bleak and endless, like a long, empty tunnel. Because vampires didn’t have to blink, his stare had a relentless piercing quality, like that of a falcon, as if he hovered above her ready to dive.

All her self-preservation bells rang at once. Her heart felt like it had parachuted out of her chest and was dropping fast.

Then his eyes changed. The whites were disappearing, the pupils dilating.

She felt his will batter her. It was a thousand-pound weight throbbing in her skull. She tried to move, but the undertow of his trance-inducing eyes trapped her. Fear slithered along her shoulders, hummed down her spine.

The black orbs probed her, reached deeper, grasped for control. The edges of his form seemed to shift and blur from his unearthly force.

Then something inside her rose up like a wall, and she suddenly had a fighting chance. His underworld tug was strong, but it struggled to penetrate her white magic, the source of her strength. She locked gazes with him, aware she might lose this battle at any moment, and she hated losing a fight—especially to a vampire who had attacked her first.

The tiny bathroom seemed to shrink in size, and all she could feel was his chilly breath on her face. He had both hands on the sink, trapping her between them. He wasn’t physically touching her, but he might as well have been. His dark aura was steadily drawing over her like an iron blanket, his will lashing at her own.

“Look, bloodsucker, you can’t glamour me.” She found her voice, but it was strained, uneven. “Got that?”

The lids of his eyes flicked ever so slightly in surprise that she had fended off his power this long. Then a slow, ruthless grin twisted up the corners of his mouth, exposing the tips of his fangs. “But your sweet words only provoke me into wanting to try and glamour you.” His voice was slick and silken and echoed in her mind like he was inside her head with a bullhorn.

“I warn you, don’t try it!” Takala knew if she didn’t break this mind lock, she wouldn’t stand a chance. She knocked his arms away and aimed for his jaw.

He caught her hand with superhuman speed. They arm wrestled midair as he said, “You can’t resist me.”

“Wanna bet?” Takala was surprised by his strength. Vampires might be able to move faster than she, but one-on-one they weren’t much stronger. But this one was. It felt as if her fingers were set in solid granite. Her whole arm trembled as she strained against his strength. He wasn’t struggling at all, and she knew he wasn’t using a quarter of his strength. If he chose to, he could crush her hand and send her down on her knees.

“That was unwise.” His voice softened to a deadly hiss.

“Sometimes you just gotta take risks.” She went for him with her other hand.

He grabbed that one, too, jerked both hands behind her back, and kissed her.

His will invaded her in a huge gush, sweeping into her like a windstorm, crashing into every crack and crevice. She had lost this round.

For a second, the full brunt of his power held her muscles, her bones, her veins. It was like radioactive dye being breathed into her, burning at first; then his darkness oozed inside her and she felt herself becoming powerless and groggy in his arms. She grew aware of his cool lips, rough and pressing. Then they absorbed her human heat, and they were hot and ruthless and mesmerizing. That was her last thought before he claimed her mind.

Striker wanted to continue the kiss, to subjugate her, to savor the heat of her lips and body engulfing him, but he couldn’t allow himself to take advantage of her in that way. No, it was bad enough he’d given in to the desire to kiss her. He could have forced his will on her by just touching her. No doubt about it, Takala Rainwater tempted him, a morsel for the taking. But he had only one resolve, and that was to find out if she worked for Raithe.

He broke the kiss and stared down at her face, at the strong curve of her jaw. His fingers itched to touch her square chin, and he gave in to the desire.

At his touch, her closed eyes fluttered.

He traced the line of her jaw as he stared down at the ginger-blond lashes, a little darker than her coppery gold hair. They formed thick crescents on her high cheekbones. Her full lips were swollen from his kiss, the sweet scent of chocolate still on them. He couldn’t draw his gaze from her tanned face; it had a reddish golden glow that mesmerized him. He didn’t think he’d ever seen more beautiful feminine features assembled in one package.

Something about her seemed familiar. What was it about her that tugged at him, that reminded him of someone? It was there, buried in the eons of his life. He just couldn’t retrieve it.

Takala moaned seductively and pressed her shapely pliant body against him. He hadn’t noticed it before now, but there wasn’t an ounce of extra flesh anywhere on Takala Rainwater. She was all hardened, lean muscle. Her back and shoulders rippled with it. She had the physique of a female bodybuilder, slender hips, indented small waist, and high rounded breasts, all held together by sinew. Strong, yet so intoxicatingly woman. He felt his body responding, and he cursed.

She inflamed dormant desires and sensations that he had controlled for two centuries. He thought he had evolved past all that, exorcized those demons. But there was no denying it: he wanted her right now. And the danger of being near her was growing by the second.

He forced his mind back on the mission and his resolve to stop Raithe. He quickly propped her down on the toilet and rested her head back on the wall. Then he unwrapped the scarf from around her neck. He inhaled the overwhelming scent of her blood, and he had to fight the desire to place his lips against the pulsing jugular vein.

You have her under your power. Taste her blood. Take what you want and need. He heard Raithe’s old voice in his head, tempting him.

No, he wasn’t like Raithe. He wasn’t a monster. He used to be. For hundreds of years now, he’d led a monastic life of self-denial, atoning for his past evil transgressions—that is, until Takala Rainwater crossed his path. He reminded himself he had more willpower than to let a piece of tempting human baggage destroy all he’d worked so hard to accomplish.

He felt a tremor of sheer will run through him as he made himself concentrate on the task at hand. He half expected to find Raithe’s puncture marks on her neck. When he saw only Tongue’s claw prints slashing sideways across her skin, slightly swollen and red, he felt relief. Though he wasn’t entirely convinced that she wasn’t one of Raithe’s minions. He had to invade her thoughts to be absolutely certain of it.

He didn’t have to verbally ask her questions, all he had to do was probe her mind. He immediately detected a brain animated by magic; the insidiousness of it grinding and scraping the edges of his mind. And her thoughts were surprisingly an open book, not obstructed by dark forces as Striker had first suspected.

Takala had arrived at Lilly Smith’s house from a lead she had received from a friend. She wasn’t certain she trusted Lilly. She hadn’t told Lilly they were mother and daughter yet. He was getting recent feelings of love and hate for someone named Akando. So, she was above suspicion. He had expected the opposite, hoped for the opposite.

Now he had an innocent to take care of, and he’d seen evidence of how selfish and manipulative Culler could be. But weren’t those the very characteristics of a first-rate undercover agent? And not any agent, but one who had infiltrated Raithe’s organization. Her deceptive and malicious talents had to be second nature to her.

No doubt Culler would use Takala Rainwater, then get her killed. He had to make sure Takala continued to suspect Culler, so he whispered in her ear, “You will under no circumstances trust Lilly Smith or anything she says to you. You understand?”

“Yes.”

“Now, you will wait here five minutes, then return to your seat and forget everything about this encounter.”

“Okay.” She spoke without opening her eyes, in a lazy, dreamy voice.

He picked up the phone and hit the redial button. He heard Stephen’s voice say, “About time you called back. Fala and I were worried sick.”

Striker didn’t want the whole Rainwater clan destroying his chances of catching Raithe, so he decided to put their minds at rest. “It’s me, Winter,” he said.

“Nightwalker. Where’s Takala?”

He stared down at her. She was sprawled across the toilet, her eyelids closed but pulsing behind the lids. “She is indisposed at the moment.”

“You better not let anything happen to her,” a husky female voice said. “Or I’ll find you and rip your head off.”

“I suppose that is your new sweet bride.”

“Yeah, and I’ll show you just how sweet I can be if you hurt her,” Fala said.

“Be quiet, Fala,” Stephen said. “Listen, Dark, is Takala mixed up in something bad?”

“Not really. I know she is innocent. I will make sure she’s unharmed and see that she returns home”

“You better,” her sister said.

Striker clicked off. He didn’t much like domineering females who threatened him, even if she was the Guardian and could probably back up her threats.

He put the phone in Takala’s hand and wrapped her fingers around it. Then he exited and warped up to first class. The speed at which the jet was flying only enhanced his ability, and he felt a little lightheaded when he paused at the doorway. He’d never get used to airplane travel.

Katalinga perked up from pretending to sleep and she nodded to him. She motioned with her eyes toward Culler, who sat across the aisle from her, sleeping quietly, her mouth agape.

He moved in behind Culler. As he looked down at her, the image of his agents being murdered surfaced. He had to hold back a desire to exact retribution for them as he touched her shoulder.

She woke with a start and pulled off the sleeping mask. Instant recognition. She leaped to grab him, but he already had made contact. He languished in her fear for a split second, then he took control of her thoughts.

She slumped back in the seat, and he probed her mind. He could only find her most recent memories, of being attacked at her home, hiring Takala to accompany her to Paris. She, too, was afraid of something, but that was a gray area, and he knew he’d hit a charmed part of her brain. He concentrated, fully pouring all his force into her, but he could not break the weaver spell. He’d never come up against such powerful magic. Raithe had outdone himself. Striker would just have to wait and see who she was meeting in Paris.

He erased her memory of their encounter, then he left her. He acknowledged Katalinga on his way back to his seat. Then he spotted Brawn in coach, watching a movie. He sat between two elderly women, who were asleep, one snoring like a jackhammer. Striker had used astral projection, so Brawn hadn’t been able to follow his movements, but he could see Brawn clearly now, and they exchanged a glance.

After another section, he found his aisle seat. A woman with a young daughter slept in the seat beside his, the little girl nestled up next to her mother.

Striker put back on the cap and sunglasses and sat down. He heard the bathroom door open, then smelled the scent of Takala Rainwater’s blood before she walked past him. It was a brand of O positive that he would never be able to get out of his mind. She looked perfectly normal, oblivious to him. She kept gazing at the phone in her hand as if she couldn’t quite figure out why she was holding it.

She moved past him with an air of graceful invincibility, and he fought the desire to follow her. He had remained desensitized for so long, this sudden attraction was more than unnerving. He watched the sway of her slim hips and remembered the heat of her lips and body, the pulsing of her jugular beneath her lovely skin. He wrestled with the desire to extend his fangs, but instead turned and looked out the airplane window. All he could see was darkness and hints of the moon drifting in and out behind clouds. No reflection of himself, only a cap and glasses floating in open space. But he knew if he had one what he would see: a vampire fighting for control. He gripped the arms of his chair so hard he heard the metal crunching. He let go and frowned. Somehow he would conquer this attraction to her.

Takala noticed that Lilly was still sleeping, and the one other passenger in first class hadn’t moved positions. The lady had the seat all the way reclined, and she slept on her right side. Harmless enough. Takala sat down as quietly as possible and put the phone back in the cradle. Her hands were trembling. What was up with that?

She felt odd, too. Shaky. Her heart beat wildly as if she’d just run a marathon. Her lips felt strange. She touched them and flinched. They were sensitive and swollen as if she’d been kissed. Something had happened to her back there in the bathroom, but what?

She concentrated, trying to recall her last memory. Talking to Stephen … suddenly losing the connection. What had he said? Stay away from Nightwalker. Could she really trust Nightwalker’s word if he had warned her to beware of someone? Well, she didn’t have much confidence that Lilly wasn’t a killer. She couldn’t get close to Lilly or reveal who she was until she was certain of her character. And something told her Nightwalker would stop at nothing if he wanted someone dead. And he was a vampire, for heaven’s sake. Even Fala had warned her not to trust a vamp. So, at the moment, she had no faith or trust in anyone but herself. And her memory was playing tricks on her.

She wished she had her Glock, but after Homeland Security put her through an hour of rigorous red tape, scrutinizing her background, her concealed permit, and her private investigator’s license, they still made her check the weapon. It was in the cargo hold under lock and key, and she’d have to wait until touching down to get it. She hoped to get it past French security.

Something about not having her weapon made her nervous. She reclined her seat and closed her eyes, trying to remember those moments she’d lost. For some reason her mind conjured up the image of Nightwalker. Something about him nagged at her. She gave up trying to think about it and felt wide awake.

She pulled out a piece of peanut-butter fudge from the bag and one of the tiny bottles of rum she had stashed from the last stewardess round. If she couldn’t sleep, at least she could have a snack. When she opened the rum, the smell of it wafted through her senses. She took a long, deep sniff, and the scent brought back a feeling of terror. Must be her nerves working overtime. She downed the bottle.

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