Michael wasn't evil. Yet she couldn't escape the notion that her hunter and Michael were, in some way, connected. Damn it, she really had to find out more about both of them.
"What do you mean?” she asked quietly. Energy flowed across her fingers, yet she held her weapon in check. She was not about to fire the first shot and create a war she had no hope of winning.
"Nothing. We will wait, as you wish.” He shrugged and looked away. Hiding his eyes, she thought, as he rose. The shadows no longer wrapped themselves around his body, and the impending sense of doom had fled with them. Yet the night still ran with uneasy tension.
"Come,” he continued. “Let's go back to your car and call the police." Though there was no emotion in his voice, there was still an edge of violence in his actions. This man had saved her life twice, yet she knew nothing about him—nothing beyond the fact he could be very, very dangerous.
He turned to look at her, his eyes coal black wells that told her little. Yet a flicker of emotion from his mind suggested her distrust annoyed him.
"You have my word that I will not, in any way, touch or move Monica tonight. Is that enough?" His soft tone hinted at anger, yet she heard no lie in his words. She nodded. After tonight, Monica would be in police hands. There was little he could do to her then.
"I shall lead, if you wish,” he said, and offered her his hand. Why the sudden formality? Was it anger, annoyance, or something else entirely? The warmth of his fingers enclosed around hers, but a chill raced through her heart. This man was dangerous, in more ways than one. Yet she felt oddly safe with him.
She just had to hope this wasn't one of those rare moments when her instincts made a complete and utter hash of everything.
And that he wasn't right about Monica.
* * * *
Michael crossed his arms and watched the two men bag the body. Even from this distance he could hear the slow but steady beat of her heart. It was a gentle rhythm few humans would ever pick up, just a single beat every few minutes. His was much the same, except in times of stress or feeding. The lack of life flowing through one's body was one of the penalties of being a vampire. He had no doubt the teenager would soon rise. Though it usually took a minimum of forty-eight hours, Monica appeared to be taking the change faster than most. She'd probably wake with the onset of the new night.
He should have killed her. What on earth had possessed him to make such a rash promise? All too often he had witnessed the bloody rampages of the newly turned. When the depth of malice and hate were as great as those he sensed in Monica, it was sheer madness to let them live. But he'd given his word to Nikki, and he intended to keep it. Whatever the consequences.
He had a sudden image of Nikki, face white and eyes wide with fear, and frowned. He'd come too close to losing control tonight. Had he been alone so long that a simple act of defiance could tip him over the edge?
Or was he so used to forcing others to obey his will that it was something of a shock to find someone who could defy him?
He sighed and rubbed a hand across his eyes. Whatever the reason, it didn't alter the fact he'd have to watch himself. He'd spent too long mastering the darkness. The last thing he needed right now was to let that control slip, especially when he was hunting someone like Jasper. The fiend would exploit any weakness he could.
The two men placed the teenager's body on a trolley and wheeled her through the door. He followed them into the alley.
Several police officers were still questioning Nikki. He moved to one side, out of her line of sight, but her awareness washed over him anyway. He leaned a shoulder against the building's concrete wall. How could she track him when few could? Was it just her extraordinary psychic abilities, or had the brief moment of their spirits touching formed a connection far stronger than he'd thought possible?
The sea breeze swirled, running chill fingers through his hair. Michael frowned and studied the distant shadows. A faint hint of evil mingled with the smell of the sea. Jasper had returned. He fought the urge to go after the fiend, and looked at Nikki. The police officers dwarfed her, but they'd be no protection when it came to Jasper. Or the zombies. Either of them could kill her before the cops knew something was wrong.
He glanced at his watch and raised an eyebrow in surprise. It was well after four. They'd been here for nearly three hours now. How many times could the police hear the same version of the same story?
Couldn't they see how tired she was? He was tempted, very tempted, to come out of the shadows and ask what in hell was going on—only the fact the police where bound to start asking him questions stopped him. His years of hunting evil had made him a lot of enemies. He wanted his whereabouts unknown to all except those he could trust.
The number of which he could count on one hand.
After a few more minutes, the two officers moved back towards the warehouse. He waited until they'd disappeared, then pushed away from the shadows and walked across to her.
"Have they finished?” He kept a careful eye on the old building. He didn't want the policemen suddenly returning and spotting him.
Dark rings shadowed her eyes, and her nod was barely visible. A stray wisp of hair fell across her eyes, and he had to restrain a sudden urge to tuck it back behind her ear.
"They asked me not to leave Lyndhurst. Looks like I'm a suspect, as usual."
"And a pretty grubby one, at that.” He smiled at her startled look. “Do you wish to go home, or to the office?"
"Home. They let me call Jake earlier and tell him what's going on."
"Shall I drive again?"
She shook her head. “No, I'm fine."
She looked close to exhaustion, but he handed over the keys anyway. She unlocked the passenger's door, then moved around to the other side. Michael climbed in, studying the distant darkness carefully. Jasper was still there, still watching. Hopefully, he'd follow. Nikki fired the engine and turned the car around. Across the silence came the sound of another car starting.