Dark Promises (Dark #29) (16 page)

Still, she wasn't afraid. It was impossible to feel fear when everything inside you felt transformed. Golden. Perfect. She'd never had that before and she wasn't going to give it up. She was tempted to sit right in that exact spot forever, but she knew she had to find Teagan. She still wasn't certain she was on Teagan's trail. Clearly, she'd been in the same fog. Trixie heard echoes of Teagan's song, but the notes were still very faint, as if she wasn't any closer to her.

Strangely it was the notes in the fog that called to her. They grew stronger, more insistent, and everything she was responded to the mysterious and beautiful notes. She stood up and caught up her backpack, shrugging into it, almost not even feeling the weight of it because the notes were so consuming, they made her light.

She followed the notes, uncaring that she couldn't see into the fog. She could have been blindfolded for all she cared. It wouldn't have mattered. The musical notes simply grew louder as she followed them. Her feet naturally found the path, if there truly was one. She didn't run into a single obstacle. Not one. She knew the sun was close to setting, and she should try to find shelter. The fog was wet and when she touched it, or turned her face up to it, she felt the cool dampness, like tiny drops of water on her skin, yet as she walked through it, she didn't get wet at all. She felt wrapped in a shawl of protection.

Trixie halted when tall, thick gates loomed over her. Her breath caught in her throat. She'd dreamt of a monastery at the very top of a mountain. Now it was all familiar to her. In her dreams the monastery was always enshrouded in fog and mystery. She sometimes saw things in her dreams, and they turned out to be real, but this was frightening. In her dream,
inside
the monastery, behind those gates, was something so terrifying to her, she'd never been able to face it. She'd forced herself to wake up. She'd been certain it was a vampire waiting to drain her dry of blood.

Her heart pounded. Hard. Urgently. Still, in spite of her fear, her hand went to the gate, her palm touching gently. Like a caress. The moment she touched the gate, she felt the notes there. Much louder. Summoning her. Reaching inside her to a place that had always,
always
, been alone. The middle of the night alone, when her girls were safely sleeping in the beds she'd provided for them. The best money could buy. Inside the home she'd bought for them. She'd been alone.

She'd pushed her own needs down in order to care for those she loved. And she did it happily with no regrets. None. She would choose the same path every time, but that didn't mean, in the middle of the night, loneliness didn't call, and she lay awake keeping her mind blank so she wouldn't feel an aching hole that would never be filled inside of her. She knew she made that choice and what she got in return was wonderful. Her girls filled her life with laughter and love. She didn't need anything more. Still, that emptiness rose up at times to haunt her.

The golden notes meshed with the notes inside of her. Sang to her. Called to her notes, so she sang back. She harmonized and the emptiness in her filled with beautiful music. Music she'd never expected. There in the gate, she heard the notes swelling in volume, singing a soft, whispery song that beckoned her forward. She could see the notes now, dancing in the air, and her notes joined those, silver and gold, twining around one another.

There was a click and the gate swung inward, the notes sliding inside the open gate. Trixie didn't hesitate to follow. She stepped around the barely opened gate, following the dancing music into a courtyard. Behind her, the gate swung closed. She glanced over her shoulder at it, mainly because it sounded loud, and heavy, and final.

With the fog so thick, she couldn't tell if the sun was setting, but it felt
cold all of a sudden. She shivered and half turned. She couldn't see how to open the gate. As far as she could make out, there were several small buildings scattered inside a very high fence. The barricade surrounding the buildings was high and thick and took in a good deal of space. In fact, it was clearly a fortress.

Looking around, she was fairly certain it was a deserted fortress. There was nothing to indicate anyone lived there, and if they had once lived there it was a very long time ago. She couldn't see anything that would indicate the existence of a human being. She took two steps toward the center of the fortress.

The buildings were old, but they were solid and made of great stones. The musical notes drew her attention back to them. The notes danced in the air all around the building closest to the gates. It was a beautiful sight and she moved closer. The music increased in volume. Not Teagan's music, but much more masculine. Wild. Sexy. Elegant. Over-the-top masculine. How the song could be all of those things, Trixie didn't know, but it was and it was beautiful.

She went right up to the building, her heart pounding hard in her chest. Her mouth went dry. She didn't know what to expect, but the beautiful, perfect song surrounded her and filled in the missing notes of her song. She felt compelled to move forward and knew if she tried to stop herself she wouldn't be able to. She
had
to find the owner of that song.

Her fingers wrapped around the crudely carved door handle. There was no lock. The door was heavy but it swung open easily when she jerked on it, stepped inside and stopped. She let go of the door in shock, and behind her, it swung closed. The musical notes filled the room, dancing, playing all around her, but there was nothing inside those four walls but dirt. A dirt floor. An undisturbed dirt floor.

She didn't know why she wanted to cry, but she did. She was tired. Exhausted. She'd been like a child hunting the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow and she felt cheated. She dropped her pack to the floor and sank down. Her legs were trembling so much she couldn't stand.

Trixie shook her head, refusing to let the sudden tears in her eyes fall. What had she been thinking? She was well past her prime. She'd lost her shot at any kind of . . .
what
? She didn't want a man. She was set in her ways. Snarky. She
spoke her mind and often was sarcastic and nasty when she was crossed. Men liked sweet, and that wasn't her. Life had been good to her, bringing her granddaughters to her, but it had also taken a lot. She had her life the way she liked it now. She wouldn't give one moment of it up for a man.

She straightened her shoulders because, really, she had been in some kind of mesmerizing spell and maybe, just maybe, that teenage girl who had gotten pregnant and thought her man loved her and would stand by her had come to the front out of nowhere, dreaming again. She had to find her steel spine and her sense of humor, no matter that she was alone. She couldn't afford to dream. She'd given up on dreams for herself a good fifty years earlier. Her dreams were for her girls. And they were living the dream and that was good enough for her.

Trixie looked around her. At least she had shelter. She was tired and needed to sleep. She was fairly certain the men who would be chasing her couldn't make their way through the dense fog. In any case, they couldn't see to track her once they hit the fog. She'd had the musical notes to guide her and they didn't.

She opened her pack and pulled out her sleeping bag. She'd sleep right there in the empty building with the musical notes playing all around her. And she wouldn't dream. She wouldn't be lonely. She would just go to sleep. Being a careful type of woman and always believing in being prepared, she pulled her vampire-hunting box out of her pack and set it beside her.

Looking at it, she felt a little better. There was a vial of holy water and a bible. There were all kinds of other things as well, but she really liked the little gun that shot the small, sharpened stakes. They weren't as big as she would have liked. Not at all. She frowned as she examined them. If she had designed a kit, she would have gotten rid of most of the junk in it and would have concentrated on making some big-ass stakes. The kind that would make a serious hole in a vampire's heart so he'd never rise again. It was a point-and-shoot kind of gun and she liked that about it. She put it beside her sleeping bag with the little board of extra stakes.

“Not that you're real stakes,” she whispered aloud, because really, they looked silly. They looked like tips of stakes. She liked things big. Bold. Larger than life. Solid. Especially a stake that stood between her and a vampire.

Trixie lay back on top of the sleeping bag, looking up at the dancing
notes, hearing the beautiful song, the one that made her dream when she didn't want to. When she knew better. “I never wanted a man of my own, not after learning they were lying, cheating, lazy bums. He never even spoke one word to our daughter. Not one. Our beautiful girl.” Her hand closed convulsively around the little gun. Had her daughter's father been standing in front of her right at that moment, she would have staked him on the spot.

She was quiet for a long time, occasionally reaching up to wipe at the wet on her face. She didn't cry, so the tracks weren't tears, just maybe leftover residue from the fog. Still, her eyes were a bit watery and out of focus when she first noticed the disturbance in the dirt floor. Right in the middle. The dirt spewed into the air, small at first and then like a geyser.

Trixie scrambled to her feet and jumped to the side. She stood over the hole in the ground, staring in shock. The hole was deep and long. It was long because it had to accommodate a very large man. He lay down in the open grave—and it was an open grave—looking up at her. His eyes were
open
.

Trixie screamed. She wasn't the screaming type and her scream scared her. Most likely it scared the angels in heaven. She lifted her hand and pointed at him. An honest-to-God vampire. Staring at her. It took a moment to realize the little gun was in her hand and she convulsively pulled the trigger. The tiny little stake flew out of the gun and hit him high in the shoulder.

He winced. His eyes, a gorgeous blue—and they were gorgeous, she'd noted that—darkened. Became twin storm clouds. More, he'd been entirely naked. As in
naked
. All of him. Even the best parts, and although it was truly her worst nightmare, she'd still noted his best parts were really the
best
. Holy cripes.

Her stupid little stake hadn't done the trick. She backed up, tripped and went down on her butt, hand trying to find the other stakes. She was loading the gun when he rose. Floated. In the air. Floated. Feet not on the ground. Holy cripes all over again. She shoved the stake in the gun and let fly a second time.

The stake nailed him in his arm. It really wasn't a point-and-aim kind of weapon like it was advertised and it didn't seem to be killing him. At all. He looked really alive and really big. Lots of muscle. Lots of . . . um . . .
everything
.

She caught up the holy water and flung the glass vial at him, forgetting to take out the stopper. He caught the vial in midair. He was fast. Very fast.

“Köd alte hän, emni,”
he snapped.

His voice was like music, even when he was cursing. The sound made her stomach curl, something that hadn't happened since she was fifteen years old. And he definitely was swearing at her.

“Stay back, vampire,” she hissed, holding out the big silver cross. So far her very expensive vampire-hunting kit wasn't working. Hopefully the cross was real silver. “And for God's sake, put some clothes on.”

Because
really
. How could she keep her mind on killing him when he was right there in all his glory? And he had glory.

A slow smile pulled at the hard edges of his mouth. He looked all man. Not those skinny, prissy boys they put on the covers of the books she liked to read. No, he was definitely a man. Hard edges and lots and lots of muscle. He might be a bloodsucking vampire, but he was a really hot, manly one. If she was going to die, at least the vampire killing her was scorching hot. She could take that to her grave and perv on it for a very long time in the hereafter.

“Lady, put that silly cross down and tell me what you are doing, because so far, you have shot your lifemate with two darts and thrown a glass vial at him. All of which can be considered disrespectful.”

Her eyebrows shot up.
“Disrespectful?”
Oh, no, he was not going to pretend she wasn't a worthy opponent. “Those are not darts. They are
stakes
. And I've got more where they came from so don't think you're going to take a bite out of me.”

His smile warmed his eyes, and seriously, there it was again, that stomach curl. This time it was accompanied by a curious flutter in the region of days gone by.
Long
gone by. As in forgotten. As in
seriously
cobwebby. He was dangerous, and he just had to put on clothes because she couldn't stop looking.

“You are trying to kill me?”

“Well of course.” She put her hands on her hips. “You're a vampire and I'm huntin' you. So yes. You're going to have to die, which is very sad and I don't like being the one to have to dispatch you because your music is beautiful, but I'm up to the task so don't come any closer.” She glared at him.
“And put some clothes on.”

It had been a long while since she'd seen a naked man and she didn't
remember them looking like him. The artists, the ones famous for their sculptures, didn't get it right. They should have tried sculpting him—before he became a vampire anyway.

“You're distracting me and I've got a job to do,” she announced, before she could stop the words tumbling out of her mouth. Now she knew where her granddaughter got her compulsion for blurting out things when she was nervous.

“And your job is to kill me?” he asked.

His voice was gentle, almost a caress. She felt the notes stroke over her skin like the touch of fingers. She shivered. She couldn't help it. She wanted to listen to his voice while she slept. In her dreams. All night. The tone was beautiful, like his song.