Fire and Ash (Immortal Touch) (42 page)

All thoughts of pain disappeared.
Fury born of humiliation flooded through his veins and he leapt to his feet, charging at the antagonist and plowing into him with all his weight. He managed to knock the man off his feet and once he hit the ground Dane covered him, throwing punch after punch, alternating his fists, reveling in every drop of blood wrung from the vile bastard’s head. He screamed incoherent insults while continuing to pummel him and every blow struck was salve for his wounded ego.

The
tyrant began to laugh.

Panting from
the exertion, Dane stopped what he was doing to watch in horror as the madman convulsed with hysterical glee. It suddenly struck him that his assailant hadn’t even made a token attempt to defend himself. How could he be expected to conquer a creature who felt no fear? He was no superhero - he was just a teenager who’d made some really bad choices. And as he saw the blood on his own hands he had to wonder just exactly when it was that he’d lost his childhood and surrendered his innocence.

“
Is that all you’ve got?” Bringing his feet up to Dane’s hips, the man used his powerful legs to effortlessly toss him to the ground some twenty yards away, then jumped to his feet. “You are wasting my fucking time, kid. You’re no more of a challenge than a mortal pup.
Get up!
”

Scrambling
to regain his footing, Dane lunged forward with his arms outstretched. He had no idea what he was doing - he’d never been in a fistfight in his life - but there was no way this psycho could be reasoned with and there was no other alternative. He made a grab for the man’s throat but his wrists were caught and restrained, and no matter how much he flailed he couldn’t break free from the viselike grip.

The deep voice dripped with malice.
“Allow me to introduce myself. I am the Reaper.”

Thrust roughly
aside, in those last brief seconds he could only watch helplessly as the stranger delivered a spinning hook kick that struck his head with enough unyielding force to detach it from his body.

F
or the second and final time, Dane Chandler found death.

~*~*~*~

What a disappointment.

The night had
produced nothing more than a one-sided fight with a greenhorn punk who hadn’t yet learned how to harness his supernatural strength.

Still, it
was mildly entertaining. Having just come from the banks of the Salmon River where he’d crushed the kid’s head underneath a stack of boulders, Asher was whistling
Time Has Told Me
while he contemplated what to do with the body. This was the only part he detested. The cleanup.

Pressing his weight against
the trunk of a thick red cedar, he pushed it just far enough over to partially uproot it. As he’d suspected, the hollow space underneath provided plenty of room for one scrawny teenage vampire. Heaving the decapitated body into its makeshift grave, he carefully returned the tree to its upright position. With half of the anchoring roots undamaged, the remainder should be able to reestablish themselves in the soil.

There, that was easy enough. Now
to see what the fetching little redhead was up to. Using the phone he’d swiped from the pocket of Dane’s jeans, he located Eva’s number in the contacts list. She answered on the second ring.

“Hey there
!”

“Hey,” he said
in a perfect simulation of the kid’s voice. “What’re you doin’?”

“
Just got off the phone with my mom, actually. She’s making me crazy.”

“Yeah? How
so?” Ash studied his fingernails. He really could use a manicure.

“I had to spend half an hour trying to
talk her out of throwing me a bridal shower. I’ve told her at least a hundred times I don’t want one. I wish she’d stop trying to make this more complicated than it needs to be…you know what I mean?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, that just about summed up my day. What’s up with you?”

“
Bored. Thought I’d see what your plans were for tomorrow.”

“
Why? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Like I said, I was just bored.”

“Oh. Well…I have an appointment for a haircut tomorrow in Welches and Julian’s going to Portland to meet with a travel agent about rearranging some stuff. That’s about it, as far as I know.”

Well now,
this
was interesting. “You’re not going with him?”

“
No. Weren’t you supposed to go back to work tomorrow?”

“
Uh…yeah. That’s right, I forgot.”

“Okay,
why don’t I stop by and see you after my haircut. I should be done by four-thirty.”

“
Sure. Sounds good.”

“Well…I guess I’ll see you tomorrow
then.”

A calculating smile crept slowly over Asher’s face as he
answered in the voice that was not his own.

“Yes. I
will definitely be seeing you tomorrow.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The vodka and tonic was doing little to wash away the image.

Rick poured another one, never taking his eyes from the photograph in the bottom corner of the dressing room mirror. He
took it with him everywhere, a good luck charm of sorts. Even after the broken engagement he still carried it around with him, kept it on him during every performance. Her beautiful effigy, wrapped in his arms with the ring still on her finger where it belonged, her face radiating pure joy. He’d destroyed all that. Now the photo was a reminder that once he’d had it all and pissed it away for nothing.

But
neither the alcohol nor the picture could erase the last image he had of her…cold and empty-eyed, her beauty mutilated by the hand of that madman. That
thing
- whatever it was - that monster who had been there the night Paisley died. He had stolen Rick’s likeness somehow, as crazy as it sounded. And now he had Sami.

And it was all…
his…
fault…

“
’Scuse me…Mr. Radcliffe? Rick Radcliffe?”

The
mirror’s reflection caught the boy quietly entering his dressing room, a leather-clad teen with spiky white-blond hair and black eyeliner. He had more piercings than Rick had ever seen on one person, and a detailed snake tattoo coiled around the length of one arm.

“
Yeah? What can I do for you?”

“I
just wanted to let you know how much I enjoyed the show.” The boy closed the door behind him. His dark eyes scanned the dressing room curiously.

“Thanks…I appreciate that.”

“Seriously, man…you’re good. Wish I had chops like yours. I’m pretty badass on the drums but I’ve never been much of a singer.”

“That right?”

“Yeah…hey, maybe you’d autograph one of my sticks for me?” He pulled a set of drumsticks from his back pocket. “You can make it out to Marco.”

“Sure, I can do that.” Rick
scrounged around on the table for a pen. Locating one, he uncapped it and scribbled on a scrap of paper to see if the ink was dried up. It was.

“
What’d you do to piss him off?” The kid flopped into a swivel chair and began to spin around in circles, playing air drums with his sticks.

“
Come again?”

“Reid. I just wondered what you did to him. Musta been bad.
’Course, I’ve known him to take someone out just for lookin’ at him the wrong way. He’s funny like that.”

“I don’t know who you’re…”

“Oh c’mon, man! Reid! Buff dude, really blue eyes, owns a bunch of property in Florida? Stays at Vestal Sands…”

Rick felt his
mouth go dry. “How do you know him?”

“We go way back. How do
you
know him?”

“I…don’t.”
But he knows me…

“Really? You sure
’bout that?” The blond head tilted to one side.

The pen dropped out of his grip, roll
ing across the table unnoticed. “He…he has my…my girl…” The words slurred, his mouth feeling as if were stuffed with wads of cotton. Something was wrong.

Marco’
s face became animated as he laughed with delight. “No shit! This is all about a
chick?
Man, I never would have believed it. This is awesome - I love it!” He made a few more rotations in the chair, then clumsily retrieved a plastic medicine bottle from the pocket of his snug leather pants and tossed it onto the table. “There ya go, man. A little present from Reid. You be sure and take ’em all now, alright buddy?”

With shaking hands, Rick picked up the bottle and fumbled with the cap.

“Kind of a waste, if you ask me. You really did have talent.” Marco stood up to leave, rapping his drumsticks against the back of a chair, then the wall, and once he had the dressing room door open he bounced them off the doorframe. “Later, dude!” Flashing a peace sign, he was gone.

T
he pills began to disappear, one by one.

~*~*~*~

“He doesn’t love you.”

Sami looked around in surprise to see Tristan just behind her, the long coils of hair stirr
ed gently by the wind coming in off the gulf. She almost asked him how he’d known where to find her, then remembered his claim to telepathy. Of course, it was entirely possible he’d just been out for a walk on the beach and happened upon her by chance.

His words -
whether true or not - bothered her. “Why would you even say that to me, Tristan?”

To her surprise, he came and sat
cross-legged beside her on the beach towel she had spread out over the sand. “I didn’t say it to hurt you. I said it because you need to know who he is.”

“And you’re going to tell me who he is?
I’m pretty sure I already know that.”

“Do you? How much do you really know, Miss Porter?”

“The name is Samara. Or Sami. Anything but ‘Miss Porter’…please.”

“Very well,
Sami
. How much?”

“I know enough.”

“Then know this. He’ll never love you. He doesn’t have it in him. The word has never even existed in his vocabulary.”

“You don’t know that,” she stubbornly insisted. How could he presume to judge
the nature of their relationship? He hadn’t spent enough time around them to have any idea what he was talking about.

He laughed mirthlessly. “Do you think
you’re the only person who ever loved him? Did he tell you what he did to his wife?”

Wife?
Sami began to feel uneasy, afraid of what she was about to hear. “He’s been married?”

“
I figured he wouldn’t have told you about that. He was married for a short time. A
very
short time. She didn’t last long.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean he destroyed her, what do you think? He didn’t want to marry her in the first place, but it was her condition. As an immortal, she offered to spare him death if he in turn would make her his wife. But he didn’t want her - he only wanted what she could give him and when he had no more use for her, he simply got rid of her. The way he gets rid of anyone who isn’t a perfect fit in his perfect world.”

“But…that
’s a completely different situation. You can’t compare it to this.”

“Oh, I’m sure
nothing
could compare to
this
. Would you like to tell me how you got those bruises on your arms? Or should I guess?”

Crossing her arms self-consciously, she glared at him without answering.

“What do you think is going to happen once -
if
- you become one of us? Do you think it’s going to be all sunshine and roses for you? He won’t care about your happiness. You’ll be a slave to his whims. Just another fanger for him to use - the same way he uses me for my abilities. Taking is all he knows. It’s all he’s ever known.”

Sami
looked deep into those sad gray eyes and it all suddenly clicked into place. How could she not have seen it before? It seemed perfectly obvious now that she thought about it. “You’re in love with him.”

Tristan shook his head
slowly. “You don’t love a man like Reid. You either hate him or you obsess over him. That’s all you can do.”

“And which do you do?”

His smile held a faint taste of bitterness. “I’ve done both at one time or another.”

“You and he…you were never…”

“Lovers? No. He doesn’t swing that way. It’s probably a good thing - I’d never be able to break free of his hold otherwise.” He scooped up a handful of sand and let it dribble through his long fingers. “Asher has this way of drawing people in. Making them believe he’s the very air they breathe. All immortals possess that trait to a degree, but the pull is incredibly strong with him. It’s why he never progresses beyond one night stands. Any more than that and he’d have women constantly stalking him.”