Dark Magic Page 0,55

lungs. "Wade Carter, freelance reporter. I've been following Ms. Dubrinsky for some time. I'd like an interview."

"You will have to go through her press secretary." Gregori kept moving, his arm protectively around Savannah's shoulders.

The reporter had to give way; he dared not challenge the other man. Gregori looked like a predator. A dark, brooding, killing machine. Menacing. He was showing his true nature to the reporter without hesitation. Carter swore to himself, but his excitement showed on his face. "There's a rumor going around that you're her husband. Is that true?"

"I see no reason to deny it." Gregori kept walking, his arm, thick with roped muscles, curling around Savannah's head, successfully hiding her from the other man's scrutiny. He glanced at the cameraman, who was positioning himself for another picture. "One is all you are going to get. Do it again, and I will remove the camera from you. Forcibly. And I will not return it. Do you understand?"

The man instantly lowered the camera, his face going white. Gregori's voice was low and soft, even gentle, but it held such menace, the veteran of many fracases opted for the better part of valor. "Yes, sir," he muttered, refusing to look at Carter.

"So you don't deny your marriage. Is it true both of you come from the Carpathian Mountains?" Carter sounded eager.

"It is a big region," Gregori said vaguely and signaled their driver to open the door to the limousine.

Carter pushed forward. "Did Peter Sanders know the secrets behind your magic, Savannah?" There was accusation in his voice, belligerence. "No other member of your crew does. Which could make Sanders's death rather convenient, if you have something to hide."

In spite of Gregori's restraining arm, Savannah lifted her head to face the reporter. Her blue eyes smoldered dangerously. "How dare you? Peter Sanders was my friend."

Carter stepped even closer. "You have many secrets, don't you, Savannah, that have nothing to do with your magic show?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Gregori's silver eyes flashed.

His mind is protected somehow. I could push past his barrier, but it is complicated, and he would know, and so would whoever has helped him achieve this. This one is very dangerous to you, mon amour.

Do not cross swords with him. Let us leave this place. I will pay a visit to Wade Carter at a later date. He doesn't scare me. He should. He is one of the human butchers, and he has targeted you. That damn mist you dissolve into. Julian was always uncomfortable with that.

"I think you know very well what I mean. Peter Sanders found out just how some of your illusions were performed, and you killed him."

Savannah shook her head. "I feel sorry for you, Mr. Carter. It must be a horrible way to make a living, accusing people of crimes for a sensational story. You can't have too many friends." She ducked into the limousine and the safety of its shadowy interior.

"You haven't seen the last of me," Carter snarled, leaning down to try to catch a last glimpse of her.

Gregori stepped close, his imposing frame exuding power. He smiled at the reporter, a flash of gleaming white teeth. The silver eyes reflected clearly, vividly, in great detail, Carter's own image. But it was an image of death, of a torn and bloody body falling like a rag doll to the ground. Gregori held the man in his deadly gaze. "Nor have you seen the last of me, Mr. Carter," he said softly, a black-velvet menace.

Wade Carter was suddenly weak with fear. He crossed himself, his right hand finding the silver cross at his neck. Low, taunting laughter echoed in his head. He couldn't seem to get it out, not even when the tall, elegant man slid gracefully into the seat beside Savannah. Carter shook his head repeatedly, trying to dislodge the laughter, the threat, from his mind.

He glared after the fading limo, then clapped both hands against his ears. He had no proof that Savannah Dubrinsky was a vampire, just a gut feeling. The things she did on stage were impossible. No other magician had accomplished the tricks she had perfected. She was so young; how could she have learned to do what no one else in her field could do? He had followed her entire tour, trying unsuccessfully to bribe those working for her. No one admitted to knowing a thing.

Every time he had tried to break in to see her props, to study what she did, something had gone wrong.