Images of Jasper and his teenage lover ran through Michael's mind, as did the twisted images of the two remaining zombies. Four deadly beings against one. Michael grimaced. If he'd been a betting man, he knew whom he'd place his money on. And if Jasper called any more of the dead to life... Even if I did, dare we risk anyone else's life? Jasper's killed two of our number already, and knows I'm in Lyndhurst. He' ll be watching for backup. He heard Seline's sharp intake of breath. Concern ran like wildfire through the link. You will never find him. He may even leave.
This battle has been brewing for a long time, Seline. He won't leave. How will you find him? Lyndhurst is a big town.
Michael smiled grimly. It was big all right. But Jasper wouldn't run. Or hide. The game was over. This time the battle would be final. The prize would be life—or death—for one of them. I have bait.
Oh? Who?
He had a sudden image of Nikki's eyes—they were such an unusual color—a warm, smoky amber that seemed to reflect the intensity of her emotions.
Nikki James. She's a private investigator following Jasper's current girlfriend. She's a strong psychic— very strong, in fact.
And Jasper craves power. He will kill, then retrieve her.
Anger rose at the thought of Nikki as one of Jasper's lumbering creatures. And yet, he had to acknowledge the image as one possible outcome. Nor would it stop him from using her as bait. He took of quick gulp of wine. I'm going to befriend her. Hopefully, Jasper will turn up pretty quickly, and I can get rid of him before he kills again.
Take care, Michael. You're playing with fire on this one.
Michael frowned. He had an odd feeling Seline knew more about the situation, or at least about Nikki, than she was letting on. But he also knew there was no point in questioning the old witch. She'd tell him what she thought he needed to know and nothing more. There was little more to add, so he bid her good night and broke the contact. Yawning, he stretched his legs, trying to relax the tension cramping his muscles.
Picking up his glass, he rose and walked across to the window. The blinds were open, and the pale light of the rising dawn streamed in through glass. Michael leaned a shoulder against the window frame and sipped slowly at the wine.
The sun had killed many of his kind, and it was a pleasure he'd long thought lost to him. Only time had taught him otherwise. He lifted his glass to the dawn's light and watched it reflect through the pale amber liquid. Wine was another pleasure he'd thought lost. He'd been told he could only survive by taking the life of others—that anything else would kill him. More lies. His changed metabolism might mean he could consume no food, but it didn't prevent him from taking fluids. Wine would never sustain him, but it couldn't kill him, either.
He took another sip and wondered what had happened to the woman who had turned him. Dublin in the 17th century had been an unforgiving place, and he'd fallen under Elizabeth's spell so very easily. Perhaps he'd just been desperate to escape the emptiness of his existence—even now, he wasn't entirely sure. He had a sudden vision of Nikki, her delicate features and smoky amber eyes, surrounded by a halo of dark hair. In very many ways, she reminded him of Elizabeth.
The sun's light grew stronger. He swallowed the remaining wine in one swift gulp and closed the curtains. As much as he would have liked to watch the flags of dawn color the sky, he had to sleep. There was much to do when night next fell.
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