Something flickered in her eyes, and she stepped quickly away. Michael frowned. Just how strong was the link she'd created? If she could merge with his mind, however briefly, it was more than possible she could read his thoughts. Maybe he didn't have to tell her he was a vampire. Maybe she already knew. He watched her quick retreat, then turned and made his way across the road.
* * * *
Dawn's light was less than an hour away when he finally stood. The muted spark of life in Nikki's flat told him she slept. It was time to begin his hunt.
The sun was on the verge of rising by the time he arrived back at Trevgard's mansion. He walked through the fast disappearing shadows, carefully avoiding the many police officers still around. Monica was an unseen presence, full of pain and desperate hunger. Obviously, she hadn't yet found the item she would carry through eternity. Michael glanced at his left hand. In his case, it had been a ring. Made for his father by his grandfather, carved from the soft rock that abounded on their farm. It was a reminder of the life he'd willingly forsaken; a reminder of the death he'd unwittingly caused. It had been his father who'd discovered his body, and the discovery had caused a heart attack, leaving his mother to somehow scratch a living on land so poor even grass refused to grow. He'd returned once the blood-rage had left him, hoping to help in some way. But by then, years had passed, and the struggle to survive had all but killed her. His oldest brother, Patrick, had given up on the farm and left in search of work elsewhere, and his four sisters had found themselves husbands and homes of their own. He'd nursed his mother through her final days, and buried her next to his father. And had vowed, at the foot of her grave, never to take another innocent human life.
A vow he had kept to this day.
He stopped near the front porch and leaned against the wall, waiting. Monica would have to leave soon. The sun was on the rise, and the house offered little in the way of protection. It had too many windows, allowed too much sun to stream in. As a newborn, she needed complete darkness during the day. Resistance to sunlight came only with the onset of a century or so. She didn't move until the last possible moment. She walked past quickly, right fist clutching a gold watch. Her father's, by the look of it. Her blue eyes were wild, her mind half-mad with thirst. She didn't sense his nearby presence—caution was the last thing on her mind. So many of the newly turned died within the first couple of days simply because they weren't careful enough. He followed her quick steps through the half-light of morning. If he were lucky, she would lead him straight to her master. Hiding in the middle of a city as big as Lyndhurst still held special problems for the likes of Monica and Jasper. Street people already occupied many of the abandoned factories and houses. The one thing more important to a vampire than a place to wait out the sun was security. Day sleep represented a kind of death, particularly when young in vampire years. You had to be sure you were safe in the hours when you were totally helpless. Neither Jasper nor Monica had the choice of sleeping in motels, as he did. Because of his years and lifestyle, he could wake and protect himself if threatened. The other two could not.
The skies began to brighten. Monica broke into a run, her sudden desperation reaching back to him. Only now that the sun's heat had started to itch her skin did she realize her danger. She swung into a side street, and fled into the darkness of an old warehouse. Michael stopped, following the rest of her retreat with his senses.
As he'd expected, she fled down, not up, into the comforting darkness of the basement. Jasper waited for her there.
Michael clenched his fingers and tried to ignore the desperate urge to rush in and crush his enemy's neck. Jasper wasn't alone. Michael's old foe had gained some cunning during the years since their last encounter. People were already working on the floors above, unaware that a monster lurked below. The zombies were silent sentinels near the basement door.
He had no doubt Jasper had rigged the warehouse to explode should he be attacked. He'd done it before, and killed over one hundred people in the process.
Michael turned and walked away. He'd come back tonight, when the people in the two floors above the basement had gone home, and burn this retreat to the ground.
He glanced skyward, trying to judge the time he had left before he had to make his own retreat. At least a few hours ... whistling tunelessly, he shoved his hands into his pockets and headed back to the stockyards on the outskirts of town.
Chapter Eight
Nikki absently ran the silver cross up and down its chain and watched the people hurry past the foggy office windows. Everyone was bundled up against the bitter wind that raced the clouds across the evening sky. She felt no warmer, despite the heat in the office. Just how did you stop a vampire?
Last night had proven how difficult that might be. From the little Michael had said, she knew Jasper had been dead long enough to develop and refine the gifts vampirism endowed. They'd never see him, let alone get near enough to kill him. She crossed her arms and tried to ignore the ice creeping through her veins. Michael was right about one thing. Jasper and Monica were evil. They would kill, and keep on killing, until they were stopped. She just wished she wasn't the one who had to stop them.