Gathering her courage, she stepped to the door and wrapped her fingers around the handle. After taking a deep breath to calm the churning in her stomach, she carefully opened the door. For a moment, she simply couldn't believe what she was seeing. It looked for all the world like some youngster had gone crazy with a can of paint. Red was sprayed across the walls in insane patterns, and dripped steadily from a thickening blotch on the ceiling. Two men were covering body parts with white sheets, a tough task when there were so many parts, many of them no longer resembling anything human. Her gaze went to the window. When she saw what was sitting on the sill, she put a hand to her mouth, holding back a scream that seemed to stick somewhere in her throat. Then her stomach rose, and all she could do was run—from the horror of the room, from the overripe smell of blood, and from the grotesque remains on the sill.
Remains that were the image of her .
Chapter Seven
Nikki got as far as the side of the building. Once there, she lost what little she'd eaten over the day. When there was nothing more than dry heaves left, she stumbled to the back of the building and sank to the ground, leaning her head back and closing her eyes.
Dunleavy was sick.
Though she'd never doubted it, she now had proof positive. What manner of man could do something like that? God, he had to be insane. Inhuman...
The thought stopped her cold. Dunleavy wasn't human, and he couldn't be judged by those standards. He was a vampire, a worshipper of dark Gods, and a shape changer. A monster.
And monsters didn't think like the rest of humanity. Jasper had certainly proven that .
"Are you all right?"
Michael's voice rose out of the night, soft yet filled with concern. Wishful thinking , she thought. He was probably too busy tracking down Kinnard to worry about what she was doing right now.
"Are you all right?" he repeated, his voice, and his concern, nearer. Sharper. Suddenly he was beside her, his fingers pressing warmth into her cheeks as he held her face. "What's wrong?"
She opened her eyes. He knelt in front of her, eyes rich with worry. She touched his lips with her fingertips, trailing them down his chin and neck, and pressing them against his chest. His heart beat a rhythm that could only be described as erratic for a vampire.
She smiled, remembering another time, another place, when she'd echoed those exact same thoughts and actions. Something flickered in his eyes, and just for a moment, she thought she saw a touch of recognition. Then the spark died, leaving only normal concern.
But perhaps there lay part of her answer—by following patterns of the past and forcing memories to surface, maybe she'd undermine the spell set on him.
"Damn it, woman, will you answer me?"