Alarm ran through Nikki. She spun, leaping for the stake she'd dropped near the wall. She hit the carpet and rolled, gathering the stake and slashing upwards in one fluid movement. Her blow met with emerging flesh.
The wood speared Monica's abdomen. Her face twisted in agony, and she melted again from sight. The bloody stake fell free to the floor. Nikki grabbed it, then turned and ran to Jake.
"I'm all right,” he muttered. “She slashed my arm open, that's all. Let's get the hell out of here." She grabbed his good arm and helped him up. The air around them burned with fury. Monica was still nearby, watching their retreat.
But she didn't attack. It was an ominous sign that Jasper had something else in mind for them.
Chapter Seven
Nikki leaned against the front of Jake's car, lightly massaging her temples. Her headache was back with a vengeance, thanks to the long hours of questioning. And still the police didn't believe her. It was evident from the look in their eyes, the tone in their voices. They just couldn't accept a sixteen-year-old girl would be capable of such destruction.
And she hadn't even hit them with the vampire theory yet.
She eased her weight from one leg to the other and studied the brightly-lit mansion. Though Monica couldn't be seen, her pain and fury lingered. She was somewhere nearby, watching and waiting. For what, Nikki wasn't sure.
Trevgard himself could not be missed. He strode from room to room like a general marshaling his troops, taking his anger out on anyone who got in his way. Both she and Jake had withstood a good ten minutes of his tirade before the police had decided to rescue them with official questions. Her headache had probably started around that time.
A wiry figure appeared in the doorway, looking around for several seconds before moving briskly in her direction. Nikki groaned. Just what she needed—another round of questioning with Detective Col MacEwan. They'd known each other a long time—he'd arrested her several times during her early years on the streets. He was the strongest denouncer of her psychic talents, and yet, oddly enough, probably the closest thing she had to a friend on the force.
Which didn't mean they actually liked each other.
"I gave the hospital a call.” He came to an abrupt halt several feet away from her, his calm tone belying the anger she could see in his brown eyes. “Jake's arm has been stitched, and they've let him go home." She nodded her thanks and crossed her arms. MacEwan hadn't ventured outside just to say that. There would be more.
"I don't believe a word of the crap you and Jake spouted in there,” he continued. “But I've no evidence to dispute it, either, so for the moment, you're free to go."
"Gee, thanks."
"I know you too well, Nikki, and I can taste a lie. When I find out what you and Jake are hiding—" He let the threat go and glared at her a moment longer. She returned his gaze evenly. She had nothing to hide—nothing but a truth he would never believe. After a moment, he grunted and turned around, walking back to the house.
At least she could finally go home. Pushing away from the car, she moved around to the driver's side. She tugged on the door then realized it was locked. And Jake had the keys. Damn. She'd have to walk. She kicked the tire in frustration, then turned to study the shadows. The gentle breeze held no trace of Monica, but with the teenager's speed that didn't mean much. She could be out of the scope of Nikki's psychic senses and still be well within killing range. Maybe she should ask one of the police officers for a lift.
She glanced back at the house and saw Trevgard gesturing angrily at some poor officer. No way , she thought, shoving her hands back into her pockets to keep them warm. There wasn't a power on this earth that could force her back in the house with Trevgard. She'd had enough of his lectures to last a lifetime. She headed off down the drive. The noise and lights gradually faded away, and the crunch of gravel underneath her boots grew louder. She turned left out of the gates and crossed the road to the softly lit pavement. The stately mansions lining either side of the street lay wrapped in darkness, and the silence hung as heavily as the clouds in the moonless sky. Yet this time, it wasn't threatening. Ahead, a figure rested casually against a lamppost. His dark shirt emphasized the lean strength of his chest and arms, and his jeans clung just right to his legs. Michael. He looked ... nice. More than nice, really.
His sudden smile sent warmth shivering through her.
"Thought you might like to get something to eat before you go home,” he said, falling into step beside her and offering her his arm.
"There aren't many places open at this hour.” She tucked her arm through his.
"I'll find us something. What do you prefer?"
Her stomach rumbled noisily. He quirked an eyebrow at the sound, and she grinned. “Actually, I could go for a really big burger right now."
His look was suddenly severe, though amusement danced in his eyes. “Fried foods are full of fat, you know."
"That's all I need—a health nut.” She grinned lightly and met his gaze. “What would you suggest?"
"Only the best, of course."
The look in his eyes made her pulse skip a beat. She cleared her throat and looked away. Perhaps linking arms wasn't such a great idea. The warmth of his body so close, the caress of his fingers against her arm—it was a reminder of how long it had been since anyone had simply held her. How long it had been since she had even wanted to be held. And it was a dangerous desire when it was centered on a man she knew next to nothing about.
"Lyndhurst doesn't have much in the way of fancy restaurants this end of town. It's residential,” she said quietly.
"If I remember right, there's one not far ahead."
He meant Roslyn's, but dressed as they were, they'd never get in. “A hamburger suits me just fine. Besides, it's late. They'll be getting ready to go home."
"Then we'll just have to persuade them to remain open,” he said with a smile. “What did the police say?" She shrugged. “Usual shit. Jake and I aren't to leave town, blah, blah, blah."