He didn't answer, just twisted desperately, fighting her hold on him. Every movement stabbed red-hot pokers through her head. She had to end this quickly, while she still had some semblance of control.
"Tell me.” She thrust him backwards, towards the windows and the pale beams of sunlight beginning to filter into the room.
His struggles grew more violent, the pain in her head sharper.
"Tell me,” she repeated and pushed him closer.
Light caressed his left arm and, almost instantly, his fingers went a deep, dark red. He screamed. It was a sound filled with fear and anger, and shuddered right though every fiber of her being. Not very old at all, she thought, and pulled him back a little.
"I can't.” His eyes were haunted, frantic. “He'll kill me." She wondered how young he really was—or how young he'd been when he'd been turned. Despite the bravado and the tough words, she suspected he was only in his mid-to-late teens. A babe in human or vampire terms. But then, Jasper had been a lot younger, and he'd been one of the most depraved bastards she'd ever met. She raised an eyebrow. “And you think I won't?" He stared at her for a heartbeat. His desperation singed the air as he began to struggle again. Red-hot pokers gnawed at her brain, and pain shuddered through her entire being. She couldn't hold him for much longer—and when the net of power failed, she'd be in trouble.
"Are you really so desperate to die?” she said, thrusting him back into the light. He screamed again. “I can't,” he said, twisting severely. “If I go back without killing you, I'm finished."
"Then don't go back. Run for it."
"You don't know these people..."
He gave a final twist and shattered her hold on him. Agony locked her mind tight, and she fell to her knees, fighting tears and the red tide of pain threatening to engulf her. She wrapped her fingers around the remaining stake and thrust it out in front of her, knowing it would be as useless as a toothpick against a snake.
But the young vampire didn't attack.
He ran for the window and the sunlight instead.
"Don't—"
The rest of her words were lost in the shattering of glass. She scrambled to her feet and staggered over to the window. The vampire's body became flame the minute he fully hit the sunlight, and the fire consumed him with a fierceness that turned her stomach. There was nothing left of him but black dust by the time he hit the pavement.
"What the hell has been going on here?” Jake said from behind her. The cavalry has arrived. But too late, as usual. An insane desire to laugh bubbled through her, but what came out was more a sob. She slid down the wall and closed her eyes.
"Nik? What happened? Are you all right?” Jake knelt beside her and touched her arm. She flinched, and he cursed.
"You're bleeding. Henry, get the hotel doctor up here immediately." She opened her eyes a slither and saw a big man in an official-looking black and gold uniform walk over to the phone. Henry, obviously. “Are all the exits in this hotel guarded?” she murmured. Jake frowned. “Yes. Why?"
"Because a vampire just waltzed into my room and attacked me with a very large knife he'd stuck down the leg of his jeans."
Jake glanced quickly at the man on the phone and lowered his voice to ask, “Are you sure?"
"Sure that it was a vampire?” She forced a smile and rubbed her forehead with her good hand. “Oh yeah, I'm sure. If you look down at the pavement below this window, you'll see his dust."
"Did he say anything?"
"Other than they wanted me dead, no."
"The doc's on his way,” Henry said as he put the receiver back down. “And I called the cops." Jake cursed under his breath. “Thanks, Henry. Do you mind standing guard outside the door until the police arrive?"
The big man nodded and headed for the door.
"He knew my name, Jake,” she said when Henry had disappeared. “It was no mistake." "But you're not registered here under your name—only as my guest. How the hell did they even know you were here? You'd barely arrived."
"I haven't got any answers. He killed himself rather than give me anything." Jake thrust a hand through his hair. “I don't like this."
"Join the club,” she murmured and looked past him as a gray-suited man carrying a heavy bag bustled into the room.
"About time,” Jake said, rising to make room for the stranger. “She's bleeding pretty heavily from her left arm."
"It's just my arm that's injured, not my tongue,” she muttered. The gray-suited stranger knelt beside her, then reached into his bag and grabbed some gloves. “You able to remove your sweater, or shall we just cut it?"
"Cut it,” she said. The less she moved right now, the better it was for the pain in her head. She closed her eyes again, leaning her head back against the wall while the doctor sliced open the sleeve of her sweater.