She remembered Doyle’s warning and shivered. Maybe he was right. Maybe there was nowhere left for her that was safe. Maybe she’d run as far as she could, and now fate was going to force her to make a stand. If only Helen were here … She bit her lip.
No amount of wishing could ever bring Helen back, so she’d better get used to life alone. Tilting her head back, she let the rain wash the heat from her eyes until her face felt as numb with cold as the rest of her. Then, resolutely, she pushed away from the pole and continued on.
In the distance, a bell dinged—a cheerful sound that seemed at odds with the stormy night. A brightly lit tram swayed along its tracks, rattling toward her. She dug into her pockets, then realized she’d dropped her purse beside the box of chicken in the doorway at home. She grimaced. She’d have to go back. Without cash or credit, she wasn’t going to get very far.
She splashed on through the night, keeping to the shadows as much as possible. Doyle had probably discovered her absence by now, and she had no doubt that he’d come looking for her. It had been no accident that he’d found her on Grice Street, no matter what he said. And she wasn’t inclined to trust someone so conveniently placed
in a position to help her. Especially when that someone used a gun so well.
An image of the creature’s bubbling, dissolving flesh flashed through her mind, and her stomach turned. Why had that happened? Why would a mere bullet make skin and bones liquefy like that? She thrust the thought from her mind. Right now, the why behind the melting wasn’t so important. Getting out of this rain and tending to her aching leg were. Maybe then she could start concentrating on finding answers. Find out why Helen had been murdered.
She hurried down a side street. The wind slapped against her, thrusting cold fingers of air past her sodden clothing, chilling her flesh. She shoved her hands into her jacket pockets and wished she’d grabbed her long woolen coat when she’d had the chance. It might not have provided any more protection from the rain, but it was a hell of a lot warmer than the padded nylon raincoat she currently had on.
A car rounded the corner ahead, its headlights cutting through the darkness. She hesitated, but she knew she couldn’t take the chance that it wasn’t Doyle. She ducked into a driveway and hid behind a car. A dog barked furiously, and inside the house, someone yelled at the mutt to shut up.
She waited, aching with cold and the need to get moving. The lights drew close. She bit her lip and watched the car cruise slowly past. It wasn’t Doyle’s car or Doyle, but whoever it was, they were obviously looking for someone. Maybe even for her. Why else would they be going so slowly?
And that, she thought grimly, was surely paranoid thinking. Why wouldn’t the driver be going slowly when the wind was driving the rain so hard that visibility was down to practically nothing?
She rose and moved back to the footpath. The car had parked up near the top of the street. Its lights were out, and the driver was nowhere to be seen. See? Kirby told herself. He’d been going slowly because he lives here. Nothing to worry about.
Yet the creeping sense of danger increased. She hurried down the street, away from the car. The sooner she got home, the better.
She crossed the railroad tracks and headed toward her street. Something scraped behind her. She spun, fists clenched and her heart in her mouth, but there was nothing there. She scanned the night, her stomach churning. Something was there, even if she couldn’t see it. Its presence crawled through her, dangerous, evil.
She turned to run, but her leg buckled. She went down, hitting the pavement hard. Cursing softly, she twisted around, looking behind her again. The shadows seemed to part, disclosing a tall man with gaunt features and matted-looking hair. He looked like someone spaced out on drugs, and there was an odd sort of neediness, maybe even desperation, in his eyes. Then he smiled. His canines were long and white—the sort of canines you saw on Hollywood vampires. He was crazy—or was she? Had the crack on her head sent her imagination tripping?
Evil washed across the night, burning her skin. This is no dream, she thought, horror rising. The stranger snarled and leapt toward her. She screamed and scrambled backward.
From out of nowhere came a growling black mass, all sinew and power. Panther, she thought, and rubbed her eyes. Maybe she was tripping. Only the creature reminded her of the cat she’d seen when she’d first touched Doyle. He and the animal were connected—of that she was certain.
The cat hit the vampire hard, and the two went down in a fighting tangle of claws and teeth. The shadows seemed to close around them, momentarily hiding them from sight. When they parted, it was Doyle fighting the vampire—Doyle wrapping an arm around the stranger’s neck and twisting hard. There was an audible snap, and the man with the vampire teeth went limp. He didn’t move; he wasn’t even breathing.
Dead, she thought, and felt her stomach rise. She scrambled over to the grass and threw up what little she’d eaten for lunch.
Footsteps approached. Kirby wiped her mouth and sat back on her heels. She didn’t turn around. Didn’t want to face him. His gaze all but burned a hole in her back. She clenched her fingers and waited.
“A person is only worth as much as her promise,” he said eventually.
Though his voice held no inflection, his anger surged around her. She rubbed her arms and wondered again why she could feel his emotions so clearly.
“Well, I’ve pretty much been told all my life that I’m worthless, so I guess that it’s true, isn’t it?” Bitterness crept through her words, but she just couldn’t help it. He had no right to judge her, even if he had saved her life. Twice.
“At least now I know I can’t trust you.”
Tears stung her eyes. She blinked them away. She didn’t need his trust. She didn’t need anyone’s trust. All she wanted was to wake up from this nightmare. “A fine statement coming from a man who’s just killed someone.”
“That someone was about to suck you dry and spit out the remains.”
She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the chilled fingers of dread creeping through her body. She knew instinctively that tonight’s strangeness had only just begun. “What do you mean? What was he? And what happened to that cat I saw?”
He made a sound that was close to a growl. “I refuse to answer any more questions out here in the rain.” Exasperation sharpened his warm voice. “Get up—or do you need help?”
“I don’t need anyone’s help,” she muttered and pushed upright. The night spun violently, and she swallowed heavily against the sudden rise of nausea.
“God grant me strength against stubborn women,” he muttered.
Suddenly his arms were around her and he was lifting her up, cradling her gently against his chest. It felt safe and warm and oh-so-secure. Frighteningly so.