Dark Carousel (Dark 26)

After all the long centuries, he knew she was close, yet she remained elusive, just out of his reach. He had turned his hunting instincts, honed by centuries of strategy, to finding her. He turned away from the blaring music and the scent of so much blood running hot in veins calling to him. It was a heady temptation he fought continually. Irritated at his inability to find her when she was so close, he wanted to roar his frustration to the night sky. He needed air, needed to go outside and breathe.

Tariq cursed softly in his own language, moving back from the railing into deeper shadows. Just the fact that he could feel frustration meant she was very, very close, and he could hear her voice, although he couldn't recognize it among all the other voices. He knew she was somewhere in the building, just out of reach, by the way his emotions, long ago gone, slipped in unexpectedly to disrupt his calm, logical thinking. She had to have a strong mind to thwart his many scans of the city in search of her. She was very strong to be able to defy his commands.

He was a powerful being, one very used to getting his way with a minimal amount of effort. He had survived centuries of battles, centuries of no emotions, no color. Always the insidious whispers of the call to evil, to power tempted him, yet he had endured for one reason. A woman. The one woman. His lifemate. Other half to his soul. Only she could restore his world, his life as it was meant to be. He had long ago resigned himself to his fate, endurance in a bleak, harsh world until the temptation of power was too strong. Yet now, when he was so near the end, he sensed her presence, that ripple of hope in a world of emptiness.

"Mataias tracked Vadim Malinov to the harbor," Maksim reported. "Vadim was always intelligent, even in his younger years. Now, as a master vampire with the splinter from Xavier, one of the most powerful mages ever born, in him, Vadim is proving to be a dangerous adversary. I do not like that he went to the harbor."

"That would suggest he went out to sea?" Tariq made it a question. His mind should have been on the hunt for the master vampire. Vadim was, without doubt, the greatest threat to the Carpathian and human world since Xavier, the mage. Tariq was too distracted by that fragrance. Now that he'd caught the scent, he knew he had to turn his attention to finding the owner. "She has to be somewhere in the building."

It was a big building. Enormous. Five stories plus the basement, four of them used for the various clubs and the fifth floor for his personal space. The basement was the underground club, so really, five clubs. Four bars on each of the club floors. Four dance floors on each floor with tables surrounding the inner balconies. Each floor was packed nearly to capacity. Still, he was Carpathian. He could cover a lot of ground fast.

"Go," Maksim said. "You're not going to be any good to me until you find that woman. Lojos and Mataias are patrolling tonight and if there is any indication that Vadim's army is working in our hometown, they'll find the evidence. It's been very quiet these last couple of weeks."

Vadim Malinov, a unique and gifted master vampire, was putting together an army of vampires. He was using the latest technology and even managing to recruit humans to do his bidding. It was unprecedented to do what Vadim had done. He'd fled the Carpathian Mountains, away from the prince of the Carpathian people and the ancient hunters there, to travel to the United States, where he clearly was amassing an army against both Carpathians and humans. He had to be stopped.

Tariq didn't wait for further conversation. He cloaked himself and floated down from his personal space to the fourth-floor club. Salsa music pounded through the air. Hard-hitting. A driving beat. This club catered to Latin dancing and the atmosphere reflected that. It was upscale, trendy and extremely popular. Bodies ground against one another. The dance floors were always filled with every level of dancer, from beginner to competition expert.

He wound his way through the tables and then the dancers, inhaling. Searching. Being meticulous. It occurred to him that if his woman were on this floor she would be dancing hip to hip with another male. Why would the predator in him become more pronounced at the idea of his lifemate's body rubbing against another man's body if she weren't close? If he hadn't heard her voice--that magical voice that would change his world? She had to be there, the sound drifting to him through all the conversations registering as noise he tuned out on a nightly basis.

Because she has to be here, Maksim agreed, using the general Carpathian telepathic link.

Where are you? He whispered it, sending the inquiry out into the night.

When there was no answer, frustration edged with the need for violence. When his inquiry was met with silence. The fact that he could feel frustration only proved to Tariq that he'd heard his lifemate's voice. He had to have crossed paths with her and heard the sound of her voice in order to begin to feel emotions. They were negative emotions and very faint, but at least he was recognizing that she was close enough to be affecting him. Changing him. Not for the better.

He had to have heard her voice blending with all the other noises, the pounding beats of the various bands as well as all the conversations on each of the floors. Now he had her scent, that wonderful elusive fragrance that had to be unique to her. He moved on from the fourth floor to the third, trying to follow the scent. Trying to listen for the sound of her voice that would fully restore his emotions and bring color back to his existence.

He sorted through the cacophony of sounds, listening to hundreds of threads of conversations, hundreds of voices, as he moved quickly through the third floor. He was certain she was heading away from him, almost as if she knew she was being pursued. He was an ancient Carpathian, his emotions long gone from him, yet he felt a kernel of excitement. A frisson of anticipation moved down his spine like the caress of fingers. Light. Barely there. The touch exquisite.

"Charlie restores old carousel horses," a male voice said. "We know she has a strong psychic talent because her testing was

off the charts, but her gift seemed to be for older things. Antiques. She couldn't possibly have read anything from touching one of us or any object we'd handled." There was doubt in the voice. "Could she?"

Tariq had no idea why he'd zeroed in on that voice, but the need to hear the conversation was almost as strong as the compulsion to move through his club to find his woman. Could "Charlie" be that woman? The man said she had a psychic gift.

"Why would anyone want to restore old broken carousel horses, Daniel? Isn't that stuff manufactured every day?" another male sneered, as if he felt total contempt for anything old.

Tariq was old. Ancient in fact. He came from centuries earlier, and the thought that this man speaking wanted to throw away part of history bothered him. A first. To be bothered by an opinion of a human. A stranger of no consequence. Yet not only did the subject matter intrigue him, but now he understood why this conversation, among all the others, caught at his attention.

He dropped over the railing of the third floor and floated toward the ground floor, where he knew the conversation was taking place.

"Seriously, Bruce? What the hell are you going on about? We have to get out of here, follow them and figure out whether she knows. Stop bringing up bullshit and finish your drink fast or take it with you because they're on the move."

"You just want to fuck her, Daniel," the one called Bruce sneered. "Hell, you were all over her all night. That's what spooked her. And we can't be too obvious following them. We have to give them time. It isn't like we don't know where they live."

Tariq's world stopped. The ground rolled beneath his feet. Something dark and ugly rose up to consume him. A man dared to try to encroach on what belonged to him. He'd searched centuries. He'd kept Carpathians and humans alike safe by holding on to his honor by a thread. He'd endured centuries of relentless loneliness. Of nothingness. Of a gray void that was endless.