Dancing with the Devil (Nikki & Michael 1)

"Remember, I was not the initiator last night, nor am I made of stone,” he continued softly. “And there's one more question you should ask. Just who was using whom last night?" Heat crept into her cheeks, and she bit her lip. There was no denying the fact he was right. She had used him, used his warmth, the caress of his thoughts, to keep Jasper's nightmares at bay. But while she regretted her reasons, she didn't regret making love to him. Those memories she would treasure in the long years ahead.

"I'm sorry,” she said. “I was wrong. But so were you in leaving me." He made no comment, and she drove the final few miles to the office in silence. She parked in front of the building and glanced at her watch as she climbed out of the car. It was after five. She frowned. Why wasn't her car here? Jake had left before her...

Her psychic senses sprang to life, and pain ran like fire across her body. Only it wasn't her pain. It was Jake's.

Jasper's dark laughter whispered through her brain, a teasing gloat, edged with warning. If she wanted Jake to live, she would have to take his place.

Chapter Fourteen

Nikki gripped the edge of the car door and closed her eyes. She couldn't go back to Jasper ... Yet she couldn't let Jake die in her place.

"Nikki, listen to me.” Michael's voice seemed to come from a great distance. “He won't kill Jake just yet. He'll make sure we have enough time to attempt a rescue. Jasper likes his little games. Break the contact Nikki. Break it, now."

She bit her lip and concentrated on pushing Jasper from her mind. He evaded her grasp, as slippery as an eel, his laughter mocking. She gritted her teeth and pushed, hard. Jasper's poison slid away, but the effort left her trembling.>In Monica's unnatural gaze, Nikki saw past the layers of agony to the child deep within—a lost and lonely child, desperate for hope and love. Me , she thought , if it hadn't been for Jake and MacEwan. She stepped forward to help Monica, but the fire in her brain intensified. Gasping, Nikki dropped to her knees. There was nothing she could do—nothing but watch Monica die. Tears ran down her cheeks when she met the teenager's gaze. Deep in the blue depths of her eyes, Nikki saw the sudden flash of understanding—and hate.

"Christ Almighty! Somebody do something.” MacEwan's voice rose harshly above the noise surrounding the old church. “Grab a blanket or something."

The priest ran to obey. But they were far too late. Monica burst into flames. Nikki closed her eyes, not wanting to see any more. The pain in her head eased, but there was no way to stop Monica's screams from penetrating every nerve, sickening her soul.

She'd been wrong about one thing. No matter what she'd done, the teenager hadn't deserved a death as horrid as this.

The screams faded into silence. The priest returned with a blanket and a police officer threw it over Monica's body. Yet the fire burned unabated, the flames so fierce they took the blanket with them. A line of dark smoke climbed skyward.

Soon there was nothing left but ashes. Laughter ran through her mind, a distant, taunting evil that crowed at his victory.

Had she been nothing more than Jasper's tool all along? She bit her lip and hugged herself fiercely, hoping, praying it wasn't so. If he could make her do this, he could make her do anything. Even betray Michael.

She took a deep breath and wiped the tears from her cheeks. There was nothing she could do now about Monica, nothing anyone could do, other than mourn a life lost so young.

"I've heard of things like this happening.” MacEwan's voice was harsh, full of the pain he would never show. “Never thought I'd see it, though."

She rose and walked over to where he stood. The priest began to murmur over the burned soil and a few scraps of blanket, all that remained of Monica's pyre.

"How in hell am I going to explain it downtown?"

She glanced at him, wondering if he expected an answer. His face showed no sign of emotion, yet she knew the appearance was a lie. MacEwan—the tough, no-nonsense cop—hated losing a kid, no matter how bad that kid had gone. Despite all his years on the streets, he still believed they could be saved, given half a chance.

"You can't.” She shoved her hands into her pockets to ward off the chill of the freshening wind. “No one would believe you if you tried."

He lit a cigarette and sucked on it almost greedily. “You knew this would happen, didn't you?” he said, after a moment.

She didn't reply, not trusting him for an instant. Fair cop or not, he was just as likely to march her downtown and interrogate her all night if she admitted too much. Yet her silence was answer enough.

"So,” he continued, exhaling a long plume of smoke. “What was she?" She gave him another uncertain look. How much had he guessed? “What do you mean?" He gave an exasperated snort. “No games, or I might be inclined to get nasty. Normal people do not explode into flame when the sun touches them. Certainly it's not a problem Monica Trevgard has suffered before."

And wouldn't again, Nikki thought with a shiver. She watched a wisp of blanket turn in the breeze. The intensity of the fire had left the soil under Monica's body a charred mess. She doubted if anything would ever grow there again.

"She was a vampire.” It was time MacEwan knew the truth, whether or not he chose to believe it. “They can't stand the sun."

He made no comment. She'd always found MacEwan hard to read and had no idea if he believed her or not.

"And this madman we still have on the loose?"

"Monica's lover. Another vampire."

"I see."

Did he? There was little emotion to be seen on his face, but his eyes were thoughtful.