Dancing with the Devil (Nikki & Michael 1)

Jake just shook his head. He'd been telling her for weeks to replace the damn thing, but she hadn't considered it a priority.

She glanced at Trevgard. “I'm sorry to keep you waiting. Did you bring the bracelet?" He nodded. “Yes. Jake has it."

Jake gave her the bracelet, sealed in a plastic bag. He knew from past experience that too many people handling an object spoiled her ability to get a strong reading. She sat down, stomach suddenly churning. She'd done this a hundred times before. It was simple. Easy.

But never before had her life been at risk.

She frowned at the thought and tore open the plastic, dropping the delicate gold bracelet into her hand. Her skin tingled as she closed her fingers around the charms, pressing them into her palm. Shutting her eyes, she reached for the place in her mind that could call forth the images locked within the bracelet. Gradually, they came.

A factory. Three floors. Broken windows. Dark. Her mind seized the pictures, storing them for examination at a later point. She had to go with the flow or lose it. She didn't have the strength for a second try.

The smell of the sea ... creak of boats. Inside ... evil. She recoiled. Oh God, he's here!

Panic seized control, and for an instant, the images faltered. Now she understood her earlier intuition. Evil was here in the darkness—and hunting her. Her fingers twitched against the bracelet, but she fought the instinct to break the contact. Time was running out for Monica. She had to find her quickly, and this was the only way of doing it.

And surely the man she feared couldn't harm her spirit. Could he? Sweat broke out across her brow, but she reached again for the images.

Stairs ... a basement. Two rooms, three. In the fourth one, Monica. Naked. Unconscious but alive. Something hit Nikki hard, drawing her into darkness, snaring the very essence of her soul as securely as a fly in a web.

And the spider laughed in demonic delight.

Chapter Four

Only the harsh notes of her breathing broke the silence.

There was nothing to see, nothing beyond a deep void of darkness. Yet something or someone was near. She rubbed her palms down her thighs and wondered what sort of game was about to be played. Soft laughter stirred the satin cover of night, filling the void with its corruption. She closed her eyes. He was here—in the cage that had captured her spirit—and there was no escape. Energy pulsed above her head, a net of power that somehow held her prisoner. If she stayed here too long, she would die.

Was that his aim?

Sweat trickled down her back. Fists clenched, she watched a golden shaft of light spread across the darkness. It revealed a makeshift bed. On it lay Monica.

There was no sense of death, yet she could see no sign of life. It was almost as if the teenager hovered somewhere between the two. Shivering in apprehension, she wondered what other surprises her abductor had in store for her.

As if in answer to her question, laughter slid around her. Heart working overtime, she turned. He flowed into existence from a patch of midnight, a maneuver that reminded her oddly of Michael. But the man before her now—no, he was more a boy, albeit boy with the physique of a body builder. He appeared maybe fifteen, sixteen years old, but he was strong. Powerful. Hauntingly beautiful ... and totally evil.

"Monica is mine."

His whisper sliced through her. “Why are you doing this to her? To me?” Her voice came out high, almost childlike. She swallowed, trying to ease the aching dryness in her throat.

"She has what she wanted.” His blue eyes began to change. Began to burn with a sapphire flame. She licked her lips. “And that is?"

He moved a step closer. Horror held her immobile.

"What do all the vain rich want?” he replied. “Power. Eternal life." His answer made no sense. “And me?” she asked, fearing the answer. "You, my pretty, are the first to ever elude my call." He reached out, brushing her cheek with a feverish hand. Her skin stung and bile rose in her throat. She longed to run, but even the simple act of breathing had become suddenly difficult. His hand slid lightly down her neck and across her breast. She closed her eyes, digging her nails into her palms to stop herself from screaming. She'd be damned if she'd give him that pleasure. He laughed. Her eyes flew open. Hunger stirred deep in the bright heart of his eyes.

"So brave,” he whispered. “So very brave. Our association will be an interesting one indeed." She shuddered, her mind screaming a denial her lips refused to utter. His gaze became a sapphire blaze. So bright.

So blue.

She watched, enthralled, as death closed in.

* * * *

Night had settled across cloudy skies when Michael made his way through the last of the stockyards. The cattle had stilled their restless stirring now that he no longer walked among them, and the distant rumble of traffic made little impact on the hush surrounding him.

He reached the last fence and stopped, leaning his arms against the rough railings. The red flare of life burned in the buildings opposite, and his hunger, though sated, stirred sluggishly. He grimaced. Would the desire for the sweet strength of human blood ever leave him? Three centuries had passed, and still the yearning ran through his veins, an addiction that refused to die. Four men worked within the building, their life forces visible through the large windows. The man he sought was not among them. Not that he expected Jasper to be hiding on the outskirts of the city. His foe had a taste for the high life, even if he hunted easy prey in the poorer areas. Monica was not the first young woman turned by a gentle dance with the devil.

He climbed through the railings, then broke into a run, moving quickly along the road that would take him back to the heart of Lyndhurst. A quick check earlier in the day had revealed that Lyndhurst had five detective agencies. After three calls, he'd found Nikki's. He glanced at his watch. It was nearly six-thirty—she should be there by now.