Dancing with the Devil (Nikki & Michael 1)

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.

What he did then depended very much on Nikki's reaction to him. But one way or another, willing or unwilling, she would become his bait.

The sounds and smell of humanity swirled around him as he approached the business district. The streets became crowded, forcing him to slow. He might be able to prevent most people from seeing him, but he couldn't prevent them from feeling the impact of his body if he ran into them. The last thing he needed right now was to stir more hysteria. The recent disappearances of four women had caused enough trouble. Too much more, and Jasper might just leave. Despite his assurance to Seline, he knew Jasper wasn't stupid enough to stick around if hunting became too difficult. There was always another city, another time. Their final battle might be long overdue, but Jasper had time to spare. He would wait until the time was right and the odds on his side.

The building where Nikki worked came into sight. Lights shone brightly through the windows. Nikki was

... He stopped abruptly, a cold sensation he might once have named fear running through him. Energy shimmered across his skin—a powerful cord of evil that held Nikki's mind captive. He took the steps two at a time and opened the door. Two men looked up as he entered. One stood near a desk, the other kneeling beside to Nikki, one hand reaching out—

"Don't touch her!"

"What do you mean, don't touch her?” The blond stranger glared at him. Though he hunched over Nikki protectively, he made no further attempt to touch her.

No fool, this one, he thought and knelt on the opposite side of Nikki's prone body.

"You might kill her,” he said tersely, running his right hand a whisper above her body, searching for some chink in the powerful energy shield surrounding her.

He heard the man's sharp intake of breath, but paid him little heed. Nikki's breathing was shallow and erratic, her heart straining under the increasing pressure. A body could survive only so long without the will, the essence, of its being.

If she died, she would be Jasper's.

Power pulsed against his skin like a thousand dancing fireflies. He narrowed his eyes and watched the bright promenade, studying its rhythm. Urgency beat through his heart, but he ignored it. She could die if he hurried—and die if he didn't.

The tempo of the dance faltered, weakening slightly, allowing him access. He reached out to her mind, swiftly following the psychic cord through the darkness.

Fear hit him again when he realized that Jasper was also attempting a mind lock ... and that he was close to succeeding.

Nikki, Nikki, don't look at his eyes! He charged the mental shout with all the power he could. He had to break the magnetic hold his enemy had on her mind.

Why?

Her reply was weak, vague. She was so close to giving in, yet in her own way, still fighting. It was a miracle she'd held out as long as she had.