Dancing with the Devil (Nikki & Michael 1)

Tin rattled noisily along the building's roof, and the wind whistled through the shattered windows lining the first two levels. The distant sounds of traffic were muted, veiled. They might well have been the only two people alive in this part of the world.

"I'll go first, if you like,” Michael said, his voice oddly in tune with the strangeness of the night.

"No. Let me lead. I'll feel danger before it approaches."

"I'm not without some abilities of my own."

"But mine—"

"Just follow me, Nikki,” he stated in a voice that brooked no argument. “For once in your life let someone else take control."

Anger surged. She clenched her fists, somehow resisting the temptation to throw him in the nearby ocean. “Don't you dare say something like that to me. You know nothing about me—not who I am, or what I've been through."

He studied her for a minute, then nodded. “Fair enough. I apologize. I still intend to lead, however." She bit back her retort. He'd already moved ahead of her, anyway. She followed him into the shadows encasing the worn building. It loomed above them like some misbegotten troll frozen in darkness. The forlorn moan of the wind chased goose bumps across her skin. Perhaps it cried for the soul of the teenager locked within. Perhaps it cried for them. She shivered and rubbed her arms. There was no sense of life within the building. No sense of death, either. She turned on the flashlight. Shattered glass gleamed diamond-bright in the light. Nothing moved except the rubbish sent tumbling along the decaying brick walls. Yet something waited.

"Nothing waits except the darkness and Monica, Nikki." He was wrong. Evil had visited this building, even if he wasn't still inside. “I think he's set a trap of some kind."

"Perhaps.” His fingers clasped hers gently. “Why don't you remain with the car?" His hand burned against hers. She squeezed his fingers lightly and shook her head. “I'm no coward."

"I wasn't suggesting you were."

"I know. But I can't back away from this. I won't let him beat me." Michael nodded and glanced at the doorway. “Shall we go on?" No.

He looked at her, one dark eyebrow raised in query. She took a deep breath, then smiled. “Lead on." He didn't let go of her hand, and for that she was grateful. They climbed the front steps. The door opened without a sound, revealing the warehouse's dark interior. The air that rushed out to greet them smelled musty, full of decay. Michael tugged her forward, his steps sure despite the darkness. The flashlight did little good. The night might have been a solid object, for all the impact it had. After several minutes, she saw a faint gleam of silver in the darkness. Stairs, leading down to a deeper pit of darkness.

Michael hesitated on the top step. Stopping just behind him, she had a sudden sense of him searching the darkness below. Wisps of energy ran through her mind, powerful enough to burn if she tried to capture them.

It was the first time she had some hint of his power, and it made her own seem small by comparison. A man with that much psychic energy could do anything—anything he wanted. An odd sense of foreboding ran through her.

"Monica's downstairs,” he murmured after a moment. “Do you still want to go on?"

"Yes.” There wasn't a hope in Hades she'd stay here alone. Their footsteps echoed on the metal stairs, a sound that scraped uneasily across the night. The flashlight flared against the sea of black, yet gave away no secrets.

"Last step,” Michael warned softly.

Her foot hit the floor; the wood underneath seemed to give, and she tensed.

"Old flooring,” he commented, squeezing her fingers lightly. “It's probably rotted. You'd better wait here while I check it out."

She bit back an instinctive denial and tried to ignore the sense of loss when the warmth of his hand left hers. Holding onto the banister instead, she listened to the soft sound of his footsteps moving away.

"I've found Monica,” he called out after a few moments.

She could tell by his tone that he wasn't happy. She swept the flashlight in the direction of his voice but couldn't see anything. “And?"

"She's still warm."

Warm but dead, she knew without asking. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. If she hadn't been such a coward last night, the teenager might still be alive, safe in her father's house.

"Neither of us had much choice last night, Nikki. Do not condemn yourself for matters that cannot be controlled."

His words failed to ease the guilty ache in her heart. She could have tried harder. Should have tried harder.

"How did she die?” she asked, edging towards the sound of his voice. His reply was terse. “Blood loss."

The floorboards moved a second time. Frowning, she stopped. Apprehension crawled up her spine, but she thrust it away. Michael had walked across this same floor only a few moments ago. If they had held his weight, surely they'd hold hers.

"He's mutilated her?” she said, praying it wasn't so.