Dancing with the Devil (Nikki & Michael 1)

Yes.

No.

She took another deep breath and pushed upright. At sixteen, Monica had barely begun to live. She had so much yet to learn, so much more of the world to see.

Ten years before, Nikki had left another teenager to his fate. He'd been a hell of a lot more capable of taking care of himself than Monica ever would be, and still he had died. This time around, she was not letting fate get the upper hand.

She eased off her jacket and studied the wound on her forearm. While the three gashes bled profusely, the creature's talons obviously hadn't severed anything vital. She could still move her fingers, even if it did hurt like hell. Digging a handkerchief out of her pocket, she wrapped it around the wound. Hopefully it would stem the flow of blood long enough to find Monica and get out of this house. Putting her jacket back on, she walked across to retrieve her flashlight, only to discover it no longer worked. She gave it a quick shake and heard a slight tinkle coming from the globe area. It must have smashed when she'd dropped it.

"That's just great,” she muttered, thrusting it back in her pocket. Now she'd have to cross the threshold of utter darkness with only instinct to guide her.

Instinct that had proven somewhat unreliable in the past.

The hallway was quiet. Her gaze was drawn to the darkness at the far end of the hall. Monica had to be down there somewhere. But so was the presence that tasted so evil. She took a deep, calming breath, then walked back to the T-intersection. A tingle of awareness ran across the back of her neck as she neared the stairs. She hesitated, studied the shadows that hid the staircase. The stranger had entered the house. Michael Kelly, Nikki thought. His name is Michael Kelly. Nikki rubbed the back of her neck. Why could she read this stranger's mind? And why had he entered the house? Was he here to help her, or did he have something more sinister in mind?

No answers came from the darkness, and the spark of awareness flickered and died. Nikki frowned but continued on. The rapid beat of her heart seemed abnormally loud in the strange silence. Her senses warned of another door, even though she couldn't see it. She ran her fingers along the wall and touched a door frame, then the cold metal of a doorknob. Stopping, she listened to the silence. Evil was near, maybe even in the room beyond this door. She clenched the doorknob so tightly her knuckles practically glowed, and wondered why in hell she was doing this. The answer was easy enough to find. Monica reminded her of Tommy, the teenager she'd left to die so long ago. To appease his ghost, to appease the guilt in her heart, she'd follow Monica through the flames of hell if that's what it took to save her soul—simply because she'd been unable to save Tommy's. Swallowing, she opened the door. Laughter greeted her, laughter that was young and sweet, and yet somehow cold.

Monica.

The teenager stepped out of the shadows, her smile easy to see despite the shadows that hid her face.

"If you wish to talk to me,” she said, her voice melodious, yet holding a touch of menace. “First you must follow me."

She turned and walked into another room. Instinct told Nikki not to follow—told her to run as far and as fast as she could. Told her Monica wasn't worth dying for.

Told her if she ran, Monica would die in her place. That was a weight she just couldn't bear. Taking a deep breath, Nikki followed the teenager.

Straight into the arms of the devil himself.

Chapter Two

The creature moved too fast to avoid. Michael slammed a fist deep into its gut, but the blow failed to halt its charge. The two of them went down in a fighting tangle of arms and legs. Michael swore viciously. Every second he wasted with these creatures left Nikki James another second closer to death. The little fool had entered the room. His enemy's hunger was palpable, a beast that filled the darkness.

Anger surged through him; a deep, dark fury he desperately tried to control. He needed a clear head, not a mind ruled by blood rage. The creature wrapped its hands around his neck and squeezed hard. Michael laughed harshly; the stupidity of these things was beyond belief. He reached up and wrenched loose its fingers. Holding them away from his neck, he gave a quick thrust with his knees, throwing the creature back over his head. It smashed through the front doorway and disappeared down the steps. He scrambled to his feet, then swung, sensing the approach of a second creature. Instead of charging, the beast slithered to a halt—in that instant he saw the silver blade the creature held. He backed away. The beast followed him, the blade an argent flame promising death. Foreboding ran through him. He had no time for this. The web of darkness was closing in around Nikki. He should have stopped her in the park, should have seized control of her mind and ordered her away from the child and this house.

But she was different from most others. While he could read her surface thoughts easily enough, he doubted he'd be able to reach far enough into her mind to achieve any sort of real control. Her gifts were too strong—for him, and more than likely, for Jasper. But after death, it was a whole new ball game. Jasper had the ability to call his victims from the grave. Death wouldn't kill her abilities. Not while there was flesh on her bones, at any rate.

The creature lunged at him. Michael dodged the thrust of the knife then grabbed the creature's wrist. Squeezing tight, he forced the blade from its grip, then thrust an elbow into its face, shattering its nose. It howled, a high keening sound of distress. Michael cursed softly. The creature was an abomination, but who was the greater horror? The dead or the man who forced them from their graves?

He might not be able to kill Jasper right now, but he could give this creature final peace. Gripping its head, he snapped it hard sideways, breaking its neck. It fell to a lifeless heap at his feet. One down, five to go, if he included Jasper and the teenager.

Michael kicked the blade away with his foot then retrieved the can of gas. Undoing the lid, he sloshed the contents round the floor and up the walls. Anywhere and everywhere. It didn't matter, as long as it burned.

Throwing the empty can into a corner, he dug a box of matches out of his pocket. The old house was tinder dry. With the gas he'd splashed around, it would ignite like wildfire. But there was no one in the house except the four of them. Jasper wouldn't burn—he'd run the minute he smelled the flames. If Monica was too stupid to follow, then that was just too bad. Nikki was the one he had to get out. She'd be too dangerous a weapon in Jasper's hands.

Michael lit the match and flicked it in the direction of the can. Then he turned and ran for the stairs.

* * * *

The door slammed shut behind her. Nikki spun but knew there was no escape. Childish laughter echoed through the silence, mocking her.

Monica, in league with the devil himself.

"You have done well, my pet."

The soft voice was powerful. Hypnotic. It filled the room with its warmth, and yet her skin crawled in terror of its touch. Instinct warned her not to move, told the slightest show of fear would quickly bring death. But the beat of her heart was a drum that filled the silence. He had to know—had to feel—her fear.

The air stirred. She stepped back quickly. The presence laughed, a low sound of amusement. Nikki clenched her fists. Energy tingled across her fingertips, but she didn't release it, instead retreating another step. Her back hit the wall, but she felt no better for its protection. If she could get to the door...