Hearts in Darkness (Nikki & Michael 2)

He raised his eyebrows. He'd never thought he'd hear such an admission from her, but in a way, it explained her recent actions. Maybe draining Matthew and turning the children were a last, desperate measure to keep some excitement in her life. She'd never been one to enjoy the serenity of doing nothing. He flexed his fingers, waiting for her to move. “Why didn't you attack Nikki in the warehouse?" She smiled. “She had your taste, Michael. I thought she might bring you back to me." In some respects, she had, but not in the way Elizabeth had hoped. “Then why take five fledglings with you? You've never needed help like that before."

She snorted softly. “I still don't. Cordell insisted. Perhaps he didn't trust me.” Her sudden smile was full of maliciousness. “Perhaps in that he was right."

She wiped an arm across her bloody mouth, then let the shadows take her form and ran straight at him. He sidestepped at the last moment and slashed with the knife—not high, but low, cutting her tendons, wounding her as he had been wounded.

She screamed in fury and launched at him. He plunged the knife hilt-deep into her gut. Silver fire crackled across her abdomen, burning her flesh, burning him. There was no reaction from her. She tackled him, her weight knocking him down. The knife was still buried deep in her flesh, but she paid it no heed. Her fingers were like talons, tearing at his face, his neck. The smell of her blood perfumed the night, and part of him wanted to taste her, feed from her, as she had fed from him so often in the past. He ignored the need, ignored the hands tearing at him, and reached up to her neck. Anticipation gleamed in her eyes. She really did want this death. It hadn't been just talk. That was why she had toyed with him. That was why she had attacked as she had. Cordell might have forced her to fight, but he couldn't force her to win.

He wrapped his hands around her neck, then leaned forward and kissed her. “Good-bye Elizabeth,” he whispered against her lips. “May you find in this death what you could never find in life." Her smile was a mix of relief and sorrow. “Thank you, Michael. May the gods finally grant your heart's desire."

"They have. Her name is Nikki.” With that, he twisted her neck sharply and felt bone shatter beneath his hands. Watched the life fade forever from her eyes.

He pushed her off him, then sat up and wiped the faint trace of her blood from his mouth. He shed no tears for her, and yet he knew if he'd had any other option, he would not have killed her. He closed her eyes and removed the knife from her flesh. Then he crossed her arms and said a prayer for her, even though it had been more than a few centuries since Elizabeth had been near a church or a priest—except, that was, for the couple that had provided a quick lunch back in Paris two centuries before.

Her body began to steam, and he stepped away in surprise. He'd taken the knife from her flesh, so there was no reason for her flesh to be burning now. The tendrils of smoke began to condense above her body, forming a creature that resembled a ball of fire. The flame imp, he realized suddenly. Elizabeth's death had freed it.

It sparkled brightly in the darkness, its color flashing between green and gold. Why could he suddenly see them? Why now, rather than before?

When the last of the steam had left Elizabeth's body and become one with the fiery creature, the flame imp dipped slightly, as if bowing, then disappeared.

With the flame imp's life force gone, Elizabeth's body seemed to collapse and looked even older. The years since he'd last seen her had not been kind at all.

He picked up the knife and resolutely turned away. He'd given her the death she had craved. There was nothing more he could do, other than fulfil his promise to kill Cordell. Of course, first he had to find Cordell. He continued on through the cavern then went back into the tunnel. Casting his senses forward, he searched the darkness for some clue to the vampire's whereabouts. Cordell would have felt Elizabeth's death and the flame imp being released from his control, but if he was moving anywhere nearby, Michael couldn't feel him. He walked on. The air was stale and moisture seeped down the walls. Slime hung in strings from the ceiling, dripping down the walls like green tears. He wondered who they cried for—the flame imps, Elizabeth, or maybe even himself?

Cool air stirred his hair. He stopped abruptly, every sense alert. Something moved ahead in the tunnel, yet he could feel no life—human or otherwise.

He clenched the knife tightly, waiting. The wind got stronger, chilling his skin. Magic burned through the air, swirling around him, standing the small hairs along his arms on end. He backed against the wall. An attack was coming, but he wasn't sure from which direction.

Lights danced through the brightness, flashes of purple and blue in the night. The colors of a distressed flame imp, he thought, and wondered again why he could suddenly see them. The wall to his left exploded, spraying deadly shards of rock through the night. He dove away, saw the red flash of the flame imp, felt the stir of wind against his cheek, and rolled to his right. A club materialized from the darkness, smashing into the ground where his head had been only moments before. He leapt to his feet, slashing wildly with the knife. It connected against something solid, rebounding away and momentarily numbing his fingers. The bastard was using magic to protect himself. The club appeared again. He dodged, and slashed again with the knife, this time aiming for the fingers holding the top of the club. The blade bit through wood and bone. Blood gushed as the club and several fingers dropped to the ground.

The night screamed. The air reverberated with the sound, and the wind became a cyclone, trapping him and preventing him from moving. The club rose from the ground, arrowing towards his head. Pinned by air, all he could do was watch. Pain exploded as the club hit, then darkness closed in, and he knew no more.

* * * *

"Don't move,” a voice whispered into her ear.

The hand against her mouth pressed heat into her skin. She could almost feel her lips burning.

"He comes."

Breath brushed past her ear, grazing her cheeks with the warmth of summer. But she suddenly recognized the voice, and her fear subsided a little. Whatever Ginger intended, Nikki doubted that she meant to harm her in any real way.

"Don't move,” Ginger continued. “Or he will sense you." She meant Cordell. Had he come this way to investigate the spawn's death, or was he just rolling by at the wrong time? Whatever the reason, she had no real wish to meet him without Michael by her side. Sweat began to trickle down her back where her body was pressed against Ginger's, but her legs were so cold her toes were almost numb. But at least the burn on her calf had stopped aching. A stone rattled in the tunnel beyond the small cave in which they stood. Tension ran through her and through Ginger's fingers which were pressed firmly against her mouth. Wind sighed. More stones rattled. Then he was in front of them—an emaciated figure huddled in a wheelchair. He looked fifty or sixty at least, yet he had thick blonde hair that hung like a mane to his shoulders. He stopped the chair at the water's edge, and then he glanced around, looking straight at them.

"I can feel you, Ginger,” he said, pointing a long, almost feminine finger their way. His voice grated, like nails down a blackboard. “Come out where I can see you."

Ginger released her and brushed past, oddly making no noise as she splashed up the stream.

"What do you wish?” she asked, stopping in the entrance.

"Get me over this stream."

Ginger raised her arms. Power crackled from her fingertips, forking towards Cordell. The streams of energy looped around him then gently lifted his chair across the water, depositing him safely on the other side.

Ginger dropped her arms and slumped against the wall. Though Nikki could no longer see Cordell, his contempt lashed the air.

"I will need your strength in an hour for the ceremony. Be ready when I call."

"You kill us,” Ginger murmured. “We cannot take much more."