Lover Unveiled (Black Dagger Brotherhood 19)

The vampire’s smile returned.

Slow. Evil. Deadly.

With only a hint of fang.

As the human began to move his arms and legs like he wasn’t sure they were still attached, the male bent down and waited for consciousness to be fully resumed. Because, clearly, it was not enough to kill. You had to murder your victim only when they were aware you were taking their life—

Suddenly, all Mae could see was her brother. Rhoger was the one lying beneath the menace. Rhoger was the weaker of the two about to be struck. Rhoger was about to die—

“No!” she yelled. “Don’t hurt him!”

Given the shocked silence of the crowd, her voice carried throughout the parking garage’s level, and something about it—the pitch? the tone?—made the vampire jerk to attention. Then that terrifying face turned to her, and those horrible eyes narrowed.

Mae’s heart stopped.

“Please,” she said. “Don’t kill him—”

From out of nowhere, the human’s fist struck out with a flimsy punch that once again missed the mark of that prominent jaw.

Except then came the blood.

A trickle. A gush.

A geyser.

From the throat of the vampire.

Confused, Mae looked to the hand that had done the flimsy swipe—and something silver was glinting in the human’s grip. A knife.

As the red rain fell on the man’s throat and chest, five hundred pairs of shoes and high heels went on a bolt, the crowd racing for the stairwell. Meanwhile, the human seemed shocked at his success. As for the vampire? His expression still had not changed, but not because he was unaware of his mortal wound. He touched the second mouth that had been opened at the side of his throat and then brought his glossy fingers into his field of vision.

If anything, he was merely annoyed as he listed to one side. Fell to his knees. Propped a hand on the concrete to keep from totally collapsing. Meanwhile, clearly unsure whether he was free from danger or not, the human wriggled out from under and took off at a dead—natch—run.

Mae looked at the vampire. Then glanced at the stairwell, which was choked with bodies trying to get out of the parking garage, out of the neighborhood, out of the state.

“Shit,” she muttered as gurgles rose up from the male.

Do not get involved, she told herself. Your first and only concern is Rhoger.

Except she wanted to help. Hell, she felt responsible because she’d distracted the vampire—and that was the only reason the human had survived, the only reason why the male wasn’t going to.

But her brother needed her more than this violent stranger.

The male made a sound.

“I can’t help you,” she said in a cracked voice.

The male was struggling to speak, and as he coughed up blood, she looked around . . . and then went over to kneel down beside him. There was no 911 equivalent for vampires, and even if there were, he was losing blood too fast for any kind of ambulance—or even a healer who could dematerialize to him. Besides, who could she call?

Maybe the King’s Audience House number?

No. There were rules against fraternizing with humans, ones that she was very certain precluded underground-fighting in a sea of Homo sapiens and trying to kill members of that species in front of hundreds of those rats without tails. If she called the King’s people, both she and this vampire were going to be in huge trouble.

And Rhoger had to come first.

“Is there someone I can get for you—”

“Go,” he said between labored breaths. “You must leave me. Save yourself!”

His voice was very deep and really rough, and when she didn’t respond, his eyes focused on her with a glare that shot right through the back of her skull.

“For godsakes, female, take care of yourself.”

It was the very last thing she expected him to say, and when he repeated the strained words, Mae got to her feet and stumbled back. As she moved away, his hard stare tracked her, even if she wasn’t sure he was seeing her.

“Go,” he ordered in spite of the blood coming out the side of his neck. “Go!”

“I’m sorry—”

“Like I give a shit!”

Trembling from head to foot, Mae closed her eyes and tried to concentrate.

When she was finally able to dematerialize, the gurgling sounds of the dying vampire haunted her. But she had her own problems, and he was right. She had to take care of herself. Her brother was depending on her.

Besides, if you lived by the fight, you died by the fight.

It was a fact of fate, and not something someone like her could try to change.

How do you know we were supposed to be in Paris?”

As the triplex’s Mrs. presented the quite reasonable question to Balz, he found himself totally distracted by what she looked like under that ceiling light. Those breasts of hers were . . . tight-tipped because it was a little chilly . . . and that thin, ever-so-slightly-seethrough silk was almost better than completely naked.