Мишель Роуэн - Stakes & Stilettos

"Did you find them?"

"Yes." He stood up from the sofa. "A man, whom I am assuming is the boyfriend, was left dead in the park next to the remains of what I'm sure is Heather. They were both killed.

However, I did retrieve your coat."

My eyes widened. "Was it… did you—?"

He shook his head. "No, I didn't kill them, although I definitely wanted to."

I frowned. "It must have been the Red Devil."

"Pardon me?"

I took a breath. "Right after I was staked a man appeared. He wore a scarf over his face so I couldn't see what he looked like. He called himself the Red Devil and he carried me back here and then I guess he left. If it wasn't for him, I'd be dead. He saved me."

"You were outside the door when the bouncer found you. Someone knocked. I assumed it was you just before you lost consciousness."

I shook my head. "It must have been him. Have you ever heard of him before?"

Thierry eyed George without expression. George, on the other hand, looked beside himself with excitement.

"The Red Devil?" he asked. "He's back? This is so wonderful! I thought he was gone forever."

"The Red Devil is an urban legend," Thierry said.

"No, he isn't." George turned to me. "Sarah, you just met one of the coolest vampires in history. He's a hero. He saves our kind from harm, like the Lone Ranger or Zorro. He swings in, kicks butt, then leaves, and no one knows who he is. At least he used to. He hasn't been seen or heard from in a hundred years. But now he's back. You are so lucky!

Was he hot?"

"Scarf on face," I reminded him. I shifted position on the sofa and the leather squeaked.

"He was tall, though. And are you serious? He's some kind of a vampire superhero?"

"Urban legend," Thierry corrected. "That some have taken to heart and perhaps are trying to emulate. The Red Devil doesn't actually exist. He never has. But whoever this impostor is, I do owe him my thanks for saving your life."

I frowned. "He killed Josh… and Heather."

"Yes, he did."

My masked hero was now a murderer. Vigilante justice. Maybe under that scarf he looked like Charles Bronson, only with fangs.

They'd tried to kill me. I suppose it was an eye for an eye, but still, it was disturbing, to say the least. I'd considered Heather a friend—her betrayal still stung. And now she was a puddle of goo. I guess she was older than I thought she was, since only really old vamps disintegrate when killed. Younger vamps and fledglings stayed in one solid but dead piece.

I took in a shaky breath.

"George," Thierry said. "Please let my patrons know that Sarah will be fine and there's no need to panic. And I'd prefer that you don't tell anyone about this… this Red Devil nonsense."

"Sure thing." George nodded, and with a quick wink at me he left the room and closed the door behind him.

"I don't understand how this could have happened," Thierry said.

"I know. Sometimes it feels like everybody wants to kill me." I replayed the horrific scene over and over in my mind until I had to force myself to push it away.

"That's not what I meant." He touched my face and looked at me so intensely it felt as though he was trying to memorize my features. "Heather was a terrible waitress, but I never would have thought her capable of something like this. I trusted her."

"That makes two of us." I leaned into his touch and put my head against his shoulder.

"She was in love with Josh. I guess love makes people do crazy things."

The pain still throbbed in my chest, but it was becoming increasingly manageable. At some point tonight—or this morning, since by a quick glance at the wall clock it was going on

3:00 a.m.—I might even be able to stand up. It was a goal.

"It does, indeed," he murmured. "I don't want to lose you, Sarah. Please, promise me that you'll be very careful from now on."

"Cross my stake-riddled heart." I smiled up at him, but felt tears welling inside.

"Good." He leaned toward me and kissed me, trailing his fingers along my cheek, my jaw line, and then tangling into my already tangled hair. The kiss deepened and a little moan escaped my throat as his tongue slid against mine.

I thought about my dream, about seeing Thierry staked and killed.

It was just a dream. Nothing more than that. This Red Devil was some vampire playing dress-up and trying to save vamps who'd gotten themselves into tight situations. Like me.

Since I was all for getting saved when the situation called for it, I say more power to him.

Thierry moved his face down and peeled the shirt away from my chest so he could gently kiss the bandage over my already healing wound. I bit my bottom lip and slid my fingers into his dark, nearly black hair. His mouth made things tighten and curl inside me, and the ache I was currently feeling wasn't just in my chest anymore.

He smiled up at me. "Don't worry. I know you're weak and injured. I promise not to molest you any further."

I parted the shirt further and returned the smile. "I may be injured, but I'm not that weak.

If you're really careful, a little molesting would be perfectly fine with me."

"Is that so?" He moved back up to kiss me again, a little harder this time.

The phone on Thierry's desk rang. He sighed softly against my lips, and then took a moment to rebutton my shirt before moving to pick up the receiver.

"Yes," he said, and I watched his expression darken. His eyes flicked to me. "She's unavailable at the moment, Quinn. Whatever you need to tell her you can tell me. I promise to relate it directly."

My heart jumped a little at hearing the name. Quinn was a good friend of mine. A vampire hunter who had been turned into a vampire. Up until three weeks ago he'd also complicated my relationship with Thierry—Quinn was hot, available, and interested in me—but I'd made my choice. I cared for Quinn very deeply, but I wasn't in love with him.

I loved Thierry. And Quinn had accepted that by going off on a road trip through the

United States. With a werewolf.

Poor guy. I'm sure he'll find somebody eventually. Some nice girl who won't give him any problems.

"You're certain?" Thierry said into the receiver. "Yes, I understand. I'll tell her." There was a long pause and then, "As I already said, she's unavailable."

After another moment or two, he hung up the phone.

"I could have spoken with him, you know," I said. "There's nothing wrong with my voice."

"I know." His expression gave nothing away.

Okay, fine. "What did he want to tell me?"

"It seems that Quinn is currently in Las Vegas."

"Vegas?" I repeated. "Isn't that where the hunter convention is going on right now?"

"It is."

"Is he crazy or something? Is he okay?"

He folded his arms across his chest and leaned against his desk. "He sounds fine. He wanted to pass along word that Gideon Chase is dead."

The sound of that name was like a big glass of cold water thrown in my face.

"Gideon? He's dead?"

Gideon Chase was the leader of the vampire hunters, a billionaire who enjoyed his sport a little too much and funded others so they could enjoy it as well. Ever since I developed my little reputation as the Slayer of Slayers, I'd been told that he'd set his sights on me and wanted to personally hunt me down. Kind of a notch in his hunter utility belt.

I'd tried not to think about it. After all, dwelling on something like that might cause one to experience a great many sleepless nights while one imagined oneself at the mercy of somebody without any mercy. Yeah. Sleepless nights. Tell me about it. The bags under my eyes lately weren't from partying hard. Gideon wouldn't have missed getting my heart if I'd been at the receiving end of one of his stakes, that's for damn sure.

"This is a good thing, Sarah," Thierry said.