Jocelynn Drake - Nightwalker

When I turned back, Michael was standing beside the bed, straightening his clothes. His eyes still looked hurt, but he had pulled himself back together. At least for now. Maybe he wasn’t too far gone yet. It didn’t matter. I was done with him. When we reached the Coven meeting place, I was putting Michael and Gabriel on the next plane home. They would be of no real help after that, and keeping them at my side would only put them in unnecessary danger. I wouldn’t ruin what was left of Michael’s life.

“Go downstairs. I’ll be down in a minute,” I directed, forcing the words up my raw throat. Michael nodded again and left the room. I sat on the end of the bed and followed him with my mind. He did as he was told and went directly to the room that held Sadira and the others.

Putting my elbows on my knees, I leaned forward and rested my forehead in the palms of my hands. I was destroying Michael by being in his life. Why had Gabriel’s mind come through this so unscathed? He was always a solid rock at my back. I had fed from him in the past and yet his mind suffered none of the damage I apparently had wrought with Michael.

But there was no answer. Michael was crumbling before me and it was my fault. I’d thought I was someone important in his life. I would never be so foolish as to describe the emotion as love, but at least some emotion that would be used to describe a person. But to him, I was just the source of intense pleasure, like a drug.

Being addicted to the bite of a nightwalker was a common enough occurrence, but it was also easy to avoid. If you never fed from the same person more than once, or if you did and always wiped his memory, the problem was avoided. But eventually we all ended up with a human companion that we drifted back to for a long span of nights in the name of pleasure and companionship. In time we drained them. We drained them of more than just their blood, but their willpower, their dignity, and their lives.

My thoughts were scattered again when someone knocked on the door. I looked up at the mirror over the bureau to find my face blissfully blank. It was nice to look so unaffected when I felt like screaming.

“Come in,” I called, rising from the bed.

“Sorry to disturb you,” James said as he entered. A deep flush stained his cheeks when he saw me standing by the edge of the bed without a shirt. He quickly averted his eyes.

I walked over to the closet door and pulled it open. “I was just heading downstairs,” I said, riffling through the clothes I found hanging there until my eyes fell on a plain black button-up shirt.

“If you have a moment, Ryan has requested a meeting with you before you leave,” James said, obviously expecting me to turn down the invitation.

I paused in the act up buttoning up the shirt, grateful that Melanie and I were roughly the same size. “Just me? Not Sadira?” I was surprised. Sadira was the oldest of the trio of nightwalkers in the compound, making her the natural superior.

“He asked only for you.”

“I guess I can spare a few moments,” I said with an indifferent shrug as I attached the last two buttons. I was going to finally meet the big boss man. I wasn’t sure how much new information he would be able to provide, but so far Themis had been most helpful. Far more helpful than Jabari and Sadira, who were working very hard to keep me out of the loop, while someone was trying to kill me. And this time it didn’t appear to be a hunter.

Ryan was a warlock. I had suspected it before arriving at the Compound, but it was blatantly obvious when I walked into his private office on the third floor. He leaned against the front of his large walnut desk, his long legs stretched out before him and crossed casually at the ankle. He had been expecting me. Of course, I’m sure he could feel every move I made in his manor without straining himself.

He was a handsome man, standing just over six feet, with a long, lean body that somehow managed to exude a beautiful grace rather than being awkward. He wore a dark charcoal-gray suit with a black undershirt. Unlike his brethren, he wasn’t wearing a tie, and the top two buttons of the shirt were undone, revealing an expanse of nicely tanned throat. In fact, his tanned skin and dark-colored suit stood in sharp contrast to his long white hair. Falling somewhere past his shoulders, it was pulled back with a narrow, black ribbon; a throwback to an era long past.

His face had a strange ageless quality to it. There were no wrinkles or deep lines, making him seem to be in his early to mid-thirties at first glance. But his gold eyes held a depth that one could only earn through years of experience. He was old; older than any human was meant to be.

Magic had a distinct effect on a human’s physical appearance. And the deeper and more skilled a warlock or witch became in the use of magic, the more profound the effect. His power was etched into his features and imbued every inch of his being. It sizzled in the room like a current of electricity, making my skin crawl.

Most humans that used magic did it by accident. Events sometimes happened in their favor and the human simply chalked it up as a run of good luck. Only the ones who actually studied magic and attained some basic understanding were called witches and warlocks. And then there were those like Ryan, who made the study of magic a life’s pursuit. They were simply called dangerous.

After James wordlessly shut the door, leaving me alone with this strange man, Ryan rose to his feet without pushing off the desk. He stood in the same, seemingly boneless manner that vampires could. I had known a few warlocks in my time, but never saw a human pull a trick I always thought exclusive to nightwalkers.

“Impressive.” I said, lightly applauding. “I guess pulling a rabbit out of your hat is too mundane.”

He smiled back at me; a warm, friendly smile that seemed open and guileless. That was almost more impressive that his earlier trick. How could someone who wielded as much power as he did seem so nice? The same way the naturi seemed so harmless—centuries of practice.

“My name is Ryan,” he said, extending his hand toward me. I stared at it a moment, admiring his long fingers, but never touched him. It was a good, strong hand, the type of hand that could comfort as easily as it could punish.

Stepping around him, I looked at some of the bookshelves that lined his wall. I glanced over the old spines, but my attention was still completely on the room’s only other occupant. I preferred to keep a little space between us for now. “I know your name,” I replied blandly. “I also know what you are. My question is: Do your associates know?”

“They know I’m a warlock,” he said, drawing my eyes back to him. His smile grew a little wider. “However, I imagine your assessment of my powers is a little more accurate than theirs.”

Arching one eyebrow at him, I smiled. “So you’ve purposefully kept them in the dark.” There was no anger or accusation in my voice. Just honest curiosity. I wanted to understand his motives and the situation I had walked into. I also desperately needed to understand the players in this little farce before it cost me my existence.

“My abilities aren’t important to their cause.”

“That’s not what I meant,” I corrected. “You’ve not only kept them in the dark about yourself, but also the truth about vampires. I’ve heard and read some of the things these people believe about my kind. Why do you allow them to perpetuate such lies?”

“For their own safety,” he said. His wide smile faded a bit but still lingered on his lips. He shoved his hands in his trouser pockets, reminding me of a corporate executive after hours.