Keri Arthur: Dancing With The Dead

"He may have left the area, but I doubt he's left my life." Her voice faded.

Michael had completely disappeared.

The scent of his enemy swirled around him, but it was faint, distant. Michael crossed the street then hesitated, glancing back at Nikki.

Even now, he could taste her fear. Oddly enough, it wasn't so much fear of Jasper that he sensed, but fear of death. Monica's death, more than her own. She'd pursued the teenager beyond all common sense, as if, in some way, she owed it to the child.

Certainly she was an intriguing enigma. There was something of the streets in her mannerisms, and yet it was tempered by an odd sort of innocence.

If he'd had more time, he might have tried to get to know her better. The rapport that had flared between them, if only briefly, was something he hadn't experienced for a very long time. He grimaced and thrust a hand through his hair. And maybe after that he'd fly to the moon. What the hell was he thinking?

He'd see her again, of that he had no doubt. She might have escaped Jasper's trap tonight, but Jasper had tasted her abilities, and would not let her go so easily.

But his association with her could never amount to anything more than friendship. And certainly it could last no longer than the time it took him to stop Jasper. He could not change who he was or what he did.

And truth was, he'd use anything or anyone he could to destroy the likes of Jasper.

He turned and followed Jasper's fading trail north. For tonight at least, Nikki was safe. Dawn was less than an hour away, and the only thing Jasper would be hunting right now was a safe place to wait out the day.

The wind gusted around Michael, its touch chill, thick with the promise of rain. Frowning, he cast his senses forward, searching for the scent of his enemy. Nothing. The fiend had escaped him yet again.

The next time he would not be so easy to find. Jasper would have sensed him tonight and be more wary.

Which left Nikki as his only real hope of finding Jasper fast.

The sound of high heels clicking against the pavement ahead made him slow down. The red haze of life flared before him—a prostitute plying her trade along the street.

Darkness stirred. Hunger rose, eager to taste the sweet offering of life. The woman was alone, unprotected. It would be so easy to reach out and take what his body craved…

Michael clenched his fists and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Never again . He ignored the need pounding through his veins and crossed the street. He would feed, but not now, not tonight.

And definitely not on anything human.

He'd booked a room in the old hotel up the street. It was the kind of establishment frequented mainly by prostitutes and junkies needing a cheap place to crash. A place where no questions were asked, the proprietor not caring who rented the rooms as long as they paid up front. Certainly not an establishment he'd normally choose, but he had little real choice here. Jasper liked easy prey. An area like this provided an effortless hunting ground.

Michael walked through the entrance and up the stairs. On the third floor he stopped and scanned the area, more out of habit than from any sense of danger. The red heat of life flared in several of the rooms down from his own but everything else was still.

He continued on. The threadbare carpet did little to muffle his steps, and the floorboards creaked under his weight. At least Jasper, or anyone else, for that matter, couldn't sneak up on him. He opened the door to his room and quickly looked around. Everything was as he had left it.

Retrieving the bottle of wine he'd placed in the small refrigerator earlier, he found a corkscrew and glass, then moved back to the center of the room. Sitting cross-legged on the carpet, he relaxed his mind.

Contact was instant.

You arrived safely.

The harsh whisper winged into his mind and made him wince. Would Seline never realize the power of her mind voice?

Yesterday. He absently opened the wine and poured himself a glass.

The situation as bad as we thought?

Michael tried to remember a time when the situation was actually better than they'd thought. He's up to his old tricks again.

Not good. Do you need help?

Images of Jasper and his teenage lover ran through Michael's mind, as did the twisted images of the two remaining zombies. Four deadly beings against one. Michael grimaced. If he'd been a betting man, he knew whom he'd place his money on. And if Jasper called any more of the dead to life…

Even if I did, dare we risk anyone else's life? Jasper's killed two of our number already, and knows I'm in Lyndhurst. He' ll be watching for backup.

He heard Seline's sharp intake of breath. Concern ran like wildfire through the link.

You will never find him. He may even leave.

This battle has been brewing for a long time, Seline. He won't leave.

How will you find him? Lyndhurst is a big town.

Michael smiled grimly. It was big all right. But Jasper wouldn't run. Or hide. The game was over. This time the battle would be final. The prize would be life—or death—for one of them.

I have bait.

Oh? Who?

He had a sudden image of Nikki's eyes—they were such an unusual color—a warm, smoky amber that seemed to reflect the intensity of her emotions.

Nikki James. She's a private investigator following Jasper's current girlfriend. She's a strong psychic— very strong, in fact.

And Jasper craves power. He will kill, then retrieve her.

Anger rose at the thought of Nikki as one of Jasper's lumbering creatures. And yet, he had to acknowledge the image as one possible outcome. Nor would it stop him from using her as bait.

He took of quick gulp of wine. I'm going to befriend her. Hopefully, Jasper will turn up pretty quickly, and I can get rid of him before he kills again.

Take care, Michael. You're playing with fire on this one.

Michael frowned. He had an odd feeling Seline knew more about the situation, or at least about Nikki, than she was letting on. But he also knew there was no point in questioning the old witch. She'd tell him what she thought he needed to know and nothing more. There was little more to add, so he bid her good night and broke the contact. Yawning, he stretched his legs, trying to relax the tension cramping his muscles.

Picking up his glass, he rose and walked across to the window. The blinds were open, and the pale light of the rising dawn streamed in through glass. Michael leaned a shoulder against the window frame and sipped slowly at the wine.

The sun had killed many of his kind, and it was a pleasure he'd long thought lost to him. Only time had taught him otherwise. He lifted his glass to the dawn's light and watched it reflect through the pale amber liquid. Wine was another pleasure he'd thought lost. He'd been told he could only survive by taking the life of others—that anything else would kill him. More lies. His changed metabolism might mean he could consume no food, but it didn't prevent him from taking fluids. Wine would never sustain him, but it couldn't kill him, either.

He took another sip and wondered what had happened to the woman who had turned him. Dublin in the

17th century had been an unforgiving place, and he'd fallen under Elizabeth's spell so very easily. Perhaps he'd just been desperate to escape the emptiness of his existence—even now, he wasn't entirely sure. He had a sudden vision of Nikki, her delicate features and smoky amber eyes, surrounded by a halo of dark hair. In very many ways, she reminded him of Elizabeth.

The sun's light grew stronger. He swallowed the remaining wine in one swift gulp and closed the curtains.