Christine Feehan - Dark Gold (Dark Series - book 3)

“They’re just quick sketches,” Alexandria said softly, “without the animation, but I hope you get the idea.” She forgot she didn’t like Thomas Ivan very much as she watched the appreciative way he looked at her work.

“You have such a gift for detail. Such imagination. Such technique. And, looking at these, I feel as if you’ve read my mind. You actually capture the feeling of flight here,” he said, pointing. He was impressed that she had caught such a stomach-churning sensation with her illustrations alone. What might she do with his vast array of computers and design programs?

Thomas studied one scene, feeling as if it were really happening. It was as if she had taken a photograph of a vampire caught in a brutal battle. It was so real, it was frightening. Her drawings, capturing his story line and the images in his mind so perfectly, so completely instantly created the bond between them that had been eluding him all evening.

Alexandria was suddenly aware of the brush of Thomas Ivan’s fingers against hers, aware of the strength in his arms, the width of his shoulders, the handsome angularity of his features. Her heart jumped hopefully. Was she actually responding to someone physically? It was amazing what having a passion in common could generate. She watched with pride as he openly admired her renderings of the creatures of his imagination.

But suddenly a cold draft streamed through the restaurant, bringing with it the taint of evil. It crawled over Alexandria’s skin like worms through a body. Revulsion welled up, and she sat back in her chair, pale and trembling. She looked around carefully. No one else seemed to notice the thickening air, the stench of evil. Laughter and the low murmur of conversation surrounded her. Its normalcy should have reassured her, but the trembling only increased. She could feel sweat beading on her forehead, running down the valley between her breasts. Her heart was thumping.

Thomas Ivan was far too busy going through her sketches to notice her uneasiness. He continued to murmur his approval, his head down, his eyes feasting on the richness of her drawings.

But something was wrong. Terribly wrong. Alexandria knew it; she always knew. She had known the very moment her parents died. She knew when a violent crime took place within her vicinity. She knew who was dealing drugs, when someone lied; she just knew things. And right now, while others in the restaurant enjoyed themselves, ate and drank and talked, she knew something evil was nearby, something so malevolent, she had never conceived of such a being.

Her eyes made a slow, careful circuit of the spacious room. Patrons were talking, eating, undisturbed. Three women seated at the table closest to her were laughing outrageously, toasting one another. Alexandria’s mouth went dry, her heart pounding. She was unable to move or speak, frozen with terror. On the wall behind Thomas Ivan, a dark shadow crept forward, began to loom over the room, a loathsome apparition seemingly seen by no one else as it reached out, claws extended, toward her, toward the three women talking with such animation. Alexandria sat perfectly still, hearing a horrible whispering in her head like the brush of a bat’s wings, issuing an insidious command, buzzing insistently, powerful.

Come to me. Be with me. Let me feast on you. Come to me.

The words beat at her until shards of glass seemed to pierce her skull. The claws on the far wall opened, extended, beckoned her.

A chair scraping to her right broke the spell. Alexandria blinked, and the shadow faded away on the echo of maniacal laughter. She was able to move, to turn her head toward the sound of two more chairs scraping back. She saw the three women rise as one unit, toss money onto the table, and walk in sudden eerie silence toward the entrance.

Alexandria wanted to scream at the women to come back. She had no idea why, but she actually opened her mouth to do so. Her throat closed, and she fought for air.

“Alexandria!” Thomas rose swiftly to help her. She was ashen, tiny beads of perspiration dampening her forehead. “What is it?”

Blindly she tried to shove her drawings into the portfolio, but her hands were shaking, and the sketches spilled across the table and onto the floor. “I’m sorry, Mr. Ivan, I’ve got to leave.” She stood up so abruptly, she nearly sent him sprawling backward. Her mind felt sluggish and thick, as if some oily evil still clung to it, and her stomach rolled.

“You’re ill, Alexandria. Let me take you home.” Ivan tried to gather up the precious sketches and hold her by the arm at the same time.

Alexandria jerked her arm away, her only thought to get to Joshua immediately. Whatever the evil thing was, whatever creature was stalking the night, those women, Henry, and Joshua were in grave danger. It was outside. Out back. She could feel its presence like a dark stain on her soul.

She turned and ran, uncaring of the curious stares or Thomas Ivan’s bewilderment. She tripped on the stairs, caught the hem of her skirt, and heard the rip. Pain and terror sliced through her. Her chest felt as if it had exploded, her heart torn and bleeding. It was so real, she clutched her chest and stared down at her hands, expecting to see blood. No. Someone else’s blood. Someone was hurt—or worse.

Alexandria bit her lower lip hard enough to break the skin. That pain was real, and it was only hers. It enabled her to focus, to keep running. Whatever creature was stalking the grounds had made a kill. She could smell the blood now, was experiencing the lingering vibrations, the aftermath of violence. She prayed it wasn’t Joshua. Sobbing, she flung herself onto the narrow path winding around the building. She couldn’t lose Joshua. Why had she left him alone with only an elderly man to watch out for him?

She became aware of the fog then. Dense. Thick, like soup. It hung in the trees like an eerie white wall. She couldn’t see a foot in front of her. It even felt thick, as if she were wading through quicksand. When she tried to pull air into her lungs, she found it nearly impossible. She wanted to scream for Joshua, but some deep intuition kept her silent.

Whoever the madman was, he enjoyed the pain and terror of others. That was his rush, his high. She could not indulge his macabre tastes.

Feeling her way carefully through the trees, she literally stumbled over a body. “Oh, God,” she whispered aloud, praying it wasn’t her brother. Leaning close, she realized the corpse was far too big. Cold and motionless, he lay in a pathetic heap, tossed aside like so much garbage. “Henry.” Grief welled up as she clasped his shoulder to turn him over.

Horror rose when she saw his mangled chest. His heart was literally torn out, exposed and still. Alexandria scrambled away, knelt, and was violently sick. There were ragged wounds on Henry’s neck, wounds an animal might make.

Taunting laughter filled her mind. Alexandria wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand. This depraved madman was not getting Joshua. Determined, she moved instinctively forward toward the cliffs. Waves crashing loudly against jagged rocks below and the wind rushing through the trees made it impossible to hear anything.

Without sight or hearing, Alexandria moved steadily forward, every instinct drawing her toward the demented killer. She had the impression that he knew she was coming, that he was waiting. She was also certain he believed he was controlling her, deliberately commanding her to come to him.

Despite the strong wind, the fog remained heavy, yet now, through the thickness, she caught glimpses of more horror unfolding. Three women, vaguely familiar from the restaurant, were inching their way toward the cliffs. The women had been at the table to her right; they’d left just before she had. Alexandria could tell they were in some kind of trance, staring rapturously up at the man silhouetted on the cliff sedge.