Blood on Silk (9 page)

“All very well,” Dmitriu observed. “But you’ll have to drain the bottle eventually.”

“Believe me, I’m looking forward to it.” He frowned. “What is the matter with these people? They can’t all be mad, clutching their heads and talking to themselves.”

Dmitriu followed his gaze to the loud man outside the bar, to the two babbling women on the other side of the street, who seemed to be competing with each other for the most spoken words in a second, and began to laugh.

“They’re talking into mobile phones—communication devices. Everyone has them now.”

“Do you?”

Dmitriu took his from his pocket.

“Whom do you talk to?” Saloman asked curiously. “Do you call other vampires for a chat?”

Dmitriu flushed. “Hardly. Mostly services like taxi companies and laundry, and the odd trustworthy human to prepare for my return. One gets bored with sewers and cellars—and crypts.”

“Unutterably,” Saloman agreed. “What goes on in here?”

He’d stopped outside a hotel, from where the thump of relentless music beat through the pavement.

“They have a nightclub on weekends. Dancing. Loud music. Wine. Women.”

“I have much to learn,” Saloman observed, turning his feet toward the door. “Perhaps there will even be an escalator.”

In the light of day, the rotting supports of Elizabeth’s skepticism revived. She didn’t know how or why such a trick had been perpetrated on her, but what she did know was that vampires did not exist. Therefore, she would ignore the bizarre side of the vampire hunters and ask to see their documents on Saloman.

She’d arranged to meet them in a café, because it seemed impersonal and down-to-earth, and because a public place might stop them from talking about vampires as other than myths.

But after a poor night’s sleep, she was early, and rather than wait half an hour in the café, she walked across the square to look at the fourteenth-century church. It had suffered a mysterious fire recently, but damage had been minimal.

Elizabeth liked churches. Not a deeply religious person, she nevertheless appreciated their beauty and the peace that often filled them. The door was open, so she walked inside. Vaguely surprised to find it empty of either worshippers or tourists, she walked the length of the aisle, gazing about her at the stained glass and carved stone, before sitting down on the end of a pew to soak up the atmosphere.

Atmosphere? That was what had gotten her into this mess in the first place, although part of her strongly denied being in any mess. She was merely researching.

What an unexpected pleasure
.

The voice made her leap up, glaring wildly around her. Worse, it seemed to plunge her heart straight down between her thighs where it continued to beat and throb, for the voice, deep and somber despite its note of mockery, was unmistakably that of last night’s “Saloman.”

Angry with herself for such a stupid reaction, she snapped, “I can’t say the same. Where are you?”

He didn’t answer.

Refusing to leap about searching for him, she sat back down on the wooden pew. “I see. Hiding again. Where this time? Something a little more mundane than a sarcophagus, perhaps?”

Why, no. I’m beginning to think it’s not mundane at all. I’m in your head
.

She froze, paralyzed, unable to think or speak. She knew it was true, even before he said it, not just because she couldn’t see him, but because she could
feel
him. His low, powerful voice seemed to fill her mind from the inside. It didn’t echo as it should have in the empty church. Panic surged, threatening to consume her as even last night’s fear had not.

Relax
, he mocked.
I’m only talking to you. Not raping your mind
.

How do I know that?
she wondered in panic.
And how do you know that’s what I fear most?

I hear you went back to Sighesciu. Were you looking for me?

“For Dmitriu,” she whispered, “and for proof of your death.”

Gone. Weren’t you afraid to go back?

“No. Are you stalking me?”

Yes
.

Oh shit. Oh Jesus, oh crap . . .

The maddeningly calm voice went on.
I’d be very interested to read your thesis when it’s complete. Perhaps I can assist you with it
.

“For the price of a drink?” she retorted before she could help it, and his unexpectedly warm laugh brushed her mind.

Was that an offer?
he mocked.

“No.” With relief, she realized she was safe, that it was daylight, when he couldn’t come out.
My God, I’m starting to believe it. And yet what else is there to do now? How do I blame
this
on trickery?

Wherever he was, physically, it was far away from here. Unless . . . Her heart jolted. “Are you in the church?”

What, an unholy undead like me?

She swallowed. “Are you really?”

Am I really what?

“Unholy. Undead. Saloman.”

And if I am?

“When and how did you die? Who killed you? Why?”

Again, his laughter echoed around her head and, dangerously, she felt herself drawn to it.
You’re still researching your thesis. Very well, do you mean my first death or my staking?

She swallowed. “Your—er—staking.”

An alliance of hostile vampires and greedy humans killed me in the year 1697, in Sighesciu. By means of treachery. Why? Because I threatened them, which I understand fits your theory. However, unfortunately for you, I was already a vampire, and rather than using that as an excuse, they covered the whole incident up to the best of their poor ability.

“You’ve been talking to Dmitriu,” she whispered. Where else would he have learned of her thesis, of her work?

Someone has to. Poor fellow gets lonely.

She gazed upward at the high, Gothic ceiling, wondering how it was possible to sit in this holy place and talk so calmly with a mythical creature of darkness. “Is he a vampire too?”

Of course.

“But I saw him in the sun.”

In the shade, perhaps.

But if that was all it took, was she really so safe from
him
? She hurried back into speech. “He did send me to you. He did set me up.”

For dinner and dalliance
, mocked the voice inside her head, and in spite of everything, her body heated.

Appalled, she stood so abruptly that she surprised herself. “But not today,” she said with fierce triumph. “Not ever.”

And that’s when she saw him right in front of her, standing tall and erect in the shadowed aisle. Her breath vanished.

He wore plain dark trousers and an equally plain white shirt, open at the throat to reveal the strong, pale column of his neck. His long black hair stirred in a draft from the open door. In the night, half-covered in dust, he had been mesmerizing. In the light, even in dim church light, he was stunning.

Even the simplicity of his clothing looked both stylish and expensive.

His full, sensual lips tugged in the way she remembered, and she glimpsed those white, wicked teeth that had torn her flesh. She wanted to throw herself onto them; she wanted to drown in his shining black eyes, in the depths of his mouth.

Instead, she gasped out, “What do you want? What is the point?”

“Of existence?” He spoke normally now, leaving her head strangely empty. “It’s an end in itself. What else is there?”

“An existence without blood!”

“Dull.”

“I didn’t
mean
to waken you,” she burst out.

“I know.”

“Then let me go.”

“I’m not keeping you.” As if to prove it, he lifted his arms to waist height and let them fall to his side. But perversely, given permission, she refused to take it.

“I’m told you’ll do anything to take back the power you once had.”

“Who can have told you such a thing?” he marveled.

“The vampire hunters.”

He smiled, a rare, full smile that shot dangerous fire straight to her core. “Bless them,” he said fondly. “Are they still about? Tell them I send greetings.”

“Tell them yourself. I expect they’re on their way.”

He didn’t look frightened. He didn’t even look interested. He seemed more absorbed in holding a strand of her hair up to the light and letting it slip through his fingers. She wanted to step back out of his reach, but something, either the magnetism of his body or her own foolish pride, held her still. “What else do they say?” he murmured.

“That the other vampires will kill you. And me, because I woke you.”

His lips quirked. “Then you’d better come with me so that I can protect you.”

“But you’ll kill me too.”

“Poor Elizabeth,” he said without noticeable pity. “Be easy. I won’t kill you yet. You intrigue me too much.”

“How?” she demanded with such scorn that he dropped her hair and met her gaze.

“Like that.” Without warning, he took her chin between his long, pale fingers and tilted up her face. As she gasped, his fingers spread downward around her throat in a hold that was firm, neither threatening nor caressing and yet might have held something of both. “One day, you’ll have to decide. Friend or foe?”

“Foe,” she spat.

“I wasn’t talking to you.” His face swooped over hers, his mouth coming to rest a hairbreadth from her lips. There was no breath, nothing to stir or warm her skin, and yet she felt something potent and dangerous, drawing her ever nearer. “When I come to you next, we’ll talk. And more. I hope you’ll be waiting.”

He released her and stepped around her. Without looking back, he strode up the aisle.

Elizabeth’s eyes were riveted to his hips as he moved. When he disappeared through a door at the front of the church, she dragged in a shaken breath and started after him, from pure curiosity to see where he could possibly go. But without warning, the big outside door creaked farther open, and two chattering women came in. Had he heard them, sensed them before she had? Did he care that they would see him?

Caught in a moment of indecision, Elizabeth found herself feeling guilty, though for what she had no idea. When the women greeted her with politeness, she muttered a reply and left the church the way she’d come in.

Outside in the bright sunlight, there was no sign of him. But then, there wouldn’t be.

All three vampire hunters were waiting for her in the café, gazing anxiously at the same copy of a newspaper. She didn’t even think of them in quotation marks now.

As Elizabeth sank into the vacant chair, they cast her distracted smiles.

“Look.” Konrad pushed the paper toward her and pointed to the piece at the foot of the front page.

Elizabeth scanned the story about a whole family who had burned to death in a farmhouse just five miles outside Bistriƫa. “That’s awful. Even the children . . . tragic.”

“It’s worse than tragic. It’s Saloman.”

Her stomach twisted. She felt sick. “You’re telling me he did this?”

“Not all of it. He set fire to the building, but they were all dead by then anyway.”

“He killed all those people?” The man—the creature—who’d just spoken to her, teased her . . . Blood pounded in her ears, threatening to deprive her of consciousness. She fought it, trying to listen as Konrad spoke, almost with reluctance.

“Only one of them, I understand. A woman. Zoltán and the other vampires had already killed everyone else.”

“It says nothing about that here,” she said stupidly.

“Well, it wouldn’t, would it?” said István. “There’s not much left of their charred bodies that would show their blood had been drained. But we have an informant who was there.”

Elizabeth stared. “An informant? Where the hell was he? Staring in the window?”

“Inside,” Konrad said. “He’s a vampire. But not a bad creature. In fact, he’s helped us on many occasions, and thanks to him, we know exactly what Saloman is up to.”

“What?” Dread filled her, threatening to overwhelm her.

“He won’t be content with dominion over the vampire world. He wants to rule humans as well, and expects Zoltán to help him achieve it.”