sanguineangels (2 page)
Titania gripped the plain metal knob of her dressing room door and took one more cursory sweep before meeting her band onstage. Without warning, an undulating wave of anger and hatred slammed into her, staggering her backward with a cried squeal of alarm.
Her first terrified thought was that someone had discovered her. She yanked in her mental barriers to block the tumult of heated emotion. She forced needed air in and out of her lungs. Bowing her head, she closed her eyes as the onslaught continued without mercy, wave after wave, crashing into her mind like a tsunami determined to take her down. Sparks scattered in front of her vision as she fought to not lose control. It took all her concentration to create a solid mental wall between herself and whoever was out there. Titania knew without a doubt it was a man, close, at the bar by the stage. It was a battle to be able to breathe normally, holding the pressure of his emotions at bay.
He had come to kill; she knew that with a certainty that chilled her to the marrow. His hatred pulsed, oozing around her through the air. There was a tang of insolence in his hatred, a sense of omnipotence. She studied the waves, unraveling them, and found…emptiness. A dark chasm where his soul had once been.
She shuddered with a convulsive shake, ripping her thoughts away from that chilling abyss to her own mind. Her eyes snapped open, her entire being feeling colder than she’d ever felt in her life. She wrapped her arms around her body to rub herself in reaction. Taking a deeper breath, relief blossomed inside her when she found herself still ensconced in her dressing room.
She had touched death and was still living.
Titania jumped a foot seconds later when a knock echoed through her door. “Tani! Hey, come on. The natives are getting restless.”
“Coming,” she replied, shouting to be heard. She swallowed down the terror that continued to grip her, chasing her own sense of stability like a wild rabbit in a cage. She pictured the strongest walls, the thickest barriers she could imagine, adding a prayer for strength before she tried to leave again. It was going to be hard to do her show with him in the audience.
Laney, her backup singer, was waiting right outside when she finally found the strength to leave her sanctuary.
“You feel him too, don’t you?” Laney asked, taking one look at Titania’s taut features and then casting a furtive glance to the darkened stage.
“How could I miss him?” Titania shuddered. “Cold, so cold.” She stood staring at nothing, but feeling everything. Like a deathly cold hand had found her, gripped her, and wouldn’t release her.
“Hey, if you can’t get on the stage, don’t make yourself sick over this.” Laney searched over a shoulder and called out to her husband.
Houston put an arm around Laney immediately when he reached her side, taking in both their drawn faces in a glance. “You two going to be all right?”
“I have to do something about this,” Titania told them, feeling the man’s intent and knowing she had no other choice.
“You’re kidding, right?” Laney’s green eyes grew. “You’ll pass out trying to fix this. I don’t think you can reach this one. Even I can feel him, Titania,” she warned. “Easily.”
“I have to try. Someone is going to die tonight. I know it. That’s why he’s here. I have to try,” she repeated, imploring her friends for their support.
Houston carded a hand through his hair, watching Titania. His shoulders tightened in indecision. Laney was pale and wide-eyed and she was sure she was the same, feeling the absolute and unavoidable desolation. Titania could tell even Houston sensed an overflow from the man lying in wait, and he had nothing but his natural instincts to go on. Houston’s watchful gaze kept flicking out to the darkened stage, then over the girls with decided concern. That was the only sign she needed to know Houston was aware he was out there too.
“All right,” he murmured with hesitant approval. “Do your thing. I know you would without our blessing simply because he needs it.”
Titania’s eyes unfocused as a shiver tore over her frame. “He’s not the only one. Someone else…he just got here. So much hate,” she whispered, her voice sounding far away even to her own ears. Her vision shot up to them, a new chill sliding up her spine. A threat she couldn’t define. “Whatever happens tonight, you two stay safe.”
Laney gripped Titania’s arm above the elbow. “What are you talking about? You’ve never given us a warning.”
“I’ve never felt this before.” Titania’s head swiveled in slow motion to the shadowed stage, murky and almost unwelcoming because of the presence of the two men. “It’s only between them,” she said with a small flare of relief. She faced her friends, her gaze unrelenting. No matter what her night brought, she’d make sure they weren’t caught between the two whom she could sense so easily. “I mean it. When this is over, get everyone out of here. We’ll meet at the hotel tomorrow afternoon.”
“Is the party here or onstage?” David, their drummer, joked as he sauntered up to the trio. He caught Titania’s expression and stuttered to a halt next to them. “Oh, Lord. How bad is it?”
“It’s bad,” Houston said. “Two sets, no encores.”
“Gotcha.” David made a pistol out of his fingers, clicking his tongue at Houston. “Don’t worry, Tani. We got your back. We also know you can’t help yourself either,” he told her in an understanding, brotherly voice.
“Thanks, guys.” She shook herself out of the ominous clutches of the swirling anger and emotions. Her arms fell to her sides, having forgotten they were wrapped snug around her body. “I’ll be fine. There’s always someone out there. He’s just very angry tonight.”
Houston leaned over and kissed her forehead. “And you’re an angel in disguise. Just be careful.” Brown eyes assessed her, waiting. She nodded, knowing how far she could push after years of being in the public eye.
Her smile was weak but heartfelt as the men flanked the women to take their places on the pitch-dark stage. Justin was already onstage, swinging his guitar onto a shoulder. He nodded once as David spoke to him on his way to climbing onto the dais where his drums were.
Houston started the count and Titania relaxed, felt the first chords reach into her as his music always could. The welcoming cheer made her smile. Houston was incredible on the guitar, a born talent.
Before she could have second thoughts about the coming night, she began to sing and did what came naturally. Her gift flowed from her in waves, and all the while she prayed she could save the one who had been targeted.
* * * *
Diego sat astride his motorcycle. The fine mist that had been falling had finally stopped, leaving the air thick and heavy with moisture. From where he sat at the curb, the rush of conversation was easy to hear. People were anxious to be inside the club he was in front of and hear the woman who would be singing.
Diego was there because he was positive Brakka was already inside, hunting. He shook his head. Brakka was just asking to get his ass kicked. He had ventured into Diego’s territory and stayed. Big mistake.
He silenced the mechanical monster, letting his leg glide easily over leather. He should have reconsidered the motorcycle, but it suited his mood. Black as midnight with the rumble of a hungry lion. His smile was cold. It fit—perfectly.
Diego approached the microphone-wearing doorman, whose attempt to stop him with a bracing hand was less than the act of a gnat. He was a good-sized bouncer. Diego still towered over him. He could have entered completely unseen if he had wished, but the flux of power would have been noticeable. He preferred it if Brakka remained unaware that Diego had tracked him to the bar.
“Sir, there’s a line. Please wait like everyone else,” the bouncer said in a bored voice, assured of his persuasive ability. On anyone else, it probably would have worked.
Diego tilted his head to stare unblinking at his physical efforts. “Remove your hand.” The threat vibrated in the air, the words spoken low. Stunned brown eyes found pale gray. He whipped his hand away as if burned.
“Yes, s-sir. VIP. I understand.” The bouncer reached for the door. “Enjoy your evening.”
Diego strode through the crowds, unconcerned for the slam of humanity when he did, having already slaked his rising hungers. People stepped aside, making way for the solid wall of menace cutting through their midst. He shook out the length of his leather coat, water spraying outward. A single man spun, then thought better of saying anything when his gaze fell on the source of the indoor rain. He dropped his eyes to the floor as Diego passed, the challenge locked in his throat. Diego’s stride never changed.
He made space at the bar to wait, broad shoulders creating an unfriendly barrier to the world. He watched the people on the packed dance floor, the throb of music vibrating walls and floor alike. He tuned it out. Diego shook his head when the bartender approached him a moment later. He was not there for a drink. If he was lucky, he would not be there long at all.
Diego searched the dim interior and found the telltale scent he’d been hunting for. Pungent, earthy, the stench of old blood was like a cloud around his prey of the evening when Diego pinpointed his target. His lips lifted cruelly. Diego still had not been discovered. Brakka was too busy wooing a victim. He always had believed himself to be a lady’s man.
Brakka’s arrogance had grown over the centuries, Diego mused, roving patiently over the crowd. The man had absolutely no thoughts to his own safety as he played with his toy. Diego refused to do anything within the club, unwilling to jeopardize the people inside. He had a feeling Brakka would be aware of that, probably even naming it a weakness, but Diego did not care. Nothing that Brakka thought about him mattered, not anymore.
For a moment, he allowed himself to remember what it had been like when the two warriors had been friends, so long ago. Now, there was only a need for vengeance, to retaliate against the one who had stolen his soul and his life. Now, just his enemy’s name brought the bitter bile of betrayal to Diego’s tongue.
For a man who did not desire food, could not remember the taste of it, the rawness of betrayal was twice as revolting. It was like a hot acid. It ate at him constantly.
Brakka had been his best friend—once. Fists tightened as hatred roiled again, as it always did when he remembered. Brakka had done this to him. Plunged the knife of bloodlust so deep into Diego’s soul, he would never be free. The only reason he refused to walk into the morning light was because Brakka deserved to die—again. Diego had only lived this long to pay back the favor, to serve justice cold to the man who had created him, or die trying.
When they had landed in the Americas, Brakka changed. Diego had witnessed the changes, revolted by the way Brakka learned to enjoy the pain of others, hearing their screams for mercy. It was never granted. Brakka grew cruel, violent, sooner killing than giving peace or relief. His behavior sickened Diego to this day because that was not the man he had trained and fought with for nearly a quarter of a century. He was not the same man he remembered growing up with in the villas of southern Spain.
Diego still remembered his disbelief when Brakka had offered a tireless arm for the single lash to discipline others. His stomach rebelled with the memory of the horses that were destroyed because of his friend’s heavy hand. He shook his head. No, Brakka was definitely not a friend. He was the one responsible for destroying Diego’s life.
Even after centuries had passed, his memory was as sharp as a sword blade and just as cold. The night had been dark, cloudy and starless. Bonfires had been set at the perimeters where guards were doing their watches while DeSoto prepared his advances in his quarters. Diego had gone to make a last check with his own men, loyal and trustworthy men selected to guard the precious horses they had brought overseas. The local Indians had been close and troublesome. It was the last night Diego would spend ignorant of the evil prowling those jungle-filled lands, the last real night he would live as a human. And as they say, it had all gone downhill from there.
He had been attacked, silently and with a ferociousness that had caught him completely unguarded. Brakka’s strength was unbelievable, pinning him to the ground in hardly more than a span of seconds. Diego had demanded to know where Brakka had been, missing for the last two days, when an icy chill had stolen over Diego.