The Haunting (Immortals) (2 page)

Summoning her magic, she closed her eyes and willed herself to the Blood Club, a bar owned and operated by vampire and close friend Ricco.

She waited for the deafening drone of people to tell her the teleportation had been successful, but heard only her own rapid breathing and the rustle of fabric.
Damn
. Her magic hadn’t been working right ever since the battle.

A cold fear settled over her as she realized she was alone with her intruder. The hallway light snapped on. Mai blinked at the sudden brightness that revealed a masked figure dressed all in black.

He filled the doorway, cutting off any hope for escape.

“What do you want?” She hated the small tremor in her voice. “I have money, in my purse.”

“I’m not after money.” His voice sounded harsh and raspy.

When he stepped into the room, she automatically backed up, trying to keep some distance between them. “Get out.”

“I have a message for you:
Forget the story
.”

So her investigation had touched a nerve. That meant she’d really stumbled onto something big. “Who sent you?”

“Still asking questions? That’s what got you into trouble in the first place.” He began to close the distance between them.

Mai forced herself to hold her ground. “Fine. You’ve delivered your message. Now get out.”

“That wasn’t the message. This is.”

Pain exploded in her jaw before she’d even registered his hand moving. Her head snapped to the side and tears sprang to her eyes. The inside of her lower lip split against the edge of her teeth, and the coppery taste of blood filled her mouth. With the room spinning around her, she fell to her knees. She tried to crawl away but couldn’t. Her vision started tunneling and she felt consciousness slipping away.

She wasn’t lucky enough to pass out, though. Spitting out the blood that filled her mouth, she looked up.

“Who’s your source?” her attacker growled.

Lenny Brown
. The name skittered through her head and she fought to keep from blurting it out. How easy it would be to just give it to him. Make him—and the pain—stop. But it was Lenny’s death warrant if she did, so she bit back the words and said nothing. Instead, she thought about revenge. If she could survive this, she would use the paper in her pocket and all the information on it to crucify Preston, because he was behind this. He was the only one with a reputation to protect.

“Start talking,” he demanded.

“Fuck you.”

She cried out in pain when the man grabbed her hair and jerked her head back. Too dazed to stand on her own, she was hauled to her feet. “Remember that you brought this on yourself.” Blinding pain shot between her eyes when he punched her in the face. As she gasped for breath, her hands automatically rose to protect her broken nose. It was a tactical mistake. With her arms raised, her stomach was unprotected and the man took advantage of her vulnerability by punching her—hard.

“Remember,” he growled again.

She crumpled to the floor, unable to draw a breath.
Through the nausea, she thought,
This is it. This is how I die
. All the things she’d wanted to accomplish but hadn’t flashed through her mind. Unfulfilled dreams. Unfulfilled love. There was someone out there for her, the man she could have given herself to completely, loved unconditionally.
Where are you
?

Her vision tunneled to black and the ringing in her head grew louder. Death, she thought. Coming for her. Longing for a love she’d never known—and now never would—filled her with despair.
I’m sorry
.

She wondered how death would feel. Would it hurt?

She waited. Slowly, air seeped into her lungs and the will to survive pushed her to drag in more. The air burned when it hit her throat, and she coughed uncontrollably while tears and blood ran unnoticed in commingled streams down her face. When she dared to open her eyes, she found her vision blurred and distorted, as if she were looking at the world through textured glass.

It hurt to move her head, but hope flickered. Was the attack over?

Suddenly, hands grabbed her about the throat and squeezed. Bitterness rose even as the energy to fight ebbed. It was as if her attacker had only been waiting for her to recover before finishing her off.

Then, from out of nowhere, a huge form shot across the room straight into her attacker, knocking him back.

It hurt to turn her head, but Mai had to know what was happening. Through her impaired vision, the images of two fighting men were nothing more than blurs of movement. She tried to rally the strength to get up and help her rescuer, but even that effort seemed beyond her.

Then she saw the dark form of her attacker race out the door and she was left alone with her rescuer.

He came over to her and laid his hand on her shoulder. The warmth of his touch immediately spread through her.
She stared up into his face, wishing she could make out the details of his features. “Are you all right?” His voice was tender.

She looked around, staring hard in the direction of the doorway. Her rescuer seemed to understand her fear.

“You’re safe now. He’s gone.”

“Thank you.” She struggled to sit up and did so only with his help. Peering at him through swollen lids, she thought she recognized him. Perhaps he was a new tenant and she’d seen him around the building. She wished her vision weren’t so blurry so she could see him better. “How did you know I needed help?”

“I heard your call.”

She must have cried out when her attacker grabbed her hair, Mai thought. “Lucky for me you were home.” She held out her hand. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

“No. I would remember you.” His voice, deep and sensual, sent a ripple of awareness through her. He brushed the hair from her face in a gesture that was oddly intimate for someone she didn’t really know. She found herself compelled by his face even though she couldn’t really make out his features. It was like looking at him through a thick film, but even so she felt drawn to him.

When he slowly bent his head to hers, it never occurred to her to pull away. The touch of his lips was gentle, tentative. All pain faded into the background, and the longing she’d felt earlier swelled to raw, hot desire.

Then, as suddenly as he’d appeared, he vanished and Mai was left lying on the floor alone.

She felt so bereft, she wanted to cry. She didn’t understand how he could have left so quickly unless maybe she’d passed out. It was the only logical explanation, yet if that was the case, why had he run out on her? To call an ambulance perhaps?

She waited for him to return.

And waited.

It seemed she lay there with her eyes closed for hours. Finally, though, she knew he wasn’t coming back.

As she summoned the energy to move, she thought back over the attack. If Preston had hired the man who’d attacked her, he’d made a huge mistake. Not only was she going to call the police and report him, but she was going to finish her story. She wasn’t going to let these guys intimidate her. By God, she’d faced demons before. Did they really think she’d be frightened by humans?

Feeling better, she pushed herself to all fours and crawled to the bathroom. Once there, she collapsed into a sitting position, leaning back against the bathtub. She needed a breather. The room was dark and she glanced up as best she could, considering one eye was swollen shut. The light switch was out of reach.

Pushing herself to a standing position, she held on to the countertop for balance and stared into the mirror. With the lights out, her reflection didn’t look that awful. There wasn’t nearly as much blood as she’d been afraid there’d be. In fact…

She peered closer. Something wasn’t right. She reached out and flipped on the light switch. What the hell was going on? There was no blood—anywhere.

She gently pressed her fingers against either side of her nose. Yes, it was a little tender, but it wasn’t broken. Furthermore, there was only one slight bruise across her face. Not even her eye was swollen. And her vision was completely back to normal.

What was going on? How could she have been beaten so severely and yet look as if nothing had happened? She’d been bleeding like a sieve—

She hurried into her office to check the carpet. It was as spotless and clean as it had been that morning.

Desperation built inside her as she looked around. Her
phone cord was no longer severed. Even before she switched on the overhead light, she knew what to expect. She wasn’t surprised at what she saw. She was terrified.

There were absolutely no signs of forced entry and nothing out of place in her entire apartment. It was almost as if she’d imagined the entire attack.

“I am
not
hallucinating,” she said with conviction, hoping the sound of her own voice would make it more convincing.

It didn’t—and neither did knowing that none of her previous hallucinations had ever been this bad.

She covered her mouth with her hand and tried to suppress the cry that escaped. What had happened to her was real. She hadn’t imagined it. She hadn’t.

What had her therapist said? That there is no cure for post-traumatic stress disorder and she could suffer from hallucinations the rest of her life. She hadn’t wanted to believe it, and denial of the problem had been working so well for her lately.

Apparently her PTSD had come back with a vengeance.

Rubbing her head, she thought about poor Dr. Barbour. What would he have told her at a time like this?
You must look within yourself for the key to your hallucinations. Fear is what attacked you. It beat you down until you thought you could not continue. But there is an inner strength fighting to save you from your fear, fighting to save you from yourself
.

With crap analysis like that, it was no wonder somebody offed the good doctor.

Regretting her disrespectful thoughts, Mai went to lock the front door. Then she headed back to the bathroom, moving with a weariness brought on by worry more than fatigue. She started the water and while she waited for it to get hot, she stripped off her clothes.

Stepping beneath the stream, she let it beat down on her until the heat slowly stole past the chill of her worries and
doubts. After what seemed an eternity, she snapped out of her inner reflections. It was time to get out.

Shutting off the water, she left the curtain closed to trap the warm air inside with her and snaked a hand out to grab a towel. She rubbed her skin and hair briskly until she was dry enough to get out and then pulled the shower curtain aside.

As soon as the warm air hit the mirror, it fogged over—and a single word appeared in the glass.

Remember
.

Terror hit Mai with the force of a Mack truck. She stared at the word, struggling to decide whether she was hallucinating again—or if someone had actually written on the glass in anticipation of the word appearing as soon as steam from the shower hit the mirror.

Panicked, she wrapped the towel tightly around her, while looking all around for signs of an invisible attacker—as ludicrous as that might seem. She was fairly certain she was alone. But what might be lurking on the other side of the door?

She searched the bathroom for a weapon. She’d be damned if she was going out there unarmed.

Her gaze fell on her Lady Shaver, but she quickly dismissed it. Next she spied the toilet bowl cleaning wand. Useless. Feeling desperate, she looked at the collection of beauty products on the counter. Foundation? Eyeliner? Hair spray? Yes—the hair spray. Maybe she could blind him by spraying it in his eyes.

Armed with the aerosol can, she crept to the bathroom door. For all she knew, someone could be standing on the other side, waiting. With her heart pounding in her chest
and holding the hair spray in front of her defensively, she snatched open the door.

There was no one there.

Bracing herself, she moved out into the hallway, creeping along until she reached her bedroom. She flipped the wall switch and was relieved when the light came on. She quickly scanned the room to make sure no one was there, then hurried to the kitchen and pulled a butcher knife from the cutlery block. Turning to face the living room, she looked over the small open counter that divided the rooms and saw—nothing.

Torn between relief and confusion, she returned to the bathroom. The steam had dissipated and the word had vanished, along with her only evidence that the attack might have been more than her imagination.

She went into her bedroom and with a heavy sigh, put down the knife and hair spray, though she left them within easy reach. After dressing, she was about to toss her dirty clothes into the hamper when she remembered the notes she’d made talking to Lenny. She couldn’t afford to lose them because they
were
the story.

She pulled the paper out of her pocket and was about to set it on her dresser when it struck her that it was the wrong color. The paper she’d written her notes on had been white, not yellow. With a growing sense of panic, she unfolded it—and stared at the blank page.

Seconds later, she had her purse in hand and was racing out of the apartment with no particular destination in mind. Either she was going crazy or Preston was far more dangerous than she’d anticipated.

Nick drifted in a sea of black nothingness and was content. There was no pain, no worries. Chirping crickets provided a backdrop for a symphony of other twilight noises: the skittering of mice, the deep-throated croaking of frogs,
the gentle stirring of leaves overhead. The sound of labored breathing. His.

With more effort than he would have thought necessary, Nick Blackhawk opened his eyes. He had to blink several times before he realized his vision wasn’t failing. The sun was going down and less light was filtering through the trees.

How long had he been out? His recollections of the man he’d fought were shadowy and distant, but the woman—that was something else. She’d seemed so real—and the way he’d been drawn to her, like she was a part of him. He hated like hell to think she’d been nothing more than the product of a delirious mind. He longed to surrender to the nothingness he’d just awakened from, longed to find
her
again, but knew he couldn’t. Time was running out.