Touch of Evil (6 page)

dreams started. Dreams starring the two people who were the focal points of my frantic life today. I was suddenly entering my apartment again and the phone was ringing.

I looked down. I realized I was wearing a

sweater that I'd thrown away because of all the blood, and black jeans which had followed the sweater into the trash because one leg had ripped puncture holes with more blood. My brain

recognized this memory. I started to panic. I did not want to dream about this! I felt myself thrashing on the bed, my heart pounding. It was no use. The dream rolled relentlessly forward. I watched helplessly as my dream self walked over to the phone.

I tried to pinch myself to wake up, but couldn't figure out in the dream why I was pinching. No, no, no, I don't want to answer that phone!

I'd just returned to town from a trip to Israel, and had tried to reach Dylan, my fiancé, at work to tell him I was home. But his secretary hadn't seen him for two days and was getting worried. I called his apartment and was very surprised—read shocked—to have the phone picked up by my best friend, Amanda.

"Oh, hello, Kate." Her voice was oddly smug. It raised again those nagging fears in the back of my head that I'd been trying to avoid. My real brain, the one in my body on the bed, knew that I should have listened to the nagging.

"I'm looking for Dylan, Amanda. Where is he?" My voice was harsh, but I felt oddly disconnected from my emotions. It's how I deal with stress.

"You don't have to worry about him, Kate. He's in good hands."

"I don't consider your hands all that terribly good, " I snarled.

Her laugh was a joyful tinkle of sound over the wire. "Oh, but Dylan does. I've tried to convince him to tell you about us for a couple of months now. But he didn't want to hurt you. He can be such a wuss sometimes."

I could feel my heart still in my chest, in both places. A couple of months? We'd only been engaged for a couple of months. That bastard!

Salty wetness burned at my eyes and a buzzing filled my ears. I tried to hide the hurt from my voice. It still sounded strangled and harsh, but from anger, not pain. "That doesn't explain where he is, Amanda. He hasn't checked in at work for two days."

"He's interviewing for a new job. One that pays very well."

"He could have taken a couple of vacation days, or even a sick day. Who is this job with?" Her voice was becoming huffy, tight. "Not that it's any of your business—but his new friend, Larry, offered him a position. It pays very well. I told him to take it while he could."

Panic flowed through my veins. "Dylan wouldn't work for Larry, Amanda. He knows what Larry is." Larry is the Thrall queen. The Thrall don't care if the Host is male or female. They just have to be strong, healthy and psychically gifted. It helps if they are good looking. They lure the victims in with sex. Back then, I'd heard the rumors that the Thrall had started recruiting and were actually paying people a regular salary to join the Herd. I hadn't believed them. Evidently I'd been wrong.

Once again her laugh filled my ear. "You just don't get it, do you, Kate? Dylan does what I tell him to do. You're ancient history. Dylan is going to be part of the Herd for the new queen. Larry's already picked his successor, and Monica picked Dylan as one of her first. They'll pay him two thousand bucks a month just to stay healthy and help feed the queen. It's the same amount he makes now, for a lot less work. You don't make that kind of change donating a pint at Bonfils!" I stared at the wall of my apartment in horror, listening to Amanda casually compare donating blood to save someone's life at the Belle Bonfils Blood Center to being sucked dry by a stinking parasite! I had to believe— had to believe that Dylan was under some sort of mind control to even consider such a thing!

I'd hung up on Amanda without another word. I didn't even know if I could believe her. I didn't want to believe her. It was easier for me to think that she'd somehow turned him over to the Thrall. My mind imagined Dylan fighting for his life as they dragged him screaming to the lair. It was easier to consider than thinking of him walking into the hive and baring his neck.

I called Joe. I managed to not cry when I told him about Dylan and Amanda, and he managed not to say "I told you so." When I told him I was going to save Dylan he insisted that I at least come down to visit him at the hospital first.

He'd taken me to his office after I'd spent a halfhour in the morgue, staring at the dissected body of a Thrall Host. Joe had expected the display to scare me, and it did. But the devastation to the internal organs only made me that much more determined to save Dylan. God help me. I loved him. Even if our relationship was over I couldn't just leave him to . . . that.

Joe was furious. He kept saying "no better than he deserves." It didn't matter. Eventually, reluctantly, he gave up on making me come to my senses and dragged me back to the staff lounge at the back of the ER saying he had something to show me.

I'd tried to argue. "I don't have time, damn it!

They could be bleeding Dylan as we speak—or infesting him." But Joe wouldn't take no for an answer.

I had been wrong. It was worth the delay.

Because in a box on top of the fridge in the staff lounge was something he'd been working on with one of his friends from the police department. In the dream I watched Joe pull the box down onto a bench. He reached his hands in, drawing out a vaguely torso-shaped chunk of what looked like plastic. Two separate pieces of rock-hard

fiberglass had been joined together on one side with a hinge. A small tongue and hasp was visible on the other side.

"What in the hell is that supposed to be?" I asked with suspicion.

"It's a prototype of a neck shield, Kate! My friend designed it for patrol cops and paramedics. Not even the toughest Thrall can bite through it. You can't even sink a knife in."

"A neck shield . . ." It was a good idea. Hell, it was a wonderful idea. While the vamps can munch on any major blood vessel—they almost always go for the neck. Hidden under a turtleneck sweater the thing would be invisible—giving me the element of surprise.

Silence stretched for long moments as I ran my hand over the cool hard surface of the shield.

"Don't do this, Katie. Don't risk your life for that piece of trash." His voice was harsh. When I looked up, I could see the fear behind his eyes. We'd already lost our parents, and then Bryan. He'd be all alone if I didn't come back.

The image jumped abruptly. I was in a dim

stairwell, my stomach leaden with dread. My heart was pounding so hard I could barely breathe. The smell of beer and stale cigarette smoke couldn't quite mask the underlying scent of blood. My present self tried again to end the dream, but I couldn't seem to wake up. Instead, I lived it all again. The dry-mouthed terror of entering the Thrall nest knowing I might not survive.

It was mid-afternoon, full sunlight. I'd hoped, prayed that all of the Hosts would be sleeping off a long night of carousing. The neck shield scratched at my neck and was almost unbearably hot and uncomfortable. From the minute I'd heard the

"snick" of the tiny padlock securing it at my throat I'd wanted it off. But I'd promised Joe. That promise, and the fact that it was daylight were the only things that had kept him from either demanding to come with me, or trying to have one of his friends commit me under a forty-eight-hour "suicide watch."

I heard Larry's pleasant voice right behind me.

"G'day, Kate. I wondered when you'd get here." I turned my whole body to the warm Australian voice. I didn't want him to know about the shield. It was nicely hidden under the green turtleneck sweater and my leather biker jacket—a present from Dylan. It made my shoulders a little broad, about the same as when I was working out every day, but Larry had never met me so he wouldn't notice.

The man standing behind me was handsome, but ordinary. His wavy sandy hair highlighted pale green eyes and full, red lips. He was shorter than me, about 5'8", but the arms and shoulders looked muscular. I hoped I could take him.

"I've come for Dylan."

"Then you've come to the right place. Sorry." His smile was open and inviting and his accent made him sound like everyone's buddy. But there was something . . . odd about him. As I looked at him I would catch glimpses of a different Larry. The flashes lasted less than a second—but showed me the image of a much thinner man with straw-like hair and lips that had sunken in as his teeth had rotted. This other Larry was very obviously ill. It was disconcerting as hell, but I forced myself to stay on point. "Sorry? What do you mean, sorry? Where is he?"

"He's here—but he's not mine to give. I'd tell you to ask Monica, but she's a little under the weather." His eyes narrowed as he watched me, but he pointed to the corner.

I turned so I could see where he pointed without letting him out of my sight. In the corner, chained by her wrists, a gorgeous brunette was thrashing around. She emitted a high-pitched scream and then sighed and stretched like a contented cat. I started toward her when he spoke. "You'd best not bother her. She can be a real tiger. As soon as the hatchling takes over, she'll be fine. She's one of my choices for my replacement."

Something in his phrasing stopped me in my

tracks, sending a chill up my spine. His eyes burned into mine with frightening intensity. His slow, satisfied smile made me dry-mouthed with terror. I couldn't tear my eyes away as he casually walked the length of the brick basement and lowered himself into the leather recliner that waited for him next to a pool table.

The whole situation was surreal. I'd been

prepared for a fight. Instead I stood here having a perfectly civilized conversation with the local Thrall queen while his successor alternately screamed in pain and moaned with what appeared to be a

world-class orgasm.

"Yes! Oh, yes! " She screamed and writhed. Foam flecked the edge of her mouth. She screamed again, her body arching, wrists struggling against their chains.

I turned to look at Larry again. My expression must have been priceless because he responded.

"Yeah, she seems to be enjoying it, doesn't she? I was a lot less vocal. Of course, it affects everyone differently—and she's not fighting it." He smiled easily, his eyes twinkling. Again, that flash of vision. I shook my head. Very weird. I rolled my eyes and shrugged. "I really don't care what gets her off. I just want to walk out of here with my fiancé. I can't imagine why you would care about one guy. You've got the whole city to choose from." He stood and started to walk toward me.

"You're absolutely right. I don't care about that one guy. I gave him a quick bite—just so's he wouldn't be able to change his mind about joining the Herd. My people are watching him in the other room. Again, just in case. But I wanted you. He was the quickest way to bring you right to me." Larry rose from his chair.

Huh? My back stiffened, my throat constricting so that I was barely able to speak. "What does this have to do with me? " The fear was audible in my voice. I started to back away from his casual approach. I was already reaching with my fingers for my knife, hidden in a wrist sheath under my coat.

"Your boyfriend says you're psychic." I continued to back up, turning the corner

smoothly. I wasn't sure what I was going to do when I reached the pool table directly in my reverse path. I tried to downplay my abilities, but I didn't quite know why. "I've had better than average luck with woman's intuition, I guess."

He gave a hearty bray of laughter. But an instant later the humor slid from his face as though it had never been, leaving his green eyes cold and hard.

"Don't lie to me, darls. I've seen the way you look at me. You can see right through my illusion—and you're not even trying. And those 'feelings' of yours? They're not intuition and you know it. I checked around after Dylan bragged you up. You found your brother Bryan when he'd been dumped on the streets of a strange city—went right to him. You're always in the right spot at the right time. Just like you showed up today. You knew just where to look for us. You knew that I would kill Dylan if you didn't come. Admit it."

I had known, but to hear him say it scared me. How many people had he talked with? Who'd told him about Bryan and the rest? I've always had some very unusual gifts, but it's not generally something that I discuss. My butt suddenly bumped the pool table, stopping my progress. Larry stopped as well, waiting.

"Okay, fine." The tiniest edge of fear was settling into my voice. I cleared my throat and continued with a little more strength. "I'll admit that I plan for people to live down to my worst expectations. They usually don't disappoint me. So sue me." He chuckled and started forward again. He was only a few steps away. I tensed my muscles, preparing to fight. "I don't plan to sue you, Kate. That very rare talent is just what the hive needs in a new queen."

I forgot to breathe. It was quite easy to do the moment my heart stopped. He'd been hinting at it before, but hearing it spoken so . . . casually. . . . Me? A Thrall queen? No. Oh, no. No. . . . The moment slowed. Every detail had a crystalline sharpness—Larry's pleasant smile, the sound of chains rattling and Monica's screams. I pointed to the corner without taking my eyes from Larry. The movement distracted him enough to pull the knife from my sleeve and hide it behind my arm.

"You've got your queen!" I wanted to shout the words, but what emerged from my throat was a strangled croak. "Monica's the new queen." As I said the words, Monica went silent.

He shrugged and pulled back his lips to bare long, narrow fangs. "Oh, Monica will do in a pinch. She's got big plans for the Denver hive. But you'd be better, and a part of you knows it. As for me, I've always believed it's a good idea to have a couple of candidates in case one doesn't work out. I figured I'd lay eggs in both of you and let you fight it out. I'll keep her chained until your hatchling has you under control. I've got a couple of weeks left. So I'll live to see the outcome. I always did like catfights."

I was shaking my head, over and over. "No. I won't let you do that to me."