The Last True Vampire(24)

“Take it easy, Mikhail. Let me get off the fucking street before someone rear-ends us, or runs over your ass.” Clearly agitated, Ronan’s pupils flashed silver. As with any animal, it took only a small act of aggression to put a vampire—or dhampir—on the defensive. This would end badly if Michael didn’t get a grip, and he needed his wits about him if he was going to find his mate. Already the bus had traveled the length of a block … and another. Too far for his peace of mind, and growing.

Michael forced himself back into the seat and took a breath that was neither deep nor calming as Ronan put the car into gear and pulled into the first available parking space before coming to a stop. Ronan killed the engine and Michael pinched the bridge of his nose as he took several more deep breaths in a futile effort to calm the fuck down.

“Okay, now you can get out.”

Michael tore out of the car, taking a stumbling step, the hum of sudden lust coursing through him. “I can still feel her,” he rasped.

Michael let out a quick burst of breath. Though he craved the human’s blood, longed for her body, and wanted the strength she could give him, he’d tried to convince himself that his base desires were the end of where his obsession led. After tonight, however, he knew with certainty that he’d been lying to himself. “Rodstvennaya dusha,” Michael whispered. “The human truly is my mate.”

And she was close.





CHAPTER

7

Claire rushed to the front of the bus, all but bouncing with nervous energy. The next stop was five blocks away, but that was two too far. The sense that Michael was still near twisted her insides into a knot of anxious energy. A sense of euphoria swelled in her chest and it was all she could do to keep from stomping on the driver’s foot to get him to speed it up to the next stop. She was down the stairs and waiting at the door before the bus could come to a stop, and the second the door opened she hopped out onto the sidewalk. She headed back toward where the bus had passed the black car that she’d seen Michael inside. What in the hell was she doing? This was insane! But even as crazy as the idea of tracking down a ghost felt, she kept putting one foot in front of the other.#p#分页标题#e#

As she hustled down the sidewalk, Claire dug through her purse for the small canister of pepper spray and the pocketknife she carried with her at all times. She tucked the pepper spray into her left palm and the knife into her right. The blade was only about four inches long, not really enough to do serious damage, but it would work in a clinch. She was still seriously on edge from her conversation with the priest who’d come into the diner tonight. It had been a long time since she’d felt so unsafe.

In this part of the city there were more dark corners than brightly lit streets and every shady alley was an opportunity for disaster. Claire’s tennis shoes whispered over the sidewalk with each step, and it took a real effort not to sprint away from every cast shadow. In the jungles of Los Angeles predators frothed at the prospect of fleeing prey, just like beasts did in the forests. She’d be asking for trouble if she ran. And so, despite the urge to pick up her pace, she kept it nice and steady. Just an innocent stroll through the worn and neglected neighborhoods of L.A.

“You shouldn’t be out at night alone, Claire. Demons hide in the shadows.”

From the very shadows he spoke of the priest stepped from an alley thirty or so feet in front of her. Though she’d been prepared for a second encounter with him, it didn’t make his appearance any less unsettling. Had he been following her? In the dark of night, the whites of his eyes disappeared entirely, appearing to be nothing more than glistening obsidian orbs. The inky locks of his hair seemed to sway in a non-existent breeze, undulating like myriad serpents atop his head. Had his features been so angular and sharp before? Fear pooled hot in Claire’s stomach, the acid churning and burning its way up her throat.

She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. As if small talk were even necessary at this point. This man meant to do her harm and that was the only thing Claire needed to concern herself with. Her hand curled around the canister of pepper spray, her finger poised at the trigger. The pocketknife was a last resort and she eased the blade out with her thumb, ready to put it to use if need be.

The priest started toward her slowly, his calm, rolling gait reminding Claire of an animal on the hunt. His black patent-leather shoes didn’t make a sound as his feet struck the sidewalk, as though the concrete conspired to mute his presence. “You’re not running from me, Claire. Why not?”