Keeper of the Dawn

And hungry.

“Then we let him go tonight. We analyze the pill. You create the antidote.”

He still held her. He hadn’t moved. His fingers slowly caressed her cheek.

Acting.

“But Digger will get away. We won’t get to his source.”

“Digger has to trust us,” he whispered. “Then we’ll be able to find his source.”

“Regina is still out there.”

“I know—but we have to be patient and get the information we need.”

“They could kill her anytime. She could be—”

“She’s not dead. We will find her,” he vowed. “Now lean against me. Pretend you’re growing weak.”

That was easy enough to do. She stumbled, and not on purpose.

“Perfect,” he said softly.

And it was. She leaned against him and suddenly began to wonder about the heat that radiated from him.

He was a vampire....

He should be cold.

Instead he burned with a fire that could all too easily consume her.

Chapter 6

The Snake Pit was hopping. By the time Mark and Alessande returned, the others had taken a booth upstairs in the elegant room where snowy-white linen dressed the tables, the food was superbly prepared and the drinks were served in crystal.

Rhiannon was already on stage, singing a soft ballad. She acknowledged them with a nod as they entered.

Mark had his hand on Alessande’s back as they neared the booth. It was the kind of polite gesture any man might offer, and she seemed to take it as such. Her calm amazed him. He still felt as if he were twitching inside. Apparently their kiss—which he had initiated just to see how far she was willing to go to play their dangerous game—had disturbed him far more than it had her.

Far more than he had ever expected.

The woman’s an Elven, he told himself. What did you think you would feel?

Not this.

He’d known Elven all his life. They were exceptionally charismatic, the men handsome, the women beautiful. And Alessande was the epitome of Elven beauty: slender and fit, yet somehow voluptuous, as well. The feel of her in his arms was like a siren call.

That was it, nothing more. He’d thought to throw her off balance. Well, tables turned. He should have known!

His hostility toward her came from the moment when they had first met. She’d been angry, convinced she had had everything under control and that he’d ruined her grand plan.

On top of it all, he couldn’t shake the strange daydream he’d experienced right before he had met her. If he closed his eyes now, he could still hear the music, see the beauty of the church arrayed for a wedding...see the river of blood that ran down the aisle.

He could still see the crystalline beauty of her eyes, could still feel her body pressed to his, as if she had left an indelible impression on his flesh.

“Well?” Brodie asked, breaking into Mark’s thoughts.

“Success,” Mark said, sliding into the rich velvet-upholstered booth next to Alessande. “Any news here?”

“Declan is working the crowd—easy for him to do, since he owns the place,” Mick told him. Like Barrie, Mick was a reporter. He was great at ferreting out whatever was going on beneath the surface in a city that offered magic along with the normal underhanded deals, scandal—and murder.

Mark noticed that Barrie wasn’t with them, but before he could ask about her absence, Alessande spoke up.

“Where’s Barrie?”

“Interviewing Katrina Manville,” Mick said.

“Why was she so interested in interviewing a costume designer tonight?” Alessande asked.

“Because she’s doing costumes for Death in the Bowery,” Mick said.

“Oh!” Alessande said. “I didn’t know.”

“We didn’t, either—until Declan said something just a moment ago,” Sailor told them.

Alessande suddenly turned to him. She was close enough that her shoulder brushed his. “Let’s dance,” she said.

Mark looked at her with surprise. He felt a slight smile curve his lips. “You’re asking me to dance?”

“I want to hear what Barrie’s saying,” she said. “And they’re sitting right beside the dance floor.”

Barrie would report anything she learned, he knew, but he couldn’t resist the opportunity to hold Alessande in his arms.

Fool, he told himself.

He led her out to the dance floor. Rhiannon had been joined by a couple backup musicians, and they were playing something that he was pretty sure was a rumba. Luckily he had learned the steps years ago on a trip to Miami.

He danced Alessande over toward the two women. Thankfully, like most Others, his hearing was acute—and so was Alessande’s. They didn’t have to be right on top of Barrie to hear her conversation.

As they swept by, he noticed that Katrina was tall. Just not quite as tall as Alessande. Her hair was blond...though not quite the spun blond of Alessande’s. And her eyes were blue, too. Though not quite the same clear blue-green of Alessande’s, a color that could make a man think of endless days spent floating between the heavens and the seas....

Stop! he commanded himself. Honestly, he was going to make himself vomit if he didn’t curtail his ridiculous mooning over her. He forced himself to listen to what Katrina was saying.

“They’re re-creating 1880s New York and the Five Points district. The costuming will be late Victorian, and range from extremely elegant to the rags worn by those who were just scratching to stay alive. In those days... Well, you really couldn’t blame a young woman coming from the gutters if she was willing to sleep her way up in society.”

“How did you become involved in this particular project? Did you already know the screenwriter?”

“No, I only met Greg Swayze recently. I was hooked up by a friend.”

“Who?”

Katrina sipped from a crystal champagne glass. “Brigitte Hildegard. Her brother’s production company had considered bidding on it, but it was too pricey for them. She loved the screenplay, though, and thought it needed the best.”

As they whirled away, Alessande looked at Mark with her eyes sizzling. “See?” she said.

“Barrie would have shared that information with us.”

She ignored that and said, “I knew it. There’s something going on with the movie!”

“Alessande,” he murmured.

She looked at him with a question in her eyes.

He smiled. “I don’t want you getting hurt,” he said.