In the Dark. Jen Colly

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ His tone was dark, accusing.

      Gustav’s focus shifted sharply to the men on the ground. With the injuries sustained, neither man should have been able to wake. He pulled up the first man’s top lip. Fangs protruded, gleaming white. The man with the bloodied face was the same. Gustav touched the first man’s cheek with the back of his hand, then the second.

      “Both are very warm to the touch, even with the chilled rain working hard to cool their bodies,” Gustav mumbled, talking more to himself than to Soren.

      The heat should not be there. He silently prayed as Gustav lifted an eyelid on each man, checking the color of the iris.

      Gustav shot to his feet, drawing out a short sword tucked under the folds of his coat. “Not in my city,” he snarled with teeth clenched. And with the accuracy of one familiar with killing, he stabbed both men through the heart.

      “They were…”

      “Yes.” Gustav wiped the thick, dark blood from his sword onto the shirt of one of the corpses. “It’s been two decades since I’ve seen more than one in the same place, and nearly a decade since I’ve seen any of those red-eyed devils.”

      “I assumed they were vampire. They look like us. Strange.”

      Gustav agreed with a nod. “They can appear either human or ghoulish, but the red eyes don’t lie,” he said as he searched the pockets of the fallen demons. Finding nothing more than cash, cigarettes, and a lighter, he stopped.

      Soren was shaken, and though he tried to present a calm demeanor, his short answers and expression would be enough to alert his friend that he had sunk very deep in thought because of the demons, or the woman in his arms.

      “And her?” Gustav asked, pointing a finger at the woman.

      “She’s mine.” Soren pulled her legs up and cradled her. Now was not the time nor place to discuss what would be done with her. “We’ll talk at your home.” He walked past Gustav, his precious cargo’s limp arm swinging with each step.

      “Very inconspicuous, Soren,” Gustav said.

      “Let’s see how inconspicuous you are moving two dead bodies.” He left the alley, and his friend.

      * * * *

      Faith looked up at the silhouette of a man curled over her, his head barely blocking the raindrops pelting her face. She was moving, her feet were not, and the city was sideways. The foreign world passed by her, the images coming slowly, as if she were seeing everything through someone else’s eyes.

      She was numb, her muscles from cold, her mind from shock. Her memories seemed intact, scrambled and hazy, but intact. She remembered being afraid of flying on the airplane, and the taste of the ginger gum that kept her nausea at bay. She’d been lost in the rain on the way back to her hotel. Then two men had trapped her in an alley.

      Her shoulders and ribs shuddered with chills powerful enough to make her teeth rattle. She fought through it, lifted her head and looked down at her hands.

      “My purse.” The words didn’t come out right. Her jaw refused to open, and her lips had difficulty forming the simple words. She tried again. “Took my purse.”

      “I have it. You need to be warm and dry right now,” the man said, keeping up his pace, never once looking at her. By the sheer confidence in his husky tones, without a doubt, this was the man who had saved her. That intense look on his face was nearly the same as when he’d pulled the muggers off her, driven them into the wall. It was oddly comforting, at the moment.

      Tall buildings, probably homes, surrounded her, swaying in her field of vision as he strode along. Light peeked through several arched windows, yellow and warm.

      He entered one of the larger buildings as if he owned it and carried her past several numbered doors to the end of the hallway, where he started down a creaking set of stairs. Suddenly she feared falling down those stairs, but her shuddering muscles wouldn’t allow her to hold on tighter. She closed her eyes and trusted him not to drop her.

      After the last step had been left behind, she took a deep breath, opened her eyes, and almost wished she hadn’t. The basement hallway was musty, and each bare light bulb they passed only revealed cracks chasing each other across the ceiling.

      He stopped, pressed her against a green door as he fished for the doorknob with the hand supporting her legs.

      “Put me down,” she said, trying to help, and fully expecting him to drop her to her feet.

      He fought with the knob until it finally gave and carried her inside, then kicked the door shut behind him. Dodging an old green couch with sunken cushions, he swiftly took her to the next room. She caught sight of a small bed and a green dresser with blue splotches where the paint peeled away before she was swept into a bathroom and set on the toilet as if it were a regular chair.

      He left her alone in the bathroom while he rummaged through the dresser drawers in the other room, but returned quickly.

      The light in the bathroom revealed him for the first time. Tall, but not towering, he stood in the doorway, rain dripping from his short hair. His straight, relaxed eyebrows followed the squared line of his forehead, giving him a very serious look.

      He reached out, and she flinched. An automatic reaction, and unnecessary. His target hadn’t been her. He set a pile of clothes on the sink between them.

      “Get out of those wet clothes,” he said.

      She shook her head, her protest silent, but firm.

      In a gentler tone, he tried again. “Look at your hands.”

      She did, but only because he didn’t crowd her. Practically white, her hands shook badly.

      “Dry yourself and change. You’re safe here,” he said, then shut the door.

      She lifted the T-shirt from the top of the pile and held it up. A man’s shirt, the words across the front French, but she didn’t understand them. She set the shirt on the other side of the sink, and dug through the clothes. A thick pair of cotton socks and navy sweatpants, and beneath the pants, a towel. He’d given her a towel.

      Smiling, she picked up the blue, fluffy thing and pressed it against her cheek. Never in her life could she remember being this happy to have a towel. Her excitement was misplaced, but she didn’t care. She leaped to the door and twisted the small lock securely.

      She stripped off her sweater first, dried herself, and then threw on the T-shirt. It was comfortable, and almost fit. She struggled to pull the wet jeans from her legs. The heavy fabric clung to her skin. When she’d tugged them free, she lifted the sopping mass of clothes from the floor and tossed them into the tub.

      Leaning back against the wall, she steadied her balance as she yanked on the sweatpants and socks. The sweatpants were too long. She rolled the waistband down a couple of times, which would keep the hem from getting caught underfoot.

      She caught sight of herself in the mirror and paused, not completely recognizing the woman looking back. Her mascara had decided to retreat from her lashes to give her those very lovely raccoon eyes every woman dreaded, and rightly so. But it wasn’t just that. Her face looked ashen. She must be much colder than she felt.

      Holding СКАЧАТЬ