Beautiful Danger. Michele Hauf

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СКАЧАТЬ a deft jump, he landed beside her and pressed a finger to his lips. “Quiet.”

      A wicked clatter preceded the entire iron staircase landing on the small, private courtyard below. Lark moved to look over the edge of the roof, but Domingos tugged her back and shook his head in admonishment.

      Below, a werewolf said, “They went down and took the stairs out behind them. Let’s go!”

      The vampire eyed her breasts, the nipples peaking beneath the thin lace bra fabric. “No treats for the puppies this morning.”

      “They think we went down, but they’ll figure it out as soon as they pick up my scent. They’ll find us up here.”

      “That’s why we’re not going to stick around. Come on.” He stood and offered her his hand.

      She should stake that hand and then plunge the stake through his heart. But she’d dropped the weapon when he’d pulled her over the threshold. And going anywhere with a vampire was out of the question.

      “I’ll be fine on my own.” She took off across the roof, thankful for lacking shoes because that softened her footfalls and provided traction.

      Lark crossed two rooftops with ease because the buildings in Paris were so close together, and by the third rooftop she was congratulating herself for her agility and finesse. But she knew she was not alone. The vampire followed, silently, mocking her with his easy stroll. Hands behind his back and head bowed, he merely stood there each time she looked over her shoulder, as if a child’s game and if she saw him move that would mean he was playing.

      Wolf howls echoed from below. They either hadn’t figured where she had gone, or else they were tearing her place apart. She didn’t mind losing her things to raging wolves. Save the violin she valued, and perhaps a few photos she’d tucked away in a drawer.

      Now if she could just lose the vampire.

      As suddenly as she had the thought, she turned and the vampire crashed into her, sweeping an arm around her back and lifting her as he took the twenty-foot leap to the next roof. They landed softly, with a grace that only a winged creature could possess.

      Lark knew vampires could not fly, nor did they have wings, but he presented curious evidence that the mythology the Order had taught her may be incorrect, or perhaps incomplete.

      Tugging her along behind him, Domingos ran toward a roof door. They descended a concrete staircase into an empty loftlike space, floored in rotting hardwood that reeked of chemicals and coated with what looked like centuries of dust. A former factory long vacated of workers and industrial equipment?

      Here they would be safe. Unless they turned on each other, which Lark wasn’t beyond doing should the vampire have the same thought.

      At the far end of the loft a circular window boasting a ten-foot span looked over the rapidly brightening city sky. It reminded Lark of the rose windows found in cathedrals, yet without colored glass.

      “So,” she said after catching her breath and moving to position herself near the window. A door stood to her left. An escape. “You’ve saved me twice tonight. Though I guess it’s morning now.”

      “That means I get another prize.” Shoving the goggles to the top of his head, Domingos walked before her, pacing in a random circle, his bare feet leaving trails in the dust. “What shall it be this time?” He conked the side of his head as if trying to dislodge something. “Tell me!”

      Lark startled at his shout, and reminded herself that no matter the kindnesses he’d granted her, he was a monster. Hell, she didn’t need an excuse to label him monster; he simply was, end of story.

      “No more kisses,” she stated flatly.

      “Of course not. You find my kisses disgusting.”

      “Absolutely.”

      He lifted his head and eyed her sharply, giving no sign that she’d offended, but perhaps his tight jaw was the signal. His goatee was scruffy, a match to his disheveled hair. Looked as though he hadn’t combed it in a month. And perhaps he had not. Despite the lean muscles she had noticed while fighting with him earlier in the alley, he was too thin. So incredible that he’d defeated those hulking werewolves.

      His gaze fell to her chest. She wasn’t embarrassed by her lacking top. But that she’d raced across the rooftops in but a bra and pants might have raised a few eyebrows if any early risers had been gazing out their windows, coffee mugs in hand as they contemplated yet another day.

      “What time is it?” he asked.

      “I don’t know. About five in the morning?”

      “Sun’s up soon.”

      Lark smirked. Sometimes the stake wasn’t necessary. The sun would do her work for her today, if she could just keep him talking a little longer…

      “How about…as my prize,” Domingos suggested, “you don’t kill me today?”

      Lark bristled. She slapped her palms to her hips. She’d intended to kill him hours earlier. And the longer she went without killing him, the worse it damaged her record. But she did owe him. And tomorrow was officially only nineteen hours away. She believed in reciprocation, damn her soul.

      Yet if the sun got to him first, she couldn’t be held responsible.

      “Deal,” she said.

      Oh, really? Inwardly, she cursed her hasty reply. She was tired, that was it. Not thinking clearly.

      “How are you a hunter?” he asked. Another hit to the side of his head. “Damn it! Stop!”

      “I didn’t do anything.”

      He leveled her with a vicious sneer, and Lark backed toward the window, pressing her palms to the cool dusty glass.

      “It’s in my head. Skull clatter.” And then he laughed that thoughtless chuckle Lark was beginning to associate with madness. “Don’t go!”

      “I’m not leaving. You’re the one who needs to get the hell out of here if you want to beat the sun.”

      “I will.” He thrust out a placating hand while shaking his head as if fighting whatever it was inside his skull. “But I need your name first. Only fair.”

      “I’ve already given you nineteen hours. That should be enough—”

      “Name!” he shouted.

      Lifting her chin, Lark stepped forward, daring to approach a man she suspected would lunge for her neck at any moment. No protective coat to keep him from her carotid. Yet he was not capable right now. She sensed he waged an inner war, and she’d never been one to walk away from a damaged individual.

      As she approached him, he still held out a hand as if to keep her back. He yowled and pounded his head, then stomped the dusty floor. She reached out but retracted as if burned when he looked at her. That fanged grin was too sharp to be kind.

      “I can’t watch this,” she decided, and turned away from what could become the beginning to a very bad day filled with memories she had thought to lock away when joining the Order.

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