Page 9 of Kiss of Light

Mostly, she didn’t want Denny anywhere near the action. For a start, his girlfriend would kill her if anything happened to him. And secondly, she wasn’t sure if the Count stuck to the code or not.

For all she knew, he enjoyed bathing in the blood of humans every night whilst sucking from their necks with a straw. She wasn’t about to expose Denny to that risk.

She strode to the car hire desk and picked up the keys to the SUV Denny had reserved for her. He’d planned ahead. It had blacked out windows and a spacious boot in case she had to hide a vampire in daylight.

Then she headed downtown where Count Darian Lemar the Third was, hopefully, ensconced with his latest squeeze.

“For fuck’s sake.”

He wasn’t there.

The luxury apartment was totally empty, though there were signs of a recent party. Champagne bottles littered the table and the bed was royally mussed with half the sheets on the floor. Whatever he and his girlfriend had been doing, they’d being doing it vigorously.

But there was no blood anywhere. Not even a drop. Which either meant he wasn’t feeding from this woman, or he was a very,very,tidy eater.

Idly, Tala wondered what he looked like. The description that had been circulated was very generic. Tall, nearly six foot four. Pale skinned. Well-built, with dark hair and brown eyes.

Except when he fed, of course. Then they changed to black.

It wasn’t much of a description. It covered pretty much every vampire she’d ever seen. No clue as to how old he was, how he carried himself, whether he had an accent. The only thing that would identify him was the mark on his chest.

He was said to carry a brand identifying him as a royal. Sounded weird to her, surely he’d know he was royal without needing a tattoo to remind him. But whatever.

None of it mattered, because he wasn’t there.

Irritated, she flexed her left hand, working out the stiffness. Her little finger had grown back during the three hour flight. She’d got through the burning and itching with the help of copious amounts of whisky.

Thankfully shaitun metabolised alcohol quickly, or she’d be shit-faced by now.

There was no clue as to where they might have gone. She could lie in wait for them, but they might stay out all night. She had a better idea.

She sat herself on the couch and swung her feet up. May as well be comfortable. She drew in a breath and made herself relax. Then she let her essence leave her body.

He mind flitted rapidly from one apartment to the next, seeking out the people within. When she encountered someone, she briefly took over their consciousness and checked to see if they knew where their neighbours might have gone. Then she moved on, no harm, no foul.

This was one of her skills as a tracker. She called it possession, but only because that’s what people assumed demons did. It allowed her to glean knowledge. She could see what others saw, hear what they heard, and know what they knew.

She could even take over their motor functions for a while; make the host body walk and talk if it served her purpose.

She didn’t do the latter often. She was aware it was a violation and unlike certain other shaitun she could mention, she never enjoyed wearing someone as a puppet.

She struck gold with the concierge. In his memories she found an image of a tall, dark man walking out of the lift with a brunette. Tala recognised her from Denny’s notes. She was the owner of this apartment.

Annoyingly, the man’s mental image of the vampire was blurred. She couldn’t get a clear picture of him. It was as if the concierge’s mind had unconsciously skittered away from Lemar. Interesting.

Then again, he may simply have been more transfixed by the woman’s cleavage which was, admittedly, magnificent.

In any case, it didn’t matter. The concierge had called them a cab, so now she knew exactly where they were going.

Tala let herself out of the host and back up to her waiting body. This was the downside of possession; it left her physical form potentially vulnerable. She only did it when she knew she was in a secure location.

She stretched, arching her back like a cat. Gracefully, she slipped off the couch and checked that her curved elven blades were harnessed securely. One at each hip, covered by her long coat. A third smaller blade was secured down her doc martin boots.

She touched her palm briefly. The outline of the light-bringer was just discernible beneath her skin. She was ready.

The vampire and his fang-banger had gone dancing. Time to crash the party.

Four

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