Lost Souls. Lisa Jackson
nipples.
Deep inside, she tingled. Ached.
But this was wrong. Wasn’t it…?
He leaned closer, his nose against her hair, his lips touching the shell of her ear as he whispered so quietly only she could hear, “I love you.” She melted inside. Wanted him. A warm throb rose through her. His fingers rubbed the skin beneath her collarbones a little harder, pressing into her flesh. For an instant she forgot that she was on stage. She was alone with him and he was touching her…loving her…. He wanted her as no man had ever really wanted her…. And…
He pushed hard.
A strong finger dug into her flesh, jabbing against her rib.
A jolt of pain shot through her.
Her eyes widened.
Fear and adrenaline spurted through her bloodstream. Her pulse jumped madly, crazily.
What had she been thinking? That he could seduce her?
No!
Love? Oh, for the love of Jesus, he didn’t love her! Rylee, don’t be fooled. Don’t fall into his stupid trap.
The damned hallucinogen had convinced her that he cared for her but he, whoever the hell he was, intended only to use her for his sick show.
She glared at him and he recognized her anger.
The bastard smiled, teeth flashing white.
She knew then that he reveled in her impotent fury. He felt her heart pumping, the blood flowing hot and frantic through her veins.
“Hers is the untainted blood of a virgin,” he said to the unseen crowd.
No!
You’ve got the wrong girl! I’m not a—
She threw all her concentration into speaking, but her tongue refused to work, no air pushing through her vocal cords. She tried fighting, but her limbs were powerless.
“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered.
In horror she watched as he bent downward, ever closer, his breath hot, his lips pulling back to show his bared teeth.
Two bright fangs gleamed, just as she’d fantasized!
Please God. Please help me wake up. Please, please…!
In the next heartbeat she felt a cold sting, like the piercing of a needle, as his fangs punctured her skin and slid easily into her veins.
Her blood began to flow….
CHAPTER 1
So far, so good, Kristi Bentz thought as she tossed her favorite pillow into the backseat of her ten-year-old Honda, a car that was new to her but had nearly eighty thousand miles on the odometer. With a thump, the pillow landed atop her backpack, books, lamp, iPod, and other essentials she was taking with her to Baton Rouge. Her father was watching her move out of the house they all shared, a small cabin that really belonged to her stepmother. All the while he was glaring at her, Rick Bentz’s face was a mask of frustration.
So what else was new?
At least, thank God, her father was still among the living.
She hazarded a quick glimpse in his direction.
His color was good, even robust, his cheeks red from the wind soughing through the cypress and pine trees, a few drops of rain slickening his dark hair. Sure, there were a few strands of gray, and he’d probably put on five or ten pounds in the last year, but at least he appeared healthy and hale, his shoulders straight, his eyes clear.
Thank God.
Because sometimes, it just wasn’t so. At least not to Kristi. Ever since waking up from a coma over a year and a half earlier, she’d experienced visions of him, horrifying images that, when she looked at him, showed he was a ghost of himself, his color gray, his eyes two dark, impenetrable holes, his touch cold and clammy. And she’d had many nightmares of a dark night, the sizzle of lightning ripping through a black sky, an echoing split of a tree as it was struck, then her father lying dead in a pool of his own blood.
Unfortunately, the visions haunted more than her dreams. During daylight hours, she would see the color leach from his skin, witness his body turning pale and gray. She knew he was going to die. And die soon. She’d seen his death often enough in her recurring nightmare. Had spent the last year and a half certain he would meet the bloody and horrifying end she’d witnessed in her dreams.
These past eighteen months she’d been worried sick for him as she’d recovered from her own injuries, but today, on this day after Christmas, Rick Bentz was the picture of health. And he was pissed.
Reluctantly he’d helped lug her suitcases out to the car while the wind chased through this part of the bayou, rattling branches, kicking up leaves, and carrying the scent of rain and swamp water. She’d parked her hatchback in the puddle-strewn driveway of the little cottage home Rick shared with his second wife.
Olivia Benchet Bentz was good for Rick. No doubt about it. But she and Kristi didn’t really get along. And while Kristi loaded the car amidst her father’s disapproval, Olivia stood in the doorway twenty feet away, her smooth brow wrinkled in concern, her big eyes dark with worry, though she said nothing.
Good.
One thing about her, Olivia knew better than to get between father and daughter. She was smart enough not to add her unwanted two cents into any conversation. Yet, this time, she didn’t step back into the house.
“I just don’t think this is the best idea,” her father said…for what? The two-thousandth time since Kristi had dropped the bomb that she’d registered for winter classes at All Saints College in Baton Rouge? It wasn’t like this was a major surprise. She’d told him about her decision in September. “You could stay with us and—”
“I heard you the first time and the second, and the seventeenth and the three hundred and forty-second and—”
“Enough!” He held up a hand, palm out.
She snapped her mouth closed. Why was it they were always at each other? Even with everything they’d been through? Even though they’d almost lost each other several times?
“What part of ‘I’m moving out and going back to school away from New Orleans’ don’t you get, Dad? You’re wrong, I can’t stay here. I just…can’t. I’m way too old to be living with my dad. I need my own life.” How could she explain that looking at him day to day, seeing him healthy one minute, then gray and dying the next, was impossible to take? She’d been convinced he was going to die and had stayed with him as she’d recovered from her own injuries, but watching the color drain from his face killed her and half convinced her that she was crazy. For the love of God, staying here would only make things worse. The good news: she hadn’t seen the image for a while, over a month now, so maybe she’d read the signals wrong. Regardless, it was time to get on with her own life.
She reached into her bag for her keys. No reason to argue any further.
“Okay, okay, you’re going. I get it.” He scowled as clouds scudded low across the sky, blotting out any chance of sunlight.
“You get it? Really? After I told you, what? Like a million times?” Kristi mocked, but flashed him a smile. “See, you are a razor-sharp investigator. Just like all the papers say: local hero, Detective Rick Bentz.”
“The papers don’t know crap.”
“Another shrewd observation by the New Orleans Police Department’s ace detective.”
“Cut it out,” he muttered, but one side of his hard-carved mouth twitched into what might be construed as the barest of smiles. Shoving one hand through his hair, he glanced back at the house to Olivia, the woman who had become his rock. “Jesus, Kristi,” he said. “You’re a piece of work.”
“It’s