Nightwalker. Connie Hall
being attacked at her home, hiring Takala to accompany her to Paris. She, too, was afraid of something, but that was a gray area, and he knew he’d hit a charmed part of her brain. He concentrated, fully pouring all his force into her, but he could not break the weaver spell. He’d never come up against such powerful magic. Raithe had outdone himself. Striker would just have to wait and see who she was meeting in Paris.
He erased her memory of their encounter, then he left her. He acknowledged Katalinga on his way back to his seat. Then he spotted Brawn in coach, watching a movie. He sat between two elderly women, who were asleep, one snoring like a jackhammer. Striker had used astral projection, so Brawn hadn’t been able to follow his movements, but he could see Brawn clearly now, and they exchanged a glance.
After another section, he found his aisle seat. A woman with a young daughter slept in the seat beside his, the little girl nestled up next to her mother.
Striker put back on the cap and sunglasses and sat down. He heard the bathroom door open, then smelled the scent of Takala Rainwater’s blood before she walked past him. It was a brand of O positive that he would never be able to get out of his mind. She looked perfectly normal, oblivious to him. She kept gazing at the phone in her hand as if she couldn’t quite figure out why she was holding it.
She moved past him with an air of graceful invincibility, and he fought the desire to follow her. He had remained desensitized for so long, this sudden attraction was more than unnerving. He watched the sway of her slim hips and remembered the heat of her lips and body, the pulsing of her jugular beneath her lovely skin. He wrestled with the desire to extend his fangs, but instead turned and looked out the airplane window. All he could see was darkness and hints of the moon drifting in and out behind clouds. No reflection of himself, only a cap and glasses floating in open space. But he knew if he had one what he would see: a vampire fighting for control. He gripped the arms of his chair so hard he heard the metal crunching. He let go and frowned. Somehow he would conquer this attraction to her.
Takala noticed that Lilly was still sleeping, and the one other passenger in first class hadn’t moved positions. The lady had the seat all the way reclined, and she slept on her right side. Harmless enough. Takala sat down as quietly as possible and put the phone back in the cradle. Her hands were trembling. What was up with that?
She felt odd, too. Shaky. Her heart beat wildly as if she’d just run a marathon. Her lips felt strange. She touched them and flinched. They were sensitive and swollen as if she’d been kissed. Something had happened to her back there in the bathroom, but what?
She concentrated, trying to recall her last memory. Talking to Stephen … suddenly losing the connection. What had he said? Stay away from Nightwalker. Could she really trust Nightwalker’s word if he had warned her to beware of someone? Well, she didn’t have much confidence that Lilly wasn’t a killer. She couldn’t get close to Lilly or reveal who she was until she was certain of her character. And something told her Nightwalker would stop at nothing if he wanted someone dead. And he was a vampire, for heaven’s sake. Even Fala had warned her not to trust a vamp. So, at the moment, she had no faith or trust in anyone but herself. And her memory was playing tricks on her.
She wished she had her Glock, but after Homeland Security put her through an hour of rigorous red tape, scrutinizing her background, her concealed permit, and her private investigator’s license, they still made her check the weapon. It was in the cargo hold under lock and key, and she’d have to wait until touching down to get it. She hoped to get it past French security.
Something about not having her weapon made her nervous. She reclined her seat and closed her eyes, trying to remember those moments she’d lost. For some reason her mind conjured up the image of Nightwalker. Something about him nagged at her. She gave up trying to think about it and felt wide awake.
She pulled out a piece of peanut-butter fudge from the bag and one of the tiny bottles of rum she had stashed from the last stewardess round. If she couldn’t sleep, at least she could have a snack. When she opened the rum, the smell of it wafted through her senses. She took a long, deep sniff, and the scent brought back a feeling of terror. Must be her nerves working overtime. She downed the bottle.
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