Sharpened fangs had elongated, filling Diego’s vision, silencing his roar of rage in an instant as Brakka had buried those teeth into his jugular, ripping a burning gash to gulp at his blood in a frenzy. He had drunk his fill like a dying man in the Sahara, but he had not killed Diego. He had offered salvation and Diego had grabbed at it, unaware of the price. Diego had never forgiven him for it either.
There was no shame in Brakka for what he had done that night, only an increasing need for violence, to feed and kill. Diego realized, as the night grew deeper, that he could not return to camp. His friend had branded him a deserter in seconds. He had weakly stumbled after Brakka into the jungle, to hidden caves, and was appalled at the lifeless, decaying bodies. Women, men, children. The repugnant stench of death had overpowered the earthen dampness that radiated through the jungle. Brakka had only sneered in contempt when Diego lost everything in his stomach twice.
There was nothing in the least bit remorseful about Brakka’s actions that night. Brakka had been given a gift and a chance to choose one to join the ranks, to prove himself among the Brethren. He had chosen Diego.
Diego had managed to keep his disgust hidden, knowing Brakka had expected gratitude, while the nightmare continued to grow over the following nights. Brakka completed the conversion, irrevocably bonding them together, but they were not friends, not anymore, not by a long shot. By the time Diego realized what had happened, learned the little that Brakka knew with his own recent change, his life was over as he knew it.
Brakka and others of the Brethren challenged him, cursed him, demanded things from Diego, but Diego had refused to kill. He would not take an innocent life to feed an appetite that was as abnormal as it was disgusting to his mind. Two nights after his most adamant refusal, Brakka disappeared into thin air. Diego had been on his own, doomed to the life he now lived. Or did not live, he ridiculed himself.
Over decades that grew into centuries, Diego had learned to survive, had learned a lot, in fact. He had witnessed fables and fantasies come to life. Great metal airplanes that flew endlessly across the sky with people inside. Carriages to cars, making the stable of prized horseflesh he had once owned obsolete. The advent of medical science, modern music, technology so small it fit in the end of a pen. The ability to speak in multiple languages to people across the world without ever leaving home with no more effort than typing on a keyboard. The scope of it still amazed him some days.
Today was not one of them.
Loneliness clawed at him unnaturally. It beat at him almost as constantly, as viciously, as the hunger. A heaviness, an unfathomable, bottomless ache proving irrevocably what he was. It was wearing him down, and he knew it.
Diego had considered giving up. He was completely alone in a cruel world. He knew if he even tried, the humans he used to stay alive would as soon tear him apart and put him under a microscope than talk to him. His last friend—this time he snarled at the thought—created him. There had been no love waiting for him in Spain. His family was gone. He had no life, no joy. His only contact with humans was to control them, and as he aged, that had become surprisingly easier, more an afterthought than an act. Evidently, the powers Brakka had called fledgling at his turning had grown with his aging. Diego was sure that for many, the abilities he had been granted in the beginning would have been reason enough to accept this travesty of a life.
He knew he was not like the others, the Brethren as they were collectively called, the few of whom he had met in a high state of caution while training with Brakka. They did not trust him, and he refused to trust others. Most avoided him completely, and that was fine with him. Diego discovered he could not agree with the Brethren’s attitude toward their food supply.
It was simple for them; death was easy, just a way to feed. The body, the person, meant nothing. The Brethren enjoyed playing with their victims, torturing them, or inciting fear and chaos with their victims through their deaths.
Diego refused to travel that paved road to true damnation, condemning the soul of an innocent life so he could live one more night. He also swore to never pass on his own curse. Once it sank in that he could live without killing, he swore he never would. He refused to ensnare a mind, watch as they offered themselves under his control, then purposely steal a life.
That was true slaughter in his mind, and Diego was not a murderer. That one sin was reserved for Brakka’s judgment.
Brakka had misjudged his appetites when he attacked Diego and made his offer. Diego had managed to keep his soul when others had lost it easily and willingly to the addictive taste of blood.
The stage before him fell into utter blackness, a smoky blanket of nothing, silencing his spiraling thoughts. Anticipation built as electricity began to hum from the depths. Diego located Brakka again, watching his engrossed behavior with his evening’s conquest. Diego snorted in disgust. What a playboy. Diego knew he was merely playing with the woman. It didn’t require effort other than mental for what they needed. Brakka had not changed at all.
A guitar broke through the crowd’s murmurs and calls, a riff of sound that brought a roar of greeting from the hyper mass on the floor surrounding the wide stage.
The stage was still as dark as the murkiest night when her voice floated out to him.
That single sound wound over his ear, entrapping him in its exotic tone. His gaze snapped from Brakka to shadows that meant nothing to him and found
her
. The woman whose voice rang true, purity unleashed.
On a beat of drums, the lights hit her, illuminating her for him and everyone else. His reaction was beyond intense. It felt like someone kicked him in the middle so hard, he almost doubled over. Except there was no physical pain, but something so powerful, he stood frozen to the ground, unable to move and feeling aflame with a rush of volcanic heat. Her arms opened wide, embracing the crowd, the night, her voice flowing, falling, finding, and filling every crevice, every ear.
Stunned at his own reactions, he knew his night had changed. He still kept an eye on Brakka. There was no way he would escape, but the woman before him on stage, she was something else entirely. There was life in her music, in the sound of the song as she lifted it over and through the crowd. She threw her arms wide once more and her voice rose higher, farther. The crowd went crazy, cheering.
He heard half the club sigh when she finished a particularly torchy, riveting song, a seductress of passion, gliding like a wraith across the stage. Her eyes beckoned, her voice entranced. She was magical. There were over a thousand people inside hanging on her every note as proof.
She was a light of constant energy, sharing handshakes with her fans, sharing in their joy, smiling to include each person as if it was a private concert.
His admiration grew at her ability to find the notes, to lift them over the people, to share her joy, her happiness, her hope and faith with each person. She was putting all of herself into the music. He could feel it, feel her in a way he had never experienced, before or after his dark life had begun.
Diego studied the beauty onstage a little more closely. Her voice carried easily between the walls, amplified but not blaring. Wave after wave floated outward from the stage, sifting, drifting over the people.
He focused to follow the tones with a shocked gaze, amazed at what he was finally seeing in the air that normal eyes never would. She was not just singing; she was sharing. She was broadcasting emotion to the crowd, uplifting feelings of hope, love, and faith. A strength he had never felt radiated from her as he discovered the glow of the golden notes rising to the ceiling, to fall to the crowd like lyrical rain.
The songs were not religious; the music was not gospel. Diego had already sought God, trying to be released from his curse. God was not to blame, and he had not been freed for his prayers either, so he had let it go. This woman’s music sounded as normal to the ear as any heard in recent decades.
It was the woman who was incredible. Curiosity winning out, he dared a delicate mind merge, only to be shocked at the amount of energy she willingly spent to do this show, to share of herself. It was draining on her, but she would never quit. To her, the sharing, the music, was her life. The lightness of his searching only gave him a shallow view into her. She knew her talents set her apart, knew she would be in danger if she was ever discovered, yet refused to let the ignorance of others rule her. She was brave as well as endlessly compassionate.
This woman was different, very different from the majority of humans he encountered. Her mind was complex, with barriers, blocks and numerous links he could not even begin to understand. She was, in short, remarkable for a human woman.
She was also strikingly beautiful, with waist-length ebony hair, shining in the stage lights as if it held the very stars of the midnight sky. She wore dark jeans and a cream-colored tank top, dressed as casually as the crowd to make herself one with them. Something new invaded his blood as he studied her. Suddenly the loneliness he had been battling for so long did not feel so ruthless.
Who is she?
The question echoed repeatedly through his thoughts.
Diego cocked his head, listening, desiring to hear more. He made himself comfortable, crossing his arms over his chest as he propped himself against the bar.
It was only a few minutes later when he felt them both. A warning, a feathery touch against his skin, and a guttural threat. Brakka was slicing through the crowd in his direction, having discovered Diego. The trap had been sprung. It surprised Diego that it took Brakka that long to realize he was there, but accepted the discovery as inevitable. Brakka would not have slipped past him regardless. Diego’s gaze shot to the stage for a split second and found hers, wide and fearful. Dark blue eyes flashed in the stage lights, and in an instant, he knew it had been her intention to keep this from happening.
He did not know how to tell her the confrontation was unavoidable and had been played out too many times to count. He trailed Brakka through the mass and out the doors after one final glimpse of her—watching him.
Titania wavered onstage.
No!
The scream echoed silently, bouncing off her mind and soul. She couldn’t let this happen. How could she stop them? She forced the notes through her throat, made herself concentrate on the music, the only thing keeping her glued to the stage.
As the last notes of her first set faded, she took a quick bow and jerked her headset free. She threw it on the nearby table, sprinting for the rear exit of the club as soon as she was clear of the stage. She followed the trail of hatred almost blindly down the hallway beyond the dressing rooms, not knowing whether anyone followed her or not. Her heart pounded harder than any stage fright could cause by the time she reached the metal rear door.
She had to stop this! She’d nearly come undone twice onstage, feeling the absolute hatred. The one who came in later had been indifferent about it, patient. Accepting. Didn’t he realize he was going to die? Didn’t he know he was in danger?
The door slammed against the outside wall when she charged into the back alley parking lot. She whirled on a heel, ignoring the damp night air. Her lungs burned. The raging weight she’d felt before she’d stepped foot on the stage increased when the nauseating feeling of the coldness invaded her. Barriers she’d meticulously constructed crumbled like sand castles in the surf. Tears clouded her vision, and sparks began to flare when the onslaught of emotions blindsided her.
“No!” she shouted, flinging herself at the back of the man closest to her. He barely staggered under her attack.
Her hand slid down his arm, slick and sticky at the same time. She clung like a monkey, a single arm latched around his throat, her entire weight centered behind heaving shoulders. She almost shriveled into a withered pile on the spot. She’d hit the right one.
“What the hell?” he snarled from beneath her. He whirled with twists, trying to dislodge her, but she held on with every muscle she had. She swallowed the shriek of pain when the man she gripped yanked at her hair, determined to peel her loose. She clawed into him, her eyes pinched shut against the blistering agony.
“What is the matter, Brakka? Have you not learned how to handle your women?” came a cool taunt directed at the man she clung to.
“Get this bitch off me!”
She took a deep breath, ready to scream her heart out, when the man beneath her went stock still.
“Brakka,” came that same calm, cultured voice. “I suggest you leave. We will finish this another night.”
She forced her watering eyes open, managing to make out a thin, sharp point pressed into Brakka’s throat. Her gasping was haggard in her ears.
“This is not over,” the one called Brakka threatened, his voice iced and graveled, retribution unmistakable. She blinked dazedly when she found herself crumpled on the damp ground. The man she had jumped had vanished from… She shivered, stunned and chilled.
“Are you all right?” The gentle kindness of the man’s hand lifted her chin. “You are either incredibly stupid or the bravest woman I have ever met.”
“Stupid, trust me,” she panted. “I couldn’t let him…” She collapsed further into a ball on a sob. “Oh, God.”
Kneeling in front of her, he pulled her against him. “You are fine.”
She arched away sharply, her gaze clearing immediately. “You’re bleeding! He hurt you. He was going to kill you.” Her hands pressed against several slices in his chest.
“I will be fine. Unfortunately, whenever we meet, neither seems to win.”
“This has happened before?” She stared up at his strong features, his eyes as bright as crystals in the darkness.
“Many, many times,” he intoned. He held out a hand. His fingers were warm on her skin when he brought her to her feet. “Tell me your name,
cara
.”
She gulped in the damp night air. “Titania.”
“Beautiful.” He brushed her mangled hair away from her face. “Thank you for saving my life.”
She couldn’t repel the rolling quakes that slid down her arms to continue down her legs. She still shook, remnants of the anger and hatred she’d been absorbing since the night began riding over taut nerves. “You knew, didn’t you?”
“I always know when Brakka is nearby.” His head snapped up. “I need to go. Your friends are coming.”
“But you’re hurt!” She didn’t even know how he remained standing.
He put a firm hand on her shoulder, pushing her toward the building. “Go, Titania. I will be fine.”
Her gaze swept up and down his body, unconvinced. There were numerous seeping wounds along his torso and a long, garish slice down his arm. At least it looked like the bleeding was slowing on most of them.
His voice lowered, becoming something intimate between the two of them. “I could never lie to you, Titania. I will be fine.”
“You’re in a gang, aren’t you? A drug lord. Great. Now I’m going to wake up in bed dead some afternoon.”
He laughed a deep sound. “No to all of that.”
“Tani! Where the hell are you?” Two heads swung around at Houston’s anxious shouts.
She turned to face the tall man again and found he was gone. She stood alone, her sweeping gaze finding not even a hint that he had been there. She staggered a step on weak legs, her hand rising to stifle the cry that bubbled up in her throat. He had disappeared! Just like Brakka had vanished.
“I didn’t even get his name,” she muttered, beginning to shake uncontrollably, saying anything to keep herself grounded, to hear her own voice.
This is not happening. They did not disappear like ghosts.
She knew that.
She quietly shrieked when his voice whispered over her like a soothing caress.
“
Diego, cara.”
“Stop that!” she hissed. Her legs buckled, planting her on damp ground, her head pillowed on crossed arms. Now her imagination was talking to her—in his voice!
“Tani, damn it, are you back here?” Houston sounded very anxious now. She looked at her surroundings and realized she was in the darkest shadows of the building. Stupid didn’t even begin to describe what she had done.
“Back here,” she called, swallowing when her voice cracked and trembled.
She heard their running steps right before Laney screamed. Both landed on their knees next to her. “Ambulance,” Houston choked out. “You’re covered in blood.”
“It’s not mine.” The words tumbled from her, trying to reassure them, fighting to sound stronger than she felt. The chatter of her teeth didn’t put up a believable front. “I’m fine.”
Houston enfolded her into his arms, searching over his shoulder. “David, go tell them we’re canceling the rest of the show. We’ll do a makeup later in the month if we have time.”
She heard David’s concerned tone in answer, then his jogging feet as he left them to do as Houston asked.
“What the hell happened, Tani? We thought you went to your room to rest.” Houston hugged her close. She could hear the racing of his heart beneath her ear.
“I’m sorry. I had to stop them.”
“Them? Where are they?” Houston demanded. “Christ, Tani! Look at yourself. You’re a wreck.”
“Houston, lay off. She’s still shaking,” Laney said, rebuking him. She put a comforting hand on Titania’s arm.
“Brakka ran. Diego was here until just before you rounded the corner.” To her mind that sounded plausible. Telling them they’d both vanished like mist on the air didn’t.
“Did you stop for tea to get to know each other or something?” His anger and fear were barely concealed in the whip of sarcasm. Houston continued to search the surrounding darkness, but it was just the three of them.
She described her attempt to stop them, finishing with, “Diego told me his name when he said thank you. He left when we heard you. He was bleeding. He needed care.” She sagged into his shoulder, relief making her limp to be safe after touching the evil in that other man.
He nodded once, saying, “Let’s get to the hotel. You need to get cleaned up.” Houston stood, helping Titania to her feet. Laney took her other side, wrapping her close. Houston let out a sigh. “Next time you want to take on someone, let me know. You scared ten years off me. Your mother will kill me if anything happens to you.”
“I’m fine,” she reiterated. She offered them a wobbly smile. “See?”
“Faker,” he accused, but he didn’t argue any more.
Titania let Houston and Laney coddle her, getting her unseen into her hotel room. She almost fainted when she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror, covered and streaked with blood.
No wonder Houston lost it.
She palmed the snarled length of hair behind her, grimacing at the soggy dirt and grime. “Shower,” she told her reflection. She stripped and climbed in, sagging under the hot water, exhaustion and more overpowering her. All at once, she began to shake as the night crashed into her.
She needed to purge the overflow of emotional signals out of her system. The constant torment onstage, punishing her mental barriers without respite. The strangled incapability to help. There had even been the strong ebb and flow of Diego’s loneliness, twisted and warped because Brakka had been so overwhelming.
Tears fell unheeded down her face. The hottest water she could stand coursed over her. Sobs wracked her body. The aftermath of enduring such strong emotions for so long engulfed her. She’d never been exposed for so long to someone so…evil. So empty.
“Cara,
please, do not cry.”
She screamed at the sound of the voice, leaping so hard, so fast in the shower, she crashed against the wall.
“How are you talking to me?” Her voice shook with a fear she’d never tasted.
“I can feel your distress.”
“How?” she choked, her teeth chattering.
“I have touched your mind.”
It was a simple explanation, and it terrified Titania.
“You touched me? Oh, God,” she whimpered. “I thought I imagined your…” She licked her lips. “Your voice.” She peeked beyond the curtain with trembling fingers, but the small bathroom remained empty, the door closed tight.
She stopped the water, her eyes roving constantly as she yanked a towel from the hanging rod to wrap herself in.
“Where are you?” she asked hesitantly.
“I am near the club.”
“And you can still talk to me?” Her damp skin chilled. She scooped the curtain out of her way and plopped down on the tub’s edge, her legs refusing to hold her.
“I could not ignore your pain. You are suffering because of me. You helped me.”
She heard the note of wonderment in his tone, and felt a little less threatened by the unusual contact. “I had to,” she admitted very quietly.
“And I am in your debt. You will now and always be under my protection.”
She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“It is not important this evening. Rest, Titania.”
She was exhausted. Her entire body trembled in waves a few minutes later when she managed to get her feet beneath her once more. Cautiously, she opened the door outward to her suite, searching every corner, only to find an empty room.
She dropped the towel and tugged on a T-shirt to sleep in with rushed jerks. She knew it was only her but she never felt completely alone, as if someone waited just behind her. There wasn’t a threatening feeling to it, but it was a foreign sensation. She didn’t understand it.