They reached New York by early afternoon and while Nick and Riley hurried to their apartment to see Damian and Chloe, Nyanther made his way down to the next floor. He was dying to wash the stink of gargoyle off his skin, even though most of the stench was in his imagination. Being near the demon-spawned beasts always made him feel unclean and that was a good enough excuse to rid the world of all of them, as far as he was concerned.
He stripped off his clothes in the borrowed bedroom and took a long shower. At this time of day, Sabrina was at work and no one else needed the water. Hot showers were still the peak of human civilization, in his estimation. So were flushing toilets, although he had little use for those, while showers were a luxury that cost barely anything.
Still dripping, he padded back to his bedroom and sorted out the clothes from the weapons in his bag. Thanks to the high security scanning at airports these days he had been forced to leave his favorite weapons behind in Scotland. Blades of any sort, though, were easy to acquire, especially in New York. He had found a replica Roman sword his first day here and while he didn’t like using the preferred weapon of an old enemy, it was a good length for tucking away in the bag. Also, the workmanship and balance of the sword was good. Whoever had built it had known what they were doing. The blade was still long enough to reach the soft part of a gargoyle brain, too.
“You do it deliberately, don’t you?” Sabrina said from the door.
He spun around, genuinely started. He had let down his guard. He hadn’t heard her at all.
She was standing in the open doorway, her shoulder against the frame and her arms crossed.
Then he realized what she was doing. This was some sort of pay back for the day they had met, when he had tried to apologize and fucked it up.
“You’re supposed to be at work,” he pointed out.
“You’re supposed to be dressed, when your door is open.” She was barefoot and her hair was messy. The slim pants she wore were far more casual than her work clothes. Had she been sleeping? It seemed all the humans he knew were short on sleep lately.
Nyanther went back to sorting and folding, piling the weapons to one side.
“I heard you killed one,” she said.
He looked over his shoulder. “Riley told you that?”
“Text, early this morning.”
He really should get a phone. People used them far more in America than they did in Scotland, where conversation still happened face to face more often.
“Can you at least put on a pair of pants?” she complained.
“You’re in my room,” he reminded her.
“In my apartment.”
“It’s not your apartment,” he shot back. “Why are you here, anyway?”
“Perhaps I like playing with fire.”
He hesitated, then finished folding the shirt and put it on the pile. His heart stirred sluggishly. “Not you,” he said slowly. “You’re the one who wants to beat the world at its own game, just to get even for your childhood. Playing with fire would upset your plans.”
“Maybe I’ve had my plans changed for me.”
He looked at her, startled by more than her bitter words. She had moved across the room and was now just behind him. She had distracted him so much he hadn’t noticed her movements.
“What did happen to you on Monday?” he demanded. What could have been so dire she would throw a long-cherished dream away with both hands like this?
“It was the day before you kissed me,” she said.
Nyanther shook his head. “No, that’s not it.”
“It did happen.” She was way too close now. “I remember it well.”
He took a step back, his body tightening. She smelled far too good and he was completely exposed. “Go back to your room,” he said shortly.
“Maybe I want another kiss.”
“I need to feed,” he lied, knowing the reminder of his vampire nature would disturb her enough to make her forget whatever she was planning to do…and his body seemed to know exactly what she wanted. His cock stirred, giving him away.
Ah well, she was sophisticated enough to appreciate the compliment. He hoped.
She was looking down at his thighs, absorbing the truth. Her intense stare only made him harder. She didn’t reach for him. Instead, her fingers curled into small fists by her sides.
“You don’t want me in your life,” he said quickly, keeping his voice low so she wouldn’t mistake his intentions. “Trust me on this. I was wrong to tease you yesterday. And Monday, too. I didn’t understand you properly and I thought I had you completely figured out. That makes me a fool, for which I apologize. The rest…you’ll just have to take on trust. I am the last man…the last thing…you want happening to your life. I’ll destroy it in a way your shitty childhood barely managed.”
Her gaze was direct and steady. “You weren’t teasing. Not yesterday. Not when you kissed me.”
He was usually better at lying. Or else she was better at sensing the truth than he thought, which fit with everything he had learned about her. Sabrina was a mass of contradictions, cemented together by the unexpected.
He wasn’t going to admit the truth to her, not about the kiss. Not that he had engineered the moment just so he could kiss her. And certainly not that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the kiss since he’d taken it.
Instead, he changed the subject. Well, it was sort of a change of subject. It was still about her and about the kiss, only she wouldn’t recognize it as even being related. “The man you bedded on Monday night. You said his name was Jake?”
She blinked and drew in a breath. He’d broken the moment. Good.
“Why?”
“You really did toss him back into the ocean?” he asked.
“A fishing analogy? From you?”
“My people lived by the sea,” he said defensively. “Sometimes,” he amended, for they had gone fishing only when they were hungry enough to battle the stronger tribes who claimed the sea for their own. He shook it off. “A man who would one day run his own corporation, you said.” He couldn’t help adding; “The perfect husband material for your daydreams.”
“Except for the complications in his life,” she replied.
You have no idea how right you are. “You’ve got good instincts,” he said. “You’re probably right about him.”
“I’m never going to find out. My boss took me off the Summerfield portfolio this morning.” She shrugged.
“I’m sorry.” He was.
“It’s on me. I’m the one who fucked up.” Then she grinned. It was a charming little quirk of her mouth and a twinkle in her eye that was almost irresistible. “Literally,” she added.
Nyanther laughed. It was pulled out of him unexpectedly. Contradictions. Unexpectedness. If only he could spare a few years to plumb the depths of her….
Regretfully, he turned and picked up the fresh pair of jeans and shook them out, then slid his legs into them. “I have to drive out to Long Beach,” he said. “We have loose ends to clean up after dealing with Bero last night…this morning, I should say.”
“That’s why you’re packing weapons?” she asked. Then she held up her hand. “You know what? I don’t want to know. It’s murky in your world.” Then her face fell. “Shit, it’s murky in mine, now, too. I thought I had this all figured out.”
Nyanther slid his arms into a shirt, tossed one of the smaller knives into the bag and zipped it up. Then he kissed her temple because he couldn’t resist touching her even in some small way. “You’re strong,” he told her. “You’ll figure it out. I have no doubt you will get exactly what you want, in the end.”
“As long as it isn’t you,” she replied and sighed.
“I’m not what you want. You must believe me.”
“So you said. You don’t really need to feed at all, do you?”
She had seen through that lie as well. Nyanther sighed. “And that’s why you don’t want me in your life.” He went to the door and just as she had done with him, he took the last word. “Keep your dreams,” he told her. “They’re good dreams.” Then he got the hell out of there before the tiny edge of his self-control crumbled completely.
Long Island should be far enough away from her to be safe.
* * * * *
The Hamptons were only two hours’ drive from Manhattan, yet it was so utterly different from the stone canyons of New York it might have been on the other side of the continent. Nyanther had heard about Long Island before, although he had only listened with half his attention. Beaches were for catching fish to feed a tribe, not for sunning and dipping into the water. It seemed unnatural. He’d chosen, instead, to live among the highlands, where the sun was watery at best for most of the year. At least he could concentrate on his work, there.
Here, though, the sun was bright and bounced off the water in an irritating way that made Nyanther wish he had sunglasses. He’d never owned a pair.
Once he turned off the highway, following the direction Jake Summerfield had given him, he started to spot beach sand. Lots of it. There were low bushes anchoring some of the flat land, while the almost completely white sand claimed every other square inch. It was dry and blowing across the road in places. The sea was rolling in big waves right next to the road. Seagulls soared overhead and there was a strong wind pushing at the car, making him constantly adjust the steering wheel.
Houses were few and far apart and none of them were the manicured mansions he had passed earlier. Beach houses, mostly. All of them were modest in size.
Jake’s house was tucked in among bushes that looked as though they had been allowed to grow wild, right up to the house itself. There was no formal garden. The driveway was a narrow gravel path pushing through the bushes, ending in a wider spot where a Jeep was parked. The Jeep’s top was down.
Nyanther parked next to it and got out. Instantly, the scent of salt and seaweed assailed him and he wrinkled his nose and sampled the air. The wind was dispersing the more interesting scents. There was a dead animal to the west, something domestic, possibly a cat. There had been humans nearby recently, probably on the beach. The desiccated salt and dried weeds, along with the acidic scent of the bushes all around him drowned out everything else.
The sound of the surf was loud and rhythmic, muffling all other sound except for the wind.
He was wrong, he decided. This was a different world, yet it shared the same wild elements as the highlands. Civilization had not yet tamed it. Not all of it.
“Hey, you found the place.”
Nyanther looked up at the house. It was clad in gray siding, with white trim and a deep verandah wrapped around the three sides he could see. Maybe even the fourth, too. The basement level was built up high, putting the main floor and the verandah nearly ten feet above the white sand. There was a big set of stairs leading up to the verandah. Nyanther spotted a path leading through the bushes to the stairs.
Jake was standing on the verandah, looking down at him. His appearance was considerably different from the last time Nyanther had seen him. No suit, no combat clothes. He was wearing jeans so old and faded they were nearly white and the knees were white and looked thin enough to see through. His shirt was white cotton, short sleeved and billowing around his torso in the breeze.
He was wearing sunglasses.
Nyanther shut the door, went around to the trunk and opened it. Now he was here, he understood why Jake had not been concerned about them bringing his duffel bag of equipment here. There was no one anywhere around to take any notice of a heavy bag being toted into the house. “This isn’t what I was expecting,” he told Jake, hauling out the bag and closing the trunk.
“They let you drive?” Jake said. “Do you find it hard?”
“I have to concentrate when I’m turning left, especially at busy intersections,” Nyanther admitted. He hauled the bag through the bushes to the steps and climbed up.
Jake moved around the verandah to meet him at the top and take the bag. “Thanks for this,” he said, hefting it. “If I had more time to spare, I’d drive everywhere, too.”
“We all have to keep up a human appearance,” Nyanther said. “You’ll get used to it.”
Jake shook his head. “Once the gargoyles are dead, I’m done. I can’t go for too much longer, living this way. I’m spread too thin as it is.”
Startled, Nyanther considered him. The sunglasses hid his eyes and it was difficult to tell what he was thinking without seeing them. He really thought this was a one-time thing? It seemed like a naïve idea.
Nyanther kept his mouth shut. He wasn’t here to piss Jake off.
“Come in. I just made tea.”
“That I can’t drink,” Nyanther reminded him.
“That’s fine, I’ll drink yours,” Jake said. “This way.”
Along the entire length of the verandah were narrow, old-style French doors, with shutters on the lower half and glass with white leading on the top. All the doors stood open, inviting in the breeze. The paintwork was faded and worn away in spots.
The wooden verandah flooring continued uninterrupted into the inside of the house. It did look like it wrapped around all four sides, too. Nyanther stepped gratefully into the interior, away from the bright sunlight, which had begun to be uncomfortable.
“If it’s too cold for you, I’ll shut the doors,” Jake said, dumping the bag on the floor in the corner of the room and taking off the sunglasses.
Nyanther just looked at him. Now he could see his eyes. Again, he was startled by their coloring.
“You don’t feel the cold?” Jake guessed.
“Or heat. Direct, hot sunlight bothers me, though.”
Jake nodded. “Right. You have to remember I’m new at this.”
“It shows,” Nyanther assured him. “I don’t have to remember.”
Jake grinned. “Ouch. Okay, if I’m making an asshole of myself because I’m breaking some rule or protocol or something, tell me, huh? I get the impression there are a lot of rules.”
“There are no rules,” Nyanther assured him. “There are a lot of things you do if you don’t want to end up dead. Not pissing off vampires is just one.”
Jake picked up a big mug from a rickety side table and sipped, while Nyanther looked around.
Most of this level of the house was taken up by one big room and the French doors made up two and a half of the four walls. In high summer, it would be very pleasant. Even now, with the wind shifting the air through the room and the sound of the waves barely fifty yards away, it was very nice.
It just wasn’t what Nyanther had expected to see. This wasn’t the sort of house a Summerfield would live in, even as a weekend getaway. The worn paint, which didn’t look like it had been artistically weathered for effect, the rough wood and the poor furnishings told a different story.
The sofa was low to the ground and covered in a rough-spread, brightly colored blanket. Loose cushions made up the back of it and Nyanther wondered if it was a sofa at all. It was possibly a mattress, covered up. Did Jake sleep there?
The side table looked like a garage sale or junk yard find, with chipped paint and worn edges, although the lines of the legs were graceful.
There was very little other furniture. An ottoman in front of the sofa seemed to be the only other extra seating in the room. Right now it was being used as a coffee table, for a big tray sat on it and what looked like the remains of breakfast in a bowl, with a spoon in it.
There was a simple kitchen up against the fourth solid wall, with a sink, a tiny amount of counter space, a small fridge and a range. It was the barest of necessities.
There was no television, no dining table and no other chairs.
“No books,” Nyanther added, aloud.
Jake picked up an iPad from the side table and waved it. “Yes, there is.”
Nyanther looked at the spiral staircase in the corner by the kitchenette. It was made of wood and looked as old as the rest of the house and just as worn. The tight, sinuous curve snaking upward made him think of the big iron staircase in Sabrina’s apartment. He closed down the thought and shoved it away.
“There are no chairs for company,” he pointed out.
“This is my place,” Jake said. “No one else gets to come here.”
“Ah.” Nyanther looked around once more, taking in the surfboards leaning up against the verandah railing and the wind chime tinkling musically, in the corner next to them. “This is the real you, then.”
“I suppose.” He said it cautiously.
“The business suit is a lie,” Nyanther pointed out. “The knife and the combat boots are temporary, according to you. Here, where no one comes, you can be yourself and this is what I find.” He waved his hand, taking in the room, the verandah and the beach beyond. “If this was the sixties, I’d call you a hippie.”
Jake grinned. “That’s a new one. My family uses different names.”
“‘Lay about’?” Nyanther guessed.
“‘Useless’, mostly,” Jake replied. “I’ve heard ‘a waste of oxygen’, too.”
“Are you?”
Jake’s expression grew darker and his eyes stormy. “I found out what really happened to my parents. It took twenty years, but I did it. I’ve killed two of the bastards and I fully intend to kill the rest. No, I don’t think I’m useless.” He let out a breath. “They’re never going to know, though.”
“Then you’ve figured that much out for yourself. Good,” Nyanther said. “If there’s a rule at all in our world, that’s it.”
“No one must know?” Jake shrugged. “There will be no need for anyone to know, once I’ve killed them all.”
“Once we have killed them,” Nyanther emphasized. “You’re not alone in this anymore. Although, in the interests of keeping up appearances, why aren’t you in your high rise office right now?”
Jake scowled. “I went to the board meeting. I couldn’t stand it after that. I came out here as soon as I could get away from the damn place. I needed to sleep, at least for an hour or so.”
“You have an apartment in New York, don’t you?”
“That’s for work,” Jake said shortly.
“And for women, I suppose.”
Jake’s eyes narrowed. “Of course,” he said flatly. He had suddenly grown cautious. Nyanther could see it in the stiffness in his shoulders and the stillness of his body.
“You’re never tempted to tell the women about your secret life?” Nyanther pressed. “Whisper of your deeds and see the admiration in their eyes?”
“That’s not why I’m hunting gargoyles,” Jake said, his voice flat. He was growing angry.
“It would be a nice side benefit,” Nyanther pointed out.
“Shit, you don’t know me at all.” Jake pushed his hand through his hair, making the blond locks fall forward over his eyes. “I let them see the limousine and they just about fall into my lap. Most of the time, I don’t even need to do that. My family name is enough. Why would I share the one real thing in my life with them?”
Nyanther held up his hand. “I had to make sure,” he explained.
“That was a lesson?” Now he was truly angry. “How dare you?”
His fury triggered Nyanther into moving. Fast. He plucked the cup out of Jake’s barely moving hand, dumped it back on the table, then gripped his shirt in his fist and made himself slow down to human speed.
Jake’s eyes widened. “Fuck…!” he whispered. “I didn’t even see you do that.”
“Just one of a vampire’s many advantages over a human,” Nyanther growled. He shook him. Just a little. “There are no rules in this world you’re in, Jacob Summerfield. There’s no school, no college, no textbooks. No membership card or monthly dues. You’re in it now, whether you like it or not. Lessons are how we help each other survive, so if one of us who has survived for hundreds of your lifetime chooses to share their experience with you, you should be grateful and accept the wisdom, because it will help you avoid an early death. A senseless death really would make you useless.”
Jake swallowed. “Okay. I’m sorry.”
Jake’s body heat was radiating against Nyanther, the warm glow of a furnace in comparison to his coolness. Over his shoulder, Nyanther could just glimpse the curve of the stairs, for Jake really was the same height as him. Again, Nyanther tried to shut down the reminders and shunt the seductive thoughts away.
Was that why he kissed him? Possibly. He pressed his lips against Jake’s, his fist caught between their chests, his grip on Jake’s shirt holding him steady for Nyanther’s kiss.
As soon as their mouths met, Nyanther understood this wasn’t just a distraction from moody thoughts. How long as he had been subconsciously sizing Jake up? Measuring him? Had it started when Jake had slid onto the bench next to him in the diner, all fresh and slick from his shower? Or had it been earlier? In the forest, when Jake was standing over his kill, breathing hard?
Thought faded and the kiss intensified. Jake wasn’t fighting him and that made it better. Tentatively, Nyanther touched Jake’s lips with his tongue. He heard someone groan and realized it was him. His control was slipping, which was almost unheard of.
Jake shoved him away with surprising strength and staggered back, bringing the back of his hand up to his mouth and wiping. “I don’t…I’m not….” He swallowed.
Nyanther leaned forward and stroked his fingers along the hard ridge of flesh beneath Jake’s jeans. “Yes, you are,” he said flatly and let his hand drop. “Lesson number two. Self-denial is a luxury only humans can afford.” He moved over to the little side table, picked up the iPad and tapped through the screens quickly to find what he was looking for.
“I am human,” Jake pointed out. His voice was hoarse.
“You’re more than human, now,” Nyanther replied. “When you’ve accepted that, you can find me here.” He hefted the iPad, then put it back on the table. “Or you can come hunting with us on the weekend. We’re heading back north. It’s your call.”
Then he made himself leave before his disintegrating control disappeared altogether. He climbed back into the rental, his temper building. What was wrong with him? He had left the door open, when he should have shut Jake down, apologized and moved on. Playing with Jake this way was just as unfair as the long, sweaty nights he had thought of giving Sabrina. Neither of them deserved to get entangled in his life when his time was so short.