Dark Fire by Christine Feehan. Dark Series – book 6

It seemed Darius was far more trustworthy than any human she had met as yet. Not that that did her much good right now, wherever he was. Oh, Lord, she didn’t even want to know where he was. What if he really slept in a coffin? The idea gave her the willies. He had men­tioned going to ground. What did he mean by that?

Don’t think about it, Tempest. That will make you as crazy as this nutcase. Keep focused here. Stay with what’s important.

Matt Brodrick was watching her, his eyes narrowed and mean. “I know they need human servants to watch over them during the day. That’s what you are. Where are they?”

“You need help, Brodrick. Seriously, you need intense therapy.” She wondered if Darius knew the reporter had been involved in the attempt on Desari’s life.

“You’re one of them,” Brodrick accused her again. “You help me find them while they’re sleeping, or I’ll have to destroy you.”

Tempest was wading faster downstream while Brodrick kept pace along the bank. Her heart seemed to be racing as fast as the water itself. “The truth is, you’ve told me too much already, Brodrick. You have no other choice but to kill me. I’m not about to tell you where Darius and Desari or the other members of the band are, but they aren’t in coffins, and I’m not about to help you put them there.”

His lip drew back in an ugly snarl. “Did you know one of the band members disappeared some months ago? I think they killed him. He probably wasn’t one of them, and they were just using him for blood until he ran dry.”

“You have a sick mind, Brodrick.” Tempest was look­ing around frantically for a way to get free of him. They were so secluded, and she was certain she had left the perimeter of safety Darius was always on her about. If she ever got out of this mess, he’d likely give her a lec­ture she’d never forget.

She sent her mind seeking into the forest, the sky, calling on the aid of the animals in the general vicinity, needing information, an impression of a hiding place nearby. Brodrick was mumbling to himself, angry with her for not doing as he wished. Very slowly, he withdrew a small revolver. “I think you’d better reconsider.”

Tempest could feel the pull of the current on her legs. It was much stronger now, the water louder, more ag­gressive. She didn’t want to run into any unexpected waterfalls, and she was afraid that, or rapids, was where she was heading. She waded to the opposite bank from Brodrick, although still within easy range of his gun. She was still barefoot, her shoes strung around her neck by the laces. What an attractive way to die, she decided. And who else would get caught shoeless when she had to make a break for it across the rocky, uneven ground? What was it about her that attracted trouble?

Far above the bird screamed again, a high-pitched, unusual cry. She instantly received the impression of a steep cliff. She was out of the water, back pedaling quickly, keeping her eyes warily on the gun. It never wavered from her heart, though Brodrick didn’t follow her across the fast-moving stream. Evidently he didn’t want to get his shiny shoes wet.

His first shot reverberated loudly. A bullet whined close to her ear and kicked up dirt and pine needles several feet behind her. Tempest stumbled backward but refused to run. The rocks underfoot were sharp, tearing at her soles. The lacerations barely registered, though as a second shot had her backpedaling again, moving as fast as she could, her gaze riveted on the ugly little gun.

Time seemed to slow down. She could see individual leaves rustling in the faint wind, hear the bird overhead scream its warning. She even noticed the way Brodrick’s eyes became flat and cold. She kept moving backward.

“Why are you doing this? What if you’re wrong? Then you have killed an innocent person because you think her traveling companions are vampires. I’m out here in the hot sun, in broad daylight. Doesn’t that tell you any­thing?” She tried to buy herself time.