Night Falls on the Wicked

SEVEN

Niklas walked swiftly through the snow, his booted feet hitting the snow-covered pavement hard, as if each step could jar some sense into his head and remind him of his purpose here.

He cut through the murky, purple air. Night was falling. They were somewhere close, ready to strike again. This time, he’d be there. He lifted his face and breathed in. It was there. A trace of Cyprian and the rest of them. The sickly sweet scent of blood always clung to them and stayed behind on the air.

This was the part he hated. The waiting. The tense holding of his breath as he listened, as he felt, scenting the night air, letting his instincts guide him.

He cast a glance over his shoulder at the brightly lit diner fading behind him. A steady stream of people continued to enter the establishment. The usual dinner crowd combined with those morbidly curious about the murdered waitress.

In the future, he would eat somewhere else—if he didn’t catch them tonight, of course. He still had tomorrow night though. Certain waitresses were simply far too distracting. He breathed in. He could still smell her. Clean skin and fresh vanilla. He wondered if she tasted the same. He shook his head as if he could dislodge the thought with the fierce motion. She fogged his head with needful thoughts. Thoughts of tangled limbs and sinking himself inside her softness.

He’d thought it was a good idea to eat there considering the pack’s latest victim had worked there. He thought he might find out some information, although he probably knew more than anyone else about what exactly was going on. He sure as hell knew that the local wolves hadn’t gone on a killing spree. He knew that. And so did she.

Darby. The waitress. She wasn’t all that she appeared to be.

As curious as he was about her, as interesting as he found her, he needed to forget her. He was here for one reason and it didn’t involve getting entangled with a woman.

He swung his gaze upward. A latticework of branches lining the sidewalk blocked his view of the sky, but he didn’t need to see it to know. He could feel it, in the pull and itch of his own flesh, in the hum of his bones. There wasn’t much time left.

He located his Hummer at the end of the block. Shooting a glance around his shoulder, he made sure no one was about as he popped his trunk and armed himself with additional weapons.

It was time to hunt.

Closing the trunk, he took off running, diving between buildings. He followed his gut, not using his eyes but that sixth sense he’d possessed since he was sixteen and his world changed forever.

As dusk turned into night, he left the town behind. The blood rushed in his veins as he ran through snow-draped woods. His racing steps were silent in the hush of the forest. An animal of the night, he surrendered to his instincts, all stealth and speed, as dangerous as that which he hunted.

Their howls soon filled the night. Distant, but he followed the sounds, jumping over a frozen creek and vaulting over a five-foot drift of snow.

Their howls grew frenzied and he knew they were closing in on prey. He ran harder, pushing himself. Cocking his head, he inhaled the ripe scent of them on the air and stopped abruptly. Pressing a palm to a nearby tree, he leaned close to the frozen bark and inhaled.

One of them had passed here, brushed against the very spot his hand touched. He dropped to a crouch and assessed the ground. Fresh snow covered it, but he ran fingers through the powdery white anyway, sensing they’d passed over this ground.

Suddenly the howls stopped, swiftly dying in the air. And he knew they’d found their prey.

He took off again, grunting as he vaulted over frozen ground, jumping off a steep craggy hill and landing in a roll until he was on his feet again. The silence told its own story and he ran until his chest hurt. The sound of running water reached his ears.

He broke through the trees and jerked to a halt at its bank. Immediately the tang of freshly spilled blood hit him, powerful and cloying. His gaze zeroed in on the human remains scattered near the side of the partially frozen river. Blood covered the snow for several feet, staining it a deep red so dark it nearly looked black.

He was too late. They’d fed and he was too late. They were gone.

DARBY STAYED LATER THAN usual, helping clean up. But then it had been an unusual night, starting with the news of Corey’s death and the diner’s sudden surge of business, and then ending with her encounter with the stranger. Another encounter. It seemed odd at this point that she still didn’t know his name.

As she headed out the back door, she was too tired to think about heating up a can of soup as she’d planned. Even though her stomach rumbled in hunger, weariness won out. Her bed with its electric blanket tempted her more than the prospect of hot chicken noodle.

As she moved along the short walk to the wooden stairs that led to the upstairs loft, the wind suddenly blew a fierce hiss. The sound reminded her of an angry beast … and she’d met a few of those in her life to know. Goose bumps puckered her flesh.

She stopped and looked around. No one else lurked outside. For some reason, she thought about the stranger and his warning to not wander around at night. Not that there was much help for what she was doing—not if she wanted to sleep in her own bed tonight.

Her gaze scanned the diner’s back lot. Sam’s truck still sat parked beside the Dumpster, empty, its windows dark eyes that only emphasized how alone she felt at this moment. Tall, snow-dappled trees closed around the broken-up concrete, stretching to the night sky. And of course, there was the moon, full and glowing, watchful as an eye in the sky.

She reached for her necklace beneath her sweater, rubbing her fingers over the three pendants, taking comfort in their presence close to her skin. The necklace had been a gift when she turned thirteen and her powers had first begun to assert themselves. Her mother had hoped they wouldn’t—had hoped she would be different. Normal. Normal enough to not attract demons.

Satan’s spawn had a particular aversion to milk—the food of life—salt and holy water. Each pendant contained one of these three elements and served to protect her. How much protection it offered, she couldn’t say, but she would take whatever help she could get.

And there was the blistering cold of her environment, not to be overlooked. That was perhaps the greatest help of all. Born of the fires of hell, demons could not withstand extreme cold. Their powers of manipulation were always weakest in such climes. So Darby endured living in climates too cold for a demon to thrive.

The wind blew again, the sound it made unearthly as it cut into her face like the sharp pricks of a knife. Almost like a moan.

Awareness settled over her, knotting her shoulders. Her gaze darted around, looking for something where nothing appeared to be. Appeared. Her hand tightened around her keys until the relentless metal cut into the tender flesh of her palms. Appearances meant nothing.

Darby knew too well that the world was a place where the wind was sometimes something more than wind. Where shadows weren’t always shadows. Where girls who worked in diners were something else, too. Even when they didn’t want to be. Even when they would give anything to be something else. Something normal.

Turning, she quickly moved for the stairs, taking two jarring steps at a time, her every instinct commanding her to seek shelter, sanctuary. Her fingers located the right key on the ring in readiness. Her instincts were well honed. She knew to trust them.

“You’re sure in a hurry.”

He was waiting for her in the shadows of her small porch. He rose from the chair tucked in the corner, blocking her from reaching her door. She should have noticed his heavy breathing sooner. His nose was bright red, and she guessed he had been waiting for a while.

“You think you’re something, don’t you?” Ned’s lip curled as he looked her up and down. He wasn’t the first man to get surly with her, but he was the first one to follow her home to harass her. She crossed her arms and returned his stare. For some reason, he failed to intimidate her. When she’d spent half her life contending with demons, this guy hardly registered on her fear radar.

She released a heavy sigh. “You’re not going to get out of my way, are you?”

He shook his head, his lips tipping in a cruel smile.

Certain she wasn’t going to make it around him and escape into her apartment, she whirled, ready to descend and flee back into the diner.

She didn’t make it down one step before she felt a great slam of pressure in her back. Her head snapped on her shoulders as she flew off the steps and landed facedown on the rough concrete at the base of the stairs.

Pain radiated through her body. She lay utterly still for a long moment, a croaked gasp wheezing from her lips as her body absorbed the brunt of impact. Without the cushion of snow, she knew it could have been worse.

Feet pounded heavily on the wood steps above her.

“Oh, did you trip? Gotta be careful on those steps. They can be slippery.”

Tripped? Right.

Her hands trembled as she flattened them on the ground. Pain shot through her palms. Wincing, she pulled back and looked at the bleeding scrapes. Apparently the snow hadn’t saved her hands from reaching the concrete.

Ignoring the pain, she pushed to her feet, snatching her keys back up from where they had fallen beside her as she did so. “You pushed me,” she said in a voice that shook. Oddly, not from terror though. Anger thrummed through her blood.

He nodded. “Kicked, actually.”

His thick-soled boots slid to a stop before her.

She stretched to her full height, pulling back her shoulders and ignoring the discomfort in her back from where his boot had struck her.

“What now?” she demanded. “You’re going to beat me up? How melodramatic. Go ahead. Let’s get this over with.”

He tilted his head, studying her as if he’d never seen anything like her before. Fury gleamed in his eyes like a living, glittering beast. “You’re afraid. Stop pretending you’re not.”

Is that what he wanted to see? Her fear. Idiot. Fear was nothing. She lived with it every day, waiting for something far worse than him to find her.

She lifted her chin, determined that she not give him the satisfaction. “There’s a bully like you in every town on every corner.” She smiled at him then, rotating her keys in her hand, readying the largest one for when he came at her again. As she knew he would. Bullies like him were predictable that way.

“Bitch,” he growled, his face turning an unflattering purple shade.

He slapped her, but she managed to pull away, taking the force of the blow against her ear rather than her cheek.

Head ringing, she lunged forward and jammed her key into his face, digging the metal in as deep as she could, knowing this was probably the only chance she would have to do him serious injury.

He howled and pulled back. Bright blood flowed freely between his fingers from where she’d gouged him with her key.

Keys still in her hand, she turned and fled up her steps, her goal simple. Get inside her apartment before he recovered enough to come after her.

She was at her door, key sliding home in the lock when she heard him pounding up the steps, coming after her like an enraged bull.

Shit!

She released a small cry of relief when she flung the door open, slamming it shut before he reached her. Sliding the lock in place, she took a step back to watch the door shudder beneath the weight of his fists.

Shaking her head, she reached for the phone to call the diner. Sam would be faster than any cops.

Her fingers closed around the phone. She’d just finished dialing when the apartment’s single window shattered, the legs of the lawn chair that sat on her porch sticking in through the blinds.

Ned wrestled with the chair, pulling it free with a grunt. Then his arms were there, tearing through the blinds. It wouldn’t be long before the lunatic was inside the apartment.

Sam’s voice came to her through the phone. “Hello?”

“Sam! It’s Darby—” Her voice died abruptly as Ned suddenly vanished, his wildly groping hands and arms gone. Everything was silent save for Sam’s voice in her ear.

Phone pressed against her face, her boss’s urgent demands faded away as she took several halting steps closer to the window, her boots crunching over shards of glass.

“Darby? Darby! You there? Answer me!”

“Yeah, I’m here.” She finally answered Sam. “It’s Ned, the guy from earlier tonight. He’s here.” Or he was here. “He busted into my apartment.”

Sam spit out a quick “On the way.”

Darby let the phone drop and covered the last few steps to the window. She peered through the ruined blinds, her chest tight with shallow breaths at what she feared she might find—the very thing that was terrorizing this community.

No one stood on the porch, but a distant sound floated on the winter stillness. Thunk. Thunk. Like a hammer pounding into meat. Then a heavy grunt followed.

She stood on tiptoes, trying to see into the back lot. She could only see a panorama of snow-coated trees. And she had to see. Had to know what Sam might be rushing into right now on her behalf.

Unlocking the door, she stepped outside and peered down off the porch, ready to bolt back inside her apartment.

Her heart stopped at the sight that met her eyes.

It was the stranger. The fact that she didn’t know his name, or anything about him, seemed almost ridiculous at this point.

But it was him.

He was here, with his fathomless deep eyes and tall, solid form. A ribbon of sensation rippled through her. She fought back a smile.

He stood over an unconscious Ned. He flexed his hands open and shut at his sides, as if he weren’t finished … as if he still wanted to reach down and choke the last breath of life from the hapless man.

Sam arrived then, skidding to a halt, a dirty frying pan clutched in his hand, grease dripping onto the snow. He scanned the scene, from Darby on the porch to Ned on the ground to the stranger standing so tightly wound above him. The tension ebbed from him.

“Guess you took care of ol’ Ned,” he muttered, then scowled as his gaze narrowed on the broken window. “Aw, damnit.” Lowering the pan, he turned and headed back to the diner. “I’ll call the RC. Doubt I’ll get a cent for that window out of him though, law or no law.”

The stranger’s gaze remained fixed on Darby.

She descended the porch, approaching him slowly. “Thanks,” she murmured, crossing her arms. Suddenly she was cold. Colder than usual even in this relentless winter.

She scuffed her shoe against the ground, feeling inexplicably nervous. Or maybe embarrassed was more accurate a description. She didn’t relish the idea of his having to come to her defense. He probably thought she was one of those weak females who couldn’t handle herself. Little did he know just how tough she could be. How resilient she was. How she’d had to be. She’d been on her own for three years. Just herself, staying one step ahead of the demons that would claim her if she dropped her guard and let them.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice gruffer than the last time she heard him speak.

Nodding, she rubbed her scraped palms against her pant legs and winced, having forgotten the injury.

His gaze followed the action and he stepped forward. Without asking, he picked up one of her hands and carefully prodded the abrasions, his touch far gentler than she would have expected.

She glanced down at the still body of her attacker. His barrel chest lifted with easy breaths. At least he was alive.

“Who are you?” She couldn’t continue to think of him as “handsome stranger” in her head. Well, she probably would, but it’d be nice to have a name, too.

“Niklas,” he responded.

“Niklas,” she repeated slowly, liking the taste of his name on her lips. It was … exotic. Like him.

His thumb moved slowly over her tender palm. Her chest tightened and her stomach knotted and grew queasy all at once. She snatched her hand away. The air around them crackled. She shifted on her feet uncomfortably, achingly aware of him and this attraction that was just … bad. Wrong. It couldn’t happen.

Sam returned then with a groggy-eyed Royal Canadian Mountie who took one look at Ned unconscious in the snow and muttered a profanity. “Ah, hell. Him again?”

“He attacked Darby here.” Sam waved at her.

“That so?” The RC scratched his jaw. “That should keep him locked up for a while this time.” He looked at Darby. “I’ll need a statement.”

She nodded.

He sighed as he moved toward the passed-out logger. “Guess we can do it in the morning though. It’s late and ass-cold out here. I’ll get him in a cell.” He glanced at Sam and Niklas. “Mind helping getting him in my car?”

Niklas nodded and hefted the big man into his arms, seemingly with little effort. Darby felt her mouth sag.

The officer gawked for a moment before leading the way around the building. Darby stood there, watching them disappear, still feeling the touch of his hand on hers. Tingles rippled up her arm.

“Hey, Darby. I’ll get some cardboard for that window.”

She started at Sam’s voice. She almost forgot he was still standing next to her.

He continued, “It’ll have to do until tomorrow. You’re welcome to stay the night with me and Vera—”

“No, thanks,” she replied automatically. Staying overnight with two other souls, potentially endangering them … it was out of the question. Especially Sam and his wife. They were good people and had been nothing but kind to her.

“Suit yourself.” Sam left and returned moments later with some broken-down boxes. Together they taped them over her window. She looked over her shoulder every now and then, half expecting, half hoping for Niklas to return. Perhaps even dreading it a little bit. Because she shouldn’t want him to come back. She was grateful for his help, but really, he should just stay away.

“That should do it.” Sam stepped back to inspect their handiwork. “Sure you’ll be okay? There’ll still be a draft.”

“Got the electric blanket.”

Sam nodded. “Well, g’night.”

He clomped down the wooden steps and she shut the door, not bothering to remove her coat. The room wasn’t much warmer than the air outside. She might have to sleep in her heavy parka.

She put the kettle on to boil and found herself pacing the small space of her kitchen, rubbing the back of her neck with anxious fingers.

Suddenly, she felt wired. Sucking in her breath, she undressed and slipped into a pair of flannel pajamas, donning the thickest pair of fuzzy socks she owned. She moved to the sink and turned on the warm water to rinse her palms, sighing with pleasure.

A knock sounded as she was patting her hands dry. Her heart jumped. She knew who it was before she looked through the peephole.

Opening the door to a blast of cold air, she trained her expression into one of cool reserve as she prepared to face her knight in shining armor for the night.

The last thing she expected to see was the cold fury gleaming in his indigo eyes. “What in hell do you think you’re doing?” he growled.

Behind her, the whistle to the kettle blew.