It didn’t feel like Donte, like swimming naked in the Mediterranean amid a thousand silvery fish. The bloodsong this night was dark and angry and reeked of death. Several times, Adin woke, only to turn back over, disoriented, to sink into that dream-filled sleep again.
Adin woke at nine a.m. with a headache and dry mouth. He pulled on his robe and left the room to get coffee from the continental breakfast buffet. He smiled pleasantly at the maids as he left his room; they were just exiting the room next to his. Finding a newspaper to read while he sipped his coffee, he gave them time to do their work. Several of the hotel’s guests came and went, some chatting amiably, some quiet, until he finished his paper and a third cup of coffee. Adin hoped he didn’t look as bad as he felt. He folded the paper up under his arm and walked back to his room. He used his key card to enter and tossed the paper down on the desk.
It came as a terrible surprise when a hand snaked out from behind him and grabbed him by the neck.
Chapter Seven
Someone slammed Adin against the wall like a rag and held him there, his breath cut off by an arm across his throat.
“Where is it?” Someone asked through the little black spots dancing before his eyes. His attacker must have realized that he couldn’t speak, because the pressure on his neck was loosened slightly.
“Where is what?” croaked Adin, stunned.
“The manuscript. Notturno. What have you done with it?”
“Whoa,” Adin said, finally getting enough leverage to shove back a little. “You’re too late. It was stolen from me in Los Angeles.”
That hard hand slammed him back. “You lie!”
“The hell I do,” Adin snapped. “It’s gone. Somebody stole it.”
Adin was released as his attacker ran his hands through his dirty hair. “Oh shit,” the man muttered. Adin began to move, but instantly he was sorry. The man lashed out, punching him hard in the gut. Adin doubled over as the man began to pace.
Adin’s attacker grabbed hair and pulled it hard, yanking him to standing again, his face inches away. “You’d better not be fucking with me. Give. It. To. Me.”
To punctuate his words he gave Adin’s hair a vicious tug and slammed his head against the wall. The odor of coffee and something else, something rank like wet dog, came off the man. Adin winced. His hair was probably coming out in patches.
“It was stolen from my hotel room in Los Angeles,” he said again. “There’s a police report. Check if you don’t believe me.”
They hung there, suspended in time. Adin’s assailant shifted on his feet. Without a doubt the man meant to kill him. Hands wrapped around his throat, squeezing hard enough to bruise. Something desperate inside Adin came to life, and he grabbed the metal lamp on the hotel desk and swung it in a huge arc, using every ounce of strength he possessed. It crashed down on his attacker, who barely seemed fazed by the blow. The man hurled them both to the floor. There was a sound, something low and angry, a rumbling growl that didn’t sound human. For his part, Adin couldn’t speak, couldn’t make any noise at all, save a kind of mewling as he struggled to remain conscious.
Unexpectedly the terrible weight was gone. Adin blinked back tears. Boaz was pulling the bastard away, shouting something that sounded like “eyes” even as he shoved Adin away with his foot. With a pop , light so bright it blinded Adin filled the room. Things crashed and fell and roared, and when at last he could see again, his vision filled with floating black spots that obscured everything around him.
Boaz knelt over his attacker, who lay on the floor with a thick wooden stick protruding from his chest. Adin blinked his eyes rapidly to regain his sight. The contents of his stomach roiled, threatening to disgorge.
The man who’d jumped him dissolved into powdery grit on the richly carpeted hotel floor.
Boaz shook his head, disgusted. “Damn vampires. Are you all
Adin woke at nine a.m. with a headache and dry mouth. He pulled on his robe and left the room to get coffee from the continental breakfast buffet. He smiled pleasantly at the maids as he left his room; they were just exiting the room next to his. Finding a newspaper to read while he sipped his coffee, he gave them time to do their work. Several of the hotel’s guests came and went, some chatting amiably, some quiet, until he finished his paper and a third cup of coffee. Adin hoped he didn’t look as bad as he felt. He folded the paper up under his arm and walked back to his room. He used his key card to enter and tossed the paper down on the desk.
It came as a terrible surprise when a hand snaked out from behind him and grabbed him by the neck.
Chapter Seven
Someone slammed Adin against the wall like a rag and held him there, his breath cut off by an arm across his throat.
“Where is it?” Someone asked through the little black spots dancing before his eyes. His attacker must have realized that he couldn’t speak, because the pressure on his neck was loosened slightly.
“Where is what?” croaked Adin, stunned.
“The manuscript. Notturno. What have you done with it?”
“Whoa,” Adin said, finally getting enough leverage to shove back a little. “You’re too late. It was stolen from me in Los Angeles.”
That hard hand slammed him back. “You lie!”
“The hell I do,” Adin snapped. “It’s gone. Somebody stole it.”
Adin was released as his attacker ran his hands through his dirty hair. “Oh shit,” the man muttered. Adin began to move, but instantly he was sorry. The man lashed out, punching him hard in the gut. Adin doubled over as the man began to pace.
Adin’s attacker grabbed hair and pulled it hard, yanking him to standing again, his face inches away. “You’d better not be fucking with me. Give. It. To. Me.”
To punctuate his words he gave Adin’s hair a vicious tug and slammed his head against the wall. The odor of coffee and something else, something rank like wet dog, came off the man. Adin winced. His hair was probably coming out in patches.
“It was stolen from my hotel room in Los Angeles,” he said again. “There’s a police report. Check if you don’t believe me.”
They hung there, suspended in time. Adin’s assailant shifted on his feet. Without a doubt the man meant to kill him. Hands wrapped around his throat, squeezing hard enough to bruise. Something desperate inside Adin came to life, and he grabbed the metal lamp on the hotel desk and swung it in a huge arc, using every ounce of strength he possessed. It crashed down on his attacker, who barely seemed fazed by the blow. The man hurled them both to the floor. There was a sound, something low and angry, a rumbling growl that didn’t sound human. For his part, Adin couldn’t speak, couldn’t make any noise at all, save a kind of mewling as he struggled to remain conscious.
Unexpectedly the terrible weight was gone. Adin blinked back tears. Boaz was pulling the bastard away, shouting something that sounded like “eyes” even as he shoved Adin away with his foot. With a pop , light so bright it blinded Adin filled the room. Things crashed and fell and roared, and when at last he could see again, his vision filled with floating black spots that obscured everything around him.
Boaz knelt over his attacker, who lay on the floor with a thick wooden stick protruding from his chest. Adin blinked his eyes rapidly to regain his sight. The contents of his stomach roiled, threatening to disgorge.
The man who’d jumped him dissolved into powdery grit on the richly carpeted hotel floor.
Boaz shook his head, disgusted. “Damn vampires. Are you all
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