wanted, and actually use the reputation I’d built. It would be a relief not to have to hide so much. Except, Malcolm was awful busy in Santiago.
I shifted in my seat, coiling tighter with tension as the city flashed by. I could barely see the lane markers as the standing water deepened. Santiago was dark and sullen as a ghost, everyone hiding from the downpour, or hidden by it. The defroster, on high, just barely kept the middle of the windshield clear.
In Alaska, I’d been Master Bronson’s pet, the one courier he could trust not to be influenced. Was that the sort of asset Malcolm wanted, too, as he ran his little empire at the bottom of the world? Bronson seemed to rule this place in name only. The sun circled the sky up there constantly now, but still he chose to remain in Alaska. Dug in. There was more opportunity up there. New reserves of oil and metals, in a favorable environment. The Chilean mines were rumored to be heading toward their end, and the human government was less…hospitable. Maybe Bronson would never return, forcing Malcolm to work here forever. Or until his term of service expired in a few years. However, I wasn’t sure I wanted to stay that long.
I sailed around a bend and gasped. A man stood in the center of my lane, his back to me, not thirty feet away. My feet jumped on the pedals, hands clenched worn leather, and I swerved. Bumped up onto the opposite curb and back down. I cranked the wheel to get back into my lane.
And the car went sideways. Hydroplaning. Headlights flashed in the side window, followed by the rising panic of a truck horn closing fast. I held my breath, feet massaging the clutch and brake as I waited for the feel of traction. The drift ended abruptly, tires meeting pavement with a squeal and a lurch. I threw myself to the right, and wrenched the wheel to the left to straighten the car.
I regained my lane and the truck sailed by, punctuated by a sheet of water and two angry pulls on the horn. The car rolled to a stop, and my heart released itself from my shoulders and dropped gingerly back into my chest. I straightened the rearview mirror and saw nothing. The seat belt caught when I tried to turn, then the cold shear of a vampire’s presence raked my spine.
Holy fucking hell, a trap.
Chapter Eight
I shoved the car into gear and stomped on the gas. A hand slapped against my window as the car jumped forward and I bit off a rising scream. My bag had fallen off the passenger seat during the spin, and the silver canister of pepper spray was halfway out of its pocket. I changed gears acutely, horribly, aware of the sucker running beside my car. I passed thirty miles per hour. Thirty-five. Forty.
My hands twitched, waiting for him to make his move. He lunged, and I swerved a split second later. Not away, though. Toward him. The car rocked. He catapulted backward, long dark coat and stiff limbs pinwheeling through the rain before crashing into a gray brick wall. I slowed as I approached a corner, mapping my exit strategy. I needed to let Carla know that somebody was after her runners. My phone had slipped loose and lay at the base of the other seat. I leaned toward it.
The passenger window exploded toward me and I jerked away, my foot coming off the accelerator just slightly. Just enough. A hand closed on my right arm, nearly pulling it from the socket. The seat belt dug into my neck.
“Stop,” the vampire ordered. A second one, wearing a blue pullover.
My foot quivered over the brake pedal. I considered the strength of the hold on my arm and eased off, reaching over with my left hand to downshift. I rolled to a stop, soaked with sweat and adrenaline.
The vampire released me only for a second when he yanked the door open and climbed in. He was big, his bulk overflowing the seat, rainwater streaming from his blond hair. And he was pissed. His naked fangs dug pale burrows into the skin beneath his lower lip. He opened his mouth, tilted his head back and made a sound like a
I shifted in my seat, coiling tighter with tension as the city flashed by. I could barely see the lane markers as the standing water deepened. Santiago was dark and sullen as a ghost, everyone hiding from the downpour, or hidden by it. The defroster, on high, just barely kept the middle of the windshield clear.
In Alaska, I’d been Master Bronson’s pet, the one courier he could trust not to be influenced. Was that the sort of asset Malcolm wanted, too, as he ran his little empire at the bottom of the world? Bronson seemed to rule this place in name only. The sun circled the sky up there constantly now, but still he chose to remain in Alaska. Dug in. There was more opportunity up there. New reserves of oil and metals, in a favorable environment. The Chilean mines were rumored to be heading toward their end, and the human government was less…hospitable. Maybe Bronson would never return, forcing Malcolm to work here forever. Or until his term of service expired in a few years. However, I wasn’t sure I wanted to stay that long.
I sailed around a bend and gasped. A man stood in the center of my lane, his back to me, not thirty feet away. My feet jumped on the pedals, hands clenched worn leather, and I swerved. Bumped up onto the opposite curb and back down. I cranked the wheel to get back into my lane.
And the car went sideways. Hydroplaning. Headlights flashed in the side window, followed by the rising panic of a truck horn closing fast. I held my breath, feet massaging the clutch and brake as I waited for the feel of traction. The drift ended abruptly, tires meeting pavement with a squeal and a lurch. I threw myself to the right, and wrenched the wheel to the left to straighten the car.
I regained my lane and the truck sailed by, punctuated by a sheet of water and two angry pulls on the horn. The car rolled to a stop, and my heart released itself from my shoulders and dropped gingerly back into my chest. I straightened the rearview mirror and saw nothing. The seat belt caught when I tried to turn, then the cold shear of a vampire’s presence raked my spine.
Holy fucking hell, a trap.
Chapter Eight
I shoved the car into gear and stomped on the gas. A hand slapped against my window as the car jumped forward and I bit off a rising scream. My bag had fallen off the passenger seat during the spin, and the silver canister of pepper spray was halfway out of its pocket. I changed gears acutely, horribly, aware of the sucker running beside my car. I passed thirty miles per hour. Thirty-five. Forty.
My hands twitched, waiting for him to make his move. He lunged, and I swerved a split second later. Not away, though. Toward him. The car rocked. He catapulted backward, long dark coat and stiff limbs pinwheeling through the rain before crashing into a gray brick wall. I slowed as I approached a corner, mapping my exit strategy. I needed to let Carla know that somebody was after her runners. My phone had slipped loose and lay at the base of the other seat. I leaned toward it.
The passenger window exploded toward me and I jerked away, my foot coming off the accelerator just slightly. Just enough. A hand closed on my right arm, nearly pulling it from the socket. The seat belt dug into my neck.
“Stop,” the vampire ordered. A second one, wearing a blue pullover.
My foot quivered over the brake pedal. I considered the strength of the hold on my arm and eased off, reaching over with my left hand to downshift. I rolled to a stop, soaked with sweat and adrenaline.
The vampire released me only for a second when he yanked the door open and climbed in. He was big, his bulk overflowing the seat, rainwater streaming from his blond hair. And he was pissed. His naked fangs dug pale burrows into the skin beneath his lower lip. He opened his mouth, tilted his head back and made a sound like a
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