Dark Ghost Read online

  Her face lit up. "That was you? That was so incredibly cool. It took me a long time, but I really enjoyed it. You set some intense patterns. Of course you're psychic, you'd have to be to do that. I never thought of trying something like that to guard a place I was sleeping. With you wounded so severely, I could see you blocking the entrance."

  She still hadn't told him how she'd done it. He liked that she wasn't bothered by it, instead excited that he could do it and eager to try it on her own.

  "Teagan." Her name rolled off his tongue, sounding strange. Beautiful. His crazy, daring woman who had no business being out on her own. The sound was also his only warning to her. He wanted an explanation.

  "I see patterns and hear musical notes. Your safeguards were a combination of both. I could see a harp in my head, the strings all tangled and messy. I had to just sort them out carefully to open the lock."

  She was not just beautiful, intrepid and daring, she was brilliant. And she was his. For one moment, Andre could barely breathe with the knowledge that this woman was the woman he had searched centuries for, had given up on, and then she just simply unraveled his safeguards and walked into his life.

  3

  Andre stepped out of the cave into the gathering darkness. He stretched, feeling his muscles respond with eager anticipation. He was starving. The clawing need had started the night before and was far worse now. Ordinarily, that was a dangerous thing with an ancient as old as he was, but he had a lifemate to anchor him now. He could exact his revenge and put the fear of demons into Armend Jashari without worrying he would lose his own soul in the process.

  The fog was thick, but he fed it, adding in the frightening whispers of dark shadows, the ghost and phantoms he was legendary for. No one could quite face the terror of the demon packs living within the fog, not when he created them. The sound effects were particularly good, he decided. He'd never had the ability to feel the effects before or the satisfaction of knowing if anyone came near his woman, the faceless ghosts would protect her.

  He'd left Teagan after she built her fire and had put on a pot to boil water for tea. She planned on making a small meal for herself and offered to share. He'd politely declined, stating he had business to take care of. She'd looked at him sharply, clearly leery of what business could possibly be in the mountains, but she didn't ask any questions.

  He thought he'd be relieved to be away from her company. He didn't share space with anyone other than the triplets, Matais, Lojos and Tomas, and even then, he traveled loosely with them. He battled, killed and burned the bodies of his enemies. He didn't converse with them or worry about their feelings. He was a Carpathian hunter, close to the end of his time, no, past the end of his time.

  Now his world was different because of one small miracle. He could look into her eyes forever. He'd restrained himself. She'd had a man assault her already, and he didn't need her more frightened than she already was. He was already beginning to bring her gently into his world and he wanted to do so one small step at a time.

  He turned back to the entrance of the cave and used a much more difficult pattern for his safeguards. He had no intention of holding her prisoner. He was certain she could get out should she choose to, but it would take time. Time she wouldn't have. He intended to return as soon as he'd taken care of Jashari. Still, anyone else, such as the undead or Jashari's friends, would never be able to unravel the safeguards and any vampire would think he was inside the cave rather than outside of it. That would give him an advantage.

  He shifted with ease, the change sweeping through him as he took on the shape of the night owl. He was comfortable in the form, second nature to him, as was the wolf and a variety of other shapes. He'd been shifting for centuries and had never considered how extraordinary it was until the moment he took to the sky.

  The world was breathtaking from above. Even within the dense fog and the nightmare faces and voices he'd created, the night was different. Exhilarating. He couldn't wait to show it to Teagan. He felt the wind in his feathers, and through the bird, on his face. He smelled the wild mountain and the creatures living on it. The wet mist felt like soft touches on the bird and through it, on his skin. She had done that for him. Teagan. She'd brought this to him. His own personal miracle.

  How many times had he slid through the sky on silent wings, the owl's sharp eyes scanning the ground for prey? Millions. It had to be millions. Yet he'd never felt it. At least he didn't remember feeling anything. He circled high because he could, now out of the fog bank, just to watch the way the sliver of a moon played through the canopy of the trees, turning all the leaves and needles to silver.

  The owl covered ground fast, familiar with the countryside and the best places human men would choose to camp. He also looked for signs of vampires. They'd been severely wounded, every single one of them, and he was fairly certain they had gone to ground to heal, perhaps even for a couple of days, but the master vampire wouldn't be happy without fresh blood.

  Popescu wouldn't go looking for blood himself. Not with his heart nearly ripped from his body--and Andre had come close to disposing of the undead. The four lesser vampires had returned in the nick of time, saving their master, inflicting damage, but receiving terrible wounds themselves. The price of battle had been high for both sides.

  Popescu would definitely send his least valuable minion. The newest recruit. He would expect the vampire to return with human fodder for the master to consume first. If he left any blood, the others could use the victim as well. Sometimes they kept their prey alive for several nights in order to remain beneath the ground and hidden from a hunter. Many, many times, Andre had found the remains of the vampire's human food source. In each case, the human had died hard and brutally.

  The owl suddenly banked sharply, its sharp eyes finding their target. There was a small tent pitched away from the wind, down in a slight depression where it was protected on three sides by rock. A small fire burned. The owl flew to the nearest tree above the tent and settled on the branches, slowly and carefully folding its wings, never taking its gaze from its prey.

  A single man emerged from the tent carrying a pouch, which he tore open and emptied into the boiling water. Instantly Andre recognized him from Teagan's memories. This was Armend Jashari. He was alone, and he clearly was comfortable being alone.

  Jashari dropped down onto a rock beside the fire and pulled a small object from his belt. A handheld radio. Andre knew cell phones didn't work along this particular stretch of wild mountain range. So there were others--Jashari's friends--probably out searching for Teagan's trail.

  "Armend here, all of you report in, over."

  "Giles." The radio crackled with static as Giles gave his dismal news. "Didn't find crap. She's disappeared. Vanished. If she gets down the mountain and tells anyone, Armend, you could be in trouble."

  Armend scowled. "Who's going to believe the bitch? She's a stupid tourist, although I don't need the hassle. My dad's been a bastard lately. Insists I get a job, make something of myself. He's pissed because he had to have our lawyer settle with a couple of women who claimed I was overexuberant with them." He laughed. "Anyone else out there find her trail? Gerard?"

  "I found a faint trail leading up the mountain, but it disappeared. The fog is so thick I couldn't see anything at all, but it's the only thing I found so maybe I should continue to try to scout around and see if I can pick it up again in the morning. If it's her, she's good in the mountains. She knows what she's doing." Gerard's voice came over the radio.

  So that made three men who were enemies of Teagan. Andre remained very, very still, the owl partially hidden by sweeping branches.

  "I got nothing either," another voice said. "I'm just a little south of you, Armend. She hasn't come this way."

  Armend cursed under his breath. "Keep looking, Keith. She has to be somewhere. I would have picked up her trail if she'd gone down the mountain. Kirt, what about you?"

  "Nothing here either, Armend," Kirt reported.

&nb
sp; So Armend had four friends who had gone out in different directions to try to pick up Teagan's trail while Armend stayed close to the first camp area to see if she would go back to it. That told Andre a lot about the man. He used his friends while he did the least amount of work. He definitely thought himself entitled to take anything he wanted. So Andre needed to give him that opportunity.

  "We'll meet here tomorrow morning," Armend snapped, and clicked off his radio abruptly without the slightest courtesy. He shoved it back on his belt and turned to stir the meal in his cooking pot. Clearly he was out of sorts.

  The owl spread its wings and sailed down to the ground. The moment the talons touched earth, Andre shifted back to human form. He chose a spot in the deeper tree line just below where Armend had made his camp. Lifting his hands, he made the motion of a circle. At once fingers of fog began to drift from the trees toward the campsite.

  At first the droplets were no more than the finest mist, curling along the ground, sliding out between branches, forming its own layers, both high and low. He made certain the vapor stayed thin enough that one could see through it. Next, he called to the wolves. The pack was a long way out, but they answered him, first one cry and then another. They would obey him. They always obeyed him. Andre watched Armend carefully the entire time the pack was taking up the hunting cry. Armend hadn't failed to notice that the first wolf had sounded close by.

  Armend stood and paced nervously, his hand dropping twice to his radio as if to assure himself he had friends close enough to call should there be trouble. The hunting cry of the last wolf died away and silence reigned once more. At first the abrupt quiet increased the tension in Armend.

  The man checked his weapons. He didn't have a gun, but he had three knives, and he positioned them close to where he sat, even going so far as to practice reaching for them. Next, he built up his fire and went to the trees to get more wood. He stacked it close to him.

  Andre moved with the fog. He sent his phantoms ahead of him, directing the mist so that it wound through the trees and crept upward from the ground toward the rocks and boulders several feet above the tree line where Armend had made his camp. The fingers of fog had already reached the stones above the trees where foliage tended to grow in clumps along the mountainside. The fog drifted over the field of boulders, layering in almost gently, nonthreateningly--unless one noticed that there was little wind and when there was, the mist paid it no mind.

  Armend sank down on his rock seat and stirred the concoction in his cooking pot. He glanced around him, still a little wary after the wolves' hunting calls, but Andre could see he'd already begun to dismiss the animals from his mind.

  Hunger beat at Andre, so that every cell cried out for sustenance. He needed blood. He could smell Armend's blood. He could hear the blood pumping through his veins and the strong beat of his heart. Andre's lips drew back in a snarl as he felt the sharp points of his teeth. Still, Armend needed a lesson. A serious lesson before he met Andre. He needed to experience fear. Terror even. That was something Andre was very good at showing his prey.

  The thicker fog inched along the ground, rising as a wall, cutting off Armend's vision. One moment he glanced down at the food he was heating and the next he looked up and couldn't see anything at all but the swirling, very dense vapor clouds. Alarmed, he stood up again, one hand nervously dropping to his radio.

  Armend didn't pull the radio from his belt. He was the leader in his group of friends. He always had been. He was that little bit richer and much more dominant. He was the one who had realized early on that women--particularly young college-age girls who were backpacking across Europe--were especially vulnerable. He'd been the one to slowly get the others to accept more and more violence.

  He had been the one to think of their guide service. Armend made certain the few couples or older people they took into the mountains had the best of times. He won them over with spectacular service, taking them to the most beautiful places so they would rave about their guides.

  His victims he chose very carefully. He made certain there was no paper or Internet trail to follow. The girls came alone or in pairs. Those were the ones he chose for his sport.

  He beat and raped the first girl alone, but in front of his friends. He'd known his accomplices since they were little kids together, and he'd chosen all four as carefully as he chose his victims. All of them had tendencies toward violence, but he knew without him, they probably would have taken a lot longer to act out their fantasies.

  He made certain he bought plenty of porn vids, all with themes centering around rape and hurting women. He took them down that path first with stories of sharing women, treating them like the toys they were, then the videos and finally actual snuff porn. All of them got off on it.

  He kept the girl with him, soothing her, promising her money, saying he was sorry that things got out of hand, all the while winking at his friends and letting them know he was working up to a second round. The second round had Kirt and Giles joining in. By the third time, Keith and Gerard had leapt at the opportunity. From there, it had been easy enough to convince them that she couldn't live because she'd endanger them, and they all beat her, taking turns, laughing and jacking off on her as she begged and promised them anything they wanted.

  Armend was fairly certain his father suspected what was going on, and maybe even wanted to join in, the hypocrite. Still, his old man paid to keep silent the few girls he'd dated throughout his school years, the ones he'd shared a little bondage with and then his sadistic tendencies. He'd made certain they agreed to be tied up before he ever did it, and that kept the police out of it.

  He was charming and persuasive. The girls all thought he loved them. He always taped them agreeing to the fun of being tied or handcuffed. Sometimes even whipped. Of course once he had them at his mercy, the compulsion to hurt and humiliate them took over and he couldn't stop the things he'd done. Hell--he didn't want to stop. He reveled in it.

  Then he'd met Teagan Joanes. She wasn't anything like the women he generally chose for his victims. If anything, she was the exact opposite. She should have looked like a boy--she didn't really have much in the way of breasts, just a handful. She shouldn't have caught his eye at all. For one thing, she was half black and half white. Not his thing at all.

  He couldn't stop thinking about her. He obsessed over her. Her skin was the softest, smoothest skin he'd ever seen and the color of a mocha latte, absolutely beautiful. Her laugh was just plain sexy and could cut right through a man. Her waist was so small he was certain he could span it with his hands if he tried. She had nice hips and a really fine ass. She just grew on him until he couldn't think with wanting her.

  She never gave him a single opening. For a while, those three years of college together, he thought maybe she was a lesbian, but there weren't any woman that she dated. Had there been women, he knew he would have killed them. Same if a man had come between them, but she didn't date. She had a lot of male friends. Climbing friends. Hiking friends. Biking. She seemed to be busy all the time in her off-hours.

  Teagan was brilliant, and he hit on the idea of hiring her as his tutor. He'd struck gold with that. He had plenty of money--he didn't give a damn about geology--but if he wanted his inheritance he needed a degree from a university in the United States. She spent a great deal of time with him. He'd poured on the charm. Spent money on her, although she didn't seem to like it much. He'd brought picnic lunches on the pretext they could spend more time studying.

  He woke some nights with the sound of her laughter in his head. He began to dream about her constantly. No other woman seemed to satisfy him and eventually, every fantasy he had was about her. He wanted her under him. He wanted to hear her screams, although he honestly didn't know if he wanted to hurt her or pleasure her.

  He kept in touch with her because he had to. He couldn't let the relationship go, although he knew he was obsessing over her. When she'd emailed him and told him she was coming to his part of the Carpathian Mountains
, looking for a particular stone or gem, he was certain she'd been just as obsessed with him. He'd been elated. Wild with joy. The dreams had turned so erotic he could barely eat, and he couldn't stop thinking about her.

  She couldn't even tell him what kind of rock she was looking for, only that she knew vaguely where it was and she'd be able to find it. What kind of crap was that? Of course she was coming to see him. She had to be. She'd thought of him the way he thought of her. But then, all the way up the mountain, she'd played her stupid little game, teasing him, acting like they were just friends and nothing else.

  She was nothing more than a damn cock tease and he was going to give her a lesson. He was a little sorry the others had followed him up. He still wasn't certain he wanted to share Teagan with anyone, let alone kill her. But if he did, maybe the obsessive thoughts would stop and he could get on with his life.

  A low moan came out of the night. Very low, a woman's soft cry as if she was in pain. He shivered. He'd always liked that particular note and he worked hard to get it when he had a woman at his mercy. He paced around the fire, his eyes narrowed, looking into the thick fog.

  Was Teagan out there? Hurt? The moan rose again, this time closer. The note played through his body like a violin might, soft and stroking. He stopped and stared directly toward the sound. His heart accelerated. "Teagan? Are you there?"

  Silence met his call. He waited. He wasn't going to step away from the fire, not with such heavy fog. He could barely see his hand in front of his face. The gray wrap of vapor seemed much thicker than normal, dense, a live wall of mist surrounding him.

  Armend shook his head as fingers of fear crept down his spine. He'd hiked the mountains his entire life. They were his personal playground. He wasn't ever afraid. Still, his hand dropped to the radio. Once again he didn't pull it off his belt, but he needed the reassurance of it.

  The moan came again, muffled, but definitely closer. It had to be Teagan. She was afraid of him.

  "Teagan, just come toward the fire. We'll talk it all out. Are you injured?"