Dark Knights 1: Eternity of Darkness Read online

  Praise for the writing of Shana Nichols

  Writing as Ann Jacobs

  Kurt and Shelly make a compelling couple. Ms. Jacobs does a good job showing growth in both characters. And they are sexually compatible from the start. The love scenes are hot and plentiful...Don’t miss A Mutual Favor; it’s well worth the price!

  -- Denise Powers, Sensual Romance

  Whether you’re looking for a steamy story to heat up your nights, or a good story to warm your heart, A Mutual Favor is a surefire winner.

  -- Jennifer Bishop, Romance Reviews Today

  Golden Quill Award-Winning A Mutual Favor is available from your local Borders Books & Music.

  ...an erotic and pleasurable tale...distinctive and sexy...will hook readers right away... it is a great short story I heartily recommend. If you like romantic futuristic stories that are out of the ordinary, Luna Ten will be a series to watch for!

  -- Enya Adrian, Romance Reviews Today

  ...deliciously hot...a lovely introduction to Ms. Jacob’s new series for Changeling Press. With loving bondage and a “to die for hero”, this novel kept me hungrily turning pages to the end. I’m waiting with great expectation for the next one.

  -- Meribeth McCombs, Road to Romance

  Luna Ten: Cassiopeia is now available from Changeling Press.

  DARK KNIGHTS 1:

  ETERNITY OF DARKNESS

  Shana Nichols

  www.loose-id.com

  Warning

  This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

  * * * * *

  This book is rated:

  Contains substantial explicit sexual content and graphic language.

  Dark Knights 1: Eternity of Darkness

  Shana Nichols

  This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Published by

  Loose Id LLC

  1802 N Carson Street, Suite 212-29

  Carson City NV 89701-1215

  www.loose-id.com

  Copyright © 2004 by Shana Nichols

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including, but not limited to printing, photocopying, faxing, or emailing without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC.

  ISBN 1-59632-017-6

  Available in Adobe PDF, HTML, MobiPocket, and MS Reader formats.

  Printed in the United States of America

  Editor: Allie McKnight

  Cover Artist: Scott Carpenter

  Dedication

  To Joey W. Hill and Samantha Winston, talented authors and the best critique partners I could ever ask for...and to Allie McKnight, a/k/a Sage Grayson, the finest editor I’ve ever had the privilege of working with. Many thanks, much chocolate, and best wishes to you all. The Dark Knights wouldn’t be the same without your astute input and advice.

  Shana Nichols, a/k/a Ann Jacobs

  Chapter One

  “Where are you, you murdering bastard?”

  Stefan curled his lips back in frustration, deliberately exposing his fangs. He wanted to take to the air, use his ability to race through time and space to confront his adversary, but he forced himself to wait. He stood, motionless in the shadows of a narrow alley within shouting distance of Atlanta’s downtown business district. Straining his telepathic skills, he listened for a sound that should have had no relationship with Death.

  There it was. The soft, breathy moan of a woman in ecstasy.

  He had him. Fourth floor of a decaying apartment hotel, a quarter-mile from where he stood.

  Stefan made two steps and took off in flight, with a whoosh of air and dangerous intent that would have made a passer-by spin about nervously to see what threat had so briefly put his survival instincts on alert.

  Like a silent cat, Stefan set down on the rickety landing of a rusty fire escape, but the moans had morphed into muffled wails and heartbreaking pleas. He had no time for subterfuge. An eerie silence replaced the sounds of struggling inside.

  Fuck.

  Stefan took a step back, then rammed his booted foot through the windowpane and lunged inside. Shards of shattered glass crunched underfoot, announcing his presence.

  There he was. Louis Reynard, the vicious murderer Stefan had been sent to track down after others of his clan had failed. The killer vampire stood over the still frame of yet another victim. Blood dripped from his prominent fangs, and his hulking body still trembled with the sensual pleasure of having just fed. His eyes glowed when he stared at Stefan, and he let out a roar of fury.

  Stefan harbored no illusion that his own power exceeded that of his much older adversary. But when he looked down at Louis’s twentieth victim, unflinching wrath bubbled in his soul. He’d wipe the scourge of Louis Reynard off the earth or be destroyed himself.

  He lunged. Reynard sidestepped. Then, suddenly, he swung out, but Stefan ducked under the powerful punch. His opponent might have outmatched him in strength and experience. But he had speed and agility. They performed a macabre dance, advance and retreat. Dodging what would have been a knockout punch, Stefan butted his head into his opponent’s midriff.

  Louis staggered back, but the blow wasn’t enough to take him down. Pressing his advantage, Stefan brought up a knee and rammed it into Reynard’s crotch.

  “Fuck you. Now you die.” Reynard lunged again. Stefan stepped aside just in time to avoid his opponent’s vicious swing. When Reynard stumbled, Stefan hooked a leg around his ankle and sent him sprawling, following him down and pinning him beneath his own body.

  Reynard bucked, nearly dislodged Stefan. He shifted, laid a forearm over the bastard’s throat. Pushed hard. Knelt and bore down with most of his weight on Reynard’s belly. A weaker opponent would have passed out. Not Reynard. He fought like a madman, full of bloodlust, bucking and sputtering and clawing at Stefan’s neck and face.

  Alina had been right. He shouldn’t have tried to take Reynard down alone. Stefan’s strength was fading fast. He had to finish this now, before the killer regained the advantage. Shifting his weight, he freed one hand and reached in his jeans pocket for the stake.

  He let go of Reynard’s neck, reared back to get the leverage he needed. As Stefan lifted the sharpened piece of rowan wood to slam through Reynard’s black heart, Reynard jerked up with a burst of superhuman strength and sank his fangs into Stefan’s cheek. Stefan snarled, yanked his head back. Reynard grinned around a mouthful of Stefan’s flesh.

  The murdering bastard bit me. Nausea welled up in Stefan’s throat at the sight of blood trickling from the corners of Reynard’s mouth. His own blood. A stinging pain shot through his right cheek. His stomach heaved at the taste of salty, metallic blood that bore the fetid taste of saliva from the killer vampire’s fangs. The tainted fluid gathered at the corner of Stefan’s mouth, then burned its way down his chin as if it were caustic lye, not the fluid that sustained his kind.

  Reynard bucked, tossing Stefan off him now as though he weighed no more than a child. While Stefan clutched his cheek, trying to stanch the flow of blood, his prey rolled away, sprang to his feet, and leapt to the window sill. “You sanctimonious
little prig,” he spat. “You’ve failed. Like all your inept kinsmen who tried before you.”

  Stefan lunged, stake in hand. He raised it, made satisfying contact with Reynard’s flesh. His belly, not his heart. Reynard jerked the stake from his belly. He laughed, the sound one of consummate evil. Then he disappeared into the night without another sound.

  For a moment Stefan stood there, dazed, his cheek rent open and throbbing with agonizing pain. His nostrils tingled at the strong smell of blood. Human blood as well as his own. Warm. Fresh. Copious amounts of blood. It brought back memories of centuries ago, when he’d last fed on a mortal and not from a crystal tumbler in an upscale vampire bar. Lifeblood steeped in the smells of death.

  Those memories flooded Stefan’s soul with shame. But he had no time now to wallow in guilt. He had to drag himself up, check the woman. See if she still lived. Get help if she did.

  As soon as he looked down at her, he knew Louis had finished the grisly task before he’d barged in. Crystal-like blue eyes stared up at him, unseeing. Shining blonde hair fanned out from a pale face, its ends matted with the congealing blood that pooled around her head from the gash in her throat.

  Next to her lay the murderer’s calling card, a white rosebud, obscene in its very purity and innocence. Louis had laid this one across his victim’s slack, still fingers. Placed it carefully, as if in tribute. As if in thanks for her gift of sustenance, in recognition of his own revenge. The trademark of a crazed murderer, an inhuman monster, as sure as the cut throat and the familiar marks Stefan felt certain he’d find.

  He knelt, looking closely. There they were. Two neat puncture wounds, practically invisible in the carnage of the coup de grace. Marks the local coroner would most likely attribute to anything but the true cause of this woman’s death.

  This woman was beyond help. The one Louis had probably already targeted as his next victim was not.

  After making certain not to leave evidence behind that might point to him, Stefan left the way he’d come. He stood a moment on the landing, clearing his mind. Focusing on the killer, he tried to zero in on his location. For once, he succeeded. Good. He’d failed to destroy Reynard, but apparently he’d injured him badly. Badly enough, at least, that Reynard had temporarily dropped the shield that made it so difficult for Stefan to track him telepathically.

  Stefan hurled himself into the air, followed the killer’s tracks. To his surprise, he found himself landing at the main entrance to Hartsfield International Airport.

  A constant stream of travelers passed by him as he strained to follow his prey’s movements. He thought he’d caught the trail, shoved his way down the A concourse, muttering words of apology when he collided with a burly man, and again when a woman stopped just short of his outstretched arms. There he was! No, it was a mere mortal whose misfortune was to resemble a killer vampire.

  Stefan backtracked, propelled himself along a nearly deserted moving walkway toward another concourse. Reynard was buying a ticket on a Delta flight. Concourse B, said the sign above the ticket kiosk. Heedless of passengers who stared as he sprinted up the escalator, Stefan visualized his prey, found him at Gate Twenty-One.

  Finally. Stefan arrived in time to watch Reynard hand a boarding pass to the attendant, meekly stepping aside with his carry-on bag for the unusually thorough security check occasioned by his tardy arrival and unkempt appearance. For a moment Stefan thought the guard would refuse to let Reynard board, but the other vampire’s powers of persuasion apparently kicked in when a supervisor who’d been called questioned him about the cuts and bruises on his face and hands. It didn’t take long before the examiner shook his hand and waved Reynard onto the jetway. Stefan glanced at the screen behind the desk. The plane was bound for Chicago.

  Non-stop, the Delta ticket agent assured him when he asked. At least there was only one place Reynard could be going on this flight. Stefan could make it to Chicago in less time than it would take the commercial jet. Vampires hardly needed airplanes -- unless they were hurt or sick and had lost some of their powers.

  “Final boarding call for Delta Flight 258 with service to Chicago’s O’Hare Airport.”

  Stefan made a quick mental calculation. The flight Reynard was taking would arrive in Chicago in about two hours, give or take. Locking in telepathically on his enemy, Stefan observed him winding his way down the jetway, taking his place in the last available first-class seat. Looking for all the world like a mortal businessman but for cuts and bruises that were quickly fading, Louis strapped himself in, closed the shade, and rested his head on one of the small white pillows supplied to him by a smiling attendant.

  Though he no longer had Reynard in his sights once the plane had left the ground, Stefan felt fairly confident that the other vampire would remain on that Boeing 757 until it landed -- and that he could propel himself to O’Hare Airport in time to find and tail the killer, the moment he stepped past the security checkpoint.

  Hurrying outside the bustling terminal into the velvet cloak of night, Stefan launched himself into the sky, willing himself to move through time and space toward the killer’s destination.

  * * * * *

  In Chicago after a trip that had taken longer than he’d expected, Stefan detoured into a rest room to clean off grime from factory smokestacks and rid his body of the stench of fertilizer that had wafted its way upward from newly planted fields. He would have liked to soar above the clouds, but heavy air traffic along the Atlanta to Chicago corridor had made that hazardous, so he’d contented himself with flying low. Too low to avoid the pollution from heavily populated land.

  Damn. Why did humans have to hang mirrors all over every public rest room? Stefan averted his gaze, looked instead at the dingy floor tile as he made his way to the bank of lavatories and wet his hands. When he put a hand to his cheek, he found blood was still seeping from the bite. Though cold water washed away the caustic saliva that still ate at his flesh, but he imagined he’d suffer for days from after-effects of vampire venom. Now he believed the rumors: Reynard venom contained not only poison, but also strong anticoagulation properties.

  Poison and prevention of healing. A strong combination of weapons, indeed. Weapons that almost made Stefan believe the legends about Reynard clansmen having been invincible in fights with other vampires, even older and stronger ones. Venom -- Stefan dabbed another drop of blood from the throbbing wound -- a fit weapon for a clan renowned throughout vampire history for its evildoing.

  Reynard wouldn’t be invincible this time. The d’Argent hunters would end his long, miserable existence.

  Not wanting to miss his prey, he left the restroom. Reynard’s plane would be arriving soon. Quickly locating the Delta concourse, Stefan stationed himself against a wall near the door arriving passengers would pass through, once they’d deplaned. For a while, he pretended to read a day-old copy of the Chicago Tribune that some traveler had left on the windowsill.

  How much easier it would have been if mortal lawmen had managed to connect the killings and put the combined resources of Interpol, the CIA, and other international law enforcement agencies on Reynard’s trail sooner. But Reynard had provided the only early evidence of his involvement to Stefan’s cousin Alina, who’d been laughingly rebuffed when she’d offered help from the hunters of her clan. Even when the law enforcement community had finally accepted that the killings were all the work of one crazed vampire, they hadn’t been able to catch up with him, or willing to accept help from vampires.

  Stefan stifled an oath. Why couldn’t people accept that they sometimes needed vampires’ help? They’d passed along too many legends, tales of vampire evil, from generation to generation. Those stories had proliferated the sort of fear Stefan had observed during most of his life. Fear that had made mortals destroy his father more than four hundred years ago.

  Though the CIA and Interpol were finally seeking a serial killer, they’d never catch Reynard without the help of other vampires to destroy him. Mortals, however fierce, tended
to cringe at the idea of stakings and beheadings -- the only effective methods for ridding Earth of a vampire as powerful as the one Stefan now stalked.

  Were it not for Alina’s order to be prudent, Stefan would have staked Reynard without a second thought.

  Impatient, Stefan paced the length of the space in front of the security station. Why wouldn’t the damn passengers hurry and deplane? Dawn was breaking now, and he’d have loved to be crawling into bed, not standing in an airport fighting the crowds. His usual means of travel beat airplanes and airports all to hell.

  From a glance at the board that listed arrivals, he determined the flight had landed. When the first passengers charged down the hallway, Stefan straightened, immediately alert. He scanned the sea of faces coming toward him in undulating waves.

  There he was, strolling down the walkway, rolling a suitcase that apparently belonged to the elderly woman smiling up at him as though he were her savior. Reynard looked innocuous. Even kind. Apparently he’d cleaned up on the plane, changed into fresh clothes free of his victim’s blood. The bruises Stefan had inflicted had already faded, although he imagined Reynard was still hurting from the stake Stefan had sunk into his belly.

  If only Stefan could take Reynard by surprise... No, he couldn’t. Not only would he be disobeying Alina’s strict order not to confront Reynard alone except in the direst of emergencies, but he’d be laying himself open to get arrested, thereby leaving Reynard unguarded to perpetrate his next act of evil.

  Why couldn’t Reynard have looked like the monster he was? If he had, Stefan could have enlisted the aid of some guards from the airport security force. All he could do was follow, observe, keep Reynard under careful surveillance until he led Stefan to his next intended victim.