"There are worse things, believe me."
"Who was that man back there?" she asked, and added determinedly. "Is he dead?"
Brent Malone shook his head. He looked as if he should have been a rock musician himself, with rather long, sable dark hair. Then again, he was tall, wiry, well-muscled, like a laborer, or lightweight boxer.
Unnerving all way around.
"He's not dead."
"Who was he?"
"It doesn't matter."
"What do you mean, it doesn't matter? He tried to kill me."
"I don't think he intended to kill you."
"He was running around with a butcher knife, coming straight at me, but he wasn't supposed to kill me."
"I don't think so. He was supposed to scare you. Just as the fire was supposed to send you into hiding."
"Why?"
"Because," he said flatly. "We don't think that you're supposed to die until tomorrow night."
The shivers that swept into her somehow made her believe that his words held a ring of solid truth. "All right, so I'm not supposed to die until tomorrow night. And I'm meant to go into hiding—where, of course, 'they'—exactly whoever 'they' may be—will be able to find me when others can't. But the situation is looking pretty serious to me right now. I don't know you, and you're expecting me to trust you. I don't know what's happened to my husband—between you and Mike, I've been taken so far from the scene of the fire that I may never find Finn. And Finn…"
She stopped, a sudden tie in her throat preventing her from speaking further. What could be worse than someone wanting her dead?
Finn, possessed by some outside force, being the one who wanted her dead!
"Lucian is with Finn; I am certain," Brent said, as if drawing on deep reserves of patience as he spoke.
"Listen to me, please, because I can't let you go, and I don't want to hurt you."
"Fine. Then you need to tell me just exactly what happened back in the woods, and why it shouldn't matter who was doing the attacking. Wouldn't he have been part of 'they'?"
"No. Most probably not. Everything happening now is just a teaser, and the people provoking you tonight are just vulnerable to the suggestion of those in power, while those in power will not risk themselves or their identity until the time is right."
"Great. You apparently have a dog, and the dog brought the man down for you. Where did the dog come from, and where did it go now?"
She was terrified, but determined that her speech would be matter-of-fact.
"Let's take it slowly for now, huh? The man in the woods is alive, but dazed, and not one of the main Satanist group, I don't believe. I saw him delivering mail earlier today, so he was most likely just out to party tonight. Tonight was intended to destroy the possibility of you and your husband being surrounded by a crowd of hundreds tomorrow at the midnight hour. And yes, probably, to cast suspicion upon the two of you as well, to bind a rope more tightly around Finn's neck—make it appear as if he might be an arsonist on top of all else. I believe you were to have wound up in the custody of the Satanists, with Finn in a rage at the police department, but maybe under arrest himself as well despite your disappearance—
after all, plenty of people in the town knew that you two were at odds, your own relatives believe that you're afraid of him. Please listen carefully, and I'm begging you to believe me. There are a number of us here. We're part of something we call the Alliance, and we… we try to keep down some of the murder and destruction in the world caused by such people as those who are trying to bring Bac-Dal back into the world."
Megan stared at him blankly.
"I swear, I'm telling you the truth."
She struggled for words. It wasn't difficult to believe that a group of people might be evil, that they might intend to do murder for a diabolical ritual.
It was more difficult to really believe that a demon existed, and that it could be brought back. And yet…
There were the dreams.
He extended a hand to her. She took it slowly, eyes on him warily as she came to her feet. "Where's your dog?" she demanded again.
"The dog?"
"Don't play me for a fool! I saw a huge dog over the man with the butcher knife."
"Actually, you only thought you saw a dog," he said.
"I know I saw a dog."
"You saw a wolf."
"A wolf? So where is it now?"
"Occupied. If you should happen, though, to speak to anyone not in our immediate circle, don't mention the wolf. It will never hurt you, only protect you. Please—the place we've rented is just ahead."
She wasn't sure what to do. Go with him to a remote location in the woods and perhaps play right into the hands of the evildoers?
A shiver rent down her spine. She might as well. This man could kill her here and now and be done with it.
But that wasn't part of the plan, was it? She was supposed to die tomorrow night, at the stroke of twelve.
"Please."
She nodded, because there was nothing else she could do. He would force her to go with him, no matter how polite he was trying to be.
"Your husband will come there," he told her.
"If Finn isn't there, I'm leaving," she said with a determined show of bravado.
"He'll be there. Just give it a little time. That's all I'm asking."
"He'd best be!"
The man smiled. "Jade is there, and my wife."
"And your wife? I see, she's part of this Alliance as well?"
"Her name is Tara. And there are others. Rick and Ann. Maggie and Sean Canady."
Others.
The perfect coven ?
"Great," Megan muttered. "A dark cabin in the woods. Let's go."
"This area isn't Salem, but would have been Salem Village four hundred years ago," Lucian said.
Finn still stared straight ahead. They had parked the car, not wanting to bring it too close the actual cabin that Jade had rented late that afternoon. He hadn't been able to speak since Lucian's last outburst. He felt stunned, not real, as if he were walking in one of his own nightmares. It was too much to assimilate, far too much to believe, at one time.
But when Lucian twisted a key in the lock and they entered the cabin, Megan was there. She was sitting in an upholstered rocker before a roaring fire, a cup of something in her hand, staring at the flames. She looked as dazed as he felt himself. There was a beautiful woman with reddish hair and green eyes in the chair opposite her, and a handful of people sitting at a table in the dining room that attached to the parlor area.
He gave the others no notice at first.
"Megan!"
Her name croaked from his lips. She jumped up, spilling the cup of whatever she had been drinking, and with a glad cry, came flying into his arms.
He held her, feeling as if it was just the two of them against the world. And looking around the room, he was still dazed.
In all, they equaled ten. Himself and Megan. Lucian and Jade. Another fellow of an average-tall height, another man of about forty-something, one with deep brown hair of a shaggier length, and one who was light, with piercing blue eyes, who had the ability to appear tall, even when sitting.
Finn held Megan close to him, staring at the group around him. He felt fiercely protective, determined to hold her against the world, though he felt his spirits sinking. If these people were not what they claimed, he was dead, and he had lost, because he knew he couldn't hope to win any battle against them, certainly not by himself, here in the woods. He had already seen what Lucian could do, and though he hadn't asked the man to prove his words, he had no doubt that he had been speaking the truth.
Feeling defensive as well as far more than dazed and confused, he went on the offensive, looking around the room, catching the eyes of each individual before moving on.
"All right," he said coolly, "which one is the werewolf?"
"Werewolf?" Megan gasped softly.
"That would be me."
The man he had seen waiting outside the coffeehouse came forward. He was the one with the dark hair and unusual green eyes.
"Werewolf?" Megan repeated. She seemed to have lost some strength and he held her more tightly.
"Want to explain what the rest of you are?" Finn asked tightly, but politely. "Rick Beaudreaux, vampire,"
the blond man with crystal blue eyes said. "Vampire."
"I'm Ann," his wife, said one of the women, a very elegant, chic woman with dark hair and ice-light eyes said, with a very French accent on the two words alone. She shrugged then with a rueful smile. "Simply human."
The auburn-haired beauty who had been sitting across from Megan rose then, walking to him, offering him a hand. "Maggie Montgomery Canady, human now, and my husband, Sean." She indicated the dark-haired fellow who was graying ever so slightly. "He's a cop in New Orleans. Honestly. He can show you his credentials. That might make you feel better."
"Yeah, it might, except that credentials can be forged," Finn said.
The man with the extraordinary height spoke up then. "If we wanted to cause you any injury, you'd be dead already," he said. "Ragnor Wolfson. Vampire. My wife, Jordan." He indicated the petite woman at his side.
"How do you do?" she said politely.
Megan was almost dead weight in Finn's arms. He thought that she might be about to pass out.
Apparently, they hadn't shared this information with her earlier.
But Megan didn't pass out. She stood taller.
"Vampires," she said, and looked at Brent Malone. "And a werewolf. Hence the dog I thought I saw, naturally. And the moon is very nearly full."
"I don't need a full moon," he murmured.
"And you all!" Her gaze swept over the room. "Could you explain this with a little more detail? You simply think you're vampires—like those cults who believe that drinking blood will make you more powerful. Or you are vampires? And if you are vampires—shouldn't we be running from you faster than from any demon in hell?"