A Vampire's Claim (8 page)

He always felt this way at first, he reminded himself. A sheila always came with a cost, bringing a mob of memories of another woman’s scent, her skin. Her laughter. But there was a particular bleakness, an extra weight, because bloody oath, it was
her
, Lady Daniela, he missed this time.

He hoped Tina couldn’t see him now. They’d been two groping kids when they married. Had learned the way of it all together, not afraid or ashamed to try anything, all innocent to it. While she wasn’t a wowser by any means, she’d been a good girl.

’Course, he wasn’t worth a zack to her anymore, so it didn’t matter. Squeezing his eyes shut, trying to dispel the lingering memory of blue eyes that seemed to understand so much, he threw off the sheet with a curse and forced his body to do what it had always done. Survive, and keep moving until the devil caught up with him, or he turned and cornered the bastard himself.

It was time to pack up and return to the bush. While he didn’t doubt Danny’s offer was genuine, he couldn’t afford her. He might survive the kind of job he’d performed for her these past . . . Christ, how long had he been in this room? But when she was done with him, he wouldn’t care for that cast-off feeling one bit. Or hanging about to see the next hapless but also lucky bastard she took beneath her. Best to leave things as they were.

He began the painstaking process of making his arse move, along with a few other loudly protesting parts. He expected he now had a far better understanding of the Yank term “rode hard and put away wet.”

4

“
W
ELL, you look about as I expected,” Elle said, sliding him a beer when he put his pack down next to the bar. Though she’d been closing down for the night, about to cut the lights, she’d been merciful enough to give him the parting drink, though he expected part of it was curiosity. Her shrewd eyes covered the open throat of his shirt, where the scars from the lady’s nails were as prominent as a tiger’s.

“Leave it, Elle,” he said shortly. “Joe get back last night?”

“Night before last.” At his startled look, she cocked a brow. “You’ve been under quite a while. Your lady friend left at sundown.”

Dev covered his surprise by picking up the beer, taking another deep swallow. Christ, he couldn’t seem to get enough fluid. Guess that was what happened when you let a sheila drain your cock
and
your blood. “You don’t seem sorry for her to go, though she dropped more than a few quid.”

“We get by without their type.”

“World takes all kinds of people.”

“She ain’t people,” Elle said sharply. “She’s part of the Thieves’ Station mob, as you should know if you did anything other than . .

.” She bit that off, though it visibly cost her. Since she was old enough to be his mum, Dev knew the usual topics a respectable woman avoided discussing with a man weren’t going to be off-limits to Elle for long. “And trouble’s already following her,” she added. “Best all around that she left.”

“What do you mean?” Dev made a careful shift against the bar to avoid contact with the sore spot high on his thigh. The place she’d bitten him that last time. He recalled the unusual tingle of feeling that came with it.

“Kim over at Carson’s Creek Hotel, hundred miles from here, radioed for a bloke who was interested in what route your lady friend might have taken. Seemed anxious to catch up to her. Lucky her driver asked me about the roads, so I had an idea of what to tell him.”

Dev put down the bottle. “Why do you think that means trouble is following her?”

Elle shrugged. “ ’Cause Kim called back an hour later, asking me what it was about. He said that bloke and his mob had just left his place, looking like a hunting party. I told him it involved Thieves’ Station, so it wasn’t our worry.”

As he stared at her, Elle gave him an irritable look. “Nothing good comes out of Thieves’ Station, Dev. You’ve heard the blacks mutter about it. Go walkabout out there and you’re never seen again. The men who work at Thieves’ keep to themselves, don’t say nothing to no one when they come through. Don’t even use outside help at shearing time, none that comes from around here, at least.”

“Last I heard, they raise merinos. Smaller flock. The rest are stories to scare the little ones, Elle. Bull dust.” Rising, he laid down his money for the beer.

“You going to say that after what you rooted with last night?” Her gaze scorched him, though a flush stained her cheeks at her own crudity. “Thought you’d be wrung out enough now you’d be thinking with something above your belt, but sounds like the kangaroos are still loose in your top paddock.”

“I know what she is,” he said evenly. “It doesn’t mean there’s a bloody haunted station out there.”

Elle’s arm shot out to snag his collar, startling him as she yanked the fabric aside to reveal the puncture wound at his throat, the long rivulets down his chest.

“You aren’t an idiot, Dev, even when you act like one. I know you’re a grown man, and you see to yourself your own way. But you listen to me now. Something like her will take everything you have. And you don’t have much left to you. That’s just the truth of it.”

As he held her gaze, Dev forced himself to look past the flash of his own anger to see the concern there, the care. Because of that, he kept his voice steady when he said, “Let go of my shirt, Elle. If you know her route, see if you can raise the places with radios along the way, verify if she’s been by or leave a warning for her. She dealt fair with you. She deserves a fair go at this. If you refuse,” he added, “I’ll hop over there and do it myself.”

Muttering, she released him and went to the radio behind the bar. As Dev listened to her rattle off the call signs, making contact with the small handful of stations and hotels like hers along the three possible routes, he marked them in his mind. Two verified that they’d seen the Rovers come through at different times through the early part of the night, but up between the Wattle Grove and Smith Town hotels she’d apparently gone off road, which was about right for where her station was located on the rough map she’d left him. She must have a damn good guide, or a damn fool one, traveling off road in the dead of night, though at least there was a bright moon. Of course, he knew that area pretty well himself.

She could make it to Thieves’ in one night from here, unless she ran into trouble. Since trouble was something experienced bush travelers always counted on, he assumed those special tinted windows had been in case they had to travel during daylight hours.

Though from her aversion to being anywhere near those patches of late-afternoon sunlight, he couldn’t imagine it would be comfortable for her.

But that wasn’t what was making him uneasy. His gut and the hair on the back of his neck told him that something was off. Draining his final beer, he shouldered his swag as Elle turned to him. “I’m borrowing one of your motorbikes and taking a couple spare tires and some petrol. I’ll bring it back on my next go round, but I’m going to catch up to her.”

“What if I lift this shotgun, and call Joe to hog-tie you?”

He gave her a wry look. “Every man makes his own fate, Elle. Here.” He produced a gold nugget he’d found from some idle fossicking, pushed it across the bar to her. “That should cover the bike, if you never hear from either of us again.”

“Oh, rack off with you, then.” Her earbashing didn’t cover her worry, so he leaned over, kissed her cheek, though she scowled at him.

“You’re a love, Elle. She’ll be apples, you’ll see.”

“She’s back of Bourke by now. You’ll never catch her.”

As he looked toward the window, the truth of her statement goaded the uneasy feeling he had. At sunrise, the fierceness of the day would bake a lizard. To the fair skin of a blond vampire with an aversion to daylight, it would be lethal.

Danny might have been able to allay some of Dev’s concerns. Knowing the hazards of traveling the bush at any time of day, she’d hired two of the reputed best guides for traveling off road, warning them ahead of time she’d be traveling at night. She’d also included her specially coated canvas coverings, which could be draped and pinned over the Rovers like a wide tent, in case they ran into trouble and had to camp out during daylight. Of course, she hoped for a smooth passage, for even under those coverings and behind tinted windows, sun glaring off the desert sand and temperatures capable of rising well over a hundred would make her feel as if she were cooking. No, it wouldn’t be a pleasant day. She’d handle it if she had to, though.

The guides, Mal and Pete, didn’t know her kind, but Harry, Roy and John, her personal security detail from Brisbane, were all long-term employees. While she typically would use her night vision to warn them of trouble spots, she found the guides were anticipating well, and after a time she relaxed. She really didn’t want to pass the time conversing with the two in the front seat as she might have done. Much of the trip she’d remained aloof, studying the passing terrain.

Being able to see in pitch darkness had its advantages. She could make out the groupings of gums and wattle. Low patches of mulga bushes, the various grasses. Occasional movement from groups of kangaroos or emus. Some rabbits and dingoes came close to their track, foraging in the cooler night air, but the guides could see them only if they passed ahead, where the headlights caught the brief shine of their eyes. There’d been some rain recently, so she knew there might still be some newer green leaves on the shrubs or patches of wildflowers that sprang up quickly after the blessing of water.

No more than a couple centuries ago, a handful of outcast Europeans had been forced to put down roots here. But a small group of those had seen something different when they looked at this country. Wide, open spaces. Freedom of determination. No bloody Poms telling you what to do. There was something old, wild and primitive in Australia, like a goddess of an ancient religion, amused and yet indifferent to the antics of the younger continents. A goddess who embraced those few who understood Her independence, Her dark and light spaces, Her harsh and unforgiving wisdom.

Ironically, that special group of white settlers who’d bonded with this land, the Outback in particular, had that in common with the even smaller smattering of vampires out here. While more dangerous conditions for vampires couldn’t be devised, even by dedicated vampire hunters, there were at least fifty in the Northern Territory and Western Australia. The only vampire she knew that lived in harsher sunlit conditions was one in the Sahara, and Lord Mason had reputedly lived there for centuries.

Of course, that was where the connection between the humans and vampires here ended. While Danny had no tolerance for the woman’s insolence, she couldn’t dispute Elle’s reaction. Thieves’ Station had been no friend to its neighbors, white, black or vampire. She hoped to change that.

Unfortunately, she was on her own for that. As she’d learned only too well on her recent trip to Berlin, the Vampire Council had as little concern for what happened here as the rest of the world. Out of sight, out of mind. Why care what atrocities the Northwest Region Master, Lord Charles Ruskin, was committing with humans, as well as with his own kind?

She’d deal with it. But first she had to deal with Ian. Damn it, she wished she’d brought the intriguing swagman with her. Her mind drifted back to the pleasant, feral memories of the past day. God, he’d been unexpected. She hadn’t had one so tempting in more than a century. That hard body, firm, clever lips and magnificent cock were certainly memorable all on their own. But she kept coming back to the sea green eyes, so sad and fierce at once. A lost warrior. One who’d failed to protect his family, and so had sentenced himself to solitude.

All those unresolved emotions had become luscious, dark needs, which betrayed him through his body’s cravings. The resilience of the human animal. The primal beast never stopped wanting to live, even when its intellect tried to convince it life wasn’t worth living.

But she wasn’t alone, she reminded herself. Those three men, her employees, each carried two of her marks. The first mark was a simple geographic locater. The second allowed her to be in their heads, speak to them or see their thoughts, though they, of course, did not have reciprocal access to her mind. While to humans who served a vampire it might seem an intimate bonding, for a vampire, it was merely typical and a wise security measure to have second-marked household staff. It wasn’t the same level as the intimacy of shared emotions, passion—things she supposed a vampire
could
share,
if
she chose to do so—with a third-marked, full servant.

The thought made her shift in her seat. She’d shared such intimacy with Dev, without any marks at all. Not all of it had been voluntary. A wicked smile touched her lips, but with it she felt a twinge of something else. She missed him.
Strange.

Most vampires took their first fully marked servant by the time they reached a hundred. She was nearing her second century and had never taken one at all. During the period when convicts were still being brought to Australia, her mother had acquired some for labor, like a lot of landowners, and Danny had made use of dependable ones in her youth for second-mark purposes. That had always seemed sufficient to her, even as she matured.

Perhaps she’d take one eventually, but for now, such long-term commitments didn’t suit her. They brought irritation. Tedium. It wasn’t worth the bother. But she hadn’t been able to resist marking Dev once, so she could reach out and find him if she chose.

Make sure he still shared the world with her and hadn’t succumbed to the discouraging fragility of human mortality.

She bit back a sigh. She’d done the right thing, leaving the choice up to him, even though she’d been tempted to roll him up in his swag while he was unconscious and bring him along. They’d made less progress than she’d hoped. Traveling off-road in the Outback took time, even in broad daylight. One had to maneuver among the wiry and twisted tall eucalyptus, saltbushes and grasses like spinifex that could foul the grille, and watch for ruts and deep gullies. Mind the bands of sheep and cattle. Desolate open spaces could hold peril. The stability of creek beds had to be established before crossing, determine if it was possible to work from boulder to boulder on the few that still held water. So far they’d done a bang-up job. Her two guides’ blood was worth bottling. An Oz colloquialism about courage she found quite amusing, all in all.