PLAYING GAMES, page 1
PLAYING GAMES
A short story in the Night Warriors series
By Brenna Lyons
The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal, and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Playing Games
Copyright ã 2003 Brenna Lyons
Cover art and design by Martine Jardin
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
Published by eXtasy Books, a division of Zumaya Publications, 2003
Look for us online at:
www.zumayapublications.com
www.Extasybooks.com
May 1, 1987
Denise Roberts shook her head at the report again, dropping it on the passenger seat of her car. It didn’t make sense, and reading it a hundred times or a thousand times didn’t help that situation.
The victims were primarily female, young and attractive. Only one of the ten was male, and only two were over the age of twenty-five. They had all been found at the doors of one of the four local hospitals, hypo-anemic and confused, unable to recall what had happened to them. They were in good health except for their condition when they were found, not drug users or drunk. It was rare to find a mark on them save the one that baffled all the experts.
It was a single puncture over a major artery, too large to be even the largest medical-grade needle for drawing blood — healed sites that the victims and their families all attested had not been there hours earlier. The site had somehow been used to draw off blood, but how was the mystery Denise was ordered to discover.
How was the blood drawn off without leaving an open site anywhere on the body? What caused the discoloration reminiscent of a childhood scar? What caused the memory lapse?
That bothered Denise most. No drugs were found in the blood they took, urine, siliva, or even in the spinal fluid. There were no signs of head injury, indicating that they had been rendered unconscious, and it was simply unbelievable that they would all choose to lie.
While Denise found it intriguing, the street cops were furious over the lack of evidence, and the forensics specialists were scared silly. There had been ten victims in less than five months and not a shred of evidence to link them to an assailant or to each other. Denise was their last line of defense.
She sighed and clicked off the overhead light in her car, cursing herself as a fool again. Denise had been on this case for two months and made no more headway than anyone else. It was embarrassing — and insult to her professional track record.
What Denise did was hard to describe. Even her boss didn’t care how she did it. She just found her way to results that no one else seemed able to. If they were desperate enough to assign her for no better reason than that, they were more desperate than she had seen them in years.
So, what am I doing? Skulking around the alleys where these people last recall being. Why? What am I going to find that no one else has and that I haven’t up until now? What do I hope to accomplish by coming here at night?
Denise shifted nervously. She hoped to catch a sicko who drained blood from unsuspecting victims, but this was crazy. If Adam knew she was doing this, her boss would handcuff her to her desk. As it was, Adam was nervous that Denise had been requested for this assignment. He’d called her into his office more than once to lecture her on all the rules she already knew, his green eyes showing moments of deep emotion while he spoke. Her night excursions without an escort would drive him batty. Worse, Adam would have her banned from the case.
The alley was between a restaurant and a dance club. It led from the main street to the parking lot where she’d left her car. The last victim had disappeared from this alley more than two weeks earlier, and another would go soon. There was never more than three weeks between attacks.
Denise turned on her flashlight and panned it over the ground and walls. There were no doors that opened onto the alley or hiding places large enough for an adult to use. The fire escapes and dumpsters were at the back of the buildings, nowhere near the mouth of the alley. Both ends were well lit and the alley not poorly lit either. There was no conceivable way to sneak up on a person in the alley. The victim hadn’t been with anyone else when she entered the alley. So, how—
“Lose something?” a deep voice inquired, a rich voice with a faint accent.
Denise turned with a yelp, losing her balance and landing on her ass with a grunt. She swung her flashlight up at the man standing over her.
He blinked stunning sky-blue eyes in the glare of her light then shaded them with one large hand. His hair was a mass of bright blond curls spilling over his forehead almost into those beautiful eyes. “Are you all right?” he asked.
She felt her cheeks heat. Denise pushed to her feet awkwardly. “How did you do that?”
He furrowed his brow. “Do?”
“How did you sneak up on me?” she demanded. “Where did you come from?”
He rolled his eyes. “I didn’t sneak up on you. I walked, and I came from the street.”
Denise ground her teeth in frustration. He did sneak up on her, and she had to know how. Denise didn’t get lost in her own mind. She was always aware of her surroundings.
He smiled. “Are you sure you’re all right?” He reached a hand out as if to check the temperature at the back of her neck.
“Polero,” a new voice barked. “Face me.”
Denise swung toward the new voice, taking in the tall, dark man dressed all in black. He pulled a wicked-looking dagger more than a foot long from a sheath at his waist. She backpedaled, expecting to hit the wall of the blonde’s chest.
She didn’t. Denise glanced over her shoulder and felt her breathing hitch. He was gone, disappeared without a sound, though he had to have traveled more than fifteen feet to leave the alley. Denise turned back to question the new arrival, but he had disappeared as well — silently. She ran a shaking hand over her forehead.
“People do not just disappear,” she assured herself. Denise turned her light to the ground, scowling that the blonde had been on the cobblestones. She spun back to the other man’s position, sighing in relief at the boot prints in the dirt break.
“Okay. They do exist,” she decided. The blonde would be long gone. He was on the street side of the alley. The dark man was on the parking lot side. Unless he could run the hundred in ten flat while hauling that hardware, she’d see him.
Denise vaulted toward the lot, stilling and turning back at a sound behind her. Dust danced in the beam of her flashlight. Her hand shook. Denise sank to her knees and touched the cool soil where the footprints had been.
*
Polero smiled, watching the policewoman examining the alley feverishly. She was special in many ways: intuitive, determined, and intelligent. Her confusion and denial of the truth was the best part of the game so far. When Jörg ordered him to play this game with the Lord Jäger and his brothers, Polero hadn’t been pleased. After the disaster of trying to take Lord Jäger’s daughter and his near miss with Stephen’s young bride, Polero didn’t want to be within two states of those warriors, but Jörg was his master, and Jörg’s word was law.
Sometimes, Polero cursed his moments of weakness — the moment when he entered Jörg’s service and the moment he accepted this damned half-life to escape death at the hands of Jörg’s enemies. Polero hadn’t realized how the loss of kind emotions would eat at him as the centuries fell away.
He smiled at the policewoman again — Denise. There were only two things that made Polero feel truly alive now, and pretty Denise could provide him with both. And, she would provide — willingly.
Polero dematerialized and drifted toward her. Denise wanted answers. Her thirst for that knowledge would be her undoing. In nearly three centuries walking the Earth, Polero hadn’t found a woman who wasn’t consumed by curiosity.
He took shape behind her, watching her sift the dirt through her fingers, listening to her internal list of possible explanations, none of them remotely close to the truth. “I take it he didn’t harm you,” he noted quietly.
Denise jumped to her feet, laying a slap across his cheek, her heart pounding and her mind a riot of thoughts tumbling over each other. She blushed in the sudden realization that she had lost her composure. It wasn’t something she was accustomed to doing. “You,” she stammered. “Who the hell are you?”
Polero smiled. Being able to tell her was half the fun of this game. “Antonio Pablo Polero, at your service.” He executed a formal bow for show.
She took a step back, her eyes widening in surprise. Denise motioned toward the parking lot. “And Conan?” she asked lightly.
Ah yes. Stephen of Jäger. “An adversary.”
Denise raised an eyebrow, regaining a bit of her composure. “You must be good at dodging.”
“I have means of protecting myself.”
“Where did you disappear to?” she demanded.
She didn’t miss a beat. “Why would he want to hurt you?”
“Because I am a threat to his safety, and you are not.”
Denise laughed harshly.
Polero started speaking before she could. “Don’t laugh, Officer Roberts. The police cannot touch him. It isn’t safe for you here. You should leave before he comes back.”
She paled.
He nodded. “Yes. I know exactly who you are, Denise.” Polero turned toward the street, counting the seconds it took her to recover enough to try and stop him. She moved on five.
“You’re withholding information in a police investigation, Mr. Polero,” she growled. “You’re not leaving here until you give me those answers. Or would you rather leave in cuffs?”
Polero stopped and shot her a look of amazement. Denise was a formidable woman. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Your superiors won’t believe what I have to say,” he warned her.
“What I’ve seen so far defies logic. How much worse can it get?”
“Don’t ask what you don’t want to know.”
Denise strode to him. “I do want to know. That’s why I’m here.”
Polero shivered as he felt Stephen’s approach. The youngest of the Jäger brothers had always left a slight tremor in his wake that his brothers weren’t sloppy enough to leave. That tremor had saved Polero’s life more than once.
He launched toward her, covering Denise’s mouth before she could scream. He ghosted them both. “Shhh,” he soothed her. Polero scooped his crucifix from beneath his t-shirt and held it between them, as if it had meaning.
She stilled, looking at the couple walking through the alley in confusion. Denise furrowed her brow, her mind desperately trying to analyze why they weren’t reacting to her obvious distress.
He nuzzled against her ear, closing his eyes to the sweet smell of her fear. “Shhh,” he reminded her, taking his hand away slowly. “He’s back.”
Denise’s eyes darted back and forth, searching for some sign of Stephen. “I don’t see him,” she whispered.
“You will not unless he wishes to be seen.”
As Polero expected, Stephen heard at least part of their exchange, but still he didn’t allow himself to be seen.
Stephen’s challenge came from nothingness. “I know it’s you Polero, you baby-stealing monster. Using the woman as a shield won’t last long. Either you will move or reveal yourself. I have all night.”
Denise’s eyes widened, and her fear intensified, but with it came her innate curiosity.
Polero pressed a kiss to her ear, speaking in a voice too low for Stephen to hear. “I will lead him away again, but you must promise to leave immediately.”
She nodded slowly.
“If you wish to know the truth, meet me at the attack site preceding this one three nights from now.”
She nodded again, her heart pounding in excitement.
He kissed her ear again, smiling at how easily she was falling into his trap. Polero pushed away from her and released his ghosting. “Come for me, cursed one,” he spat, as he turned and ran.
It was a chance. The warrior could choose to stay behind, to educate the woman in what Polero was, but the odds were against it. Most warriors would choose to leave an uninjured victim that had not been used for feeding behind for the possibility of making a kill.
Polero laughed aloud, laying on speed as he left Denise’s line of sight. Stephen was close behind, as Polero knew he would be. Any warrior would follow. To revenge themselves for the loss of the Lord Jäger’s wife and child, any warrior of Jäger would pursue Polero to both their deaths.
*
May 4, 1987
Polero materialized behind Denise, running his fingertips down her arm slowly. Denise turned to him, her hand fisted on the grip of her handgun. She met his eyes, relaxing with a sigh.
“Mr. Polero,” she greeted him stiffly.
He chuckled. “Antonio will be fine,” he assured her. “Shall we go, Denise?”
She backed off a step, her eyes narrowing. “Go? Where are we going?” Why didn’t I tell Adam and get backup? Because, he would have had a cow about the first night out, let alone this one! Well, what would he say to you going somewhere with—
“You want to know the truth?” he interrupted her internal argument.
“Of course.” Adam is going to kill me.
“Then come with me.”
She hesitated. “Tell me why that man called you a baby stealer first.”
Polero affected a sigh. “It’s not what it sounds like.”
“You took his child,” she accused.
“No. His master took my brother’s wife. He nearly killed Jörg to take her. I was trying to take Anna— I was trying to take her and her child back.” He paused for effect — and to push back the true anguish of his failure. “She’s dead, and her daughter will never know her. I failed utterly.”
“How utterly?” she asked suspiciously.
“There’s a reason they want my brother and I dead. If I ever get the chance again—”
She shuddered.
“Do you want to know the truth?” he asked.
Denise nodded. She didn’t pull away when he wrapped an arm around her hip and led her along the nearly deserted streets. This was the most amusement Polero had gotten from the game thus far, giving Denise just enough of the truth and avoiding just enough lies to make it more interesting.
He’d chosen this site for a reason. One of his holes was close to this alley. Polero had surrounded himself with books and icons over the centuries, copying or stealing texts to keep a stable library even on those rare occasions when warriors discovered one of his holes. Tonight, Polero would sacrifice one to his pleasures.
She entered his apartment over an abandoned clothing store willingly and looked around at some of his treasures. He’d collected both Christian and warrior icons: artful recreations of the crucifix, religious robes, a few amulets stolen from dead warriors, and even a sacred weapon. He’d copied religious texts from both religions, some calligraphed meticulously and some rewritten to suit his own needs.
Denise ran her fingers over a twentieth century Roman Catholic collar. “You mugged a priest?” she joked.
Polero chuckled as he dragged off his sweatshirt in favor of the muscle shirt beneath. “I was a priest,” he answered honestly. Not in this time, but I was once of the order.
She turned to him in surprise, running her eyes from his jean-clad legs to the ladder of muscles up his abdomen to the tattoo of a cross on the front of his right shoulder. “You?”
He nodded. “Surprised?”
“To say the least,” she admitted. “What happened? You were a priest.”
Polero shrugged. “The organized religions aren’t into the hunting of evil as they once were.”
“Evil?” she asked dubiously.
He strode toward her, pressing lightly to her body as he reached for one of the volumes on the shelves at her back. Polero kept his eyes locked on hers as he brought the book down for her. Denise gasped as he hardened, gazing down between their bodies.
Polero backed away, biting back a smile at her interest. “Natural reaction to a beautiful woman,” he decided, opening the book and feigning interest.
Denise blushed. “But, you’re a priest,” she protested weakly.
“No, I was a priest. That was a long time ago, and even priests react to a beautiful woman.”
Polero had certainly reacted to Yzabeau. Whether it was Jörg’s possession of her or something nameless about her, Polero could never say. Regana’s souls had always captured men, warriors, and beasts alike.
“Beautiful?” she scoffed.
He moved his eyes over the bun of auburn hair and dark eyes to the ample breasts half-disguised beneath her jacket to the outline of her mound through her jeans. “Yes,” he answered bluntly.
She blushed deeper and cleared her throat. “Answers,” she reminded him.
But, she was pleased that he thought her beautiful, and she wished another man thought so — Adam. The man must be a fool. Polero looked back to the book. “Of course.”
Denise was the type of woman Polero enjoyed. It wasn’t so unusual that she didn’t find herself attractive. Americans of the present day leaned toward willowy females, not a woman with lush curves and breasts a man could become lost in.
