Dark Obsession

Was he her protector? Or a predator…

It was the final glimpse Erin Ramsey would have of her sister: Megan’s body, drained of blood, lying lifeless in a New York alley. Tormented by the fact that she hadn’t been there when her sister needed her, Erin promises herself that she’ll find Megan’s killer.

Detective Nicholas Slade tells Erin to go home, back to California. He says he doesn’t want her to be the murderer’s next victim. But his warning comes too late. Erin is already in danger, in thrall to a man who cloaks himself in shadows and haunts her nightmares.

Erin is desperate to find her sister’s murderer—and desperate to avoid becoming his prey—but she feels her own life spinning out of control as the silver-eyed specter from her dreams lures her deeper into his world. Nick may be the only one who can help her, but she’s afraid to trust him. Her deep attraction to the secretive detective is tinged with fear. He only works the night shift. He wears sunglasses in the dark. And he may have been the last person to see Megan alive…

Previously published.

“I can take care of myself,” Erin assured Nick.

“Can you?” he asked.

There was something in his tone—a faint challenge—that made Erin grow even more uneasy. She glanced around the darkened hallway. There was no one about. She was completely alone with a man who made her tremble, a man who made her think of moonlight and madness. Of secrets and whispers and promises that could only be told in the dead of the night.

She looked at him, telling herself that she couldn’t be feeling this pull, this strange attraction for a man who seemed to embody her deepest fears. Her darkest nightmares.

What kind of woman would be drawn to the thing that frightened her most?

Amanda Stevens knew at an early age that she wanted to be a writer, and began her first novel at the age of thirteen. While majoring in English at Houston Community College and the University of Houston, she was encouraged to write a romance novel by one of her instructors, who was himself writing a historical. Her first romance was sold to Silhouette Intimate Moments in 1985. Amanda lives in Houston, Texas, with her husband of sixteen years and their five-year-old twins.

Dark Obsession

Amanda Stevens

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

PROLOGUE

Drake D’Angelo woke up suddenly, the realization that it was almost dark and he was starving coming upon him. Soon, he comforted himself. Soon he would taste again the sweet red nectar that he had been deprived of for too many years.

He licked his lips in anticipation as he got up and strolled out to his balcony. The soft twilight fell around him, blanketing him with the cool comfort of the approaching night. This was his favorite time, this tenuous moment right after sunset when the world came alive with the darkness, when the night stretched before him like an endless dream. How he had missed it during those eight years when he had lain deep underground, sleeping the sleep of the dead while the wounds that had nearly destroyed him healed.

He hated the dawn. Hated being trapped by the prison of daylight, but he wouldn’t think about that now. Not when the darkness was calling to him so strongly. Not when he had been waiting so impatiently for the night.

Not when revenge finally lay within his grasp.

Visions raced before his eyes, and he let himself remember that night eight years ago—a mere moment in time for one such as he. The heat had been suffocating, stinging his eyes and searing his skin as the inferno raged around him. The flames had licked at the tattered drapery and rotting floors of his mansion as the fire consumed everything in its path.

He closed his eyes at the remembered terror. The agony! The excruciating pain as the fire caught at his clothing and ate at his flesh. He could still hear Simone’s screams as her long, silken hair blazed like a halo around her glorious face. Within seconds she had been gone, destroyed, her loveliness nothing but a memory.

And all because of one man.

His enemy.

An unworthy rival who had thought to destroy him, but like the legendary phoenix, Drake had risen from the ashes of death. He had survived the torment. He had lived to seek his vengeance against the man who had taken away the one woman who would have been Drake’s mate through eternity. His one great love. He had waited centuries for her, and now she was gone.

“Simone.” He whispered her name agonizingly in the gathering darkness. There was only one way to ease the pain of her memory. Only one way to avenge her loss.

Death.

Each one would make him feel stronger. Would take the edge off his loneliness. Would give him a sense of justice in an unjust world.

They would give him a little something to look forward to night after night, he thought, smiling. Each death, each “kill,” would torment his nemesis as once the pain had tormented Drake. The kills would take everything away from his rival as Simone had been taken away from Drake. And he had found the perfect way to once and for all destroy his enemy. Nicholas Slade’s pathetic little crusade was about to come to an end.

And so he would go out again tonight, in his new identity, to a club where others like him met. A place where he could see but not be seen. A place where the unsuspecting were so easily seduced by the darkness. He would go there because that was where Slade would be.

Tonight his revenge would begin in earnest.

Drake smiled as his hunger sharpened. He could hardly wait. “I’ll see you in hell, Slade,” he whispered.

CHAPTER ONE

Detective Nicholas Slade knelt and touched the dead woman’s chin. With his fingertip, he tilted her head, glanced at the bruise marring an otherwise flawless cheek, then let his gaze move downward to her neck.

He studied her perfect features in the dim glow cast by a distant street lamp. She was a beautiful woman. Or had been, he corrected himself. Early twenties. Tall. Slender. Long black hair. And even though her eyes were closed, Slade knew they were blue. Deep, dark, soul-piercing blue.

Megan Ramsey had been a knockout. A real heart-breaker.

Abruptly Slade stood. From behind his sunglasses, he gazed down at the corpse, never taking his eyes off the body even when the other detective on the scene came up beside him.

“Orders came down from the top, Slade. We had to call you.” There was a trace of resentment in Gabriel Abrams’s voice, but Slade ignored it. His involvement over the last eight years with a special task force set up by Commissioner Thomas Delaney had ruffled a lot of feathers within the New York City Police Department, due in large part to the veil of secrecy from under which the group operated.

Code-named the Mission, the task force’s primary function was to investigate and eliminate the dark, evil elements that stalked the city’s streets—elements that most people thought only existed in their nightmares.

Each member of the Mission had been carefully recruited over the years by Commissioner Delaney because of a special trait, ability or background that made him or her uniquely qualified to serve in the secret organization. The Mission’s ranks expanded far beyond the New York City Police Department, though. Slade had no idea who all the members were or where they had come from. He only knew what his own particular area of expertise was. And why.

“You did the right thing,” he told Gabe. “Anyone else know about this?”

“Just the two blues who were on the scene first.” Gabe’s breath frosted in the night air as he gazed down at the body. “Her name’s Megan Ramsey. An actress. We got a positive ID from her sister.”

It would have been the perfect time to mention he already knew the victim’s name. It would have been the logical time to admit that he had seen Megan Ramsey just last night, that he had warned her to stay away from a club that attracted the dark side of the city, but he didn’t. Like so many others, she had refused to listen to him, and now she lay dead at his feet.

Slade shoved his hands deep inside the pockets of his long black coat. “Any witnesses?”

“None that bothered to stick around.”

Thank God for small favors, Slade thought. If the citizens of this city had even an inkling as to the real terrors out there in the darkness—

He cut off his own thoughts as he nodded toward a stooped figure in a tan overcoat hovering around the fringes of the cordoned-off area. “Who’s the old guy?”

“Name’s Traymore. Dr. Leonard Traymore. He’s a retired archaeologist doing some kind of research at NYU. He was a little vague on exactly what, though,” Gabe said dryly. “Says he heard a commotion and came out to investigate. He’s the one who called the station, but he claims he didn’t see a thing.” Gabe hesitated, then said in a low, anxious tone, “What the hell’s going on here, Slade?”

“What do you mean?”

Gabe stamped his feet, trying to keep warm as the wind sharpened. “Look at those marks on her neck. They look like some kind of a bite, but there’s no blood anywhere. No sign of a struggle.”

Slade stared at Gabe from behind his sunglasses. “So what are you saying, Abrams? That we’ve got a crazed vampire on the loose?”

“Hell, no. I’m saying we may have some crazed psycho on the loose who thinks he’s a vampire. Eighty-seventh had a werewolf last year, remember? Four bodies ripped apart in the park before the perp was apprehended. And the year before that, it was human sacrifices down by the river. The world is full of crazies, Slade. This guy’s a real Looney Tunes.”

“What makes you so sure it’s a man?” Slade asked quietly.

Gabe looked startled, then grinned irreverently. “I’ve met some bloodsucking women in my time—my ex-wife included—but nothing like this. No. This is a man’s job. Some crazy bastard getting his jollies. And by the looks of her, she didn’t put up much of a fuss.”

Slade stared down at Megan Ramsey, seeing again the perfect, flawless creature at his feet. She wore a black beaded evening dress and silk stockings. One of her shoes had come off and lay several inches from the body. Leaves dotted her dark hair as artfully as if she’d arranged them there herself. The black lashes showed starkly against her white cheekbones, and her full red lips curved upward in a tiny secretive smile. If possible, she looked even more beautiful in death.

A shudder ripped through Slade. He could almost hear the echo of Megan Ramsey’s laughter in the wind. Or was that Simone’s? “Kiss me, Nick. Just one last kiss…”

“Has anyone else said anything about the marks on her neck?” he abruptly asked Gabe.

“I don’t think so. The blues were too busy admiring her body. They’re used to winos and druggies who, shall we say, have already passed their prime when the Grim Reaper comes to call. They don’t get to see too many corpses that look like her.”

“What a shame,” Slade remarked sarcastically. He raked his fingers through his short crop of hair, then looked around, uneasy. It was getting colder. Colder and foggier. In the distance, a siren sounded, but the tiny plot of backyard where they stood remained eerily silent. Deadly calm. Mist swirled over the beautiful corpse like a gossamer shroud.

“The sister’s still hanging around if you want to talk to her,” Gabe suggested, nodding toward the steps of the apartment building. “She’s been here the whole time.”

Slade had noticed the woman sitting on the back steps the moment he’d arrived. She wore jeans and some sort of flimsy-looking sweater, and he could see her shivering from cold and shock. She looked fragile, like a crystal figurine that could too easily be shattered.

He tried to look away, but his gaze kept going back to her. The way she sat there, with her shoulders slumped and her hand clutching something to her chest, she looked so forlorn. So lost. Even from the distance across the yard, he could sense her grief, could almost touch it in the air between them. Like a dark and heavy cloak, it settled over them both, drawing them closer, binding them together against his will.

“Her name’s Erin,” Gabe was saying. “Erin Ramsey.”

Slade glanced up sharply. “The horror writer?”

“Apparently. She’s the one who discovered the body. Just got in about an hour ago from L.A. Came looking for her sister and found her out here, like this. Some welcome party, huh?”

“Have you talked to her?”

“Briefly. She wasn’t in much shape to answer questions.”

“Yeah, well, unfortunately, she doesn’t have a choice.”

“Why don’t you do it?” Gabe suggested, eyeing him slyly. “You always have such a charming bedside manner, Slade. I’ll talk to the old guy.”

Slade nodded, then glanced around, letting his shielded gaze roam over the backyard. The two officers were still hanging around, shuffling their feet and trying not to stare at the body. The medical examiner would be here soon, the CSU team, someone from the D.A.’s office. The yard would become a circus, and what he and Gabe had found wouldn’t be a secret for long.

Then what?

He could already feel the heat coming down from the commissioner’s office. “This is your province, Nick. Your specialty. Hunt him down, quickly, before questions begin to surface. We can’t have a vampire preying on innocent young women. Do what you have to do, but get him off the streets.”

Yeah, this was his province, all right, and Slade had every intention of doing what he had to do to stop the killing. After all, as the commissioner liked to remind him, vampires were his specialty.

He glanced at the sky and saw that the darkness had lightened almost imperceptibly. Behind the sunglasses, his eyes burned slightly with warning. It would be daybreak in a few hours. So much to do and so little time.

With an inward sigh, he headed across the yard toward Erin Ramsey.

* * *

He came toward her out of the mist, moving like a shadow, gliding with the darkness as though he were somehow a part of it. A breeze caught the hem of his long black coat and blew it back, so that it trailed behind him like wings made of leather. He looked huge—tall and broad shouldered, with dark hair cut very short, in blatant disregard for the latest fashion.

But what caught Erin’s attention, what held her gaze in fascination was the fact that he wore sun-glasses—at night. The yard was dark and misty, but he hadn’t once removed his sunglasses since he’d arrived.

A chill of apprehension crept up Erin’s spine as he stopped before her. She’d seen the way the other police officers had deferred to him, subtly keeping their distance as they filled him in on the details of the crime.

Now she understood why.

Erin could feel his stare, as keen as a razor, but because she couldn’t see his eyes, the sensation unnerved her even more, made her want to run and hide from this man who looked very much like a phantom from her imagination—or her nightmares.

“I’m Detective Slade.” His voice was like liquid—not warm and comforting, but cold and smooth, like an icy stream in the dead of winter. Erin shivered, wishing she had her coat. “I’m very sorry about your sister. I understand you were the one who found the body.”

He propped a booted foot on the bottom step and leaned forward so she didn’t have to look up very far to see him. Strangely, his features stood out prominently in the darkness. She could see him clearly, the well-defined angles of his handsome face, the nose that was a little broad but well shaped, lips that were full and sensuous but unsmiling. His cheeks were roughened with stubble, giving him a dangerous, almost sinister quality. He looked pale in the moonlight, but somehow undiminished, somehow vitally alive.

Erin shivered again and looked away, clutching the silver cross more tightly in her hand. Too late, her mind screamed over and over. Too late, too late, too late. Why hadn’t she come sooner? Why hadn’t she been here when Megan had needed her the most? Why hadn’t she sensed something was terribly, terribly wrong?

She had. She had sensed it. She just hadn’t wanted to believe it. Hadn’t wanted to be lured back here, to this city, to this very apartment, where her nightmares had first begun.

Erin felt something touch her shoulders, wrap around her gently, like an embrace. He’d removed his leather coat and tucked it around her, and she thought how strange that he would be the one to perform such an act of kindness. He seemed so distant, so emotionless, but perhaps that was the way he handled his job. He probably saw bodies every day.

But not her sister’s body. He didn’t see her sister’s body every day.

Trembling, Erin wrapped the coat more tightly around her shoulders. Detective Slade stared down at her with his protected gaze and said, “Would you like to go inside? We can talk there.”

“I can’t,” she whispered. “I can’t leave her.”

“You can’t help her now,” he said, not unkindly. “You’ll only make yourself sick if you stay out here.”

“When will they take her away?”

“In a little while. The CSU guys have to get here, and someone from the M.E.’s office—” At her blank look he stopped and clarified. “Crime Scene Unit and someone from the medical examiner’s office. You don’t want to be here for that.”

“I’m not leaving.” Erin knew she sounded obstinate, but she couldn’t help it. There was no way she could leave Megan again. Not until she absolutely had to. “Where will they take her?”

“The morgue.”

“Will there be an autopsy?”

Slade hesitated, as if weighing how much more she needed to know. Then he nodded and said, “Yeah” in that same cold, expressionless tone.

Their eyes met in the dark—hers exposed, vulnerable; his hidden, masked. But Erin had no doubt that he was looking at her. She could feel the power of his gaze all the way through her, and it made her shiver all the more deeply.

The wind picked up and tossed a dead leaf across the sidewalk in front of them. Erin stared at it, saw it swirl across the yard toward her sister’s body and settle against the silent form. For just an instant, the leaf clung to Megan’s stilled body. Then, on a fresh gust of wind, it blew away, lost in the darkness like her sister’s soul.

I want to cry, Erin thought. I want to cry so that I’ll know I can still feel. But the tears wouldn’t come. The tears had all been used up long, long ago on cold, dark, terrifying nights such as this one.

She tried to tell herself that at least now Megan was finally at peace, but when Erin thought of death, she could only think of darkness, eternal night. That was what hell was, she thought. Not fire and brimstone. Just cold, mind-numbing blackness.

Detective Slade settled his long frame on the step beside her. He wore jeans, she noticed. Very faded and very tight. His dark sweater blended with the night and his black boots were trimmed with silver. The dark glasses made him appear aloof and mysterious. Dangerous.

He didn’t look like a cop at all. He looked more like a demon. A demon lover she’d conjured up from the deepest recesses of her black imagination.

Erin realized she was verging on hysteria, focusing on the man beside her so she wouldn’t have to think or feel or remember. She wanted to forget, even for just a second, that her sister was dead.

With something of a shock, Erin felt the cold moisture streaming down her face. So there were tears left, after all. She put her hands to her cheeks, trying to stem the flow, but more and more came, like backwater seeping through floodgates.

“Let’s go inside.” The deep voice spoke beside her. She felt his hand on her elbow, felt herself being propelled upward as if by sheer force of will. Suddenly she had no strength to resist. More people had arrived on the scene. They were all standing around or kneeling beside Megan’s body, and Erin couldn’t stand it. She wanted to scream at them to go away, to leave her sister alone as she had done years ago when the monsters had threatened them both.

But it was too late, she thought sadly. Too late now for anything but remorse.

Without looking back, Erin turned and allowed Detective Slade to lead her up the steps and into the gloomy hallway of her sister’s apartment building.

CHAPTER TWO

The apartment was dark. Erin reached inside the and flipped on the switch. Bright light spilled into the hallway, and she saw Detective Slade flinch.

“When did you first get here?” he asked with a grim edge to his voice.

“About two hours ago.”

He strode past her, and Erin felt the hair at the back of her neck rise as his arm brushed against hers. There was something so unsettling about his touch, something so daunting about his presence in her sister’s apartment.

He walked slowly around the room, not touching anything, but Erin had the distinct impression that nothing missed his scrutiny. He paused beside a vase of wilted roses. One fingertip stroked a shriveled petal as he frowned pensively. Then his gaze returned to her, and Erin’s heart began to thump inside her chest.

“How’d you get in?” His voice—that deep, cold, spine-tingling voice—shattered the illusion of calm in Megan’s apartment.

“I have a key,” she told him. “I let myself in. Megan wasn’t here. I thought perhaps she’d gotten bored waiting for me and gone out for a while. I was supposed to have been here hours ago, you see, but the flight was late leaving Los Angeles. It was after midnight when we landed at La Guardia. Then I had to get my luggage and find a taxi, and even at that time of night, traffic was horrendous. It took forever to get here….” She trailed off, glancing away as if realizing she’d revealed more than she’d meant to.

So the guilt had already set in. Slade pitied her for that. He’d lived with that same emotion for eight long years, knew how deadly and destructive it could be. He took her arm and steered her toward the couch.

“How did you happen to go out into the yard?” he asked her as they sat down.

“I heard voices. I think I must have dozed here on the couch for a little while. I thought I was dreaming at first. Then I opened my eyes and realized I was awake and the voices were coming from below. The window was open.”

She tilted her head toward the French doors that flanked one side of the fireplace. Her black hair, pulled smoothly back and knotted, rippled with iridescence in the light. Her skin was as pale and soft as moonlight, her features delicate, almost fragile.

But her eyes…her eyes were the contradiction. In their violet blue depths, he glimpsed the soul of a woman who could write novels so terrifying that they sent shivers along his spine.

She might be in shock now, but Slade knew she wouldn’t accept a simple explanation for her sister’s murder and then allow herself to go quietly away. Instinctively he could tell that she would want it all. Every last detail. Her guilt would demand it. He just hoped to God she’d be able to live with the facts when she learned them. If she learned them. He would do his damnedest to see that she didn’t. That was his job.