The man unfolding himself from the Mustang’s driver’s seat grinned at her, showing lots of teeth. A camera hung around his neck. He was dressed in a rumpled suit, and his tie was loose. “She’s the fastest thing I’ve had in years. I’m Matt Brodrick.” He held out his hand.
For some reason Rusti was reluctant to touch him. She could feel the dread taking hold, swamping her. She made herself smile and wiped her palm on her jeans. “Sorry, I’m a bit greasy,” she explained.
“That looks like one of the cars belonging to the Dark Troubadours. Are you a member of the band?”
There was real curiosity in his voice and a hint of some emotion she couldn’t name. Rusti tilted her chin, her green eyes clearly suspicious. “What’s your interest?”
“I’m a fan. Desari has a voice straight from heaven,” the man answered, showing even more teeth. When she continued to regard him in silence, he heaved a sigh. “I’m a reporter.”
She made a face. “Then you know I’m not a member of the band.” She held up her toolbox. “I’m their mechanic.”
He glanced around them. “Where’s their camp? I’ve been up and down all these roads but haven’t spotted it. I know they’re somewhere nearby.”
“And you think I’ll just offer you that information out of the kindness of my heart?” She laughed.
Even in deep earth, miles away, Darius felt his body clench and harden at the sound of her laughter. She was like a carefree child, living each separate moment as it came, heeding nothing before, nothing in the future. The beast in him was growing, fighting for freedom. The fangs in his mouth lengthened to lethal points. He knew he was dangerous, he had always been dangerous, but now, with Tempest close to another male, he had passed the point of self-control. He had no other reason for existence, and he would not give her up. Ever.
“For money then?” Now the reporter’s teeth looked shiny, his eyes as hard as stone, something cunning in his expression.
“Not a chance,” she instantly denied, even though she could certainly use funds. “I don’t betray people for money or anything else.”
“I’ve heard some strange things about the group. Will you at least confirm or deny some of the reports?”
Tempest stowed her toolbox on the floor of the little sports car. “Why bother? You people make up whatever you want to. You write it and print it regardless of whom you might hurt.”
“Just a couple of questions, okay? Is it true that they sleep during the day and stay up all night? That they all have some strange illness that makes it impossible for them to go out in the sun?”
Tempest burst out laughing. “That is so like a reporter. You must work for one of those disgusting little exploitation rags. Where do you idiots come up with this stuff? You must have a very vivid imagination. I can’t say it was great meeting you, Mr. Brodrick, but I’ve got to go now.”
“Wait a minute.” Brodrick caught at the door of the car before she could close it. “If I’m wrong, say so. I don’t want to print garbage.”
“So if I tell you the truth, you’ll actually print it, not make up some new sensational tale just to sell your rag?” Her green eyes flashed at him in pure challenge.
“Absolutely I will.”
“Right at this moment, the band and their bodyguard are out hiking. They’ve been hiking up in the hills for the last hour or so. We have to be on the road this evening to make their next gig on time, so they’re taking one last break. Then we’ll eat dinner and get out of here. Print that, Mr. Reporter. It’s a little mundane, but they also put on their pants one leg at a time, just like everybody else.” Rusti had a deep sense of loyalty, and Darius and his family had supported her solidly. If an exploitative journalist like this one suspected anything out of the ordinary with them, she was not above telling a few lies to shield them, even with her own reservations about the group.
“You saw them an hour ago?” Brodrick demanded.
Rusti glanced pointedly at her watch. “Nearly two hours ago. I expect them back any time now. And they’ll expect the vehicles to be running smoothly so we can get out of here. I doubt if any of them will be sunburned—they use sunscreen like everyone else I know—but if they are, I’ll call you. How’s that?” She slammed the door with unnecessary force. “In case you’re interested, Desari is prone to mosquito bites. She uses bug repellent along with sunscreen. Would you like to know the brand?”
Good girl,
Darius approved, his pride in her growing.
“Come on,” Brodrick protested, “give me a break. I’m just doing my job. You know she’s news. My God, she has a voice like an angel’s. Every major recording company is begging for a deal, and she’s still playing little clubs. She could make millions.”
Rusti laughed again. “And what makes you so certain she hasn’t? Is it so terrible for her to do what she loves? She’s an entertainer. She likes the intimacy of small crowds. It isn’t the same in a huge stadium; she can’t make the same connection with the audience. And there wouldn’t be any such connection in a recording studio.” She was picking the information straight from Darius’s mind. She looked up at Brodrick. “I feel sorry for you. You must hate your job, prying into people’s lives with no real understanding of who they are. Money isn’t everything, you know.”
Brodrick clamped his hand on the door. “Take me back with you to their camp. Introduce me. If I could get an exclusive interview, it would do a lot toward making my boss happy with me.”
“Not a chance,” she said. “I don’t know you, and you ask pretty stupid questions. Any reporter worth his salt would come up with something better than whether or not Desari sleeps during the day. If you gave a performance that ended at two o’clock in the morning, then met with people, including reporters, for another couple of hours, you’d probably want to sleep, too. So what kind of dumb question was that?” Rusti injected as much contempt into her tone as she could muster. “I’ll tell you what. When you figure out something worthwhile to ask her, I’ll see what I can do for you. But I refuse to put my own job on the line for an idiot.”
She then slowly maneuvered the little car away from the reporter’s side. In the rearview mirror, she kept an eye on him as she drove off.
He might follow me, Darius. Should I lead him away from the camp? You will come straight home, Tempest. And next time do not leave without protection.
She sent him an image of wringing his neck. I
have lived alone all my life, you overbearing, king-sized pain
in
the butt.
I
don’t need anyone’s protection, and I’m sure not asking permission to go anywhere I choose. You have enough people to boss around already, so give it a rest. I can see I need to turn my complete attention to getting you in hand, honey. Fortunately, I am up to the task.
He sounded far more complacent and sure of himself than she liked.
The way his voice poured over her skin like warm honey and filled her body like molten lava, pooling wickedly low within her, was stranger than anything she had ever encountered. Her own body was betraying her. Weren’t some things in life best left alone, vampires among them?
Tempest. You closed your mind to mine. What is it? Do you think me so formidable that I should not hear your
thoughts
when you are angry with me? It does not change what is. Nothing is, Darius
.
How can you talk to me this way, anyway?
She decided the best defense was an offense. Let him try to answer that one.
Is it because you can talk to animals the way I do?
She believed in giving everyone a gracious out.
So you are admitting to that now. We might actually be getting somewhere.
She glanced in the rearview mirror again. She was flying down the narrow, twisting road, skidding through turns and taking one or two off-the-beaten-path trails. She didn’t see any distant dust to indicate the reporter was following her, but she had a feeling he was trying to do just that, and she refused to lead him back to the camp.