After Dark

1. Carmen's Rebirth

Carmen stumbled through the crowd gathering as converging police cars lit up the night outside the Byncor building. Her hands in the pockets of her coat, she pressed against the pain in her side and tried to look like a curious passer as the flashing red and blue lights blinded her. She turned into the relative darkness of Regina Park and leaned against a tree, trying to catch a breath that wouldn't come.

Must keep moving, she thought. Every moment she delayed she risked leaving a blood trail the police could follow, if she wasn't already--in the dark, she couldn't tell. The heist had gone horribly wrong, but that, she supposed, was her own fault. She normally worked alone, but this job, she'd reluctantly taken on a partner. She'd never do that again. A laugh escaped, strangled by the immediate surge of pain. It was possible she'd never do anything again. A bullet wound wasn't something she could go home and bandage.

Supposing she survived being shot by her partner didn't mean he wouldn't come looking for her. She had managed to kick him hard enough that his head had hit the marble facade in the lobby, but there had been no time to tell if he was dead. If he wasn't, it was just as likely the police would mistake him for a by-stander, collateral damage. She sniffed, her professionalism wounded at the idea that she would ever risk hurting someone in a heist.

Her hand closed in a reflex around the uncut diamonds in her coat pocket. She should probably get rid of them, but damn it, she'd suffered more for these diamonds than any other jewels she'd liberated. Her eyes now adjusted to the dimly lit park, she knew she had to get to the path, cleared of snow, where her footprints would be lost. Move, she reminded herself fiercely.

Taking a breath against the searing pain in her side, she pushed off the tree, looking for a way clear of flower bed borders and other unsuspecting pitfalls. For now, the path was deserted, any joggers drawn to the sirens and lights behind her. Hurry, but not too fast--don't look guilty, don't look hurt. Her foot caught up on something and she automatically pulled her hands from her pockets to break her fall, spilling the uncut diamonds as the sticky blood on her hand tugged out the dirty handkerchief they'd been wrapped in. They didn't look like much, in the pale glow of the park lights.

Fighting nausea, she blinked, pushing back on her knees before picking up the stones, one by one. It seemed to take forever, and time was not on her side. How many had she taken? How many had she picked up already? Was that a stone or a bit of rock salt? In the light of day, would a missed diamond be any more distinguishable from a bit of salt? Did it matter? She froze as a shadow fell across her. "Surely those aren't yours," said a deep voice in a tone of mild curiosity.

She looked up as the owner of the voice knelt down, reaching toward her face with black gloved hands. He picked up a few of the stones she missed, and put them in her hand. "Finders, keepers," she said, shocked at how weak her voice was.

His mouth--about all she could see of his face in the dim light--curved as he chuckled. She poured the stones into her coat pocket and stuffed the bloody handkerchief in the other pocket. She wasn't sure she could actually rise to her feet, but before she could figure it out, he grasped her arm and pulled her up. "You're hurt," he remarked, staring at her side as if he could see past her coat, see the dark blood on black cotton, in the dim yellow of the park lights.

"I'm fine," she lied, tugging her arm free.

"You're dying, little thief," he corrected gently, taking hold of her shoulders.

Thief. He had her pegged, but he didn't sound triumphant or disappointed or anything that she might have expected. She had no time for a chat, though. She grew weaker every minute she lingered in the chilly February night. She drew a breath to steady her voice. "Not your problem, mister." She shrugged, but his grip only tightened.

"Are those pretty rocks worth dying for?"

"Let me go," she said firmly, trying not to close her eyes against the pain. It felt like her side was on fire.

He stepped to her right, releasing her right shoulder only to grasp her waist. "Don't you want to live, little thief?"

She tilted her head back trying to see his face. He was tall, his head bent over her and in shadow. She couldn't tell what his intention might be--was he going to rape her? A bubble of laughter, hysterical, no doubt, rose at the idea, but never made it past her throat. He only waited, as if his question wasn't rhetorical. This man was her death, she thought, far more so than Dmitri. "If I say no... you'll kill me?"

He released her other shoulder and pressed her tightly to his side so she couldn't escape. Before she could protest, he pushed aside her coat and jabbed a finger into the wound on her side with unerring precision. She swayed in and out of a curtain of darkness as he said, most reasonably, "A more noble death than slowly bleeding out wherever you choose to hide."

He licked her blood from his gloved finger, his tongue catching just enough light to remind her of a cat. What manner of man would do such a thing? "And... if I say yes?" She heard her own voice as if from under a layer of cotton. She'd be on the ground, she realized, if he wasn't holding her so tight.

"It's a simple choice," he said, his voice gentle. "Life? Or death?" He brushed her hair back, caressing her neck. "It isn't a choice I give lightly."

His breath tickled her skin and she shivered, then folded double as he prodded her wound again. Her knees gave up all pretense of holding her. He was right--she couldn't go to the hospital with a bullet wound and pocketful of stolen diamonds. Even if she had some place to stash them quickly, a hospital would have too many questions. She was dead as surely as if that bastard Dmitri had been a better shot. And she suddenly wanted very much to live. Now if only she could get her mouth to work. "Life," she whispered, or thought she whispered.

He kissed her neck, licked it with the same delicate motion he'd used to lick his finger, then the sensation of being pierced by a needle ruined the pleasure of his kiss. The sharp pain faded quickly into a feeling that he was trying to give her the world's largest hickey. Then that, too, passed and she was just so very, very sleepy and she knew it was the sleep of death. Not what she chose! "Life!" Her voice was as thin as a spider web, yet he heard.

"Yes, little thief," he crooned, "Life. Drink this."

Like Alice in Wonderland she thought hazily as he pressed his wrist to her mouth. The warm liquid that spilled across her tongue did not taste like blood, not the coppery salt taste she knew from sucking her own paper cuts. It had a quality of richness to it, like, like truffles or caviar or some other delicacy reserved only for the very wealthy.

She swallowed reflexively, and found herself clutching his arm as she drank greedily of this elixir. As if from very far away, she heard his chuckle. But there are no vampires in Alice in Wonderland, she thought, and realized she must be hallucinating. Then he effortlessly pulled his wrist away from her greedy sucking, as if her frantic hold was nothing. Perhaps it wasn't, for she was still so very tired.

Too tired to protest when he scooped her off her feet and into his arms. "Time to go home, my dear."

"You... don't know... where I live," she murmured, her voice slurred, her eyelids too heavy to hold open.

"I know where I live," he replied, and the amusement in his voice was the last thing she heard before darkness finally claimed her.