Deadly Desire

Chapter Five

"So, are you going to arrest my butt, just like you said?" he said, walking toward me with a dare-you smile that played havoc with my pulse rate.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't." I crossed my arms and tried to ignore the fact that he looked positively edible. Faded jeans, white shirt, and a black sports jacket gave him a classy yet casual appearance, and showed off both his broad shoulders and his long, strong legs to perfection.

He stopped several feet away, but it was close enough for his scent to fog my senses.

His nostrils flared, and the spark that brightened his golden eyes suggested I wasn't the only one having trouble with my hormones. Only he seemed to be having a damn easier time controlling them.

He glanced up at the house. "The parents are werewolves, and they may not be too pleased with you coming to take away their son for a second time."

"I'm well aware of those facts. The Directorate doesn't send people in blind." Well, not often, anyway.

He smiled. It was a nice smile, one that crinkled the corners of his eyes and lent a warmth to his otherwise controlled expression. "And yet here you are, alone, about to face two wolf parents and God knows who else."

"I've coped with worse." And I had the missing finger to prove it. I glanced up at the house and saw the curtains twitch. I glanced back at Kye. "Why are you here? The zombie isn't going to be able to tell you anything about his mistress."

Presuming he was here, of course. We wouldn't know until we got into the house, but while it seemed an illogical place for the witch to hide her creature, people in deep grief sometimes didn't question miracles-even if that miracle was a son they'd freshly buried appearing on their doorstep.

"You don't know that," Kye said.

"I do. It's dead. The blood of others fuels its body, and the thoughts of whoever raised it provide its direction."

"So it really is the walking dead?"

"I'm afraid so."

He considered me for a moment, probably judging whether I was telling the truth or not. "The parents might know something, though."

"They might not, too."

He nodded in acceptance of the point. "We can't stay here all day. Short of cuffing me to the car-and I assure you, that will not be an easy task-you can't really stop me from following you inside."

He had a point. I didn't really want to create a scene-or expend that sort of energy-and that's exactly what would happen if I tried to force the issue.

And to be honest, what would it gain me? Even if I arrested his ass, I had nothing to hold him on. Not that it would stop Jack from detaining him if he became a real problem.

"Besides," he added, "I have a legit press pass. That means I can be here talking to the parents anytime I wish."

"With their approval."

"I'd get it, trust me."

Meaning one way or another he was going to get his information from them. Meaning it was probably better for him to come inside with me, because at least then I could have some control over what was said or done.

"I guess you'd better come in-as long as you shut your mouth and let me do the talking."

"That I can do."

"Let's see, shall we?"

He smiled and opened the small metal gate, then ushered me up the path with a hand to my back. The warmth of his fingers flushed across my skin and the need to step away from his touch warred with the desire to enjoy it.

I knocked on the red-painted door. The sound seemed to echo, as if the house was empty. There was no response for several seconds, though there were at least two wolves inside. I could smell them, as they could undoubtedly smell us.

Eventually footsteps approached and the door opened, revealing a tall, brown wolf with a pinched face and hawklike nose. "Yes?"

"Mr. Habbsheen? Riley Jenson from the Directorate." I showed him my ID then slid it back into my pocket. "I need to talk to you and your wife about your son."

"Our son is dead."

He tried to close the door on us, but I slapped a hand against it and stopped him. "Mr. Habbsheen, as a guardian I don't need a search warrant, and I will force my way into this house if you refuse to cooperate."

Anger flared deep in his brown eyes and for a moment the threat of it filled the air. It was a threat that drew a deep rumbling growl from behind me. Kye wasn't appreciating the response. And I know who'd I'd be putting money on in any fight that arose.

Not that it would. Habbsheen's gaze went from me to Kye and back again, then he visibly forced himself to relax.

"I guess you'd better come in, then." He opened the door wider. "First door on the left."

The house smelled musty, a scent that was both wolf and aged air. And it was cold-icy cold.

Maybe to stop the kid's flesh from rotting too quickly?

My nostrils flared as I drew in the deeper aromas of the house. Underneath the dust and cooking scents, there was another.

Dead flesh.

He was here all right.

I glanced at Kye. You smell him?

Yes.

He stopped slightly behind me, the warmth of his strong body flowing across my back like a fire, heating me more than was wise given the situation. Maybe it wasn't such a great idea to let him accompany me.

"What is this all about, Ms. Jenson?" Habbsheen was propped in the doorway and basically blocked our exit.

"As I said, we're here about your son."

"Our son is dead. What possible interest can he have to the Directorate?"

"Your son may be dead, but we've reason to believe he has been raised from the grave."

He didn't blink, didn't react in any normal way. But then, I wasn't telling him anything he didn't already know. "No one can raise the dead, Ms. Jenson."

"Certain sorcerers can."

"Magic doesn't exist."

"As vampires and werewolves don't exist?" I gave him a polite smile. "Mr. Habbsheen, the body you harbor is not your son. It is simply reanimated flesh that remains in control of the person who raised it."

"Ms. Jenson, I told you. Our son is not here."

"Oh, I agree, your son isn't here. However, his reanimated flesh is. We can smell him," I added softly.

"And what if he is?" Tension rolled across his shoulders and crossed arms, and again the scent of his anger flowed around his. "He's done no harm. We've done no harm."

Kye didn't respond to the growing threat in Habbsheen's stance, and yet I felt the tension in him rise. Felt his readiness to move.

"That thing you're protecting murdered a teenager last night. It slashed her throat then sucked the blood from her body."

The blood seemed to flow from his face. "Rob wouldn't do that."

"Rob probably wouldn't have. But as I've said, that's not Rob down there. Not anymore."

His mouth tightened. "I don't believe you. Get out."

"I'm afraid we can't leave without Rob's body."

"And I can't let you leave with it."

I didn't have the chance to reply, because Kye was suddenly past me, launching himself bodily at the other man. The two of them crashed into the far wall of the hallway, denting the plaster and sending a white puff of debris into the air.

"Go," Kye said, as he grappled with the other man.

I jumped over them, avoiding Habbsheen's flailing arms and running down the hallway, following the aroma of decay. It led me through a kitchen and on into a laundry. The scent of female sharpened abruptly, seemingly surrounding me even though there was no one but me in the room. I reached for the back door, but at the last moment became aware of air stirring, and of something approaching the back of my head.

Fast.

I dropped hard, jarring my knees on the tiled floor. The axe aimed at my head embedded itself into the wall instead, the force behind the blow enough that the whole metal head buried itself deep into the plaster.

I swung around, sweeping out with a leg, knocking the woman off her feet. She screamed as she went down, but it was a sound filled with fury rather than pain.

I grabbed her legs, pinning them under mine, but her arms were another thing. She screamed and bit and flailed like a mad thing, her blue eyes wide and without any sense.

A wolf protecting her cub, whatever the cost.

"Damn it," I yelled, as her nails raked my arms. "It's not your son down there. You buried him. It's just flesh that resembles him. Nothing more, nothing less."

She didn't say anything, just kept on fighting.

I avoided another blow, then drew back my fist and hit her hard. Not enough to truly hurt her, but enough to knock her out.

When her body went limp, I blew out a breath and studied the shadows out of which she'd come. A small trapdoor led down into deeper darkness-and it was here that the aroma of decay was coming from.

Just to make sure she couldn't get up to any more mischief while I was investigating, I grabbed a shirt from the nearby washing basket and tore it into thick strips-lots and lots of strips that would be hard to tear as a whole-using those to tie both her hands and feet. Then I stepped over her trussed body and ducked through the trapdoor, walking cautiously down the short flight of stairs.

It was a small cellar area. Shelving lined one wall, stacked with dusty wine bottles, many of which looked older than me. In the middle of the room sat a small table and several chairs, and on this, wineglasses and a tub of old corks. In the far corner was a bed, and on this lay the zombie.

I walked across. He was dressed, his clothes freshly ironed and smelling a whole lot cleaner than he did. His skin had a waxy, marblelike appearance, and his veins were so close to the surface I could trace them with my fingertips. Not that I actually wanted to.

I stepped closer and studied his hands. There were more obvious signs of his death here. His fingertips were black, and the rot was spreading down his remaining fingers, threads of darkness that suggested to anyone paying attention that things were not what they seemed when it came to this wolf.

That and his eyes. There was no life in the filmy blue of his eyes. No understanding, no intelligence. Just a blank emptiness as he stared up at the ceiling.

I hesitated, then carefully reached out telepathically. Nothing but emptiness and the shadows of death.

I shuddered and dug my phone out of my pocket to call the Directorate. "Sal?" I said when her face came online. "I found our zombie. You want to get some of the magi out here? They might be able to trace back the magic used to raise him or something." And give him a proper ending, rather than the beheading I'd have to do if I took care of him. And I didn't think his parents would appreciate that. "Roughly how long will it be before someone gets here?"

"Give us half an hour."

"Thanks, Sal."

She hung up. I shoved my phone away and looked around as noise vibrated above me.

"Fucking hell," Habbsheen shouted. "What have you done to my wife?"

"Nothing, Mr. Habbsheen," I said, not bothering to raise my voice. He'd hear me no matter where he was in the house. "She's merely knocked out. Although technically, I should arrest her ass for trying to kill a guardian."

And if I wanted to get really technical, I could have just killed her. She was interfering in Directorate business-had actually tried to bash me over the head with an axe-and given she wasn't human, the law didn't give her the same sort of protection and rights that humans got. Sad, but true. But Jack preferred an arrest over a kill in these sorts of situations, and I sure as hell wasn't about to argue.

Although there were some in the Directorate who did.

Habbsheen's face appeared in the hatchway, and a second later he was hustled down the stairs by Kye. Who, although a bit rumpled, looked more like a man who'd gone for a quiet stroll rather than having gone several rounds with a wolf determined to protect his own at whatever cost.

"So you found him," Kye said, voice flat and showing no sign of the effort it must have been taking to keep Habbsheen under control. His gaze went from me to the zombie and back again, and something deep inside trembled at the intensity so obvious in those amber depths. "You can't get anything from him?"

"He has no brain, Kye. No thoughts or memories or impulses that are his own. He's just rotting flesh surviving on magic and other people's blood."

"That's not true-" Habbensheen began, then stopped as Kye shook him hard enough to rattle his teeth.

"I thought maybe the witch might have left some sort of telepathic link with which you could trace her," Kye said. "She has to have some sort of link, after all, to control his actions."

"True, but if she's not currently connected to him I can't trace her." She wasn't connected at the moment, and I had no intentions of trying to delve deeper into the mush that was the remainder of this body's mind. I glanced at Habbsheen. "When did you realize your son had been pulled from the grave?"

"Only last night, when he walked in the door." He hesitated, looking at the body on the bed. "He was naked, and confused, and he didn't really say anything."

Meaning the witch had made him dump his undoubtedly blood-splattered clothes before he'd gotten here. "I would have thought a son two weeks buried would have caused a serious amount of panic."

Or did the witch know these people well enough to be sure that the mother would never turn away the son, supposedly dead or not?

He hesitated. "My wife was too happy to see him to even remember that we buried him not long ago. He's our only child you see." His gaze met mine. "She was determined that no one was going to take him away from her again."

Meaning that, deep down, she probably knew the truth. "Mr. Habbsheen, you surely must be able to smell the rot. You can certainly see it if you look at his fingertips and toes."

He didn't say anything. Ultimately, he knew the truth, too.

"Let him go, Kye."

Kye raised an eyebrow, but did as I asked. Habbsheen slumped down on a nearby chair and rubbed his hands across his eyes. "It's going to kill her to lose him again."

It was on the tip of my tongue to say there was no "again" about it, because the thing laying on the bed wasn't their son, but what was the point? "Did your son make any new contacts in the days before his death? Were there any problems or incidents that you can remember him mentioning?"

Habbsheen shook his head. "Nothing. Rob was an easy going kid, well liked by everyone."

"And there were no strangers at his funeral? Someone who seemed out of place?"

He hesitated. "I didn't know a lot of his friends and work colleagues, and many of them were there."

"Where did he work?"

"Coles. He was a shelf stocker."

"I very much doubt our witch is working for Coles stocking shelves," Kye said, amusement lacing his tone.

I met his gaze with a smile. "Probably not. But it still makes me wonder if these are random raisings, or if she has a pattern." I hesitated, and glanced at Habbsheen. "Where was he buried?"

"Fawkner."

The other zombie had been taken from a cemetery as well, although I wasn't sure it was Fawkner. Maybe there was no pattern except that they were fresh burials. Maybe the witch was simply going to whatever cemetery gave her the best options. "And there was a notice in the paper?"

He nodded. "If what you're saying is true…" He paused, glancing at his son's remains then swallowing heavily. "Who would do this to us? Why chose our son? He didn't do anything to anyone. We didn't do anything to anyone."

"Whoever is raising these people doesn't seem to have any particular reason for doing so." At least, not one that he'd like to hear. It was bad enough having a son raised from the grave. Knowing that he'd been raised solely to murder other people would be an absolute kicker.

"Then Rob's not the first… zombie?… you've found?"

"No, Mr. Habbsheen, he's not. But we're hoping he'll be the last."

"Good." He looked at the body of his son. "What happens to him now, then?"

"I've called in the Directorate magi, Mr. Habbsheen. They'll be here soon, and hopefully they'll be able to undo whatever has been done to your son's body, so he can be reburied in peace."

"And my wife?"

"If she causes no more problems, I won't press charges."

"So I can untie her? She won't cause any more problems, I assure you."

"She may not, Mr. Habbsheen, but for the moment I think we'll leave her tied. You can seat her more comfortably though, if that's any help." I glanced at Kye. "It might be a good time for you to leave."

"Are you sure you're going to be okay here with the two of them?"

I glanced at Habbsheen. The man had slumped shoulders and a defeated look about him. Of course, it could be all an act, but I doubted it. Still…

"As I said, the Directorate crew will be here shortly, and unless Mr. Habbsheen wants to see his wife arrested, or worse, he will make sure she causes no more problems."

Habbsheen's shoulders slumped a little more. Kye's gaze met mine briefly, then he nodded and turned, making his way up the stairs.

I followed him to the front door.

"You really need to keep your nose out of Directorate business." I grabbed the door as he flung it open, preventing it swinging back against the plaster.

He stopped and gave me the sort of smile that would surely melt the panties off most regular females. As it was, it damn near scorched mine.

"We both know that's not going to happen. Not until I catch my target." He raised a hand and gently cupped the left side of my face, his touch so light and yet somehow so erotic. "You'll have to arrest me to stop me, Riley."

The heat of him washed over me, caressing my skin, my senses. He hadn't even moved, yet suddenly he seemed so much closer.

I licked my lips and tried to ignore the unsteady racing of my heart. The way every breath seemed filled with the musty, all-male scent of him. "I will do it, Kye. Have no doubt of that."

"I have no doubt you'll try," he said softly, and then he kissed me.

Not like before. Not heatedly, not desperately, but gently, sweetly. As if we were two sweethearts kissing for the very first time, unsure of our emotions and each other.

And it was good.

And wrong.

And I didn't care.

I just wanted the sweetness to go on and on and on. Desire rose, but it was no instant burn despite the nearness of the full moon, rather a gentle flame as pure as the kiss.

When we finally broke apart, neither of us said anything. We simply stared into each other's eyes, looking for God knows what, our breath mingling and our lips still so tantalizingly close.

Then he smiled, and it, too, was a sweet thing. "I do not think we should explore what lay beyond that kiss."

"No," I agreed softly. I didn't need another attraction in my life. Didn't need him in my life. Not in any way, shape, or form.

Damn it, I didn't even really like the man, so why the hell was I even kissing him in the first place?

His fingers slid down my neck, then he slowly let his hand drop. "Till next we meet," he said softly, and walked away.

"If we meet again, your ass will be history," I muttered, watching said ass walk down the path. The man moved with a fluid grace that in some ways reminded me of a vampire. A dangerous vampire.

Only he was all wolf.

And if I wasn't very careful, a whole lot of trouble.

Once he'd climbed into his car and driven away, I turned and moved back to the cellar to keep an eye on the zombie and his parents.

Mrs. Habbsheen was sitting up against the washing machine, her hands and feet still tied. Her husband sat beside her, talking to her softly, obviously trying to calm her. It wasn't working, if the hateful, angry look she cast my way was anything to go by.

"Keep those bindings tight," I warned, and stepped over the pair of them to grab the axe. I wasn't about to leave it embedded in the wall, just in case she got lose. I took it out to the car and dropped it in the trunk. As I walked back toward the house, a Directorate car pulled up behind mine and three women piled out. I knew two by sight and one by name, having helped all three magi restrain a vengeful spirit.

"Marg," I said, shaking the older woman's fragile-looking hand. "Sorry to drag you out like this, but I need to know if there's any way to trace the magic that raised the zombie back to its owner."

"So Sal said." She waved me forward. "We won't know until we feel the magic, but I very much doubt we'll be able to trace it. The best we can probably do is block it and let the poor boy go back to his eternal rest."

"That would be better than nothing." And certainly better than the option I would have used.

We single-filed through the house and down into the cellar. Mrs. Habbsheen hurled abuse our way as we passed, but her husband managed to restrain her more violent tendencies.

"What's wrong with her?" Marg asked, her gaze on the body laying on the bed.

"Refuses to believe that her son didn't come back to her, that it's a shell with no thought and no feelings."

Marg snorted. "She'd believe soon enough once bits of him start rotting and dropping off. Most magic can only contain the decomposition of flesh for a limited amount of time, you know."

"And how long would that be?"

She shrugged as she squatted beside the bed. "Couple of days, depending on the strength of the sorcerer."

"Is there magic that can contain them longer than that?"

"Yes, but it takes very powerful-and very dark-blood magic to do it. More so than what you'd use raising fresh bodies."

Great. So I was dealing with not only yet another nut, but an extremely powerful one at that.

I leaned a shoulder against the wall, crossing my arms and watching as she ran a hand down the zombie's body. There was barely an inch between her hand and the zombie's cold flesh, but it was filled with a greenish glow that had a decidedly unhealthy look about it.

"Okay," she said, pushing to her feet. "I can't trace the source of the magic. Whoever is behind it knows enough to muddy the signature. The best we can do is bind the body, so that her magic will not get through a second time and reanimate the flesh."

"Do you need me here for that?"

She hesitated, then nodded. "The sorcerer will feel the threads of his or her magic pulling away, and may try to stop it."

"Then I'll stay."

"Good." She glanced at the other two women. They pulled sacks out of their backpacks and began to empty candles, little packets, and God knows what else onto the floor.

Marg knelt down beside the bed and placed her hands on the body. As she did so, it twitched.

"Shit," she said, pushing back so fast she landed on her butt. "Riley, the sorcerer is contacting it."

"Through magic?"

"I can't feel magic."

Then it had to be via its mind, or what shattered remains there were of it. I reached out with my own psi skills, making sure my shields were as tight as possible. I had no idea how strong the sorcerer was and no intention of laying myself open to a possible attack. I dove down through the darkness that had once been the zombie's mind, feeling nothing more than the chill of death and a decaying emptiness. This creature might move and kill, but the spark of humanity had well and truly left for greener pastures.

But in the deeper darkness, something whispered. Words rolled through the void, unclear at first but gradually gaining strength as I drew closer.

An ache formed behind my eyes, and a droplet of sweat rolled down my cheek. I swiped at it without thought. Closer, closer… I pushed myself toward the voice, until the words were clear.

And they were chilling.

Kill her, kill her, slash her throat and drain her veins. There can be no mistake. She must die. Kill, kill, kill.

The mantra was repeated over and over, and the voice-though soft-was one that I knew.

It was the woman I'd heard in the old warehouse. The woman who could take the form of a crow.

But it wasn't only words I picked up. There was an image-a young woman in her midteens.

Enough, I thought, and pushed more power into my psychic probe, letting it spread and grow until it skimmed his ruined mind, wrapping it in a field of power through which nothing-not even the thoughts of a sorcerer intent on murder-would get through. It would warn the sorcerer that something was wrong, but at least this zombie was now out of action. For as long as I could hold this net, anyway.

"Move," I said to Marg. "Do what ever you have to do to deactivate this thing."

She scrambled back to her feet and began to chant. I ignored them, concentrating on the zombie, feeding energy into the net. Something hit it hard and power flared, a dark sensation of evil that crawled across my psychic barrier, as if seeking a break in the field.

The ache behind my eyes began to feel more like a stabbing pain, but I held firm. The probing darkness faded. Soon there was nothing but the chanting of the magi filling the shadows.

"Okay," Marg said, what seemed like an eon later. "You can release it now."

I did so, and it was as if all of the energy drained from my body. Not only did my head feel like it was on fire, but I felt weak and shaky, and my knees refused to support my weight. I dropped to a squatting position, one hand on the floor, closing my eyes and taking deep breaths to stop the spinning.

"You look very pale," Marg said, squatting in front of me and offering me a drink.

I took it gratefully, and felt strength flush through my body the minute the cool, tart liquid flowed down my throat. "That isn't water."

"No. But don't worry, it won't poison you." She studied me for a moment, her gaze searching mine, then cupped a hand around mine. "Your fingers are cold, and you're extremely pale. Is it possible you're iron deficient?"

"I eat plenty of meat." But I also had a vampire dining on my neck, so it was totally possible he was taking more than he should. Maybe eating red meat wasn't enough anymore.

Although given Quinn had over twelve hundred years of experience behind him, he'd surely know the limits of what he could viably take before it started affecting me. So if it wasn't an iron deficiency, what the hell was it?

I hoped it wasn't another indication that the drug given to me all those years ago was twisting either my DNA or my psychic talents in new and exciting ways.

"Might be worth taking iron tablets." Marg's gaze dropped down to my neck. "And talking to your vampire."

"I will." If it was the problem. I rubbed a hand across my eyes. The ache was still there, but not as fierce. Whatever had been in Marg's potion seemed to be helping it. "I think I need to go home to rest. Can you take care of the rest of this now?"

She nodded. "We'll be fine."

"Good." I pushed to my feet but grabbed at the wall again as the room spun around me. "I wouldn't release the mom from her bindings until the body has been removed. She's a werewolf and more than a little violent."

"She is a mother protecting her son-or what she believes is her son. It's instinct."

"Maybe, but I wouldn't be pouring too much sympathy her way, or you might just find an axe in your skull."

Marg's dark eyes gleamed. I wasn't sure whether it was amusement or determination or a combination of both. "She will see the truth by the time we leave, trust me on that."

I believed her. Marg mightn't look much of a threat, but there was an amazing amount of strength locked within her spindly body.

I got out of there. It might be the middle of the afternoon, but my bed was calling and I had no intention of keep it waiting.

Jack called about eight that evening. I'd been up for all of five minutes, but I'd managed enough swallows of coffee to get the brain cells working.

"The zombie has been magically restrained and we're making arrangements with the parents to have him reburied," he said, without preamble. "And there's been another murder."

Oh, fuck. "Not another teenager." Please, don't let it be another teenager. I didn't need that sort of guilt right now.

"What teenager are we talking about this time?" Jack said, confusion evident in his tone. I didn't have the vid-phone activated-I figured he didn't need to know that I'd slept most of the afternoon.

"The one I saw in the zombie's mind. The one the sorcerer who raised him was planning to kill next."

"You read the zombie's mind?" Surprise ran through Jack's voice.

"Well, no, because technically the zombie is dead and doesn't actually have a mind. I encountered the sorcerer in whatever it is that remains."

"You shouldn't have been able to do that."

I frowned. "Do what? Touch the sorcerer's thoughts and find out her intent?"

"No, delve down into the remains of a dead man's mind. Not even vampires can do that."

"Yeah, but vampires generally don't have my affinity for the dead." I paused. "Besides, it wasn't exactly easy and it left me really drained afterward."

And if I shouldn't have been able to do it, then the dizziness I'd felt afterward wasn't Quinn taking too much blood, it was me doing the impossible. Again.

"That's beside the point." There was worry in his voice. "We'd better schedule some more testing."

I rolled my eyes. "We're testing every couple of months as it is. Surely that's enough?"

"Not if you're now able to read the minds of dead folks."

I resisted the urge to point out once again that I hadn't actually read the zombie's mind, and changed the topic instead. "So who is dead this time?"

"Another vampire, although it isn't one of the older ones."

"And not someone you knew?"

"Not personally, no, though I believe the council had him marked as one to watch, as he had gained a lot of money extremely fast."

I raised my eyebrows. "Why would that make him a person of interest to your council?"

"Because he certainly didn't acquire his wealth through any known legal route."

I grinned. "From what I hear, that's not exactly unusual among the vampire ranks." Hell, even Quinn had admitted to a brief life of crime.

"These days, we prefer not to draw such attention to ourselves. It doesn't reflect well on our image."

"Boss, you're never going to change humanity's opinion of vampires. It's too ingrained. Besides, it's a good evolutionary trait not to trust things that eat your kind."

"People once thought that vampires, werewolves, and other supernaturals would never be able to come out of the closet, too."

"That's not the point." Humans may have accepted our existence, but that didn't mean they had to like it. And many of them didn't. There might be laws in place to protect both sides of the fence, but that didn't stop problems from happening. And the Directorate wasn't always able to clean up the messes.

"I'm not getting into a debate about all this now," Jack said. "I need you to get over to the latest crime scene and see if you can scent the same things."

"So who is it this time?"

"Martin Shore. A two-hundred-year-old playboy with more money than brains, apparently."

"The council wouldn't have done this, would they? To head off a potential problem, that is?"

"No. They would have informed me if they were planning anything."

I raised my eyebrows and wondered just how many of the unsolved cases we had on our books were unsolved because they were actually looked after by the vamp council. A council I hadn't even known actually existed until recently, let alone know that Jack was in constant contact with.

"When was the body discovered?"

"About six. One of women he shared the apartment with came home and found his remains. I doubt she'll be able to give you much, but you might as well talk to her anyway."

"I will. And I'm going to send through the description of the teenager I saw in the zombie's mind. She's obviously next on the hit list, so we'll need to find and protect her." She might also be able to give a clue as to why the witch was sending the zombies after her. "Hopefully, you'll be able to track them down through license records or something."

"We'll give it a try. Cole and Mel's reports are through, too, if you ever want to make a reappearance in the office to read them."

"Boss, it's almost the full moon, and I'm afraid having me and Kade in the same small room is not a good idea."

"You've survived it before."

"Because the moon heat isn't always as strong as it is this time around." I probably wouldn't be kissing Kye if it was just a normal moon heat.

Probably being the operative word there.

Jack grunted. "The address has been sent through to your onboard. Get there fast."

I hung up and headed for the shower. Thirty minutes later I was pulling into the underground parking lot beneath the Eureka Tower, which had once been the world's tallest residential building. Of course, these days, ninety-two stories wasn't much to crow about, but it had been back then. And unlike many of the older buildings that dotted the city, the slim elegance of the Eureka's design still managed to catch the eye, as did its golden top, which still shone as bright as the sun on a summer day.

Martin Shore lived on the seventy-sixth floor, in one of the larger, and more expensive, apartments. The express elevator zoomed me straight up to the floor, leaving my stomach somewhere down on the lower levels. It stopped smoothly and gently, but even so, my nerves faltered. I'd never liked being in tall buildings, and that hadn't really changed with the advent of wings.

I could smell the blood as soon as I got out of the elevator. In the pristine whiteness of the foyer, the scent seemed to hang around like some gigantic cloud of doom.

I followed my nose and discovered Cole and his team hard at work.

"Don't you guys ever sleep?" I said, stopping several feet behind a kneeling Cole.

"Not lately we don't." His voice was little more than a tired growl. "Though if you could catch at least one of the murderers we're after, our lives would be much easier."

"If it was that easy to catch these bastards, they wouldn't need us guardians. You guys could do it."

My gaze went past him to the body slumped across a sofa. He was naked, his flesh almost as pale as the white leather couch. He was also very hairless. His chest, his arms, even the top of his head-which lay at the base of the sofa like some forgotten ball-was as smooth as alabaster. It was creepy looking in death, and I very much doubted it would have been that attractive in life. But then, the Goth look was apparently making a comeback, so what did I know?

I flared my nostrils, sucking in and sorting through the differing scents, this time finding the touch of roses winding in between the scents of blood, death, and that intensely "wrong" scent that had been present before.

"It's definitely connected to the other two vamp murders," I said.

Cole glanced at me. "You can smell the same scents?"

"Yeah." I nodded toward the piece of china he held in one hand. "You found something?"

"A thumb print. It probably belongs to those who live here, but we might get lucky for a change."

I snorted. The chances of us getting lucky right now were about as good as the chances of me ever having kids. "Where's the girlfriend?"

"Second bedroom down the corridor," Cole said, returning his attention to the broken vase. "Her name is Anna."

"Ta." I turned and headed that way. The first bedroom was obviously Shore's. In was masculine in design-all brown leather, dark wood, and a bed that came complete with black satin sheets. Why anyone would prefer them over Egyptian cotton I'll never know. I knew from experience that everything just slid around too much on satin.

I paused to smell the room. That "wrong" scent was stronger in here, just as it had been in the bedrooms of the other victims. It had to be a clue. We just had to find the key.

I continued. The second bedroom was definitely more feminine. The walls were a very pale gray, and the furnishing a mix of white leather and linen, with hot pink accents.

A thin, pale young woman with fiery red hair and large breasts looked up as I entered, her blue eyes red rimmed and mouth trembling. "I don't know anything," she said. "I really don't."

"Anna?" When she nodded, I couldn't help adding, "How old are you?"

"Seventeen." She sniffed. "Almost eighteen."

I was betting her eighteenth was farther away than what she was admitting. Hell, I'd be surprised if she was even seventeen. She just didn't look it, despite the almost weary light in her eyes.

I sat down on the white cane chair nearest to the bed, then reached out psychically and lightly linked to her mind. Not so much to read it-not exactly, anyway-just enough to tell whether her vampire had placed her under some sort of geas. After all, she was human and young, and while the age of consent was sixteen, vampires weren't legally allowed to have a relationship with anyone under the age of eighteen.

Not that it ever stopped them.

Sifting through the layers of her mind did indeed reveal a male imprint, so he'd definitely been messing with her thought processes. Which meant she'd have to go to the Directorate for deprogramming. I might be strong enough to do it myself, but it wasn't something I actually knew how to do. I could control or read minds right up there with the best of them, but undoing the damage others had done was work for a specialist. And that wasn't me.

But I'd been right about one thing-she wasn't seventeen. She was barely even sixteen.

"How long have you been living here?" I asked.

She sniffed and wiped a pale hand across her nose. "Nine months. He treated me very nicely."

He'd have to, given she was underage when they first became lovers. The vampire community might look the other way when it came to sex and youngsters, but only for as long as there was nothing that could draw attention to themselves or their community. A mistreated underage lover would certainly do that. "And you were lovers?"

"Of course. Me and Mandi both were."

"And is Mandi also human?"

She nodded. "Her room is the next one along."

"But she wasn't with you when you found the body?"

"No." A sob broke through. She squeezed her eyes shut, but tears leaked out regardless. "How could someone do that to him? Why would someone do that to him?"

"That's what we're trying to find out," I said softly. I reached across and took her hand in mine. Her flesh was cool, the tips of her fingers almost blue. It made me want to ask just how often Shore had been feeding off her. "Were you and Mandi his only lovers?"

She shook her head. "We couldn't be. He had a voracious appetite."

Most vampires did, I thought with an inner smile. But some of us were more capable of handling the situation than others. "Can you remember seeing anyone new in the last few days? Anyone who you thought acted strangely?"

"No. I mean… He had new lovers all the time, but there was no one I'd consider strange."

"But how many of those new lovers appeared within the last week?"

She frowned. "Maybe two? There was a Rita, and I think the other one's name was Vicki. Vicki Keely, actually. Marty introduced her to us. She was young."

I frowned. "How young?"

She shrugged. "Maybe fifteen, sixteen? She looked nervous, too. Like she didn't want to be there."

Which suggested she wasn't under any sort of vampire "persuasion," because second thoughts wouldn't have shown. "If we brought in an artist, would you be able to give us an image of them both?"

She nodded. I squeezed her hand, then released it and sat back in the chair. "Do you know where he met the two women?"

She shrugged. "Probably at one of the strip clubs. He used to enjoy going to those."

Her tone suggested she didn't approve and again a smile twitched my mouth. Humans had such strange ideas when it came to sex. I mean, here she was, barely legal, knowingly sharing her vampire lover with other women, and yet she turns up her nose at him visiting strip clubs? What was with that? "Do you know which ones?"

"No. I'm not able to get into them for another couple of years."

She might be under a geas, but it wasn't as complete as her vampire had presumed, because the legal age for getting into strip clubs was eighteen.

"So he never mentioned a favorite?"

She frowned. "There was one. Man Hard, or something like that."

"Man Hard? Really?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I told you, I never really listened when he was going on about the clubs."

"So did he ever bring home women from those clubs?"

"The strippers? Yeah, a couple of times. He seemed to like them showing us how to strip. Like we don't know how to take clothes off or something."

"Compared to a professional stripper, you probably don't."

Her blue gaze flashed up to mine. "I strip better than any of them bitches did. And I was built better."

I resisted the urge to tell her there was more to life than boobs and stripping, and said, "So, did either of the last women he bought home strip for you all?"

"No. He just shuffled them into the bedroom, like. One of them was a screamer, though."

I barely managed to contain my smile. "Which one was she?"

"Vicki. The reluctant one."

Who obviously wasn't so reluctant in the end. "And she worked at Man Hard?"

"I think that's where he met her, yes."

Then Vicki from Man Hard would need to be talked to-though whether she or the club was the connection or not was anyone's guess. "And there's nothing else you can tell me?"

"I don't think so."

I pushed to my feet. "If you do think of anything, contact the Directorate." And if she didn't, someone from the Directorate would follow up with her regardless.

She nodded and wiped a hand across her nose again. I headed out. Cole was kneeling near the victim's head. "You ever heard of a strip joint called Man Hard?"

"Now why would you think I'd be visiting strip joints?" he said without looking up.

"Uh, because you're a man?"

He snorted softly. "Being a man doesn't automatically mean I have a preference for visiting strip clubs."

"Well, being a werewolf doesn't automatically mean I'm a whore, but half the world holds that opinion of us."

"Touché." He flashed me a grin that was more than nice. "Doesn't change the fact, though. I don't visit clubs. Stripper or wolf."

"You must live a sad and lonely life, Cole Reece."

"Only in comparison to some werewolves. By wolf shifter standards, I'm very outgoing."

Then the wolf shifters had very different standards from the rest of the supernatural community. "Found anything else of note?"

"Dust."

"Dust?"

"Yeah. Not the sort of dust that generally accumulates around houses, either. This stuff appears to be herbal."

I frowned. "There was dust at both Armel's and Bovel's, too."

Cole nodded. "It's been at all three scenes. I'd hazard a guess it's the same, but we won't know until we get the samples to the lab."

"So how is this dust important?"

"That I can't say." He paused to seal the bag. "Shore's safe has been opened, just like the rest of them, though this murder isn't as violent as the second one."

"Maybe because he has closer neighbors."

"Could be."

"You'll let me know if you find anything?"

"You know, you could read reports like a normal person."

I grinned. "But why would I do that when it's so much more enjoyable hearing your silky voice?"

"I'm not ever sleeping with you, you know that, don't you?"

"Facts have never stopped the fun of trying."

He snorted softly. "Will you just get out of here and let me work?"

I gave him a break and left. Once back in the car, I did a search on the strip club that Anna had mentioned. There was nothing on record, but that didn't mean the club didn't exist. It might simply mean that it was one of the underground ones.

And I knew exactly who would know. I pulled my cell phone from my pocket, flicked the vid-button, then rang Ben.

"Hey, how's my favorite werewolf doing?" he said, his smile like snow against the utter night of his skin.

"I thought your sister was your favorite werewolf."

"Well, she is. But I can't sleep with her. You I can."

His blue eyes shone with amusement and my stomach did flip-flops. Ben and I hadn't gotten any further than just being friends, and while the potential to become lovers was definitely there, it would never be anything more. Ben had found, and lost, his soul mate several years ago, and her death had shattered his heart. He might live, he might be marginally happy, and he might enjoy sex, but there could never be anything more for him. Could never be anything deeper.

"I don't think my vampire would be too happy about me sexing you on a regular basis."

"How about a nonregular basis?"

"Not even that, I suspect."

"You have told him I'm harmless, haven't you?"

"Yeah, but he isn't believing it."

"You really need to sit down and talk to that man. He's spoiling all my fun."

I laughed softly. "And possibly mine."

"No possibly about it, my sweet." His grin flashed again. "What can I do for you?"

"I need some information about a strip club."

"Well, the cost of supplying information is having a meal with me."

"You're just trying to get me into bed again."

"No doubt about it." The corners of his blue eyes crinkled with the force of his smile. "So, how about it?"

"Yes to a late dinner, no to sex. When are you free?"

He paused and glanced away. "I have a break in forty-five minutes. You want to meet me around at Fuzzball's?"

Fuzzball's was a little cafe not far away from his work. We'd met there once, for lunch, and while the food or coffee wasn't great, it certainly wasn't the worse place that I've ever eaten.

"I'll be there in forty-five."

"I'll be waiting."

I grinned and hung up. Almost immediately the phone rang again, but the number wasn't one I was familiar with. Frowning, I flicked the button and said, "Riley Jenson speaking."

"Riley, it's Mike. You said to ring if I had anything else."

It took a moment for the name to click. It was the street kid-the one with the bright blue eyes and quick mind.

"I did. What have you got?"

He didn't ask for cash, as I half expected him to. Instead, he said in a rush, "There was a woman here asking about Joe. It wasn't the same one that talked to Kaz, but I think she's going to kill him."