Embraced By Darkness

Chapter Eight

I spun and ran for the shadows behind the last desk. It was a tight squeeze between the wall and the desktop, but I flattened my breasts with my hands and forced my body into the gap.

And not a moment too soon. Light swept across the wall where I'd been only moments before, the bright beam flinging the table legs into sharp relief against the shadows and almost highlighting my fingers. I crunched up into a tight ball and waited.

"Nothing, as I suspected," one man said, his voice low and deep, and somehow familiar. But I wasn't about to risk peering out to take a better look at the speaker. Not with the bright beam of the flashlight still skirting the room. "Told you those damn barriers were faulty."

"They may be faulty, but the scent of a female lingers in the room, boss."

Boss? I thought the man at the front door had said the owner had gone away?

"It's probably left over from last night." Even so, he stepped forward and sniffed the air. I could only hope he was one human who didn't have a good sense of smell.

Light pierced my corner, I shrunk back as far as I could, biting my lip and hoping like hell the desk's modesty screen threw enough shadows to keep me hidden. But the vampire veil of darkness that kept me safe could be destroyed so easily. It would only take one flicker of brightness to tear the shadows apart and reveal me.

"Has anyone talked to Mike?"

"No. I alerted you the minute the alarm went off."

The first man grunted, then said, "Mike, get in here."

There was a scuffle of noise, then the guard appeared at the door, I still had my finger on his mental pulse, so to speak, and felt his surprise. For an instant, I thought about letting my psychic touch go deeper, to see what this man saw, but that might be a bad idea. These men seemed sharp enough to sense anything amiss, and I didn't have the time I needed to take full control of the guard's sensory and speech functions.

"Yes, boss?" the guard said, voice sharp and respectful.

"Have you allowed anyone in here? Heard anything odd?"

"No, sir."

"Security is saying you opened the door not ten minutes ago. Why was that?"

Security was obviously tight here. The point was, why? Or was that a stupid question, given the cameras in this room? The owner obviously had a whole lot more going on than just a nightclub where humans could get their inhibited rocks off.

"Don't know. Thought I heard a sound."

"No one came past you into the front room at any time?"

"No, sir. Everyone who came into the hall just headed to the Executive Room."

"Thanks, Mike." Silence fell as the guard retreated. Once the door had closed behind him again, the deep-voiced man said, "You'd better check the stairs and the basement. If we have got an intruder, then that's were they've come from. Call me if you find anything. And get that magi back in here tomorrow to check these barriers."

"Will do."

Footsteps retreated. The holder of the light remained, sweeping the corners before moving into the other room. I rose and squeezed out from behind the desk to catch a glimpse of the man, thankful that the barrier was one-way.

He was built big, and his pale skin seemed to glow with an almost luminous light against the shadows. He wasn't anyone I recognized, and he certainly wasn't the man Adrienne had drawn.

He walked toward the main door, flung it open, then stepped through. Giving me my one and only chance to leave this room. I ran forward. Again the tingling swept my skin, and part of me wondered if there were DNA sensors involved that could warn if someone other than approved personnel went through it. It would certainly explain the quick appearance of the two men.

The door was closing. I ducked through fast, trying to avoid the guard but not entirely succeeding. One breast brushed his arm. I cursed inwardly but dived toward the deeper shadows, away from the door and the guard.

"What the…" the guard said, before my mind rushed into his and stopped the words.

"What?" The other man asked immediately, as he turned around.

It was then that his scent actually registered. Spicy, warm, and human. But also very familiar.

Because it was the scent that belonged to Jared Donovan, Monitor Island's boat driver and serial flirt. Only it couldn't be. This man looked nothing like Jared—practically their only similar feature was their eyes.

I had to be mistaken. Humans didn't have similar scents—they might all share a strange preference for covering their base scent with all sorts of man-made fragrances, but anyone with a keen nose could always smell past that. My nose was as keen as anyone's, and it had never been wrong.

Until now.

"Mike?"

The sharp question made me jump. I tightened my mental grip on the guard and made him shrug. "Sorry. A goddamn bug bit my neck."

The big man snorted softly then spun on his heel and walked into the Executive Room. I followed fast before the doors could close, then scooted down the steps and along the dance floor, keeping the shadows close and stripping as I ran.

I had no idea what was going on, and no idea if he'd come in here to play or to hunt my scent, but I wasn't about to make it easy for him, I tossed my clothes onto the seat of my booth, then, still wrapped in shadow, slipped onto the dance floor, releasing the shadows only when the bodies began to press close.

I pushed deeper into the crowd, until the smell of lust was so was powerful it was almost liquid and space was at such a premium that it felt like a hundred different people were touching, pressing, and caressing my flesh. That was what I wanted, what I needed. My scent, mixed with many others, creating a confused riot of aromas that no mere human—keen nose or not—would be able to sort out.

It just might be enough to allay suspicion.

So I danced and teased, enjoying the heat of so many bodies pressed against mine, touching them and teasing them even as I enjoyed their caresses, their kisses. And while desire burned, while I ached to give in to the need that burned through my body, I didn't. I had that promise to Kellen to keep, and I would do so, even if it hurt.

It was a good ten minutes before I spotted him again, moving up the stairs and back out the doors. Relief swam through me. But though the temptation to leave was high, I knew it would be dangerous to do so just yet. I had to let the alarm die down. Had to give that man time to forget my scent.

So I continued to dance. And after a while, I spotted the white wolf I'd flirted with at the club's entrance walk into the room. God, had only half an hour passed? It seemed a whole lot longer than that.

Thing was, dancing with him probably wasn't a great idea. The less attention I brought to myself the better. So when he approached with eager lust in his eyes, I touched his mind lightly, sending him into the arms of a more than willing blonde. With him occupied, I got the hell off the dance floor, re-dressed, then left.

No one stopped me. No one even noticed my departure. Even the guard at the front door was too busy chatting up the woman in the payment booth to do anything more than give me a fake smile.

The brightness of the day made me blink. I let my eyes adjust for a moment, then walked over to my car. A scent lingered near the door, the sharp smell of a male, and I frowned, looking around. No one and nothing was near. Shrugging, I got into the car and headed back to the Directorate.

Only I didn't get that far, because Jack called with the news of another murder.

I pulled to a stop at the address he'd given me, and felt the sickness rise. It was one street over from Mary's, and almost directly behind.

The evil soul hadn't left, as I'd presumed. He'd simply found himself another victim.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath but it didn't do much to ease the queasiness running through me, I didn't want to go near the place, I really didn't. Rut I forced my feet toward the house. Whatever had happened in there was my fault, and the least I could do was face the woman's soul and apologize.

Cole appeared as I neared the front door, his features as grim as I'd ever seen them. "This one is nasty."

I shoved my hands in the pockets of my coat to hide their trembling. "Every one of these murders has been nasty."

"This one reaches a whole new level." He handed me a pair of slip-on foot-covers, and my stomach began to churn even harder. "There's only one person involved in this."

"What?"

"No husband," he said grimly. "No boyfriend, no lover, no significant other. Just her."

"But how is—"

He held up a finger, stopping my words. "Come and see."

I slipped the covers onto my shoes, then grabbed a pair of gloves, pulling them on as I stepped into the house. Like Mary's house, this one had a long hallway, and the bedrooms were all directly off it. The kitchen and living spaces were down at the far end of the house.

Our footsteps echoed on the gleaming floorboards as we walked. The smell of blood and fear stung the air, but mixed within those scents was the reek of anger. It was dark, that anger, dark and deep.

Our avenging sould hadn't gotten what he'd wanted, so he'd unleashed his fury on someone else. Someone who hadn't deserved it.

I stepped into the living room then stopped. The bird-shifter knelt near one of the walls, taking samples from the smears of blood that rained across the room. Cole's other assistant was carefully bagging the blonde hair that was scattered like pale snow all over the floor and furniture.

I gulped back bile, and looked to my left. The woman lay in a crumpled heap at the base of the bloody, smashed-in pantry. Her arms, her legs, her body—everything had been wildly slashed, and the offending knife was still clenched in her left hand. It was hard to say if her face had borne the same sort of self-mutilation, because there was nothing left of her face to sec. It was smashed beyond recognition, broken into so many pieces it resembled pulverized meat. There weren't even eyes. Somewhere along the line, they'd been gouged out.

My gaze went to the wall opposite, then back to the pantry door. Based on the blood pattern, he'd run her face first into one, then the other, back and forth.

I briefly closed my eyes and took a shuddery breath.

My fault.

All my fault.

This bastard had to be stopped before he could kill again.

"Death happened just after one last night, didn't it?"

Cole looked at me. "Yeah. How'd you guess?"

"Because I stopped the thing that caused this from taking the life of the woman who lives behind this house."

He frowned. "What thing?"

"it's a spirit," I hesitated. "A very dark and angry spirit."

He studied me for a moment, bright eyes perhaps seeing more than I wanted him to. "You can hardly be blamed for not stopping a murderous spirit. That's hardly a guardian's field of expertise."

"But I could have guessed he'd do something like this." His need for blood and revenge had simply been too great. I should have known that—after all, I'd felt the force of it, Kelt the fury in him.

Cole snorted. "You can't be held accountable for the bloody intentions of those you track. Get that thought well and truly out of your head, or you won't last long in this job."

I smiled grimly. "That could be a good thing, you know."

"Not if the little men with white coats come calling." He nodded toward the stains on the wall. "Whatever this thing is, it's got a mean temper. I'm not exactly psychic, and even I can feel the anger lingering on the air. I've called in one of the magi."

I raised my eyebrows. "Really? How could they help with your investigations?"

"They can't. But by being here, they might be able to get some sense of what this thing really is, and how it might be stopped."

"It's worth a shot."

Hell, anything that could generate answers was worth a shot. I rubbed my arms. The chill in the room was growing stronger, and I wasn't sure if the cause was the fading day or a soul getting ready to appear. I hoped it was the former, not the latter. Part of me just didn't want to face the soul of the woman. Didn't want to face her fury and confusion.

How could a simple apology ever be enough?

"There is, perhaps, one tangible clue here." Cole bent and picked several strands of golden hair. "The soul or spirit or whatever it is seems to have a fetish for cutting off women's hair. He's even forced this woman to cut off her own hair. There can't have been many serial killers in our past with that sort of obsession."

"He might not have been a serial killer in life. He may have just killed an unfaithful lover, then suicided." And maybe that meant it was true that such souls roamed the earth, unable to enter heaven or hell or wherever else it was that regular souls went. Though it didn't explain how he'd gained the power to enter others and make them commit such atrocities. To others, and to themselves. "But you're right, it's definitely a clue."

Hopefully, I'd find similarities and answers in one of the three files I'd requested.

The chill in the air was getting fiercer, and I rubbed my arms again.

"It's not that cold," Cole commented.

"It is when you're feeling the chill of afterlife," I muttered. "Have we got an ID yet?"

"Veronica Ward."

The cold sharpened abruptly, and energy ran like ice across my skin. I looked past him and saw her. A wisp of fragile cotton that hovered over the body, rapidly finding form. Finding voice.

Why, it said. Why?

I closed my eyes against the pain and confusion in that voice. Because I couldn't stop it. I'm sorry, Veronica, So very sorry.

Which sounded as inadequate as I'd feared, but there was little else I could do or say.

It rotated, that soul, its movements more controlled, less frenetic, than the others I'd seen. Considering her options, taking stock before she made any move. I had a feeling she'd been like that in life, too.

But you must stop it, she said eventually. Before the cycle stops for another year.

Cycle? So this had happened before? We're trying.

Fawkner. He lives in Fawkner. It is there you must stop him.

With that statement, the cold energy fell away, and her soul disintegrated, fleeing to whatever region of afterlife she was bound for.

I took a deep, shuddering breath. "Well, that was interesting."

"The soul spoke?"

I nodded. "She said we had to stop him before the cycle halts for another year. She also said he lived in Fawkner."

"See, I told you we had a serial killer on our hands."

"Yeah, but does she mean now, or when he was alive?"

"Does it even matter?"

"I guess not." I forced myself to study the room. "There is nothing else here that provides a clue in any way?"

"Nothing so far."

"You'll let me know if you find anything? Or if the magi finds anything?"

"First thing."

"Thanks, Cole."

His sudden smile crinkled the corners of his eyes and lent his features a warmth that was stunningly attractive. Needless to say, my hormones did excited little cartwheels. But then, my hormones were feeling more than a little frustrated after all that playing at the club.

"Two thanks in two days," he said, the twinkle in his blue eyes matching the killer smile. "That has to be a record for a guardian, doesn't it?"

"I'm not your average guardian."

"I think that's one point we can both agree on."

I smiled. "Finally. Does this mean we can go on a date, and have sex?" I asked, only half-kidding.

"No."

"Damn."

He laughed, a merry sound that had my smile widening. "You may be a killer, but you're a fun one to be around."

"Thanks. I think."

"No probs." He turned away to continue his investigation, and I headed for the car. Once outside, I sucked in the fresh air, trying to sweep away the remnants of death and destruction. It didn't help much. Both still clung to my skin.

I looked at my watch. It was nearing four. I could go home, if I wanted to. Perhaps find Kellen and ease some aches. But the mere thought had guilt stirring. Someone had died because I didn't know enough. Surely I owed it to the dead to remedy that.

I climbed into my car and headed back to the Directorate. The roads into the city were all grid-locked, however, and I amused myself by checking out the other drivers, trying to guess what they did for a living by the make of their car. To see if I was right, I lightly touched their minds. I was right a good forty percent of the time, which wasn't a bad effort.

When I finally made it into the Directorate, I pecked into the liaisons' office to see if my caramel-haired nemesis was there. Luckily, she wasn't, but the scrawny-looking vamp I'd worked with off and on during my years as a liaison, was. "Hey, David can you sign my car out for another night?"

"I have a note here—"

"Screw the note. I need the car."

"Salliane will not be pleased."

"Good." I pushed away and headed for our squad room. David's amusement followed me down the hall. No one was around when I walked in, so I helped myself to coffee then sat at my desk. After going through the security checks, I pulled up the three requested files and started reading them. It took a while, but eventually I hit pay dirt.

"You're looking mighty pleased with yourself," Jack said, as he walked into the room. He dumped a file on Rhoan's desk, then walked over to the coffeemaker.

"I found our killer."

"And?"

"He went by the name of Harvey Wilson, an itinerant handyman who apparently got fixated on one Erma McDonald. Followed her around like a dog in heat, and apparently got violent if she went out with other men."

Jack leaned his butt against the counter and took a sip of his coffee. "They weren't married or anything?"

"No, but Harvey treated her like they were. She took out a restraining order on him, but he seemed to have a sixth sense about the cops and could never be caught violating the order."

"Which he obviously did, if he murdered her."

"Yeah." I glanced briefly at the all-too-familiar images of bloodshed and destruction. "He discovered Erma was engaged to be married. Accused her of having an affair and swore that she would remain true to him, and only him, forever."

"So he tore her up?"

I nodded. "Psychically, not physically. They had a witness—a neighbor whose kitchen window looked into Erma's and who heard everything. Apparently, once Erma was dead, he chopped off her hair and shoved it into his pocket."

"So the cops caught him?"

"Not really. He waited until they arrived and had seen what he'd done, then shot himself." Which certainly fit what was happening now—the gloating sense of evil I kept sensing when we first walked in.

Jack snorted. "Undoubtedly thinking they could be together in the afterlife. Psychos never seem to learn things aren't that easy."

"Well, I wish it was, because then he wouldn't still be here on this plane of existence, destroying lives," I glanced at the file again, "According to the report, he's been at it for five years now."

Jack frowned. "If his spirit has been killing for five years, why haven't there been more murders?"

"Because he only hunts and kills for one week of every year." And few of the cases actually got reported to us, because by the time the various departments realized they had a serial killer, the killings stopped.

"Unusual for a tormented soul to be so restrained," Jack commented.

"Not if his sprees only happen during the anniversary week of his death."

"Which was?"

"October 31. Halloween itself."

Jack snorted. "Explains a lot."

I leaned back in my chair. "I know Halloween tends to bring out the weirdness in both humans and nonhumans, but I didn't realize it had a similar effect on the spiritual world."

"That's the problem with the world today—no one knows the real meanings of anything anymore."

"I know it used to be an old pagan festival that celebrated the end of summer and the beginning of winter."

He smiled. It was one of those "pleased with a student" smiles that really annoyed me. "That's right. But the Celts—and many other cultures—also believed that during Samhain, the boundary between the living and the dead blurred, and spirits could roam the earth."

"Which explains why he was able to rise on the day of his death, but not how he was able to continue his killing spree for the next five days."

"The days between Samhain and November 5 have been times of feasting, celebrations, and remembrances of the dead down through many centuries."

"Giving him—and spirits like him—the chance to do their evil bidding?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"How come the guardian division hasn't had more ghostly disturbances to take care of then?"

"Because our magi division usually takes care of these sorts of problems, not our guardians."

I guess that made sense. I mean, our regular hunter-killers wouldn't even be able to sense a spirit. "So have we discovered yet how to stop a soul intent on murder?"

"Marg and her team are still going through their texts to find out."

Marg was the spindly magi who'd helped us contain a spirit intending to let a dark god loose on the world. A spirit who had turned out to be Quinn's sister—and the reason he'd actually become a vampire.

"Tell her we haven't a whole lot of time to work with. It's been three days already. We only have two more before he's off in hibernation for the next year."

He nodded. "I've asked her to get back with ideas before sunset. In the meantime, I suggest you uncover where he was buried."

I frowned. "Why?"

"Because sometimes a soul sullied by suicide cannot be sent on. They can only be restrained."

And I guess I was going to find out how that was done soon enough. "You seem to know an awful lot about this sort of stuff, boss."

"I'm a vampire," he said. "And you'd know a lot stuff if you'd been around for eight hundred years, too."

"Not me. I've got a memory like a sieve."

"Especially when it comes to leaving the corn-link on," he said, voice dry as he pushed away from the desk and headed for the door. "You'd better catch some rest once you find out where Wilson is buried, just in case Marg needs your help with the ceremony."

"My help?" I all but yelped. Hell, the last thing I wanted to be doing tonight was wandering about a cemetery helping to restrain a spirit. "Why the hell would she need my help?"

"Because you're the only guardian that can see or talk to souls."

"Marg's a magi. Surely she's got ways and means to communicate with the dead?"

"Your way is more direct. Besides, Wilson may get nasty," he said, as he disappeared out the door.

I muttered obscenities under my breath, then started tracking down Harvey Wilson's final resting place. And really, it wasn't all that hard, because Veronica Ward had given me the clue. She'd said he'd lived in Fawkner. Given Wilson had been an itinerant in life, she could only mean that was where he lived now. In the Fawkner cemetery.

Which is exactly where I found him. I scribbled down the plot number and street address, then signed off the computer and went home. Jack was right. I needed sleep. A look in the mirror only confirmed that. My eyeballs were bloodshot, and there were huge bags under my eyes. Which was never a good look when combined with pale skin and red hair.

The last remnants of the sunset were fading as I pulled to a halt outside our apartment. I climbed out of the car and breathed deep. The air was crisp and filled with the sharpness of oncoming rain. With my luck, it'd be absolutely bucketing down come cemetery time tonight.

Then another scent caught my interest—that of a wolf. A male wolf. It was a sour, almost unpleasant aroma, and certainly didn't belong to anyone I was familiar with. I scanned the pavement, looking for the origin of the scent. A woman struggled along with bags of shopping clenched in each hand, her very human scent tangy and not unpleasant. Further down, a somewhat disheveled-looking man sat on the front steps of a building and smoked something that looked hand-rolled. A joint, probably.

No sour-smelling wolves in sight.

I raised my nose, tasting the slight breeze again. The aroma of rotting rubbish, perfume, and the thick scent of humans rode the air. Underneath all that, the vaguest hint of death and decay—a vampire had passed this way recently, and his unwashed scent still stained the breeze. The sour smell seemed to be coming from my building. Maybe the old biddy who owned it had decided Rhoan and I had been such good tenants, she'd let another wolf in.

The thought stopped abruptly as a sharp sound snagged my interest and got my pulse racing.

The air seemed to scream, as if something fast and deadly was tearing through the dusk toward me.

Fear hit like a punch to the gut. I knew that sound. I'd heard it far too often now to mistake it. I threw myself sideways, but wasn't fast enough by half. The bullet tore into my arm, right through the flesh of my underarm, then continued, smashing into the windshield and shattering it into a thousand different pieces.

Glass flew, the glittering fragments raining around me as I hit the roadside. My chin struck hard, smashing my teeth into my lip, cutting flesh.

As the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth, another bullet tore through the air, punching a hole through the still-open car door and pinging off the road inches from my hip.

I swore softly. The bastard had to be up high. He had too good a sight on me to be anywhere near ground level. I scooted forward, my arm burning and bullets pinging around me. And they were all silver, because while ordinary bullet wounds hurt like blazes, they didn't burn like this one was.

Which meant this bastard, whoever he was, knew I was a werewolf. Meaning it was no damn accident I was being shot at.

Could Blake be so angry about me not saving Adrienne he'd sent out a hit?

Probably, but all the same I doubted he was behind the shots. Torment was more his style.

I stopped behind the rear tire and scanned the surrounding rooftops. I couldn't see a goddamn thing… until a shadow moved on the top of the apartment building next to ours. It was moving, half-crouched, along the roof, probably searching for a better angle. But I'd be damned if I was going to let him get it. I scooted around the back of the car, and felt another bullet nip at my toes.

The bastard had found a better angle.

God, if only I'd had a weapon on me, I could have taken the shooter out when he'd moved. But I'd left my damn laser locked securely in the apartment safe this morning, just like I always did. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I'd have to risk running. I blew out a breath, then scrambled to my feet and ran like hell for the building. Bullets pinged against the pavement behind me, but their presence no longer burned. Perhaps he'd run out of silver ones.

But the mere fact that he was still sighting me when I was running as fast as I was physically able meant he had to be something other than human. To human—even wolf—eyes, I'd be nothing more than a blur. But a vamp could track me through infrared vision.

If it was a vamp up there, it'd have to be an older one, otherwise he couldn't be out in the dusk. I slammed through the building's front doors and ran up the stairs. This apartment block was almost identical to ours—a neglected old warehouse that had been converted to apartments and rented cheap to those who didn't mind living near the freeway. Though this building, being on a corner and facing suburbia, had less inspiring scenery than ours. At least we could see the city and the bridges at night from our apartment.

And obviously there were no werewolves living here, either, because the high-pitched squeal of rats was evident as the little bastards went scampering at my approach. Like I was going to stop and eat one of them.

I continued to pound up the stairs. Six flights left me winded. The rooftop fire escape door was padlocked—which was totally against the rules, but often done in old buildings like these to stop the jumpers. We'd had a few jump from our roof, and it was never a pretty sight. Even a cat-shifter didn't have much luck against that sort of drop.

After wiping the sweat from my forehead with a bloody hand, I stepped back and kicked open the door. It rebounded against the wall loud enough to wake the dead, but no welcoming bullet pinged into the opening.

I blew out a breath, then dove through the opening, my back hitting the concrete hard before I was rolling to my feet and running for the nearest ventilation shaft. Again, no bullets.

Maybe he'd gone.

Maybe he was waiting for a clearer shot.

I sniffed the air, trying to get sonic hint of who and what my adversary was. The air ran sharp with many aromas—including the metallic scent of my own blood—but there was no hint of vampire on the breeze.

I switched to infrared and scanned the rooftop. There was no one here. I was totally alone. I swore softly and rose. No bullets smashed through the air to greet my sudden appearance. My quarry was truly gone.

Cursing softly, I walked over to the corner of the building, going near, but not too near, the edge. At least a dozen shell casings littered the ground. Someone had wanted me very dead. Question was, who? And had they moved up from using cars and trucks to using bullets?

I suspected they had. But why? Certainly there was nothing happening in my private life that warranted such actions, so it had to be connected to a case.

Problem was, I only had two on my plate at the moment, and neither of those were likely prospects. I mean, it wouldn't be our evil soul, because he preferred more direct methods of destruction. I also doubted it would have anything to do with Adrienne's case, because that was getting nowhere fast. And while Blake might be annoyed at my lack of results, I didn't think he'd send hits out on me. Though I had no doubt he could have done so if he'd wanted to. He'd know the right people, if only because he was that type himself.

I left the casings lying where they were—not only because I didn't have gloves but because I knew squat about guns and wouldn't have been able to tell one casing from another—and followed the building's edge, looking for a clue as to where my would-be assassin had gone. I wasn't close enough to see the pavement directly below, and technically six flights shouldn't have had my phobia rising, but the breeze whistling up and over the edge gave a feeling of greater height and my stomach twisted.

I reached the other end of the building. There was a small jump over an alleyway to the rooftop of my building, and someone had not only taken it at speed but had misjudged their landing. Several of the aerials were either bent out of shape or broken. The old cow of an owner would have a pink fit—she loved her TV above everything else.

After a quick glance down at the gap between the two buildings, I backed away from the edge and pressed the corn-link button in my ear.

"Anyone home?"

"Oh joy, it's the bitch," a familiar voice said.

I smiled. "Hey, Sal, welcome back. I missed you."

She snorted. "Yeah, I'm gone a whole twenty-four hours and you're pining for me. Right. What can I do for you, wolf girl?"

"Someone's just taken a potshot at me. With silver bullets."

"So who'd you piss off this time?"

"No one that I know of."

"I find that extremely hard to believe."

So did I, actually. "He missed."

"You do like stating the fucking obvious, don't you?"

I grinned. "He did manage to put a whole heap of holes in your car."

"Well, fuck him."

"Yeah." I took a breath then, with my heart racing a million miles an hour, ran at the edge, and leapt over. It wasn't really a wide gap, no matter what my stupid fears were saying, and I landed on the other side without problem. "The shooter was on the roof of the apartment next to mine. I'm currently on my rooftop and heading down."

"Any evidence?"

"Shell casings. There might be prints."

"I'll send a team out."

"Thanks, Sal."

"You won't be thanking me when you get the repair bill, wolf girl."

I chuckled softly, clicked off the corn-link and walked around to the fire exit. The stair door was hanging off one hinge and swaying softly in the breeze. And what looked to be a footprint was neatly etched into the metal. My attacker was on the small side, if this print was any indication.

I stood to one side of the doorway, studying the shadows and listening for anything out of place. The normal sounds and scents of living drifted up from the apartments below, but the air also held the slightest hint of staleness—the type of staleness I'd long associated with vampires. Though this wasn't as bad as some.

My shooter had definitely been past here, but I doubted he was still hanging around. His scent was fading, and I couldn't "feel" any other nonhuman in the immediate vicinity.

Still, if he knew I lived here, there was no saying he wasn't waiting in the shadows near my apartment.

I ducked around the corner of the broken door, feeling a little foolish but knowing it was better than feeling a little dead. Hell, Rhoan would never forgive me if I got myself killed this easily after everything we'd been through this last year or so.

None of the shadows moved, though, and the darkness hid nothing but dust. Even so, I edged down each step carefully, every sense tuned. No one jumped out at me. Nothing but darkness hid on the fire escape.

When I neared the hallway of my own floor, I hesitated, switching to infrared and scanning the area. Again, nothing.

But the heat of two bodies flared to life in my apartment, and neither the shapes nor the murmuring voices were familiar.

Infrared couldn't actually tell me what race the two people in my apartment were. All it could do was tell me that blood pumped through their veins—perhaps a little faster than what was normal for a vampire, but that was no guarantee one or both of them weren't bloodsuckers.

I studied their images a little longer, fixing their positions in my mind, then padded softly down the hall until I was near my door.

After taking another deep breath and releasing it slowly, I stepped forward, hitting the lock in the sweet spot and springing it open.

Two men spun around, one of them reaching for a gun. He was fast, real fast.

But I was faster.

I blurred, running at him at full speed, snatching the gun from him with one hand and punching his jaw with the other, sending him back and down.

Then I turned and leapt for the second man, who was already running. I hit him in the back, the weight of my body dragging him down. He slammed into the floorboards with a grunt, but twisted and punched. The blow caught my cut lip, sending my head snapping backward and blood flying. I cursed, smashed an elbow into his face, then wedged the tip of my stolen weapon under the point of his chin. His sour scent told me he was the wolf I'd smelled earlier.

"Try something like that again, and I'll blow your frigging head off," I growled.

"Okay, okay," he rasped, voice showing more anger than fear.

For the first time, I got a good look at him. Saw the flat, nondescript features, beady gray eyes, and harsh, uncompromising mouth.

It wasn't a stranger I'd beaten up and threatened.

It was Patrin.