Fireborn

CHAPTER 9

As consciousness resurfaced, I realized I was no longer in the cell. Hard concrete still lay underneath me, but the chilled air was now filled with noise—the hum of traffic, the rumble of a tram rattling past, distant voices rising over the heavy bass beat of music. Obviously, we were no longer at PIT headquarters.

So where the hell had they dumped us?

I rolled onto my back only to discover there were madmen in my head armed with hammers they were not afraid to use. I groaned loudly.

A familiar voice said, “Yeah, I know exactly how you feel.”

I cracked open one eye. Jackson sat a couple of feet away, his back propped up against a huge wrought-iron strut that jutted out of the ground at an angle.

I frowned. “How”—the word came out scratchy and I paused, swallowing heavily in an attempt to ease the dryness in my throat—“the hell did we get back to the zipper sculpture?”

“I’m guessing your charming ex had us dumped here.” He shrugged, his gaze sweeping me critically. “You okay?”

“Other than feeling like I’ve had far too much to drink without the fun of the alcohol, you mean?”

He laughed softly, then groaned. “God, don’t make me do that. It hurts.”

“Meaning they drugged you, too? Or did they get a little more physical?”

“They drugged me.” He paused and added with a wry smile, “Though I wouldn’t have minded getting physical. My interrogator was that Fae babe I’ve sensed a few times but never seen.”

Meaning Rochelle, no doubt. “How long have we been here? Do you know?”

He shrugged. “Five minutes or so.”

I slowly—carefully—pushed myself into a sitting position. It felt like my head was about to explode and, for several minutes, it was all I could do to keep breathing and not throw up. One thing was certain—I was not going to take fire form anytime soon. Not until I got to Rory, anyway.

Eventually, I said, “Did they order you way from Morretti and the Baltimore investigation?”

“Yeah.” He grimaced. “But the drug won’t stop me from at least trying to head over to Laverton the minute we get in the cab.”

I didn’t say anything, just watched as he took a deep, somewhat shuddering breath, then pushed to his feet. He stood there for a moment, body wavering and face green, then carefully shuffled toward me. “Come on. We need to get out of here.”

I accepted his offered hand and let him haul me upright, but I wasn’t entirely sure in the end who was holding whom upright.

“I’m not going to be able to walk far in this state,” I muttered.

“There’s a taxi stand down the street.”

I frowned. “What about your truck?”

“I don’t think it’s wise to be driving in this state. I’ll retrieve it later.” He tucked his arm through mine, and we made our way slowly out of the canal and back onto Flemington Road. It was late, but there were still plenty of cars on the road, their headlights pinning us briefly in brightness before sweeping on.

Two cabs were waiting at the stand. We climbed into the first one, and the driver gave us a somewhat dubious look. “Where to?”

Jackson opened his mouth, but no words came out. He glanced at me, his expression suddenly furious. He really couldn’t say the Laverton address. I licked my lips, picturing the address in my mind, determination high.

“We need to go,” I said, but got no further. The words really wouldn’t come out.

Jackson swore violently, then said, “Sixty-five Stanley Street, West Melbourne.” When I glanced at him, he added, “My office. And home.”

I nodded and relaxed back in the seat as the cab took off. It didn’t take all that long to get across to Stanley Street. Jackson paid the cabbie; then we both climbed out.

“Wow,” I said, looking around. The street was wide but divided by center parking and pretty flowering trees, and the buildings lining either side of the road were a mix of light industrial and old Victorian. “Close to both the Queen Vic Market and Flagstaff Gardens. The rent here must be horrific.”

He shrugged, then cupped his hand under my elbow and directed me across the road toward a double-story Victorian building that was little more than two windows wide and squashed between a blacksmith’s workshop and an electrical store. “I can write it off, and having the residence above it actually saves me money.”

He dug his keys out of his pocket and stopped at the pretty, blue-painted building, opening the wrought-iron gate before ushering me through. I walked up the two steps and leaned against the adjoining wall.

“Hellfire Investigations?” I said dryly. “Really?”

He gave me a weary grin as he brushed past to open the door. “I’m a fire Fae—any business I’m involved in is always going to have a name relating to fire.”

“But surely even a Fae could think of something more imaginative.”

“Oh, we can and often do.” He ushered me inside. “But it usually involves sex. Or sexual positions.”

I smiled and studied the long, thin room. It wasn’t your traditional office—there was no reception area, just a couple of desks, a half-dozen comfortable chairs, and a line of filing cabinets along the left wall. At the far end of the room, there was a lounge area with several couches and one of the biggest espresso machines I’d ever seen outside a café. Jackson obviously had a serious love for coffee. A spiral staircase sat to one side of this area.

“How many people do you have working for you?”

“No one,” he said, relocking the door. “Hellfire’s a one-man operation.”

“Why? Is it because you’re a Fae, and Fae tend to be solitary creatures?”

He hesitated. “If I’m being honest, that does play into it. I’ve certainly been thinking about bringing someone in for a while, but I haven’t found anyone I could stand to be with eight hours—or more—a day.”

I raised my eyebrows, amusement teasing my lips. “What? Not even a female?”

“Oh, there are plenty of females I could stand being with. I just wouldn’t want to work with them.” He shrugged. I had a feeling he didn’t really care one way or another. He added, “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Please.” I trailed after him as he walked across the room. “So what do we do now?”

“Given the restrictions they’ve placed on us, we’ve got no choice but to concentrate on Wilson’s murder and somehow find the link to Baltimore.”

“But if we do find a link, you won’t be able to act on it.” I sat on the thickly padded arm of one of the couches and crossed my arms. There was a weird mix of fire and ice in my veins, a result of both Sam’s kiss and the drug.

Damn it. I could have resisted. I should have resisted. But I’d wanted that kiss too much.

And the result?

Confusion. Complete and utter confusion.

While there was no denying the desire that still burned within me, I had to wonder how much of it was fueled by memories of what we’d once had. Because the man I’d tasted in that kiss was very different from the man I’d fallen in love with. My Sam was undoubtedly still there, if buried deep. The problem was, I wasn’t sure I even liked the man he was most of the time, so how the hell could I love him?

I scrubbed a hand through my hair and wished like hell I could travel back in time and erase the events of the last few days. My life had been a whole lot easier, and I hadn’t appreciated it enough.

“No, but we can at least pass it on to your cop friend.” Water spluttered as Jackson filled a teapot. He glanced over his shoulder. “I take it you’re still intending to pursue this?”

“Hell yeah. The bastard’s not going to get the better of me.”

“Attagirl.” He brought the teapot and a cup over to me and placed it on the nearby side table. “You want something to eat?”

“If you’ve got something sugary, that would be good.”

“Iced doughnuts coming up.” He returned with a large box of doughnuts, then made his coffee and plonked down on the seat beside me. “Tomorrow we’ll start talking to some of Wilson’s friends.”

I nodded, too busy munching on doughnuts to speak. Between us both, we demolished the entire box of twelve as well as several hot drinks in very quick time.

“And now,” he said, collecting both the cups and dumping them in the sink. “It’s time for bed.”

A smile teased my lips. “Oh, really?”

“Yes, really.” He offered me a hand. “To sleep. Nothing more. I promise.”

“A Fae going to bed with a woman and actually intending to sleep? Damn, that has to be one for the record books.”

He laughed softly, tugged me up into his arms, and dropped a sweet kiss on my lips. It went some way to removing the taste of ashes and darkness.

“Trust me,” he said softly, his forehead resting lightly against mine. “It saddens me greatly that I cannot raise anything more than the desire to hold you in my arms. I wish it were otherwise.”

“Sleep,” I said softly, “is all I really want.”

“Good,” he said, and tugged me up the stairs.

By the time I woke up, the sunshine flooding the far end of the room was bright and warm, suggesting it was closer to lunchtime than to breakfast. I rolled onto my back and realized I was alone in the bed. A quick look around provided no clue as to where Jackson was, which meant he was probably downstairs.

I stretched the kinks from my body, then scooted upright, hugging my knees as I looked around. Like the floor below, the upper living area was really nothing more than one big, open space. The kitchen was centrally located, and had all the latest mod cons as well as a sink filled with dishes. The living area was on the left side of the room and contained a TV that dominated an entire section of wall, while the bathroom—or at least, the shower and the bath—were in the opposite corner to the right of the bed. An open closet was situated nearby, filled with an untidy mess of clothes. Beyond that was a door, which led into the only separate room on this entire floor—the toilet.

My stomach rumbled a fierce reminder that I really had to feed myself if I wanted to regain the strength I needed to burn the drug out of my body, so I bounced out of bed and padded across to the kitchen. A quick investigation of the fridge provided a can of Coke and half a dozen cold cuts of chicken. I consumed several of those, then grabbed the Coke and went in search of my clothes. After retrieving my phone from my purse, I walked across to the windows. Sunshine caressed my skin, warm and intoxicating. I closed my eyes and let the heat infuse me for several minutes before I dialed Rory.

He answered on the second ring. “How did things go last night?”

“Good and bad.” I updated him on all that had happened, then added, “The drug he gave us was N41A. It not only restricts psychic abilities, but acts as some sort of enforcer. Until it’s out of our system, we can’t pursue Mark’s murder.”

“But the minute you burn into spirit form, it’ll lose effect.”

“Yes, except right now that’s not really an option. I’m running rather low on reserves.”

“Em, that’s a dangerous state to be in with all this shit going down. I can get time off work if you want—”

“No,” I cut in. “I mean, yes, we will have to meet later today, but don’t take time off. You can’t afford it.”

“You’re far more important to me than any damn job.”

I smiled, warmed as much by the caring so evident behind the words as the words themselves. “I know, but given the drug’s restrictions against following our one good lead, it’s not like we can get ourselves into too much trouble before tonight. I’d like to get ahold of an antidote if there is one, though. I have a feeling the drug will leave Jackson incapacitated longer than either of us might desire. He may be a fire Fae, but it’s not like he can become flame and burn it out of his system.”

“That may not be a bad thing. I mean, it’s Sam’s job to catch the bastards behind Mark’s murder, not yours or Jackson’s.”

“I know that. Jackson knows that.”

“And neither of you care.” He sighed softly. “If a government department is using that drug, then there’s got to be an antidote for it somewhere.”

“Which is exactly why I called. Do you think Mike might be able to get his hands on it?”

Mike was one of the teenagers who attended Rory’s kung fu classes at a run-down community center in Newport on the weekends. He’d been on the streets since he was eight and had survived by selling his body, stolen goods, and, these days, information and drugs. Not just any drugs, but the hard-to-come-by, black-market kind. The kind a kid his age should never be able to get ahold of.

He and Rory had formed an odd sort of friendship—probably, I think, because Rory accepted rather than judged. He could hardly do anything else when we’d both traveled Mike’s path more than once in our lifetimes. You do whatever it takes to survive, and sometimes that “whatever” is neither pleasant nor on the straight and narrow.

“I’ll ask. If he doesn’t know about it, he might be able to point me in the direction of someone who does.”

“Just tell him to be careful. Sam’s people tend to play rough. Oh, and don’t go back to the apartment yet. Not until we’re sure it’s safe.”

“We’ll have to go back there if you want to renew.”

“I know. I just don’t want to risk either one of us being caught alone at the moment.” I paused. “Although to be honest, I wouldn’t mind going for a drive to find somewhere remote.”

After all, before flameproof rooms had come along, that was exactly what we’d had to do.

“It would be a nice change.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “You’ll ring?”

“I will. Just don’t go home in the meantime.”

“I won’t. I’ll bunk down at Rosie’s for a couple of days.”

“Good. But if they know as much about phoenixes as they claim, they could well be watching the fire station and you.”

“I’ll be careful. Just make sure you are. Remember, I want us both to live to old age this time around.”

He hung up. I tossed the phone back onto the pile of my clothes, then finished the Coke and went in search of Jackson.

I found him at one of the desks downstairs. “Do you often work at your desk naked?”

“Only when I think it might induce a pretty lady to come sit on my lap.” He caught my hand and tugged me toward him. “I was, however, beginning to think said pretty lady was intending to sleep all day.”

I sat astride him and wrapped my arms loosely around his neck. Need stirred within, need that was both sexual and something stronger. Fiercer. “Hunger got the better of me.”

“So it seems.” He dropped a quick kiss on my lips. “Sadly, it seems to be for chicken rather than me.”

“Hey, I’m here now, aren’t I?” I shifted, and his breath hitched. The heat within him rose several notches. I flared my nostrils, drawing it in, allowing his warmth to slither through me, refueling the ragged edges of my soul. I was careful, though. He might be a Fae, but I couldn’t take too much of his heat for fear of weakening him. But then, all I really needed was enough to keep the edge of utter exhaustion away. “So what dragged you out of a warm bed?”

“Thoughts about Mrs. Wilson.” He brushed his thumbs across my nipples. Delight skittered through me.

“Not erotic thoughts, I hope.”

“Hardly. Although I’m having a few now.”

So was I. “What kind of thoughts were you having about her, then?”

Rather than answering, he shifted one hand, gripping the back of my neck to hold me still as his lips claimed mine again. The kiss became a long, slow dance of exploration and pleasure. Neither of us was breathing very steadily by the time he broke away.

“It’s your fault.”

I ran a fingertip down his abs. “What is?”

The question was absently said. Right now, I wasn’t really caring about anything more than the tension that lay between us. I slid back on his lap to expose his erection, then played my fingertips across it. His cock leapt with every light caress, as if begging for more.

“Me being down here instead of in bed.” His voice, little more than a low growl, made my senses hum. “You suggested Wilson’s wife would have had some sense of him being in trouble—even if she didn’t want to confront or admit the situation.”

“So?”

“So,” he murmured, his concentration seemingly more on caressing my breasts than what he was saying. “It just got me wondering whether Mrs. Wilson was as clueless as I’d thought, so I came down here to do a little investigating.”

I slid my fingers down the length of his shaft, then gently cupped his balls. His breath hitched again. I smiled impishly and began massaging him, the rhythm of my movements echoing his. “And what did you discover?”

“That she is not as clueless as she appears.”

“Surprise, surprise.” I removed my fingers, then slid myself over his shaft, letting my wetness coat him as I slowly moved up and down the length of him.

“Yeah,” he said, voice a little strained. “Seems she and Wilson hadn’t known each other very long before they were married.”

He ducked his head and caught one nipple in his teeth, teasing it lightly. Shivers of delight skittered through me. He released me abruptly, then swirled his tongue around the puckered, aching nipple, his touch light and erotic. I closed my eyes and simply enjoyed. But as my movements against his shaft got ever stronger, he groaned, gripped my hips, then thrust inside me.

For several moments, I didn’t speak, didn’t move, didn’t do anything more than simply enjoy the sensation of him being so very deeply inside. “How did you discover that?”

“Our Mrs. Wilson has a Facebook page. She announced she’d met the man of her dreams in May of last year, then declared they were getting married a month later.”

“Wow. One of them is a fast worker.”

“Hmm,” he agreed; then his lips caught mine again, and there was no discussion about Mrs. Wilson or her Facebook page for many, many minutes—just a whole lot of passion and heat. Heat that ran through me, fed me, even as I fought the urge to take all that I needed and leave him depleted. We came as one, our groans echoing through the large room as our bodies shook and shuddered. He made one final thrust, then briefly rested his forehead against mine, his breath warm against my lips.

“That,” he said eventually, “is a fine way to start the morning.”

“Except,” I noted, brushing the sweaty strands of his hair from his cheek with my fingertips. “It is no longer morning.”

“Let’s not quibble over minor differences.” He dropped a kiss on my lips, then said, “So, Mrs. Wilson. Not only did our loving couple have an extremely fast courtship, but they were married the same month as Wilson began his red plague research.”

“What a coincidence,” I said dryly. I was still sitting astride him, and I couldn’t help but notice that while he might have only just come, he was more than half-ready to go a second round. Fae, it seemed, were insatiable.

“I’m gathering this led you to dig deeper into our Mrs. Wilson’s past.”

“It did indeed.” He slid his hands down to my butt and then lifted me up and deposited me feetfirst onto the floor. To say I was surprised was an understatement. He grinned. “You need to turn around and look at the computer.”

I did so. On the screen was an image of a pretty blonde with pale blue eyes and a cherub’s face. “Easy to see why Wilson might have fallen hard for her, although a pretty face doesn’t mean she was up to no good. And if Sam suspected that she was, he would have already investigated her.”

“Indeed,” Jackson agreed. He reached around me and clicked open another screen. “Especially since dear Amanda has been married a number of times before.”

I raised my eyebrows. “And did those unions all end in a bloodthirsty manner?”

“If you’re asking if she killed them, then no, apparently not. One husband died in a car crash, two were divorced, and I haven’t been able to track down the other, simply because she married him overseas and it apparently didn’t last past the honeymoon.”

“Four—five—husbands?” I blinked and studied the blonde. “She doesn’t look old enough to have had that many already!”

“She doesn’t keep them very long. She’s been married to Wilson the longest.”

I studied the blonde in the picture for a moment, knowing there had to be something else here. I could feel the excitement thrumming through Jackson, and while part of that was undoubtedly sexual, there was definitely more to it than that.

“So,” I said slowly, “it begs the question, what was she after? Money, or something more?”

His lips brushed my neck. “I do so love the way your mind works.” He reached past me and opened another screen. Information scrolled up. “Husband one was a biochemist, hubby two a bioengineer, three worked in the weapons department for the military, and four is a black-market fence, from what I can gather.”

“So, aside from that one blip, it seems she has a thing for researchers.”

“Or a thing for the information or items she could get from them.”

Which we wouldn’t know until we uncovered more about her. Even so, she was looking less like a clueless blonde and more like a schemer. I swung around and faced him. “So what happened to the husbands after she left or divorced them?”

“Ah, that’s where it gets really interesting. Husband one was sacked two days before his accident. Husbands two and three also lost their jobs and were found dead a few days later. Suicide was the coroner’s official verdict. As I said, I’m still trying to uncover what happened to four.”

“Meaning our Mrs. Wilson is something of a latent black widow?”

“Possibly.”

More than possibly, I suspected. “Why did the first three lose their jobs?”

“It seems there were . . . discrepancies . . . in their departments.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Discrepancies?”

“Labs being broken into, research going missing, that sort of stuff.”

“And the husbands were blamed?”

“They took the fall because they were in charge.”

Uh-huh. “We really need to talk to her.”

“We do.” He dropped a kiss on my nose, then caught my hand and tugged me toward the stairs. “But not before I’ve ravished you senseless.”

“I really think talking to Mrs. Black Widow could be a little more important than sex.”

“Well, yeah, but Mrs. Black Widow is currently at the hairdresser, and that usually takes at least an hour, doesn’t it?”

I followed him up the stairs. “How do you know this? Facebook?”

“Nope. I read her calendar when I was interviewing her.”

“How do you know she’s not just getting a quick trim?”

He gave me a long look over his shoulder. “Anyone would think you were looking for an escape clause. All you have to do is say no, you know.”

I grinned. “I’m just worried that Sam will get there before we do and that he’ll somehow ensure we lose any clues we might otherwise have gained.”

“If he were investigating the wife, he would have done so by now.”

We reached the top of the landing but continued toward the shower rather than the bed. He was obviously intending to combine two necessities. “Now, how about we quit the questions and just concentrate on the business at hand?”

I grinned as he tugged me closer. “Concentrating as ordered, sir.”

And I did.

“So,” he said, stopping his truck several doors up from Mrs. Wilson’s house. “Who were you talking to when you first woke up?”

He had good ears, because I hadn’t been talking that loud. “Rory.”

“And who’s Rory when he’s home?” He shifted in his seat to look at me, but his expression was nothing more than curious.

“Every phoenix is one of a pair. He’s mine.”

His eyebrows raised. “He’s your mate?”

“Not exactly.” I half shrugged. “He’s my lover, my friend, the other half of my soul, and the only man I can ever have children with. But we cannot, and do not, love each other. Not in the romantic sense.”

“Really? What the hell did your people do to earn that sort of curse?”

“That is a million-dollar question, I’m afraid.”

He shook his head. “Does that mean you’re unable to fall in love at all?”

“No. We can and do, but it’s part of the curse that our relationships end badly. I don’t think I’ve heard of one phoenix having a happy ending in all the centuries I’ve been alive. Certainly, I’ve never had one.”

“But just because you haven’t heard about it—or experienced it—doesn’t mean it can’t happen.”

“Well, no. And I certainly keep hoping every time I’m reborn that this will be the one time it’s different.” I shrugged. “But I know for sure it’s not this lifetime.”

He eyed me for a moment, then said, “Because of Sam.”

“Another one loved and lost, I’m afraid.”

“That sucks. Big-time.”

“Living forever always has a drawback. This curse is ours.”

“Vampires don’t seem to have many drawbacks.”

“They live on blood and they can’t ever walk in sunshine.” My voice was dry. “Those are pretty big drawbacks in my book.”

“Neither would worry me—especially if it meant more time chasing luscious ladies.” He paused, looking thoughtful. “So have you and Rory had any kids?”

“We’ve only had five, because we aren’t fertile every rebirth.” I shrugged. “I haven’t seen any of our children for a generation or so. Phoenix offspring don’t tend to linger near the family nest once they find their mate.”

“And how does that happen? I take it there’s a bit more involved than dating until you find the right one.”

I smiled. “We don’t date. At the age of sixteen, a ceremony is performed and our mates are revealed. From there on in, you’re bonded for life.”

He frowned. “What if you happen to hate your bonded partner?”

“That would totally suck, but it’s never happened. Fate’s not that cruel.”

“I wouldn’t bet on that.” He glanced at his watch and his frown deepened. “How long does it normally take to get your hair done?”

I blinked at the sudden change of topic. “Around two hours if she’s getting it dyed.” Not that I actually knew for sure, as I never got anything other than a cut. Phoenixes aged normally through each cycle, but I’d grown rather fond of the gray over the years. “Why?”

“Because she should have been back by now.”

“Maybe she went shopping or something afterward.”

“Maybe.” His frown deepened. “I’ve just got this itchy feeling something’s not right.”

“I didn’t think intuition was a Fae thing.” My gaze swept the street. There was a white car parked several doors up from Wilson’s place and a woman cutting roses in a garden farther along the street, but neither pricked any sensation of wrongness.

“Generally, it’s not.” He frowned at the house for several moments longer, then dug his phone out of his pocket and made a phone call.

“Your secret source has to be a copper,” I noted in amusement once he’d finished. “Very few other people would be able to get you the location of a car via its GPS that quickly.”

“Maybe.” His voice was noncommittal. “But apparently, her vehicle is sitting in the driveway of her home.”

I glanced at the empty driveway. “Someone’s removed the GPS system.”

“Which suggests the itchy feeling may have been spot-on.” A devilish light entered his eyes. “Shall we go investigate?”

“If you break and enter, Sam will throw you in jail.”

“Only if he catches us. Come on.”

I shook my head, but climbed out and waited while he fidgeted in the back of the truck for several minutes. The day was bright and warm, and I tugged off the light sweater I’d borrowed from Jackson, allowing the sunshine to caress my skin and continue the refuel of my inner fires—although soon I’d need more than just sunshine and the threads of energy I could steal from Jackson, and that meant getting back to Rory.

Jackson shoved several items into his pockets and then headed up the driveway. I followed, then watched from several steps away as he knocked on the door. It was loud, but had an oddly hollow sound, which, for some reason, had visions of death stirring.

I rubbed my arms lightly. I was no stranger to the variations of death, but that didn’t mean I ever welcomed its appearance.

Jackson stepped to one side and peered in through the window. “Not a lot to see—other than dust.”

“Given her husband just died, dusting would be the last thing on her mind.”

He gave me a wry look. “Remember we’re talking about a potential black widow here.”

“I know, but she’d at least want to stay in character until the inquest into her husband’s death was over.”

“True.”

He stepped back, gave the front of the house a once-over, then stepped off the veranda and moved around to the backyard. He peered in a few windows, then gripped the back door handle and hit the door hard with his left shoulder. The lock gave way with very little fuss.

“Remind me to get our locks replaced with stronger ones when I get home,” I said.

He gave me a somewhat absent grin. “There is no such thing as a Fae-proof lock.”

“Then I shall coat the door with silver or something.”

“Which would not stop me or anyone else from getting into your home if we were determined enough.” He took two cautious steps inside, then stopped abruptly and swore.

“What?” I said immediately.

“Blood.” He put a hand into a pocket and pulled out some rubber gloves, handing one pair to me. “Wipe the door handle with your sweater, will you?”

“How bad is the blood scent?” I tugged the sweater free from my waist and gave the handle a thorough wipe-down.

“Bad enough.” He hesitated and lowered his voice. “But there’s something else here, a scent I can’t quite put my finger on.”

“Something you’ve smelled before?”

“Or someone.”

Sparks flickered across my fingertips, bright but not dangerous. I wasn’t sure whether it was a result of the drug or my own lack of strength, but either way, it meant that if we were attacked, I’d be relying on my earthier skills rather than my elemental ones. I licked the trepidation from my lips and said, “Is that someone still here?”

“I don’t know. I can’t smell anything that suggests he is, but then, I didn’t last time, either.” He glanced over his shoulder and added, “Close the door behind you. We don’t want the neighbors seeing the open door and reporting it.”

I pulled on the gloves, then closed the door and drew in several deep breaths. The scents he could smell so clearly weren’t evident to me.

We moved quietly from the laundry room into the kitchen. It was small but neat, but there were dishes draining on the sink and fat congealed on the top of the water. I dipped my gloved fingers into it. Stone-cold. Much like the house, really.

I followed Jackson into the next room. Again, it was as neat as a pin, and other than the light coating of dust over the wooden surfaces, there was nothing out of place. But the living room was even colder than the kitchen, and as I rubbed my arms, I realized why. The AC was not only on, but set to near freezing.

Jackson moved into the shadowed hallway beyond the living area. A cautious check of several rooms that led off it revealed neither our black widow nor anyone else, yet the tension in Jackson seemed to be growing. Whatever he smelled was obviously getting stronger. The final room turned out to be the main bedroom, and it was in here that we found Amanda Wilson. She lay on her back, one hand tucked under her neck and her long hair streaming across her pillow. If not for red splatters across the nearby pillow and the paleness of her skin, it would have been easy to believe she was asleep. She looked at peace. Happy even.

But maybe that was because she hadn’t been alone in the bed before her death. Not if the indent in the other pillows and the state of the sheets and blankets were anything to go by. Obviously, the vampire responsible for this had taken his pleasure both physically and through her blood—although judging by the blood on the pillow, he was one messy feeder.

Jackson stepped over the bundle of bedsheets dumped on the carpet near the end of the bed and carefully gripped her chin, turning her head to one side to reveal a deep and ugly bite wound. I closed my eyes briefly and took a deep breath, but it did little to calm the instinctive rush of distaste and fear. Though I was more than aware that not all vamps got off on vicious blood taking—that indeed it was usually an orgasmic experience for both parties—my encounter with the vamp who’d sucked me dry had left me more than a little wary of them. Not to mention a total unwillingness to get anywhere near them sexually.

Obviously, though, Amanda had shared no such unwillingness.

“Oh fuck,” Jackson said suddenly. “She’s alive.”

“What? How? Her lips are blue and she’s not breathing—”

“She is, but it’s so shallow it’s practically unnoticeable. Call an ambulance before we lose her.”

I dragged out my phone as he pulled the covers up and spread them over her.

But before I could dial, something solid hit the back of my head and sent me flying.