But when they killed, moon-mad werewolves didn’t have sense enough to hide the bodies. From what he’d recently learned from his LVPD source, this killer had carefully concealed the corpses.
For awhile Mike sat quietly and simply breathed, his senses now greatly enhanced. When the wind finally brought a faint impression to him, he silently stalked off. He circled the area warily, losing and gaining the scent several times, carefully aware of every other living creature in the vicinity. Once he was certain he was the only sentient being within miles, Mike concentrated on his quarry.
What he found was in a crevice at the top of a hill. There was a hint of decay in the air, but Mike caught a lingering trace of fear as well. The victim had been brought here still alive. It wasn’t hard for him to find a few pitiful bones, or to realize they’d been gnawed on. He had not just a man-killer on his paws, but a man-eater, as well.
In other words, he had an old-fashioned lycanthrope to find, before the villagers came rushing out of the casinos with torches and pitchforks and weapons of mass destruction that would be aimed at all his kind.
Shit.
The world went black for just a moment; Mike’s body tensed and his head lifted sharply.
Then he smelled the cigarette.
“Must you?” a voice asked.
“I don’t know why you object to my bad habits, you’re not likely to die of secondhand smoke,” another voice replied.
Why the hell hadn’t he sensed them approaching? There was a werewolf there. And a vampire. And they were practically on top of him, casually strolling up the hill. But he couldn’t move.
“He’s here, isn’t he?” the werewolf asked.
The vampire laughed. “You really are the world’s only mind-blind wolf, aren’t you?”
“Around you, who wouldn’t be?”
“You flatter me,” the vampire said. “However…”
Pain stabbed through Mike’s mind. After that, everything came through a growing screen of psychic white noise. He fell to the ground, paralyzed. Soon the pair was standing over him. One of them nudged him with a foot.
“It’s a good thing you talked me into coming out here tonight,” the vampire said.
“Haven’t you read the research on serial killers?” the werewolf asked. “The profilers say we like to revisit our kill sites. I knew he’d be out here,” the werewolf added. “This is where I’d come if I were looking for me.”
“It’s a good thing you found out that this one’s in town,” the vampire said. “I was beginning to believe that Matthias really was only in Vegas for the brat’s ceremony. This pair always works as a team.”
“And they’re after us,” the werewolf said.
“You, definitely. Us, possibly,” the vampire said. “But soon no one is going to be interested in our activities whatsoever.”
Paralyzed, Mike felt hands on him, running through his fur like he was some kind of puppy dog that would be happy for a petting. It was obscene. Wrong. The mind behind that touch was terribly, terribly strong.
Magic. Wizardry. Sorcery. These were the old terms for what this one had.
The modern world might define it as a strong will and lack of ethics. But whatever you called it, it was very, very dangerous. And Mike was trapped in the grip of that will. As much as he tried to morph, or even move, he was held in place, held in form.
“Can I kill him?” the werewolf asked.
“Can you?” the vampire wondered. “Even as blood-hungry as you are, can you kill one of your own kind? I know I couldn’t.”
There was a long silence, apparently while the werewolf considered the worst thing any supernatural being could do to another.
“He could kill me,” the werewolf finally said. He sounded like he was pouting.
“But he is an aberration.”
“I kill people!” the werewolf protested, as though his courage had been called into question.
“There’s no reason for you not to,” the vampire soothed. “They’re only people.”
“Yeah,” the werewolf agreed. “Who cares about mortals?”
“They are delicious, but disposable,” the vampire said. “But do we have a right to destroy our own kind?” The vampire sounded downright righteous.
“You’re not going to let me kill him, are you?”
“For the sake of your soul—no.”
“Then what are we going to do with him?”
“For the sake of his soul, I’m going to give him a gift.”
The vampire that had been holding his mind all along, keeping him still, not letting him morph, had also been searching, delicately probing. Now, delicacy was replaced by white-hot pain.
Faintly, somewhere a world away, Mike heard the werewolf ask, “What are you doing?”
“Giving him what he wants,” the vampire answered.
Then the world went from white-hot to freezing black.
Chapter Eleven
W hat do you mean, you talked to her?” Michele demanded when Andrew confessed to what he’d done. “Do you know how dangerous it could be to talk to one of them?”
“She isn’t one of them,” Andrew answered adamantly. “She’s an innocent bystander. We can save her.”
“He means he has a crush on her because she’s an attractive blond.” Britney’s voice was full of scathing sarcasm.
“Where did you talk to this woman? When?” Michele asked.
“Nowhere near the vampires’ territory,” Andrew said. “I was careful. She’s a good person, I could tell.”
“Beauty doesn’t equal goodness,” Britney said. She sneered at Andrew. “Those creatures exist to corrupt beauty, remember?”
“Maybe we should think more about redemption than destruction.”
Britney laughed. “Vampires are perversions of nature. Or has a pretty face made you forget that?”
“She isn’t a vampire. She doesn’t even believe in vampires.”
“So she just thought you were crazy,” Britney said.
“I guess. I think she could help us rescue her sister and the baby. Maybe if the child was raised—”
“That isn’t a child, it’s a monster. We have to protect our own kind.”
Michele paced across the living room of the small apartment while the pair argued, trying to burn off frustrated energy, and vehemently wished she was somewhere else. A news program played on the television against one wall, and her gaze strayed to the screen, welcoming the distraction. This operation was dangerously close to spinning totally out of her control.
She appreciated the Purists’ commitment, but their attitudes were totally amateurish. They were preparing to go up against vampires, not go door to door delivering political pamphlets!
She turned back to the others. “Andrew, the brat and its mother die. You’re to stay away from the sister. Britney, stop sniping at Andrew. Focus, people!”
Britney popped up off the couch, fairly quivering with outrage. Michele half expected the other woman to proclaim, “You aren’t the boss of me!” But Michele stood her ground and stared her down. It wasn’t long before Britney took her seat again, and Andrew slunk to sit contritely next to her.
“We have a mission,” Michele reminded the Las Vegas Purists. “Not only do we have to eliminate our targets, we need to do it in such a way that we don’t get caught.”
“I’m not afraid of vampires,” Andrew spoke up.
“I am,” Michele told him. “And if you’re not, then you must be suicidal. The vampires are going to suspect that hunters have targeted them. That war’s been going on for centuries, and we are prepared to continue the fight. What we need is a way to keep the human police from looking for us. It is important that we not be suspected by our own kind.”
“We act in secret,” Britney said, with a flare of rebellion. “We know that.”
“Then help me think of a way to cover our tracks.”
“Why worry about it?” Britney gestured toward the television. “The cops can’t even c
atch this gang of thieves.”
Michele turned her attention to the TV screen. After watching the news anchor’s report on the increasing intensity of a local crime wave, she turned back to her fellow vampire hunters.
She smiled. “Britney, my dear,” she said. “You are brilliant.”
“Okay,” Pete said, “your turn.”
Phillipa took a sip of ice water while she concentrated on the word game they were playing. “Umm…The only thing that comes to mind is CSI: Hogwarts.”
Pete laughed, and nodded. “Good one.”
“No, it’s easy and obvious, but you’re sweet.”
“Hey, I’m trying to make a good impression on you.” He reached across the small table to touch her shoulder. “Am I?”
She almost shied away, fighting the odd notion that Pete didn’t have a right to touch her. She made herself smile at him. “You don’t have to impress me.”
Phillipa looked around the hotel bar where they’d been sitting for the last couple of hours. She had the feeling she was being watched, but she didn’t see anyone looking her way. This wasn’t the first time recently that her brain had played tricks on her. “I’m on too many drugs,” she muttered.
“Is that a confession?” her cop friend asked.
“Just a fact I’m trying to learn to live with. I’m still a rookie at managing this whole thing. I’m sure eventually it’ll all become SOP.”
She found it odd that while she had trouble discussing the subject with everyone else, she didn’t have any problem talking about it with Pete. Was this trust because she was attracted to him as more than a friend, or because she had no emotional investment in him at all? She’d had a good time with him in the five or six hours since they’d left the church, but if she decided to go up to her room right now, she wouldn’t be inviting Pete to come with her.
Which was good, right? Taking it slow was good. Normal. She wanted normal.
I want Bridger.
She ignored the voice in her head, even though the longing was like some primal animal inside her trying to claw its way out. She couldn’t spare the time or energy for this confused passion crap.
She looked at her watch. “Excuse me,” she said, and took a black zip bag out of her purse. “You don’t mind blood, do you?”
“Well, actually—”
“Don’t worry, I won’t bleed in front of you.”
Phillipa understood his squeamishness, but she was also learning to make the things she had to do just another part of daily life, as she’d been advised. She unzipped the bag and arranged the necessary equipment on her lap. When she pricked the side of her finger, she was careful to keep her hand below the level of the table while she touched the blood drop to the testing strip. After a five-second wait, a number appeared on the monitor’s small screen.
“Ninety-three,” she said.
“Is that good?”
“Better than it should be, considering what I had for dinner.” She’d been starving, with far more appetite than she’d had in months. She’d feared she’d overindulged, but the numbers told her otherwise. “Maybe Vegas agrees with me. I’ve been pretty normal since I got here.”
There was that word again: normal.
“What is so important about being normal? Are you all right?” Suddenly Bridger was seated in the chair beside her, holding her hand. “You’re bleeding.”
“I was bleeding,” she said, knowing full well that the pinpoint stab wound had drawn only a drop of blood. She tried to tug her hand free. “How’s Octavia?” she added, and was immediately annoyed with herself for blurting that out.
“I wouldn’t know,” Bridger said. “She went home with Jason.” His expression went from worried to bemused. “That incident happened after you left—you must be reading my mind. Memory. Whatever.” He grinned. “You’re jealous.”
Bridger’s dimples were astonishing. Almost as much as his arrogance. Though there was something about the way he kept thrusting himself into her presence that she found…overwhelmingly sexy, if not actually charming. And she wasn’t going to deny that she was jealous of Octavia, no matter how embarrassing that was. Maybe it wasn’t jealousy, so much as—
“Who the hell are you?” Pete demanded. “And do you want to let go of the lady’s hand?”
“I do not,” Bridger answered, not even glancing Pete’s way.
He kissed her hand. More precisely, he pressed his lips against the spot where she’d drawn blood. It was somehow…intimate. Exciting.
“Weird,” she said, and forced herself to take a steadying breath. “Pete, this is Matthias.” She gave Bridger a stern look. “He’s just leaving.”
Bridger’s gaze bored into her; and she could have sworn that his eyes held a faint gold glow, like a wild animal staring hungrily out of the dark. That look ate her alive, and left her shaken when he turned away.
“Good evening,” he said as he stood. “Nice meeting you, Pete.”
Phillipa’s hands were shaking, so she clutched them together tightly in her lap as he walked away. Had she said something to her sister about liking dangerous men? Well, that was just plain nuts.
“Who was that guy?” Pete asked.
My worst nightmare. My wet dream come true.
“Just some jerk relative of my brother-in-law’s,” she answered her nice, normal friend.
She had to fight hard against the impulse to follow the jerk and have her way with him in the middle of the hotel lobby.
She concentrated hard on the other man. “Tell me about this case you’ve been working on.”
“Everyone in the city and county’s working on it,” he answered, leaning forward eagerly. “And the Feds have come in on the case as well. All the casinos are beefing up their security, so this is a good time if you’re really interested in going into the private sector.”
“Never mind me right now.” She waved a hand. “So this is big enough to form a task force?” He nodded. “Tell me about the case.”
“We’ve got a crew, maybe more than one crew, of very high-tech robbers.”
“This is just a robbery investigation?”
“Just? Woman, remember where you are. This town lives, breathes, and eats money.”
“Has anyone been hurt? Killed?”
He shook his head. “That’s likely only a matter of time, but the civilians in the banks, casinos, and residences this crew has hit have been lucky so far.”
“Banks, casinos, and home robberies? Are you sure this is a crew of pros?”
“I know it’s unusual for robbers to be so diversified in their targets. That’s one of the reasons the investigation is so tough. We haven’t been able to pinpoint patterns of where they might hit, or when. It doesn’t help that they’re using electronic equipment that screws up not only surveillance cameras, but also witness’s memories. And the victims are all cooperative, even docile, during the robberies.”
“What?” Phillipa was both confused and outraged. “How is that possible?”
He shrugged. “All we have so far is theories. Maybe they’re using some sort of aerosol drug to gas the witnesses. But no residues been found at the crime scenes, or in blood tests on the victims.”
“Audio wave technology?” Phillipa suggested. “Like the sort of thing cruise ships have used to scare off pirates? It makes people disoriented, doesn’t it?”
“That’s being looked into,” Pete told her. “But you’d think getting blasted with noise would leave people with headaches instead of fuzzy memories.”
Phillipa yawned, then apologized.
“You’re tired.” Pete looked concerned. “How do you feel?”
As legitimate and caring as the question was, it still grated. She forced a smile. “Fine. But I am tired. I think it’s time I went to bed.”
He stood and put his arm around her shoulders to escort her out of the bar. At the elevator, after the briefest brush of her lips across his cheek, she got on alone.
Chapter Twelve
I ’m leaving tomorrow,” Matt said.
“Fine,” Phillipa answered. “Have a nice trip.”
She’d known who it was even before she answered the knock. She’d known she shouldn’t have opened the door, especially since all she was wearing was a short black silk nightgown. And sure enough, there Matt Bridger stood in the hallway, looking all disheveled and manly in his shirtsleeves and with his collar undone.
He looked her up and down like he was ready to eat her, but what he said in his sexy British accent was, “You’re being rude.”
“I am,” she agreed. The hotel was overly air-conditioned, yet the air around her was full of heat. She could barely breathe for it, but she managed to add, “I don’t know why.”
He moved forward and blocked the door with his shoulder when she tried to close it on him. “You’re going to miss me when I’m gone.”
He was right, and maybe that was why she was being so bitchy toward him, hoping that would protect her from the pain.
“You’re stalking me,” she told him when he kicked the door closed. “I don’t find that attractive in a man.”
“You do in me.”
“Oh, please—”
He took her by the shoulders, pulled her to him, and kissed her hard. Her toes curled tightly against the thick carpet, and she clutched at his back, overwhelmed by sensation, desperate for more.
Kissing him was like riding a hurricane! And that was just kissing. Sex was—
“Oh, hell!” she snarled, pulling away from the enticement of his mouth. “You drive me crazy!”
“I drive you crazy? Woman, I’m not the one whose blood—”
“What?”
“Never mind.” He let her go. “I know I shouldn’t be here.”
A wave of fear went through her. “What are you doing here? I didn’t tell you my room number. Did you follow me?”
“I’m not stalking you—any more than you are me.”
Primal Heat Page 7
