by Rita Herron
Yet the man’s bedroom seemed oddly disorderly, as if someone else lived in the room.
He pointed toward a large corkboard filling one wall, a board filled with dozens of articles about serial killers that had been cut from newspapers.
Photos of an arsonist who’d terrorized a small town in Tennessee lined another board along with photos of another man who’d brutally stabbed several women in Georgia. Another article detailed a group of Satan worshippers in a small mountain community who had given live offerings of females to Satan.
There were also articles about Marlena and her work at BloodCore.
“Oh, God,” Marlena whispered.
“Don’t tell me you’re going to defend him now, Marlena.”
Her face twisted with fear and concern. “No, I hate to say it, but this does look incriminating.”
“Hell, Marlena, this maniac built a damn shrine show-casing his sick urges, a damn shrine to you.” He gripped her by the wrists and shook her, determined that she see how much danger she was in.
“He killed once now, and he’s going to do it again?’ Dante’s voice hardened. “And the flicker’s only getting started.”
The sweet metallic taste of blood seeped through his fantasies. He dreamed about it, fed on it, craved it constantly.
He had ever since that night when the demon had been born inside him.
The monster had started to eat at him slowly. Whispering his name. Urging him to think evil thoughts. To commit heinous acts.
Eventually the pull had been too strong, too alluring, and he’d succumbed to it..
Tonight he intended to feed his bloodlust again.
Evening shadows danced across the room, the smell of the woman’s fear palpable.
She slowly roused from her unconscious state where he’d tied her to the bed, perspiration dripping down her forehead into her eyes. “Please don’t kill me. I promise I won’t tell anyone what you did.”
He laughed, then traced the knife blade across her bare breasts, smiling as her chest heaved and blood trickled between the heavy mounds.
“Please,” she whispered. “My father has money. He’ll pay to have me back alive.”
“I don’t want money,” he growled. “I want to taste your death.”
“I don’t understand why you’re doing this.. .“ Her voice broke off into a sob and she twisted her head sideways, coughing as tears clogged her throat.
Excitement mounted inside him at the sound of her cries, and he used his knife to carve a Satanic S across her chest. His adrenaline churned as blood seeped out and trickled down her body.
She screamed and struggled against the ropes, her pain palpable. The bed creaked and groaned with her movements, the mattress dipping as he climbed above her.
“Someone help me!” she screamed. “Please help me!”
But her struggles and screams were futile. They were miles from town, deep in the mountains, safeguarded by the jutting ridges and cliffs.
Isolated from the world just as he’d cunningly planned it.
She jerked her head back to him, anger, terror, and pain blazing in her eyes. “What happened to you? You’re a monster.”
His mouth tightened in rage, and he bit into her carotid artery, smiling as her eyes widened in shock and she choked and gurgled. -
Elation overwhelmed him as he watched her draw her last breath. His pulse clamored as he lowered his head and sipped her blood. Could hers possibly cleanse the evil from his own?
No. Bad blood ran through his veins now as it did hers.
He savored the euphoria of the kill. Nothing could stop him from enjoying another and another and another...
Chapter Nine
Marlena hated showing weakness. But more than that she hated the fear crawling through her. It had paralyzed her as a child.
She refused to let it do the same now.
She hated to think that Gerald Daumer would hurt her. But if he had butchered Jordie, he was seriously disturbed and desperate, and he might do anything, even kill her and Dante to escape.
Along with fear, guilt surfaced. Gerald had been her patient. She should have done more. Should have seen how sick he was and realized he was dangerous.
That shrine proved just how dangerous. She’d be a fool not to be cautious.
An image of her body burned and hanging from a tree like Jordie’s flashed in her mind, Daumer’s taunting laugh echoing in her head. “I told you I wanted to kill the girls...”
Her legs buckled, and she reached for the wall to steady herself, but Dante caught her and eased her to a chair.
“Are you all right?” Dante asked.
“Yes, of course.” Marlena forced herself to breathe deeply, as she would instruct her own patients to do in therapy.
His disbelieving look indicated she hadn’t covered her reaction very well.
He reached for his cell phone and punched in a number. “Hobbs, get a CSI unit over to Daumer’s house. He isn’t here but there’s evidence we need to process.”
Marlena was grateful to have his attention away from her, so she could compose herself. She couldn’t rely on Dante or anyone else. And she certainly couldn’t care about him— loving people meant losing them, and she didn’t dare put herself in the position of feeling that kind of pain again.
As soon as Dante ended that call, he punched in another number. “This is Sheriff Zertlav. I want a security system installed in Dr. Marlena Bender’s house ASAP.”
Marlena gaped at him, then grabbed his arm. “Dante, what are you doing?”
He covered the mouthpiece with his hand. “Doing what you should have done when you moved back here. Making your house more secure.”
Angry at his criticism, she shook her head. “I’m perfectly capable of arranging for a security system myself.”
His brown eyes pierced her, but he didn’t stop the call. Instead, he gave the person on the other end of the line her address.
Marlena folded her arms and glared at him. “You had no right to do that.”
“I’m just trying to look out for your safety,” Dante said bluntly.
“I can take care of myself, Dante.”
- He flicked his hand toward the grotesque shrine Gerald Daumer had built. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”
“I’ve dealt with psychotics and sociopaths before. I’ve even interviewed serial killers.” Although none of them had targeted her personally.
A muscle ticked in his jaw as he worked his mouth from side to side. He obviously thought she was foolish.
“They can’t install the system for a couple of days,” Dante said, ignoring her earlier comment. “So after the CSI team gets here to process this place, I’ll take you home and stay with you tonight.”
Unleashed anger tinged his words, but the heat in his eyes contradicted the anger. Was he being chivalrous or just doing his job?
But something else, something sexual rippled the air between them, a lust that stirred desires she hadn’t acted on in years.
Still, silently she admitted that she didn’t want to be alone.
She wanted him in her bed, holding her, loving her, making her forget the horror of Jordie’s murder and this hideous shrine.
But she couldn’t forget bow they’d met. That death stood between them. That it was the only thing that had brought them together years ago, just as it was doing now.
Dante cut his gaze away from Marlena, desperate to break the spell she’d cast on him. ‘No woman had ever turned him inside out like -this, made him want to forget that he was a demon.
He didn’t want to care if she lived or died, but he did, dammit.
Hands balling into fists, he spun back to the wall Daumer had created, methodically searching for some
sign of how he’d chosen his victim. One killer chose all blonds. One chose prostitutes. One focused on women who reminded the killer of his dead mother.
With only one victim he couldn’t yet determine a pattern.
&nbs
p; Adrenaline churning, he searched desk drawers, the closet, beneath the mattress, every place he could imagine for a list of future targets, but came up with zilch.
“What are you looking for?” Marlena stood and studied the photographs and images in the shrine as well.
“For some pattern that might tell us who he’ll choose next.”
“I’ll try to put together a profile,” Marlena said.
Finally the CSI team arrived and began to process the house.
“Let’s get his phone records, dust the place for prints, search for blood, any trace evidence you can find to help us nail this guy,” Dante ordered.
Dante went into the bathroom, opened the medicine cabinet and found several razors. A check of the trash and he discovered a bloody one in the mess.
“He might have been suicidal.” Marlena looked over his shoulder. “I didn’t notice that he was a cutter, but he wore long sleeves, so the marks could have been hidden.”
“Or he could have been practicing,” Dante said. But he hadn’t used a razor on Jordie; the lacerations on her neck had been inflicted by teeth.
That bothered him most and reeked of a demon attack. An hour later, he left CSI processing the house and shrine and drove Marlena home. His instincts urged him to go into the tunnels, to search for a demon who might share information, told him that every second counted.
But the killer might come after Marlena while he was gone. -
Marlena remained silent, pensive, as they climbed the porch steps, but a determined look crossed her face and she paused at the door.
He caught her hand, heat sizzling between them at the touch. She was too damn tempting. Being close to her was testing him to the limits. “Let me check the house before you go in.”
She conceded, handed him the key, and waited in the foyer while he combed through the house. Seconds later, his boots pounded as he descended the stairs.
“It’s clear,” Dante said. “You look exhausted, Marlena. Go to bed. I’ll stay downstairs.”
“That’s not necessary, Dante. I’m fine.” -
His look hardened. “But Daumer might come back.”
Fear flickered in Marlena’s eyes for a brief second before she blinked and shook her head. “I appreciate the offer, but you searched the house and no one is here. If he does return, I’ll call you.”
He gripped her arms. “Listen to me. My job is to protect the town. You may think you can handle him, Marlena, but he may be even more dangerous than you think.”
Marlena’s face paled, but her -lips tightened into a thin, stubborn line as she looked down at her arm where he held her. “I don’t need a babysitter,” she said, then shook off his grip. “Besides, I’m sure you have work to do. Shouldn’t you be following up leads instead of coddling me?”
Her tone stung. He should be doing exactly that instead of worrying about her. But fuck. He couldn’t help it.
“Go,” she said, then gave his chest a slight shove. “The best way you can protect the town and me is to find the killer, whether it’s Daumer or someone else.”
Or some thing, he wanted to say but bit back the words. She might have seen monsters as a child, but the adult Marlena thought she’d imagined them.
It was best if she continued to believe that and didn’t probe to find the truth.
She sure as hell wouldn’t like the answers if she did.
Dante hissed. “Lock the doors tight, and call me if you need me?’
His protective tone touched her deeply, yet once again, the thought of being alone with him in her house raised self-preservation instincts.
“Of course.” She forced her hands to her sides to keep from reaching for him and begging him to stay.
His dark eyes locked with hers for a long, tension-filled moment, then he clenched his jaw, turned, and walked out.
Marlena locked the door, then leaned against the wooden frame, struggling for a breath. The wind rattled the windowpanes, the furnace growling. The day’s trauma was wearing on her, resurrecting too many painful memories and questions. -
Her sister and mother had been killed in a heinous way and now, twenty years later, the week after she’d returned, another young girl.
Somehow she felt responsible, as if her return might have started this violence. Too restless to sleep, she booted up her computer, then Googled the town’s history and searched through archives of past crimes in Mysteria.
During the five years following her mother’s and sister’s murders, there had been at least five unexplained deaths. The reports blamed most of the deaths on attacks by wild animals, and one on a drifter passing through. After that, the crimes had tapered off.
Because the killer or killers had moved on?
Only now another girl had been murdered...
Her mind ticked back to the shrine Daumer had built, and she considered the general profiles of serial killers, usually young white males in their twenties with histories of childhood abuse or trauma.
The need to do something spiked her adrenaline, and she accessed the hospital files. She typed in Gerald Daumer’s name and found the intake information from the counselor who’d assessed him when he’d been admitted.
Gerald Daumer, 28 years old, parents deceased. Only child. Patient exhibits signs of obsessive-compulsive disorder and psychosis. Possibly suffering from psychotic break. Questions about his childhood triggered agitation, compulsive rocking motion, and manic-depression.
Patient admitted that he was claustrophobic, that he’d been punished severely as a child by being locked in a small closet for days, and that his mother was very religious.
Another notation: Watch for signs of violent behavior. Need to follow up...
There was nothing that Marlena hadn’t read before, and the intake information only confirmed that Gerald Daumer had been headed down a dangerous track. She wished she’d been able to delve deeper into his past, find out if he’d ever killed animals—a sign of a serial killer in the making. But his family was dead now, so that was impossible.
Maybe someone who’d attended school with him could shed some light on his past.
She searched his chart and frowned at the name of the school: School for Lost Souls, Eerie, Tennessee. Was it a Catholic school?
She searched for it online, but no such school existed in Eerie.
Her gaze flicked over the rest of his background information, and suddenly her breath hitched. Gerald claimed his parents were buried at the Cemetery for Lost Souls in Eerie.
Her heart racing, she punched in the name of the cemetery and the town, and thumbed her fingers while she waited on a link to appear. But again, there was no cemetery by that name.
Instead, several links to various myths and legends appeared. She clicked on the first link, perspiration beading on her neck as she skimmed the contents.
Cemetery for Lost Souls: a cemetery rumored to be haunted by lost souls, souls who traded their humanity for eternal life, souls who walked with Satan, souls who wanted vengeance for their death or other wrongs.
Suddenly she felt a hand press against her neck, a menacing grip that made her scream and jump up, battling for the hand to release her. The stench of sulfur swirled around her, and the door swung open and wind whipped through the room, sending a chill down her spine.
She spun around to face her attacker, but nothing was there. Still, she felt the presence of a menacing spirit just as she had at the cemetery and wondered if the legends about the lost souls could possibly be true.
All her life she’d been looking for answers to what had happened to her family. To the reasons behind violent and criminal behavior. Searching for a medical or scientific reason.
Could there be another explanation—something super-natural and beyond medical reasoning?
No. . . she was a doctor. She believed in concrete evidence.
Still, the whisper of her mother’s voice warning her to run whirled around her...
Chapter Ten
Dante parked at h
is house, a modern structure sunk into the ground with solar windows and barricaded by the stone mountain surrounding him, a private lair that offered him protection from the elements and other demons.
As much as he hated leaving Marlena alone, finding Jordie’s killer was the ticket to her safety. He needed to go underground and see if the demon world living beneath the town in the tunnels was responsible.
Not that he would be welcome.
But he refused to let that deter him. If anything, he hoped to convince the factions to form a truce, to agree not to hunt from the locals; then the town could live in peace.
They had the past few years while Father Gio had been away. But Father Gio would never agree to a truce.
As usual, the tunnels reeked of cold, evil, debauchery, death.
But he grasped his control with a determined hand. He had a creed, and he was determined to live by it or he’d become the kind of monster he abhorred.
Senses alert, he wove through a maze of corridors searching, listening for clues of demon activity, but the nightstaikers seemed to have disappeared somewhere in the crevices.
Or perhaps they were out hunting, out to do harm.
A stone door marked the entrance to the underground bar where the demons gathered. He’d stumbled on it another time when he’d been combing the chambers, but be hadn’t been welcomed inside.
He didn’t give a damn if he was welcome now.
Smoke created a hazy glow in the stone-walled room as he entered. Two torches provided the only light, and he glanced at the back room where the demons gathered for poker—and planning—and noticed it was empty. Save for the vampire bartender, Drake Mortimer, and a vixen trolling for a fuck, the bar was empty.
Another night and he might have responded to the siren’s sultry look, but the only woman he wanted to sink his cock into was Marlena.
Dammit. The one woman he couldn’t have...
