“Dr. Meredith Iverson, this is Kyra Richards. Kyra is my new partner on the serial. Meredith is our Chief ME. She also helps us identify the newly risen, if you get my drift.”
Beautiful and a doctor. I was totally prepared to hate her. Her shiny blonde hair flowed over her shoulders with perfectly curled ends. High cheekbones emphasized a classically beautiful face. Her petite figure was the type that made men fall all over themselves. Spencer was not immune to her charms, as her clear blue eyes and long thick lashes blinked up at him.
I mumbled something about being happy to meet her, even though it was clear I wasn’t. I kept my arms crossed, my gaze darting around the office, bouncing from the large metal cabinets to the double doors we had just crossed. The odor of decay seemed to burrow into my pores, making it very difficult for me to smell anything else. This closed, sterile box, while bigger than my loft, triggered the same claustrophobic response as an elevator or closet would. With the added handicap of being unable to smell any possible threat I was jumping out of my skin. I wanted to leave. Most of my focus was internal: keeping my breathing even, staying in control.
Spencer glanced over at me with a furrowed brow, ready to snap at me for my rudeness I’m sure, when he noticed my discomfort.
“Not exactly a pleasant environment, but I didn’t figure you to be the squeamish sort.”
“I’m not squeamish.” Distracted I said more than I should have. “I’ve seen my share of dead bodies. It’s this room. The feeling, the smell of death is overwhelming. Suffocating.”
Meredith’s understanding eyes met mine, kindness radiating from her. She gestured to her desk. “I have some camphor rub to block out the smell. It’s harmless, you just smear it under your nose and it takes care of any odor.”
That would make it worse for me. I’d be unable to smell anything for hours. The mere thought of hours surrounded by a blank canvas, being essentially blind scent-wise had me stumbling out another excuse. And unfortunately I was so agitated it was an embarrassing truth.
“I’m claustrophobic. The smell is creepy but that’s not what’s bothering me. It’s something about this room - being underground maybe, the sterile-ness. I don’t know.” My eyes darted around again and I had to force myself to focus on Spencer and Meredith. “Can we just get on with this?”
“Sure, I had no idea Kyra.”
“It’s not something I share.” I glared at him, pointedly. He put his hands up, defensively.
“Hey, I won’t say anything. Meredith won’t either.” The blonde ME smiled kindly and shook her head. My prickly defensiveness combined with her repeated gentle looks and general perfectness brought out the worst in me. I wanted to wipe that look off her face and make her feel something real. I wanted to hurt her.
I struggled against the feelings, reminding myself that she didn’t do anything to me. But the darkness inside me wouldn’t rest. It beat against my insides like birds against a cage.
“Just get on with it,” I snapped back at them.
Spencer frowned, but did as I asked. He asked Meredith to discuss the autopsy results.
“The commonality of the missing bones at each scene is unique. I’ve never seen or heard of any case like it.”
“Is there anything that the bodies themselves can tell us about how the bones were removed, or any common marks with the six bodies?”
The ME’s perfect tinkling laugh was sandpaper on my nerves.
“Calling these ‘bodies’ is a stretch considering the condition they were in. It is more a collection of body parts. There are so many tears in the muscles, fat, and viscera it’s difficult to tell anything at all from the remains.”
Despite my distressed metal state, something had occurred to me. “What if the bones were just torn and ripped out?”
“But by what?”
“Teeth, fangs, claws, whatever this creature has in its arsenal. What if the bones were pulled and torn from the body? What if they were after the bones, and not the bodies? We are looking at this whole thing backwards. We should focus on finding the bones. The answer is probably there.”
At eight the next morning I walked into the office ready for my so-called training. I was sure it was more of an evaluation than any kind of training. Not to gloat, but I was sure I could show these guys a thing or two.
Spencer sat at his desk, a Starbucks cup gripped in his hands. A second steaming cup sat on his desk. The heavenly aroma wrapped around me, the scent alone widening my droopy eyes and revving my synapses. I hoped that second cup was for me.
“Mornin’,” he drawled as he gestured to the coffee. Some lucky woman was going to get to wake to that greeting every morning. Despite my aversion to the whole relationship thing, his honeyed voice made me crave something I could never have.
“You sure know how to sweep a girl off her feet.” Sipping the exquisite brew I closed my eyes and smiled.
“I figured you could use an actual cup of coffee since I’ll be kicking your ass later today.” My eyebrows rose at his arrogance. He was sprawled in the chair, his long legs stretched out. The white tank top showed off his muscular arms proving my earlier analysis - he definitely worked out. Often.
Yummy.
I didn’t respond to his taunting, instead savoring every drop of the liquid ambrosia.
Following him into the gym which spread throughout the entire top floor, we started stretching. Footsteps broke through the silence as a large scowling man walked into the gym. He was tall like Spencer, but was gaining a paunch most likely due to spending too much time behind a desk. His gray hair was starting to thin but his blue eyes were clear and shrewd. This man was used to giving commands and having them obeyed. We might have some problems since I wasn’t much for taking orders.
“Kyra, this is Special Agent in Charge Don Nissen. He is the head of this department.”
“Sir.” His large hand swallowed my own. Scowl deepening as he looked me over, his eyes swinging back to Spencer after dismissing me. As unimpressed with me as I was with him, he leaned along the wall a bored expression settling onto his face.
Well, I’d have to show him I would be worth my hefty paycheck. I cracked my knuckles in anticipation and the energy moved throughout my body, humming along my muscles and warming me in the air-conditioned gym.
“Let’s get this started,” Agent Nissen called out, his piercing gaze almost dissecting me from across the room.
The training was similar to what you see on TV. Obstacle courses and a gun range, which thankfully I passed, without killing a single innocent cardboard bystander. I impressed myself with that one. Finally it was time for the hand-to-hand combat – an activity I anticipated with glee.
We mirrored each other on the mat, circling, sizing each other up. Looking for any indication of weakness we could exploit. Spencer appeared confident he would win despite my reputation. I wanted nothing more than to wipe that cocky grin off his face and take him down a peg or two.
After a few passes, I could see he was hesitant to make the first move. I bet he didn’t spar with many women and didn’t want to hurt me. Luckily I had no such problem. The energy flowed through my muscles, tingling, and I lunged at him. Surprised he instinctively moved to intercept using my momentum against me and flipped me over his head. Since I expected his move I twisted my body around, using both his momentum and gravity in my favor, causing him to flip over.
He grunted as he landed on his chest behind me, the air knocked out of his lungs. On my back I kicked my legs up and flipped back on my feet effortlessly. Glaring at me he shoved himself off the mat.
“Awe, did you fall down?” I smiled evilly at him. This was going to be so much fun.
We sparred for a good twenty minutes, gathering a pretty large audience. It seemed everyone in the building had heard that Spencer was getting his ass handed to him and had to witness it for themselves. From what I overheard from the murmurs of the crowd he was the best fighter in the division. More than one agent was placing bets, sur
prisingly several were betting on me.
I didn’t want to show off, but I could have ended it a lot sooner. My talents as he liked to call them extended much further than he or the FBI was aware – thank goodness - and I was going to keep them in the dark. I’d be too much of a liability, a public safety risk. They’d lock me up if they didn’t just outright execute me. Poking and prodding me the rest of my life in some research facility. It was a tricky dance to be good, but not too good.
I got into my zone focused only on our grappling. I avoided his blows and kicks with ease despite the increased aggressiveness as the sparring progressed. The heavy thwack of his body hitting the mat was satisfying, especially given his earlier boasting. Sweat dripped onto the mat as we continued to fight. Cheers erupted when he connected with a few kicks, the crowd’s energy injecting new life to his fight. The injury had briefly winded me, but I healed unnaturally fast so I wasn’t concerned.
I was impressed. I didn’t often find a human with that much hand-to-hand skill or endurance. It was a great workout. I itched to take him down, balancing that desire with the need to fit in was like walking on a high wire. Focus. Control. I inhaled measured breaths through my nose, fighting the instinct, gaining a little more control with every exhale.
Sweat was pouring off us both, the scent mixing with the blood from where my kicks or punches had connected and broken the skin. He had removed his shirt early on and I could see just how chiseled his abs were. The muscles bunched and slid under his skin as he moved causing my attention to divert into more carnal territory. I shook off the sudden direction of my thoughts. Things were complicated enough without me lusting after my hot partner.
Noticing my sudden distraction, he faked right and lunged left instead, trying to grab me around the waist. I blocked him but he shifted and kicked my feet from under me, causing me to grunt as my body thudded to the mat and my breath was stunned out of my lungs. He was on top of me in seconds, holding me to the mat before I could recover.
The heavy weight of him trapping me to the mat made it difficult to catch my breath, and my claustrophobia reared its ugly head. Instincts firing, I head-butted him and flipped him onto his back pinning him. My hand gripped his throat. A blur, I moved quicker than any human was capable of doing. I didn’t hear the cheers erupting around us. I didn’t notice the men in the room celebrating Spencer’s loss. My focus was narrowed to the disabled threat on the mat - who no longer had a name - as I fought for control. I struggled to remember this was just a test, a game of sorts. A game that came precariously close to being real as my nails dug into the skin of his neck. I shuddered as my vision cleared and I wrested control, but not before noticing the fear gathering in Spencer’s eyes.
“Uncle?” I asked sneering, playing like it was all planned. That it was all part of the show.
“Uncle.” The fear cleared and he smiled. Amused at losing.
I was grateful to see that no one had noticed the dangerous display and even Spencer dismissed it, taking my hand as I helped him to his feet. When our hands connected I felt that zing of awareness. Judging by the way his laughter cut off and sudden frown he felt it too.
My blood was pumping hard as the energy flowed through my body excitedly. There was nothing I liked better than a round of down-and-dirty sex after kicking ass. Determined to ignore whatever sparked between us, I pushed it aside and concentrated on the introductions being thrown my way. Several of Spencer’s comrades had bet on me. They all congratulated me, harassing Spencer, who took the ribbing with his usual good nature and hearty smile.
“Welcome to the division, Ms. Richards,” Agent Nissen announced shaking my sweaty hand in his huge meaty paw, to my amazement even he cracked a smile. Spencer must have handed him his ass a time or two.
“Have you thought of any concrete ideas for infiltrating the House?”
I swung my chair around so I could face Spencer, his hair still damp from the shower in the gym.
“Of course, but you might not like it.”
Leaning back, he contemplated my statement. “Try me.”
“I have a hunch that I need to play through. I have a contact at Phoenix that might be my in, but if this works we can’t meet back here. It’ll be too dangerous for me if I’m followed.”
“Phoenix? Was that the club I met you outside of the first night?”
“It is the hottest club for others currently. There were at least half a dozen vampires and a few shifters the last time I went.” Popping a pretzel in my mouth, I munched around it as I added, “They are even on staff.”
“Are you heading there tonight?” After my nod, he sighed, resigned. “Then I’ll meet you there.”
“Can you dance?” I eyed his clothes. I’d never seen him out of his suit. “Or have anything more casual to wear?”
“Granted, while this doesn’t sound like my type of fun.” He crossed his arms across his chest. ”I have done undercover work before.”
“Fine. I’ll meet you outside the club.” I munched on another pretzel, distracted. After that workout I was starving. Since I didn’t cook my cupboards were pretty bare. I’d have to stop somewhere for a couple of burgers or something before I went home to change.
Scowling, he grabbed his bag of pretzels from me and ate the last one. Shrugging at his glare, I walked to the door already thinking of likely places to grab a bite.
“Trust me I’ll be earning that inflated paycheck before you know it.” I winked, amused at the thought of his stuffy self at my favorite club. If nothing else, I’d have a good time. “Come on, time’s a-wasting. Let’s go catch a killer.”
Chapter Four
The heavy backbeat bounced around me, through me. Its seductive call beckoned me out onto the floor. My body moved with the rhythm deep in the crush of the dancers as lost in the music as I was. Humans, vampires, shifters, all moving together for one purpose - obeying the demands of the music. No one cared what color we were, what species even. Only the escape the rhythm and movement allowed. The freedom we each experienced, however brief, from the turmoil inside.
While I was comfortable in my black halter top and matching skin-tight pants and knee-high shit kickers, I was worried about Spencer’s ability to blend. With his propensity for order and following rules, this wasn’t exactly his scene.
I should have known better.
In the throng of bodies I caught his familiar scent as his arm snaked around my waist. His touch causing that fascinating zing I was learning to anticipate. Smirking, I draped my arm around his neck pulling him closer, the electricity between us almost crackling. It was as if the plague of energy that stalked me continuously had found a better path, a flow that it preferred more than gathering in my bones until it filled me up and exploded. I felt better when I was near him, when my skin was in contact with his. I didn’t know what it was, but I decided to enjoy it. Ignoring the fact that I was grinding against my partner I abandoned myself to the combined intoxication of this new feeling and the familiar freedom of dancing.
When sweat began dripping into my eyes and an ache had worked its way along my arches, I figured it was time for a drink. Or two.
The volume didn’t allow for much in the way of conversation. I gestured to the bar which was three deep.
“We’ll never get through there!” I yelled in his ear. “Follow me.”
I lead him up a set of metal stairs blocked by a colossal bear of a man. Literally. Monroe was a bruin, a bear shifter. His fierce expression brightened when he caught sight of me.
“Kyra!” He kissed each cheek, clasping both my hands in his warm hairy ones. “Please go in and class the place up a bit. The clientele tonight leave a bit to be desired. Rhonda has already been out twice complaining.” Rhonda was one of the servers who occasionally danced in the VIP room. It must be bad for the seasoned employee to complain.
“I’ll straighten them out, Monroe.” I winked and the bruin gestured for me to pass. He stared hard at Spencer until I grabbed my partner’s
hand and pulled him with me, cutting off any testosterone-saturated display.
The VIP room wasn’t near as loud or crowded as downstairs. The seating was also a step up. Inviting red couches were spaced throughout the edges of the room with low end tables for drinks. I dropped onto one and gestured for Spencer join me. A server appeared before my partner’s weight fully sank into the plush fabric.
“What can I get you?” the shifter’s deep voice purred. As he caught my scent his eyes shot to mine, brow furrowed in confusion. Like all shifters, he couldn’t tell what I was but recognized that we were similar. Fortunately, he politely brushed off his curiosity and waited for our order, his expression calm and detached. Professional. My tense muscles relaxed back into the sofa, my constant worry of exposure settled, however temporary.
“I’ll start off with three Cirocs. Straight.”
“SoCo and Coke.”
“That’s rather predictable,” I snorted after the server left.
“What can I say?” His shoulders rose in a dismissive shrug. “I prefer solid or reliable.”
“This should be an interesting partnership.” Considering I thrived on chaos, truer words were never spoken. He couldn’t help but smirk in agreement, it flashed quickly and was gone. His face was a mask of polite interest as he waited to see what we were doing here.
“So,” I started after our drinks were delivered, “you know mine. What’s your superpower Clark Kent?”
His deep chuckle flowed around us, raising the hairs on the back of my neck.
“I’m a Grounder.”
“What the hell is a Grounder? Do you start earthquakes or something?” Merriment flashed in his eye again, but he held back his laugh.
“More like I ground other’s abilities that get out of control. I am also an Empath, although not a very strong one.” At my blank look he clarified, “I can tell what other people are feeling.”
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