Weaken the Knees (The Immortal World Book 6)

by Shannon A. Hiner

  Rene nodded as she accepted the folder and let her eyes run through Errin’s meticulous notes. He wrote in a perfectly slanted long form cursive. It could have been a computer font. “What did you find?”

  “Nothing,” he said.

  “Nothing?” Why was that news? She would have just assumed nothing on her own, had he neglected to say something.

  “And everything.”

  Rene rolled her eyes. “What the hell is this, a riddle?”

  “There was nothing out of the ordinary in his toxicology screens. His blood showed elevated levels of potassium, but that is consistent with cardiac arrest, which is most certainly what he died from.”

  She waited, praying he had more, or she was going to get really snarky, really fast.

  “The injection site in his neck makes no sense without anything showing in his system. Unless . . .”

  Was she stuck in a murder mystery? Did Errin fancy himself one of those detectives who had to slowly reveal how the murder had taken place, finally unveiling the killer after ten minutes of exposition? “For the love of bloody goat dicks, get to the damned point. Unless what?”

  “Unless he was poisoned with potassium chloride. Just an injection site isn’t really enough to leap to that conclusion. However, the other thing I found, I think, supports the theory.” He paused briefly, but seeing the look on her face said, “Turn to the next page.”

  Rene flipped over the report and found a small zippered bag stapled to another report behind it. Within the bag was a teeny tiny microchip, smaller than the fingernail on her pinky finger.

  “I found that embedded in the bottom of his right foot.”

  “Embedded?” Rene made a face, making a mental note not to open the bag. “What is it?”

  “Kendra took a look at it, plugged it into something—don’t ask me what—and determined that it is some sort of tracking device.”

  Kendra. Rene had to hold back a hiss and snarl. The last person she wanted touching any sensitive information. That would have to be put to an end immediately.

  Will, having been loitering in the hall as Errin spoke, came up behind Rene and, looking over her shoulder at the microchip, he whistled low. “That’s how they did it.”

  Rene and Errin looked up at him.

  “That’s how they found Abandon. It never made sense. It’s not like Genocide, you know, well known to all immortals. No werewolves should have been able to find Abandon. It’s so small, so new. So few have actually traveled there.”

  “He was tracking Smart.”

  Will nodded. “Mirsad. Exactly.”

  “But why kill him?”

  “Cover their tracks?” Errin posited.

  Rene shook her head. “To keep him from talking. Mirsad was done with him: Smart served his purpose.” To find Abandon, to find her. One human man mattered very little to Ira in the pursuit of what he wanted. All the vampires killed mattered even less.

  “Kendra thinks she can use it in reverse, track it back to the source,” Errin said.

  If she could do that, they could find the Venor again. How much of a threat was the group now that they’d lost both their leader and their financier? Will seemed to know what she was thinking.

  “Power void,” he murmured.

  Sighing, Rene closed the folder. Dealing with the Venor, with Kendra, was the last thing she wanted to do. After the months she’d had, all she wanted was to lie somewhere cold and dark and listen to her music for weeks on end. Just try to feel like herself again. “You’re right,” she told Will. Then she said to Errin, “Thanks,” wondering if perhaps she should apologize for the threat all those months back—she’d only half meant it—but thought better of it. She couldn’t tell Will he was right and apologize to someone in the same breath. Ugh, who was she even anymore?

  Errin nodded and excused himself soon after. Tossing herself onto the couch, Rene covered her eyes and groaned, “I need to kill something.”

  Will laughed softly and leaned over the back of the couch to massage her shoulders. “That can be arranged.”

  He was always touching her now. As if she’d given him permission. She hadn’t told him to stop. She needed to do that. His fingers dug into the tense muscles of her shoulders and neck, creating a pooling heat as they loosened and relaxed. Soft and cool, his lips brushed over the curve of her neck. So presumptuous, like he owned her now. She turned her head to snap at him but found herself kissing him instead. Long, drugging kisses that burned through both of them until she was locking her arms around his neck and pulling him over the back of the couch.

  Later. She’d tell him off later.

  ∞∞∞

  Rene straightened a wrinkle out of the paper with her thumb, glancing from it back up to the house directly in front of her. It had been two hundred years—at least—since she was in Massachusetts, and it had taken an hour to run there from the old town. She wasn’t surprised Ira had still lived here. She’d sort of expected him to buy up the old family land and rebuild there. It was a relief, though inconvenient, that he hadn’t. Instead, Ira’s home was a few towns up the coast and in a much richer city. He must have invested well.

  The house was a three-story Victorian in nearly pristine condition. Soft yellow in color, with white and rust colored trimming.

  Looking up and down the street, Rene crossed the road and passed through the small picket gate out front. People who lived in neighborhoods like this looked out for their neighbors. She had no doubt Ira had made plenty of friends here. Friends who wouldn’t take kindly to it if they saw Rene breaking and entering. Thankfully no one seemed to be awake this late. As long as she was quiet, she shouldn’t stir up any trouble. A quick check revealed he hadn’t left any hidden keys on the porch. No surprise there, but worth a check.

  She sighed and approached the eight foot tall glass and mahogany double doors. Gripping one handle firmly she jerked her wrist once. The knob came loose in her hand, the latch retracting one last time before lying useless and broken in its cylinder.

  “Oops,” she murmured with a pleased smile. “My bad.” The door swung open when she pushed it lightly, without a single squeak. There was no guarantee this wasn’t a trap, though she sincerely hoped Silas wasn’t that stupid.

  Tracking her down in the woods had meant taking his very life in his hands. She hadn’t reacted well. It had taken a good thirty minutes of him evading her every attack for Rene to finally get angry and ask what he wanted. His face had been sincere when he handed over the address, but perhaps his acting skills were better than she realized. This house could be packed to the rafters with werewolves waiting to take her down once more.

  “We don’t normally take prisoners.”

  “Could have fooled me. Then why do you have a prison?”

  “A new development. Borne of our association with the Fraccas vampire. I don’t believe we’ll be using it much, going forward.”

  “Not until he requires it of you again.”

  “We are no longer in debt to him.” He continued before she could ask about that juicy little detail. “And we only kept you because Ira asked it. Ignatius wanted you dead immediately.”

  Shocker. The bastard was going to be seriously pissed she was still alive. Kendra was still alive too. Suddenly his plans didn’t seem to be going exactly the way he wanted them to.

  “Why are you telling me all this? Why should I care?”

  “So you know who your true enemies are.”

  She laughed. “You aren’t my true enemy?”

  “No, not really. You’ve killed one, and you have one left. But me, my pack, we are not your enemy.”

  “Forgive me if I don’t believe you.”

  “You don’t have to believe me, I just don’t want you to retaliate.” He pulled a small piece of paper from his pocket and held it out.

  Rene waited a few moments before reaching out to snatch it quickly from his outstretched fingers. Backing up a few paces, she opened the paper and read. It was an address. In
Massachusetts. “Support group for werewolf victims?” She hazarded a guess.

  “Ira Attinger’s home address. Also known as Mirsad.”

  Rene looked down at the address again as she entered the house. Who knew werewolves lived in posh neighborhoods in coastal Massachusetts? The house was expensively furnished, most of it looked like antiques, not surprising. Ira always had uppity tastes.

  She took her time going through the house, pouring through each room until she hit the jackpot. The study. The old fashioned idiot not only used the safe behind the bookcase, but the “secret” drawers in the antique desk as well. His identity as Mirsad was in the safe, along with his passport, driver’s license, estate holdings and investments. Within the desk was something even better though: a detailed journal of not only his exploits against vampires, but of his dealings with them. One in particular. He was vague about the debt Silas’ pack owed, but not about how the vampires had taken advantage of it. Not how he had judged Silas and Lionakis for it. And when he’d learned about the hit out on Rene, he’d determined to find her first.

  Ira named names and pointed fingers. Had he known it would be found someday? Had he planned to use it himself?

  Rene shook her head slowly. Feeling somewhat dazed by seeing it all written down plain as day, she pocketed the journal and the proof that showed he was Mirsad. Did Silas have any idea what he’d handed her? The truths contained in this one room could bring down an entire clan and one of the oldest vampires alive. He must have wanted to be very sure his dealings with Ignatius Chesney were at an end.

  Rene could help him with that, would help him with it . . . but this didn’t mean peace between them. She would never forget his face as he left her in that cell with Ira. Just her, the human, and the vilest monster she’d ever known. She would do this thing because it helped her. Silas’ benefit was of no concern. God help him if she ever came across him again, especially if she had back up.

  A few hours later, feeling certain she had everything of value she needed from the house, Rene let the match fall on the Persian rug. As she walked down the street, hands in the pockets of her leather jacket, the light from the flames danced over the pavement in front of her, swallowing up the last bits of Ira Attinger and—she hoped—Sarah Attinger too.

  ∞∞∞

  “I take it you successfully located your friend?” The way Angela Estrada’s voice curved around the word “friend” was both a suggestion and a dismissal. How did she do that?

  “Yes,” Will replied, crossing the room to bow his head slightly before taking the seat she motioned to in front of her desk.

  “Excellent. I’m very glad to hear that.” She sounded anything but. Very bored to hear it was more likely. “Are you ready to return to your assignment?”

  “My—assignment?”

  One dark brow arched up over one of Estrada’s deep brown eyes. “Ireland.”

  “Ireland,” Will said, feeling the blood chill in his body. “I . . .”

  “Forgot.”

  “Not exactly—”

  “Thought I forgot.”

  “No—”

  “Believed I changed my mind.”

  “Well—”

  “I did not.” Angela sat back in her chair, lifting her knee-high boots onto her desk. “William, I really think you’ve spent far too much time with the Acrien. You’re starting to act like you’re one of them. I don’t like it. You’re a Risqueen, through and through, and I’ll not let you change allegiances just because you fancy Tanner’s brat.”

  Fancy? Brat? Best not to relay that to Rene. She’d be kicking down Estrada’s door and challenging the older vampire to a duel in seconds. Will coughed. “I’ve no plans to change clans, Estrada. No desire to either.”

  “Good.”

  “All the same, I think you should allow me to stay on locally for the time.”

  “Oh really?” Estrada crossed her arms.

  “I believe you brought me back here for a reason. I have a report with those you need to be close to. The Acrien—what’s left of them—were directly targeted. Rene was directly targeted. None of them trust you too terribly much, but all of them trust me. You know something deeper is going on here. You know that attack on Abandon couldn’t have happened without inside cooperation.”

  “I know all that, do I?”

  “Yes,” he said. “And you also know who is behind it, don’t you?”

  Estrada’s eyes were sharp on his face even as she leaned back, nonchalant in her chair.

  “The same ones who were behind the attack on Discord last year, and that leader meeting at Reine Castle. The ones who attacked the Gathering.”

  “Werewolves.” She shrugged. It was the party line, the “truth” that Hadrian Catane made sure everyone heard. But Will had seen the vampire Leader’s Second at Errin’s house, knew she was there with her sire’s permission. Just as Will was there at the behest of his leader. Not because Rene was in trouble and only he could save her, because Angela Estrada knew Will would be accepted by that group.

  “Fraccas,” he said.

  Estrada’s face didn’t change, but her arms unfolded and she brought her legs down from the desk slowly, standing when they hit the floor and looking down at him from across the desk. “You had better have some proof of that if you’re going to avoid an unpleasant meeting with Himself.” Hadrian, she meant.

  “He sent Aubrianna to Errin’s house.”

  She laughed, a deep, unsettling sound that bounced off the walls like spiked mace heads. “If that is the best you can do—”

  His phone buzzed in his free hand. Will looked down to see a new text message flash across the screen. Got it.

  Thank you, sweet baby Jesus. “It isn’t. We have proof.”

  “What kind of proof?” She hadn’t sat back down yet. For all that she was a petite woman, the way she leaned over the desk unnerved Will. Angela Estrada was normally very utilitarian about her movements. She didn’t make unnecessary ones, she didn’t waste energy. He thought it might be something that older vampires began to develop. Will had noticed the same thing about Hadrian. Either that or his leader was starting to emulate the Venaygo Leader.

  Will wasn’t exactly sure what Rene had found, and was just grasping at straws now. He hoped desperately he wasn’t about to tell a lie. “Proof that Ignatius is directly involved. Calling the shots. Plotting against the other clans.”

  “William Rynquist, if you’re telling me the truth, you’ve just become my new favorite vampire.” Angela paced away from her desk to stand in front of the wall of windows behind it. “On the other hand,” she said, her voice like tempered steel, as she stared out over Discord. “If you’re just saying that to get me to agree to this, I’m going to make you very sorry.”

  “I’m not lying,” he said, not knowing if it was true or not. “But how about you give me a deadline? If it makes you feel better?”

  She gave a bark of laughter. “If it makes me feel better? The only thing that will make me feel better is Ignatius Chesney in an open casket burial at dawn.”

  “Give me two months. Two months to make that happen for you.”

  Estrada turned from the window. Her thick dark hair swung around as she moved. “You’re a confident bastard these last few months, aren’t you?” She didn’t wait for him to respond. “I like it, but don’t let me down. Nothing irritates me more than having to kill people I like. You have your two months, William. Deliver on your promise.”

  He stood immediately and bowed his head again. “I will.” Making his way out of the office, he prayed whatever Rene had would be enough. Prayed he could make his leader happy. Because if he didn’t, he might really have to consider leaving the Risqueen. And Angela was right, he was Risqueen through and through. But he was Rene’s first and foremost.

  Chapter 34

  Dark gripped the forest tightly, claws extended and unrelenting. The nights were passing by faster and faster as the sun moved north of the equator, claiming the upper port
ions of the Earth and driving away the shadows. The darkness seemed to sense its coming eradication, seeping into the tree roots, crawling up the veins of leaves, burrowing into the thick fur of the hares. The sun would need every ounce of its power to banish the creeping night from this forest, and even that might not be enough.

  A voice whispered through the shadows, almost lost on the breeze. It carried her name, but as if it was too terrified to speak louder. “Kendra!” It came once more.

  She dropped from the tree branch fifteen feet off the ground to land almost silently in the wet leaves and new growth. If she hadn’t been right in front of him, he never would have seen her.

  “Kendra,” he said slightly louder. “What’s going on? What are you doing here? What happened?”

  She pressed a finger over her lips and motioned for him to follow her deeper into the woods. Serafin followed without question, trotting along at her heels. Even though he was two inches taller, he couldn’t quite match the speed and grace of her strides. They passed through the trees and shrubs, what little noise they made was covered by the dripping leaves and rustling wind.

  “K,” he tried again, lower. “There’s a kill on sight order for you. If they knew I was talking to you . . . I don’t know what they’d do to me.”

  “Then don’t,” she hissed back at him.

  They were still too close to the werewolf camp. His pack had left Ladyslocke a week earlier, the day after the vampires’ attack. The former bustling encampment was now a shell of its former self. Only one pack remained. Lionakis refused to be cowed by the vampires. Silas was a much wiser wolf, knowing the only way to sever all ties to the vampires was to disappear. He should have left earlier. And had a less talkative pup.