Darkness Rising

by Keri Arthur

  By the time Ilianna came in for her shift, we’d hit a lull and I was leaning a hip against the bar, one shoe off as I rubbed an aching heel.

  “Here,” she said, stopping at the other side of the bar and delving into her bag. “I brought you this.”

  She held out a little red bottle, and I grinned. Foot balm. “You’re an angel.”

  She smiled. “I prefer goddess. Especially since you already have one angel in your life.”

  “A very dark angel.”

  “At least he’s cute.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “And why are you even noticing something like that?”

  “Hey, just because I bat for the other team doesn’t mean I’m incapable of appreciating a good male form. Azriel is all that and more.”

  “Yeah,” I said wryly. “The more being extremely dangerous, and only here for one reason.”

  She shrugged. “Which doesn’t mean we can’t appreciate the show while he’s around. Did anything happen that I need to know about?”

  It took me a moment to realize she was talking about the café. “Nope. We were running around like mad, though. We might have to think about hiring more people if this keeps up.”

  “Can’t be sad about that,” she said, and headed up to the changing room. I rubbed the oil into my poor feet. And then, feeling decidedly better, I counted the shift’s take. Once I’d taken it up to the safe, I clocked out, changed into jeans, a sexy purple shirt, and more sensible shoes, then headed off.

  The night was cool and fresh, and filled with music and the delicious aroma of wolves having fun. I paused on the sidewalk, looking a little wistfully toward the Blue Moon. There was a line out front. Even if I was tempted, I wasn’t going to stand there for an hour or so to get in. Not after such a busy shift, and not when I was a member at Franklin’s, which didn’t have Jak Talbott—the wolf who’d used our relationship to get close to Mom and write an in-depth but somewhat fictitious story about her life—as one of their regular clients. Mom had sued the paper and him—and had won an out-of-court settlement as well as a retraction—but some mud always sticks.

  I glanced at my watch and cursed softly. Given my one o’clock appointment, I really didn’t have time to go enjoy myself at any club. Maybe another night. Of course, it would be better if Lucian got back to Melbourne. Maybe I needed to give him a call, just to remind him what he was missing out on.

  The thought brought a smile to my lips. I grabbed my phone and said his name as I made my way around to the secure parking lot the café shared with several other business.

  As the old gates screeched open, Lucian came online and a sigh escaped me. If ever there was a man who was perfectly formed in every way imaginable, then he was it. His face was truly beautiful, though he could never be considered effeminate—there was simply too much strength, too much … manliness. Which was odd, because he wasn’t a man, but an Aedh, an energy being. His hair was golden and his eyes were the most glorious jade green. They were also so full of power that, even through the phone’s screen, it was almost impossible to look at them without flinching.

  He had the look of an angel and in the past—before his golden wings had been torn off—he probably would have been mistaken for one. Because even though reapers were the true soul guides, it was the Aedh who had given rise to the angels seen in so many myths.

  “Risa,” he said, his deep voice reverberating with pleasure. “I was just thinking about you.”

  I grinned. “I hope you’re alone. If not, your partner might be a bit miffed to hear that.”

  He laughed. “I am—unfortunately—quite alone. Yourself?”

  “The same.” I gave my sigh a wistful edge. “Which is unfortunate, as you said, because I happen to be horny as hell.”

  Something very primal sparked in the recesses of his eyes. “And is it your intent to torture me with this news?”

  I laughed. “Totally. Either you get your butt back here, or I shall have to seek release elsewhere.”

  “It is lucky, then, that I’m currently waiting to board a plane, and that I’ll be back in Melbourne by six tomorrow morning.”

  I made a tsking sound. “I’m not sure that’s soon enough.”

  “But if you pick me up at the airport, we could both get our ease sooner rather than later.”

  “If you send me the flight details, I just might.”

  He smiled, and it was a hungry thing. Heat curled through my belly, and it was difficult not to hum in pleasure. “How’s the trip been otherwise?”

  “Business is always boring,” he said, “but the client is an important one, so I do what I must.”

  Lucian was a financial adviser—a fairly high-profile and wealthy one, from what I could see, even though he tended to play that down. “I take it this client didn’t have any pretty secretaries?”

  “Not a one,” he said solemnly, though his bright eyes danced with mirth. “I had to fill my time making good on promises.”

  “Hmm,” I said. “To whom?”

  “To you, lovely lady.”

  “Me?” I said, surprised. “What promises have you made to me?”

  “Well, I did say I’d attempt to see what I could uncover about your father. While I’ve had no luck there, I managed to discover whom the Razan known as Handberry was supposed to meet the night he was killed by the soul stealer.”

  I frowned. I couldn’t actually remember mentioning Handberry to Lucian, but given everything that had happened over the past weeks, it wasn’t out of the question that I’d simply forgotten I’d done it.

  Either that, or he’d gleaned the knowledge from my mind during one of our many lovemaking sessions. That was always the risk with our relationship, but not one I was overly concerned with. After all, there weren’t that many questions he could ask that I wouldn’t answer.

  Still, it made me wonder if the nanowire would work against him.

  “How did you discover who Handberry was supposed to meet with?”

  He smiled. “A good investigator never reveals his sources, but I will note that it cost me a crate of very expensive champagne.”

  My cheeks dimpled. “I shall repay in kind, if you like.”

  “Oh,” he said, his voice suddenly lower and a whole lot sexier, “I intend to extract their worth in another way entirely.”

  That curl of heat in my belly got stronger. I grinned. “That could take more time than either of us has in our schedule.”

  “Which only makes the thought all the more delectable.”

  The man was incorrigible. And insatiable. Not that I was quibbling about either. “So who was he?”

  “His name is Ike Forman. According to my source, he’s a thug with pretensions. He has a very upper-class attitude, but he fights dirty.”

  Upper-class …

  Excitement rolled through me. It sounded very much like the man the panther had described.

  Meaning I more than likely had a name for the next person up the ladder—and was one step closer to discovering who the hell was sending these things after me.

  Chapter Five

  “I TAKE IT FROM YOUR EXPRESSION THAT THE name means something to you?” Lucian said.

  “The name, no. It’s just that one of the half-shifters used very similar terms to describe their new handler. I’m betting it’s not a coincidence.”

  “More than likely not,” he agreed. “I gather this means the half-shifters have attacked you again?”

  “Yes. Did your source say anything else about Forman?”

  “Not really. I simply asked if he knew anything about Handberry, as he represents the sort of clients that Handberry would associate with. Forman was the only name he could suggest.”

  “If Forman has upper-class pretensions, why would he associate with someone like Handberry?”

  “That’s a question you’ll have to ask Forman when you find him.”

  “So you couldn’t get an address for the man?”

  “No, but I daresay you’re resourcefu
l enough to get that information yourself.”

  “I daresay I am.” Or, at least, Stane was.

  “They’re calling my flight. I’ll see you in the morning?”

  “You will.”

  “And you’d better wear something you don’t value,” he warned, his eyes glowing, “because I have every intention of tearing it off you the minute we are alone.”

  “I like the sound of that.”

  He laughed, blew a kiss, and hung up, leaving me grinning like a fool as I fired up my bike and drove over to Stane’s.

  I parked on a side street off West Street, away from Stane’s computer shop and well out of sight of any foot traffic coming from the Phoenix. Given the condition of Stane’s storefront, it was obvious that the club’s patrons didn’t mind doing a bit of damage as they stumbled home.

  As I took off my helmet, the noise hit—the music a heavy beat that pounded through the air and rattled the nearby windows. Underneath it ran the sound of raucous voices—men and women. I could only be thankful I didn’t have to go there. I didn’t mind loud music, but I liked to be able to dance to it. This seemed little more than noise.

  I set the bike’s alarm, then made my way around to Stane’s shop. Thick grates covered the front windows, but a lot of the bars were bent—the work of drunken nonhumans, most likely, since humans would never be able to budge metal that thick without assistance.

  I pushed the front door open and a tiny bell rang cheerily. The camera above the doorway buzzed into action, tracking me as I entered the shop—not that I could go too far in. Stane had a containment field around the entrance, and no one was getting into the inner sanctum without his permission.

  “Stane, it’s Risa, reporting in as ordered.”

  “I believe you were supposed to report some ten hours ago,” he said, his voice dry even over the speakers.

  “Something came up.”

  “An event that occurs quite often around you, I’ve discovered.” The slight shimmer that was the containment field disappeared. “Come on up.”

  I headed for the stairs at the back of the shop. This area was small and smelled of dust and mold. There were shelves everywhere, all packed with boxes, old and new computer parts, and ancient-looking monitors of varying sizes.

  Of course, mold and dust weren’t exactly good for computers, but I had it on good authority—Tao’s—that this area was little more than a ruse. The expensive items were all kept upstairs.

  And up there, you stepped into another world—one that was clean, shiny, and filled with the latest in computer technology. In fact, Stane’s system dominated the main living space and wouldn’t have looked out of place on a spaceship.

  It was a stark contrast with Stane himself, who could only be described as a mess with his unkempt brown hair, thick ill-fitting black sweater, and wrinkled jeans. He certainly didn’t look like someone who’d put up any sort of fight—until you actually gazed into his honey-colored eyes. Stane, like Tao, was smarter and tougher than he looked.

  He gave me a bright, warm smile as he rose and kissed me on the cheek. “So this thing that came up … ,” he said cheerfully. “I don’t suppose there’s anything I can do to help?”

  A grin teased my lips. “What, the black market not exciting enough for you these days?”

  “It’s not that.” He sat down and pushed a second chair my way. “It’s more the challenge. You task me with the impossible and just presume I’ll come through. I like that.”

  I laughed. “Well, I do have an information hunt, but I don’t think it’s going to tax you or your system too much.”

  “I have complete faith in the fact that, now that you’re back chasing otherworld crap, my tasks will only get harder.” Anticipation mingled with humor in his eyes. “So hit me with this first one, and don’t be too long with the rest.”

  I shook my head as I said, “I need any and all information you have on an Ike Forman. Apparently, he’s the man Handberry went to meet the night he was killed, and he might also be the half-shifters’ new handler.”

  Stane frowned. “Forman? That name rings a bell. Hang on a sec.” He twisted around and touched one of the light screens on his circular “bridge.” “Here, listen to this.”

  A harsh voice suddenly shouted, “Fuck it, Forman, I’m not going to waste more good men like this. It’s not worth it.”

  The voice belonged to Handberry, and the conversation had obviously been going for a while. But given that Handberry had stormed out not long after I’d released the listening bug into his office, I guess we’d been lucky to get anything at all.

  The voice on the other side was muffled, but the tone was definitely urbane.

  “I don’t fucking care what Harlen said,” Handberry ranted in response. “These are my fucking men, not his. There must be a better—”

  Forman obviously cut Handberry off, because he fell silent for several heartbeats. Then he swore loudly and said, “Tell the bastard to meet me at home. I’ll be there in twenty.”

  With that, he hung up. Footsteps retreated and the door slammed. That’s when Tao and I had witnessed him storming out of the club like some great black thundercloud. And twenty minutes later he was dead.

  Stane pressed the screen again, preventing the recording from looping and replaying. “I tried to enhance the other end of the conversation, but could only get snatches of words. I think the other guy was using some sort of scrambler to hamper recording.”

  Which meant he was not only urbane, but also smart and careful. “What about the name Handberry mentioned? Harlen?”

  “I did do a search for both Harlen and Forman, but without knowing their full names, it was pretty useless. Still, there’s no Forman or Harlen connected to either the club or the consortium that was buying up the properties around here.”

  I frowned. “What happened to the third man connected to the consortium, John Nadler? The one we never found?”

  Stane shrugged. “Whoever he really is, he’s got his tracks covered. I’ve tried just about every search I can think of, and I’m coming up with nothing.”

  Which was undoubtedly frustrating to someone like Stane, who prided himself on being able to go anywhere, and find anything, along the Net’s superhighway. “Meaning he’s probably using a fake ID.”

  “Actually, I think it probably means he’s living two separate lives. Fake ID will only get you so far in this day and age.”

  “But even if he was living two lives, wouldn’t one of those still require a fake ID?”

  “Not if he simply stepped into the life of another man.”

  “But that’s not possible—”

  “Really?” he interrupted, eyebrow raised. “Do you think you’re the only face shifter on the planet?”

  Face shifters were able to make basic structural changes to their faces—hair, eyes, and shape. Most could only hold the new form for limited amounts of time, but I’d inherited my shifting ability from my mom, and her genes had been enhanced in the laboratories of a madman. It took a lot of effort for me to change, but once I was there, I could hold it for a long time. “Well, of course not. But it would mean he’s a Helki werewolf, and that would impact both identities. Moon heat isn’t exactly something you can hide.”

  “Why would he have to be a werewolf? I know for a fact that the military has face shifters, and they aren’t all werewolves.”

  I stared at him for a moment. “Just how do you know all this stuff?”

  He shrugged. “I told you, I get bored. It’s amazing what risks you’ll take when you’re bored.”

  I snorted softly. “And what happened to all the land the consortium purchased?”

  “It’s still all owned by the consortium, which is now run solely by Nadler. But James Trilby and Garvin Appleby’s heirs are suing the consortium and Nadler for a bigger piece of the pie.”

  Trilby and Appleby were the other two men we’d linked to the consortium. They were dead, just as the witch who’d been in their employ was de
ad—killed by Azriel after she’d sent a soul stealer after a little girl. “Does that mean the two men didn’t leave wills, or did they simply not leave their heirs enough money?”

  “The latter.” He grimaced. “See, this is where pack mentality wins out. In the event of my death, everything either goes entirely to the pack, or it’s split seventy–thirty between my heirs and the pack. Everyone understands the situation, and everyone wins.”

  I grinned. “You don’t have any heirs, so your pack wins big time.”

  “Hey,” he said, voice offended but eyes dancing. “I might not have heirs yet, but that doesn’t mean I’m not looking for a suitable lady.”

  I snorted softly. “It’s a little hard to find said lady if you never actually leave your house.”

  “I leave,” he said. “And ladies do occasionally come into the shop.”

  “Yeah, and then run screaming when they see the mess downstairs,” I said drily.

  “That, unfortunately, is more true than not. Hence the reason I don’t invite many lovelies back.” He paused, then wiggled his eyebrows outrageously. “Of course, there is one lady who’s not afraid to brave the mess. I don’t suppose you’d consider taking another lover?”

  “One lover is more than enough for me at the moment.”

  “And you call yourself a werewolf?” he said, pretending outrage.

  I laughed. “Half-werewolf. There is a difference.” At least, there was with me. Apparently my Aedh heritage had toned down what society generally considered the “worst” aspect of being a werewolf—that is, the moon heat, which forced us to seek sex or go mad during the full moon phase. And—unlike every other werewolf—I wasn’t forced to shift shape on the night of the full moon. In fact, I couldn’t attain wolf form anytime.

  But I did have a wolf’s keen senses and high sex drive, as well as the attitude that sex was something to be celebrated. Which came in handy when I had a lover like Lucian.

  “So if the consortium is being sued, doesn’t that mean Nadler will have to appear in court?”