When Sergiu did so, Andros nearly broke into laughter. “Looks as if you have enough prey. Do you really think of them as prey?”
“No of course not.” The vampire could hardly want to put off the others present. “But we appreciate the donations. We will, of course, try to repay them, but it’s not always in our hands. Conversion, for instance, is difficult and very hard to achieve. But there are other ways.”
“Is it true that when you choose a mate, if she drinks your blood she can live long?” a woman asked him now.
Andros could hardly blame the woman for believing a particularly pervasive rumor. He’d heard it himself, and it sounded plausible. Except that blood was indigestible, even for vampires. Nobody actually drank the stuff. Vampires had an extra organ, and when they bit someone, that blood was drawn up the teeth and into the organ, there to be processed for the body’s use. It made them more vulnerable, not less, except that blood gave them extra strength and power. Vampires needed one extra item more than others did. Food, water, air and blood. Humans wouldn’t benefit from blood, vampire or otherwise. Ingestion of large amounts would just make them sick. A shame, because it was a lovely story, the one that made a vampire’s mate dependent on him, or more rarely, her, for sustenance. The ultimate in dependency.
No, the only way a vampire could convert another was by losing his own life in the process. Legends abounded of vampires who had done just that, made the ultimate sacrifice for love. Andros wondered if he could do such a thing.
Looking at Faye, he believed he could.
Chapter Six
The following day, at the end of a particularly difficult session trying to persuade students that Measure for Measure had far more significance for the modern reader than they recognized, Faye went back to her office and leaned back with a sigh of exhaustion. She found her cell and switched it back on. The thing tinkled, indicating an unread text message.
It was from Andros. “Serena wants to see us. Meet you there.”
A few students stopped by to ask her how she could see Isabella, the heroine of the play, as anything but a sanctimonious twit. By the time she’d persuaded them of several different ways to view the lady’s actions in the play, fifteen minutes had flown past and she still had to get to another building to reach Serena’s office.
She left the building at a fair clip and strode across the path leading through the green lawn outside the arts building toward the faculty, where Nordheim’s office, now Serena’s, was situated. She was lucky they weren’t on another campus, but Speke was a compact university.
The buildings holding the various faculties were in very different styles. The arts building, being the first one built, was a gracious Victorian edifice, four stories in a gray stone that blended with the Old-World-style gardens. The tall buildings framing it behind seemed an aberration. But the science building, as befitted its lofty ambitions and forward outlook, was a glass and steel edifice reaching for the sky, its entrance recently remodeled to form a large glass portico, the clean, classical design enhanced by its modern materials.
Entering, she flashed her ID card to the less than observant guard at the door. There wasn’t usually one here, but after the events of yesterday, the dean probably wanted to at least show his willingness to improve security, if only to reassure the students. This man gave useless a good name. She could have flashed her library card and he’d have glanced at it and grunted.
She tucked her wallet back in her pocket and thought of the more sophisticated ankle bracelets. How stupid she’d been to believe she could just steal one and get inside the STORM building. They’d probably made her the minute she landed on the roof. But Serena had cleared the fog from her mind, the fog put there by a man she’d considered her ally. Although the initial shock had abated, she was still angry about it. But she no longer doubted her own judgment. Andros had given her her mind back.
This place was so different from the marble entrance at STORM, which, she recognized in retrospect, could be locked down from the rest of the building if necessary. STORM had an impressive entrance hall but a discreet one, with two elevators and an inner door. She’d bet the reception desk had a hidden security screen too. Clever.
She ignored the students jostling and chatting, most of them heading out since lectures were done for the day and the library and catering facilities were situated elsewhere. She took the elevator up to the third floor. Tension filled her, but this time a pleasurable kind. She would see her lover again, and tonight—tonight they could indulge in whatever they wanted. She’d take him home, surprise him a little. Just because she lived incognito didn’t mean she had to live in a tiny apartment in an unsafe neighborhood. She smiled when she imagined his reaction to her place and what they could do there. What they would do there. Her blood heated and her pussy dampened at the thought. But they weren’t there yet.
The elevator doors slid open with a creak and a shake. Like everything here, it needed servicing. Flashy buildings, shoddy workmanship. But she was so used to it she hardly noticed, although a couple of people riding up with her glanced at each other in alarm. She was the only person to get off on this floor. Smiling at the prospect of meeting Andros again, she strode up the hallway. Serena’s door was closed. Faye knocked and went in.
And froze.
Blood. Blood seeping under the desk, flooding the surface from the body of the woman slumped over it. She gagged at the stink of the blood and the sight before her. Serena had been sitting in her chair and had fallen forward to sprawl across the glossy wood veneered surface. Her blonde hair gleamed obscenely, the ends floating in the gore. Her head was turned to one side, toward the door. Faye stared at the open, unseeing eyes, their blue depths unfocused, staring at nothing. The lower part of Serena’s face was gone, blown away. Blood and pieces of matter spattered Serena’s diamond and gold watch. She must have taken it off and laid it on the desk at some point. The remains of her once immaculate appearance mocked Faye now, reminding her of the ice-cold, controlled Sorcerer.
And over the body leaned Andros. He lost his balance when he saw her and put out his hand to save himself. He landed on the watch and grabbed it as he steadied himself, then looked down and grimaced.
Faye heard a sound from the door and turned to face the new arrival.
Nordheim grinned. “Hello, Faye,” he said, as if this were a social occasion. “Could you move a little to the left, please?” His mind probed hers, urging her to obey, reinforcing his command. She ignored it. She heard a sound. The click of an old-fashioned sidearm being cocked. She’d never forget that sound. If she moved the way he wanted, he’d hit Andros.
She moved to the right, blocking the professor’s aim. He smiled at her, his face at ease, his handsome features displaying real warmth.
Faye didn’t smile back. “Why should I, Harken? Why do you want to kill him?”
Harken’s eyes filled with cloudy sorrow. “Because he wants to kill you. I don’t know if you’re aware, sweet Faye, but he’s STORM. I won’t have you corrupted by his kind. Please move, or I’ll have to hurt you. I can put all the blame on him, discover him in the act of murdering this woman. You can save me. It’s in your power. I can get off the other charge as self-defense. You can take me in, if you like. Get a gold star for your record.”
So supercilious. Why hadn’t she seen that before? She knew why, and she recognized the intrinsic evil of compulsion. It had altered the way she viewed him. He’d have seduced her eventually, and that would have been nothing less than rape.
Like fuck he’d let her take him in. He’d spare her, but only until she’d served his needs. She tried to filter her mind into his, but she met only his outer thoughts. Nothing significant, since he’d carefully manufactured them to reflect his stated intent. As he’d always done. Arguing with him would be a waste of time.
Time to use the basic skills she’d learned long ago. She spun, shape-shifting at the same time, controlling her size so she didn’t swell to fill the room, and s
truck out with one arm, an arm that changed to a wing partway through its trajectory. It struck flesh, but Nordheim had time to fire.
Pain seared her arm but Faye felt only triumph. She’d deflected the shot.
She concentrated on disarming Harken. She had to act fast or he’d take another shot.
One blow from her wing knocked him down and another broke his arm. She kicked the weapon away and, before she could censor her automatic response, Faye roared her triumph. Fire seared her mouth, flooded out in a stream of death, frying the bastard who had dared attack her man.
She’d acted like the dragon she was, and she wasn’t ashamed of it.
She shape-shifted back as she felt Andros touch her shoulder. “Fuck, oh fuck! I’ve sent out a broadcast to any STORM agent available. Get in there, Faye.”
Dazed, half naked, her clothes shredded rags from the shape-shift, bleeding from the shallow wound in her arm, Faye stepped back inside the office.
The phone rang. Before she could stop herself, she picked it up, but by the time she had the receiver against her ear, she’d remembered not to say anything. Someone at the other end barked a command. “Stay there. Help is on its way. Contain the situation.” Ann Reynolds. Faye was beginning to think the woman was omniscient.
“Bring clothes,” she croaked, her throat sore from her recent firestream. “I had to shape-shift.”
“Understood.”
She hung up. Faye got to her feet from her perch on the side of the desk, the side without the blood. She ignored the way her limbs shook as shock took hold of her. “We need to get him inside.”
“Your arm.”
She glanced at it. “It’s okay, not deep. I’ll do a quick shape-shift to take care of it.” It didn’t even hurt. But it would, once the shock had abated.
Together she and Andros dragged the professor’s body inside the office. Not a moment too soon, as doors were opening farther down the hall. They had to keep inside if they wanted to maintain their cover. Which now appeared more important than ever. They dumped him on the floor. She shape-shifted, felt the graze heal and shape-shifted back. She’d been right. It healed cleanly, only blood left to clean up, the wound sealed.
When she reached for Andros’ hand, she found him waiting. As heedless of the blood that marked her as she was heedless of Serena’s blood on his hand, he hauled her into his arms and held her tight. “Oh baby, I’m sorry. Sorry you walked into this.”
“What happened?”
“I arrived a few minutes before you. I heard the elevator coming up as I came into the office. And then I heard the shot. So loud. Fuck, oh fuck.”
He wasn’t shaking. Perhaps reaction would set in later. She’d be there for him. They stared at each other, avoiding the sight of the body on the floor.
Nick opened the door with measured gravity. The edge of the door bumped Nordheim’s body, sending it into an obscene judder. Harken wouldn’t move anymore of his own volition. Faye stared down at him.
She felt distanced, apart. She couldn’t reach her emotions, but this didn’t worry her. It had happened before and she knew from experience that in about half an hour that would flood back. She had that time to come to terms with what she’d done.
Nick nudged the Talent with his foot. “Nordheim. Shit.”
“Yeah,” Andros said.
Nick’s emerald-green gaze took in Faye’s near-naked form. He shrugged off his jacket but Andros got there first. He took off his own leather jacket and laid it around her shoulders, taking her hands and gently urging them through the sleeves. Because he was taller than her, once he’d done up the zipper, she was fairly decent, the jacket skimming her thighs a couple of inches below her pussy. The covering eased her mind, although being a shape-shifter, being naked after a shape-shift wasn’t a new experience to her. But none of this was usual.
She stared at the two bodies, both violently killed. One by her. “I just reacted. He had a gun.”
Nick bent down and hefted the weapon. “You don’t see many of these around these days. It’s a Schofield .44. An antique. Should be in a museum.”
He laid the firearm on the metal filing cabinet. “I’m pretty sure he’s dead, but some Talents have the ability to feign it. Sorcerers can even fake serious injuries.” He bent and examined the body. “Nope. He’s dead.”
“I don’t know why he’d do this. He never seemed violent before.” She’d burned him down one side of his body, the stink of seared meat tainted the atmosphere. She swallowed down her involuntary gag. Seeing her throat move convulsively, Andros crossed the room and opened the window. The gush of fresh air felt like a new start.
The professor lay with his head facing the window and Serena, whose blood was congealing now, forming globulous pools. It had dripped off the end of her desk to gather in a puddle on the floor. Faye stared, couldn’t stop staring. “Who did this? Do you think Harken did it?” Stupid question. She just couldn’t get her mind to work properly. Of course he did. Killed Serena, left Andros to take the rap, then came back when it was obvious Faye didn’t believe it and tried to control her. As he’d done before.
Nick’s cell phone rang, jolting her into awareness. He answered it. “Someone’s called the police.”
“Hardly surprising.” Andros sounded more together than she felt. Just as well someone was. “Someone must have heard the gunshot.”
Serena was wearing indoor clothes. She must have a coat somewhere. With renewed purpose, Faye stood up again and took in the details of the room. An olive-green raincoat hung on the back of the door. She had no compunction taking it after she’d searched the pockets. Empty. She slipped out of Andros’ coat and donned the better-fitting garment. When she’d tucked the scarf hanging with it into her neckline, she looked almost normal. “We can tell them I took my shoes off when they got marked with blood.” She’d lost them during the shape-shift.
“Wait.”
Nick looked outside the room, murmured to someone there. It sounded conciliatory, although she couldn’t hear the words. When he returned, he had her shoes in his hand. A little scorched, but not too badly damaged. “I came with another agent. She’s watching the hallway.” Faye slipped on the flat ballet-style shoes, savoring their familiar contours and, although she felt far from normal, at least she looked better. She wouldn’t have to greet the cops half naked. Somehow, that mattered.
“Tell the truth,” Nick said. “Don’t lie, but don’t tell them anything they don’t need to know.”
She was glad he’d said that, because she’d decided she wouldn’t lie for anyone or anything about this. She wanted this to end and lies wouldn’t get that done. Better to have the police on their side.
A rap on the door heralded the cops’ arrival. They didn’t bother to wait for a summons to enter. Faye reached for Andros’ hand.
Surprised that the police had arrived before STORM, she was even less impressed when she saw the two shabbily dressed men who came in. But their eyes were sharp, their gazes sweeping around the room as they entered, taking everything in. Nick introduced himself as a STORM agent and explained he’d been working with Serena, also an agent.
The men nodded and gave their own names. Detectives Abrahams and Holstadt. They wore their shields on their jackets. “And you are…?” Abrahams asked, with a jerk of his sharp chin.
“Faye McCauley. I’m a lecturer here. And this is Andros Zelinski, a doctoral student.”
Andros drew a heavy breath. “We’re STORM agents too. Working on a case with Serena. I arrived first. I saw her then heard the shot. It came from behind me.”
“She’s pretty dead.” Holstadt crossed to the desk and stared at Serena. “Did you see her attacker?”
“Possibly.” She gestured in the direction of the body on the floor. “Unless there were two of them. I heard the trigger go back and I knocked it out of his hand.” She paused. “And I burned him. I killed him.” All the vigor, the identity had gone from Nordheim. He was truly the body rather than a man.
> Andros curved his arm around her waist, hugging her close as the tears she’d been fending off finally arrived. “He threatened us. He could have killed us both.” He sounded grim. She buried her head against his shoulder, a wave of shuddering sobs racking her body. He held her close, made her feel absurdly safe in the shelter of his arms. “I’ll come with you.”
“I was going to suggest that.” Holstadt’s voice was heavy with sarcasm. “We have a room prepared especially for you.”
Abrahams spoke. “I’ll stay and wait for the others to get here.” The people who’d take away the bodies, the forensics people, or whatever they were called these days. Were they really called CSI officers, or was that an invented name?
Then the STORM agents arrived and the arguments started.
In the end Faye was glad to get away, but it didn’t happen until nearly midnight. She’d worn Serena’s coat all that time, the officers not giving her a chance to change into the clothes the agents had brought for her. They put her into a room with one of those telltale huge mirrors. She didn’t know who stood on the other side and she didn’t want to give them a free show. While Talents understood the difference between nude and naked, mortals didn’t.
They questioned her for hours but she stayed as calm as she could, answering only what she had to. She’d wept all the way to the station and then found the strength to control herself, to remain as calm as she could. She settled into a kind of numb awareness, answering questions. “You can go now.” Holstadt scraped his chair back, got to his feet and crossed the room to the door, opening it wide.
The lawyer STORM had sent for her stood too. “It’s fairly obvious Ms. McCauley acted in self-defense. So I take it you’ll be letting us know?”
“Yeah.” Holstadt gave a wry grin. “Don’t leave town.”
She glared at him. “I’ll be at work, or home. Or at STORM.”
That was where they took her. Where Andros was waiting, in a much more comfortable room, albeit another conference room, with a pot of hot coffee and a plate of sandwiches.
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