by Dannika Dark
Also By Dannika Dark:
THE MAGERI SERIES
Sterling
Twist
Impulse
CLOSER
A Novella
DANNIKA DARK
All Rights Reserved
Copyright © 2012 Dannika Dark
No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author. You must not circulate this book in any format. Thank you for respecting the rights of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cover design by Dannika Dark. All stock purchased.
http://dannikadark.blogspot.com/
Fan page located on Facebook
Acknowledgments:
This book is dedicated to a character that wouldn’t stop pacing around in my head until I told his story.
The heart is an anchor cast to sea,
That links you closer to destiny.
Chapter 1
Iniquity pooled beneath Kane’s feet in shades of liquid burgundy against the gritty asphalt of the dark alley. The tip of his black boots scraped against the shadowy surface. One of the laces sprang loose and touched the vile evidence of his evening walk. It was too dark to see the blood soaking into the tight weave of fiber, but when he lifted his foot off the ground, a drop splashed onto his other shoe.
Shit. My favorite pair, he thought, dragging his eyes back to the crumpled body beside the brick wall. It’s not as if he had extra money in his pocket to buy new shoes, and now these were toast.
The middle-aged man was slumped over on his left shoulder like one of those crash test dummies after an accident.
It was against the law to kill a human.
The murder was so fresh that a bead of sweat still trickled across his balding head like a slow-moving insect. His right leg and arm were extended, giving him the appearance that he was trying to run. Only this worthless splinter of a man was going nowhere, except straight to hell where he belonged.
Kane glanced down at the pain and rage still dripping from his fingers in red liquid light, mingled with his own guilt.
Emotions are always rich in the end and the hardest to wipe clean. Death holds onto the threads, sinks into the crevices, and becomes an impossible emotional experience to erase.
Kane was a Sensor in the paranormal world. No unique physical characteristics made him stand out from anyone else on the street. His lifespan was longer than a human’s was, but what made him genetically different was that Sensors experienced the world through touch—something Kane avoided like the plague.
Last winter, he’d settled down in Cognito after years of traveling. Kane had lived in twelve states and must have had several dozen jobs since he’d left his troubled home as a teen, only to become trouble himself. It took a few years to shake some of that wildness out of him.
Cognito is home to more immortals and other Breeds than anywhere else in the United States. They’re bound by laws to keep the supernatural world hidden; it’s how social order is maintained. While he kept to himself most of the time, being around his own kind didn’t make him feel like such an outsider. It’s not that he didn’t like humans; Kane just felt like an impostor around them.
During his travels, Kane had discovered just how many different Breeds existed. The first time he’d met a Mage was in a New York City train station when he was looking for a place to stay. They didn’t work magic, but harnessed energy in the most unimaginable way. Then there were Vampires, and from his experience, most of them were jackasses. They had powerful dark eyes that could pull the truth out of anyone. Never look a Vampire in the eye if you know what’s good for you.
Most of the Shifters he met were decent and left him alone, except for the wolf packs that were difficult to get along with because they were territorial. Sensors have a lot in common with Shifters because both are able to have children and grow old. Eventually. Not all Breeds age the same; many have an extended lifespan.
Kane was in his thirties, but he looked much younger. He still had all the etchings of a man in the tiny lines around his eyes and the shadowy grooves of his cheekbones. It was great to dip into the fountain of youth and not age as quickly as all the humans around him. He watched his favorite bands at the local dive, played pool, and had no desire to become the man his father was.
Kane’s gift as a Sensor allowed him to lift emotions effortlessly. Objects retain traces of any intense experience, making a Sensor ideal for investigative work. But the real money was in memory exchange. A man could sell his memory of a sexual experience to a Sensor who would store that emotion and offer it to the highest bidder. Customers can attest that a quality Sensor can make the experience better than the real thing.
Transference is done by placing their hands on the chest for the best reception. Energy flows through their palms, creating a ruby-red glow. Sensors are an exchange service, and those with heightened abilities make some serious cash. Advertising was word-of-mouth or through samplers—usually candy spiked with emotions to give people a taste of their wares. The Breed looked at Sensors as a form of entertainment.
He tried it once when he was desperate for cash. Went into a Breed bar and discovered it wasn’t easy to collect emotional imprints unless you had something to offer. So, he stole one from a drunken man sitting against the restroom wall—barely conscious. Once he got him talking, he placed his hands on the man’s chest as he recounted a memory of a motorcycle chase. It was a painful experience because Kane was hypersensitive to emotions and felt them to the extreme. But he was hungry and needed a place to stay.
Kane walked to another bar—uncertain of how to go about it—and asked around. With only one memory in his collection, there were no takers. Finally, one guy offered him enough to pay for a decent meal and a bed for the night.
“This better be worth it,” the Shifter warned.
Kane nervously touched his chest and released the memory. Unfortunately, physical contact caused him to feel the experience all over again—something he hadn’t anticipated since it was his first time dealing. Kane grimaced as a smile spread across the Shifter’s face and a look of exhilaration filled his eyes.
Never again.
Not long after that, Kane ran into a guy in a tattoo parlor who hooked him up with work as a deliveryman. It was a Breed company run by a couple of Shifters, and it was the kind of job where he didn’t have to interact with people outside of a random signature or two. Lifting boxes also saved him the expense of paying for a gym membership since the heavy shipments toned up his arms. It wasn’t the best-paying job, but it had its pros and cons. It was enough to swing rent, and that’s all that mattered.
Kane had realized in his twenties that he was different from other Sensors. They developed a way to desensitize themselves from touch—like turning down the volume—but Kane found it impossible to shut off. Even the light brush of a hand triggered an avalanche of emotions that felt more like a violation of his senses.
That’s why he always wore gloves. Almost always.
His fists clenched in an attempt to expunge the emotions still tethered to his bare skin from the kill. Had he worn them while committing the crime, they would have been as good as a confession if they fell into the hands of another Sensor. Plus, they were his favorite pair and he didn’t want them muddied up with this unplanned incident. He’d never killed a man before.
Kane didn’t leave the house that night with the intention to murder. He was strolling out of the corner market with his dinner in a paper sack and made a detour to the newspaper stand. His pocket jingled as he fished out a few coin
s. Kane glanced up as a pretty blonde dashed across the intersection. When she slipped into the back of a taxicab, her skirt blew up. He grinned, always enjoying the moments when people assumed that no one was watching. That’s when a man bumped into Kane and spilled his change.
“Shit. Watch where you’re going,” Kane barked out, expecting an apology.
One of the quarters bounced into the street and rolled into the drain. Kane pressed his lips together tightly and glared at the man. He liked reading the comics late at night in bed while eating a bowl of cereal and wearing nothing but his grey sweatpants. It was one of the perks of being single. Not to mention that he needed to look at the classifieds and find a new place. His landlord had refused to fix the air conditioning and then raised the rent on his lease. That’s why he was now having a difficult time making ends meet.
The bald man lifted his pointy chin and gave him the finger before disappearing into a narrow corridor. Kane set his bags down ready to give that little shit a piece of his mind.
“Hey, where do you think you’re running off to?” Kane said, grabbing his upper arm. “You owe me a quarter.”
They were in the middle of a dark corridor and a dog barked in the distance. Kane sized him up, realizing this guy might want to start a fight even though he didn’t look like the type. He was stocky in build, but shorter than Kane. Beady eyes glared up at him and a hand wrapped around Kane’s bare wrist. The human pulled himself free and walked away.
That one touch set a chain of events in motion.
Kane’s hazel eyes glazed over and he saw a wake of bodies in his mind. He was standing face to face with a serial killer. Death was not just a stain on this human’s hands; it was a bold tattoo. So many young women—so much pain.
Men like that didn’t deserve to suck the same air as the rest of them.
Kane was faced with a choice: letting a murderer walk the streets who would victimize even more women, or doing something about it. The memories of violence assaulted his senses and he stood on the brink of a decision that would alter more than one life. There was no evidence he could use to bring this man to justice in the human courts; these crimes would weigh on his conscience if he didn’t do something.
Now.
He stripped off his gloves and tossed them on the ground, making a comment that stopped the human cold in his tracks.
“I know what you did to those girls.”
The man slowly peered over his shoulder and his eyes widened. When he started to run, a dark side of Kane surfaced and exploded into action. He reached for the switchblade in his back pocket—one he’d only ever used to slice apples.
“Come back here,” Kane growled, quiet rage funneling through his soul.
Something compelled him to take action—maybe it was the voices of the victims crying out for justice. Without a second to think, Kane sliced the man’s jugular in a single motion with the sharp blade. Blood poured from the mortal’s neck and he stumbled to the ground, taking only moments to die.
Kane was numb.
What have I done? He wiped the flat edge of the bloody switchblade against his black T-shirt and stared at the body.
Breed had insiders within law enforcement who investigated crimes, concealing evidence and bodies that linked back to one of their own. Most of them didn’t like humans, but cutting one up in a dark alley wasn’t going to win him any awards. Didn’t matter if the little shit deserved it. Now Kane was going to have to leave the city he’d grown to love. He’d heard stories about Breed jail and it scared the hell out of him. No one ever came out of that place the same.
Cognito was a far stretch from his childhood home, not to mention the fact that he’d been raised by humans. Kane didn’t know that he was different until second grade when his dad shook him for tipping over a glass of Kool-Aid onto the white sofa. He was shaken so hard that it fractured his arm and he peed in his Superman pajamas. Kane was so distraught that his own father had hurt him, that through his tears, he tattled on his dad for having sex in the backseat of the family van. It just flew out of his mouth and his mother stood in shock. Kane didn’t understand what sex was at that age, but on the way home from school he felt the emotions in the back of the van and knew they were wrong. He often wondered if he had never spilled that drink, if his relationship with his father would have been as fractured as his arm.
Hell, maybe the man never liked him. Kane could sure feel his disdain whenever he touched him, which wasn’t often.
When his younger sister came along, the arguments between his parents got worse. There was so much sadness and anger in the house that Kane gradually stopped touching people and often wore long-sleeved shirts. He didn’t have sex until his twenties—a late bloomer—and by then, the gloves were his thing.
In the dark confines of the back alley, he analyzed the crime scene, trying to put himself in a detective’s shoes. Traces of the act lingered beneath his feet, but it wasn’t as if his name was written on the wall.
Kane flicked his eyes up, expecting his name to appear on the brick building in front of him with a large arrow pointing down. A Vampire could pick up information in the blood, but they refused to drink from a dead man’s body. Worst case scenario? If they hired a Chitah. Not spelled like the animal, but they shared the same predatory traits. Those quick bastards could track his ass down and Kane was on foot tonight. Chitahs had an acute sense of smell, speed, and never gave up on a hunt.
He messed up his brown hair with his fingers, thinking about the groceries left by the newspaper stand. His night shouldn’t have ended like this.
Some lucky sonofabitch is going to feast on frozen lasagna and a six-pack, while I’m running for my life, he thought.
Bile rose in his throat when he glanced down at a plastic sack with a box of condoms peeking out from the opening. It would be a long time before Kane would be able to shake the imprint of this night off his conscience.
Run? Hours could go by and a Chitah would still be able to track his scent if he remained on foot. His heart pounded as he glanced around. There wasn’t a single friend to call or place for him to hide out. That’s what happens when you’re a loner; no one is there for you when you need a friend you can trust.
“Shit,” he muttered, tugging at his left earlobe. It was a nervous tic of his whenever something upset him. He got a piercing when he was seventeen and was always messing with it until he eventually took it out. Since then, tugging at his ear had just become a habit.
A set of car keys glittered in the broken moonlight beside the dead man’s feet. Kane jogged over to where he’d dropped his gloves and dusted them off, stretching his fingers inside the breathable fabric. He felt naked without them. Kane nervously scrubbed his fingers through his hair, which he kept in disheveled chunks on top. It was razor cut, giving a rebellious look to his charismatic features. Once he got his shit together, he strolled over to the body and bent over, lifting the keys with a flick of his wrist.
“On second thought,” he muttered, squatting down and staring at the body. Kane pinched his fingers inside the man’s pocket and swiped his wallet. Stealing the car might buy him some time, but not much if the cops discovered who this psycho was and tracked down the license plates.
“Fuck you, John Doe,” he said, giving a two-fingered salute. “I hope all your victims get their revenge on the other side.”
Kane sprinted in the direction the man had been walking and wound up in the center of an old parking lot. There were only five cars and he ruled out the newer models because the keys were designed differently than the one pinched between his thumb and index finger. When it wouldn’t fit in the green pick-up truck, he walked twenty paces to a white four-door sedan with tinted windows. It reminded him of those car-chase movies he used to watch on Saturday nights after work. The key turned and the lock clicked open.
After a quick look over his shoulder, he got into the car and shut the door. It smelled like a musty cigar and Kane wrinkled his nose. There was a magazine rolle
d up between the maroon seats, and a can of soda in the cup holder.
Now what? he thought, rubbing at his bristly jaw.
Kane flicked his eyes up to a shadow moving around a few yards ahead. He leaned over the steering wheel for a better look. A mangy old dog sniffed a strip of fabric waving in the breeze on a chain link fence. Kane leaned back and chuckled as the mutt lifted his leg over a pile of crates and took a piss. He sniffed in circles and found a rolled-up paper bag by the fence. After a few attempts, he managed to get his teeth into it and trotted off with his prize.
A car backfired in the distance and he adjusted the rearview mirror, staring at himself. Not many men had hazel eyes as captivating as his. They were a beautiful olive green on the outside with a splatter of orange in the center—as if an ink pen leaked from his pupils. His brows arched into a wicked slant that gave him a look of mischief.
Kane pulled off the right glove and wiped his sweaty palm down his jeans before adjusting his seat. The adrenaline wasn’t wearing off and his heart was galloping out of control. If he didn’t take some deep breaths and chill, he was going to pass out.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he muttered.
The wallet creaked as he folded the leather back and memorized Mr. Psycho’s address. Instead of getting his ass pulled over in a stolen car while looking for a junkyard at two in the morning, it made more sense to drive to the owner’s house. He could dump the car and go on foot from there.
“Andrew Butcher,” he said, staring at the license of a smiling man with a gap between his teeth. “Are you kidding me? A. Butcher?” He gave an exasperated sigh and tossed the wallet in the passenger seat. Andrew was the kind of guy who might have squeaked by as a normal citizen, but something evil lurked behind the steely eyes in the photo that made Kane uneasy.
The ignition turned over with a noisy complaint and the engine sputtered, coughed, and decided to start up.
