by T. A. Grey
“It’s sad, that’s for sure. How did she die?” Sissy asked.
“He said she was murdered by the Donato family. Now he’s going after them.”
Sissy jumped up and stalked over to Arabella. She grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her. “And you’re supposed to track those psychos down? Tell me you aren’t serious, girl. Those people are dangerous. They kill without blinking. Jericho is called ‘The Butcher’ because he likes to hack people up with his machete. Did Zeke agree to this? This does not sound like something he’d agree with, Ara.”
Ara pulled away. “Calm down, will you. It’ll be okay.” Truth be told, inside she was shaken. She hadn’t really thought about the fact that she might be putting herself in danger. Normally when she went and tracked someone down things rarely went wrong. She would find the person and usually report the location of said person to whoever had hired her. It worked that easy. She didn’t have any combat training, and she really didn’t know much more than maybe basic self-defense which consisted of screaming, throwing a punch or kick, and running the other direction. Though she was as immortal as any other Were, if she ever lost her head then that’d be the end.
“How do you know it’ll be okay? I can’t believe you’re so calm about this. What do you think will happen if the Donatos find out that you’re helping someone find them who wants to kill them. They’re not gonna like that and then they’re gonna find out everything about you and come after you, girl. You better be careful.”
Arabella shook her head feeling disoriented from this conversation. “Listen, I never go into these places. I just find them and point them out. That’s all I’ll be doing.” Why did she feel as if she was lying? She wasn’t, really. She rarely ever went into the buildings where she tracked her target down.
Sissy let out a heavy sigh. “I’ll be sure to give that vampire a talking to before you run off with him. When do you plan on leaving? Don’t tell me it’s tonight; you know I made chocolate cake.”
Arabella grinned. “The chocolate cake’s the reason why I told him I couldn’t go tonight.”
*
“Where is she?” Grayson Blackmoore growled at the woman standing in the doorway to Arabella Donahue’s house.
“Afraid she’s not here at the moment. Well, look at you; you’re one helluva handsome vamp, gotta say. The name’s Sissy Ferris, by the way.”
“Tell me where I can find her now.” Already her incompetence was putting him further from his goal. He needed to find the Donatos, starting with Jericho first. The eldest son was possibly the most dangerous out of the two but the easier to find. The young vampire was known to throw extravagate parties for all his friends while providing whores, synthetic drugs—the works.
“You don’t have to get snippy with me, sugar. Last I saw her she said she was heading down the street. Barney Hammond called her in a panic. Seems he can’t find the engagement ring he bought for his girl and he’s supposed to propose today seeing as her family’s coming to visit.”
Grayson pulled out his pack of smokes and counted the dwindling brown sticks—only two left. God, he wanted to burn one so bad right now. As if the sting down his throat would make this stupid conversation disappear. But he only had two and he had a feeling he’d been needing those smokes for much more stressful times than some silly woman.
Turning, he went down the street. With each step he took, his teeth clenched and his lips bared a little more and more. When he found her he stopped, stunned. She was head deep in a thick bush, her rear-end parked high in the air squirming side to side like a dog wagging its tail. She was grunting and fumbling with the dirt and branches.
“Eehhhh. Uhhhhh. There you are! Got you, sucka!” She started crawling back out of the bush, branches catching her hair and slapping her in the face. “Ow!” She spat out a leaf as she stood, dusting herself off. Her eyes widened with surprise. “It’s you.”
For a moment he stood there, unable to think of a response. He’d been so angry walking down here—how dare she not be ready on the doorstep waiting for his arrival—that now he couldn’t recall why. Dirt smudged her nose and leaves and twigs stuck out of her hair, more of which covered her jeans and shirt. In her hand was a small, dirt-covered box. For some reason he found himself insatiably curious to learn if she’d found the ring.
“What is that?” he asked. Had she actually found the man’s ring? He realized he was more than little curious to find out just how her ability worked. It wasn’t completely unheard of to find a Were who couldn’t shift—as with all life there were always exceptions to the rules. A Were unable to shapeshift was indeed rare, but for a Were to lack that power and the capability of tracking a person by touching an object would be amazing.
“Barney’s ring! I found it. His dog got a hold of the box and decided it was his own toy, so he buried it in the bushes.” Her eyes were bright with victory, her smile locked in place.
“How do you know this?” he asked, suspicion in his voice.
An exaggerated eye roll came as answer. “It’s actually a funny a story. I happened to pet Tonto, Barney’s brown lab, and I saw a vision! I saw Tonto carrying that ring box all around the house before burying it in a place he thought no one would ever found it.” She held the box up and shook it. “Luckily, I did.”
She opened the box and a modest diamond ring glimmered inside. With a promise to return, Arabella ran to the house belonging to Barney and returned the ring. Barney was so relieved he nearly crushed Arabella in a bear hug. She returned to Grayson looking dazed and out of breath. His gut churned like nasty waters. He recognized the feelings in an instant. Guilt. Guilt from looking at this woman and finding her attractive, hell, maybe even a small part of him liked her.
No! Instantly, he killed any notions of liking Arabella in any way not deemed professional.
“We’ll leave now,” he told her and headed back to his SUV. He reached for a cigarette and had one lit before he even thought twice about it. Damn, but she rattled his nerves.
“I just have to grab my pack and I’ll be ready. Where are we going anyway?”
They were at her house when Grayson spun around. “What do you mean ‘where are we going’? You’re the tracker, are you not?” Do not get angry. Stay focused.
“Ah, I see,” she hedged, nibbling on the tip of her fingernail. “I’ll be right back!” She grabbed her bag from the house, said goodbye to her friend, then hopped into his SUV. Her soft, feminine scent filled the cramped space like flowers. Fuck that, Grayson thought, and rolled his window down all the way. The fresh air blew in only stirring her scent around him. It smelled nice, too nice. He lit another damn cigarette. The burning scent of clove tobacco smoke killed the fragrance with finality.
“Where?” he asked again.
Her nose pinched as she waved a hand at the smoke in her face. “See, I think there’s something you don’t understand. Which is no fault of your own,” she rushed to add. “It’s just that…I have to touch an object in order to see a vision. Even then it doesn’t always work right. Sometime it can take days to receive a vision from an object.”
“I don’t have days. Why wasn’t I made aware of this before I shucked millions of dollars to hire you?” He glared at her and for a moment she glared back before softening her expression.
“I don’t know, maybe because yesterday everything was rushed. Besides, around Zeke, everything chaos. Now I believe I can help find the two men you’re looking for, but first I need to touch something that the person you’re looking for touched,” she said.
He thought long and hard. At last, he said, “I don’t have anything of the Donatos.”
Her shoulders sagged. Then her eyes narrowed in thought and she grew quiet for a long minute. “I can try to see a vision from touching almost anything. I can take things over from there, but for now I need you to give me something to touch.”
“Fine.”
CHAPTER 9
When they arrived at a cemetery after more than an ho
ur of driving further away from the city, Ara had to say she was surprised. A cemetery was the last place she’d have expected Grayson to take her.
“What are we doing in a cemetery?” A horrible thought hit her. Was this were his bruid lie in rest? Usually when vampires die their bodies are cremated and the ashes either saved or disbursed.
“We’re not here for the cemetery. We’re here for what’s beneath. Have you ever heard of the Crypts?”
“I can’t say I have.” She followed him over soggy earth as they trekked through the graveyard. It was eerie to be here amongst the dead with only the moonlight illuminating their way.
“It’s where vampires of the aristocracy are cremated. All death ceremonies are performed here, even autopsies.” He led her to a heavy stone door which he opened and closed behind them. Inside was dark and cold. She shivered as chills broke out over her skin. A stairway would take them deep down into the catacombs. Ara had never been in catacombs before. Her mental picture of them was dark and disturbing and mostly like quite wrong.
“Don’t we need light?” she whispered, her voice coming out like a loud hiss in the quiet.
His eyebrows rose. “I forget Weres can’t see as well at night as vampires can.”
Something in the arrogant way he said it made Ara stiffen. “We can when shapeshifted. Maybe even better than a vampire.”
She thought he’d lead her down the stairs but, when he didn’t move after a moment, she looked up at him. Oh shit! He was staring down at her, his eyes a fathomless abyss of emotions. When Grayson Blackmoore looked at you—you noticed. Big time. Grayson was devilishly handsome. And yet, he acted as if he had no clue as to how kissably perfect his mouth was, how he had a strong jaw meant to be touched, or how his strong body made her feminine one swoon. His eyes were trademark Blackmoore—dark as midnight with a ring of gold surrounding it. She could get lost in those eyes.
He jerked as if shaking himself out of stupor. Then he led her deep into the Crypts. It smelled of moss and earth down here. The air became more stagnate the deeper they descended. It became darker too. Unless she wanted to grab onto Grayson’s hand so she didn’t fall down the steps she’d need to do something. In her backpack she kept a flashlight, which she took out and switched on.
“Much better,” she announced as the steps lit up before her. She grew curious about the Crypts and found herself asking, “How do you keep humans from coming down here? That is a human cemetery outside, isn’t it?”
“The human graveyard is merely a hoax for the catacombs that lie beneath,” he said.
At the end of the staircase a large hallway split three ways: straight, left, and right. Ara could hardly keep still she was so excited. A good adventure always got her hyped up. Unable to contain herself, she burst out with, “Which way do we go?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve only been down here twice. Both times was to cremate in the auditorium which is to the left. What we’re looking for is the morgue.”
“I take it you don’t know which direction that is?” she asked gently.
His jaw flexed but he shook his head in denial.
“Hmm…I think I have an idea.” Ara strolled over to the wall made up of layered stone. She placed her open palm to the cold stone and closed her eyes. Some objects she touched would take some coaxing and she might have to touch it several times to get an impression. The stone wall however instantly drew an image to mind. She saw an older vampire with thinning white hair and bagging clothes shuffling right along the corridor. In her mind, she saw him push past a set of white doors that led to the morgue. “This way!”
She took off running, excitement getting the better of her. Grayson cursed then she heard him following close behind. They almost made it look like he was chasing her. Right. As if Grayson would ever chase her for anything—maybe to give her a stern talking to. Was he always so rigid and uptight or had his bruid’s passing pushed him to be this way? How far he’d come from the heavy-accented young man she’d once met on a night long, long ago. The accent was much lighter now and, when she thought on it, only appeared when he seemed to be angry or frustrated.
When she saw the side-by-side white doors, she squealed. “Found it!” Inside, she flipped on the switch at the door and fluorescent lights beamed on.
Grayson came in, his frown a permanent etch on his mouth. “Did you use your ability?”
“Yes.” She waited for him to elaborate but apparently he was finished.
The morgue had white wood cabinetry along the walls holding cotton balls, gauze and other medical supplies. Another door sat at the back of the room. Ara expected any awaiting bodies would be in there since this room looked like the antechamber. Ara opened the door, turned on the light and entered the next room only to freeze. “Oh my god.” Bodies, so many bodies.
Not one or two but twenty metal gurneys waited in the room with corpses on them. Some Were, others vampire, each in a different disarray of death. To keep the smell of death away they’d put powerful menthol air fresheners around the room—it didn’t work. The stench of decay, of rotten flesh and dying innards, permeated the room. There was no getting around it.
Ara sucked in a breath of fresh air from the antechamber then stepped into the morgue. At the end of each bed was a basket with a medical chart. In her mind she knew the old vampire with the white hair was the mortician who oversaw the bodies coming in and out of here. “Which one is Donato?”
Grayson moved to a man whose head had been severed with a sharp blade. Ara winced and was thankful a white sheet covered most of the body—though not the important part—like the severed neck. Of course, what was the point when all the bodies here either had their heart torn from their bodies or their head cut off? Never mind, she realized. A vampire at the end of the line was burnt to a crisp. The poor vamp must have either been set of fire or caught in the sunlight.
“This is him,” Grayson said. “The one who started it all.”
Ara looked at Grayson in shock, surprised he’d share anything so personal with her. “How so?”
His lips pursed like he might not speak, but then he told her, surprising her even more. “I had an assignment to protect a known man. Domico came with some of his friends and managed to kill my client. I failed my duty to protect my client and in doing so, Domico killed him. I retaliated.”
“So that’s how Domico got here.” And it also made sense now why his bruid ended up murdered. The Donato name was as famous as the Blackmoore name amongst the supernatural community. Vincent Donato ran his business with a firm hand. Men of power were a terrifying thing.
“What are you waiting for?” Grayson asked. He gave her a hard look.
“Okay, I’ll do it. Sheesh, give me a second. I’m trying to work up to this one. I’ve never had to touch a dead body before. It’s a little unnerving, that’s all.” The thought of touching this murderer made her sick to her stomach, but she knew what she had to do.
She touched his hand, palm to palm. His hand was cold in hers and stiff, fingers unbending from rigor mortis. Closing her eyes, she let out a deep breath and waited. It was hard to describe to people about her ability. When she touched objects or people and concentrated then sometimes she could see visions she was searching for. Usually she was touching a dog and searching for jewelry much like earlier. Other times, like when she was searching for a specific person, she’d focus her thoughts on an image of the person she was looking for. Images would strike her, like flashes of pictures moving quickly, and it was always a location. Today it’d been the bush. She’d pet old Tonto’s head and saw a flash of the bush—then it became a matter of finding that specific bush. Naturally the task grew much more difficult when it involved people. She may receive a vision of a building—but then she’d have to find that building and that was the hard part. Because she couldn’t possibly know every place around the city.
Then it came, but not in a vivid, quick image like she was used to. This time it was different. The image showed a crowded
room filled with people mulling around. The murky tones hid the bright color of life. Was this what it was like to see a vision from a dead corpse? She frowned but clutched tighter to the dead hand. Usually the images were bright but quick. This murky image, like she was watching a movie through a muddy lenses, lasted for several long seconds allowing her time to study it. She heard the dinging of a tune—it reminded her of a slot machine.
I’m in a casino!
She saw Weres, vampires, and humans, though far fewer humans. Come on, she needed something more than this. Focusing even harder, she squeezed the stiff, clammy hand in her own. The image moved, like a video camera surging forward through the muddy crowd. The image flashed left like a person looking. Am I actually seeing what Domico saw? A balcony up above with one-sided glass, probably a security or VIP room. Then the image looked right and she saw it.
“I’ve got it!” she said, jerking herself out of the vision. Only, she sucked in a sharp breath. Grayson was standing directly in front of her, far too close, his intense gaze watching her.
“Are you well?” His voice had gone deeper, the accent grown heavier. He sounded very much like an older version of the boy she’d first met.
“Y-yes,” she said, suddenly more nervous than a willing virgin on prom night. “Why?”
He stroked her hair back behind her ear in a move so intimate she blushed; however, he didn’t seem to notice. Or care. Suddenly, his hand dropped leaving her bereft. “You’re quite alarming when you do that…thing you do. I can feel the energy shift around you like a vortex.”
