“Agent O’Shea? Oh my god, we’d heard that …” her words stumbled to a stop and her face flushed a bright red.
“That I’m not human anymore?” He arched an eyebrow at her.
Diana nodded. “Obviously, that isn’t true if you are here. Are you bringing in new … recruits?” Her eyes slid from Milly, obviously pregnant, to Pamela far too young for any sort of recruiting.
“Not exactly. I need to speak with Agent Valley. Is he in?”
Diana shook her head. “No, I’m sorry, he’s not. He’s on medical leave. You can speak with Agent Ingers; she’s taking over things while Agent Valley is out of commission.”
Liam’s mind raced. Agent Valley had been fine just a few days ago, so what could have happened so quickly that he was now on medical leave?
“Agent Ingers would be fine.”
Diana pointed to the waiting room chairs, which he chose to ignore. An itch started between his shoulder blades and his wolf was suddenly on high alert.
He’d never heard of an Agent Ingers, which meant she’d been brought in from somewhere else. That might not work in their favor at all, depending on her views of the supernatural. Though if Valley had approved the new supervisor, she was likely going to be someone they could work with.
They waited for almost half an hour before Agent Ingers strolled into the room. She was a stunning woman, as tall as he was but far slimmer, her body fit and toned. Mocha-colored skin, blue black hair and dark brown eyes that would give Milly’s a run for their money when it came to drawing men. She took him in with a single, cool glance that seemed to skip over him, dismissing him.
She smiled at them and held out a hand that was perfectly manicured, her skin soft and without any callouses. She smelled of sweat and gun oil, with a hint of witchcraft hovering around her. Almost like she had tried to scrub the scent off her. Shit.
“So, you are the infamous Agent O’Shea.”
He didn’t bother to correct that he was no longer an agent; every part of him ready to walk away from this.
“Yes. These are my friends.” He didn’t name the two girls and when Pamela opened her mouth to introduce herself he shook his head ever so slightly. The same smell of rot that had hovered on Valley lingered here too, stronger with Ingers’s entrance. He didn’t know the woman well enough to trust her yet—even if she was with his old FBI team—with Pamela’s name, or even Milly’s. He took another deep breath, his nose crinkling with the sour scent. Maybe a sickness was running through the department, maybe that was what he picked up on.
“If your ‘friends’ don’t mind waiting here, we can speak in my office.” Agent Ingers gestured to the back of the department. As they walked through the nearly empty building, it hit him what was off. When he’d worked here, they’d had twenty-five agents. In the short walk, he’d seen two: Ingers and Diana.
“Has the department been downsizing?”
“A flu has run rampant through the department.” She shook her head. “It has not left us with much staff.”
The itch between his shoulders intensified. She was lying; he smelled it on her, a sour bite in his nose that competed with the growing scent of witchcraft.
“Really? I haven’t heard anything of the sort going through the city.” He let her get further ahead of him, wanting space between them. Now it was more of a “how much information could he get and still get them all out” situation. Thin ice, this woman was thin ice in a heat wave.
“Well, you haven’t been around much, have you?” The words were spoken with a soft intensity he really didn’t like. Ingers didn’t like him, and he was betting it had nothing to do with him leaving the department, and a hell of a lot to do with not being human.
They were in her office, but he didn’t shut the door. She sat at her desk and leaned back, her hands hidden from him. He heard the nearly silent click of her releasing the safety on a gun.
“If you’re going to shoot me, you better fucking well make it count.”
Her mouth dropped open and he lunged forward, tackling her to the ground. The gun went off with a pop, and the bullet ripped through his guts, the wound healing as fast as it opened. She opened her mouth to scream and he slammed his hand over it. Her teeth started to close over the flesh of his palm.
“I wouldn’t bite, or you might end up needing to shave a hell of a lot more.” He grinned down at her. Yes, Rylee’s bad behavior was definitely rubbing off on him.
From the front of the department a scream erupted at the same time a shot rang out. He dragged Ingers up with him, and took the gun from her with ease. He tucked it into the waistband of his jeans then spun her around, cranking her arms behind her back hard and fast, feeling her wrists creak under his fingers. She gasped—whether with the speed of his actions or the pain, he didn’t know or care.
“You better hope my friends are okay, Ingers.” Pushing her ahead of him, he worked his way through the department until they were at the front desk. Diana was strung upside down by her heels and Pamela clutched her own arm, Milly holding Pamela tight against her chest.
“What happened?” He barked, twisting Ingers’s arms a fraction more, just because she had shot him.
Milly pointed at Diana, but kept one arm around Pamela. “She shot Pamela, for no reason; we were just sitting here.”
Diana screamed again and from deeper in the office he heard the start of running feet. Shit.
“Stick her to the wall, Pam.”
“Gladly.” She flicked her hand on her uninjured arm and Diana slammed against the far wall, upside and squawking. “You want that one stuck too?”
He nodded and she took Ingers off his hands, tossing her against the wall.
Ingers glared at him, but she didn’t panic. Her eyes glittered with a hate he’d rarely seen, not even on Berget, which was saying something. “O’Shea, you are going to die. You and all your fucking freak friends. You have no idea who you are dealing with.”
Milly and Pamela stepped out the door, but he paused on the threshold, the truth burning though him like a hot branding iron.
“I know exactly who I’m dealing with.” He stared hard at her. “And for the record, we all die, Ingers. It’s just a matter of where and when.”
Chapter 8
Doran’s home was the same as always, hidden behind a fold in the veil, his fountain spewed water that steamed the surface of the catch pond below. I couldn’t resist letting my fingers trace the surface of the water as I walked by. Bathtub warm, the water housed fancy Koi that swam lazily around the circular pond, one even coming up to nibble at my fingers.
“Don’t tease my fish, Rylee,” Doran said without looking back at me. He pushed our prisoner ahead of him, controlling her with ease.
“You teased my Harpy. I think I can play with your fish if I want to.”
He grunted but said nothing more. I tapped the top of the water for good measure and watched as all the fish raced to the surface for food. Alex, watching me carefully, stuck both paws into the water, pinioning a fish between his paws.
With a strangled squawk, I smacked his paws. “Let it go.” It was one thing to tease the fish, another to kill them.
Alex stuck out his bottom lip and let go with an exaggerated flip of his feet. “Fine.”
Damn, he’d picked up the sullen teenager act from Pamela.
“Don’t touch anything, got it?”
He rolled his eyes before answering. “Fiiiiiiiiiiine.”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or smack him. I went with neither, snapping my fingers to the side of my leg. That, at least, he listened to. We followed Doran inside.
Doran took us into his house, to be clear, into a room I’d never been in. The kitchen’s thick adobe walls held the heat from an open fireplace snugged into the far wall. Knives hung from a rack above a monstrous butcher’s block that was big enough for Liam to lay on with room to spare.
I pointed at the well-used block. “Carving up bison sides?”
“Nah, ju
st prisoners.” He gave me a wink, but Berget’s servant stiffened and a low moan slipped out of her. If she was that easily scared, this was going to be as simple as—
She lashed out with her foot, catching Doran in the shin, knocking him off balance long enough to get out of his hands. She grabbed one of the hanging knives and bolted out of the room while he hopped and cursed in what sounded like Russian.
“Damn it, Doran!” I ran after her deeper into the house.
A part of me wondered how Doran could let her get away; the other part wondered if he’d done it on purpose, if he was somehow still working for Berget. I slid around a corner and pure instinct saved me from losing my head. A flash of metal and I dropped to my knees as a cleaver buried itself into the wall where my neck had been.
“Sneaky bitch,” I snarled, pulling my sword free and driving it upwards, catching her in the hip. The tip of the blade drove between the ball and socket, the feel of it in my hands telling me exactly the damage I was doing. A scream erupted out of her mouth as she jerked away from me, fighting for every step she took. I had to give her credit, she was a tough one.
That didn’t mean I wouldn’t take her head.
She ended up backing into a bedroom that had no exit, no windows. A dead end.
“Well, you about done with the fucking theatrics?” I leaned on my sword as she hobbled around the room, feeling for a way out. “Listen, I know a coffin when I see one.” Hell, I’d been in one similar enough to this recently; I knew what I was talking about.
A sob hitched in her throat and she put one hand to her mouth, the other clinging to the bloodstain on her hip. “You have no idea what you’re about, what’s happening. You aren’t vampires, you don’t have any right to interfere.” She took a deep, gulping breath. “The Empress will kill you for this.”
I didn’t try to suppress the laugh that rippled out of me. Alex crept up to my side and mimicked me, laughing with his head thrown back. “Ah, no. You see, the Empress, as you call her, is a callous bitch with no love for anyone or anything except her own power. Your death will mean nothing to her. You aren’t even a vampire, you dumb fuck.”
Not nice, not nice at all. But I spoke the truth and the woman stood, her lip trembling, her eyes hard with a hatred I wasn’t sure was entirely directed at me.
“I don’t want to die.”
I shrugged. “Who does?”
Doran limped up to my left side, a glower on his face. “And you haven’t killed her yet, why?”
“Oh, we’re just having a girl chat. By the way, hate the bedroom. You need at least one window. The whole vibe is off for you, Daywalker.” I glanced at him with a single arched eyebrow.
“Really? I was going for mysterious and sexy.” He faced me, and suddenly the game was on.
“Shit no. Creepy and gloomy is what this is.” I waved my sword in a circle in front of us, keeping an eye on our hostage without staring at her.
Doran frowned. “Damn. That designer cost me a gods-be-damned fortune, too. I have to see if I can get my—”
“Excuse me, are you going to let me go now?” The confusion on her face was exactly what I’d been hoping for. Not a technique I often used. Hell, I knew I was quick to kill. But this one time, maybe a little technique was the better part of valor.
“Only if you answer our questions. Answer them all, and Doran here can wipe your mind of all your memories and you’ll be free to go.” Slumped onto the edge of the bed, she bowed her head. Doran blinked several times and from the corner of his mouth whispered, “That’s demon magic.”
“Fake it,” I whispered back.
She didn’t notice our exchange as she stared at her lap. “Berget is hunting for the same thing Faris is. I don’t know what it is—”
“Old news. Move along,” I said.
She lifted her head and licked her lips several times. “There are rumors the madness is getting worse. That if she can’t find this thing they are looking for, she will lose what is left of her sanity and kill anything, and everything around her.”
Chills swept through me and I felt, more than saw, Doran shiver beside me. Bad news when the shaman gets the willies.
I leaned forward. “Anything else?”
“The other vampires have stepped back. They will not side with either of the two contestants for the throne until one of them has been declared properly.” She shook her head. “I don’t know anything else.”
“Doran, you hungry?” Faris had shown me memories when he’d taken my blood, I was hoping …
“Excellent idea, Tracker.” He grinned at me and strode to her, grabbing a hunk of her hair and bending her head to one side at an extreme angle. Gentle is definitely not the word I’d use.
A single strike and his teeth buried into her neck, but he lifted his eyes to mine, a grin sparkling there. The woman let out a moan, this one not of pain. Her hand drifted upwards to cup his crotch and I turned my back. “Alex, let’s get you something to eat.”
I wasn’t worried about Doran and the woman; he would either drain her until she was dead or drain her to the point of unconsciousness. Either way was fine by me.
You can be a cold bitch, you know that, right?
Yup, I did, and I knew it to the core of me. At times, there was no other choice but to be that hardass bitch in order to survive. I was used to it.
Alex galloped ahead of me repeating over and over, “yummy in my tummy.”
The kitchen was well stocked and Alex wanted pasta. Though I’d been on my own for years, cooking was not what I’d call my forte. Spaghetti noodles with a can of sauce poured over it was the best I could do for him. He didn’t care.
As Alex dug into his oversized mixing bowl of noodles, slurping them into his mouth, Doran swayed into the room.
“Drunk?” I leaned a hip against the butcher’s block.
Doran held his finger and thumb an inch apart, paused and then held his hands two feet apart. “Maybe just a little.”
I went with the obvious. “Coffee help?”
“Nope. Just give me a few minutes, the buzz won’t last long—unlike with you, where I had a hard-on three days later.” His grin was unrepentant and I ignored him. That was Doran. Serious and full of wisdom in one breath, a raging horny man in the next.
Alex slurped up the last of his noodles and red sauce and pushed the bowl away. “Goody good.” He lay flat out on the floor, front and back legs pointing in the four directions, a long low sigh slipping out of him.
Doran cleared his throat and took a step, then another. His green eyes were clear, and while he shook his head once, there was no sign of the drunken Daywalker he’d been moments before.
“Better?”
“Much. And, may I say, that was an excellent idea. Though there wasn’t much information she had, there were things she’s seen that we can use.”
Damn, I’d been hoping as much, but wasn’t sure it would pan out. “Like what?”
He smiled and gave me a wink. “All in due time.”
I slapped my hand on the butcher’s block, the sting of my flesh only sending my anger further into orbit. With difficulty, I managed to keep my voice level. “No fucking games, Doran. Not today. You are either on my side or you aren’t. Too many people have died already to play this shit. And I am running out of time.”
A flare sparked in his eyes, defiance pure and simple. “And if I refuse to play by your rules, Tracker? What then? Are you going to take my head?”
There were days I felt much older than my twenty-six and a half years. This was one of them. I tried another route. “Doran, I can’t make you help me, but you said you would. I broke the bond between you and Berget; I freed your ass from her. But if you play these games now, we are done. No more friendship, nothing. I can’t afford to guess anymore.”
He closed his eyes and stepped closer to me, close enough that he was well within my guard. Everything in me told me to back up, to put space between us.
“Rylee,” he breathed my name a
nd my pulse hammered in my throat. Doran had become a friend. I didn’t want to kill him.
“Doran, are you my friend, or are you my enemy?”
His eyes snapped open. “You would call me friend?”
I frowned. “What the fuck do you think, that I let just any Daywalker get this close to me?”
He let out a laugh and wiped his face with his hand. “No, I suppose not. She saw fear in Berget, though she didn’t know it was fear. I did. Berget is afraid of you, and like the humans, what she fears she wants to kill, even though she needs you. A very human trait, which is surprising. From what I could see, Berget is going after Jack again, but she seems to have some means of hiding him from you.”
I swallowed hard, forcing the words “we’ll save him” to the bottom of my gut where they belonged. “Jack is on his own. He’s made that clear.”
Doran’s eyebrows shot up and he took a step back. “Well, then this last bit should be of utmost importance.” He took a breath, started to speak and then stopped. “Shit, Berget plans to bespell Jack, possibly even make him a vampire. He would be an immortal Tracker then. That is, if she hasn’t done it already.”
Holy mother of the gods. I sagged against the edge of the butcher’s block, my legs suddenly weak. Jack had been terrified of dying, of dying alone. But that didn’t mean he’d buckle, did it? Fuck, was that why Berget had taken him the first time, not to use him against me, but to use him for herself? “I thought you said the process was long and tedious?”
He nodded. “It is. Which makes me wonder if it had already been under way when you met Jack. If his miraculous recovery was because he was already taking … the steps to become a vampire. He said it himself, he doesn’t want to die.”
“Who the hell does?” I muttered.
Doran lifted his hands, palms facing me. “Here is what I am wondering, that I couldn’t divulge from the woman’s mind. If Berget has Jack, why is she continuing to pursue you?”
That, I was pretty sure I knew the answer to, but to be sure … “How much stock do vampires put in prophecy?”
Tracker: A Rylee Adamson Novel (Book 6) Page 7
