Deathtrap

by Dannika Dark

  I arched an eyebrow. “And your blood won’t?” I began to unbutton my shirt with my left hand. “Why don’t you go check on Shepherd?”

  “Exactly what happened tonight to get him so langered?”

  “I don’t know, but maybe he’ll talk to you since you’re drinking buddies.”

  Christian folded his arms and sighed. “Do you think men sit around and share their innermost secrets over a glass of ale?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “We talk about which nipples are the most beautiful and which knives are the most effective when severing a head.”

  “So which are best?”

  He circled his fingers around his chest. “I’m partial to the larger ones that aren’t too dark or too pink. It depends on the size of the breast. If they’re too small, a large nipple will only—”

  “I meant the knives.”

  Christian stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I can’t seem to recall beheadings in your file.”

  “I’m just curious. Maybe someday I’ll get over that squeamishness.”

  He leaned forward on one foot and gave me a pointed stare. “No one gets over the squeamishness. It’s the best way to kill an immortal, to be sure, but it’s a brutal act that requires a man to reach deep down inside himself and shut off his emotions. Leave the dirty work to the men.”

  “Maybe you need my help since there seems to be an abundance of male criminals to behead.”

  “What are you saying? That women are incapable of evil? Take my word when I tell you there are women out there who are as cold and heartless as a serial killer, with just an empty chamber of darkness for a soul. And rest assured that there is nothing more dangerous than a woman who’s lost touch with her emotions.”

  “Is that going to be us in a thousand years?”

  I stripped away my shirt and winced, several bruises showing up on my ribs and upper arm. I was lean but had a toned body. I glanced down at my bra and smiled, wondering what Christian would think of my nipples. Too big? Too small?

  Christian dodged the opportunity to gape at me and turned on his heel to face the armoire.

  “It’s too late to be gallant,” I said. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

  “Maybe I don’t like reruns.”

  I sat on the edge of the bed and unzipped my pants. “We were so close tonight. We almost had him.”

  “And then what? He confesses all his crimes?”

  “No, but you could have charmed information out of him.”

  “Along with a few teeth,” he ground out. Christian peered over his shoulder and closed the distance between us. “Let me do that.” He gripped the waistband of my jeans and winked at me. “I’m quite talented at removing women’s clothing.”

  I leaned on my good arm and lifted my hips as he pulled my jeans down, revealing my black panties and the Keystone tattoo on the right side, below my navel.

  When I caught his eyes lingering on the tattoo, I sat up. “That’s enough. I can do the rest.”

  He stepped back a few paces. “Switch lost out on his chance. He’s probably an old fat bastard by now.”

  I kicked off my pants. “Not that old. Just in his thirties.”

  “Potbelly, seven kids, a part-time job at the gas station, probably a criminal record. I bet when he buys his carton of smokes and drives home in his El Camino, he thinks back with regret and wonders why he didn’t flatten you in the back of his Chevy.”

  “Ford, actually. And that’s the takeaway you got from my story? Nothing about loyalty or teaching a woman to conquer her fears?”

  He shrugged and strode toward the door. “Just an observation. Poor Switch. I’ll be sure to remember him in my prayers tonight.”

  I fell back on the bed and laughed. “If you ever put your hands together to pray, you’ll probably turn into a pile of ash.”

  He opened the door. “Be sure to sweep up my remains. You know how I hate littering.”

  “I’ll collect your ashes and sprinkle them around your favorite bar,” I quipped.

  “Maybe you should sprinkle them in your favorite bottle of wine. Then you can enjoy tasting me for the next century. Sleep well, Precious.”

  Chapter 11

  “Anyone want seconds?” I asked, eyeing a bowl of spaghetti.

  A few people gave me quiet glares except for Christian, whose plate was empty as usual.

  Maybe spaghetti for breakfast wasn’t the greatest idea, but it was the easiest thing to make. I was still sore from Niko’s training session where he had me balance on one leg while he tried to tip me over. Besides, inappropriate meals were part of my master plan to botch up my cooking week so badly that they’d never want me to do my rotation again.

  Viktor shoved his plate away. “Do they not teach young girls domestic skills?”

  I gulped down my water. “Sorry, Viktor. They just teach us how to be doctors, lawyers, and politicians.”

  Gem pulled both feet up on her chair and stared at the floral print on her leggings. “Shepherd’s been reclusive this morning. I thought it was a hangover, but when I passed him in the hall earlier, he barely acknowledged me.”

  Blue rested her chin in her palm. “Should we take him some food?”

  Christian’s lips twitched. “Nothing goes with a hangover like noodles.”

  Viktor stroked his beard and gave me a critical look. “Are you sure there’s nothing else you want to tell me about last night?”

  “I told you everything that happened. Maybe the turtle didn’t sit well with him. They talked while I chased the kid around. I’m not keeping anything from you. If I was going to keep secrets, I would have left out the part where I climbed onto a Mage’s car and rode down the freeway.”

  Gem gave an elfin smile. “I would have loved to have seen that. Raven flying like a bird.”

  “We should have stayed behind,” Claude growled, tossing his fork down. “Then I would have been the one to give chase, not Raven. She could have been killed.”

  “It doesn’t matter if it was you or me who jumped on that car,” I pointed out. “Gender has nothing to do with—”

  “Bravado?” he finished.

  “I was going to say aptitude. I didn’t chase after him because there wasn’t a man there who couldn’t or wouldn’t. I did it because it’s my job.”

  He pressed his finger against the table. “You could have been hurt.”

  Christian pushed away his empty plate. “You should quit while you’re ahead.”

  “I wouldn’t say he’s ahead,” Blue added, a smile hovering on her lips. “Seems like Raven is leading by a point.”

  “It’s too bad the license plate didn’t link to a name,” Gem said absently, putting a stop to the playful banter.

  She was right. That guy probably wasn’t going back to Club Nine anytime soon, and he was our only lead.

  Viktor steepled his fingers. “Shepherd is in no condition to leave the house. Someone must go back to the club and look for his keys. I have much work to do. Any volunteers?”

  “I’ll go,” I said, raising a finger. “Maybe one of the waitresses on the morning shift will know something about that guy.”

  Gem snapped her fingers and put her feet on the ground. “Smart thinking. I’ll go with you since I had luck with getting information from one of them.”

  “Nyet. You have a paper to translate for me. I need it by noon for my contact.”

  Her shoulders sagged. “Not even for a few hours? I promise I’ll—”

  Niko launched to his feet and knocked his chair over. “Something’s wrong.”

  Christian slowly rose. “It’s Shepherd.”

  Viktor sat back. “What’s going on?”

  We looked up at Christian, whose brow furrowed as he cocked his head to the side. “I can’t make out anything intelligible.”

  Gem swept her hands down her arms, and that was when I felt it. Energy prickled against my skin like tiny rivulets of static. That was something we’d normally feel
with another Mage, but sometimes rage could produce a similar effect. It was faint, but Shepherd’s room was also on the other side of the mansion.

  Claude’s nostrils flared, and he rose to his feet, shoulders squared. Everyone immediately bolted out the door. Shepherd’s room was on the first level, past the stairs and down the main hall that ran along the right side of the mansion. Just before reaching the back, we turned left down a hall that had rooms on either side. Claude was in the lead with Christian bringing up the rear. Wyatt was already standing there with his hands on his hips.

  “What’s going on?” Claude boomed.

  Wyatt backed up a few steps, hands in the air. “I didn’t do anything. He locked the door.”

  Claude tested the knob, but it didn’t open.

  Blue stood next to him and knocked loudly. “Shepherd, open the door.”

  “He’s quieted down,” Wyatt said, stating the obvious.

  Claude pinched his nose as if something was burning it.

  Niko weaved past me and stopped short of the door. “Someone needs to get in there and find out what has him so distraught,” he whispered. “His energy is leaking through the walls, and it’s foul.”

  Everyone turned to Christian.

  He shook his head. “Only if the repairs come out of your pocket, not mine.”

  “Do not break my doors,” Viktor said calmly. “Wyatt, what did you say to him?”

  Wyatt wiped a hand across his mouth. “I just came down to show him the good news.” He caught Gem glaring at the metal whistle hanging around his neck. “Okay, maybe I also wanted to see if he still had a hangover. I checked to see if there were any street cameras in the area since the guy we were chasing was on foot after the wreck. There’s one set up on the freeway heading eastbound, but it was too grainy and only showed him waving down the snack truck. He blasted the driver with a shot of energy and hijacked the vehicle. The camera caught him flashing back after the accident, but it’s just a blur on film.”

  “This is news?” Viktor asked.

  Wyatt flipped up the ends of his beanie. “City cameras I can hack into; the private ones are another story. I didn’t think he’d run all the way home in this weather, so I figured he might have gone into one of the gas stations. A buddy of mine did me a favor and checked all his sources. He located footage right around that time, and it’s a match.”

  “How do you know it was him?” I asked.

  “This guy walked in without a car, talked on the phone without buying anything, and waited for someone to pick him up. He wasn’t wearing a coat and had a tattoo on the back of his neck. I’m pretty sure it’s him unless we have doppelgängers around the city. Anyhow, I just got the footage and printed out a close-up shot. At least we have a face to work with.”

  “Where is it?” I asked.

  He pressed his finger against Shepherd’s door. “When I showed it to him, he lost his shit.”

  I jiggled the locked doorknob. “Why didn’t you question him?”

  He snorted. “You’ve obviously never seen his armoire.”

  Viktor waved his hand. “Come, everyone. Let us leave Shepherd to calm down. If he needs to be alone, we should respect that. I’ll speak to him when he’s ready to come out. Perhaps next time you should monitor how much he drinks.”

  Claude turned on his heel. “I’m not his mother. If a man wants to nurse the bottle, that’s his prerogative.”

  I stared at the door, riddled with guilt. Maybe I shouldn’t have sat down and let Shepherd get tanked before trying to sober him up. Some people are angry drunks, some introspective, and others happy. I’d seen Shepherd with a few drinks in him, but this time I feared he might be a danger to others if we didn’t ride it out. What if he was in the middle of a psychotic break?

  I jumped when Viktor put his arm around my shoulder, coaxing me away.

  “Come, Raven. There is nothing you can do for a man when his door is closed.”

  Shepherd sat on the floor, his knees drawn up and arms draped over them. The photograph on the floor taunted him.

  Those eyes.

  Wyatt handing him that photo had reawakened raw, visceral pain. Shepherd then lashed out, smashing a wooden chair against a wall. Uncertain where that anger might direct itself, he’d thrown Wyatt out of the room and locked the door. After the storm passed, Shepherd slumped down on the floor across from his bed and surveyed the damage.

  There wasn’t much to destroy. He’d flipped the mattress onto the floor but had the good sense not to destroy the frame. His clothes were scattered from where he normally folded them on a bench by his bed, but that was all the damage he could do without breaking apart the only two things he loved: his weapons and his desk. He leaned his right shoulder against the armoire and stared at his desk by the door. By candlelight, he would quietly sit there and clean his weapons or review case files. His centrally located room didn’t have a fireplace. Didn’t need one. Stone surrounded him from all angles, and he preferred that type of environment. The bathroom entryway was across from the door. In front of it, a large green-and-gold carpet where he did his meditation and calisthenics when he wasn’t down in the gym.

  Keeping his body in shape was a religion. That was how he’d begun to rebuild his life again, one push-up at a time. It kept him focused. Maybe he couldn’t control all the bullshit around him, but he could manipulate the strength of his body, the tone of his muscles, the definition of his abs, and the deadliness of his weapons.

  Shepherd continued staring at the photo on the floor between his legs. The Mage had cut his hair and changed his beard to a goatee, but it was the same guy. Those electric-green eyes had haunted him for years, and he wasn’t even the man who’d almost stabbed Shepherd to death in a savage attack. That Mage had already met his maker when Shepherd spotted him a couple of years ago outside a hotel. He’d followed the man into a dark parking lot and tried to get information on the other Mage, but the man refused to talk. Enraged, Shepherd unleashed hell, shoving a stunner into his back and stabbing him repeatedly before severing his head.

  It wasn’t until Shepherd had hit rock bottom that Viktor had approached him with an offer to join Keystone. It was a chance for a fresh start, but the agreement required him to walk away from his past. Shepherd left behind everything. His clothes, his memories—even his name.

  The walls around him evaporated as he slipped back to a time when he used to go by the name Samuel. He looked like a Samuel. Soft in the belly, clean-shaven… even had a charismatic smile that made all the women giddy. He used to work a desk job for the Sensor Council, lifting emotional imprints off weapons collected from crime scenes. That was how he’d become familiar with weapons; he handled them on a daily basis. One day the Council reassigned him to work as a security guard at the local hospital. It was a lateral move with no pay increase, but one of their insiders had quit, and they needed an immediate replacement. Time diluted emotional imprints, which was why analyzing weapons had never bothered him. But in a human hospital, the emotions were fresh and saturated everything. He was careful not to inadvertently touch anything a patient or grieving family member might have come into contact with, but accidents happened.

  All the time.

  If anything, working around humans had taught him how to separate himself from emotions.

  Shepherd’s job was to pose as a security guard and monitor everyone admitted, including and especially morgue duty. It wasn’t uncommon for Breed to wind up in a hospital with injuries so severe that they were either unconscious or paralyzed by a weapon. Shepherd kept an eye out for nonhumans and reported any persons—living or dead—to his contact. They sent in Regulators to collect and move the patient before doctors or pathologists got their hands on them. A Vampire usually accompanied them to erase memories, records, and video.

  It was in the hospital cafeteria that Shepherd met with destiny. Maggie was the most stunningly awkward woman he’d ever encountered. She wore large, square glasses with black frames, but it was her wavy
blond hair that he noticed first. She had it pulled up in a messy knot, and there was a pencil dangling from the back as if she’d forgotten about it hours ago. He stood behind her at the register, and when the pencil slipped out and dropped to the floor, he picked it up and felt her emotional imprint on his fingertips. That was how he discovered she was Breed, like him.

  Shepherd rubbed his face and wondered if the fates were punishing him for striking a deal with Patrick. He had two choices. He could hand over the photograph to Patrick and let him honor his end of the deal, or he could take matters into his own hands and risk losing his position with Keystone.

  Either way, that green-eyed Mage was going in the ground. It wouldn’t bring back Maggie, but maybe her soul would rest in peace. As Shepherd stared at the candle across the room, his thoughts drifted back to that fateful night, and his stone-cold heart ached for the first time in years. If someone had pushed him into the ocean, he would have sunk to the bottom from the weight of his sorrow.

  The doorknob jiggled, snapping him out of his thoughts. The hinges creaked, and a slim figure tiptoed in, a sheer duster floating behind her. The candle on the desk illuminated Gem’s small frame, and his eyes drifted down to her floral leggings that she sometimes wore with her crazy-ass sneakers.

  Gem approached him as she might a wild animal. Without a word, she squatted in front of him, her knees against her chest.

  She held up the photograph to catch the light from the desk behind her. “You know him, don’t you?”

  He gestured toward the door. “I should have never taught you to do that.”

  She tucked the bobby pin back into her hair, and a long stretch of silence elapsed before she finally spoke. “Keystone wouldn’t be the same without you. We need you. Viktor needs you. I know you don’t take me seriously half the time, but I’m a good listener. Niko’s the one with all the good advice, but if you ever want to bend my ear, I’m always around the corner. Viktor probably knows more about you than I do, but nobody wants to dump their feelings onto their boss’s lap.” She set the picture back on the floor. “If you know this guy’s name or how to find him, I can help come up with a plan so they won’t know where we got the information, and you won’t have to deal with questions.”