Defending Kyra

by Susan Hayes

  He left the club and stepped into the first shadowed corner he could find, making the transformation quickly, for once not enjoying the sensations that swept over him during the impossible alterations to his body. Vlad’s mind was already focused on the fact that somewhere nearby was a young man who had laid his hands on Kyra. There was a price to be paid for that act.

  Later, he touched Kyra’s dreams, filling them with dark images and nightmare flashes that he knew would not be easily forgotten when she woke. He lingered in the back of her mind, savoring the fear and restless terror his presence brought, her darkest secrets unfolding in a tantalizing peep show as he slowly shared with her the fruits of his night’s labors.

  He stayed linked to her until the dawn came, riding with her in a cycle of nightmarish screams and the taste of copper that led to rough, raw awakenings, then back into the tumult of sleep. As the sun rose, he felt her wake yet again with the screams of a dead man ringing through her skull, and he whispered a promise to her waking mind. “That one will not touch you again.”

  3

  By the time Gareth’s plane landed, the latest killing was front-page news, with news anchors serving up grisly tidbits alongside the weather. He turned on his cell phone to check for messages and read an e-mail directing him to his hotel. “Nice.” He whistled as he noted the address. Downtown Vancouver, near the waterfront, was a big step up from his last assignment. He ran a hand over his jaw and winced inwardly as his hand hit stubble. He was going to need to clean himself up if he didn’t want to draw attention to himself. He typed in a quick response and sent it.

  * * *

  Arrived. Address received, request a wardrobe upgrade delivered ASAP.

  G.

  * * *

  He read everything he could find on the two murders during the cab ride from the airport, amazed that his target had struck twice in as many nights. There was no doubt in his mind they had been done by the same creature, though for very different reasons. He scanned the preliminary details of the second murder again. The second body had been dismembered, shredded so badly that identification could have been difficult, if not impossible. Would have been, save for the disturbing fact that the victim’s driver’s license was carefully placed next to the remains, resting on a pristine patch of ground surrounded by what must have resembled a slaughterhouse floor. The first death could have been carelessness, a feeding gone wrong. The second death though, that was a message. Gareth ran a hand through his close-cropped curls as he stared out the window. Now he just had to figure out what the message was, and who it was meant for.

  The clerk at the front desk raised a dubious brow as he signed the register and took possession of the keys to one of the hotel’s finest rooms, clearly judging him unfit to breathe the rarified air of the lobby, never mind sully the sheets of one of their beds. Gareth just shrugged in response to the clerk’s unspoken judgment. “Three flight delays and they lost my luggage,” he explained, the lie coming to him as naturally as breathing.

  He’d been telling the lies so long he had trouble remembering which parts of his life were fact and which were convenient fictions. It was something that sometimes left him questioning the life he led, at least in the small hours of the morning when sleep wouldn’t come and he had nothing but time to kill.

  It was easier when he was hunting. Staying still made him restless, gave him too much time to think. It was why he stayed away from the safe houses and rarely came home. For the others, they were a place of peace where they could rebuild and refresh themselves. Gareth preferred to keep moving, to stay away from the ones who only reminded him that he was different. It was the price he paid for his powers.

  The elevator was empty save for him, and he he caught sight of his image in the mirrored walls. Now he could see why the clerk had looked at him like something stuck to the heel of her shoe. His clothes were all dark and well worn, from his Frye boots to the heavy winter jacket left over from his stay in a city far colder than this one. He hadn’t shaved in long enough that what he’d thought was stubble was nearer to a true beard, and the eyes that stared back at him from the mirror were tired and distant. The only part of him that looked tidy was his hair, and that was only because he kept it too short for it to look any other way.

  The elevator door chimed as it reached his floor, and he turned away from the mirror and his self-assessment. With any luck, his wardrobe update would arrive soon and he’d be able to blend in better.

  He entered the room with caution, his senses were on high alert as he checked over every inch of space, ensuring it was all secure. The wards and talismans were discreetly incorporated into the décor, all of them intact and functioning. He was as protected as he could be in a public space.

  He shrugged out of his jacket, letting himself relax for the first time since his plane touched down. He tossed the heavy winter coat onto the spare bed and went to the closet, reaching to the back to press his hand against the far wall. “Somewhere, right about….gotcha.” His fingers found the slight indent, and the panel slid away, revealing the suitcase that had been left for him, or any other hunter who was sent here.

  He tossed it onto the nearest bed and popped it open to do a quick inventory, pleased to see everything was in place. Lock picks, local currency, a first-aid kit and a myriad of weapons, from silver blades to wooden stakes, all ready for use. He snapped the lid shut again and set the case by the bed. Now he was ready.

  “Well, almost ready,” he muttered, feeling the drag of the long flight across several time zones. Dropping to the floor between the beds, he drove himself through a quick routine of push-ups and crunches, driving the fatigue out of his muscles and clearing his mind. Feeling better for the exercise, he stripped down and headed for the shower, grinning in approval as he spotted the double shower heads set into the marble tiles. “Ah luxury living, how I’ve missed you.”

  The last hotel he’d stayed at had been a dive where the cockroaches outnumbered the guests by an alarming ratio and the closest he had gotten to room service was ordering pizza from an all-night restaurant across the street. Things were definitely looking up.

  Standing under the twin jets of hot spray, Gareth felt the energizing surge that came at the start of every hunt, banishing the last traces of fatigue. This one was going to be interesting, he could feel it. There was something much more than the usual fledgling problem going on in this city, something dangerous.

  Shaved and feeling like a new man, he was still toweling off when the front desk rang to inform him that the airline had delivered his lost luggage. He asked that it be brought up, silently thanking the Brotherhood’s organizational skills for getting him his requested wardrobe update in record time. As he opened the suitcases and began sorting through his newly arrived clothes, Gareth found himself almost enjoying himself.

  His enjoyment ended when the information he had requested arrived by e-mail. He read the entire file on the first killing, a twenty-two-year-old woman, her body discarded by the Dumpster like a piece of random trash. He’d flipped through the photos, memorizing every horrifying detail. Somewhere among this carnage was a clue to whom, or what, he was facing.

  When his reading was done, he went to the crime scene itself, slipping under the police tape and walking the alley where the girl had bled to death. He’d long since learned that if you acted as if you belonged, people assumed you did and left you alone.

  From the pictures, he could rebuild every detail of the scene. The victim’s red hair, sticky where it flowed into the small pool of congealing blood by her head, the torn throat and abused flesh so pale beneath the bruising. The way her limbs were splayed out as though she were a doll dropped by some forgetful, oversized child.

  All the while something distracted him, called to him. His pulse raced, his senses tingled, and there was something indefinable on the wind. His eyes closed as he tried to pinpoint the distraction and for a brief moment he felt as though there was someone else in the alley, a woman. Without
warning, desire slammed through him and he opened his eyes, expecting to find he had company. There was no one there. Damn it, what the hell is going on? Crime scenes did not turn him on, nor did death or suffering.

  His gaze was drawn to a pair of loading bay doors. The word “Silken” was emblazoned on them both in red and gold paint. The breeze shifted and his pulse jumped again, and for just a second he swore he could smell cinnamon. Had she been here? Gareth closed his eyes and muttered a brief prayer to the powers that be that whoever she was who had been haunting his dreams since puberty wasn’t going to turn out to be a murderer, or worse.

  “Thank god it’s Sunday,” was all Kyra could mutter as she dragged herself out of bed and ran a shower so hot it nearly parboiled her when she stepped into the water stream. One more night and it would be her weekend, two days to catch up on her sleep and get sorted out. Normally she dreaded her days off and filled them with busy work, shopping, and groceries, and time at the gym, but not this time. If she didn’t get a good night’s sleep soon, she was going to lose her edge, and shortly after that, her mind.

  The hot water on her skin brought back flashes of memory. Brief recollections of nightmares she had hoped were long gone. She stared at her hands, remembering the feel of hot liquid splattered on flesh and fingers gone slick with dark fluids that her mind refused to identify. She grabbed a nail brush and scrubbed until her hands were raw, but the feeling wouldn’t go away, not completely.

  “Great, now I’m turning into Lady Macbeth.” She sighed as she turned off the taps and stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around curves that no amount of crunches or kickboxing classes seemed to be able to defeat. “Tomorrow I am going to head down to the gym, work off some of this stress and then hit the steam room. After that I’ll be too relaxed to even think straight, never mind dream up crazy nightmares.”

  She glanced at the clock and groaned when she realized just how behind schedule she was. No time for anything fancy for dinner. It was going to be steamed noodles and a fast stir-fry tonight. She headed for the kitchen, set the water to boil, and started chopping vegetables, yelping as she managed to catch her fingertip with the knife blade. “Ow! Shit!” she swore as she instinctively jammed the injured finger into her mouth. As the metallic taste of her own blood hit her, she grimaced and tugged her hand away, but not before another dark memory from her dreams flashed through her mind.

  “And suddenly I’m not hungry.” Kyra’s stomach twisted at the remembered taste of blood and she tossed the bloodstained carrot she’d been slicing into the garbage. She turned off the stove and grabbed the first-aid kit, not letting her mind dwell on her dreams. It only took a minute for the bleeding to stop, and she slapped some ointment and a bandage on it, confident it was too minor to need stitches. She finished cleaning up the kitchen and grabbed a protein bar as she headed back to her bedroom. This was not looking to be one of her better days.

  The rainstorm hit when she was halfway to work, turning the downtown streets into slick mirrors that reflected every headlight and storefront and made it nearly impossible to see. By the time she parked her bike and headed into the club, Kyra was a drowned rat in bike leathers, rainwater dripping off her and the waterproof backpack that held her work clothes.

  Travis took one look at her and burst out laughing. “Are the animals lining up two by two yet?”

  Kyra deliberately shook her jacket as she shed her outer layer, making sure she managed to dampen her smirking head of security in the process. “Not yet, but if it doesn’t stop soon, we won’t be serving drinks to anyone but mermaids and ducks tonight.”

  “Where do they put their wallets?” Travis asked as he grabbed Kyra’s helmet and hung it up for her.

  “I don’t know about the mermaids, but ducks just put it all on their bill.” She grinned as Travis groaned.

  “You seriously need to find some new material, boss.”

  “So you keep telling me,” Kyra replied. “I’m going to hit the paperwork for an hour or so. Is there anything I need to know about before I start?”

  Travis nodded, his expression grown serious. “Actually there is. The cops called here earlier today and left a message, asking if they could come around tonight and take a look at the security tapes for last night. Seems one of the guys we escorted out of the club got himself killed a few hours later. The last place anyone saw him alive was here.”

  “Here?” Kyra sighed. “We didn’t have that many unruly patrons last night, which one was it? And when are the cops coming by?”

  “Detective said they’d be by here in an hour or so. They’re hoping the cameras caught him getting into a fight outside, or someone from the club following him out. It was the kid who was giving you a hard time. I recognized his picture from the papers this morning. It was all over the news.”

  Kyra blanched slightly at that bit of information. “I skipped the news today, or I’d have known to wear my water wings.” She gestured for Travis to follow her into her office, flipping on her espresso machine as she headed to her desk, and fired up the computer that housed the security footage for the entire club. “So, what do you know?”

  Travis filled her in on the few details that the press had released, his expression worried as he got a good look at Kyra’s tired face. When he was done, he leaned forward and gave her an intent stare. “You look like crap by the way. If I didn’t know you never touched liquor, I’d swear you were nursing a hangover.”

  “Gee, Travis, you always know just what to say to make a girl feel special.” Kyra shot him a disgruntled look. “It’s just a touch of insomnia. I’m fine.” She held up a hand. “And don’t you dare say one word about my taking a few days off. It’s not happening. Now, back to this kid who got killed. The paper said he was here, got kicked out, and then his body shows up five hours later on the other side of town? It doesn’t sound like he was targeted here. Why chase him around town if he did something to piss off someone at the club?” She shook her head. “I’ll burn them a copy of the whole night’s footage. I doubt it will help, but it’s the least we can do. The kid was a jerk, but he didn’t deserve to die.”

  “The cops are going to want to talk to you about it once they realize you were the reason he got kicked out of the club. Especially since we had that girl’s body dumped in our alley just the other day,” Travis pointed out. “Speaking of which, there’s a new policy. No one is going into that alley alone, or anywhere else for that matter. Things are getting a bit too weird around here lately.”

  “Good idea. Let the others know when they come in. Better safe than sorry. As for that kid, his behavior got him removed, not me,” Kyra replied as she got up from the desk and pulled out two mugs for Americanos, talking as she went through her nightly ritual of preparation and creation. “I really don’t remember much. He was being a pain in the ass, you showed up, I got out of the way, and the next time I looked around the floor, you were back at your post and he was gone.”

  She struggled to pin down an elusive slip of memory, but it fluttered out of reach and was gone again. “I stepped back when the guys showed up to help you, said a few words to another patron, and by then it was all over.” She turned around and handed Travis one of the mugs. “After that, I worked and went straight home. I never saw him again.”

  When she settled back in her chair, her coffee in hand, she noticed Travis was giving her an odd look. “What?”

  “It took four of us to haul him and one of his buddies out of here last night. He was just drunk enough to think he was bulletproof and he was royally pissed he was getting the boot. You didn’t see any of that?”

  “No.” Again a memory slithered through her mind too quickly for her to grasp it, leaving her with nothing more than an uneasy feeling and a brief impression of dark hair and darker eyes. She touched the back of her hand absently and shook her head, frustrated. “I don’t remember. Damn it, this insomnia thing is affecting me more than I thought.”

  “You need to take better car
e of yourself, boss.” Travis lifted his coffee to demonstrate his point. “Less of this high-test rocket fuel, more herbal teas and downtime. I know you don’t want to, but you should think about it anyway. This place won’t fall down if you don’t come into work for a week. Once the cops are gone, you should sack out for an hour.” He pointed to the overstuffed couch that took up one wall of her office. “That’s what the couch is for.”

  “Jeeze, my mother didn’t nag this much,” Kyra grumbled. “All right, I’ll consider it. Both the nap and the vacation. Happy now?”

  “Thrilled.” Travis stood and grinned. “Jessie says I should nag all our troublemakers until they leave the club just to get away from me, much less violence that way.”

  “Your wife might be onto something there.” Kyra made a shooing gesture toward her door. “I’ll get going on those tapes. Let me know if you need me.”

  “Yes, boss.” Travis paused at the door. “Get some rest, okay? You take care of all of us. Let us return the favor for once.” He closed the door behind him.

  A warm feeling bloomed in Kyra’s chest as she stared at the closed door. She had friends watching out for her. It was a new experience, one she rather liked. She gathered her thoughts and started making a copy of the security tapes, burning the hours of footage to disc for the officers to take with them. She didn’t envy them the task of scanning through the morass of data looking for clues to a murder that she doubted had anything to do with Silken at all.

  4

  Kyra was dreaming again. The darkness was gentle, warm, and safe, surrounding her like a cocoon. She heard her dream lover call her name in a voice that sent a frisson of desire dancing over her skin, and she turned toward his voice, calling back to him. She sensed a movement in the darkness and reached out, and a moment later her fingers were captured by a firm hand. She was pulled gently forward, wrapped in powerful arms, and held close to a well-muscled chest. Her dream lover whispered her name as her hands rose to rest against bare skin, warm and firm under her palms. The arms wrapped around her were strong and protective. Another whisper of movement and his lips brushed hers, and she stood on tiptoe to meet his mouth. As she leaned into him, the air turned ice cold and he faded away, leaving her alone with the echoing sound of his voice calling out to her in desperation, and then even his voice was gone.