by Keri Arthur
Anything? I asked Jackson.
No. We need to go in.
Yes, we did. It was the only way we were going to discover what was going on. I’ll take the laundry door.
Wait for my mark, he said.
I edged around the corner. Once I’d reached the door frame, I tested the handle. It turned. And there was a smear of what looked like blood along one edge of the door.
Fuck.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, steeling myself for what was to come.
Right, Jackson said. Go.
I thrust open the door and went inside—only to be thrust backward as a shadow hit me so hard, we went tumbling out the door in a tangled mess of arms and legs. My back struck the paving, and my breath left in a wheezing rush of pain, but despite the stars flinging themselves across my vision, I had enough sense to throw up an arm. The teeth that were aimed at my neck ripped open my arm instead. Pain and anger rolled through me, and I flamed, instantly cindering the shadowed bastard on top of me. As his ashes rained around me, I scrambled upright and, in full flame form, arrowed for the back door.
Bullets tore into my fiery form but caused no harm. I flung a lance of fire into the laundry, swirling it around the open space but keeping it away from the walls and appliances. Someone screamed, the sound high-pitched and filled with pain, the tone feminine rather than male. She was in the corner, and though she was still partially hidden by shadows, her clothes were on fire. I extinguished her clothing but kept her leashed so she couldn’t go anywhere, and then moved on.
The sounds of flesh smacking flesh echoed through the otherwise still house. I followed the noise into the living area and saw Jackson battling two more vampires. Though his fists were aflame, he was using flesh rather than fire against both of them.
Beyond them, the back of her head resting in a pool of blood, was Shona.
I clenched my hands, battling the urge to do what Jackson had not, and instead wrapped both vampires in flame, containing them without burning. As I became flesh again, Jackson landed two final blows, shattering the mouth of one vampire and breaking the nose of the other. They both dropped like stones to the floor and didn’t move.
Nor did Jackson. He simply stood there, sucking in air, his entire body taut with tension and flames licking up his arms.
And while he was so very close to losing control and burning the house down around us, the fact that he hadn’t was a good sign.
“Imagine the fire is water and that you are a pump with a very empty inner well to fill.” Pain from both exertion and the wound on my forearm stabbed through me as I spoke. I glanced down. The heat of my flames had sealed the wound enough that blood was oozing out rather than pulsing, but it still hurt like blazes. I took a deep breath that did little to ease the deeper ache in my head, and continued. “Imagine your fire flowing like water into the well rather than letting it play across your body, then place a cap on it.”
As directions went, they were overly simplified, but sometimes such imagery was the only way to teach control, especially when dealing with those very new to their fire—which Jackson was, despite his being a fire fae.
He didn’t reply, didn’t even look at me, but after several moments, the flames retreated, until all that remained was the glow of heat across his fingertips.
He took another deep breath; then his gaze stabbed to mine, the green depths icy and furious. “Where the fuck are the werewolves?”
“I don’t know.” I moved past him and squatted beside Shona. Even though there wasn’t a chance in hell of her being alive given the state of her throat, I still felt her wrist for a pulse. Sometimes hope was rewarded against the greatest of odds, but this wasn’t one of those times. There was no life left in her, and her skin was already losing its heat.
I closed my eyes and did my best to stifle the wash of anger and guilt. I’d made my choices, chosen my path, and there was no way I could go back on that now.
And if I was honest, I’d probably make the very same decision if I did have the chance of doing it all again. If our plan had worked, if either the sindicati or the werewolves had taken care of Rinaldo as he’d retrieved the suitcase notes from our office, then not only would Shona, the guard, and even Rory have been that little bit safer, but one fewer player would have been after the missing research notes.
It had been worth the risk. It just hadn’t played out the way we’d hoped.
I pushed upright. “We have to call PIT in on this. We have no choice now.”
“Agreed.” Jackson’s gaze suddenly narrowed. “You’re injured.”
“It’s only a scratch.”
He snorted. “That so-called scratch is five inches long—I’m gathering he caught you by surprise?”
“To his cost, yes. But I’ve contained the second vamp in the laundry.”
“Then let’s go question her.”
“PIT will undoubtedly lock us out of the investigation once they get here,” I said, leading the way, “so that’s a damn good idea.”
The vamp snarled as we entered, revealing bloody canines. Obviously, she was the one who’d taken Shona’s life. Anger surged through me. I thrust it away, knelt down, wrapped my fingers around her neck, and then shoved her against the wall hard enough to dent the plaster. And she was damn lucky that was all I did. “Who sent you here?”
She swore, though the sound was somewhat strangled because the force of my grip was restricting her windpipe.
“Answer the question,” I growled, “because right now, all that stands between you and incineration is the possibility of information.”
She snorted. “Even a fire witch isn’t capable of that.”
“You have no idea what I’m capable of.” And it was interesting she called me a fire witch rather than a phoenix. Whoever sent them here either didn’t know the truth, or simply didn’t care to inform them. “Last chance—who sent you here?”
“No one.”
“And that is one rather large lie.” Jackson crossed his arms as he leaned against the door frame. His expression was contemplative despite the waves of heat and anger rolling off him. “We could just burn her. Start with her toes, then maybe take out a leg. That might loosen her tongue a little.”
“You wouldn’t fucking dare,” the woman snapped. “We’re under the protection of—” She cut the rest of the sentence off and clamped her lips shut.
“A little demonstration of our capabilities is definitely in order,” Jackson said. And it’s one, he added silently, that you’d better do. My control isn’t good enough right now, and while burning her might ease the rage a little, it wouldn’t be overly useful.
I glanced at the woman’s left leg and unleashed some fire. Flames shimmered down her jeans and danced across the tips of her shoes. As the smell of burning leather touched the air, the woman began to struggle, fighting my hold even as she flung her leg about in an attempt to smother the flames. Jackson moved past me and planted a rather large boot on her legs, stilling the movements.
“The woman inside—the woman you fed on and then killed—was my lover,” he growled. “So believe me when I say I’m barely resisting the urge to cinder you inch by tiny inch right now.”
The vampire’s gaze rose to his. For several seconds she didn’t say anything, but electricity buzzed around my senses. I smiled, though it held little in the way of amusement. She was trying to read him—maybe even trying to control him—and that meant she was older than she actually looked. Despite what humans generally thought, not all vampires were telepathic, and even for those who were, precise control was something they gained over centuries rather than decades. Of course, they also had to be very specific about what they wanted, and they certainly didn’t have carte blanche access to the mind.
Except, perhaps, for outliers like Rinaldo.
And even he couldn’t access or control either Ja
ckson or me, because we were both immune to psychic invasion of any description.
Thank god.
I sent a flare of heat to my fingertips and lightly burned her throat. She hissed, and her gaze jumped back to mine. “Talk or find yourself in need of prosthetic limbs.”
“Or not,” Jackson said. “Personally, I’d prefer the latter. Especially since two of your three companions remain alive; maybe one of them will value their limbs more than you and will give us what we need.”
“If I do talk,” she growled, “will you let us go?”
Jackson snorted. “We’ll let you live. We might even let you keep your limbs. But that’s it.”
Her gaze darted between the two of us, and whatever she saw must have convinced her that was as good a deal as she was ever likely to get. “Fine. What do you want to know?”
“Who sent you here?”
“Rinaldo.”
No surprise there, given his phone call. “So are you one of his get, or do you simply work for him?”
She hesitated. “Neither. But he’s offered us his immediate protection and promised to approach the council on our behalf if we do as he asked.”
“But why would you need him to—” I broke the question off as realization dawned. “You’re one of De Luca’s get.”
“Yes,” she spat. “And it’s thanks to you that we’re currently in a very tenuous situation when it comes to the council and the other dens.”
“Tenuous” was putting it somewhat lightly. No master vampire ever wanted the spawn of another in his or her lair, and that generally meant vampires who lost the protection of their creator were little more than fodder for the rest of the vampire community.
Not that the community generally had much of a chance to play or feed on a rudderless den—the elders usually took swift action to end their lives. While the vampire council as a whole had little fear of humans—who for many elders were nothing more than a food source—they did fear the reaction of the rest of us. So they never allowed their numbers to get too out of control, and they kept a tight leash on who could and couldn’t start new dens.
“If you think Rinaldo will keep his word, you are more gullible than you look,” Jackson said.
She cast him a look that simmered with anger. “He’s our one hope of survival now that the council has issued an edict of den eradication. Rinaldo is all that stands between us and destruction.”
“Then I’d be prepared to meet your maker in hell,” Jackson said. “I doubt Rinaldo is sure enough of his position here in Melbourne to risk going up against the council.”
“And that is where you’d be wrong,” she said. “De Luca’s den was a large one. Add that to Rinaldo’s, and he has a sizable army at his back. Even the council will think twice.”
Rinaldo with an army at his back was not something I wanted to think about. “What can you tell us about your new master, then?”
She shrugged. “Not a lot. He offered us the deal, and we took it.”
“So you don’t actually know where he or his den is currently situated?”
“No.” She paused. “We had to prove our worth here before he’d offer us anything more.”
“What were you supposed to do after you’d killed Shona?” I asked.
Jackson twitched at the question, and his foot pressed that bit heavier on the woman’s leg. She lunged forward, catching me by surprise and getting within inches of Jackson’s leg before I thrust her back.
The flames that were dancing across her smoldering boots suddenly flared white, eating down into the leather and then into her toes. She screamed; the flames instantly retreated.
Jackson’s doing, not mine.
“Next time, I will cinder those toes rather than merely burning them.” Once again, his voice was deceptively mild. “Now, answer the damn question.”
Sweat dribbled down the side of her face. “We were supposed to meet him in the Carlton Gardens.”
Part of a welcoming committee, perhaps? I said, glancing up at Jackson. The niggly ache in my head flared a little brighter, but I wasn’t about to risk her passing any comment of mine on to Rinaldo. I had no idea if she was a strong enough telepath to communicate with him from this distance, but better safe than sorry.
Probably. But if he wants those notes, he needs us alive, so I don’t really see the point.
Maybe he just wants to hit home his message that we obey him or else. He seems the type. I returned my attention to the woman. “Is that it?”
She nodded. “He’s not the most communicative person, but then, most of the older ones aren’t.”
That was probably the most truthful thing she’d said all night.
“As I’ve told some of your den mates already, we didn’t murder De Luca.” I peeled a sliver of fire away from the rope corralling her torso and wrapped it around her neck. “Frank Parella took that honor.”
Her eyes narrowed. “He wouldn’t dare.”
“Everyone keeps saying that.” I released my grip on her and thrust upright. Her neck was burned and blistering, and I hoped it was as painful as hell. “It’s almost as if the sindicati generals haven’t spent centuries murdering their counterparts. Oh, and if you move, those ropes will burn you.”
She obviously didn’t believe me, because she threw herself sideways, teeth bared as she tried to slash open my leg. I didn’t move; I didn’t have to. My fiery leash immediately tightened around her throat and chest, and in an instant, she was gasping for breath.
“I did warn you,” I said, and walked away.
Only when I was back in the living room did I loosen the leash enough for her to breathe.
Jackson moved past me and squatted beside Shona. After gently closing her eyes, he leaned forward and kissed her forehead.
“May your next journey in this world be filled with love, happiness, and a long life,” he said softly. “And as you move on, rest assured that your death in this lifetime will be avenged. That I promise you.”
I didn’t say anything, but I had everything crossed that it was a promise we could keep. “We have to call PIT. But we also need to find out what happened to the werewolves. Baker wouldn’t have gone back on his word; I’m sure of that.”
Jackson thrust to his feet. “Depends if he got a better offer.”
“Who from? He’d already refused Rinaldo’s offer of a partnership, and it’s hardly likely the sindicati or the rats would pay him to back away from our deal given they want information about Rinaldo just as much as everyone else.”
Especially after Rinaldo had raided several of the rat shifters’ main underground gambling operations here in Melbourne.
“Good point. I’ll go outside and see if I can find the wolves. You ring PIT.” He tossed me his phone, then turned and headed outside.
I opened the contacts list and pressed the chief inspector’s number. It was a direct line, and, as far as I knew, we were the only ones outside the organization who had it. Hopefully, that meant it was secure.
The phone rang several times; then a somewhat plummy and decidedly unfeminine voice said, “Chief Inspector Henrietta Richmond speaking.”
“Inspector, Emberly Pearson here.”
“Indeed,” she said. “What can I do for you?”
“Jackson made a call about a security guard in need of protection—”
“And he’s been checked and is secure,” she cut in. “We have temporarily relocated him.”
I closed my eyes. At least I hadn’t gotten two innocent people killed. But a rather unkind part of me wished the situation had been reversed—that it was Shona who was alive rather than the guard. Because of Jackson, because he’d cared for her—at least as much as any fae was capable of caring.
“That’s good news,” I said, “but I’m afraid he wasn’t the only possible victim. And we weren’t in time to save the secon
d one.”
“What?” The inspector’s voice was cold. “Why didn’t Jackson give us this information when he made the initial call?”
“Because the woman in question was his lover,” I said.
“That is no excuse.”
Maybe it wasn’t, but our decision to come here ourselves was nevertheless one I stood by. I rubbed a hand across my eyes. The ache in my head was getting worse. I needed rest and I needed fire, and I wasn’t likely to come by either anytime soon. “We have the murderers in custody. They’re from De Luca’s get, and the whole den is currently working under the orders of Rinaldo.”
“And once again that bastard’s name crops up,” she said. “Are you aware he sent us a goddamn note the day after the events in Brooklyn?”
“No.” I frowned. “Why would he do that? And what did the note say?”
“Who knows why he did it—maybe he simply likes tugging the panther’s tail.” She laughed, a humorless sound filled with frustration. “And the note simply said, ‘The king is dead. Long live the queens.’ It was signed with a rather ornate R.”
My frown deepened. “What does he mean, ‘queens’? Or is it simply a spelling mistake?”
“I very much suspect every move Rinaldo makes involves very, very careful planning—even when it comes to something as simple as a taunting note.”
“And you’re sure it’s from him?”
“As sure as I can be. The only people who are fully aware of what really happened in Brooklyn were my senior advisers and you.”
“And you trust your senior staff?” I asked.
“With my life.” It was coldly said. Obviously, it didn’t pay to question the loyalty of her people. “Give me the address, and I’ll send a team over.”
I did so, then added, “We have a meet with Rinaldo tonight.”
