by Keri Arthur
Meaning, I suspected, he’d sensed Rory’s need for me. It made me again wonder just what exactly I’d done when we’d briefly become one.
Once he’d stepped inside the bathroom and closed the door, I quickly stripped off and lay down beside Rory. He stirred slightly and wrapped an arm around me, pressing me closer still, so that my breasts were squashed against his chest and his body was firm and hot against mine. Desire stirred, but it was a languid thing. This was more about reaffirming us than anything else.
“Need,” he murmured. “Flame.”
I called to my fire but kept it under a tight leash of control. While we had a fully fireproofed room in our apartment for moments such as this, the cabin was all wood. If I wasn’t very careful, the whole place would ignite.
Rory threw his head back, a gasp of enjoyment escaping his lips. Then he, too, became flame, and the threads of our beings began to dance around each other, gently at first but growing ever more urgent, until there was no him, no me, just one being with two separate souls. But this first joining after a rebirth wasn’t about desire, even if that would always be present. It was a reconnection of both fire and flesh, and it was the flesh we now had to seek.
As we both shifted shape, his hand followed the line of my waist and hip, then gently caught my thigh and tugged it over his.
“May the gods be witness to our joining,” he murmured, and thrust inside me.
“And may fate be kind to us both,” I continued, as ever struggling to ignore the glory of his thrust and the need to move, to take the completion my body was beginning to crave. The ritual had to be completed before enjoyment could be had. “And allow us to continue our journey through the decades together.”
“As one,” he finished, his thrusts increasing in tempo.
“As one,” I echoed, and fell into bliss.
• • •
The sound of a door slamming shut had me jerking awake. I twisted around, my heart beating somewhere in the middle of my throat and flames shimmering across my fingertips.
“Sorry,” Jackson said, his wide grin suggesting he wasn’t at all. “I needed pizza, and you need to get your lazy but rather delightful ass up and ready.”
“Ready?” I stretched to ease some of the kinks out of my body. Sleeping on the floor was all well and good for youngsters, but I’d grown used to comfort.
“Soft is what you are,” Rory murmured. “And did someone mention pizza?”
“That would be me,” Jackson said. “Do you want it served, or are you feeling strong enough to join us at the table?”
“I’ll attempt the latter.” He paused and lightly slapped my rump. “If a certain redhead would move her lovely but lazy ass.”
I snorted, rolled to my feet, and walked over to my bag. “I’m going to have a shower. I’ll leave you two to catch up—but leave me some pizza, or there will be hell to pay.”
“Bossy, isn’t she?” Jackson commented.
“If you didn’t realize that by the time you invited her to become a partner in your business, you’ve only yourself to blame,” Rory commented.
I closed the door on their banter and stepped under the shower, letting it run for a very long time over my skin in an effort to wash away all the terror, fury, and helplessness of the last few days.
By the time I’d finished and had gotten dressed, a good half hour had passed.
“I was beginning to think you’d fallen down the plughole,” Jackson commented.
“Part of me wished I could.” I glanced at Rory. He was looking a whole lot stronger, even if tiredness was still evident in the way he was holding himself. “Did Jackson update you on last night’s events?”
“He did. I can’t say I’m all that happy about the two of you venturing into Brooklyn alone.”
“We won’t be alone,” Jackson said before I could. “You can bet PIT operatives will be along for the ride.”
He rose and walked across to the microwave, hitting the REHEAT button before moving across to the kettle. A few minutes later, he placed a plate of pizza and a large mug of green tea in front of me and then sat back down.
“I think I love you.” I picked up the nearest slice of pizza and bit into it. And almost groaned in delight. Damn, it was good.
“Which would be a shameful waste of your emotions,” Jackson said, amusement dancing about his lips.
I waved a hand. “Consider yourself appreciated, then.”
“I’d appreciate your appreciation in a more . . . tactile form,” he replied, his amusement growing.
“Please,” Rory said, “flirt on your own time. We have a serious discussion happening here, remember?”
I wrinkled my nose at him and picked up another slice of pizza. “Considering we have no idea what the cloaks might be doing in Brooklyn, do you really think PIT will risk sending people in with us?”
Especially when they were already stretched to the breaking point?
“I don’t think the inspector will have any other option,” Jackson said. “The government will want answers after the events there, and they’ll probably force military expertise on her.”
“But PIT, not the military, has governance over matters that deal with nonhumans.”
“Yes, but we’re dealing with a virus that has the potential to become a plague if not contained,” Jackson said. “The government will undoubtedly want to ensure it doesn’t move beyond Brooklyn.”
“And yet by sending in the military, they’re risking the exact opposite.”
“You’d have to presume they’ll be given orders to shoot the shit out of anything that moves.”
If that was the case, then it was just as well most of the criminal element as well as the homeless who had once called that place home had abandoned it long ago—or those who weren’t already infected had, anyway.
“The inspector didn’t mention the military when I spoke to her.”
“Why would she?” Jackson asked. “We’re only associates.”
“I know but—” I paused and shrugged. The reality was they could call in whomever they liked, and there wasn’t a damn thing we could do about it—even if we did think it was the stupidest idea ever.
Rory yawned hugely, then waved a hand in apology. “Sorry, it’s not the company . . . although the circular conversation is getting a little tiresome.”
I flicked the crusty edge of pizza at him. He batted it sideways, and it hit Jackson bang on the nose. “Charming.” He picked up the offending bit of crust and put it on his plate. “We’ll have to move soon if we want to arrive on time.”
My amusement faded as my gaze went to Rory. “Do you need anything before we leave?”
“Other than sleep, and for you to return safely? No.”
“And why am I not included in that wish for a safe return?” Jackson’s offended expression was somewhat offset by the amusement in his eyes.
Rory leaned across the table and patted his hand comfortingly. “When you become essential to my existence, you will.”
“That may yet be a possibility, you know.” Jackson rose and glanced my way. “I’ll meet you out in the car.”
He grabbed his coat and headed out. Rory raised his eyebrows. “What did he mean by that?”
“Long story, but it seems you were right when you said that in merging spirits, I might have made him more one of us than a dark fae.” I hesitated and half shrugged. “It’s very possible that his life force is somehow linked to mine. And if that’s the case, then he’s also linked to you.”
“Just as well I like the bastard, then.” He touched my cheek lightly. “Don’t worry about it. And be careful out there.”
“And you be careful here.” I rose, dropped a kiss on the top of his head, and followed Jackson outside.
It took us close to eighty minutes to get to Brooklyn. Two police officers waved us down as we approac
hed the one remaining road in and out of the area. We showed them our PIT IDs, and after they’d spoken to someone via their com units, we were allowed to continue. Half a dozen black vehicles, which seemed to be the color of choice for PIT, lined one side of the blocked and guarded entrance. Jackson parked beside the last in the line, and we both climbed out.
A gray-suited woman with amber-flecked brown hair and a hawklike nose walked over to us. “The inspector is waiting for you. Please, follow me.”
I flexed my hands in an effort to release some of the tension, but it didn’t really help. Every time I’d entered Brooklyn, something had gone drastically wrong. I couldn’t help the feeling that this time would be no different.
The difference this time, Jackson said, is that Luke is dead.
That might be true, but it doesn’t mean the danger has lessened any.
If Rinaldo and Frederick are in charge of at least some of the cloaks, Jackson continued, they’d surely restrain any attack on us. They haven’t yet got what they want, remember.
I guess it all depends on whether Rinaldo believes we need another lesson in obedience.
True. Jackson’s mental tones were grim. He does seem the type.
That type being psychopathic?
He certainly fits the classic model of a psychopath.
He did. But he was also an old vampire and, as vampires aged, they tended to lose their more “human” emotions. Which basically meant we were dealing with one twisted and very dangerous individual.
Lucky us.
The inspector was talking on the phone as we arrived, so the gray-suited woman motioned us to wait and then walked away.
My gaze drifted past the inspector to a man standing several yards to her right, and something within me stilled.
Because that man was Sam.
CHAPTER 4
“What are you doing here?”
The question came out before I could stop it. An all-too-brief smile touched his mouth and creased the corners of his vivid blue eyes, and my stupid heart did its usual little dance.
“It’s nice to see you again, too.” His voice was cool rather than cold; reserved, but not unwelcoming. Both of which were a definite improvement from how he’d talked to me when I’d first stepped back into his life.
“No, I mean—” I stopped briefly, my gaze sweeping his length. The moon’s pale gleam lent his short, close-cropped black hair a bluish shine, and somehow emphasized the leanness of his athletic frame. There was little evidence of the wounds that had almost taken his life—although given he was fully clothed and wearing a bulletproof vest, that was hardly surprising. “The last time I saw you, your chest had been ripped open by the skin runes.”
“The knife you used to kill them didn’t exactly help, either, even if it did save my life.” There was the faintest hint of amusement in his expression, but this faded as his gaze moved past me, and he added, “Miller.”
“Turner,” Jackson replied, in the same remote tone.
That the two men didn’t like each other would have been obvious to even the densest person, but it stemmed more from one being a cop and the other a PI than from any hatred on a personal level. Although Sam’s riding roughshod over our investigations—to the extent that he’d drugged us to force obedience—certainly hadn’t helped matters.
The inspector ended her phone call and turned toward us. She was a tall, stout woman with thick black glasses and a stern, unforgiving expression. She was also a shifter of some kind, possibly a panther, if the luxurious gleam of her dark hair and the almost feline way she moved were anything to go by. I belatedly realized that this would explain her rather glib comment earlier about Rinaldo tugging the panther’s tail.
“I’m afraid the situation in Brooklyn has become somewhat more . . . difficult,” she said.
I crossed my arms and tried to ignore the chill that ran down my spine. “In what way?”
“Military specialists have been called in.”
Her expression gave little away, but it was pretty obvious she was less than happy about this development—and that she was complying with it only because she had very little choice in the matter.
“What kind of specialists?” Jackson asked.
“Ones used to dealing with paranormal threats on a scale such as this. Sam, however, is still in charge of the main operation, as he knows Brooklyn better than most.”
That was because he’d spent well over a year hunting in the place, killing as many of the cloaks as he could while endeavoring to find Luke. But in the end, it had been Sam who’d been hunted down and captured, and neither of us had been able to fulfill our vows to kill his brother. That honor had gone to whoever had been behind the long-range rifle that had blown his head apart.
And, for the first time, it made me wonder what information he might have given us. Was it just the location of the scientists the shooter had been trying to keep secret, or was there more?
“Knowing the area probably won’t help him get into the protected zone.” Thankfully, the tension and fear stirring inside me weren’t evident in my voice. “In fact, it’s possible even I won’t be able to get in.”
Which was an unlikely event, considering Rinaldo wanted us to retrieve whatever research materials might have been left behind.
“We’re aware of that,” the inspector said. “We still have to try.”
I like the use of the royal “we” in that sentence. Jackson’s mental tone was wry. It’s not like the inspector is actually going in herself.
I think she would if she thought she’d be of any use. The inspector might be a desk jockey now, but I suspected she’d been a very active—and successful—field agent in her younger years. She just had that air about her. “Is the military fully aware of what we might be confronted with in there?”
“Yes.” Her tone was clipped. “They know a dangerous virus is being contained within the area and that we are seeking two missing scientists.”
Which was the truth as far as it went, but not the entire story. But I could certainly understand the inspector—and the government itself—withholding information. News of an uncontrolled virus outbreak would cause problems aplenty if it became mainstream news, but if anyone ever got wind of just how bad this particular virus was, there’d be widespread panic.
“What about the cloaks?” Jackson said.
“Any that appear will be shot on sight. The military have been kitted out in full Kevlar gear, as will you two.” She frowned. “We’ve been monitoring the entire area for the last three days, though, and there has been absolutely no movement—either aboveground or below. It makes me wonder if the cloaks are still there.”
“All their exits were destroyed,” Jackson said. “Where else could they be?”
“That is a question you will undoubtedly be able to answer once you get in and discover what, exactly, is going on behind that shield of magic and fire.”
I, for one, would be happy not to get an answer. I was really over being attacked by all and sundry. “What have you told the military about us?”
A slight smile touched her lips. “That you’re a powerful fire witch, Jackson is a fire fae, and you’re both consultants for PIT.”
It was a plausible enough story—especially given the number of people who seemed to believe that was exactly what I was—and it was one that would offer me some protection from questions should I need to either call the mother or use fire.
“The military are currently sweeping the fire-free sections of Brooklyn; they have orders to erase any cloaks they happen upon,” she continued. “Your task is, as I’ve already said, to uncover what is going on in that no-go zone.”
“Dead easy.” Jackson’s tone was dry. “So why are we still standing here?”
Amusement lurked around the corners of the inspector’s mouth. She made a motion with her hand and, in a matte
r of minutes, we were wearing Kevlar vests and were fully kitted up with weapons, com units, and cameras.
“I know none of you actually need any of this, but it would raise awkward questions if you and the military were not similarly kitted out.”
“Has the military struck any problems or been attacked yet?”
“No. The place is as silent as a grave.”
All sorts of warnings went off in my mind. Every time I’d gone into Brooklyn, I’d been attacked. And while Rinaldo might now claim to rule them all, something within me doubted it—especially given the demonstration in the gardens.
“Meaning,” Sam said, “we need to get in there before the hornets’ nest is stirred up.”
He spun and led the way across the remaining access road. Silence immediately closed in around us, and the acrid scent of smoke and decay began to fill every breath. Underneath those foul scents ran the biting edge of magic.
But there was something else here, something that had the hairs along the back of my neck rising. It was the sense of expectation. I really didn’t want to discover who or what it was coming from.
I increased my pace and moved up beside Sam. “This might well be a trap.”
He glanced at me briefly, his expression giving little away. “I don’t think there’s any ‘might’ about it.”
“I doubt it’s the cloaks waiting for us,” Jackson said. “Regular fire does kill them, even if it takes a little longer. Surely not even they are stupid enough to stand immobile while their flesh burns.”
“It probably depends on what—if any—orders Luke gave them before he died.” There was just the slightest edge to Sam’s tone, one that spoke of sorrow and regret. He might have wanted Luke dead, but, in the end, they’d been brothers, and some part of him still mourned the loss. “And remember, the cloaks with the scythe don’t appear to be capable of autonomous thought, so if there were no orders, they might well be immobilized.”
“Given what happened in the Carlton Gardens—” Jackson paused. “You were advised of that, weren’t you?”
A slight smile touched Sam’s lips. “I’m still lead investigator, so yes, I was.”
