Circle of Desire, Page 2

  She edged forward. The farther she moved into the warehouse, the heavier the air became. The scents of age and rotting rubbish mingled with the ripe aroma of evil, turning her stomach and making it difficult to breathe. Breathing through her mouth didn’t help, either. The air tasted as bad as it smelled.

  Her foot hit something solid, and metal rattled across the concrete floor, the noise deafening in the silence. She cursed under her breath, but the night seemed to amplify her words and echo them across emptiness. Laughter answered, deep but feminine.

  She hesitated, her gaze sweeping the night. The soul-sucker wasn’t running anymore. It was out there, watching Kat struggle through the dark. Waiting for her slightest mistake …

  Despite the chill in the air, sweat trickled down her back. A white ash stake suddenly seemed woefully inadequate against the creatures that waited ahead.

  Her fingertips touched a wall. It was wet and slimy, even though there didn’t appear to be any water running down its surface. She skated her hand across it, using it as a guide as she moved deeper into the darkness. Concrete eventually gave way to metal—a staircase, leading down into a deeper gloom.

  Down to where they waited.

  God, she so didn’t want to go down there. She didn’t want to confront these things. In ten years of fighting evil, she’d never been this scared, and she’d faced some pretty foul beings during that time. But none of them had the power to suck the essence from her body and destroy all that she was, all that she could be—both now and in future reincarnations.

  Once again the image of Daniel rose, and she took a shuddering breath. He would have been just as scared. And he’d certainly deserved more than four years of life. While she and Gran had been placed on the trail too late to save him and the other two kids, they were here in Springfield, Oregon, now. They had a chance stop this.

  All she had to do was go down into that darkness.

  She took another deep breath, then felt for the edge of the step with her toes. She kept hold of the banister for guidance and repeated the process, moving slowly down.

  The chill in the air grew until it felt like she was breathing ice. Her fingers were so cold they ached, and despite the fact that she’d put on extra-thick socks, her toes felt numb.

  Or maybe it was just fear, paralyzing her from the extremities up.

  She reached the bottom and stopped. Nothing moved. Her breathing rattled across the silence, and the wild beat of her heart echoed in time with it. The vampire and the soul-sucker stood to her left. The shapeshifter was more distant and to her right. There was no sense of evil coming from his direction, just wave after wave of anger and hostility. It didn’t seem to be aimed at her, or even at the duo she chased. It seemed to be aimed at the world in general.

  And it was odd that she was getting such a strong impression of a man she hadn’t even met.

  Evil stirred, splitting up as it moved forward. She backed away until she hit a wall, her grip on the stake so fierce her knuckles ached.

  Air rushed at her from the left. She slashed the stake across the night and felt the slight resistance as the sharp point tore into flesh. The vampire howled but didn’t stop. She dove out of his way, hit the concrete with a grunt, and rolled back to her feet. Tendrils of softly glowing smoke reached for her. She hit it with kinetic energy, momentarily fragmenting it.

  The darkness stirred, then lashed out, connecting hard with her chin. The force of the blow sent her sprawling backward. Her back hit the floor, and her breath left in a whoosh of air. For a moment, stars danced in her vision.

  Then, the weight of another hit her, pinning her in place. Though gasping for breath and fighting the blackness invading her mind, she still heard the vampire’s snarl. She looked up in time to see the shadows unravel around him. His dead brown eyes were inches from hers and his teeth were extending, dripping blood in expectation of a feed. Tendrils of smoke gathered above him, pulsing red. Excitement, she thought. Need.

  With as much force as she could muster, she smacked the heel of her palm into the vamp’s nose. At the same time, she sent a surge of kinetic energy at the vapor, again tearing it apart.

  “Bitch!” The vampire’s voice was hoarse, his breath full of dead things.

  “Bite me,” she said—and yelped when the bastard did. She stabbed the stake into his side, using kinetic energy to force it deep.

  Blue fire flickered, and the smell of burning flesh rent the night. The vampire howled and slashed at her, not with his teeth but with fingernails as sharp as claws. They tore across her face, and she cursed him fluently. Kinetic energy surged, but before she could release her weapon, the vampire was torn from her.

  “You all right?”

  The voice was rich, husky, and called forth fantasies of long nights and silk sheets. She blinked, wondering where the hell her mind was. “Yeah.”

  A hand appeared in front of her eyes. “Then get the hell up, because that thing is coming back.”

  The shifter’s fingers were a furnace compared to hers, and he pulled her up with an ease that spoke of strength. He was a warm, solid presence she could feel but not see. A man whose emotions she could taste as easily as she tasted the evil of the other two.

  And she had no idea why. Empathy with the living was not one of her talents.

  “Thanks.” She pulled her hand from his, and the emotive swirl died a little. But his hostility lingered, mixed with some deeper emotion she couldn’t quite define. Yet it stirred her senses. Made her pulse race.

  “Get out of here,” he said. “This place is too dangerous for a woman. I’ll keep the creature occupied.”

  “It’s not alone,” she retorted. “And this place is just as dangerous for a man who has no idea he has two opponents rather than one.”

  “Listen, lady—”

  “No.”

  Tendrils of smoke formed behind the shifter’s solid presence, ready to caress and kill. Kat hit the soul-sucker kinetically, dissipating it yet again, then was flung sideways by the shifter.

  She flailed her arms, battling to keep her balance, then heard a grunt as the shifter was hit by the vampire. Blue fire flickered across the darkness—evidence that the stake was still buried deep in the vampire’s flesh. So why didn’t he damn well die, like all bad little vampires should?

  She dragged the second stake free and clenched it tightly. The two men were slugging it out, the shifter apparently giving as good as he got. But he obviously knew he was up against a vampire, so why didn’t he just grab the stake and thrust it into the bastard’s heart? Surely he had to know it was the best way to stop a bloodsucker? Going toe-to-toe with one generally never ended well—for the attacker, not the vampire. Hell, the only reason he could even hit the vampire was the stake holding it in human form.

  She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and fought the need to move. She didn’t dare attack until the shifter was clear. The stake she held was just as deadly to him as the vampire, and the slightest mistake could prove costly.

  The mist began forming again. She swore and slashed it with the stake. The air howled—an inhuman sound that sent a chill down her spine. The vapor disappeared, and the sense of old evil retreated, flowing up the stairs and out the door.

  If she didn’t follow it, she’d lose it. But she couldn’t leave the shifter here alone, either. Not when instinct suggested he would not come out of this warehouse alive if she did.

  “Back off, shifter, and let me at it,” she said.

  “Like … hell.” His words were punctured with the smack of flesh against flesh.

  “Hitting it is not going to damage it.” Exasperation edged her voice. If she lost the soul-sucker’s trail because of this man’s stubbornness …

  “He’s injured. Bleeding.”

  “And already dead,” the vampire snarled. “As you and the bitch will be by the time I’m finished with you both.”

  “As I said to the lady, like hell.”

  His words were emphasized
by a grunt of effort and another smack of flesh. The vampire made an odd sound deep in his throat and staggered backward. It was the break she’d been waiting for. She reached deep, drawing on all her remaining kinetic strength, and flung the shapeshifter back—far back, across the warehouse. Surprise whisked around her a moment before he smacked against the wall, then all emotion died. He hit his head. At least she didn’t have to worry about him getting in the way.

  She raised the stake and ran at the vampire. He snarled and tried to dodge, but his movements were slowing, and he was nowhere near fast enough. She drove the stake through his chest into his black heart, then leaped sideways as he lashed at her with clawed hands. His fingers slithered down her leg, tearing through her jeans and into flesh. She cursed and kicked him, shoving him backward.

  He hit the ground with a splat and didn’t do anything more than writhe. Blue fire encased his torso, and the smell of burning meat churned her stomach. She climbed to her feet, brushed the dirt from her hands, and watched the vampire incinerate. She felt no elation at her victory. She couldn’t. Not when there was one more horror still running free.

  When there was nothing left but ash, she turned and ran for the stairs. The shifter was safe enough now that the vampire was dead, and with any luck, Gran and she would be well gone by the time he awoke. Because if the hostility he’d projected was anything to go by, it wouldn’t be pleasant to be within a ten-mile radius of the man when he eventually stirred. Especially after she’d knocked him cold.

  The moonlight seemed abnormally bright after the shuttered darkness within the warehouse. She blinked and hesitated, searching for some sign of the soul-sucker. Evil was a distant echo, moving away fast.

  She shifted shape and flew down the alley, skimming past the cops who raced toward the warehouse. This time, the creature headed for the main street. Perhaps it hoped the noise and motion might loosen any psychic hold she had on it—which was a definite possibility after all she’d been through tonight.

  The soul-sucker hit the street, its ethereal form getting lost in the warm glow of lights. It whisked away to the right, and the psychic leash she had on it snapped with a suddenness that had her plummeting to the ground.

  She hit with a grunt, then shifted shape and rolled onto her back, staring up at the moon.

  She’d lost it.

  ETHAN IMPATIENTLY THRUST THE PARAMEDIC’S HAND AWAY. “Enough, already. The cut is not that bad.”

  “Sir, the wound needs stitches—”

  “It’s stopped bleeding, hasn’t it?”

  “Yes, but there’s still the possibility of concussion—”

  If the ache in his head was anything to go by, it was more than a possibility. But right now, he had no intention of going anywhere—as much as the paramedics and the captain might wish it. “I haven’t got a concussion, and I have no desire to go to the hospital.”

  “Sir—”

  “Goddamn it, Morgan.” The second voice rose out of the night, cutting through the paramedic’s words like a foghorn. “I thought I told you to keep away from this investigation.”

  The captain huffed to a stop three feet away, nose and cheeks beacon-bright in the stark light coming from the ambulance’s interior. Ethan knew the cause was not so much the cold as blood pressure. This case would kill Benton if they didn’t solve it soon.

  “You didn’t tell me to keep away from the warehouse,” he said with a calm he certainly didn’t feel. “It’s not my fault one of the suspects decided to head my way.”

  “I told you to stay completely away. That means out of the whole damn area.”

  Benton dragged a stick of gum from his pocket and undid the silvery wrapper. He offered it to Ethan, who shook his head. The captain had given up smoking two months earlier—in an effort to save some money more than save his health—but he now appeared to be spending more on gum than he ever had on cigarettes. And his health hadn’t improved either—although this case certainly wasn’t helping anyone’s physical or mental well-being.

  “Just what the hell happened in that warehouse?”

  Ethan shrugged. “As I told Mark, I heard the man and woman enter the building. I wasn’t sure who they were or what they were doing, so I waited. When the man attacked the woman, I intervened, but the woman somehow managed to knock me unconscious. You know the rest.”

  Benton grunted. “Was there anyone else in the warehouse other than those two?”

  “No.” Though he’d certainly had a sense of something else, something he couldn’t exactly define. “Why?”

  “Because the woman claims there was.”

  “From what I saw, that woman isn’t exactly sane.” Refusing to run after he’d pulled that man off her, then knocking him unconscious? What sort of stupidity was that?

  Benton snorted. “Ain’t that the truth. She and her grandmother are the oddest pair you’re ever likely to meet.”

  And meeting them was next on his priority list—as much as the captain was likely to disapprove. He crossed his arms. “They’re certainly not cops, so why the hell are they on this investigation?”

  “Pressure from higher up.” Benton shrugged. “I’m not happy about it, but I’ve got no choice. And they did save the kid tonight. You have to give them that.”

  Yeah, but there was no guarantee tonight was connected to the other kidnappings … murders. The word sat like a dead weight in his gut. He rubbed a hand across his jaw and caught a scent that reminded him of summer rain. The woman. Even though he’d barely touched her, her fragrance branded his skin. His pulse quickened and lust rose, as hot as anger.

  He took a deep breath, battling for control. Damn the moon’s rising! It couldn’t have come at a worse time.

  “Are they FBI?” He wouldn’t have thought so—not with the way the woman had acted in the warehouse.

  “No, they’re psychics. Working for an organization known as the Damask Circle.”

  “Psychics?” Scorn edged his words. Such mumbo jumbo was not what this case needed right now. “The press are having a field day already. What are they going to do if they discover we’ve resorted to psychics?”

  The captain sighed. “I know. But as I said, I don’t have a choice on this one. Besides, I’ll use whatever—and whomever—I can to stop the bastard doing this.”

  Amen to that. Ethan grabbed his jacket and stood up. “You mind if I go talk with Mark for a few minutes?”

  “Like it’s going to make any difference if I say no.” Benton unwrapped another stick of gum and shoved it in his mouth. “But a few minutes is all you’re getting, then I want your ass out of here. As of tonight, you’re on leave.”

  This time it was anger that rose in a red tide. He struggled to keep his voice calm as he said, “Captain, you know I can’t—”

  “You’re too involved, Morgan.”

  Of course he was too involved—three days ago his goddamn niece had become one of the missing kids. And he’d promised Luke—his brother, and the only family member he acknowledged these days—that he’d find her, and bring her back safely. Which was a stupid thing to do, but he just couldn’t help it. Luke and his family were the one truly good thing remaining in his life.

  He flexed his fingers and took a deep breath. Anger wouldn’t help his cause. It would only confirm the captain’s opinion that he couldn’t keep a clear mind. “I know this case better than anyone. And I’ve got a better nose for hunting down killers than anyone else in the squad.” Which was certainly more accurate than the captain would ever know.

  “I’m not denying either of those facts.” Benton paused, beady eyes narrowing. “But when was the last time you slept properly?”

  Ethan didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

  “And when was the last time you ate a decent meal?”

  “Cap, that has nothing to do with my ability—”

  “That has everything to do with it! You’re running on anger, Morgan, and nothing else. God, man, you look like shit.”

  Wasn’t t
hat the truth! But the cause wasn’t just lack of sleep or food or his missing niece. It was the heat of the moon pounding through his blood.

  “Your few minutes are ticking by, Morgan. Move it.”

  Ethan put on his jacket and pushed past the paramedic and captain.

  “Morgan?”

  He hesitated and looked over his shoulder.

  “Leave. If I catch your ass in the area again, and I’ll lock you up until this thing is over.”

  Ethan’s smile was grim. With the full moon rising, there wasn’t a prison cell in the country that could hold him. “Sure, Cap.”

  The moon caressed his shoulders as he walked away—a touch that burned clear through to his soul. The darkness stirred deep within, and hunger boiled through his veins. He thrust clenched hands into his jacket pockets and tried to ignore the moon-spun fever. He didn’t have time to quench his physical needs right now. Not when every minute that passed brought the reality of Janie’s death one step closer.

  Not when the fiends behind these kidnappings were so close he could almost smell them.

  He walked into the warehouse and made his way down the stairs. Floodlights had been brought in an hour ago, and the shadows had long since fled. Oddly enough, the room looked smaller than it had when encased in darkness. Forensics methodically searched for the smallest of clues, but he doubted they’d find anything beyond the oddly human-shaped smudge of ash.

  Mark Fairfield, his friend and partner of the last three years, squatted near the dark stain on the concrete floor. Ethan stopped next to him.

  “They figured out what that is yet?”

  “Human, if the small bits of bone they’ve found are anything to go by.” Mark’s voice was grim.

  “A fire hot enough to do this to a human would have killed me, too.”

  “Yeah. And made a mess of the warehouse, too.” Mark looked up. “By your reckoning, you were only unconscious for three to four minutes. Not enough time for this to happen.”

  “No.” But the fact was, it had. “You questioned the woman?”

  “Katherine Tanner? Yeah. She’s not saying much, but I have a feeling she knows exactly what transpired.”