Skin Deep (A DarkWorld Novel - Book 1) (The DarkWorld Series)

by Ayer, T. G.

  "I’m fine, though I’d be much better if I knew who made these."

  "Okay, absolutely. Hand it over." She opened her palm and I dropped the bullet into it. Tara closed her fingers over the bullet and breathed in and out slowly. "It was made by hand. He’s proud of his work...." She tilted her head to the right, as if listening to the metal speak. "He’s proud of making the drug. Synthe. That’s what he calls it…"

  I was relieved I actually had a lead. We had a name and confirmation that the drug and the bullet came from the same person, who was most likely the killer. "Thanks for checking it out for me," I said as Tara returned the bullet to me with a grimace.

  "He’s not a nice guy, that one. He’s got evil in his blood," she said with a shudder.

  "I’m sorry to put you through that. It must be horrible seeing their thoughts and feelings."

  "It’s fine. I just hope they find the guy soon. He’s dangerous." Tara rubbed her arms where goose-bumps had formed on her pale skin.

  "Come. Our coffee is getting cold," I said, hoping to change the topic and the mood.

  Minutes later, we sat at the kitchen counter, sipping the coffee in mutual satisfaction. I was eternally grateful for the caffeine. Not to mention the company. After the meal I cleared up, chucking the paper cups and bags in the trashcan. I'd just cleared the crumbs when I looked up to see Tara scanning my face, intent on figuring out what was the matter now. I could tell she still felt a trifle guilty about crafting the weapon who killed Clancy.

  I stuck my arm out at her. "Please tell me what in Ailuros's name this is."

  Her expression as she goggled at the bracelet would’ve rivaled any self-respecting goldfish. In the next instant I was jerked forward only my hips catching at the edge stopped me from sliding across the countertop towards Tara.

  I strained my neck to get a glimpse of what was happening to my hand and saw the expression on Tara's face. She held the band close to her; wonder, curiosity and admiration flitted across her face as she cupped the band in her palms, teasing the engraved swirls with her thumbs.

  Were it possible for her to be any closer to the band, she'd have had to be kissing the thing. She stared and studied, not paying the least attention to me.

  I let out the perfect combination of a snort and a giggle.

  The sound broke Tara's adoration and she swung her gaze to me. When she saw I was sprawled on my side, right hand held above my head in an impossibly awkward yoga-like stance, she burst into hysterical laughter.

  "Did I do that?" she choked out.

  "Nope. I thought it would be a good time to shine the table with my butt. Nothing I can't handle." I was a bit miffed at the man-handling I received. But I still saw the funny side and contributed my own set of giggles.

  Until I tried to sit up and a spasm of pain ripped through my back. An agonizing reminder there was nothing remotely amusing about my little dance with the two assassins. I swung around and sat next to her, giving her easy access to my arm.

  "Do you think you can get anything from it?"

  "It's bronze, so it will be difficult. I can't promise anything. But I’ll try." Tara's eyes held a sadness I hadn't seen there before and I felt a twinge of regret. I had put it there, in a round-about fashion. I wished now I hadn't asked her to read the steel pieces.

  But another part of me was grateful. Because of her reading, we now had Brand. Scum that he was, he was the key to finding the killer. This bracelet was a key as well. Key to what? I intended to find out.

  "It's warm, and incredibly soft." A startling description especially when the armor was made from solid bronze. But somehow I understood what Tara meant. It explained how the band had shrunk to fit my arm. "There's violence in it, but goodness too. A...strange combination, but it...fits."

  A long silence simmered as Tara searched the metal for memories, or any hint of what its purpose was.

  "There's a woman, she feels protective of you, like she does not want you to be harmed. She sent this to you. I am pretty certain it's meant to protect you but it's not clear how." Tara paused and scrunched her forehead. "And something else keeps popping into my head. So strange, it's almost ridiculous."

  I waggled my eyebrows in question.

  "Some Spartacus guy, wearing a toga and armor. People chanting and praising him. And a monster. A huge octopus kind of creature. I must be going mental."

  Tara looked tired and I said as much. She leaned back and relaxed. Pulling her fingers away from the metal to break the link.

  "So we got what? A whole lot of nothing?" I was disappointed. Everything she got was vague and insubstantial.

  "No, idiot. We got enough to know that someone out there, apart from your Grandma, is looking out for you. And thinks enough of you to give you this." Tara poked at the armor which lay against my skin. "There's a protection on this bracelet, Kailin. Whoever wears it is strong and powerful. And I think you should use it. Wait and see what happens."

  "Let me guess. You're a glass half full kinda girl, right?" I smiled. Tara was right. And, for whatever the reason, the band had chosen me. I was better off if I quit fighting it.

  ***

  Chapter 32

  Tara's visit had served to give me some distance from my problems. After we said goodbye I left for a trip to my colony. I’d had time to think about everything that had happened in the last week and what my options were. Had I been a normal child, my elders would’ve been my first port of call, but I was blessed with both an absent mother and grandmother, the former permanently while the latter may turn up anytime soon. My father on the other hand, may as well be absent for all the influence he had in my life. Given the choice between a visitation with Corin and becoming Human forever, I would gladly have sacrificed my feline persona.

  But I did not have the luxury of choice. He was the Prime Alpha of my pack, and I needed information from him.

  The house was the same, silent and empty, even when we had all lived here. Iain was out, but my father's car was in the driveway so he had to be in his office. The man did very little but work.

  I squared my shoulders and entered the room. The soft click of the lock behind me bade him turn toward me. And for one pathetic second I held my breath while my body and soul hoped beyond all hope that he would open his arms and give me a bear-hug and welcome me home. Only for a second. I swallowed the thick lump of disappointment lodged in my throat as I met his eyes and saw only a mild curiosity. As if he merely wondered what was so important for me to come see him. Not as if he held the slightest bit of joy to see his child return home.

  I studied his face, then. The smooth lines, high cheekbones, dark eyes, unfathomable eyes I'd wished so many times I had the power to soften. A gray memory flitted across my mind - a smiling father filled with love and laughter on whose shoulders I’d ridden, and with whom tickles and hugs were the norm. But when my mother left us, she took with her his smile and his softness, leaving us with this dark shell of the man he once was.

  I blinked away the memories, along with the slight moisture coating my eyes. He hadn't aged - it had only been two years after all.

  "Hello, Kailin. Have you finally come to your senses?" My father leaned forward, settling his elbows on his oak desk and steepling his fingers.

  "I’m sorry, I’m not sure what you mean, Father." I knew exactly what he meant and it made my blood simmer with fury. I had to tamp it down or my Alpha father would know exactly what I felt soon enough.

  "What I mean is have you finally realized that home is where you belong and that you should end this silly nonsense of staying in Chicago?" His voice was clipped, cool as always. Not a hint of emotion.

  "No, Father. Actually I’m very happy there. I’m just here to find out if Iain briefed you on our problem. And if you have heard anything yet from Greer."

  "Yes Iain has told me of our problem." He sighed and I swallowed my shock. I’d expected him to brush it off as my problem, not his. "Why don’t you give me your first hand version of what’s hap
pened."

  My Father had just done something so completely out of character; he’d refrained from contradicting me. And now he wants me to tell him my story. Shock didn’t even begin to describe my emotions. But I began my story, starting with a description of the corpse and the horrific injuries he had suffered at the hands of his murderer. I’d barely completed my description of the Walkers claw-tipped fingers when he turned away and I knew he meant to hide his reaction. Not fast enough. I'd seen the recognition flare in those black depths. As if he'd been expecting something like this to happen for so long he'd eventually forgotten about it, and I’d caught him by surprise.

  The words tripped off my tongue so easily he would be forgiven had he dismissed the entire debacle as a figment of my crazy imagination. Granted I gave him the watered down version, leaving out my encounter with Logan, while deliberately detailing my shooting and the second attempt on my life yesterday afternoon. I watched him, perversely studying his expression for any indication of shock or fear for my safety. But I needn't have bothered. His stony facade revealed none.

  His back was rigid as he stared out the window. The weather was equally troubled. Obese clouds hovering out west had finally pooled directly overhead, bright flashes lit the dark mass from the inside: converging above us as if drawn to the equally dark turmoil in the room.

  Had I dared, I would’ve been tapping my foot on the polished oak floor while I waited. My teeth were beginning to ache again. I concentrated on forcing my jaws to relax, instead of watching the mahogany clock on the mantelpiece kindly ticking away the moments of my life.

  I gritted my teeth again. Blast it. I hated waiting for him, hated having to return to him for help. Knowing he would see this as a sign of weakness, as proof I was unable to make it on my own in the big, and Human world.

  The ache in my jaw was answered by an ache of equal proportion in my shoulder. Though now fully healed, the knife wound in my back still throbbed, as if a thousand tiny chainsaw-wielding loggers had converged on the flesh around the wound, merrily stabbing away at my body. A brutal reminder of how near I'd come to crossing the next threshold. I rolled my shoulder slowly, wincing as it completed the revolution, trying to ease the tension around the damaged muscles.

  Looking up I saw my father watching me, although his eyes were far away, mulling on a thought. It had grown so dark outside; the entire room was now reflected in the shiny panes, a living mosaic catching the flames as they danced, reflecting the two occupants who gave no indication they were blood kin. No affection even flickered in my father's eyes, nor in the set of his shoulders.

  "What's going on?" My eyes narrowed on him. I was damned if I hadn't seen a flash of guilt color his eyes. He'd covered it fast but not so fast that I’d missed it.

  With a sigh he sank into his chair, safely on the other side of the huge oak desk. He lifted an antique gold Parker from its case. He never actually used the pens; the refills were impossible to find anymore. Now he snaked it in and out of his fingers, finding something to focus his attention on. Something besides me, that is.

  Okay, get a grip. You didn't come here for a family reunion. Not like you expected hugs and kisses and a welcome home party. Suck it up.

  When he did answer I was surprised. I'd half expected to be banished to my room for the folly of pushing him for an answer.

  "I’d hoped there would never come a time that I would have to tell you this." He swallowed, and it looked to me like he was finding this all too difficult.

  I didn't answer, for fear any interruption would cause him to stop and reconsider. Besides, some tiny part of me relished seeing the man reduced to an uncertain and troubled mortal. He'd always seemed to me so far beyond real. Unattainable, incomprehensible.

  "What I regret is…the last thing I expected was for this mess to end up on your doorstep."

  My turn to swallow. Irritation felt like a ball of scratchy twine stuck in my throat. I risked my life almost daily, and he had no freaking' idea. As if I couldn't take care of myself. I couldn't control my expression of disbelief.

  "Did you think I would’ve let you go, had I not preferred it?" The smile curving his mouth was cool and arrogant.

  I clamped my mouth shut, only because I felt the inside of my lip quiver slightly. I'd walked straight into a minefield of pain filled memories that I'd been safely guarded against in the last two years. I would wait only until he was done talking, then I was leaving.

  "I see you have learned the wisdom of recognizing when to back down." I refused to rise to the bait, paused to wonder why he wasted time in the baiting. "There is something you should’ve been told a long time ago. When you left, it seemed moot. But, considering the information you have brought to me, it is time."

  He was prolonging the telling - I was sure of it.

  "I know who killed this man."

  I said nothing, leaving it to him to fill the deep silences in the now darkened room. Along the wall, the fire still crackled bright and merry, at odds with the not-so-merry emotions I was feeling. An old desk lamp cast feeble light onto the desk between us, throwing eerie shadows upon us.

  In that instant, my father seemed an old and weary man.

  "The man you are looking for is Niko. I'm quite sure of it."

  "Niko?" I was a bit slow to catch on, but I got there eventually as the look on my father's face was a mixture of pain and shame. "You mean Uncle Niko? Your brother?"

  My father leaned back into his chair, and the sigh he released was clearly one of relief.

  "Niko is Pariah."

  Corin's words assaulted me in both body and mind.

  "Why have you never told me this?" Before I could control my tongue, the petulant teenager took a step forward. "Am I the only one who doesn't know?"

  Wishing I could take the outburst back, I rose and walked to the window.

  "Nobody else knows about Niko, only Iain."

  I found no comfort in those words. In fact I found them harder to believe than if I was really the only one not privy to the knowledge.

  The stubborn set of my shoulders must have given Corin some idea how I was feeling. All the issues I had with my father came tumbling back onto those stiff shoulders. I'd left because of it, and here I was, barely back for half an hour and already I was drowning in an abyss of emotional torment.

  For once Corin gave me space to calm down.

  "So what do we do? Do you have any idea where he could be holed up? Where he could be stashing his victims until he's done with them?"

  "No. I wish I knew." Corin ran a hand over a haggard face, a vain attempt to wipe away the frustration embedded in it. "We've been trying to find him this past year."

  "Why is Uncle Niko doing this? What's his motive?"

  "I wish I knew. Your uncle has always been unpredictable." He shrugged, but it was far from non-committal. His worry was clear in the defeated sag of his shoulders.

  "Eh? Unpredictable like trying to kill his own niece?" I blurted, still pissed that my own uncle had his henchmen out to get me.

  "Kailin, I'm pretty sure Niko wouldn't deliberately harm you."

  "But you don't know that for sure do you?"

  He didn't need to answer.

  ***

  Chapter 33

  All in all, the visit with my father had been fruitful. Not exactly successful though, since I left with one bit of information I wished I'd never known.

  My uncle who was trying to kill me.

  Well he ain't gonna get the chance. Not if I have anything to say about it.

  My mind was on my father and his tumultuous revelations. I used the fire escape and entered the apartment, both feet landing inside the room.

  Something large and heavy, reeking of damp fur, slammed into me, throwing me against the wall, so hard I heard the red bricks crack.

  The imprint of rough brick dented the back of my skull. The skin broke beneath two sets of razor-sharp claws. The world tilted and my vision began to darken as I slid to the floor. I almost
passed out.

  Almost. The wretched wolf stood over me, grinning. I scented hunger on him as he licked his jaws. The stench of blood enfolded me and I winced at the sting where his claws had ripped at me.

  This business of getting hurt was seriously pissing me off.

  My Panther keened within me and I gave in – freed the claws at my fingertips and sideswiped the beast, gouging the side of his face and jaw, ripping the skin with four deep slashes. The force of my blow threw him aside and he skittered across the floor, claws scrabbling for purchase, whimpering.

  As he went he pawed at his face, wiping at the skin hanging from his jaw. He wasn't drooling any longer.

  From the back of the room a golden blur raced at me, a Lynx Walker in full animal form, skidding on the shiny floors and bouncing off the concrete columns dotting my loft. My claws lengthened, sharpened. I was ready to do more damage.

  Seemed, whoever they were, they were not going to allow me the bliss of revenge. While my attention had remained focused on the approaching brown blur of Lynx, another of the intruders approached on a blind side.

  A blow to the side of my head had me skimming the edge of unconsciousness. Strong, large hands grabbed my arm, lifted me off the floor. My entire weight rested on the joint of my shoulder and it stung as the ball began to tear itself away from the socket inch by agonizing inch.

  I was grateful for the pain - it served to bring me back to my senses. And make me angry. Furious. I turned my head to get a look at my attacker.

  The briefest of views gave me an impression of a heavy beard, large jowls and a well-padded abdomen; a vision of a Viking turned logger complete with checkered shirt and workers boots.

  Then, knuckle and bone connected with my jaw so hard it sent my neck twisting in the opposite direction. I heard an ominous crick and hoped it came from the bones in his fingers and not my neck.