by J. R. Rain
Perhaps the darkest of them all.
Chapter Twenty-five
I was alone in bed.
Dawn was coming. I knew this because I could feel it coming in every fiber of my being. It wasn’t a good feeling. In fact, it made me nervous, agitated. Now I knew the reality behind the feeling. Sunlight made her nervous and agitated. The demoness within.
And Fang wanted this? I thought. Fang sought this?
I shook my head and clawed at my covers, restless as hell, agitated as hell. My kids were still with my sister, as they often were during the summer. She took them willingly enough, knowing my penchant for working the late shift. I think she also wanted to give them a normal home, even if for a few hours a night. She hadn’t said so in so many words, and, truthfully, I didn’t blame her. In fact, I was okay with it. A few times a week with her was okay by me, especially during the summer.
Yes, I had missed a golden opportunity to dig deeper into the murdered jogger case tonight, but I had needed my time with Russell. It had to be done, and now was the time.
And now, of course, he was gone.
Would I ever see him again?
A part of me thought no. A part of me thought my handsome, young, sexy boxer with the bad-boy tattoos was forever gone.
I loved him, yes. But our love had never had time to mature. Too soon, it was stunted and distorted by the curse. I had not gotten to know the real Russell, and now, I never would.
Yeah, I moped around most of the night, depressed, pissed, agitated, slightly sick to my stomach. The blood packet I had downed had too many impurities in it. Enough to make me slightly sick.
But now, the need for sleep was coming hard. I was presently in stage two of three, of what I thought of as my before-sleep countdown. Stage two meant that I damn well better be near a bed, and in a dark room. I suppose a casket would work, too, but how weird was that?
“Too weird for me,” I whispered into my pillow.
The entity within me was silent, as she usually was. What provoked her into contacting me recently, I didn’t know. And whether or not she was truly getting stronger, I didn’t know that either.
But I suspected she was, and I thought I knew why.
Her strength had been building over the years, but not because of time itself. I added to her strength each time I lost a little more of myself. Sephora had hinted at it.
No matter what, at all costs, I had to retain who I was and not let the vampire in me consume me completely. If so, she would win. If so, I might not ever return.
I did not want to spend an eternity on the sidelines, watching the thing within me ruin and destroy lives.
With that thought, as the rising sun approached on the distant horizon, not quite dawn but only minutes away, as I slipped from phase two into phase three, I thought of Detective Hanner, my one-time vampire friend.
How far gone was she? I knew Hanner had killed without remorse or discrimination. She had personally run a blood ring, overseen by psychotic killers. And I had watch her kill the lady jogger.
As Fang stood by and watched...
And then joined her.
Yes, Hanner was very far gone, although, I suspected, not entirely consumed by the darkness within her. And, with sudden clarity, I suspected I knew why.
“She made an agreement with it,” I said sleepily to myself.
I nodded into my pillow.
Yes, that was it, of course. She had made an agreement with the entity early on. By allowing it to surface, to briefly possess her body, to live in this world sooner rather than later. By doing so, it, in return, gave Hanner access to her own body.
Kind of it, I thought.
Well, I wasn’t making a deal with the bitch within me. She wasn’t going to surface. Not now, or ever.
“You can go to hell,” I mumbled aloud, barely coherent.
And, just before sleep hit me, I knew what I had to do.
I had to find Hanner...and Fang.
Chapter Twenty-six
I was in my minivan.
Driving along the winding Bastanchury Road through the back hills of Yorba Linda, on my way to see an honest-to-God werewolf and a butler who may or may not have been Frankenstein—yeah, no shit—when my cell phone rang.
Restricted. I.D.
It was either Detective Sherbet or Detective Sanchez, so I played it safe. “Hi, Detective,” I said.
“How did you know it was me?” asked Sanchez.
“Lucky guess,” I said.
Our connection wasn’t so strong that he could read my thoughts long distance, which was a good thing, because he might have known I wasn’t quite so awesome. Can’t have that.
“We have another body, Sam.”
My smug grin faltered. “Where?”
“Same place, same trail. Griffith Park.”
“Who?”
“A park ranger this time, which means this is about to get ugly fast.”
“Griffith Park has park rangers?”
“Apparently so. Look, rangers are cops in their own right, and there’s going to be a lot of questions about this one. A lot of people are going to want answers.”
He was right, of course. Park rangers were cops, too, and when one of their own went down, well, whole departments—hell, whole agencies—kicked into gear.
“Officially, it’s going down as a cougar attack.”
“Good,” I said. “Leave it at that. Fight for that. Don’t let anyone suggest otherwise.”
“Sam, the wound is identical to the jogger. We can’t hide this for long.”
“You won’t need to,” I said.
There was a pause. I swear to God, I thought I might have even heard his heart beating through the phone. Maybe our connection was stronger than I’d thought. “What do you know, Sam?” he asked.
I shielded my thoughts of Fang. “I can’t tell you. Not yet.”
“Do you know who did this?” asked Sanchez.
“I do.”
“Tell me, goddammit. I will personally hunt these fuckers down—”
“And that’s the problem, Detective. I don’t know where they are or what’s going on, or why they’re killing the way they’re killing.”
“They?”
“There’s two of them.”
“Are they like you?” asked Sanchez.
“They are just like me,” I said.
“What’s your plan?”
“I’m going to find them,” I said. “And stop them.”
“How?” he asked.
I aimed my car into Kingsley’s long-ass driveway. “Any way I can.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
Franklin the butler answered the door.
As usual, he gazed down at me from high above his long nose. That his ears were two different sizes—and two different color tones—was something I was almost getting used to. Almost. That the ears were not quite level was another matter.
“Master Kingsley is...indisposed,” said Franklin.
“Indisposed, as in, with a woman?”
“Indisposed,” Franklin intoned irritably, his enunciation impeccable, with a slight British accent. And something else, too. French perhaps.
I was surprised to discover that I felt mildly jealous at hearing these words. I brushed past the big butler, touching him for the first time, my hand on his shoulder. As I did so, I couldn’t help but notice the fact that he was hard as a rock...and just as immovable. Good thing there was just enough Samantha Moon space between him and the door frame.
“Well,” I said from the foyer, as Franklin turned slowly and scowled at me. “Then I shall wait in the sitting room until Kingsley is un-indisposed.”
* * *
Footsteps.
Two sets of them. One barefoot, one heeled. The barefoot ones sounded like two slabs of beef slapping against the tiled floor. The heeled ones sounded a little too cute and spunky for me. The footsteps wound down the spiral stairs, then through the hallway, then over to the front door. At the door, there
were whispered words spoken. I couldn’t quite make them out—didn’t want to make them out. Still, my hearing was kind of awesome, if not superhuman. So I did catch a too-sweet “See you soon” followed by sounds of lip smacking. Eww. Finally, mercifully, the door opened and the sounds of clicking heels faded away, cut short by the shutting door.
More sounds of bare feet slapping, and a moment later, Kingsley stood at the entrance to the sitting room.
“This couldn’t wait?” he asked.
“I waited,” I said sweetly.
“Franklin came to the bedroom at a, um, crucial time.”
“Gee, I’m sorry,” I said, equally sweetly. I might have batted my eyelashes once or twice. “Did I throw off your rhythm?”
He growled from deep within his throat and swept into the room, his silk robe fluttering open, briefly flashing me. I nearly wretched...knowing where that thing had just been. He smiled slyly at my reaction and sat across from me, exposing himself once again as he crossed his tree-trunk-like legs.
“Did you at least shower?” I asked.
“I didn’t have a chance, Sam. You see, Franklin came to my door and said that you were here waiting. That it was important. You think I would waste precious time showering when something is so important?”
“I’ve been waiting twenty minutes.”
“I asked if you thought I would waste precious time showering, not finishing.”
“You’re a pig.”
“I am, but you knew that when you first met me.”
It was true. Kingsley had been an infamous womanizer back when he’d hired me two years ago. I’d made an honest man out of him; that is, until my fallen angel had decided to show me Kingsley’s true colors...and baited my then-boyfriend. Kingsley had fallen for the bait, and screwed his way out of our relationship. He had been trying to win me back ever since.
He laughed lightly, got up again—this time, mercifully keeping his robe closed—and went over to the bar in the far corner of the room and poured himself a finger or three of Scotch. He next reached into the wine cooler and removed what I could only imagine was a fine bottle of white wine—a chardonnay, no doubt. He poured a healthy amount, re-corked it and returned the bottle to the fridge—knowing I generally only drank one glass.
“Ferrari-Carano,” said Kingsley, coming over to me and handing me the cool glass. “Your favorite.”
It was, although a fat lot of good it did me, since I hadn’t been buzzed in seven years. At least, not buzzed on alcohol.
“Thank you,” I said, “and thank you for flashing me for a third time.”
“Third time’s a charm,” he said, making himself comfortable on the couch across from me.
“More like three strikes and you’re out,” I mumbled.
“I heard that, Sam. My hearing’s a little better than yours.”
“That’s right, because you’re part dog.”
“Sam...”
“Or, should I say, all dog?”
“Sam, I’ve apologized for what I’ve done.”
“Then apologize again, dammit.”
He looked at me from over his amber-filled glass. His bare foot waggled nervously, like a dog’s tail. His shaggy hair hung disheveled around his shoulder. He gave me a sincere look. It was the same look, I was willing to bet, that he’d given jurors in courts of law. Still, he was trying, and I appreciated his effort.
“Sam,” he said, “I’m truly sorry that I did what I did. It was stupid mistake.”
“Damn right it was stupid.”
“I was stupid.”
“Damn right, you were stupid.”
“Now, other than getting on me for the hundredth time about my stupidity, why did you come here tonight?”
I wanted to still be mad at him, but how did I stay mad at a werewolf who wiggled his foot like a puppy dog who needed attention? I couldn’t, and let it go for now, and I told him about my new case. He listened quietly, drinking idly, nodding sometimes and making wolfish grunting noises. Okay, maybe not wolfish. That might have been my imagination.
When I was wrapping up, I added, “You know Hanner, Kingsley. And you knew her well before I did. Hell, she supplied you blood for me...or for your other vampire guests. I need to find her.”
“I don’t know much about her, Sam. In fact, I would hazard to guess that you know far more about her at this point than I do.”
“How did you two first meet?” I asked. I was holding my wine, but it was mostly forgotten. Little things like my throat getting dry or my voice getting hoarse from too much talking never, ever happened to me these days. Minor irritants like that healed instantly. And my body, apparently, didn’t need much water. I knew water helped remove dangerous toxins from normal people. Except, of course, I had no more fear of dangerous toxins of any sort. I knew water cushioned joints and helped carry nutrients to cells and helped regulate body temperature.
What, exactly, was cushioning my cells, I didn’t know. And whether or not my cells needed any nutrients, I didn’t know that either, but one thing I did know was this: blood did the universal trick. It had everything I needed, and then some. I’d gone days without drinking water and hadn’t missed a beat. And, no, I didn’t use the bathroom, either.
Like I said, I’m a freak.
Yes, I operated by different physical rules, although the emotions had mostly stayed intact. I could still feel hurt and jealousy and rage. Losing control of myself was just what she wanted. I had to stay in control. Stay human.
“We met at a paranormal convention,” Kingsley was saying. “At the North Pole with Santa Claus.”
“Jerk,” I said.
He chuckled lightly. “Sam, I’m involved in a sort of network of the undead, you could say. Or, in my case, supernaturals.”
“You are not undead?”
“Not quite, Sam. I can live for a very long time, but werewolves are not ageless.”
Kingsley had explained once the reason for his great size. He had not started out so big. Over the years, and with each cycle of the moon, his body adopted the werewolf’s form more and more. The bigger he got, the closer he got to the beast within, the easier it was for him to transform with each full moon. A change that was not very pleasant.
I nodded. “If werewolves were immortal...”
“We would be big as cars,” he finished.
I recalled the hulking beast standing in my hotel room two years ago. Yes, Kingsley was huge in his changeling form. Truth was, he was not that far off from his alter ego’s size.
“How old are you again?” I asked.
“I’m close to eighty, Sam.”
“And you don’t look a day over forty-five.”
“I was thinking forty, but whatever,” he said. “And I know what you’re thinking...”
I looked at him for a long moment, and fought a strong need to reach for his big hand. “What am I thinking?”
“You’re wondering how I could possibly be so good looking. It’s not easy, let me tell you. The hair care products alone cost me a fortune.”
I laughed, and as I did so, I realized there would be a day when Kingsley wasn’t here for me either, and that thought brought anguish to my heart and tears to my eyes.
“Hey, kiddo,” he said, reaching over and gently lifting my jaw. “I’m not going anywhere for a long time.”
“How long?”
“A long, long time.”
I nodded and briefly hid my face in my hands. I guess I cared about Kingsley more than I realized. No, I had always cared about him. Our timing hadn’t been right. Not initially, when I was dealing with a cheating spouse. And just when my heart was healing, just when I was coming around to really loving Kingsley...he’d cheated on me, too.
I let it go, and fought back tears, and said, “I need to find Hanner.”
Kingsley blinked with the sudden shift in conversation. He said, “I was under the impression that she was still gone.”
“She’s back.”
Kingsley ha
d, of course, known about Hanner turning Fang. “I was unaware of that.”
“How plugged into this supernatural network are you?” I asked.
“I’m as plugged in as I need to be, or want to be.”
“I need to find her,” I said. “And Fang.”
“I’ll see what I can find out,” I said.
“They’re killing out of L.A.” I hesitated to say training, although that was what I suspected the killings were.
Kingsley nodded, held my gaze. “Have you considered why they’re leaving bodies in the park, Sam?”
“I have.”
“Any thoughts?”
“Not many, other than it’s obvious they want people to know a vampire is around.”
“People?” asked Kingsley. “Or just you?”
“Me?”
“Yes,” he said. “You.”
“What do you mean?”
“Their actions have flushed you out, in a way.”
“But why?”
“I don’t know, Sam.”
I next told Kingsley about Sanchez’s memory gap.
“I think we know the reason for the memory gap, Sam,” said Kingsley. “Someone wanted him to contact you.”
“But he contacted Sherbet first.”
“Which would be protocol, and less obvious,” said Kingsley. “Contact Sherbet first, who would obviously turn around and contact you. So, who would know to contact Sherbet first?”
“Hanner,” I said.
“And Hanner, according to you, is particularly adept at altering memories.”
I looked at Kingsley grimly. “We need to find her, and we need to see what the hell is going on.”
Kingsley looked at me with a lot of concern in his big, brown eyes. “And stop the killings, too, right?”
I blinked, realizing I’d overlooked that crucial reasoning. “Yes,” I said, mildly alarmed at my oversight, “that, too.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
I was seated outside of Detective Rachel Hanner’s home in the Fullerton Hills.