Toronto smiled at her, but she didn’t smile back. “Hey, it’s not a bad skill… pretty damn useful, if you ask me. I can keep people from picking up on how powerful I am, but hiding myself completely? That’s not so easy. I spent nearly three hours combing through the city. Was like trying to find Hansel and Gretel after they marked their way with breadcrumbs. Pointless.”
She shrugged, unimpressed.
“Can you sense him, do you think?”
Sylvia’s gaze swung back around to him. Her eyes, darker than normal against her pale skin, widened. “Me?” She swallowed and looked down, focusing on the back and forth motion of her nail file.
“Yeah. If he was made by the same one who made you, there’s a connection there. Can you use it?”
She continued to sit there, head bowed, focusing on her nails. He had the feeling her nails would be nothing but nubs if this conversation lasted much longer.
In the next second, she stopped, laying the file aside. “I don’t know. I always knew when he was around. I felt like a rabbit, ready to dart into a hole to get away from him.” She shoved back from the table and started to pace, her long legs scissoring back and forth, her gaze troubled. “It was a hot burn on my skin— the closer he was, the worst it felt.”
“Did his other vamps affect you like that?”
“I felt them. They didn’t make me want to bury myself someplace dark and deep and spend the next fifty years in hiding, but I could sense them.” She stilled and shot him a look over her shoulder, a considering look in her eyes. “I don’t know if that will translate to much, though. I haven’t ever used my ability like that. I’ve never cared to.”
“If you can use it that way, it’s going to come instinctively.” He rose from the chair, wondering if she’d start shying away from him again.
Sylvia held her ground, though, watching him with that careful, blank look.
“It doesn’t mean it will come easily, even instinct can kick and pull from time to time, but it’s got to be better than what I’m doing.” He reached out to toy with her hair, but stopped himself when she flinched. “Sylvia?”
“Don’t.” She shook her head. “Just don’t… okay?”
Closing his hand into a fist, he lowered it. “Sure.” It was hard for her, he knew. Being here. He wanted to help, wanted to do all that stroking and soothing and patting… all that stuff he was fucking useless at. Giving her a tight smile, he turned away. It was hard for her to be here and she didn’t really want his lousy attempts to comfort her.
He could understand that, too.
He just hadn’t thought it would hurt so damn much.
Shooting a look outside, he saw that the sun was kissing the horizon. A few more minutes— still had a few more minutes before she should be outside.
“Toronto…”
Over his shoulder, he said tersely, “I need to go check a few things. I’ll be back soon. We’re going to do this on foot, so you need to be safe to travel outside.”
He was out the door before she could say anything else.
There was a funny, heavy ache in his chest. Absently, he pressed his hand to it as he moved in a lope toward the far western edge of Nessa’s land. Shit. Sylvia had really managed to figure out how to hurt him. And this wasn’t the first time, either.
How was she able to do this to him, turn him into knots like this?
A second later, he almost tripped over his own feet as he figured it out. Through the rush and roaring blood pounding in his ears, he remembered being here just days earlier. When was it… a week ago?
Was it like wham, some sort of click and you just knew? Did it take longer?
Yes… and yes. There were all sorts of clicks…
Seeing that picture of Sylvia, feeling that strange little bump inside. The way he felt better when she smiled. The way he ached when he knew she was sad. How fricking bizarre it was to even know when she was sad…
“It doesn’t happen like this,” he muttered. “It just doesn’t.”
Why in the hell would fate throw something like this at him?
But then he realized the truth of it all— why shouldn’t fate throw it at him?
The universe had gone and flipped him straight on his head, and it was likely just deserts for spending the past hundred years thinking about nobody save himself.
Now he had somebody else in his head… all the time, somebody he couldn’t stop thinking of. And she was already doing her damnedest to separate herself from him.
The ache in his chest swelled until he thought it just might split him apart.
She might enjoy twisting on the sheets with him, but that didn’t mean she had feelings for him. Hell, if she did, she wouldn’t pull away from him when he tried to help, right?
Leaning against the wooden fence, he stared numbly off into the growing dusk. All these years of being an uncaring bastard had just caught up to him, in a brutal way.
Inside, his wolf shifted and started to pace. A long, hollow howl rose in his skull, aching to be released. He kept it quiet. When the job was done. He’d give into it when the job was done, and he’d managed to get some time away.
Just leave… a snide voice inside him whispered. Leave now… That’s what you really want, isn’t it?
He didn’t, though.
He’d finish the damn job. Then he’d go back to Memphis, and do whatever else was needed of him, and he’d wait until Rafe gave him leave to go. Closing his eyes, he shoved away from the fence and straightened, staring up at the sky. “I get the point.”
Rolling his shoulders, he forced himself to let go of the tension mounting there. As it drained away, he cracked his neck and then, slowly, he blew out a breath.
The wolf was going to come out and play sometime soon, but for now, he needed to get back to the house and keep a lid on everything. Everything.
Gathering up that fabled control he was supposed to have, he turned back and stared at the house. He was a fucking Master were. It was time to start acting like one. In all ways.
T
HE man who came into the cabin looked a stranger. Remote. Contained. Controlled.
It was the Master were she would have expected to face, if she’d known she’d been dealing with one when she first hit Memphis, Sylvia decided.
And it wasn’t the wisecracking, lovable bastard she wanted.
She’d meant to tell him she was sorry for pushing him away. She just needed… hell. Sylvia didn’t even know what she needed right then. Her head was a mess and she couldn’t think. Couldn’t focus.
“Are you ready?” he asked, his voice polite.
Polite. She didn’t want him polite. She wanted him bossing her around and whispering dirty words in her ear… or wrapping his arms around her and not bothering to speak at all.
“Ah, yeah. In a minute.” She’d already gathered her weapons. Knives. Check. Gun. Check. What to say to Toronto… that wasn’t quite so easy to figure out. Swallowing, she hooked her thumbs in her pockets and said, “Look, I’m sorry if I’m…”
Toronto’s blue eyes cut her way and then he shrugged, turned away. With his back to her, he said, “Nothing to apologize about, Sylvia. We’re here on a job, after all, right? Just a job. Let’s get it done so we can both get back to our lives.”
She flinched. Just a job…
“Yeah.” Shooting a look at the door, she said, “Let’s get it the hell done.”
CHAPTER 23
S
OMETHING out there in the night was crawling around looking for him.
Kit felt it. He laid low, prowling through the lowest levels of his house, checking his escape routes.
He should run.
Except every now and then, he caught a scent that tickled something in the back of his memory. He couldn’t quite place it, but it called to him. Made tears burn, made his throat ache.
And being here was worse, so much worse. The memories were stronger this time. Why? He didn’t know.
He needed to run… bu
t he couldn’t.
Voices echoed in his mind, a blurred, mad cocktail and he couldn’t quite separate one from the other.
Stupid little boy… you want to help her… fine. You’ll help—I’ll see to it.
… Can’t help her. There’s nothing we can do.
I have to save her—
Don’t tell me you’re sorry, boy…
Moaning, he buried his face in his hands and leaned against the wall. “Shut up,” he said. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!”
The sound of his final, screaming words was still fading when he felt a prickle along the back of his neck, and a burn along the edges of his mind.
“No.”
Close… too close.
S
YLVIA stood staring at the house.
It was ridiculously modern. Shiny glass. Lots of metal.
And it stood in the exact spot where Harold’s home had been all those years ago.
“Who owns this place?” She turned her head and looked at Toronto. He had been silent all night, trailing behind her like a silent shadow. “I can find out, but I’d have to spend some time researching. I bet you Boy Scouts have a network for just this sort of thing, don’t you?”
She forced a smile, waiting to see that mirth light his eyes, but all he did was reach into his pocket and pull out a phone. His eyes sought out an address, dismissing her. She heard a voice come on the line. With a sigh, she turned away.
Apparently, wolves had a thing with being snubbed. Get over it, she told herself. So she couldn’t do any touchy-feely crap right now. That was understandable, as far as she was concerned— she needed some space to process this, damn it.
He’d just have to yank the stick out of his ass. Before she did it herself, and beat him with it in the process.
Looking back to the house, she moved forward and lifted her hands, curled them around the posts of the wrought iron fence, searching the house. Something had pulled her here. Toronto had told her instinct should guide her, and she’d just started to walk. This was where she’d ended up, but that could have been because her memories had led her here… right?
Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes.
It was a conscious thing, the trick she used to keep herself undetected by other predators. So it made sense that it was a conscious thing that would let her sense somebody else doing—
There was a burn on her brain.
Something nagging and small, but pressing against the edge of her subconscious, all the same. Small, and trying to make itself smaller…
I felt like a rabbit, ready to dart into a hole to get away from him.
And that’s what this seemed to be, something burrowing itself deeper, trying to hide away.
Swallowing, she made herself open her eyes and stare at the house.
“We’ve got a name— apparently it belongs to a Harold Adler.”
She managed to keep from flinching at the name. Harold Adler? The last name was a crock, but that wasn’t any surprise. Most of them had a lot of fake names they used. Harold, though, why was he calling himself Harold?
“Harold was the one who made me,” she said quietly. “And there’s somebody here.” Hearing a weird, whining sound, she looked down and realized she’d been twisting the metal. Hell. Sighing, she looked back up, focusing on the house instead of the strangely silent wolf at her side.
“Are you sure?” His nostrils flared and she knew he was checking the air.
“Yes.” She’d already checked it herself and although her ability to scent-track was nothing compared to his, she hadn’t really caught much, either. It didn’t matter.
There was somebody in there.
Toronto moved closer and she shot a look up at him. Her heart managed to give one painful lurch in her chest, but all he did was focus his eyes on the house. He hadn’t looked at her for more than a minute since they’d left the cabin, damn it. Why in the hell was he so pissed? Was he pissed—
“How do we get inside?”
Forcing herself to shrug it all off, she stared at the house. “The same way I always get into a house,” she said, and she was damn proud to hear that her voice was about as emotionless as his. “We’ll break in.”
“He’ll hear us.”
She slipped him a look as she reached into her pocket for her lockpicks. “That’s why you can wait out here. Regardless of what he’s doing to keep you from sensing him, if he takes off, he’s going to rattle his cover and you’ll zoom in on him. This sort of ability works the best if he’s hiding. If he takes off running, you’ll get a better feel for him. It’s why you sensed me so easily; I wasn’t hiding.”
She jumped over the fence and headed for the elaborate stairwell without another word. She had plenty of words she wanted to use— words like I’m sorry, Why are you so mad? Are you really going to just walk away… But now wasn’t the time, and she needed to keep that in mind.
C
LOSER.
She was closer.
It was a she. He could smell her even better now, and it was so familiar. Kit shouldn’t have come here. It wasn’t usually so hard to think here, but ever since he’d killed Alan, things were worse. The voices louder. The blood brighter. He couldn’t feed enough and the thirst was terrible.
It had been getting worse for a while, but it had never been this all-consuming—
T
RYING to ignore the worry that was a scream in his gut, and the hollow ache that lingered in his chest, Toronto continued to stare up at the house. He could see Sylvia there, crouching in the darkness.
He didn’t like this shit— her up there alone.
Didn’t like it at all.
His phone vibrated in his pocket and he tugged it out, about ready to turn it off, but the name caught his attention. Josiah didn’t text. He hated to even carry the damn cell phone.
Identified some of the chemicals from the house but be careful if you smell it again—get the hell away. The base is from a plant called pennyroyal—safe enough if you don’t eat it…
Toronto scowled as he skimmed the next message.
This entire compound is a fucking disaster—there’s shit in here that’s toxic to humans even in small amounts. It’s poison. I’m also getting traces of cyanogenic glycosides and—
“Cyano what?” Toronto swore. Gibberish— it was all gibberish. He punched in a message. Josiah? I’m not the chemistry freak. I’m not following this.
A brief moment of nothing and then, a short, terse explanation. Like most poisons, it’s the amount you ingest that will get you. This isn’t just one kind of poison, either, it’s a shitload of poisons.
I told Rafe he needs to get out there with a team and start looking for dead bodies, because any human around this shit for long was a corpse waiting to happen.
Humans are fucked. For us, depends on how big a dose you get and how strong you are. The shit is poison, though. Could drive one of us crazy—eat the brain right up.
“Drive us crazy,” Toronto muttered. Lifting his gaze up, he studied the house. Sylvia had already opened the locks.
What if somebody was already on edge? he texted Josiah.
Then this would push them over hard and fast.
He shoved the phone into his pocket just as Sylvia opened the door and slipped into the house… alone.
T
HERE was another mirror. Hell. Did he have to use the same damn mirror? Sylvia caught sight of her ghostly reflection and even before she turned to face it, she knew what she’d seen.
The house appeared empty, but was anything but.
She could hear him, moving around somewhere below.
She could smell, too, that scent from the house in New Madrid. Beyond that, there wasn’t anything familiar about it. She didn’t like it, though. It smelled… wrong. Off. Like death.
This wasn’t exactly like the smell of death; it was close, like rotten meat, hidden away, or forgotten about. It hung on the back of her tongue, clogging her senses until she could h
ardly smell anything past it.
Past him, she corrected. It was coming from the vampire.
She paused by the mirror and made herself block everything out. She didn’t need to breathe, so if she stopped relying on her nose, she wouldn’t have to worry about having that rotted stink in her head. Hearing a whisper of sound behind her, she moved to the side, drawing a blade.
And then she stilled as she saw Toronto prowling his way toward her. His eyes were glowing— swirling back and forth between pale blue and eerie gold. Wolf eyes…
She lifted a brow and mouthed, Outside.
Shaking his head, he looked past her to the mirror. His nostrils flared and a ripple of distaste danced across his face, the gold in his eyes gleaming brighter, hotter.
Then he looked back at her.
So much for him waiting outside.
Turning back to the mirror, she reached up, sliding her hand along it. This one was newer, she supposed. The mechanism was hidden differently, too, took a moment to find it.
But once she hit it, the door slid open with a whisper and she found herself staring down a flight of stairs that were horrifyingly familiar.
He’d built it right over the spot, she realized. Exactly.
As a fist wrapped itself around her gut, she rested a hand against the wall. The smell was stronger now. Stronger. And the vampire wasn’t moving, either… waiting, she realized.
He was waiting… down there in that dungeon.
S
HE’S here…
Kit peered toward the stairs and wondered why he didn’t run.
I need to run. I should—
There was another smell, too, and it was one that struck fear into the very heart of him.
But she was here…
I’ll save you, Sada—
Even through the pain, he’d remembered that promise. And he remembered how he failed. He also remembered screams. Solomon’s screams as Harold drug him away.
But he’d paid. Good ol’ Harry. Kit giggled. He’d paid the price, oh, he had.
* * *
T
HAT mad little giggle sent a shiver down Sylvia’s spine as it echoed up through the stairwell.
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