Air of Darkness

by Rose O'Brien

  “I knew there was a reason I hired you. You’re the best damn healer this side of the Fae Realms, D,” Alayna said, wistful.

  He nodded like this was a known constant of the universe and said, “So, the head bouncer at Revelations texts Nick, faithful gopher and lackey, and tells him to get his ass and his SUV to the loading dock. Jimmy Medina, covered in fresh blood, loads up and hides in the back seat. Nick drives all over town, no doubt to shake any tails, and drops old Culebra at Hellraisers. Blanca Rodriquez’s body is dumped a few hours later under the Congress Street Bridge and discovered the next day. It doesn’t fit with the other cases. Things aren’t lining up.”

  Alayna nodded in agreement. “Medina is a slick one. He’s over two hundred, so it’s not like he’s some baby vamp who doesn’t know how to keep his food alive.”

  Dumeril turned and started pacing, the fingers of one hand tracing the braids at his temple. One of his nervous habits.

  “He’s also shady as fuck,” he noted.

  Alayna’s eyebrows shot up at that. “Yeah? I thought he was in imports or something like that. Latin America stuff.”

  “Oh, he is,” Dumeril nodded. “He also runs drugs. Illicit substances and pharmaceuticals. Has his hands all over the black market.”

  “Drugs aren’t my jurisdiction. I have my hands full trying to keep the more unusual citizens of Austin from eating each other.”

  “True that,” Dumeril laughed.

  “We need to talk to Medina. He’s the first, best lead we’ve had in these cases. But how are we going to find him?”

  Dumeril smiled, showing the slightly elongated canines that gave his people such a predatory appearance.

  “Who do you always talk to when you need to know what’s going on with the vampires?” Dumeril asked.

  Alayna’s smile matched his. “Dominic.”

  A short time later, they had moved Nick from the sunny conference room to a light-tight cell at the other end of the warehouse. Dominic was mostly nocturnal and wouldn’t be available for several hours, so Alayna had some time to kill. She went to her desk, prepared to write her reports and perform he usual check-ins. Her mind raced around what Nick had told her, whirling and unable to come to a stop. There were still so many questions and so many pieces of a puzzle that didn’t fit together. She’d looked at this from every angle, but it just wouldn’t come into focus.

  A headache was forming behind her eyes. Only one cure for that.

  Screw the reports. Pulling her gloves from her desk drawer, she headed down to the gym to work the bag for awhile.

  As her fists hit the big canvas bag in a rapid staccato, her mind began to clear and her thoughts started to still, quickly landing on that agent from last night. Alex Martinez, his ID had said.

  The dude had some serious balls to try to take on a vamp with nothing more than a standard issue handgun. Most sapiens passed out from the fear the first time they saw a vampire show its predator face. The guy had stood his ground and had even gotten two shots off. A rare man. Her lip quirked up at one corner at the thought.

  Punch, punch, jab. She danced on the balls of her feet, moving around the bag, her muscles warming and her heart rate increasing.

  He’d been a total hottie, too. Gorgeous dark hair, spiky short. Beautiful dark eyes, so dark brown they had looked black in the dim light of the alley. Tan skin and a swimmer’s physique. Nice muscles without being muscle-bound. And those lips. They’d been surprisingly soft and she could almost feel them as she let the memory pull her back several hours.

  Hook-punch, ridge hand. The bag was taking the brunt of her frustration.

  Idiot. Alayna wasn’t sure what had possessed her to kiss him. She tried to tell herself that it was the best way to slip past his mental defenses, a necessary distraction. But the feel of that strong mouth under hers and the way he’d responded to her, an answer to her wordless question. She’d never forget it.

  Nor would she ever be able to shake the glimpses she’d gained from his memories. Something had been off. During a memory wipe, it was unusual to be able to see and remember the subject’s memories, beyond the recent ones she’d been trying to erase.

  With Alex, she’d seen hours of dedicated work, mostly trying to track down criminals, she thought, probably his work for the FBI. Years spent training and studying, honing his skills. Flashing images of battle, terrified screams echoing in a desert landscape. Gunshots and blood, so much blood. She’d seen him pressing his hands over streaming wounds, handling needles and tying tourniquets. A healer of some kind? Maybe a medic, like Dumeril.

  She froze, her arms dropping to her sides. Come to think of it, it had taken a lot more energy than usual to heal that head wound. Granted, it had been a nasty one that might have killed him if left untreated. She’d never been a particularly gifted healer, but usually it wasn’t that hard for her. The encounter with Alex had been off all the way around.

  She shook off the unease with an upper cut, then an elbow strike. Her techniques were landing with more force, rocking the heavy bag.

  Alayna’s thoughts spun back to that kiss. She’d stolen it from him, but he hadn’t seemed to mind. He had tasted so damn good, like smoky scotch and hard, hot male. For those few seconds she’d felt more alive than she had in years, heart pounding, skin tingling, mind spinning. Knife hand.

  Too bad that was all she’d ever get. Back fist. She’d probably—hopefully—never see him again.

  Spear hand, round kick. Muscles screaming, she gave the bag everything she had, anger, frustration and regret pouring out with each punch.

  Chapter 3

  Alex opened his eyes very slowly.

  He immediately regretted it as sunlight dug its claws right past his eyeballs and into his aching brain. Shit. It felt like a swarm of fire ants had taken up residence in there and were trying to chew their way out. Angry fire ants.

  And his mattress was suddenly as hard as a rock…and stank like urine and vomit. Wait, what? Deciding to chance it, Alex opened his eyes again, even more slowly and looked around. Instead of his bed, rough asphalt was under him, and instead of his bedroom, he found an alley stacked with garbage bags. A disorienting chill went through him. What. The. Fuck?

  On reflex, he sat up quickly. Mistake. Big mistake.

  Stomach rolling violently, head throbbing, he doubled over as wave after wave of pain and nausea pounded him. Was he having an aneurysm? That might explain what was going on.

  The last thing he remembered he had been at work, at the FBI field office, clearing extradition forms on a bank robbery suspect. He had been about to go somewhere, but he couldn’t remember exactly where.

  According to his watch, it was 10:30 a.m. Saturday. His last memory was about 8 p.m. Friday. More than fourteen hours unaccounted for.

  Alex checked himself for injuries and, finding none, stood up. Slowly. God, he hurt. Every muscle was stiff and sore, his bones feeling like they’d been pulverized and put back together with duct tape. Had he been hit by a truck or something? His ID was still in his pocket. His gun was…lying a few feet away. Picking it up, he checked the clip, found two bullets missing and holstered it. His wallet was in his jeans pocket, all the cash still in it. So, not a robbery, then, but why had he fired his gun?

  Fishing his keys out of his pocket, he stumbled to the mouth of the alley and looked around. Sixth and, he checked the signs, Trinity. Just outside of Revelations. What the hell? He hated bars like that and wouldn’t be caught dead there, given a choice.

  A memory floated up through the headache. Stonework. Gargoyles. Dancers. Loud music.

  He knew what the inside of the bar looked like, but he’d never been in there. That was weird.

  It occurred to him that he had bigger problems than being seen at an overly trendy bar. He had no idea where his truck was. If he started walking the nearby streets he’d find it eventually.

  Not knowing what else to do, Alex headed out down a deserted Sixth Street, kicking beer bottles and plastic
cups out of his way, trying not to think about how bad he smelled.

  ***

  After a shower and a few hours sleep, Alex loaded up in his truck and decided to head back to Revelations to get some answers.

  When he’d arrived home earlier, he’d checked his case files and found his notes about Revelations and Nick Salvadin. That must have been why he was on Sixth Street last night, but he had no idea if he’d found Salvadin, how he’d ended up in that alley, or if he was any closer to finding Blanca’s killer. He’d been on a rogue op and he’d fired his gun.

  Bureau rules stated he needed to report the discharge of his firearm, but he had no memory of what happened or even if he’d been the one to fire it. It was a huge risk not filing a report, but it was a bigger one to let anyone know he was suffering from memory loss.

  He needed answers about last night and he needed them fast.

  Sixth Street was deserted in the early afternoon, and parking was not a problem. As Alex walked past the alley he’d woken up in earlier that morning, he scratched his head. He was really hoping he hadn’t killed or injured anyone last night. There had been nothing in the news reports about a shooting.

  Someone at the club had to be able to help him fill in the blanks. Pushing open the matte black front door of the club, he stepped inside, the smell of disinfectant slapping him in the face. Night clubs always looked terrible in the harsh light of day and this place was no exception. This was maybe the example that proved the rule.

  The overhead fluorescents were on, and the red and black décor looked overly harsh, the fake stonework looked worse than cheesy. This place was not meant to be seen in daylight. He wondered what it looked like when the club was really swinging.

  With that thought, he had an odd sense of déjà vu, something like a memory floating up. He could picture the dance floor and the bar packed with bodies. He shook it off. Maybe it was just his imagination.

  “Can I help you?”

  He turned at the sound of the husky voice behind him. A tall woman with pin straight black hair cut off at the chin and harsh red lips stood in a hallway that was carefully hidden past the bouncer’s station.

  “I hope so. My name is Alex. I was hoping to speak to the owner, if he’s around.”

  The woman, dressed sharply in tailored slacks, a white blouse and a pinstripe vest, gave him an up-and-down look. Measuring, weighing and checking him out.

  “Do you have an appointment?” Her face was a ridged mask, her too-red lips turned down in disdain.

  He flashed his badge. “No, but this won’t take long. I just have a few questions.”

  Her dark eyes narrowed for a moment before a slow, wolfish smile spread across her lips. A shiver of unease traveled up his spine, but he shook it off.

  “I’m Camille Carerre, general manager for Revelations.” She extended her hand. Her skin was as cold and pale as marble. “Mr. Spino is in a meeting currently, but perhaps he can take a moment.”

  A strange tingling crept up his hand where she held it and he pulled back. She took a slow step toward him, holding his gaze with hers. Her eyes were so dark they were nearly black and he could feel himself falling into them.

  “Why are you here?” Her voice was low and a little sultry.

  A spicy scent wrapped around him as she stepped closer, something like chilies and orchids. An instinctual step back and his shoulder blades hit the wall. She was on him now, those black eyes holding him more effectively than chains. Those cold hands were on his chest now, her fingers tracing patterns.

  “I need answers to questions.” His mouth was moving on its own. What was happening to him? Fear tried to bubble up, but it dissipated like smoke in a strong wind.

  “Questions about what?”

  “Last night.” His voice sounded far away.

  “What happened last night?”

  “That’s what I don’t know. I was supposed to come here to find someone. Woke up in the alley out back this morning with missing memories.”

  Camille leaned into him, her breath brushing his neck, sending a shudder through him.

  “So you’re the one on the security tapes last night. The little air witch snared you with her memory spell. And you remember nothing?”

  The things she said didn’t make sense and his thoughts ground together like misaligned gears as he tried to process it.

  “Tiny pieces coming back. Images. Sounds.” His mouth was moving on it’s own again, even as the pounding in his head became louder.

  “That witch isn’t as good as she thinks she is.”

  She threw her head back and laughed, a sharp sound that made him want to recoil.

  Turning on a stiletto, she took his arm like they were old friends and led him down the hallway toward a set of double doors at the end. He tried to shrug off her grip. At least his arm was obeying his commands, even if the rest of him wasn’t, but she was strong.

  As she knocked softly and pushed the door open, Alex had a brief impression of a tall, muscular, dark-haired man rising from behind an overly large desk – compensating for something? – and a blonde woman sitting across from him, her back mostly to the door. As she turned, surprise evident on her face, his eyes met hers in a moment that seemed to stretch into hours. Indigo eyes.

  His vision instantly went white, a blinding pain searing along his neural pathways, skittering over his nerves. A roaring sound filled his ears, like all the air was being sucked out of the room.

  When his vision had cleared and he could hear again, he realized he was lying on his back staring up at an angry-looking guy with distinctly Italian features and the blonde woman. Her eyes were wide as she shouted.

  “Damn it, Camille! What possessed you to drag a sapien FBI agent in here?” the blonde woman snapped.

  The pain in his head was not receding and seemed to be getting worse. It was like the worst migraine he’d ever had times a gunshot wound. Maybe this was what dying felt like?

  “I didn’t know your fucked up magick was going to give him a seizure,” Camille snapped back.

  The blonde was stroking his forehead now, whispered words spilling from a set of truly gorgeous lips. Lips he remembered kissing last night.

  Holy crap. It was coming back. Images from the night before bombarded him, the club, the fight in the alley, the way she’d fixed what must have been a serious head injury with some whispered words and a touch.

  He remembered her kiss and he felt his blood heat up a degree or two. That had been one hell of a kiss.

  And he remembered her words.

  I’m sorry, cowboy. I can’t let you remember what happened tonight, but you probably don’t want the memories anyway. Just try to relax.

  She’d drugged him or hypnotized him or something. He fought to sit up, desperate to reach the door. His legs refused his commands and everything south of his neck was numb.

  “What the fuck did you do to me, lady?” he shouted at her. “What the fuck are you and what the fuck is going on?”

  “You’re saying fuck a lot,” she replied, her voice steady, a hand extended toward him, like he was a dangerous dog.

  Nice agent, good agent. Don’t mind the tranquilizer darts.

  She turned to the Italian guy. He guessed this was the mysterious Mr. Spino.

  “Dominic, we’ll finish this later. I need to get him out of here.”

  Memories of the fight in the alley assailed him, and suddenly he wanted to be very far from the blonde woman. He remembered the way she’d fought, how she’d taken down that…thing. His heart suddenly pounded at the thought of that thing’s face, those eyes and those fangs.

  The things she did, the way she moved shouldn’t be possible. They weren’t possible in the world on the other side of the door; he just needed to get there.

  Alex thought about going for his gun, holstered under his shoulder, under his jacket. It might as well have been a million miles away. The way Blondie moved, he’d never get to it before she beat him senseless or did that electr
icity thing she’d pulled the night before. That hadn’t been a Taser.

  Camille made a move toward him as he neared the door, but Blondie cut her off, earning a sharp glare and a sneer from the dark haired woman.

  “Back off, Camille. I’ll take care of it,” she said, her hands sliding under his arms and lifting him to his feet. He weighed two hundred pounds, and she lifted him like he was a sack of feathers. As he rose, she steadied him, her hands spreading over his ribs on either side. He could feel their warmth through the thin cotton of his dress shirt. That kiss sprang to mind as he met her eyes.

  Whoever or whatever she was, his body kept responding to her touch with the hormonal version of a “hell, yeah.” The mere thought of that kiss caused his breath to catch in his throat.

  Leaning close, she whispered in his ear, “If you trust me for just a few minutes, I can get you out of here. Then, I’ll explain everything.”

  Alex opened his mouth to tell her to go to hell, but he stopped himself. Everything that had happened so far indicated that he shouldn’t trust her, but he needed answers in a bad way. He was so far off the map here that he was willing to at least listen to what she had to say.

  “When we get out of here you have ten minutes,” he replied, his voice low and harsh. He let her see the anger in his face. He didn’t tell her what would happen after ten minutes because he didn’t know himself. Her body relaxed a little and she turned to Dominic.

  “We’ll talk later.”

  “Of course, Commander,” he replied, a slow smile spreading across his face.

  She motioned for Alex to proceed out of the room and he replied, “Ladies first.”

  He wasn’t about to put that woman at his back. He wasn’t that stupid.

  She just opened the other side of the double doors and they walked out, side by side. Alex opened his mouth to start firing questions at her, but she motioned for him to be quiet, glancing over her shoulder at the watchful Camille.

  They reached the front door of the club and walked into the afternoon sunlight.

  “T minus ten, Blondie. Better start talking,” he said, letting a note of command snap in his voice.