Souls Of Fire: Fireborn Part 20

I followed him up the stairs. "How do you know this? Facebook?"

"Nope. I read her calendar when I was interviewing her."

"How do you know she's not just getting a quick trim?"

He gave me a long look over his shoulder. "Anyone would think you were looking for an escape clause. All you have to do is say no, you know."

I grinned. "I'm just worried that Sam will get there before we do and that he'll somehow ensure we lose any clues we might otherwise have gained."

"If he were investigating the wife, he would have done so by now."

We reached the top of the landing but continued toward the shower rather than the bed. He was obviously intending to combine two necessities. "Now, how about we quit the questions and just concentrate on the business at hand?"

I grinned as he tugged me closer. "Concentrating as ordered, sir."

And I did.

"So," he said, stopping his truck several doors up from Mrs. Wilson's house. "Who were you talking to when you first woke up?"

He had good ears, because I hadn't been talking that loud. "Rory."

"And who's Rory when he's home?" He s.h.i.+fted in his seat to look at me, but his expression was nothing more than curious.

"Every phoenix is one of a pair. He's mine."

His eyebrows raised. "He's your mate?"

"Not exactly." I half shrugged. "He's my lover, my friend, the other half of my soul, and the only man I can ever have children with. But we cannot, and do not, love each other. Not in the romantic sense."

"Really? What the h.e.l.l did your people do to earn that sort of curse?"

"That is a million-dollar question, I'm afraid."

He shook his head. "Does that mean you're unable to fall in love at all?"

"No. We can and do, but it's part of the curse that our relations.h.i.+ps end badly. I don't think I've heard of one phoenix having a happy ending in all the centuries I've been alive. Certainly, I've never had one."

"But just because you haven't heard about it-or experienced it-doesn't mean it can't happen."

"Well, no. And I certainly keep hoping every time I'm reborn that this will be the one time it's different." I shrugged. "But I know for sure it's not this lifetime."

He eyed me for a moment, then said, "Because of Sam."

"Another one loved and lost, I'm afraid."

"That sucks. Big-time."

"Living forever always has a drawback. This curse is ours."

"Vampires don't seem to have many drawbacks."

"They live on blood and they can't ever walk in suns.h.i.+ne." My voice was dry. "Those are pretty big drawbacks in my book."

"Neither would worry me-especially if it meant more time chasing luscious ladies." He paused, looking thoughtful. "So have you and Rory had any kids?"

"We've only had five, because we aren't fertile every rebirth." I shrugged. "I haven't seen any of our children for a generation or so. Phoenix offspring don't tend to linger near the family nest once they find their mate."

"And how does that happen? I take it there's a bit more involved than dating until you find the right one."

I smiled. "We don't date. At the age of sixteen, a ceremony is performed and our mates are revealed. From there on in, you're bonded for life."

He frowned. "What if you happen to hate your bonded partner?"

"That would totally suck, but it's never happened. Fate's not that cruel."

"I wouldn't bet on that." He glanced at his watch and his frown deepened. "How long does it normally take to get your hair done?"

I blinked at the sudden change of topic. "Around two hours if she's getting it dyed." Not that I actually knew for sure, as I never got anything other than a cut. Phoenixes aged normally through each cycle, but I'd grown rather fond of the gray over the years. "Why?"

"Because she should have been back by now."

"Maybe she went shopping or something afterward."

"Maybe." His frown deepened. "I've just got this itchy feeling something's not right."

"I didn't think intuition was a Fae thing." My gaze swept the street. There was a white car parked several doors up from Wilson's place and a woman cutting roses in a garden farther along the street, but neither p.r.i.c.ked any sensation of wrongness.

"Generally, it's not." He frowned at the house for several moments longer, then dug his phone out of his pocket and made a phone call.

"Your secret source has to be a copper," I noted in amus.e.m.e.nt once he'd finished. "Very few other people would be able to get you the location of a car via its GPS that quickly."

"Maybe." His voice was noncommittal. "But apparently, her vehicle is sitting in the driveway of her home."

I glanced at the empty driveway. "Someone's removed the GPS system."

"Which suggests the itchy feeling may have been spot-on." A devilish light entered his eyes. "Shall we go investigate?"

"If you break and enter, Sam will throw you in jail."

"Only if he catches us. Come on."

I shook my head, but climbed out and waited while he fidgeted in the back of the truck for several minutes. The day was bright and warm, and I tugged off the light sweater I'd borrowed from Jackson, allowing the suns.h.i.+ne to caress my skin and continue the refuel of my inner fires-although soon I'd need more than just suns.h.i.+ne and the threads of energy I could steal from Jackson, and that meant getting back to Rory.

Jackson shoved several items into his pockets and then headed up the driveway. I followed, then watched from several steps away as he knocked on the door. It was loud, but had an oddly hollow sound, which, for some reason, had visions of death stirring.

I rubbed my arms lightly. I was no stranger to the variations of death, but that didn't mean I ever welcomed its appearance.

Jackson stepped to one side and peered in through the window. "Not a lot to see-other than dust."

"Given her husband just died, dusting would be the last thing on her mind."

He gave me a wry look. "Remember we're talking about a potential black widow here."

"I know, but she'd at least want to stay in character until the inquest into her husband's death was over."

"True."

He stepped back, gave the front of the house a once-over, then stepped off the veranda and moved around to the backyard. He peered in a few windows, then gripped the back door handle and hit the door hard with his left shoulder. The lock gave way with very little fuss.

"Remind me to get our locks replaced with stronger ones when I get home," I said.

He gave me a somewhat absent grin. "There is no such thing as a Fae-proof lock."

"Then I shall coat the door with silver or something."

"Which would not stop me or anyone else from getting into your home if we were determined enough." He took two cautious steps inside, then stopped abruptly and swore.

"What?" I said immediately.

"Blood." He put a hand into a pocket and pulled out some rubber gloves, handing one pair to me. "Wipe the door handle with your sweater, will you?"

"How bad is the blood scent?" I tugged the sweater free from my waist and gave the handle a thorough wipe-down.

"Bad enough." He hesitated and lowered his voice. "But there's something else here, a scent I can't quite put my finger on."

"Something you've smelled before?"

"Or someone."

Sparks flickered across my fingertips, bright but not dangerous. I wasn't sure whether it was a result of the drug or my own lack of strength, but either way, it meant that if we were attacked, I'd be relying on my earthier skills rather than my elemental ones. I licked the trepidation from my lips and said, "Is that someone still here?"

"I don't know. I can't smell anything that suggests he is, but then, I didn't last time, either." He glanced over his shoulder and added, "Close the door behind you. We don't want the neighbors seeing the open door and reporting it."

I pulled on the gloves, then closed the door and drew in several deep breaths. The scents he could smell so clearly weren't evident to me.

We moved quietly from the laundry room into the kitchen. It was small but neat, but there were dishes draining on the sink and fat congealed on the top of the water. I dipped my gloved fingers into it. Stone-cold. Much like the house, really.

I followed Jackson into the next room. Again, it was as neat as a pin, and other than the light coating of dust over the wooden surfaces, there was nothing out of place. But the living room was even colder than the kitchen, and as I rubbed my arms, I realized why. The AC was not only on, but set to near freezing.

Jackson moved into the shadowed hallway beyond the living area. A cautious check of several rooms that led off it revealed neither our black widow nor anyone else, yet the tension in Jackson seemed to be growing. Whatever he smelled was obviously getting stronger. The final room turned out to be the main bedroom, and it was in here that we found Amanda Wilson. She lay on her back, one hand tucked under her neck and her long hair streaming across her pillow. If not for red splatters across the nearby pillow and the paleness of her skin, it would have been easy to believe she was asleep. She looked at peace. Happy even.

But maybe that was because she hadn't been alone in the bed before her death. Not if the indent in the other pillows and the state of the sheets and blankets were anything to go by. Obviously, the vampire responsible for this had taken his pleasure both physically and through her blood-although judging by the blood on the pillow, he was one messy feeder.

Jackson stepped over the bundle of bedsheets dumped on the carpet near the end of the bed and carefully gripped her chin, turning her head to one side to reveal a deep and ugly bite wound. I closed my eyes briefly and took a deep breath, but it did little to calm the instinctive rush of distaste and fear. Though I was more than aware that not all vamps got off on vicious blood taking-that indeed it was usually an o.r.g.a.s.mic experience for both parties-my encounter with the vamp who'd sucked me dry had left me more than a little wary of them. Not to mention a total unwillingness to get anywhere near them s.e.xually.

Obviously, though, Amanda had shared no such unwillingness.

"Oh f.u.c.k," Jackson said suddenly. "She's alive."

"What? How? Her lips are blue and she's not breathing-"

"She is, but it's so shallow it's practically unnoticeable. Call an ambulance before we lose her."

I dragged out my phone as he pulled the covers up and spread them over her.

But before I could dial, something solid hit the back of my head and sent me flying.

CHAPTER 10.

I hit the wall face-first and pain exploded. For several seconds I saw nothing but stars dancing happily in black s.p.a.ce; then hands grabbed me, pulled me around, and threw me again. This time, when I hit, there was a splintering sound, and I came down in a shower of wood and gla.s.s.

Dressing table, I thought fuzzily, and instinctively reached for my flames. Nothing happened. Nothing more than a slight fizz of heat that faded as quickly as it rose. I swore and groped for something, anything, to use as a weapon. There was blood in my mouth, my vision was blurry, and there was a roaring in my head.

But I still heard the heavy approach of footsteps.

My fingers found wood, but it was too small, too thin, to use as a weapon. I swept my fingers around desperately for something better and hit gla.s.s. A long, thick shard. I wrapped my fingers around it and gripped it tight. The ragged edges sliced into my skin, but I made no move, no sound, as those steps drew closer.

Feet appeared in front of my face. Big feet encased in heavy black boots. The kind that could do serious damage if they stomped down on my head. Tension slithered through me, the need to move warring with the need to be still and play helpless. Whoever this was, he was strong. Without my fires, all I had was surprise. My grip on the gla.s.s tightened. Blood began to ooze past my fingers and soak into the carpet.

He bent down, grabbed the back of my s.h.i.+rt, and hauled me upright. Heat rolled over me-heat and the pungent musk of man and sweat-and I realized my attacker was a werewolf rather than a vampire. Which explained the strength. It was a thought that quickly vanished as he held me at arm's length and gave me a toothy grin.

"You should have done as the cop suggested," he said. "Because now you have to die."

Shock rolled through me. Sam had been the only cop to warn me away from the case, but surely even he wouldn't resort to this sort of violence.

But he's changed, the internal voice whispered. He's not the man you once knew.

No, I thought, he wasn't, but I still refused to believe he was behind this attack. I battered away the lingering uncertainty and said, through puffing lips, "I've done the whole death thing more than once, and I have to say, I'm not quite ready to do it again."

With that, I plunged the shard of gla.s.s as hard as I could into his gut.

He released me instinctively and screamed-but it was a sound that held fury rather than pain. I landed in a heap at his feet, but I didn't stay there. I twisted, swept my leg around, and knocked him off balance. He half fell, and I threw myself forward, knocking him back and sideways.

But he was a man and a werewolf, and that meant fast reflexes and greater strength. The advantage I'd gained in unbalancing him lay in seconds, not minutes, and he was up almost as fast as I was. I hastily wiped at the blood gus.h.i.+ng from my nose, then ran at him again. I hit shoulder first, and the jagged edge of the shard sliced into me even as I drove it deeper into his gut. He flailed backward and crashed into the closet doors. With a howl that was still more fury than pain, he ripped the shard from his flesh and flung it away.

And in that instant, I knew my time was up. If I didn't drop him now, it'd be me on the floor, not him.

I leapt at him, feet-first. He saw me coming and twisted sideways, but his gut wound had at least slowed him enough that it didn't matter. I hit his left knee side-on, and there was a loud crack. His leg collapsed from underneath him and he went down hard to one knee.