Coldstorm (Heart of a Vampire, Book 7) (6 page)

Either way, she didn't want to keep thinking about the man. About how, in the moonlight, his dark hair had lit with highlights. How, after discarding his tie and jacket in his vehicle, she'd noticed the way his shirt clung to his chest and arms, and a surprising abundance of muscles. Things she shouldn't bother noticing so intently.

Something about him intrigued her. She wasn't sure if it was wanting to know the reason behind his reaction to the Magic Council, or the fact he'd managed to sneak attack her.

Or something else entirely.

After cleaning up, Anca nearly fell onto the comfortable air mattress and cot that made her large bed. Even as her eyes slid closed and sleep clouded her thoughts, she continued to feel Matt's presence, as if he'd left a part of himself behind.

***

I
t was nearly one in the morning before Matt hurried through the castle halls once again. He caught the first person he saw—the kid, Robby, who seemed to be everywhere lately—and ordered him to get Jordan. Inside the King's reception room, the fire had been banked, though warmth lingered. Matt poured himself another whiskey. With a sigh, he sat in one of the chairs in front of the darkened fireplace.

When Jordan strode in, his first words were, "Tell me what you saw, what you heard, and what your thoughts are."

Matt did so easily, only stumbling when Jordan asked his opinion of Anca. He finally replied, "I don't know. I'll wait, watch. You know nothing will slip by me."

Jordan looked him over with surety. "I do. And I'm confident you can handle whatever may come. Will the fact that she's from the Council cause problems?"

"I can ignore it, unless she endangers anyone," he rushed to say. It wouldn't be easy, but he'd do it. Except, she didn't quite act like the typical Council investigators. At least, not yet.

Jordan grinned, his expression unreadable.

"What?" Matt asked.

"I was just thinking how she might work for the Council, but the woman seems more like Connor than the rest of those arrogant asses."

Matt stared hard. His King couldn't read minds. Coincidence then, their similar thoughts.

"Go home," Jordan ordered. "You look like hell."

"Thanks, m'Lord," Matt replied dryly. But before he could leave there was one last question that he needed to ask. "What if she connects me to the old warrants for the Judges I killed?"

Jordan appraised him with a long, hard look. "I told you many years ago I ensured it was taken care of it. Not that there was much for the Council to go on. Dark hair, dark skin. The perpetrator could have been anyone, Spanish or native. Mateo de Dizzione was never connected to the deaths. And even if they had, it's not like you've used that name in centuries. Trust me, they never will come for you." Jordan reached over to lay a hand on Matt's shoulder. "Besides, those deaths are considered justice by most."

Matt's gut continued to churn, though, with old repressed memories suddenly dredged up.

When he got home, he ate, then slipped into his basement bedroom. The windowless room made for perfect darkness. He could sleep at any time of day without being bothered by sunlight. With his ever changing shifts at the hospital, he'd found the bedrooms upstairs far too bright.

Only hours later, Matt sprung awake, the echoes of screams filling his mind. Drenched in sweat, he held his head, waiting for the sounds and smells bringing the past alive to finally fade.

He'd not been forced to relive those nightmares in a very long time. The horrors he'd witnessed. All things done in the name of the Arcaine and the damned Magic Council.

The suppressed memories had resurfaced for only one reason.

Because of her.

The Council investigator.

Anca Fieraru.

Restless and not wanting to fall back to sleep, Matt got up and ate. It was barely five in the morning. He called the hospital to check on his few patients. All was well in the hands of the capable nurses. He left messages for the other doctors, begging off his shifts the next two days. They'd cover for him.

By six the sun was on the rise.

Matt should be out searching for the Rogues, not resting at home. There were still hours to kill before meeting the Council's investigator at the diner. But as he looked around his empty house and its dark subdued colors, Matt found himself itching to leave.

Perhaps Anca was also awake.

They could get started early.

The faster he showed her around, the sooner he'd be rid of her.

Decided, he changed from his slacks and shirt to jeans, a t-shirt and hiking boots. He wasn't going to damage another expensive pair of loafers or pants if he could help it.

He stopped by the sheriff's station and picked up copies of the recent reports Anca mentioned she needed. Then he headed out of town. He could reach her camp in less than half an hour.

And if he could finish showing her around today, he'd be done with the entire disturbing mess.

Encouraged, he hurried to her shaded campsite, stopping just outside the two trees where she'd opened her wards yesterday. "Miss Fieraru? Anca?" he called. "It's Matt Dixon, from last night. You awake? We can go now if you're ready."

The air around him stirred, plucked at his t-shirt. His hair.

A low steady hum of magic vibrated once, twice, and faded.

Anca strode out from the tent. Her tight jeans, and another billowy ruffly blouse draping across generous curves, struck him mute for a long moment. Again she'd pulled her long dark hair back into a thick braid.

The urge to see it down, unbound and falling around her, blindsided him.

Anca stopped just on the other side of her wards. "Wasn't the plan to meet in town a few hours from now?"

"It was."

"Want me out of your hair as fast as you can?" She sounded rather agreeable to the idea, which didn't sit right with some strange part of him.

And how did she read him so well? Only Jordan had that ability.

R
ested now, Anca was able to read Matt Dixon much clearer.

And her first thought was that the King had spoken true about Matt's strength.

He could be Master of his own clan and territory if he wanted. So why was he here, as a subordinate, instead?

Getting the real answer would be tricky, but she'd figure him out. Even if it meant acting a bit friendly, get him to open up a little. Because she needed to determine if he was the clan's traitor or not. And she needed to figure it out fast.

Preferably before they found themselves in the position where their lives were on the line.

"Give me a minute." She slipped into her tent and tied her short curved
saif
to the belt at her waist.

The metal and leather sheath bumped reassuringly against the side of her leg. She ran her fingers over the delicately jeweled hand guard, just above the bluish sheen of Damascus steel. It had been the last sword her
tată
ever made. Her father, a master smith highly sought, even by royalty.

Shaking off the painful thoughts, Anca left the tent and strode outside her wards, then reset the magical security.

Matt walked beside her through the trees. Silence settled easily between them. Birds called out, flittered along the interwoven branches overhead. Small animals scurried through the bushes. The earth spirits danced, their sparking magic flickering energetically.

As always, Anca automatically disguised her steps, becoming almost one with nature and the earth's spirits.

Steady and silent like the patient thief
.

Matt's bootfalls were nearly as quiet as her own. Hard to do.

Begrudgingly, she admitted it was slightly impressive.

He'd changed from his dressy business attire to a t-shirt and jeans that fit him like a second skin, highlighting a muscled frame only hinted at before. Today, he radiated strength and power. The well-worn hiking boots said he was probably as comfortable in nature as his office. All in all, it gave him a rugged masculinity she'd missed during their first meeting.

Then again, she'd been a bit out of it.

His dark features definitely hinted at Spaniard. If her intuition was correct—and with her ability to read another's aura and magic, it usually was—Anca would peg him around her own age. Born near the early fifteen hundreds.

That made sense with what MacDougal had said.

And yet, Matt's aura blended with the earth around them, which meant he'd been in this land long enough to synch with the place.

Another interesting idea. And thought provoking.

At the lake's public parking, Matt studied the nearly empty lot. "You have a vehicle?"

She pointed to the only other car there, a small, two door coupe the rental company had offered.

Matt straightened to his full height, looked down at her and sneered. He strode to his large SUV, opened the passenger door and waited silently. When they reached town, he surprised Anca by pulling into the diner's lot.

He grabbed a stack of tan files and tapped the edges to straighten them. "We should eat. Keep our energy up. It's going to be a busy morning, I hope."

She considered him, then shrugged. "Food would be helpful." She'd eaten after waking, just before dawn, but he was right. With everything going on in this town recently, there was no telling what they'd find.

Inside the old-school diner, they once more sat at the tall counter. This time, Matt perused the menu with her. After they ordered and the waitress brought two cups of coffee, he slid the neat stack of files toward her.

"What are these?" She started to flip the top one open, but he slapped a hand on them.

"Reports on the most recent murders, from the Keeper, as you requested. Be careful. There are photographs no one else in this place should see."

Anca nodded her understanding, and opened the first folder carefully. She read the thorough notes to be sent to the Magic Council.

Matt summarized as she read. "You should have gotten reports up to the murders that occurred in the past weeks—one mortal, one vampire, two wolves." Then he mumbled, "That's just the tip of the iceberg if you tally up all the deaths in and around town since Montgomery arrived."

When Anca came to the crime scene photographs, she angled the files closer to her body. The food arrived, but she ignored it, unable to eat just yet.

She looked over the pictures closely. On all of these victims, like those killed previously by this particular group of Rogues, the wounds showed signs of animal—wolf shifter no doubt—and vampire attacking together.

Snapping the files closed, Anca pushed them to the side, then mechanically picked up her fork. Her stomach churned. All hints of hunger had fled.

To take her mind off the dark thoughts of the victims, and all they must have suffered, she said, "The Council is nervous about the local reports of vampires and wolves working together. Specifically, killing together."

Stories were spreading through the Council like wildfire. Stories of growing conflicts between Arcaine races, even some who'd lived in peace for centuries. During her most recent discussion with Elder Endulpias, he'd warned that many creatures were turning away from using magic for good.

It was why the Council was stretched so thin and Judges kept busy. Why she'd been on back-to-back jobs with barely a free weekend before that.

Worse were the hints of whispers the Elder had refused to comment on. Whispers of Council investigators, even Judges going missing. Turning up dead.

Accepting such ideas seemed ludicrous.

And yet...

They lived in ominous times. Anca wasn't quite certain she was prepared for what the future planned to bring.

Matt merely shrugged in reply. "I don't see why the Council would worry. It's only Montgomery's remaining Rogues."

She raised a brow. "Similar things seem to be happening all over the world."

He stared into his coffee cup, hidden thoughts flying over his face. Then he muttered something that might have been, "The old witch was right. War is coming."

"War?" Anca asked, sharper than intended.

Matt froze for a nearly imperceptible second before meeting her gaze with a blank look. "What do you mean, war?"

She scowled. "That's what I asked you. You said war is coming. What war? What witch?"

Matt shook his head. "You're the one who asked about war, not me." Giving his plate his undivided attention, he took a bite, filling his mouth.

Confusion stirred, an emotion she wasn't much used to. As a Judge, life tended to be straightforward. She also wasn't used to doubting her own senses, but she suddenly couldn't read this man at all. Not even his aura gave her a hint.

But if there was a war coming, she'd find out. She'd not leave here until the doubt was completely gone on the matter.

Anca finished her coffee, then got back to the current problem. "I need to see the most recent crime scenes. I'll work my way back through time from there."

His glance was sharp. "What exactly do you want at those places? The sheriff didn't find anything."

"It's how I work." It tended to be difficult to explain her Romani magic to others. The ability to not just
see
other's auras, but to
feel
their magic, like a brush over all of her senses at once.

She heard the whispers from the earth spirits, tasted the power of those around her, smelled the darkness that always dwelled just out of reach of the light. She could read an individual's magical remnants, almost ghostly afterimages of an Arcaine's presence.

And if she could pinpoint these Rogues' magics, she could use it to track them. The best place to get a handle on them would be the most recent places they'd knowingly been. The places they'd dumped their victims.

Matt ran a hand through his collar-length dark hair, leaving it distractingly mussed. "All right then."

Concentrating only on the job, she stated, "The most recent first."

Instead of driving, Matt led her on foot through the small town. Soon, the roads widened. Storefronts became warehouses. Near one large building, he stopped.