Full Moon Rising (6 page)

Frustration surged through me. I blew out a breath, lifting the hair from my forehead. "Then I'll just have to do a little looking of my own."

Jack studied me for a minute, amusement touching the corners of his green eyes. "If you find something, you will let me know."

I raised an eyebrow. "That an order?"

"Yes."

"And will you share if you find anything?"

"Riley, Rhoan's a guardian, and the mission he's on is top secret. I can't share information." He paused. "Unless, of course, I was sharing it with someone who was willing to take a second guardian test."

"That's blackmail."

"Yes."

I shook my head. "And here I was thinking you were a nice vampire."

"There
is
no such thing as a nice vampire," he said. "Just different shades of the same color. You'd be wise to remember that, especially here."

Wasn't
that
the truth. "I'm not going to take another test." I wasn't
that
concerned for Rhoan's safety. Not yet.

I tackled the pile of files in my inbox instead. The morning crawled by, and the sensation that Rhoan was in trouble neither waxed nor waned. Which was odd. If he
was
in trouble, and unable to get out of it, surely the danger should build? What the hell did it mean when it remained at the same level?

At lunch, I grabbed a sandwich and cola from the machine in the foyer, then headed back to do some info searching on the mysterious, but oh-so-delicious, Quinn.

There were lots and lots of yummy pictures--whoever started the myth that vampires couldn't be photographed was either a loony or had never actually tried it. And there were lots of articles, which swung between calling him a monster and hailing him as a savior of small companies. One article was all about a dead vamp found on one of Quinn's transport planes. Another mentioned expansions in his Sydney pharmaceutical company. And there was a small clipping about his engagement to one Eryn Jones--and a snapshot of the two of them together. She was a slender, brown-haired woman, and as pretty as hell. But then, I don't suppose someone like Quinn would end up with anyone dowdy. I glanced at the date on the top of the article--January 9. Six months ago.

He had to love her a
lot,
because vampires didn't often commit themselves to one person. Kelly had once told me it was simply too hard to watch someone you love wither and die while you stayed eternally young. A vampire's only other choice was to turn their lovers into vamps, yet few relationships survived the turmoil of turning. Vampires tended to be territorial and two vamps couldn't often live in harmony.

A few articles later, I found an interesting one about Eryn herself--or rather, her mysterious disappearance. Quinn had apparently been questioned by police, but released, and the inquiries were "ongoing." Meaning the cops didn't have a goddamn clue.

Was this the reason behind the attack on Quinn? Did someone, somewhere, suspect that he was behind her disappearance? If so, why was he waiting at my place to see Rhoan? Was it something to do with the missing Eryn or something else entirely?

How did he even know Rhoan if he normally lived in Sydney?

Frowning, I did a search on his fiancee, but didn't come up with much more than the fact she worked for a well-known pharmaceutical company--one Quinn had apparently bought, then dismantled, several months after her disappearance.

Interesting, to say the least. Though God only knew how it connected to Rhoan's current troubles.

Jack came back in from his lunch break, and I got back to work. The afternoon crawled by, and though I kept glancing at the clock, no word came from Rhoan. Jack pretended to be totally oblivious to anything but whatever it was he was doing on his computer, yet I knew he was watching me. Knew he was waiting for me to say something. To ask about Rhoan and the possibility of a search and, of course, that pesky retesting.

Which I wasn't going to do until I'd exhausted my own avenues--and I intended to check them out as soon as I went home and changed. Unless, of course, the feeling of trouble sharpened dramatically.

At six, I signed off and got the hell out of there. Given it was Saturday, and late evening to boot, most of the usual pedestrian traffic had already gone home. There was even breathing room on the train.

Night was setting in by the time the train pulled into my station. I climbed out and walked up the platform to the exit. But the sensation that I was no longer alone crawled over my skin. I looked over my shoulder.

As usual, half the lights were out. Shadows lurked along the fence line and crept skeletal fingers across the platform itself. No one had gotten off the train but me, and no one or nothing hid in the shadows. Not that I could sense or see, anyway. I glanced across to the platform on the other side of the tracks. No one there, either.

So why did my skin prickle with awareness? An awareness I
knew
meant there was a vamp nearby, hiding in the shadows somewhere.

Why couldn't I pinpoint his location?

And why did the night feel suddenly hostile?

Frowning, I slung my bag over my shoulder and continued on up the platform. But as I neared the steps that led up to Sunshine Avenue, the sharp scent of musk, mint, and man teased my nostrils.

Not the vampire, but a wolf. The male of our species tended to have a slightly sharper basic aroma than males of other species. Or maybe it just seemed that way because we females were naturally more attuned to them.

I stopped abruptly. He stood to the left of the steps, hiding between the station's wall and the ramp for disabled folk. He was absolutely still, something that is extremely rare for us wolves. Unless asleep, we tend to fidget if we stay in one spot for too long. The energy of the beast, barely contained, was Rhoan's theory.

"I know you're there," I said softly. "What the hell do you want?"

The shadows parted, and the wolf stepped out into the light. He was rangy, mean-looking, and so much like Henri Gautier it could have been his brother. Only, as far as I knew, Gautier didn't have a brother.

"Riley Jenson?" His voice was guttural, thick, and so cold a shiver traveled down my spine.

"Who wants to know?"

"Got a message for you."

My heart leapt. While I didn't think scum like him would be a friend of my brother's, I wouldn't put it past Rhoan to use his like for a messenger.

"What?"

"Die, freak."

His hand blurred, and I saw the gun.

I moved, as fast as I could.

Heard the booming report.

Then there was pain.

Nothing but pain.

Chapter 3

R
iley?"

The voice was warm and familiar, but far away. Far, far, away.

"Riley, tell me what's wrong."

Despite the pain engulfing me, the soft question sent heat shimmering through every nerve cell. It had to be Quinn. No one else I knew caused that sort of reaction. But why the hell was he there, rather than haunting the halls of my apartment building?

And what did he mean by what was wrong?
I'd been shot, for Christ's sake.
That much had to be obvious, even to the simplest of minds.

God, it hurt. Burned.

"Is the bullet silver?"

Silver. The bullet was silver.
That's
why it hurt so much.

"Take . . . out."
Hurry.

He swore.
Amen to that,
I thought weakly. My eyes refused to open, my arm was numb, and the numbness was spreading all too quickly through the rest of my body. The wolf had missed my heart, but in many respects, it didn't matter. If Quinn didn't get that bullet out of my shoulder soon, I was one dead puppy.

I floated in a sea of molten agony, drifting in and out of consciousness, my body aflame and dripping with sweat.

Yet his voice reached me, dragged me back.

"I haven't got a knife. I'll have to use my teeth. It's going to hurt."

No shit, Sherlock.
But the words stayed locked inside. The numbness had reached my neck and mouth, and breathing was becoming harder.

My shirt was torn away, then lips touched my flesh, a brief caress that made my skin tremble. Then his teeth were slashing down, slicing deep. A scream tore up my throat but seemed to lodge somewhere near my tonsils. His mind surged into mine and, like a cool and gentle hand, cocooned me, soothing the ache, easing the fire.

His teeth withdrew from my flesh, but were replaced by his fingers. There was no escape from the agony of his delving, no matter how much he tried to protect me. When he touched the bullet, moved it, I screamed again.

Then the bullet was gone, the fire was gone, and in its place normal, peaceful pain.

I reached to that magical place inside and called to the wolf. Power swept around me, through me, blurring the pain, healing the wound. But once I was back in human form, the world slid away.

It was dawn by the time it came back.

Several sensations struck me almost immediately. My head was resting on what felt like flesh-covered steel, but the rest of my body lay on something hard and uncomfortable. There was a steady, aching throb in my shoulder, and a deeper burning down my arm. Even when silver didn't kill wolves, it could permanently maim. Fear touched my heart and I quickly twitched my fingers. They moved and I breathed a silent sigh of relief.

A cool breeze stirred around me, filled with the scents of humans and exhaust fumes, mixed with the tantalizing nearness of sandalwood, man, and mud. Somewhere to my right came the steady roar of passing traffic and, closer still, the rattle of a train drawing away from a station. Obviously, I wasn't in my apartment. Though I could usually hear the trains, my apartment didn't shake with the force of their passing like this place did.

I opened my eyes, and looked around. The room was small, shabby, and rubbish-filled. There were windows to my left, both barred and missing glass, and an open doorway to my right. Wooden seats lined the graffiti-strewn walls, and the floor was asphalt. Recognition stirred. We were in the goddamn waiting room at the train station.

I turned slightly to ease the ache in my shoulder and realized then my head was resting on Quinn's thigh. He was still wearing the coat I'd given him that morning, and, if the bare knee I could see was any indication, little else. Given his near nakedness, and the fact I had to be covered in blood, it was a wonder the police hadn't been called.

I lifted my gaze to Quinn's. Concern lingered in the dark depths, along with wariness. "How are you feeling?"

His voice flowed across my skin as sweetly as a caress, and deep inside, excitement stirred. If I was getting that sort of reaction in a situation like
this,
then the next moon fever really
would
be bad.

"I feel like shit." I gripped one edge of the seat and forced myself upright, away from him. "Why are we here? Matter of fact, why are you here?"

He hesitated. "I followed you home from the Directorate last night."

So he was the reason I'd been spooked on the platform. Though he obviously wasn't the only reason. "And why would you be following me when you're supposedly waiting for my flatmate?"

He stared at me for a moment, dark eyes now shuttered. "Because I wasn't sure you were who you said you were."

"And why would you think that?"

"I'm attacked, Rhoan has disappeared, and when I get to his flat, he suddenly has a roomie I know nothing about."

"Not surprising, considering you couldn't remember much of anything yesterday."

"True." He hesitated. "But even when my memory returned, I had no recollection of his mentioning he shared the apartment with anyone."

"And why should he have mentioned something like that?"

He shrugged. "We've been friends for a while. I think it odd he's never mentioned you were sharing."

"Well, he's hasn't mentioned you at all, buddy boy, so the distrust is completely mutual." I rolled my shoulder, then retied the remnants of my shirt to ensure my boobs didn't fall all the way out. Another fine for indecent exposure was not what I needed just then. "So tell me why we're here."