Shadowlight (12 page)

The Greeks had named it correctly, Genaro thought as he traced the mark with his fingers. It did resemble a snake that had twisted itself in half as it ate its own tail.

It also looked exactly like the number eight, tipped over on its side.

They’re after you now. Keep her out of sight and call in when you switch cars.

He transferred his pack and wiped down the surfaces he had touched before lifting Jessa out of the passenger seat of the first car. As he straightened and nudged the door shut with his knee, Matthias noticed a couple with four young children walking from the restrooms into the back lot. Quickly he turned around and went to one of the metal benches beyond the curb and sat down, holding her upright against him on his lap. He placed her hands inside his shirt and tucked her face against his neck as he lowered his head and put his mouth against her cheek.

“What’s that man doing, Mommy?” he heard one of the children ask as the family passed him.

“He’s taking a rest with his wife, Justin.” The frowning mother quickly herded her children along at a faster pace while her husband slowed his step to take a longer look. “Peter, please.”

“Okay, honey.” The husband gave Matthias a grin and a wink before trotting to catch up.

Matthias didn’t want to move Jessa until the family departed, so he held her and waited as the couple helped their children into the backseats of their van. He would have been concerned with handling her as much as he had, for it surely would have roused another woman, but some indefinable sense of her told him that she had retreated into herself and would not wake for some time yet.

This brief delay gave him the time to look at her as much as he wished, and he mapped every inch of her face, from the off-center peak of fine black hair above her left brow, down the gentle slope of her nose, and over her pretty lips to the strong line of her jaw. Awake she likely kept her features composed, giving away only as much as she was willing to allow others to see. Now she seemed softer, younger, untouched by the suffering she had endured.

He could only guess what her life had been like since her ability had come over her. Knowing that with a single touch she could see into the darkest corners of the soul could not have been a temptation; it must have seemed like a curse. He thought of all the people he had contact with in the course of a single day. He disliked touching strangers, but some contact was unavoidable when exchanging money, accepting goods, or walking through crowded areas. She could not wear gloves year-round and have it go unnoticed; she could not lock herself in her office to avoid the people who worked for her or the clients who sought her services.

“How do you manage it?” he murmured to her. “Do you surround yourself with the innocent, or do you make them think you are cold and distant?”

A strand of her hair had caught in the corner of her mouth; he used a fingertip to brush it away. Even that small touch caused his hand to come alive with tingling nerves, just as it had when she had put her hand over his.

The brush of the tiny, invisible hairs on her thin skin reminded him of a delicate veil over silk. The paleness of her flesh still astonished him; he had grown accustomed to the uniform glowing tans of American women. Such ivory beauty should have been too fragile to bear anything more than a whisper or a breath without bruising.

Matthias saw a flash of red brake lights as the van drove out of the lot, and knew it was time to move her. As he put his hand under her knees, her head slipped back against his arm, lifting her face to his. He held her for another moment so that he might feel her breath warming his mouth. He had never been so close to a woman and not had her pinned beneath him, opening herself to welcome the thrust of his shaft. With her ability, Jessa would not even have that much. Her loneliness was not by choice, he realized. To take a lover, she had to touch—but he had seen it with his own eyes: The only touch she permitted herself was her own.

“I understand now.” He lifted her against his chest as he stood and carried her to the second car.

Lowering the seat, he eased her back until she couldn’t be seen through the car’s windows. As he made her comfortable, she remained limp, but the strength and steadiness of her heartbeat and breathing assured him she was not in a dangerously deep sleep.

He couldn’t know what she had seen when she’d touched him, but he could guess. He had relived the moment a thousand times in his own memory, cursing the desperation that had driven him that day. He had been an arrogant fool, so intent on seeking justice that it had blinded him as surely as the storm.

But had she seen everything? Would she understand?

After he returned to the highway, Matthias called Rowan to tell her he had made the first transfer, and to send one of their helpers to pick up the vehicle he had left behind.

“Who is after me?” he asked.

“Try everyone with a badge in Atlanta,” she said. “You and Ms. Know-it-all also made the six-o’clock news. They don’t have any shots of you, but by eleven her face will be plastered on every major channel in the nation. All they’re saying is that you’re both wanted for questioning as a person of interest in an attempted murder of a prominent businessman. You know how fast Genaro moves when he’s motivated.”

“Indeed.” He had hoped for a little more time, but that was not to be. “What more?”

“Drew stole a copy of the GenHance file on her,” Rowan said. “Records only go back ten years, and then she doesn’t exist, so Jessa Bellamy and her background are definitely bogus. She would know how to do that the right way, of course. He had more luck with the name you gave him. By the way, how come she’s not making any noise? Did you gag her?”

“She sleeps.” He flexed his right hand, trying to dispel the lingering sensations from touching her face. “She used her ability on me.”

“Bad move, boss.” She sighed. “What are you going to tell her when she wakes up?”

“She may already know.” Matthias glanced at Jessa. Now when he looked at her face, he wished she would wake. It would make moving her more difficult, of course, but he wanted to see her eyes again. He had never known a woman with rain-colored eyes. “Tell me about this luck with the other name.”

“I’m still downloading everything he stole from Genaro; give me a sec.” After a short pause, she said, “I’ve got it. Okay. An Allen Taggart Price died during a workplace shooting in Savannah back in ’ninety-eight. Seven other people at this investment brokerage were also shot and killed by a mentally ill former employee, one Jennifer Johnson. The only unconfirmed survivor was Minerva Jessamine Starret, twenty-two years old.” Rowan paused and then added, “It was her first day at work, poor kid.”

He hardly heard her over the rush of blood to his head. “Minerva.”

“It’s not that bad. I knew a kid in middle school named Jesus Supreme Lord Loomis. We called him Loomy Tunes.” She flipped a paper. “No birth records but a child welfare report, estimated born 1976 in Chicago, abandoned at birth, placed as an infant in a Catholic group home for unwanted children—big surprise there—adopted in 1981 by Darien Thomas Starret of Savannah, no wife, so no mother for her. Enrolled same year in very expensive private Swiss school, stayed there until she graduated and attended college in France, returned to the U.S. in ’ninety-seven, resided with father until his death by natural causes in ’ninety-eight. Couple of months before she was shot.”

“You said Minerva was the unconfirmed survivor,” he said. “What does that mean?”

“It means they’re not sure she lived. Minerva took a slug to the chest, point-blank range, was admitted to Savannah General and listed in critical condition for three days. Intake report notes indicate extensive lung and cardiac damage from the GSW. She wasn’t expected to live more than an hour or two, so they didn’t operate.” Rowan flipped more pages. “Okay, and now it gets really interesting. Minerva left the hospital three days later.”

“After being shot in the chest.”

“Ten witnesses swear they saw her walk out of the building. That was the last time she was seen alive. Officially reported as missing and declared dead by the state in 2005 so they could auction off her inheritance and drop the proceeds in the treasury.” She made an amused sound. “I’ll give you three guesses what comprised the bulk of her estate.”

He already knew. “Sapphire House.”

“Uh-huh. Now, would you mind telling me—”

“Yes,” he said. “I would mind. Are there any photographs of Minerva Starret?”

“Driver’s license from DOT.” Rowan’s friendly voice became distant. “Transmitting a JPEG. Should be on your screen now.”

Matthias looked at the small image that appeared on the viewscreen of his mobile. The identification picture showed a young, smiling girl with short-cropped black hair. The poor camera and indifferent lighting had washed most of her vivid coloring and muted the gleam of her black hair, but it could not erase the blaze of energy and determination in her eyes.

“Well?” Rowan asked, her voice oddly strained. “Is this little princess our girl?”

“Jessa is more queen than princess.” Matthias pulled off the highway onto the shoulder, parked, and shut off the engine before he held the phone next to her face. The lines and shape of the nose, mouth, and jaw of the image were very similar to Jessa Bellamy’s. “There is a strong resemblance. Do the hospital records say if Minerva had any marks or scars on her body?”

“Besides the great hole in her chest …” Rowan fell silent for a time. “How about that. Minerva had a small tat on the inside of her left wrist. A gold and black owl.”

Matthias took Jessa’s left hand and turned it up so that he could inspect her wrist, but saw no tattoo of any kind. “Jessa does not have a mark.”

“Maybe she was the shooter.”

“No.” Matthias took a piece of her hair and idly wound it between his fingertips. “She could not kill.”

“You’re basing this assumption on what? Listening to her snore for an hour?” Rowan made a rude sound. “Gaven. I know you like her, and I’m sure she’s gorgeous and troubled and helpless and all that shit. But if this is going to work, you can’t get involved with her. None of us can.”

He let the strands of dark hair slide out of his fingers. “She doesn’t snore.”

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing.” He sat back and closed his eyes. “Is everything prepared?”

“Room’s ready, fortress is secure, and Drew is starting the paperwork. We should be able to relocate in a week.”

Seven days, that was all he had, and then he would never see her again. “Very well. Go to bed; sleep. Tomorrow will be the worst.”

“Wake me up when you get in.”

Matthias switched off the mobile and reached for the locking security harness installed in place of the passenger seat belt. He disliked restraining her, but if she were to wake during the last leg of the journey, she would likely try to escape him. He shifted her so that she would be as comfortable as possible under the harness, and tucked her hands beneath the straps. As he did, his thumb brushed across the thin skin of her left wrist, and he felt something. He reached up, turned on the interior overhead dome, and brought her wrist under it.

A series of pale lines marked the inside of her wrist, almost too light to be seen. As he turned her arm, unlike the rest of her skin, they caught the light and reflected it. The shape they formed was that of a small, round-headed bird.

Exactly, in fact, like the outline of an owl.

Much to Lucan’s disappointment, Samantha did not leap across the scarred surface of the reception desk or rip out the offensive mortal’s throat. She, the soul of patience, merely smiled.

“The prisoner has considerable financial resources at his command and is a serious flight risk,” she told the insolent mortal. “The last time he made bail on capital murder charges, he fled the state. The district attorney wants only to assure that he stands trial in Fort Lauderdale.”

“Lady, my captain don’t care if he has to go before a judge in the North Pole.” He chuckled at his own joke. “We got our way of doing things, and this ain’t it.”

“Obviously.” Lucan took her elbow and pulled her to one side. “This is a waste of time. I will go and retrieve the bag of scum.”

“Scumbag,” she corrected. “We had an agreement. We’re here to extradite Max Grodan, not terrorize and destroy half the city.” Before he could reply, she added, “Behave yourself, suzerain, or I’ll make you fill out the paperwork.”

He eyed the stack of forms the desk sergeant had produced. “You would not be so heartless.”

“Keep pushing and find out.” She went back to the desk, collected the forms, and made an appointment to see the chief of homicide the following afternoon. “Would it be possible to obtain a copy of the arrest reports?” When the man scowled, she added, “I have to call the district attorney tonight, and I’m sure he’d be interested in how cooperative your department has been.”

The sergeant released a long-suffering sigh before he trudged into a back office and returned a few minutes later. “Here’s copies of what all the feds sent over with him.”

“Thank you.” Sam took the folder and glanced at Lucan. “We’ll need a hotel room.”

“Five of my favorite words.” He clasped her hand in his. “But I’ve already arranged suitable accommodations.”

She didn’t seem to hear him, engrossed as she was in the contents of the file.

In the car, she finished reading and closed the folder. “That’s odd. I thought they caught him in the act, but they didn’t even know he was in the city. Stop driving so fast.”

“This is a Ferrari,” he reminded her. “It does not allow itself to be driven slowly. What act?”

“Setting up another con,” Samantha said. “The guy uses his partners for everything—making hotel reservations, renting cars, buying whatever he needs—all under their names. That way there’s never any evidence implicating him. He never leaves a trail. I figured his new partner tipped off the Bureau. Instead, they get an anonymous phone call reporting him and the partner.”

Lucan shrugged. “So a good citizen did their duty.”

“Someone knew everything—where he was, who he was with, what they’d already done in New York, and what they planned to do here. Max is a ghost. He just doesn’t exist.” She frowned, thinking. “Maybe one of his old partners got away from him. But how would she know where he was, and what he was doing?” She looked up through the windshield. “Where are we?”

“Our hotel room, so to speak.” He parked at the curb in front of the Armstrong building. “I spoke to Scarlet. He was kind enough to extend to us the use of his city stronghold.”

She didn’t look happy as she got out of the car. “All right, I suppose it’s okay. Which floor is it?”

“All of them.”

She stared at him. “You borrowed the entire
building?”

“Of course. I am a visiting suzerain.” He put an arm around her waist. “What would you have me do, Samantha? Take rooms for us at the Motel 6?”

“Oh, shut up.” She walked with him to the entrance, where a human male dressed in a dark brown suit met them at the doors.

“Suzerain Lucan.” The mortal bowed. “I’m Charles Kendrick, the building manager. Suzerain Scarlet sends his regrets that he could not personally attend you, as he is still overseeing the repair work at Rosethorn. We’ve prepared a suite for you on the fourth floor. If you require anything during your stay, please notify the staff by pressing zero on any phone.”

Lucan noted the small black cameos glinting in the mortal’s cuffs, indicating the mortal was a
tresora,
a trusted human who had been trained from birth to serve the Kyn. “Thank you. We should not be here for long.”

Lucan could feel Samantha’s tension building as they took the lift to the fourth floor, where it opened as an entrance to the massive guest suite.

She glanced around the walls covered with peach silk hand-painted with trompe l’oeil trellises and dark green ivy, the light oak English country furnishings, and the crisp white and sky blue draperies. “Jesus. I feel like I just stepped into a dinner mint.”

“I could inquire to see if they have something more in line with a Skittles theme,” he said, bending to place a kiss on her shoulder, and then frowning as she moved to avoid his touch. “Perhaps the bedchamber will be more to your liking.”

She ignored him and wandered around the sitting room, almost but not quite touching several of the room’s treasures. “You only see stuff like this in high-end house porn magazines.” She looked up at the room’s rock-crystal chandelier, from which a small bluebird hung in perpetual flight.

She pushed her hands into the pockets of her trousers, but not before he saw that they were shaking. “How far away is Motel 6 again?”

Lucan realized his
sygkenis
had little exposure to the sort of luxuries the centuries had allowed the Kyn to acquire, but she was hiding something else behind her sarcasm. “We can leave and go anywhere you wish. You have but to say.”

“No, I can do this.” She sat down gingerly on a French chaise and hunched her shoulders as she rubbed the side of her forehead. “Sorry. I’m just a little tired.”

As he went to her, her scent wrapped around him. It had a deeper, more pervasive note than usual, one that betrayed her real state. “You lied to me.”

She glanced up. “Huh?”

“You said that you would attend to your needs before we departed Fort Lauderdale.” He cupped her cold cheek. “If you had, your body would be warm, and your hands would not be trembling.”

“It slipped my mind.” She rose and tried to go around him, but when he countered the move she came up short. “I’ll give myself an injection later.”

“Why not now?”

“I forgot to pack my syringes, all right?” Her pupils shrank to thin black crescents as her hazel eyes turned pure gold. “I’d order some more from the local pharmacy, but I doubt they carry the copper-tipped, blood-filled brand.”

Knowing that her temper could easily incite his own, he forced his own thoughts to remain calm. “You cannot keep depending on the needles. Before you shout at me again, remember that our bond and your distress rouse my talent, and you are standing directly beneath a crystal chandelier.”

“I’m sorry.” She exhaled slowly. “Alex told me she uses only injections. She said it’s better this way. Easier to live with—like being a diabetic.”

“Alexandra heals humans,” he reminded her. “You hunt their killers. Your personalities are different, and so are your instincts. The needles have not been satisfying you for some time now, have they? Why have you concealed this from me?”

“It’s my problem,” she snapped. “I don’t need blood all the time. I can go a couple of days without it.”

“But tonight you want it. Very badly, I think.” He studied her stubborn expression. “Who tempted you? Rob’s
tresora
downstairs? Or that annoying mortal at the police department?”

“I didn’t do anything.” She wrapped her arms around her waist. “I’m still in control.”

“Are you?” She didn’t seem to realize that her
dents acérées
were fully extended, or that she was shedding enough scent to seduce a small army. “There is no reason to deny yourself any longer.” He took hold of her arms and tugged her closer. “I will hunt with you.”

“Honey.” Now she bared her fangs. “You’re not helping.”

“You would not blame a starving mortal for feeling hunger,” he told her gently. “Yet you condemn yourself for this.”

“When I look at someone and all I can think of is sinking my teeth into his throat, being happy is a little hard to swing.” She turned her head. “They must have some bagged blood in here somewhere.”

“You cannot hunt a plastic bag.”

Her fiery golden eyes flashed up. “I don’t
hunt
anything.”

“I disagree, Detective.” He pulled her closer, ignoring the stiffness of her limbs as he pressed her face to his chest. “Do you trust me?”

“No,” she said into his shirt, and then, reluctantly, “Yes.”

In that moment, his love for her almost overwhelmed him. “We are hunters, Samantha. Our needs cannot be ignored or forgotten, or we risk losing control. When that happens, we do not merely feed. We kill. You
will
kill.”

“You’ve seen it happen before, haven’t you?” When he nodded, she uttered a wretched sound. “You should have let me die, Lucan.”

He smiled. “You should never have given me a reason to live.” He shifted around her, curling an arm around her waist. “Come. There is a club in the hotel at the end of the block. It should offer some variety.”

“Stop talking about people like they’re entrées,” she said as she walked to the lift with him.

Lucan stopped on their way out to have a discreet word with Kendrick before escorting his
sygkenis
to the Bar with a View. Samantha remained mute as he led her to a table and ordered wine, and didn’t object when he left her to walk among the mortals to select a likely candidate. He found an attractive, healthy young thing, took a moment to compel and instruct her, and then returned to the table. Samantha looked rigid and miserable as she stared into her wineglass.

“Always choose someone young and of a healthy weight,” he said, startling her. “Take in their scent; it will tell you much about them. Inebriated or drugged humans give off an unpleasant, acrid odor. Those with diseases smell of strong chemicals or rot.”

“I am
not
going to sniff anyone.”

“You do not have to.” He looked up as the fetching young black female he had chosen for Samantha approached them. “They will bring their scent to you.”

“Hey, there.” The girl, barely out of her teens, flashed her pearly teeth at Lucan before turning to Samantha. “I saw you walk in, and I had to come over and say hi.” She sat down in the chair beside his
sygkenis.
“I’m Abby.”

“I’m leaving.” Samantha made it halfway to her feet before Lucan caught her. “No. She’s just a kid.”

“She is an adult,” he assured her. “Adolescents have a simpler scent. It does not attract us.”

“I’m twenty-four,” Abby said at the same time Samantha said, “I’m not attracted to her.”

“I am not suggesting you take her to bed, my love.” Lucan reached over and took Abby’s hand, bringing it close to his
sygkenis’s
face. “Breathe her in. That’s it. Can you feel her pulse in the air?”

Samantha closed her eyes, swallowed, and nodded.

He turned to the mortal female. “Abigail, would you be kind enough to show my lady to the powder room, please?”

“Sure. It’s right around the corner.” Abby took Samantha’s hand in hers. “Come on.”

Lucan watched them cross the crowded floor of the club before he followed. He stopped outside the women’s restroom, moving aside as several smiling females streamed out before he entered.

Inside he found Samantha holding off the young female, who was trying in vain to embrace her.

“You’re so beautiful,” Abby was saying, her expression dazed. “I’ll do anything you want.”

Samantha turned her head and saw him. “Get her off me.”

Lucan reached back and flipped the bolt on the door. “She is under your influence now. Command her.”

“Stand still,” Samantha told the girl, who immediately dropped her arms and stood quiescent. She began to reach for Abby but suddenly jerked her hands away. “I can’t do this. Lucan, please, get her out of here.”

“You must trust yourself.”

“I don’t.” She gave him a wild look. “For God’s sake, help me out here.”

“You know you will not harm her.” Lucan went to stand behind the girl and rested his hands on her shoulders, urging her closer to his
sygkenis.
“You will be gentle. You will take only what you need from her.”

“Please,” Abby whispered.

Samantha took hold of her wrist and brought it to her lips. She hesitated again, but this time the call of the girl’s blood proved to be too much for her, and she struck. As she drove her fangs into the mortal’s flesh, Abby shuddered and groaned her pleasure.

Lucan supported her as he watched Samantha feed, stroking the girl’s arms with soothing hands. He did not have to tell his lady when it was time to stop; Samantha wrenched her mouth away and pushed at the girl.

“That’s enough,” she panted.

“You must see to them when you are through,” he told her, taking a handkerchief from his jacket and pressing it over the puncture marks in the girl’s wrist. “Most will stop bleeding at once, but should it continue, you must tend to her. A small amount of your own blood will seal the wounds.” Fortunately the girl responded well and her blood clotted immediately. “When you know she is well, you must remove the memory of this.” He turned Abby toward him. “You will forget us and return to your home now. Go to bed and sleep the rest of the night.”