When Passion Lies: A Shadow Keepers Novel (19 page)

“Check.”

“Air-quality evaluators?”

“Check.”

“Shackles?”

“Checked and double-checked.”

Lihter looked sideways at the doctor, who managed a half shrug. “If what we’ve heard about hybrids is true, she’s going to prove exceptionally strong.”

The doctor was right, of course. But they had her strapped to the metal gurney with hematite wrist and ankle binders, along with mesh hematite straps over her chest, waist, and thighs. “She’s secure,” he said. “Doctor, are you ready?”

“I am,” Behar said, and Lihter heard his own excitement in the doctor’s voice. He was still giddy from the discovery that Reinholt’s daughter was a hybrid. It was as if fate had smiled upon him, a silent gift to prove that he was on the right path. The universe giving him a vigorous nod of approval.

“Then let’s begin.”

Behar adjusted some dials on the control panel in front of him, then used a joystick to maneuver a mask over the girl’s mouth and nose. Made of malleable plastic, the mask was connected to a sterile tube that wound its way into another sealed chamber.

Behind them, Rico and the rest of the support team gathered, all looking through the six-inch-thick glass wall. Lihter and Behar stood right before that wall, separated only by the length of the control table that Behar now operated. “Charging,” the doctor said. “Power almost full—and
now
.”

The doctor threw the switch and electricity coursed through hidden wires into the metal table onto which the girl was strapped. She was naked, and her body began to sizzle wherever flesh touched metal. She tensed and lurched, but there was nowhere to go, so the truth was it wasn’t much of a show. Not for the first minute or so.

The tranquilizer had been on the verge of wearing off, and now the electricity did the last of the work, bringing the girl fully into consciousness—and pain.

Lihter watched, unable to help his smile as she screamed and jerked and thrashed on the charged table, electricity pouring through her, her skin so fried it was actually smoking.

“Change,” he whispered. “Dammit, bitch,
change
.”

She couldn’t possibly have heard him—not through the glass, not through the pain—but she turned her face toward him. Eyes wild, blinded with agony. And still he couldn’t shake the feeling that she was looking right at him. That she was purposefully defying him.

Bitch
.

He lunged for the controls and increased the electricity, sending the needle shooting into the red zone.

“Sir! You’ll fry her. If she dies—”

“Quiet!” he snapped, holding the dial. Watching. Watching …

Then things got interesting.

The body might look like that of a human girl, but it was so very far from that. Naomi Reinholt was a vampire. She was also a werewolf.

Naomi Reinholt was a hybrid—and the moment she changed into the wolf, great things were supposed to happen. Great, terrible things.

And then it started. The body shifting. The bones elongating. Skin puckering as coarse fur poked through.

Behind the mask, the girl screamed and screamed, until suddenly it wasn’t the girl screaming, but a wolf. A trapped, impotent wolf strapped down because Lihter had willed it so. Because
he
was the one with dominion over the girl. Because he was the one who had trapped the hybrid and would tame her. Would take the curse that brought havoc when vampire and weren met, and turn it to his advantage.

He dialed the electricity back. Behar was right. He couldn’t risk damaging his weapon.

“Test it! Quick. Test the air!”

Behar was already on it, of course. Behind them, Rico and the other men pressed in closer, their eyes on the girl. On the first hybrid any of them had ever seen.

On the weapon Lihter would harness to bring forth his new world.

He turned to Behar, silently willing him to move faster. He needed the news. Needed to hear aloud how she had spewed infection from her body. How she was a walking bomb that could erase humans, vampires, and the rest from the world. Only werens would remain. Werens and a select few who were immune or saved. Slaves in a perfect new society.

“It’s not there,” Behar said, his voice tight, confused. “Nothing. The air handlers are finding nothing.”

“What?” Lihter turned to him, shocked. “What do you mean, nothing?”

“The air is clean. There’s no infection. No plague.”

“But she’s a hybrid,” Lihter said. “Her blood is fucking acid.”

“Perhaps this is something her father discovered in his research? Have you located the father?” Behar asked.

“Not yet,” Lihter admitted. “But I’ve put feelers out to all my sources.” Fortunately, he had a number of snitches within the various PEC divisions. Reinholt may have gone into hiding, but he couldn’t hide forever, especially since he was undoubtedly searching for his daughter.

At the moment, though, the machinations of the investigation meant nothing to him. All he cared about was the girl. And she wasn’t working out as he’d expected at all.

“I don’t understand this.” Behar frantically twisted knobs, double-checked readouts. “Maybe her father cured her. Maybe—”

“Goddamn motherfucking—” He cut himself off, took a long, deep breath. “Are you certain?”

“The instruments, they all—”

“Fuck the instruments. Are. You. Certain?”

“I’m certain,” Behar said.

Lihter drew in a breath, then another.

He forced calm upon himself.

He’d waited centuries for this moment. He could wait a little while longer.

“Very well,” he said. “When the girl’s back to herself, she and I are going to have to have a little conversation. I need answers, and I have a feeling she’s the one to give them to me.”

“I understand perfectly what you’re saying, but it’s absolutely not acceptable.” Benjamin Koller spoke firmly into the phone, his fingers tapping his desk, his eyes on Gabriel. The subdirector of the Division 12 violent crimes unit might look calm, but Gabriel knew him well enough to know that Koller was incredibly pissed off.

Gabriel, on the other hand, didn’t give a shit. He’d thought he was wiping his hands of homicide when he’d transferred to Division Freeze Your Ass Off. And if the Alliance wanted the case, then that was fine. He’d tell the Alliance investigator what he’d learned so far, then Gabriel could go home, get some sleep, and spend the rest of the week investigating allegations that teenage trolls “redecorated” the slopes during the night, making the ski runs unsafe for humans.

He shifted uncomfortably in front of Koller’s desk. That was what he wanted, dammit. To let this case go. To dump the problem of Alliance reps and dead snitches and a murderous vampire bitch off on someone else.

Hell, yeah.

But if that was what he wanted, why couldn’t he get the victim’s face out of his head?

Not your problem anymore, Gabriel
.

Koller tapped a button on his phone, shifting the call to the speaker.

“—not me that’s pulling jurisdiction, Koller. The Alliance is keeping Reinholt’s death quiet and shifting the matter to a task force.” The gravelly voice belonged to Morag Crill, the Alliance representative for the earthens, and governor of the Swiss territory.

The man was a troll, literally, and although Gabriel told himself that he had no issues with the outcome, he still couldn’t believe that Crill was bending Division 12 over and taking it up the—

“We’re perfectly capable of handling the investigation,” Koller said, his voice reasonable even though his expression was not. He looked ready to blow. And when a para-daemon blew, everyone in the vicinity needed to look out. “Agent Casavetes has handled numerous homicides. He’s exceptionally competent.”

Gabriel grimaced. Maybe he’d been competent once. But he’d moved here so he didn’t have to be anymore. Beside him, Everil shifted, apparently ticked that his competence hadn’t been duly noted as well.

“Capable’s not the issue,” Crill said. “Turns out Reinholt’s a political hot button. And the Alliance likes its finger on those buttons, not a PEC section chief’s.”

“And which representative initiated the task force?” Koller asked, even though he undoubtedly knew the answer just as well as Gabriel did: Tiberius.

“It’s done, Benjamin,” Crill said. “Let it go.” The call ended with a click, and Gabriel watched as Koller growled, then yanked up the handset before slamming it back down. The phone shattered.

“I’ll file my report,” Gabriel said, telling himself he was relieved. “And I’ll requisition you a new phone.”

He started to push out of his chair.

“Fuck that,” Koller said, stopping him. “A high-profile murder took place in my town on my watch. No way am I letting go of this case.”

Gabriel sagged back. “Sir …”

Koller’s fuzzy eyebrows lifted. “You want to say no? Have me assign another agent?”

“No, sir!” Everil said. “This is a Division 12 matter. It should stay in Division 12.”

Gabriel might not be singing a happy tune at the thought of working with his oh-so-charming partner, but on this one, he had to agree.

A man was dead, and as much as Gabriel didn’t want to get sucked back into homicide, he was damn certain that this would be a political butt fuck if the Alliance took over. Either they’d shove Caris off to an executioner without pulling any more evidence than what Gabriel had already found, or else she would walk, protected from charges of murder by virtue of whom she’d slept with.

He didn’t know which way it would go down, but either was equally unacceptable.

He’d moved to Zermatt to avoid homicide, not to pretend that it didn’t exist. And he sure as hell hadn’t moved here so he could watch politicos trample all over a case.

He’d look the other way for a lot of things. But not this. Goddamn it all, not this.

“We’re in,” he said. “We’ve already got some solid leads.”

Koller nodded. “Off the books. The Alliance gets no wind of our investigation until we have sufficient evidence for trial. They want to create a task force, fine. Our investigation will run parallel. By law we have dual jurisdiction. I’m exercising that jurisdiction in secret.” He looked at both of them. “Gentlemen, get to work.”

Caris stood in the shower and let the water pound down from above, wishing it could wash the thoughts from her head. The desire.

And the regret.

What had she been thinking?

Then again, that wasn’t an entirely fair question. She knew exactly what she’d been thinking. She’d been thinking about Tiberius. About his touch. About his hands.

She’d been thinking that despite all the anger that still boiled up within her, that she wanted to touch him.
No
. It was
because
of that anger. He could banish her, but she couldn’t do the same to him. But she could use him. She could take what she wanted, draw pleasure from his touch, battle down the daemon by battling herself in his arms.

Angry sex
. How cliché was that?

But dammit, it had seemed like a great idea at the time. And it hadn’t stayed angry. No, instead it had turned … confusing.

Now came the little lies. Not to Tiberius, but to herself. Whispers that said she did it only to get off. That it was just a fuck, and nothing more.

Lies that said she didn’t care, that all he was to her was pain and the past.

Lies that whispered as they swirled around her, saying that she could handle it. That she’d been cold, using him. That she’d felt nothing at all. Only lust. And certainly no hint of the love that had once overwhelmed her heart every time she’d looked at him.

She’d opened a door by sleeping with him, and that had been a very big mistake. Time to slam it shut. Tight and fast.

Because if she didn’t, he’d stab her through the heart again. And this time, she didn’t think she could survive.

She frowned at her thoughts. If she was so concerned
about slamming doors, why the hell had she told him about Gunnolf? There was one for the psychology books.

With a groan, she rolled her head. She doubted the hot water could wash away the thoughts surging through her mind, but with any luck, it would work the kinks out of her neck.