Blood Hunt (Sentinel Wars Book 5) Page 9

  It wasn’t right. She sensed that there was some reason he kept his distance.

  Perhaps he was married.

  The thought shriveled something small and hopeful in her heart. She’d never poach. Not even for a man as beautiful as Logan. It was best they kept their distance and stayed professional. She wouldn’t turn away his help to find Rory—she couldn’t do that to her friend—but she could keep things light. Stay detached.

  With that decision made, Hope felt better. Stronger. She pulled in a deep breath and went to Logan’s side where he was staring down at the floor.

  Silvery light spilled out over the dusty mattress. It was coming from Logan’s eyes.

  He appeared to be in some kind of trance, his focus beyond the floor. His face was lax and his breathing slow and even.

  A moment later, he blinked several times and crouched next to the mattress. “Someone was killed here.”

  “How can you tell?”

  He gave the mattress a hard shove and it slid over the floorboards, leaving a trail in the dust. There was a dark, irregular stain on the wood, several feet across. Hope shone her flashlight on it and saw the rusty brown of dried blood.

  “Is that what I think it is?” she asked.

  “Blood. And whomever it belonged to couldn’t have survived that kind of loss.”

  Hope didn’t ask him if he was sure. She guessed he knew what he was talking about in this area of expertise.

  “It looks old,” she said, trying to convince herself it was true. It had been only a few days since she’d seen Rory. It couldn’t be hers.

  “A couple of days at most.”

  Worry tightened Hope’s throat. “How can you tell?”

  “The smell. She was healthy at the time of her death.”

  “She?”

  “It’s a woman’s blood,” he said.

  “You can’t know that from the way it smells.”

  He stood suddenly, his eyes darting to the far side of the room. He grabbed her arm and pushed her behind him. “Someone’s here. Stay silent. I’ll shield us from sight.”

  She had no idea what he meant, but a second later, she felt a stirring of something around them. It brushed her cheek, but felt nothing like wind. The fine hair along her arms lifted as a silvery light slid up from the ground in a cylinder.

  It surrounded them both, pulsing and fluttering with what looked like bits of glitter. The effect was oddly like being trapped inside a snow globe.

  Hope didn’t dare ask how he’d done it. She worried her voice would give them away.

  What if it was the killer coming back?

  A door on the far side of the room opened and Hope saw the faintest edge of an aura slip through a moment before a man entered the room. From this distance, with sparkling flecks blocking her vision, she couldn’t see him clearly, but his aura was familiar.

  Faded with time and bent with age, the halo of color surrounded the man, gliding along as his constant companion. Red streaks of pain slid through swaths of cool green acceptance. Pale golden strokes of happiness hovered behind him, and ahead of him was calm, fearless, brilliant hope. Sections of color were simply missing, as if his aura was too old and weary to fill in the gaps.

  Hope had seen this before. It was the aura of the elderly—of those who were ready to go to meet their maker.

  The man shuffled forward, a paper sack clenched in his gnarled hand. His plaid coat hung open, showing off baggy clothes beneath. He lifted his head, giving her a glimpse of his face.

  “It’s Charlie,” she whispered close to Logan’s ear. “I know him. He’s harmless.”

  The glittering column dissipated, taking with it the odd tingling energy that had created it.

  “Hello, Charlie,” said Logan in a low, calm voice.

  The man stopped in his tracks, clutching his sack to his chest. “Who’s there?”

  Hope stepped forward so he could see her clearly, shining the flashlight on her face. “It’s me. Hope Serrien.”

  The man sagged in relief. “Hell, girl. You nearly scared me out of my skin.”

  “Sorry. What are you doing here?”

  “The shelter was crowded. I couldn’t take it tonight, so I thought I’d slip up here for a bit. Who’s the fella?”

  Logan ignored his question. “There’s blood on the floor. Do you know how it got there?”

  Charlie’s rheumy eyes narrowed. “Son, you’d best leave that alone if you know what’s good for you.”

  That sounded suspiciously like he did know.

  Hope crossed the space, hurrying to his side. “Was it Rory? Was she here?”

  “You’re a sweet girl. No good can come of you poking your nose into things. Understand?”

  “No,” she said. “I don’t. If Rory was killed here, you would have reported it, right?”

  Charlie turned around as if to leave. “The less I see, the safer I am. You, too.”

  Hope took his arm, feeling his bones easily through the layers of clothing. “You have to tell me. I won’t make you talk to the police. I’ll do it myself.”

  Charlie shook his shaggy head. “Girl, there’s nothing the police can do to fix some things. What happened here is one of them. You’d best leave it be. Walk away.”

  “Perhaps I can help,” said Logan.

  Charlie looked him up and down, wearing a dismissive expression. “If so, I’ll eat my hat.”

  “You’re afraid. Understandably so. But I assure you that if there is some kind of creature lurking here, I’m more capable of dispatching it than any policeman would be.”

  “That so?” asked Charlie.

  “It is.”

  “What makes you think it’s some kind of creature?”

  Logan’s chest expanded with a frustrated breath, but it didn’t come out in a sigh. “I killed one here last night. Typically, these things congregate in nests. When you see one, there are more lurking nearby.”

  “Like cockroaches.”

  “Precisely.”

  “Guess I need to find myself a new place to sleep, then.”

  Hope couldn’t let him get away. Not until she knew the truth. “Please, Charlie. At least tell me if it was Rory. I have to know what happened to her.”

  The old man paused, his thin lips mashing together in hesitation. “I didn’t see who it was. By the time I got here, her head was already gone. There were things feeding on her, though. And they weren’t no rats.”

  An image of Rory’s lifeless body being gnawed away by animals flashed in Hope’s mind, horrifying her. She choked back a cry of anguish, pressing the back of her hand against her mouth. It took several deep breaths to gather herself enough to speak.

  “Her shoes,” asked Hope. “Were they pink high-tops?”

  Hope had found a pair in a donations box and given them to Rory. Since the other woman had dyed her hair the same color, Hope was sure she’d like them. And lace-up shoes like that were good. They were harder for someone else to steal when you were sleeping. She figured Rory needed every advantage she could get.

  Charlie frowned as if trying to remember. “I don’t think so. I think I would have remembered a thing like that.”

  Hope sagged in relief. Logan’s hand caught her elbow and held her steady. He gave her a worried look and studied her face.

  “I’m fine,” she told him. “That couldn’t have been Rory.”

  Logan nodded and turned his attention to Charlie. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a money clip stuffed with cash. He peeled off a couple hundred dollars and handed it to Charlie. “Thank you for your service.”

  Charlie eyed the money in suspicion. “I didn’t do nothin’.”

  “It’s not safe here. Buy a room. Get warm.”

  “He’s right,” said Hope. “You can’t stay here.”

  Charlie hesitantly reached for the money. Logan grabbed his hand and held on, covering the other man’s hand in both of his.

  That odd tingling feeling slid through the air again, only this
time there were no glittery flecks surrounding them. Pale silvery light flared for a split second—so fast Hope couldn’t locate the source of it.

  Charlie’s aura changed. Some of the gaps filled in, and a few of the red streaks of pain dissipated. From the corner of her eye, she saw those streaks appear in Logan’s aura for a moment before fading away, as if he’d somehow absorbed them.

  Charlie stumbled back.

  Logan surged forward, steadying the old man before he could fall. “Careful.”

  “What did you do?” asked Charlie, his eyes wide with accusation.

  Logan frowned in confusion. “Do?”

  Charlie shoved the money in his pocket and wiped his hand on his pants. He looked at Hope. “Go home, girl. I don’t know what that man is, but I sure as hell know it ain’t right.”

  Hope glanced at Logan, who was the picture of innocence.

  Charlie left, standing straighter, his shuffling gait more steady and swift than she’d ever seen it. The stairwell door shut behind him.

  “What did you do to him?” she asked.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” said Logan. But he was paler than he had been, which seemed impossible. And his aura was smaller. Dimmer. As if whatever he’d done had cost him something.

  Hope had never seen anything like it before.

  “You helped him somehow,” she insisted.

  “And what makes you say that?”

  She was trapped now. She couldn’t very well tell him she could see auras. She’d never told anyone. “I could tell.”

  “How?” he pressed.

  “Woman’s intuition.”

  His gaze narrowed as he scrutinized her. “Did you know I can smell it when you lie?”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Is it?” he asked. “After all you’ve seen, that’s the thing that you find ridiculous?”

  He had a point—one she was not going to look at very closely.

  He intrigued her. The more time she spent with him, the more she wanted to know about him, the more she wanted to unravel the mystery he presented.

  “Okay,” she heard herself say before she realized what she was doing. “I’ll go on that blind date.”

  “In exchange for . . . ?”

  “Nothing. You gave Charlie a gift and I want to repay your kindness. But I can’t be distracted by dating until I find out what happened to those missing people, what happened to Rory. Help me if you like. Or don’t. That’s your choice.”

  “I’ll help you,” he said. “And then you’ll help me. Do you promise?”

  “I already said I would. We don’t have to bargain.”

  “Indulge me. Give me your word.”

  Hope sighed. The man had some odd ideas, but if he could track blood, he was going to be more useful than the police could ever hope to be. “Fine. I promise.”

  As the words left her mouth, a weight descended on her, like someone had doused her under a waterfall. She gasped in shock and actually looked up to see if something had fallen.

  A satisfied smile lifted his mouth. “Lovely. A bargain is struck.”

  Hope didn’t know exactly what she’d gotten herself into, but she was pretty sure it was binding. And somehow, the idea of being with Logan long enough for their “bargain” to play out didn’t bother her nearly as much as it probably should have.

  “Can we just get moving?” she asked. “It’s a big building and I want to make sure Rory’s not in here somewhere.”

  Logan gave her a small bow. “As you wish.”

  Logan had done it. He’d wrung a promise from Hope and now she was bound to it.

  Sadly, he didn’t feel like celebrating his victory. Instead, he scolded himself for his lack of discipline. He never should have healed the old man. It was a waste of power, one he’d be kicking himself for when he’d used up that which he’d taken from Hope.

  Still, as stupid as it had been, he wasn’t sure he would do differently now, given the opportunity.

  Renewing Charlie’s strength, driving away some of the pain of his years . . . It was rewarding in a way Logan had nearly forgotten. It had been centuries since there had been enough strongly blooded humans roaming Earth to fuel his kind properly. Long gone was the time when he could walk into a village and heal the sick and lame knowing there would be ample offers to feed him.

  Back then, he could squander his power, letting it flow freely into the world. He could do good.

  It had been . . . satisfying.

  But now things were different. Bloodlines were too diluted. The power of the ancient Athanasians—a race of amazingly strong beings on a distant planet that was the source of all Sentinel magic—was nearly wiped from the world, traces of it so minute, he and his kind spent nearly all their time searching for them.

  Until Hope. Her blood was powerful in a way he hadn’t experienced for years. It was rivaled only by a few Theronai women, such as Helen, who’d been recently discovered—women whose blood was carefully guarded by their dangerous, sword-wielding husbands.

  Once again he wondered if Hope might be one of them—a Theronai, the child of an Athanasian man and a human woman. It was possible. The women they’d found had no idea what they really were. Hope could be one more.

  And if so, then the stirring in his groin when he looked upon her was more than inconvenient. It was forbidden. If she was a Theronai, touching her could start a war. If she was a Slayer, touching her could get him killed. If she was human, she belonged to Project Lullaby, and touching her would be akin to betraying his own kind.

  Perhaps it was time to call in one of the Theronai. They were far better suited to protect her than Logan was—at least once the power Hope’s blood had given him was gone and he was once again weak.

  He found himself resisting the idea of handing her safekeeping to another. He’d found her. He’d fed from her. He’d bargained with her. They were tied together.

  That was the thought that spurred Logan to action. He was already growing too attached to the woman, and whether she was human, Theronai, or Slayer, that simply could not stand.

  Logan retrieved his phone and dialed Joseph, the Theronai leader. Let him send someone to see to her safety and test her identity. If she was a Theronai, one of her own kind would know. If she wasn’t, she’d be in safe hands until such time as Logan or Tynan could find her a suitable mate. It was the safest course of action—one that would preserve the power flowing through her veins, and prevent Logan from doing something unforgivable.

  Chapter 8

  It was still early in the evening when Iain finished cleaning out the nest and went back to his Suburban.

  Fucking demons hadn’t even put up enough of a fight to make him breathe hard. And the paltry battle sure as hell hadn’t done a thing to ease the pain swelling in his chest more with every day that passed.

  He would have thought that after his soul died off some of that pain would have gone away. But no. No such luck.

  His blood was running hot and he was way past the point where meditation would do him any good. The only thing that would help now was more fighting.

  Iain pulled up an electronic map on his phone. Nicholas had rigged the thing to pinpoint the known locations of the child-face abominations. He selected the little pink dot that indicated his current location and deleted it. The next closest one was northern Kansas, which was a good two-hour drive on backcountry roads.

  He hoped like hell that by the time he got there, the pain wouldn’t be any worse. Too much more and he wouldn’t be able to fight. And that he simply could not stand.

  Iain put the vehicle in gear and headed for a road. He’d made a bit of a mess of some farmer’s field getting out here, but there was no help for that. At least he’d taken care of their infestation.

  He’d just eased back onto a pitted blacktop road when he heard a noise rise up from behind him. It was low. Faint. More a brush of air than a sound.

  A slow, satisfied smile stretched his mouth as he pulled to
the side of the road.

  Apparently, one of the demons had slipped past him and hitched a ride with the wrong man.

  Ava’s body clenched hard, driving the breath from her lungs. The baby was coming. Right now.

  She huddled under the blanket she’d found, crouched in the far backseat of the big SUV, trying to be quiet. She curled around her child, hugging her knees as close as possible in an effort to ward off the pain. A coppery taste filled her mouth as she bit down on her lip, struggling to be silent in the face of so much pain.

  The tires bounced, jostling her hard. A second later, the car tilted sideways as it was parked in a deep ditch.

  A car door opened, but Ava didn’t dare lift her head to peer out a window to see where they were. They hadn’t been driving long enough yet for her to have made a clean escape. She was still too close to the caves.

  The back door at her feet was ripped open. The man she’d seen in the cave was standing there, holding a gleaming sword, looking ready to kill her. His face was a snarl of rage and veins in his neck stood out.

  Fear, her faithful companion these long months, was there at her side, holding her close, refusing to let go. She held her dirty hands up as if they could do anything to shield her from his blade.

  Her voice came out raw and scratchy from the fight to keep from screaming. “Please don’t hurt me.”

  The man’s expression altered from rage to suspicion, but his blade stayed high and ready to strike. “Who are you? And how the hell did you get in my ride?”

  “I was in those caves. I escaped. I didn’t know where else to go.”

  She started to ask for his help, but her words were cut off as another wave of pain crushed her body. This time, there was nothing she could do to stop a low moan of agony.

  “Are you hurt?” The man sheathed his sword, leaned inside, and grabbed her arms. He pulled on her, but her body was too tense to cooperate as he tried to pull her from the car.

  She couldn’t speak. Pressure grew inside her as her body contracted. There was a wrenching kind of pain. She felt her skin tear as the baby’s head crowned.