Embraced By Darkness (Riley Jenson Guardian #5) - Page 3

"Leave it," Kellen said, kissing my forehead.

"I can't. It might be urgent." I pushed upright.

"You're still officially on vacation," he said, annoyance edging in his rich tones. "Nothing is so urgent that someone else can't take care of it."

"But it might be Rhoan." Though I doubted it. He obviously knew Kellen was picking me up from the airport, and he also knew about my fantasy involving the limo – a fantasy I hadn't finished with yet. He wouldn't disrupt us, no matter how urgent.

I reached into my handbag and pulled out my vid-phone. As I suspected, it wasn't Rhoan. It was Jack. He obviously knew I was back – thanks to the damn tracker permanently implanted in my car – but it was a little unfair for him to be ringing even before my holidays had finished. Of course, tonight was Halloween, and it was one of the busiest times of the year for the Directorate. Rather like hospitals during the full moon.

If I'd wanted to enjoy the full length of my vacation, I should have stayed on the island where the sheer distance between us made it impossible for Jack to call me in.

But I never actually got the chance to answer the phone and find out what Jack wanted, because Kellen took one look at the number, then plucked the phone neatly from my hand and threw it out one of the open windows. It hit the road hard and disintegrated into dozens of metal bits that went scattering everywhere.

For a moment, shock held me speechless. "What the hell – "

"You're on still on holidays," he cut in. "They have no right to be contacting you just yet."

Annoyance rolled through me, but so, too, did desire. Nothing got my hormones scurrying faster than a man taking charge for all the right reasons. Still, I couldn't help adding, "You just destroyed my phone. And it might have been important – "

"This is important, Riley. Us. Not work." He raised a hand to my cheek, cupping it lightly. "And if it was a matter of true urgency, Rhoan can contact me, He knows where we'll be. He has my number."

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I raised my eyebrows, curious despite myself. "So we're not going back to your place?"

"Given your propensity in the past to run off on guardian business, no, we are not. I intend for our night of pleasure to be far away from the madding crowd. And any form of transport."

I wriggled on his lap, feeling his growing readiness, loving the heat of him pressed against me. "I should be very angry with you. And Jack certainly will be."

"Jack doesn't scare me. And you, my love, will enjoy every moment I have planned."

"Is that an order?" I murmured, my lips so deliciously close to his that I could taste every breath, every move of his lips.

"It most certainly is," he said, and kissed me.

Our night of pleasure was spent in the Macedon hills, on a property belonging to one of Kellen's friends.

There was just the two of us, a tent, and a huge picnic basket of food on five acres of manicured lawns and lush gardens. We laughed, we played, and we made love – sometimes in full view of the neighbors – and it was absolutely divine. Even the notoriously fickle Melbourne weather dealt us a nice night for a change.

Dawn had barely begun to creep her fiery fingers across the blackness of night when Kellen's phone finally rang. He unwrapped himself from around me and fished out the phone from the tangle of our clothes.

"It's Rhoan," he said, and handed the vid-phone tome.

"So," my brother said, expression wry, "Had a good time?"

"Absolutely wonderful," I said, stretching like a contented cat languishing in the sun.

"I certainly hope so, because Jack isn't happy."

"Jack's never happy." I paused, barely resisting the urge to giggle as Kellen began tickling the underside of my foot. "What docs he want me to do?"

"I'll let him tell you himself."

"Rhoan, wait – " He didn't. A second later, Jack's bald head appeared on the vid-screen. And as Rhoan had already noted, he did not look happy.

"I'm not officially on duty for another day," I said, quickly, "so this had better be an emergency."

Which was a pretty dumb thing to say. Just about all the Directorate cases could be classed as urgent, simply because they involved murdering psychos. We very rarely dealt with anything else.

"There is no such thing as vacation for guardians when emergencies happen," he said, voice dark and full of the anger so evident in his expression. "Next time I damn well ring you, answer the phone. Or else."

I didn't ask what he meant by that. I had a feeling I wouldn't want to know. "So what's the problem?"

"Dead people."

"Dead people are a regular occurrence in our line of work, Jack." And if was just dead people, he wouldn't be ringing me. Or be so mad.

Jack grimaced, his bald head gleaming under the brightness of the overhead lighting. He had to be upstairs in the main offices – the area the public could enter – not in the underground guardian area. There, the lighting was kept at "dusk" level for the sake of the newer vamps. Not that artificial lighting could hurt them. It was just that some of them tended to get jumpy in bright light. And jumpy guardians were never a good thing.

"This is a nasty one," Jack said, "and I need your talents involved."

Meaning he wanted me there to see if I could pick up anything along psychic lines. Like a soul hanging around with ready information to impart.

I scrubbed a hand across my eyes. While I hoped like hell Kade, Iktar, and the other non-vamps Jack had employed to fill out the daytime division got through training soon, the reality was, their presence in the unit wouldn't have saved me from a situation like this. I was the only one with this particular talent.

And yet, as much as I hated the thought of leaving Kellen and heading off to some gruesome murder scene, I couldn't deny the buzz of excitement that was humming through my system. I was going hunting, and the wolf within couldn't wait.

As Jack had once said, all werewolves were addicted to the thrill of the chase. It was just society that had, to some extent, tamed them. Certainly it was something I'd denied for a long, long time.

"Send me the address, then," I said, "But you'll owe me big time, Jack."

Amusement flickered briefly through his green eyes. "I'll give you an extra week of vacation next year."

"Yeah, right." We both knew the likelihood of me taking that was slim. "Just send the details to this number."

"Will do."

I hesitated, then asked, "So, what did you ring me about earlier?"

"Rogue Vamp," he said, voice all annoyed again, my bad for reminding him. "I took care of it myself." If Jack was taking care of business, then business was bad.

I hung up, but kept hold of the phone. "Seeing you smashed my phone, I'll need to keep this."

He touched a hand to my face, gently trailing his fingers down my check to my lips. I kissed his fingertips as they brushed my mouth, saw the flare of desire deep in his bright eyes.

"I figured you might have to leave early, so I arranged for a cab to come back at six."

I glanced at my watch. It was almost that now. I rolled free from his touch and sat up. "I need to go for a quick swim to freshen up."

He caught my hand, stopping me from moving. "I need you to think about something while you're gone."

I raised my eyebrows at the sudden seriousness in his tone. "Sure. What?"

"I want to go solo with you."

I blinked. "What? Now? It's too soon." The reply was almost automatic. As much as I cared for Kellen, as much as I was beginning to think he could be the one, I wasn't ready to go solo with him. Not after the events of the last few months. Not after Quinn. This time, I wasn't rushing into anything, free will or not.

"It's not too soon when it feels so right," he said, and paused, studying me for a moment. "Or are you still playing games with me? Still waiting, just in case something better comes along?"

I sucked in a breath and stared at him. "You really think I'm not serious about us?"

"Honestly? Sometimes I just don't know."

He couldn't have hurt me any more if he'd hit me. How could he honestly think I was playing games? I wasn't Rhoan – I had no hunger to fight the restrictions of a relationship and play the field. I wanted a home and a family and one man to call my own – and Kellen knew that. "That's a horrible thing to say."

"Perhaps, but it's also the truth. For most of our relationship, I've felt like a third wheel. There was always Quinn, or work, ahead of whatever you and I were doing. I'm not built to stand around and wait, Riley. I never will be."

"But Quinn's gone – "

"Work isn't."

"Dammit, you know I can't abandon work. Not when there's so few people in the day division." Hell, we'd discussed my being a guardian – and just what it entailed – up on Monitor Island. We'd even talked about the whole fertility thing, and me being a half-breed. None of it had seemed to be a problem to him.

But maybe he'd had the time to dwell on it since then. If so, I guess I had to be glad my work seemed more of a. problem for him than my mixed heritage and inability to carry a child.

He continued, "All I'm asking for is a decision on us going solo. It's not like I'm asking for forever."

No, but if I went solo, it would be because I was sure it would end up with forever. Right now, what I wanted most was time. Time to grow into us. Time to be really sure. I didn't want to go solo only to have it all fall apart. "It's too early – "

"It's not" He grasped my shoulders and shook me lightly. "You keep saying you want the white picket fence ideal, and yet you seem totally unwilling to step Into the arena and take a chance."

"After being used and abused by a past couple of mates, a certain amount of caution is hardly surprising," I retorted.

"Caution, yes. Feet dragging? No. I won't wait forever, Riley. Patience is not one of my virtues."

"It's not one of mine, either. Trust me on that." I reached for my clothes. "I'm going for a swim then I'll head off to the assignment. And I'll come back to your place as soon as I can."

He studied me for a moment, his green eyes still bright with a mix of annoyance and determination. He wasn't going to give up until he'd gotten what he wanted, and a small part of me couldn't help being-thrilled by that knowledge.

"And the commitment I'm asking for?"

I rose. "I want this to work as much as you do, Kellen, but I won't be pushed into anything. Not again."

"I'm not pushing. I'm just asking you to think about it."

"I will."

"Good." He paused, then added softly, "Just remember, I'm not Liander."

"Well thank heavens for that. I mean, he's gay."

His grin seemed reluctant, but he rose and drew me into a kiss that was very much a signal of intent. A statement of caring and demand.

In some ways it was scary. In others, exhilarating. I mightn't be sure that I wanted to take that extra step so soon into our relationship, but I was sure of one thing. I didn't want it to end.

Which meant I might have to take that step, go exclusive, before I was really sure about the true breadth of my feelings for him.

But I didn't say that. Didn't say anything. Just enjoyed his kiss and his closeness while I could.

I had a quick dip in the old dam we'd camped beside, then dressed and hurried over to the cab. Kellen gave me his jacket and another toe-curling kiss, then sent me on my way.

Once we were on the highway and headed for the address Jack had sent me, I retrieved Kellen's phone from my pocket and went through the files.

The information was sketchy, at best.

Apparently, a neighbor had heard strange sounds in a nearby vacant house and, on investigation, had spotted a shadowy figure inside. He'd reported it to police, who'd arrived, found the victim, and called the Directorate.

There were no details of the murder or the victim, which probably meant the cops had sealed the scene, awaiting our arrival. It also meant the Directorate's forensic team hadn't arrived yet, because otherwise there'd be at least some description of events.

I looked back down at the files. In the past, the strength of my connection with the dead seemed to depend on the freshness of the death. The newer the death, the stronger the connection – and the more likely I'd be able to successfully interpret or understand what they were trying to say. If indeed they had something to say. But part of me was hoping that the soul wasn't hanging about. Talking to dead people wasn't on my list of favorite things to do.

We were on the Calder freeway, heading toward Citylink and Melbourne, when I noticed the driver looking into the rearview mirror, his expression a little worried.

"What's wrong?" I asked, even as I looked around.

"That truck is getting a little too close for comfort."

Which had to be the understatement of the year. All I could see was this huge silver grill – and it was getting huger by the moment.

"Maybe you need to swing into the other lane, and let him pass."

"Tried that. He seems intent on tailgating me."

Just what we needed – a truckie intent on playing chicken. "Can you report his ass?"

"Can't see the license plate."

"Maybe I can." As I looked around, the truck seemed to leap forward, until all I could see were the little bugs caught in the deadly looking, silver-plated grill. I had a bad feeling those bugs could be us if we weren't very careful. "You might want to step on it – "

The rest of my words got lost in the screech of metal as the truck rammed into the rear of us, the force of the blow lifting the rear of the cab up for several seconds before sending it lurching forward. The force of the hit flung me about like a rag doll – at least until the seat belt kicked in and just about choked me. How the driver kept control I have no idea.

I looked out the back window again, saw nothing but bug-splattered grill, and twisted back around to brace myself against the front seat. "Floor it!" I yelled. "He's coming at us again."

"Don't you think I'm fucking trying?" the driver yelled back, his face red and his eyes wide with fear.

The cab's engine was just about screaming and, for an instant, the car leapt forward, leaving the growl of the truck momentarily behind.

But all too soon, its thick roar filled the air and I didn't need to look around to know it was closing in fast again.

And then it hit us.

This time, the blow wasn't square on, because suddenly the car was spinning around and around. Then the truck hit us a third time and the cab seemed to be flying. I was upside down, and the world was tumbling.

I can't remember the cab actually hitting anything, nor can I remember blacking out, but I must have, because suddenly I was hanging upside down, held in place only by the seat belt, the roof of the car underneath me and my hair draping into a small pool of blood. Blood that seemed to be dripping from my forehead.

I groaned, and turned around, trying to see where we were. The driver – far bigger than me – had half-crumpled onto the roof and looked to be unconscious.

His body was covered by bits of glass that sparkled like diamonds in the early morning light. There were cuts all over his face and his right arm was hanging at an odd angle. Beyond him, the front of the cab had been crushed, the top of the windshield now meeting the bottom. Steam gushed through the bits and pieces of glass that remained.

I couldn't hear the truck, thank God. Just the groaning of wounded metal and the hissing steam. I twisted around and pressed the seat belt release. Nothing happened. I pressed it again, and the thing let go, dumping me onto the roof. Glass sliced into my hands and I cursed softly. I might be a werewolf, and I might be able to heal such wounds easily enough, but it still fucking hurt.

I kicked out the remaining glass in the side window with more force than necessary, then carefully crawled out. The grass and mud felt like heaven under my fingertips, and for a moment I just knelt there, sucking in the cool crisp air and trying to stem the shaking that was beginning to rise from deep inside.

"Hey, you all right in there?" A male voice said from the other side of the car.

"I am," I said, "but the driver's unconscious."

"I've called the cops and the ambulance. You think I should move the driver out?"

"I don't know if he's got internal injuries." Hell, I didn't even know if I had internal injuries. Right now, I was feeling kind of numb. Maybe it was shock.

I called to my wolf form, felt the energy of her tingle through me as my limbs reshaped and re-formed, until what stood there was no longer human. I didn't move, sucking in the scents around me, aware of the sharp, rusty scent of the hissing steam, and the piney scent of the man standing on the other side of the crushed cab. But there was no sense of immediate danger. No sound that indicated the truck might be coming back to finish us all off.

I shifted back to human form, the process helping the bleeding to stop and wounds begin to heal, then pushed to my feet. The tree spun briefly around me, then stopped. I blew out a breath, and carefully walked around the crumpled trunk.

The stranger – a small, round man with brown hair – looked me up and down, then said, "You've been bleeding."

"Happens after a car accident." I bent down to look at the driver. His skin tone was normal and though his breathing was a little rapid, it didn't seem an immediate problem. "The driver has a broken arm. If the ambulance isn't going to be long, I suggest we just keep an eye on him, and keep him calm when he wakes."

The stranger nodded. "Saw the truck that hit you. Got its plate number."

"Really? Could I have it? I know some people who can get right onto tracing it."

"Sure." He pulled a grubby bit of paper out of his pocket and handed it to me. I thanked him, then pulled out my phone and walked away.

Jack answered straightaway. "Riley, you can't be at Richmond yet, so what the hell are you ringing me for?"

"Bad news, boss. Some asshole truck driver ran my cab off the road."

"You're okay?"

"I'm standing here talking to you, aren't I?"

He snorted. "The smart mouth is working, so you've gotta be fine." He hesitated, and in the background, keys clicked. "Another car will be there in ten. It'll take you straight to the murder scene."

"You're all heart."

"I'm a vampire. We don't do tea and sympathy."

Not when there was a crime scene to get to, anyway. "A witness caught the plate number." I raised the bit of paper and read it out. "You want to get a trace done? Oh, and contact the cops. Tell them who I am, so I can leave when the car gets here."

"I'll get straight onto it."

He was a man of his word, and I had no trouble leaving once the new cab arrived. Half an hour later, the driver was dropping me off at the Richmond street address. The wind whipped off the nearby Yarra River and spun its chill around me. I shivered and hastily zipped up my borrowed jacket, hiding the torn and bloodied state of my shirt in the process.

I slung my purse over my shoulder and turned around. The house was one of those cute, single-fronted Victorian weatherboard homes that Richmond was famous for. Which meant, of course, it was worth a sheer fortune. This one was a little forlorn looking, what with its weatherworn and rickety white picket fence, smashed front window, and a front door that seemed to have more patches than original wood. The "for sale" sign behind the rickety fence had a black and red "sold" banner pasted across it, and part of me wondered if the deal would still go through now that someone had been murdered inside. That kind of information tended to turn people off.

Blue and white police tape had been strung across the door and windows, and a burly-looking cop stood near the gate, studying me with a somewhat forbidding expression. It was about then I realized I didn't have my ID with me, and that I didn't have a hope of getting inside that building – or past that cop – without it.

I dug my phone out of my jeans pocket and rang Jack again. I got his caramel-haired assistant, Salliane, instead.

Joy. "Sal, it's Riley."

"Ah, so the rumors are true. The bitch returns early."

And Jack wondered why I enjoyed snarking her so much. "It's such a pleasure to hear from you, too, Sal."

She made an unladylike snort. "What do you want, wolf girl?"

"Who's being sent to the Brighton Street cleanup?" You.

"Besides me, smartass."

Even the small screen of the vid-phone couldn't mask the amusement glinting in her brown eyes. "Cole Reece and his team."

I couldn't help the slight smile that touched my lips. Cole was a wolf-shifter I'd worked with briefly – on a case that had almost led me to being the sixth victim of an ancient god of evil. He was somewhat uptight when it came to the rules, and more than a little judgmental when it came to his opinions on weres, but my wolf soul sure as hell enjoyed teasing him.

"Have you got an ETA on him?"

She paused. In the background, I could hear the sound of typing. Checking the computer tracking system, no doubt. All Directorate personnel – those in the office as well as those in the field – now had small trackers inserted in their ears. Jack had no intention of losing any more staff than necessary. Not after the decimation of the guardian ranks by the madman I'd once called a mate.

"He should be almost on top of you," she said.

I should be so lucky. I shoved the thought aside, and looked around at the sound of a car. The black vehicle that approached had Directorate plates. "He is. Thanks."

"You're welcome," she said, voice suddenly polite. Jack had probably just walked into the room. Sal didn't mind throwing crap my way, but she wouldn't do it in Jack's presence. Trying to impress the boss and all that. Why the hell he didn't bed her and be done with it was anyone's guess.

I shoved the phone in my back pocket as the car pulled to a halt. A tall, craggy-faced man of indeterminate age climbed out, his gray hair glinting silver in the cool daylight. His musky, spicy scent swum around me, as refreshing as an evening breeze on a warm summer day.

Which it wasn't, of course, but he did smell as good as that.

"Well, well, if it isn't our only wolf guardian," he said, his deep voice dry but warm. He looked me up and down, then added, "Did they haul you out of a dogfight or something?"

"A wrecked car, actually." And I wasn't the only wolf guardian, of course, but few people knew that. Most seemed to think that Rhoan was a wolf who'd undertaken the blood ceremony and become a vampire. The fact that he could walk in daylight was attributed to age. Few questioned the fact we shared the same last name, simply because that was standard in wolf packs. The same surname always carried down through the generations. "You were expecting someone else?"

"Hoping for someone else would be more accurate." He reached inside the car and pulled out a bag. "Someone with less propensity to foul crime scenes."

"Well, I'm afraid it just isn't your day."

"Apparently not." He glanced briefly over his shoulder as the two other men climbed out. One was a cat-shifter, the other a bird-shifter of some kind. I'd seen both of them at a crime scene with Cole previously, but had no idea of their names. Nor did Cole seem inclined to introduce them.

"Get the gear, guys. I'll head inside," he added, then glanced at me. "Are you all right? You actually do look a bit of a mess."

"Let's just say I'd rather be home than here, but Jack's given me no choice."

"Jack's like that. And I'm actually surprised you're not in there already."

"Just got off a plane from holidays and was shunted straight here. Hence, no ID."

"And you're here because Jack's hoping you'll find a little lost soul?"

"That, and the fact we're short on guardians who can investigate day crimes."

"Guardians aren't investigators. They're hunter-killers."

Which was totally true – up to a point. "Let's not get into that argument when there's a victim waiting."

He almost smiled. Almost. "Fair enough. Follow me, then."

I followed. The cop allowed us through after a quick inspection of Cole's ID and a brief explanation. Cole then handed me a set of gloves, donned a pair himself, and lightly pushed the front door open.

Surprisingly, given all the repairs it had undergone, the door didn't creak as it moved. The long hallway beyond was shadowed, and the silence thick. Even the whispering wind made little sound as it slid past our legs and scattered the dust bunnies lying on the worn, wooden floorboards.

The air escaping from the house was rich with the scent of blood and death, but there was something else here, something that had the hairs at the back of my neck rising.

An evil so vile I had to clench my fists against the urge to run.

I licked my lips and forced myself to remain calm. If I could face the god of death, I could surely face whatever remnants of evil lay waiting in this house.

"The death still smells rather fresh," I commented, glad my voice sounded so normal when I was shivering inside.

"The neighbors reported it less than two hours ago. The cops called us straight in."

I nodded, and narrowed my gaze a little. There was a deeper blob of darkness down at the far end of the hall, but it didn't look big enough to be a body. It looked vaguely like a lump of wood, only there didn't seem to be any missing from the walls or doorframes. I switched to infrared, and the fading glow of life leapt into focus.

It wasn't a lump of wood. It was a leg.

A leg that still wore a shoe.

This was going to be bad.

Cole pulled a flashlight from his bag and flicked the switch. The bright beam of light swept across walls splattered with blood and chunkier bits of God knows what. Then it caught the limb and stopped.

"Nice shoe," he commented.

"Yeah." It was a silver stiletto, with sparkly bits around the toes. The sort of shoe worn to parties or dances, not abandoned houses.

"I'd better set up a mobile recording unit here."

"I hope you have more than one in that little black bag of yours. I'm thinking we're going to need it."

"I'm thinking you could be right."

He assembled then pressed what looked to be a small black globe against the ceiling, waited until the suction took hold, then hit the record button. The unit whirred to life, and one of the lenses behind the black glass sphere did a circuit of the hall before coming back to rest on the two of us. From here on in, any movement and all conversation would be tracked and recorded.

He handed me a pair of those paper-thin shoe-covers supposedly designed to stop further contamination of the crime scene. Once I'd slipped them over my heels, we moved inside, carefully avoiding the blood and gore. Two bedrooms led off the hallway, but a brief glance through the doorways revealed nothing out of the ordinary. The destruction seemed to have swept past them.

The stink grew richer, stronger, the farther we moved into the house. It wasn't just death, but age, mold, and urine. This house smelled like it had been abandoned for some time – and if the cloying scent of piss was anything to go by, it had been claimed as a squat for the homeless for almost as long.

So what would a woman who wore costly, sparkly shoes be doing here?

The eye-witness report hadn't mentioned anyone being forced into the house. Just a shadow breaking into it.

We stopped near the limb. I stared down at it, seeing the obvious tearing at the end of her leg, in the muscles and flesh. Someone had ripped this leg from her body. Not cut it, not bitten it, but literally pulled it free.

That took incredible strength. Which meant we were definitely dealing with something preternatural.

Cole glanced back to the mobile unit. "Zoom and record all floor elements at current location."

"Scanning." We waited, and after several seconds, the unit beeped. "Area scanned and recorded."

We moved on carefully. Footsteps from behind indicated the two other shifters had entered the house, but Cole didn't acknowledge them and neither did I.

The room beyond the hallway was a living room. Chunks of plaster were missing from the walls, and the grubby window to the right was smashed, allowing the light and the wind to swirl into the room. The smell of urine was stronger, almost masking the scent of death.

Almost.

There were more body parts here. An arm thrown casually on top of the fireplace. A shoeless foot leaning at an angle in a corner. And blood. Lots of blood, splattered in haphazard patterns across the walls and across the ceiling.

Shallow breathing wasn't helping any. The aroma seemed to be seeping into my skin, making my stomach curl.

"Don't move while I place another scanner," Cole said, his voice matter-of-fact.

"How do you manage it?" I asked, my gaze on the kitchen entrance and the shadows and death and thick evil that waited there.

It almost felt as if whatever had caused this destruction was waiting for our reaction. Reveling in it.

I shivered and rubbed my arms. My imagination really needed to be shoved into a box and left there, otherwise I was going to have a whole lot of trouble getting through days like this.

Cole pressed the black globe against the ceiling, then said, "Manage what?"

"The sort of detachment you have. How do you get through day after day of confronting this sort of destruction?"

He shrugged as the scanner whirred to l