Darkness Devours - Page 1/55

Chapter 1

We do what we have to do—we track these people down by whatever means necessary.

The words weren’t mine, but they ran through my brain nevertheless, going around and around, chased by echoes of pain and heartbreak as I stood on the footpath and stared up at the multistory building in Southbank.

I’d never been inside but I’d driven past it many a time. And, more than once, I’d stopped here at the curbside, sharing a lingering kiss, reluctant to let what we’d experienced the night before come to an end.

I’d been so in love. Stupidly, foolishly in love. And it had all been a lie. Not on my part, but his.

Jak Talbott—the werewolf I thought I’d spend the rest of my life with—had wanted nothing more than a good story. And he’d got that, mixing lies with reality so deftly it was hard to pick them apart. Mom had sued both him and the paper over the story, but in the end had settled out of court rather than have her name—and possibly mine—dragged endlessly through the gossip mags while the court case was ongoing. But mud tends to stick, even if it isn’t true, and she lost several lucrative TV spots because of it. Not that that had particularly worried her. She’d been more concerned about the effect of Jak’s actions on me.

And my reaction had been fairly intense. Even now, two years later, I avoided anything resembling a deep or lasting relationship, preferring the fun but emotionally sterile liaison with my Aedh lover, Lucian.

Meeting Jak Talbott again was the last thing I ever wanted to do.

I crossed my arms and rubbed them lightly. The midday sun held plenty of warmth, but it didn’t chase the chill away from my flesh.

We do what we have to do—we track these people down by whatever means necessary.

Fine words, but did I have the courage to actually follow them through? After standing here in front of this building for the last five minutes, I wasn’t so sure that I did.

I glanced at my watch and saw it was a few minutes past twelve. If I was going to run, I’d better do it now…

Awareness tingled across my senses and I looked up the steps to the building’s entrance—straight into the intense black gaze of Jak Talbott.

I can’t do this, I thought, as all the old pain and hurt rose, threatening to drown me all over again. I just can’t.

But even as that thought crossed my mind, the inherently stubborn part of my nature rose, as well. I straightened my spine. Clenched my fists. I could do this. I needed to do this. Not only for the sake of my heart and any future relationships I might have, but also because saving the world from the hordes of hell might well depend on what happened here with Jak.

I watched him walk toward me, his strides long and lithe, graceful in an almost feline sort of way. He wasn’t a classically handsome man, but his rough-hewn features were easy on the eyes and his body was well toned without being too muscular. His hair, like his skin, was a rich black, although these days there seemed to be a fair amount of silver glinting through the shaggy thickness of it.

He stopped several feet in front of me, his gaze briefly skimming me before resting on the fists clenched at my sides.

“I hope you’re not going to aim those at me, Risa.”

“You’ve already had one good story out of my family,” I said, amazed that my voice actually sounded civil. “I’m not about to give you another one.”

“Really?” The black depths of his eyes were wary, watchful. “Then what do you want?”

“Coffee.” Although, in all honesty, several large bottles of alcohol—the stronger, the better—would probably have been more suitable right then. I might have the constitution of a werewolf, which meant it was damnably hard for me to get drunk, but several bottles would at least soften the haunting sense of loss.

Jak raised an eyebrow, but waved a hand toward the small café not far up the road. “They make fairly good coffee.”

“Then let’s go.”

I strode forward, the heels of my sandals clicking on the concrete, a tattoo of sound as fast as my heart. He walked beside me, his familiar woodsmoke scent washing over me, raising memories of lazy evenings spent in front of the old log fire in his house, our bodies entwined…

Damn it, he used you, I reminded myself fiercely. Remember that, and only that.

The automatic fly-screen door swished open as we neared the café. Inside was shadowed, the air a mix of rich coffee, fried food, and sweaty humanity. The air-conditioning obviously wasn’t doing a great job at this end of the room.

I wove through the tables, heading for one near the back, close to the overhead vent. The rush of cold air had goose bumps racing across my bare arms, but at least it was free of the more unpleasant smells in the space.

“So,” Jak said, pulling out a chair and sitting down opposite me, “what is this all about?”

Instead of immediately answering, I asked, “What would you like to drink?”

His smile held a wry edge. “Forgotten already?”

“It’s been a few years, Jak. People and tastes change.” And I wish my tastes had changed. Wished I could honestly say I no longer found him so damnably attractive.

“I haven’t changed. Not when it comes to coffee, anyway.”

Meaning he’d changed in other ways? Somehow I doubted it. I punched in an order of coffee and cake for us both and swiped my credit card through the slot to pay for it. Then I faced him again. “I want a favor.”

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “I would have thought I’d be the last person on earth you’d ask a favor of.”

“You are,” I snapped, then mentally clawed back the escaping anger. “But you’re the only reporter I know, and you happen to specialize in paranormal and occult news and investigations.”

“I do.” He studied me for several moments, his gaze still wary. As if he’d been the injured party in the whole sordid mess. “And what do I get in return for granting this favor?”

“A story that could blow anything else you’ve written out of the water.”

Excitement flared briefly in his dark eyes before he managed to control it. But I’d expected nothing less. For a man like Jak, the story was all.

“Does this favor involve doing anything illegal?”

“I doubt it.” I paused, but couldn’t help adding, “Although we both know that wouldn’t exactly faze you.”

Amusement teased his lips and an ache stuttered through my heart. Not over him. Not by a long shot. Or rather, not over the memory of what we’d once shared. Even the hurt of his deception couldn’t erase all that had once been good. And that sucked.

“You and I both know the childhood your mother presented to the world was a lie,” he said evenly. “I had sworn statements that proved it, and your mother never did refute them.”

I gave him a somewhat bitter smile. “The people who mattered knew the truth about my mother’s past. No one else needed to. Not then, not now.”

“What about the public she was defrauding?”

A waitress approached with our coffees and cakes. I gave her a smile of thanks and waited until she left before saying, “My mother’s psychic powers were real, and they helped a lot of people. Shame you didn’t do a story about that rather than besmirching her name.”

He reached for his coffee. “I don’t do good-news stories. I prefer the dark and dirty underbelly of things.”

“Which is exactly why I’m here.” I wrapped my hands around my coffee and hoped like hell I was making the right decision to confide in him. But even if I wasn’t, I still had to chance it. It wasn’t like I had a whole lot of options right now. “How much do you know about witchcraft and ley lines?”

He frowned. “I know some people think the lines and their intersections resonate with a special psychic or mystical energy, but the jury is out as to whether there’s any truth to it.”

“What if I told you they’re not only more powerful than you could ever imagine, but there’s a major ley-line intersection here in Melbourne?”

“I’d have to say, so?”

“So, a consortium has used extreme force in an effort to gain control of the area around that intersection.”

His gaze searched mine for a moment. “Why say ‘has used’ rather than ‘is using’? No one is interested in old news.”

“It’s not old news if only two of the three men have been captured. The Directorate are pushing resources behind the hunt for the third man, but so far they have been unable to locate him. The man is a ghost, existing only on paper.”

Of course, the Directorate—or Directorate of Other Races, as they were officially known—also had bigger problems on their hands. They were, after all, responsible for going after all non-humans who crossed the line and killed.

He studied me for a moment, one finger tapping the table lightly. A sure sign I’d snagged his interest. “For the Directorate to be pushing all resources behind such a hunt, these men had to have done something pretty bad.”

“They raised a soul stealer and set it after the relatives or friends of anyone who wouldn’t sell them the properties that surrounded the intersection. One of those who died was a little girl.” A little girl whose soul would never move on, never be reborn. Hers was a life lost to the world forever.

“You always were a sucker when it came to children.” His voice hinted at the warmth of old. “Is that what this is about? Revenge for a little girl?”

“Both the thing responsible for the little girl’s death and the witch who raised it have been dealt with.” And both of them were dead, sent to the fiery realms of hell itself—although who actually knew if hell was fiery. “This is about finding the third member of that consortium.”

He sipped his coffee for several moments, his expression giving little away. But I knew from past experience that behind the neutral expression there was a clever mind going at full tilt, chewing over information, working out possible angles. “Why does this consortium controlling the intersection worry you so much? You’re not a witch. You aren’t even as psychically powerful as your mother.”