Darkness Hunts (Dark Angels #4)
Page 18You came. His voice, as before, held little in the way of emotion, and yet I had an odd sense of amusement.
For the second time that day, I said, It’s not like I had any other choice.
No, it is not. You, huntress, are the type determined to save. It is your failing.
Perhaps. The air continued to roll away from him, washing his darkness across me in fetid waves. I resisted the urge to step back, sensing I couldn’t afford to show any form of weakness to this man.
If a man he was.
Right now, I wasn’t so sure.
If I am the type to save, then what is your type? Because it wasn’t me hunting on these fields, stranger.
He tilted his head sideways, and I had the sudden impression of a cat contemplating its prey. I was not hunting when you found me. My prey had been well and truly ensnared by the time we arrived here.
Why even hunt her in the first place? She was harmless—
No one who has the darkness within them is ever harmless, he cut in forcefully. The buildings around us shimmered, as if caught in a blast of heated air. She had to die. They all have to die.
I had a vague suspicion that if he’d had features I’d be seeing the glow of madness in his eyes right now. But why? Because you say so? Or is there an actual reason behind this madness?
There are always reasons. In this case, they are good ones. But they’re not ones I wish to share just yet.
Meaning he intended to string me along just like he was the Directorate. So what has any of this got to do with me?
Ah, he said, and once again his voice was even, without inflection or emotion. It was weird—almost as if he flowed between humanity and not. The speed with which you found dear Dorothy impressed me. I thought it might be interesting if we had a little challenge.
What is the point of another challenge if you’re only going to kill your victims anyway?
What if I were to offer a guarantee that I would not kill my next victims until their allotted time?
Why would I trust a man who can’t keep his word? A man too scared to reveal his face or share his name?
Just for a second, the vibration in the air halted, and I had an odd sensation of everything around me freezing—as if the astral plane itself held its breath. Then that moment passed, and the vibrations rolled on, little maggots of energy that crawled across my skin.
I cannot show what I cannot see. As for my name . . . His voice lowered, forcing me to lean forward a little to hear him.
But rather than continue, his hand shot out, something I felt rather than saw. I pulled back, Amaya instantly in my hands, an action that was more reflex than any spoken desire on my part. His fingers hit her blade rather than me, and his skin split. Blood flowed, though it was black rather than red. Purple fire leapt from the blade to his hand, and he jumped back, shaking his fingers in an attempt to rid his fingers of flames.
Amaya, release him.
I swung her lightly back and forth in warning. The stranger’s features followed the movement, even though he had no eyes.
Do not attempt to do to me what you did to Dorothy, stranger. Amaya still burned with hunger and the need to attack, but her flames failed to lift the shadows around us. Whoever this stranger was, he seemingly had the ability to control how I saw the plane.
He didn’t say anything for several seconds, simply continued to study me as he shook fingers that looked red and blistered. It was a clear indication that you could be harmed on the astral plane, and made me wonder what the hell he’d actually been trying to do.
But waiting for him to speak made my nerves crawl, so I said, What is this challenge you’re offering?
It is a race, of sorts.
Define “of sorts.”
I had an odd impression that he was smiling, but I didn’t think it was a nice sort of smile. Tomorrow I will send the Directorate a clue to help you find my next victim. You—and you alone—will conduct the search.
And what will you be doing while I’m trying to save the next victim?
The sense of cat and prey suddenly sharpened. I shivered, and the buildings around me darkened even more. I swallowed heavily and thrust away the fear, but it didn’t do a whole lot to ease the tense atmosphere.
What will I be doing? he repeated softly. Well, my dear huntress, what I will be doing is hunting you.
With that, he disappeared.
And all I could think was, what the hell was he going to do when he found me?
Chapter 6
I cursed mentally and swung around. Any idea where he went?
He has left the astral plane. Markel studied me for a moment, then said, It is impressive that your sword works on this plane. Usually, such a weapon would not.
Amaya is no ordinary weapon.
To which she practically preened. My sword was gaining a personality. Fabulous. Not.
Were you able to read his mind?
He shook his head. Unless there is some form of physical contact between astral bodies, you can’t.
I frowned. Is that what he was doing when we came across him the first time? Reading Dorothy’s mind?
I suspect he was doing much more than that, because mind reading usually does not leave a burned imprint.
He half smiled. Cazador or not, on this plane I am just another traveler.
Somehow, I’m not believing that.
It was wryly said, and he acknowledged it with an almost regal nod. Perhaps I do oversimplify.
Perhaps? I seriously doubted there was any “perhaps” about it. I hesitated, then asked, Just how closely do you follow me?
Again that half smile appeared. It gave his almost stern features a softer edge, but didn’t ease the impression of . . . not menace—not exactly. Perhaps it was more an underlying sense that the urban exterior was little more than a veil concealing a darker, more deadly soul.
I cannot enter your home, if that is your concern.
Surprise rippled through me. So the vampire threshold rule applies on the astral plane?
Yes. He hesitated. I tail you everywhere else, though.
Everywhere else? I repeated, a little mortified by the thought.
He cleared his throat, and I had an odd sense that he’d swallowed a laugh. This Cazador did not fit the image I’d created of them. But then, neither did Uncle Quinn. Well, bathrooms are out of bounds, of course. As are boudoirs.
Oh, thank God.
This time, he did laugh. It was a somewhat harsh sound, as if he didn’t do it often. You’re an interesting person to talk to, Ms. Jones.
Thanks. I think.
He bowed again. You’d best return to your body. The weakness grows in you.
Odd that he could sense that and I couldn’t. But then, I’d become very good at ignoring my needs of late. Chat with you later, Markel.
Undoubtedly, he said.
I closed my eyes and imagined my body, and suddenly I was back there. I gasped at the shock of it and opened my eyes, but I didn’t move, wary of causing a repeat of the sickness that hit me last time.
“Well,” Rhoan said, voice impatient. “What happened?”
“Give her time to regain her full senses,” Elga said crossly. “In fact, go get her coffee and chocolate. This poor girl needs some fat on her body; otherwise she’s going to be of no use to anyone.”
“I’m a werewolf,” I murmured. “We’re naturally lean.”
But when even speaking hurt, I really was in trouble. I closed my eyes and rubbed my forehead somewhat gingerly. There was a low-grade throbbing deep inside my skull, and I knew it was a result of doing too much on too little sleep and food.
Is this one of those occasions where an “I told you so” would be appropriate? came Azriel’s silent thought.
Probably. But I wouldn’t suggest it because I might get nasty.
And that is supposed to scare me? The dry amusement in his tone swirled through me, sending warmth fluttering.
It would scare most men.
I am not a man.
True. You, reaper, are frustration personified.
Not unexpectedly, he made no reply. Rhoan came back carrying a large bottle of Coke and two chocolate-covered protein bars. I carefully hitched myself upright, but the room still spun around me. Elga was right—I couldn’t keep risking the astral plane feeling like this. Not when we were hunting someone who was obviously very familiar with it, and also very dangerous on it.
Elga frowned. “Coffee would be better—”
“Trust me, it’s not coffee that refuels her, but Coke. She was born with the stuff running through her veins, I think.” He squatted beside the bed and handed me the Coke. “I know I’m rushing you, and I’m sorry, but we really do need to know what happened.”
I took several gulps, felt the delicious fizz work its magic all the way down to my belly, then filled him in on all that had happened.
“Why in the hell would he want to play a cat-and-mouse game like this?” He tore open a protein bar and handed it to me.
“I don’t think he’s actually playing with a full deck, so who really knows.”
“Whoever this person is, he’s very adept at covering his tracks and keeping his identity secret—neither of which the insane tend to be.” He hesitated. “Can you tell us anything else about him personally?”
“Well, he had hair this time.” I frowned suddenly. “But oddly, it didn’t really have any color.”
“So it was gray?”
“No. There just wasn’t any color. It merged with the shadows, as if it were part of them. It was weird.”
“You know,” Elga said suddenly, “he could be blind.”
We both turned to look at her. “Why would you think that?” Rhoan asked.
“Well, if he was born blind, then he would have no understanding of color,” she explained. “Of course, the blind can be taught to associate certain levels of heat with specific colors through the use of various colored-light filters, but they will never know colors as the sighted see them.”