Darkness Hunts (Dark Angels #4)

The heat and energy that was my Aedh half surged with the defiant thought, numbing pain and dulling sensation as it invaded every muscle, every cell, breaking them down and tearing them apart, until my flesh no longer existed and I became one with the air. Until I held no substance, no form, and could not be seen or heard or felt by anyone or anything who wasn’t reaper or Aedh.

I swept in under the gate and headed toward the back of the warehouse building. Even though I had no flesh in Aedh form, I felt heavy and movement was slow. It was just as well I didn’t have far to go, because I wasn’t going to be able to hold this form for long.

I’d barely reached the rear of the warehouse when my energy gave out and I hit the ground with an undignified splat. I stayed there for several minutes, my head booming and my breath a harsh rasp that burned my throat. Azriel, wise person that he was, didn’t say a word, although he was standing so close that the heat of him washed over me, chasing the worst of the tremors away.

I took a deep, somewhat shuddery breath, then released my grip on my purse and phone and climbed slowly to my feet. The world did a couple of mad turns, then settled. I swept the sweaty strands of hair from my forehead and, with some determination, walked on.

Azriel followed closely. I had a suspicion he was ready to catch me should I fall—a distinct possibility considering how shaky my legs still felt.

My gaze swept the old building as we neared the rear entrance. It was covered in grime, and there were cracked and broken windows along its entire length, but the roof—or the bits I’d seen of it—seemed in far better condition than what I’d expected. Once again I couldn’t escape the notion that someone was using this place—and that there would be more than just electrified fencing waiting if we dared go inside.

Something I really didn’t want to do.

“There is no need,” Azriel commented. “The magic comes not from within the building, but from a container over to our left. This way.”

I followed him through the maze of rusted and rotting containers, although my strides were a whole lot less elegant and assured. In fact, I was amazed I was even still walking, given how crappy I felt.

“And it still feels like the magic you sensed when we found Dorothy?”

“Yes.”

“But he’s not there?” I knew he wasn’t, because otherwise Azriel would have mentioned it, but I still had to ask. After all, we were dealing with a man who was apparently capable not only of leaving his body to attack his foe, but also of transporting spells and god only knows what other type of magic. And Azriel could be stopped by magic, though I doubted our killer would have that sort of knowledge, let alone have ever come across someone like our Mijai before now.

“No, he is not. The magic resonates from the blue container up ahead.” He came to a halt. “It prevents me from reading what lies within it.”

“So much for me thinking our killer didn’t have the necessary knowledge to stop you.” I stopped beside him. It was tempting to lean against him and let the warmth and strength of him chase away the worst of the aches—if only for a moment—but I resisted. Give him what he wants, I reminded myself fiercely. Even if it was the last thing in this world that I wanted.

“It is not designed specifically against me. It appears more tuned to stopping anyone sensing what lies inside.”

I frowned. “Does it just prevent psychic sensing?”

“No, it’s olfactory as well.” He glanced at me, his expression blank but his blue eyes angry. “I fear someone lies dead inside, even if I cannot immediately feel it.”

Meaning that once again our killer had not kept his word. But then, had I really expected him to?

I flexed my fingers, then stepped forward and grabbed the container’s latch. It was heavy, rusted, and it took a lot of strength to wrench it open. When I did, it opened with such force that the door slammed against the side of the next container. The sound echoed across the hushed stillness, a deeply resonant noise that was almost a death knell.

That’s what waited in the container.

And it wasn’t fresh.

I tried breathing through my mouth, but it didn’t really help. The smell of rotting flesh had permeated the air, and it wrapped around me like a shroud, clogging every breath and clinging to my skin.

I ignored the churning in my gut and forced my feet forward. Dani lay on wooden boards that spanned two forty-four-gallon drums. Her arms hung limply from her sides, her fingertips stained with the dried remnants of blood. The tendons in her calves had been cut, the wounds no longer clean but flyblown. Bile rose up my throat. I swallowed heavily and stopped beside her. She’d also been staked, but, like Dorothy, had apparently died without pain, without fear. The expression forever frozen on her face was peaceful. Accepting.

My gaze rose higher. She also bore the K-shaped burn on her forehead, but unlike the other wounds on her body, there was no fly infestation. Maybe even they found the mark distasteful.

“Goddamn it!” I all but exploded. “Why is he doing this? Why tell us we can save her when he’s already killed her?”

“Did not Rhoan say he taunted the Directorate? Perhaps this is just more of the same.”

“But it’s pointless! What the hell does he gain by any of this?”

Azriel shrugged. “It is often hard to discern the motives of those who derive pleasure from the kill.”

I glanced sharply at him. “You think he does this for fun?”

“No, I think he truly believes that this”—he indicated Dani—“is his calling. But it would seem he gains immense satisfaction from being the puppet master. After all, it is not everyone who can give the Directorate—and now you—so many clues and yet successfully avoid their grasp.”

“If he thinks they’ll let that continue unchecked, he doesn’t know the Directorate very well.”

“And therein might be your answer.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, cut off his pleasure.”

I had a sudden vision of nuts being hacked off, though that obviously wasn’t what Azriel meant.

“No,” he agreed, amusement briefly tugging at his lips. “I mean, perhaps it would be better not to chase.”

“But that would mean letting people die.”

“They die anyway. You were never meant to save any of these women.”

“I guess.” I let my gaze sweep Dani one more time, then spun on my heel and walked out.

Once I was free of the stinking confines of the container, I stopped and sucked in large breaths of the crisp, clean air. But it didn’t do a whole lot. The smell of death still clung to my skin and clothes.

With some reluctance, I tugged my vid-phone out of my pocket and rang Uncle Rhoan. “I found her,” I said the minute he answered.

“Fuck it, Risa, I told you to contact me when you found anything. This is a Directorate investigation—”

“And one that you dragged me into,” I snapped back, “so don’t get all snotty when I chase a lead that may or may not have gone anywhere.”

“You have definitely been hanging around my sister for far too long,” he muttered, and thrust a hand through his hair. “What have you found?”

“We followed the Hartwell name, and it led us to an abandoned warehouse in Brooklyn. Dani’s here.”

“Dead, if your expression is any indication.”

“Very. There’s maggots, so she’s been here a while.”

He swore softly but vehemently. “Damn it, this bastard’s death will be neither quick nor pleasant when I get my hands on him.”

“Good.” I hesitated. “You might want to investigate the warehouse, too. I don’t think it’s connected in any way to these murders, but someone has electrified the fencing, so there’s obviously something here worth protecting.”

“What, you haven’t investigated? Color me shocked.”

I grinned. “See, there is some common sense left in me after all.”

“Apparently so.” He glanced away briefly as someone murmured something behind him, then said, “I’ll get another cleanup team out there. There’s no need for you to hang around.”

“Good, because I need to go home and shower.”

“Ring me if you happen to chase down either the club or the man Vonda mentioned,” he said. “Don’t go off investigating them by yourself. This bastard is too dangerous.”

I knew that. Not only had I seen the rotting evidence of it in the container behind me, but I’d confronted him on the astral fields. It was not an experience I wanted to repeat in real life.

“I won’t—don’t worry.”

“The more you say that, the more I will,” he muttered, and hung up.

I shoved the phone back into my pocket, then raised my face to the sky, letting the sun bathe the chill from my flesh. After a few minutes, I said, “This is not getting me home.”

“No.”

Azriel’s voice held a slight edge, and I glanced at him. “What?”

“I am just wondering if you’re going to be sensible enough to let me take you there or not.”

“Given your somewhat dour expression, I’d say you’ve already guessed that particular answer.”

He sighed. “There is no need to tax your strength when I can very easily—”

“Azriel, I can’t keep doing this. I can’t touch you, or be kissed by you, without wanting more. I understand the dangers you’ve mentioned—I do—but if you want resistance, then that has to mean complete distance.”

He studied me for a moment, then gave a quick, sharp nod. “Perhaps you are right. It is shortsighted of me to expect such control from you when I am not able to find it in myself.”

And with that, he disappeared again. And this time I couldn’t even feel him in the immediate vicinity. He had obviously gone back to watching from a distance.

Not what I’d wanted at all.