Once Bitten

Nathanial and Gil exchanged glances. Apparently Bobby and I were not invited into their silent communication.

"We believe that he is,” Gil finally said, and the man blanched again.

The next question, Do you think you will catch him? was written all over his face. I took the initiative before he could ask. “This is our top priority. We will find this guy."

"Well, we must be going,” Nathanial announced. “You have been very helpful, Mr...?"

"Jefferies. Thomas Jefferies."

"Yes, Mr. Jefferies. If we need anything else, we'll contact you.” The man took Nathanial's statement as the dismissal it was. Jeffries said nothing else as we made our way to the stairwell. I glanced over my shoulder and saw him staring after us before the door shut behind me.

"So Phyllis Lamar does not fit our pattern,” Nathanial said once we were back on the street.

I needed to hold onto the one connection we had made. “Her neighbor admitted to not knowing her well, maybe he didn't know she went to raves."

Gil blew on her hands, rubbing them together for warmth. “Without any clothes suitable for such things?"

"Maybe her girlfriend went to them,” Bobby said.

I smiled, grabbing that thread of possibility. “Yes, if this Jessica girl went to raves, and brought someone home, that could explain how the rogue met Phyllis."

"I think we need to look into the other known victims before we decide that's a likely avenue. The party connection between the two could be coincidence,” Gil said, jotting something in her scroll.

"Shouldn't we check into the ex-husband?” I asked.

Gil vanished her scroll. “Not unless you think he was married to all the victims."

"Well, he could be picking up girls at parties now, but maybe Phyllis was personal? He could have gone to confront her and simply lost control."

She dismissed the idea with a wave of her hand. I turned to Nathanial for support.

He shook his head. “The ex-husband would have been high on the police's suspect list. I am sure they cleared him, or he would be in jail awaiting trial. If we run out of leads we can check into him, but I think looking for a common connection between all the victims should come first.” He pulled the list Gil had given him earlier from his pocket, and after a cursory scan, glanced up at the street. A bus chugged around the corner, and Nathanial pointed to the bench marking the stop. “Our chariot awaits."

Goodie.

Chapter 12

I let the door to the apartment building swing shut behind me. Counting Phyllis and Lorna's places, this was the sixth scene we'd checked since splitting up, and it had been a complete waste of time. Like two of the others, this scene had been cleaned, recarpeted, repainted, and was ready to be put back on the market. Not a trace of evidence was left behind, but at least it hadn't been like the duplex we'd checked—that one had already been rented out again.

Hopefully the guys were having better luck. Since we were supposed to meet Candice in less than an hour, we'd had to split up to cover enough of the locations. Bobby and I were the noses for either group, but it had come down to a coin toss on the bus to determine whether I went with Gil or Nathanial. I might have fudged the toss a little.

"Where is the next one?” I asked, looking at Gil.

She pulled out her scroll. “Thirteen twenty-two Longstreet."

We walked in silence, and I mentally counted the blocks. Three women had been murdered on this street, each in a different location. I studied the buildings we passed. None were as dilapidated as Lorna's complex, but they were a far cry from Phyllis's expensive condo. So what brought the rogue back to this street multiple times? Or was that the wrong question? Maybe I needed to know what the women in this neighborhood had in common that would draw the attention of the rogue.

"That should be it.” Gil pointed to a building across the street on the next block. The three-story complex looked as run down as the one we'd just left.

We stepped into the street, and the wind shifted. I froze, throwing my arm out to stop Gil.

She turned, her eyebrow lifting. “Let me guess. Shifter, and probably a hunter after us?"

I nodded, then tilted my head back and breathed deeply. Definitely male, and wolf—which made the skin along my spine crawl. His scent was vaguely familiar, but I couldn't put my finger on it. Was it someone I recognized from Evan's memories? I breathed in again, hoping for better information. Nothing. Damn, I was already losing the scent, but judging by the direction of the wind, he was somewhere near the next crime scene on the list, where we were supposed to meet Nathanial and Bobby. I glanced around. The street was empty, no sign of the hunter.

Where was he? Had he caught my scent already? Actually, it wasn't my scent, it was Evan's. If I recognized the hunter's scent from Evan's memories, maybe the hunter had recognized Evan's scent and moved on. A nice thought, but I wasn't going to depend on that possibility.

An alley carved a path between the building beside us and the one we'd just passed. I doubled back, ducking into it.

Gil followed, her small mouth twisting. “What are we doing?"

I pointed across the street. “Hiding. We're downwind of the hunter, but we can see the entrance to the building.” I didn't add the fact that the sickly sweet smell of the overflowing dumpster at the mouth of the alley would help mask my scent. I rubbed my nose at the stench—now would be a good time for the old olfactory to give out. “When Bobby and Nathanial arrive, go meet them."

She frowned, but nodded. Now all we had to do was wait. I leaned against the brick, my hands in my pockets.

The trash bags piled beside the dumpster rustled. Gil grimaced, pressing herself against the opposite wall. I didn't pay the rustling any attention. More than once I'd been desperate enough to dig through trash for food as a cat.

The top trash bag tumbled down the pile, followed by two more. Okay. That was less common.

I pushed away from the wall as a man emerged from behind the mountain of black bags.

He tilted his head, doffing an imaginary hat. “Welcome to my parlor."

Crap. Evan's memory hadn't recognized the shifter's scent. The memory was mine, from when I'd been attacked outside the rave, in a drugged haze. But how had the stray gotten here from...? I glanced over his shoulder, across the street to where his scent had been broadcast, where he should have been.

A puzzle for later.

The stay strode toward us, a lopsided smile spreading across his face. I blinked. Was the darkness playing tricks on my eyes? No. His smile truly was lopsided, but not naturally so. A thick network of silver scars traced his left cheek. A double row of slashed scars marred the finer pattern, but not enough that I didn't recognize the mark that the older, deeper scars formed.

An extra stab of panic cut into my chest as I stared at the very intentionally carved scars branding his face. He wasn't just a stray like me, he was...

"Clanless.” The bitter term dropped from my lips before I could catch it, and his lopsided smile turned to a sneer.

I glanced at Gil. Her eyes bulged wide, all color absent in her face.

Moon-cursed. That was what I was. Totally moon-cursed.

I stepped in front of Gil, blocking her from the encroaching clanless. If it were a hunter advancing on us, she would have been fine—run off, but unharmed. But the clanless were the outlaws of Firth. They were dangerous. Untrustworthy. Serious crimes typically resulted in death, but on rare occasions, a shifter was branded and exiled from their clan. Most shifters I knew claimed death would be safer for all concerned. The clanless roamed the neutral territories in Firth, but I'd never seen one. What one was doing on this side of the gate was beyond me.

I balled my fists, balanced my weight and lowered my center of gravity. I'd held my own in our last fight, and I'd been drugged then. I could do it again.

He stopped several steps out of arms reach. He was favoring one leg—I'd apparently scored a solid blow with my claws last time we fought. I waited, ready for his advance, but he crouched in a position mirroring mine. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a glinting silver chain and stretched it between his gloved hands.

His gaze drilled into mine, but cats don't lose staring contests. I held his gaze, watching for him to betray his next move.

Behind me, Gil yelled something, her hands flashing in my peripheral. A purple haze sprung up between us and the clanless. It was my turn to smile as I recognized it as the same sort of barrier the judge had trapped me in. And here I'd thought Gil was useless.

The clanless stray's eyes widened. He reached out a hand, encountered the barrier, and tumbled back a step. Then he turned and ran.

What? I surged forward, encountering the edge of the haze. The barrier stretched across the alley, effectively trapping us but leaving the clanless free to flee.

I whirled on Gil. “He's getting away."

"Mab's bloody frozen tears!” She jerked her hands through the air, but the purple haze grew blindingly bright.

I threw my arms over my eyes, shielding them. A force slammed into me; magic crashed against me, and my feet left the ground. My back hit the pavement several yards later. Stars filled my vision. Gil yelped as she hit the ground seconds after me.

Hands hauled me to my feet, and I blinked at Nathanial. Where the hell had he come from? I shook my head.

"A clanless,” I gasped, pointing toward the mouth of the alley.

He frowned, and I pushed past him. Running, I burst from the alley but skidded to a halt in the center of the sidewalk. The only movement in the street was Bobby, who was hauling ass in my direction. I scanned all directions, searching the shadows. No clanless. I tilted my head back. Only the scent of decomposing garbage soured the air. Not that I could count on my nose.

Damn it.

I met Bobby halfway. “Did you see where the clanless went?"

His brows knit together as he shook his head. His nostrils flared. “Kita, no other shifters have been here."

"I saw him, damn it. I almost fought him again. Ask Gil.” I pointed to Gil, who had emerged from the alley, her face nearly crimson.