Bound to Shadows

Chapter Two

I jerked my hand away, but his kiss seemed to have seared itself into my skin. My wrist burned.

"What do you mean, this is not the first beheading?" I surreptitiously glanced down at my wrist, but there was no mark on it, despite how it felt.

He leaned back in his chair and picked up his glass. "Just that."

I frowned. "We've had no reports of other incidents."

"No, because the sun was rising by the time he was discovered. His body was consumed by fire."

"Meaning he was a very young vampire."

"One would presume so. We older souls can take at least a few hours of sunshine."

If he could take a few hours, then he was at least five hundred years old. "When did this happen?"

"Two days ago."

"Do you happen to know the victim's name?"

If we had another murder, Jack would want me to check it out, even if we didn't have the body.

Starke shook his head and shifted his foot again. He must have surreptitiously moved his chair, because though I had my legs pointed away from him, he managed to run his toe up and down my calf. He might be wearing shiny leather shoes, but somehow it felt like skin on skin.

And that dark part of me wished it was.

"As I mentioned," he said softly, amusement playing around the corners of his delicious mouth again, "he was ashes by the time I got there."

That raised my eyebrows. "You went to the crime scene?"

"The man who reported it was a little on the inebriated side. I thought perhaps a customer had merely fallen down."

"So why not send one of your lackeys to investigate?"

"Employees," he corrected gently. "And we were full that night. I could not afford to take anyone away for even a few minutes. "

"So you don't personally service the blood whores?"

"No." He was still caressing my calf, and the movement, though gentle, was extremely erotic. "I prefer to take what I need the old fashioned way."

And he'd be damned good at it too, I thought, then pushed the thought away as his gaze met mine. He gave me a wicked smile.

Though he wasn't reading my thoughts—I would have known if he tried—I had a feeling he knew exactly what I was thinking.

Thank God the full moon wasn't near. I probably would have been all over him otherwise. My self control was barely hanging on as it was.

"Do you know the name of the man who found the body?"

"His name was Henry Gateway. He's something of a regular here."

"Human?"

"Vampire. He's not in my employ, but I do have his address."

At least that was someplace to start. But that didn't explain Starke's inebriated comment. "Vampires can't get drunk. "

"If they consume enough, any vampire can get intoxicated. Trust me on that. And Gateway doesn't normally imbibe, but he lost a close friend recently." His shrug was elegant.

I frowned. "Wouldn't it be dangerous having a drunk vampire serving the customers?"

"He is extremely popular with our customers." Starke waved his hand airily, the movement oddly sensual.

"Something to with his dark good looks and French accent, I suppose. We keep a close eye on him if he's drinking."

"And you had his address because—?"

"Because, as I said, he's good for business. It pays me to keep him in once piece." He drained his glass then rose. "My presence is required outside. Are there any further questions, Ms. Jenson?"

He was standing right in front of me, which meant I was staring straight at his family jewels. And they were impressive, if that bulge was anything to go by. I forced my gaze upwards, and saw the laughter there. "No, but I'd appreciate it if you could start sending people in. The sooner I interview them, the sooner they can go home."

"Most will not be in a hurry," he said, then bowed slightly. "It's been a pleasure, Ms. Jenson. If you come and see me before you leave, I'll have that address for you. "

"If you just give it to the barman, that'll be fine."

"What, and rob myself of a final glimpse of your beauty? Never."

I rolled my eyes. "You know, sweet talk isn't going to get you anywhere."

"Ah, but you hunger, and that's a start."

"I'm a werewolf. Hunger comes with the territory. But believe me, we know the fine art of self control."

Even if mine seemed to be hanging on by threads.

"It's still fun to try."

"And I think its fun to haul people back to the Directorate and interrogate their asses. But I'm willing to give up my pleasure if you'll give up yours."

He laughed—a warm sound that trembled up my spine. "If there were more guardians like you, Ms. Jenson, I believe there would not be as much disquiet in the community."

He walked out without waiting for a comment, and I sighed in relief. At least I could now concentrate on the business of finding our witness.

My long night did indeed turn into an interminable morning. Over the course of the next six hours, I consumed two glasses of Starke's fine Bollinger then moved on to coffee. Several cups later, I still felt like shit.

There might have been only thirty people plus Starke's bar staff to interview, but they were all reluctant to talk.

I leaned back in the chair and rolled my neck, trying to ease the cramp in my muscles, but it didn't help the tension any more than the coffee helped boost my energy.

I took another gulp of coffee anyway as a tall brunette sauntered into the room. Her clothes looked expensive and there was a lot of gold around her neck and wrist, which set her apart from the others I'd interviewed. But just like them, she plunked down with a decided lack of elegance, shoved her long legs out in front of her, and crossed her arms.

"It's taken you long enough," she said, voice tart and not in the least bit slurred. She had to be the only non-drinker in the place. "None of us had anything to do with that beheading, so this is all just a waste of time."

"I apologize for the delay," I said, picking up my vid phone and setting it to record again. "Once you answer a few questions, you're free to go."

She grunted, but it wasn't a happy sound.

"For recording purposes, can you please tell me your name and address?"

"Is it legal for you to record without asking me first?"

"Yes."

She sniffed. "My name is Mandy Jones, and I live at 14 Lytton Street, Elwood."

Meaning I'd finally found our anonymous caller—and it had only taken me half the damn morning. "How long have you been here at the club, Mandy?"

She shrugged and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, revealing a wrist littered with bite marks. "I finished work and came straight here, so most of the night."

"And you haven't left at all?"

She shook her head. "I was about to leave when your lot locked us in."

I picked up my coffee and took a drink. It was vanilla and cinnamon rather than hazelnut, but it was still better than regular coffee. I wondered if Starke had raided his personal stash, because I couldn't imagine them serving it in the bar. It was too up-market for this sort of establishment.

Mandy didn't seem to notice the drawn-out silence. She didn't fidget, either, just continued to glare at me.

Either she was a very good actress, or she actually had nothing to hide.

"Then how did you know there was a beheaded body out in the parking lot if you never left the club?"

"Because he paid me to call."

Meaning this case wasn't as straight forward as it seemed. Why was I not surprised? "Who paid you to call?"

She shrugged again. "He was tall, blond haired, and green eyed. The eyes were contacts though."

I raised my eyebrows. "How can you be so sure?"

She waved a dismissive hand. "I'm an optometrist. I know these things."

Maybe she did. But why would this guy—whether he was the killer or someone else—have paid someone else to make the call? And if it had been the killer, why call at all? That made no sense.

"He gave me five hundred dollars to make that call," she continued. "I wasn't arguing."

Five hundred dollars seemed like overkill to me, and I wondered if it were deliberately done to attract interest. Although why would a killer want to bring attention to his crime? Unless, of course, he was one of those freaks who liked notoriety. "And did you get the cash?"

"Sure." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. "I made him pay me first."

"Did it cross your mind that you might have been taking money from a killer?"

She frowned. "Of course he wasn't the killer. There was no blood on him."

I didn't bother pointing out the obvious flaws in that logic. I mean, it wouldn't have been hard to change clothes before he came into the club. I reached out telepathically and scanned her memories. Images flitted—insubstantial wisps of faces and fangs mixed in with resonance of pleasure. She'd talked to several men over the night, and had taken enjoyment from many more. I withdrew, then asked, "Was there anything else about him that stood out? Anything odd?"

She was shaking her head even before I'd finished. "He was average. It was his eyes that made me remember him."

"Do you think you'd remember enough about him to work up an image?" Given what I'd seen in her mind, I doubted she'd remember more than what she'd already said, but it was worth a shot.

"Maybe." She wrinkled her nose. "I'm not much of an artist, though."

I smiled. "We'll send someone over to you. All you have to do is describe what you remember."

"That I can manage," she said, nodding.

"Do you know a man named Grant Haven?" I couldn't help adding.

She shook her head. "Why? Is he the one who lost his head?"

"I'm afraid so. He apparently used to work here."

"He might have done. I don't ask their names, you know?"

If it was me, I'd want to know the name of the man I was trusting to provide fulfillment in the form of a bite. But then, regular junkies often didn't know the names of their suppliers. All that mattered was the hit.

"That's it for now, then. We'll be in contact with you to get the image."

She nodded and sprang to her feet. "So I can go?"

"You certainly can." I waited until she'd opened the door before adding, "Oh, there is one more thing."

She paused and raised an eyebrow as she glanced around at me. "Yes?"

"Why this place? You obviously can afford to go to one of the better establishments."

Surprise flitted across her features, then she smiled ruefully. "If I go to the other places, I might run into people I know." She shrugged, and there were shadows of unhappiness in her eyes. "I can't seem to give this craving up. I want to, but I can't. So I come here, where no one I know would ever come."

"Thanks, Mandy."

She nodded and traipsed out, though I fully expected her to get one more pleasure hit before she left the club. She had that hungry look in her eyes, despite the sadness I'd glimpsed.

The remaining two patrons couldn't tell me anything more. Neither of them recognized the victim's name, and they didn't even seem to care that someone had been murdered close by. The only thing they cared about was the inconvenience we were causing them.

I let them go, then switched off the recorder and shoved the phone back into my pocket. It was time to go home and catch up on some sleep.

I pushed to my feet and headed out the door. The interior of the club was still dark, despite the fact it was close to eleven. Obviously all the windows had been blacked out.

I walked over to the bar and motioned to the bartender. Business was obviously slow, because he was still chewing gum and polishing glasses.

"Your boss was going to leave me the address of a Henry Gateway."

He raised an eyebrow and, after a heartbeat, said, "The boss is on his way down again."

Damn. I did not need another confrontation with that vampire when my energy reserves were so low, but Starke was already gliding towards me, his body long and strong and beautiful, his skin glowing as if it was fired by the sun itself.

I blinked, and the image shattered. But not the desire.

I suddenly wondered if he were an emo vampire. Emos lived off emotion rather than blood, and they had the ability to augment the stronger emotions for their own feeding pleasure. A nightclub servicing the hungers of others would certainly be a perfect feeding ground for an emo vamp—and it would also explain my unusual reaction. I made a mental note to check his background when I got back to the Directorate.

He offered me a piece of paper. On it was Gateway's address. He lived close, meaning I might as well go see if he was home before I went that way myself. I folded the paper and shoved it into the back pocket of my jeans. "I don't suppose you have security cameras here, do you?"

"Regretfully, no. My patrons prefer not to have their exploits captured." He paused, mouth curving seductively. "What about you, Ms. Jenson? Do you like having your conquests recorded for future pleasure?"

"I prefer my pleasures to be of the moment," I said. Then, as the spark of desire burned deeper in his eyes, I added hastily, "Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Starke."

"Any time, sweet lady. Anytime."

I snorted and got the hell out of there. The brightness of the sun had my eyes watering after the gloom of the club, and I blinked several tears away and took a deep breath, clearing my lungs of the last vestiges of blood, desperation, and luscious vampire. Then I spun on my heel and headed for the parking lot.

Cole and his team had already left, and although the blue police tape still lined the lot, there were no cops guarding the perimeter. Obviously, Cole had gotten everything he needed and someone had simply forgotten to take, down the tape.

I climbed into my car and typed Gateway's address into the onboard computer. He only lived a few streets away, so it didn't take me long to get there.

Gateway's house, like so many others in this area, had a run-down, grungy façade. But the little strip of grass between the footpath and the roadside was neatly trimmed, and there were cheery geraniums lining the front fence. He obviously had a little more pride in his surroundings than was usual for this area.

I slammed the car door closed and made my way to the house. There was no bell so I knocked instead, my knuckles shaking loose several layers of dust as the sound echoed. I waited several minutes, then knocked again. The only response was the barking of a dog from the far end of the house. I wrapped my fingers around the knob and tried to turn it. The door was locked and I had no real reason to break into the house—although that had never stopped me before. But breaking in would mean more paperwork, and I really didn't have the energy for that right now. I'd have to come back later—or go back to the club to catch him there. Which wasn't something I wanted to do, despite the excited response from my pulse.

As I started walking back to the car, the dog's barking became more frantic. It wasn't the 'get away from here, this is my place' bark that canines all over the world used when strangers came to the door. It was more the 'something's wrong, I need help' type of bark.

Curiosity stirred. I stepped across the little garden bed and peered into the front window. The room beyond was a bedroom, but one that hadn't been slept in often if the dust coating the stacked pillows was anything to go by. The bedroom door was open, but I couldn't see much more than the shadows of a hallway.

There was a small metal gate to the right of the house, so I pushed that open and walked down the side. Several windows lined this section of the building, but the curtains were all securely closed. No surprise, given the owner was a vampire. The barking got louder as I neared the end of the old house. As I rounded a corner, a little white and brown terrier made a dash for my feet, nipped at my shoelaces, then raced back to the door. He mightn't be able to talk, but he was doing his best to tell me something was seriously wrong inside.

I peered through a window, but I couldn't see anything more than a washing machine that had walked half-way across the tiles and, beyond that, a basket half filled with clothes. I flared my nostrils, drawing in the air, sorting through all the different aromas. Again, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

And yet the little dog was frantic.

I scooped him up and held him one-handed, then opened the screen door and tested the door handle. Like the front door, it was locked. A punch in the sweet spot just above the lock soon fixed that, but as the door swung open, the smell hit.

Something was dead inside.

Or someone, given the terrier's reaction. He had relaxed a bit now that I was holding him, but I could still feel the tension in his little body.

I walked around the wayward washing machine. A clock ticked softly in the silence and the air was warm—a fact which wouldn't have helped preserve whoever was dead.

The small hallway beyond was shadowed. There was a toilet to the left and an open doorway to the right. The source of the smell also seemed to be coming from that way.

The terrier started wriggling as I walked into the large kitchen-dining area. I gripped him a little tighter, not wanting him to shake himself loose and disturb whatever evidence there was to be found.

Sunlight streamed in from the window above the sink, lifting the gloom. A small table had been set for breakfast—which for this vampire was a packet of synth blood that now smelled off, and a cup of coffee that had long gone cold. The fridge held milk and more synth blood. Obviously, Gateway wasn't servicing enough customers at Dante's to keep himself fed.

I closed the fridge door then followed my nose, and found Gateway's body sprawled stomach down in the hallway. He was barefoot and wearing a towel around his middle, suggesting he'd just come out of the shower. His skin was pale and his body lean, his ribs and spine clearly evident. My gaze rose further and my stomach sank. Someone had separated his head from his neck, and the blood had pooled around his head like a dark, dried out halo.

Which meant there'd be no ghost hanging about to help.

I swore softly and spun around, walking back to the kitchen and closing the door behind me before releasing the little terrier and dragging out my phone. As the little dog whined and scratched at the door, I called my boss.

"Riley," Jack said. "How goes the investigation?"

"No one saw anything, no one heard anything, and no one knows anything. And unfortunately, we have another beheaded vampire on our hands."

He swore softly. "Where?"

"In a house a few streets away from Starke's club. The victim's name is Henry Gateway, and he's been dead for a couple of days, if the dried blood is anything to go by."

Jack paused. "I don't know him."

Something in the way he said that prickled my instincts. Jack might not know him personally, but he knew him. So why wouldn't he say that?

"He serviced blood whores at Dante's."

Jack snorted. "Now, if there's one vampire I wouldn't mind seeing dead, it's that bastard."

"You know Starke?" It surprised me, although I'm not entirely sure why. Maybe it was just the fact that Starke didn't seem like the sort of vampire that would normally come under Directorate scrutiny. But I didn't know a whole lot about vampire society or how they socialized, so they very easily could have known each other on another level.

"He has a long history of seducing women and running less than stellar establishments," Jack said, distaste evident in his gravelly tones. "I'm actually surprised someone hasn't taken his head. It'd make more sense than focusing on those who work for him."

"So he really is a blood vampire?"

"Yes." Jack paused. "Why?"

"Because he has some mighty powerful vamp mojo happening. Enough that I wondered if he was another emo vamp."

Jack snorted. "He's not an emo, but he's gifted with what we call a sexual glamor. Combine it with his looks, and he could seduce a brick wall if he put his mind to it." He paused. "He didn't succeed with you, did he?"

"No, but someone could have had the decency to warn me."

"Sorry. It didn't even cross my mind that you'd have problems."

"Jack, I'm a werewolf. Sex is like food to us." And he was just lucky that Quinn was keeping me well fed. "Anyway, according to Starke, Gateway claimed to have stumbled upon a beheaded vamp several days ago, but the sun destroyed any possible evidence before anyone could get there to confirm it."

"He should have notified us."

I didn't bother replying. What should have happened and what did happen were often two very different things. Especially when dealing with vampires.

"Three beheadings in as many days," Jack continued. "This is not good."

"No." We had trouble enough with the vampire population. We didn't need them getting antsy about some crackpot running around lopping heads off. "You don't think we've got a new anti-vampire gang on the loose, do you?"

"It's entirely possible," Jack said, voice weary. "But there's been no whisper of such a gang in action."

"There soon will, be if they keep up at this rate."

"If they keep up at this rate, we'll have more than a gang to worry about."

Yeah, like vampires forming vigilante gangs of their own. It had happened once before—thankfully well before my time at the Directorate—but I'd heard the whispers about it and had seen the photographs of the resulting riots. It had damn near erupted into a race war, and from what I'd heard, it was only luck—and a whole lot of tough talking from Director Hunter—that had stopped a bloodbath.

"Has Cole gotten back to headquarters?"

"No. He's still en route. I'll redirect him."

"You want me to wait?"

He hesitated. "No. Finish your investigations, then go catch some sleep. I want the report on my desk by five, though."

Meaning I'd better do it before I went to sleep, because unless there was another death, I fully intended to sleep well past five. "Do you think someone is trying to get back at Starke through his employees?"

"I certainly hope so, because the other option is not one I want to contemplate."

Especially given the unrest already out there in the vampire community. "Then Cole's fast-tracking his report on this one?"

"Yes. It'll be ready by eight tonight."

So much for Cole heading back to his warm bed and his waiting lover. "I'll be in at eight, then."

I hung up, then scooped up the still-whining terrier and stepped back into the hallway. My nose wrinkled as the scent of rotting flesh wrapped around me, but I didn't bother trying to breathe through my mouth. I needed to explore the scents in this place. Besides, past experience told me it wouldn't help anyway. I stepped past his body and investigated the other rooms. Beside the dust that littered the basin and shelf, there were dirty clothes on the bathroom floor and a dog-eared toothbrush sitting on the sink, complete with a shiny strip of blue toothpaste. He'd obviously been about to brush his teeth when he'd been interrupted. I sucked in the flavorsome air, sorting through the undercurrents, finding the dankness of mold and something else. Something that was too nebulous to define, and yet oddly seemed out of place.

Frowning, I spun around and headed for the room opposite. It was a living room, and though sparsely furnished, it was obviously where Gateway spent most of his time. There were newspapers stacked beside the sofa and remotes neatly lined up on the stained coffee table. The rest of the room was surprisingly tidy. There wasn't even dust on the top of the TV, which isn't something I could claim in my own apartment. I swept aside the curtains to check the window locks, but again they were intact.

Which left me with the bedrooms.

I was walking towards the front rooms when the little dog suddenly began barking. I jumped slightly and glanced at the door as a shadow loomed. But as I reached for the door handle, I felt it.

A familiar—and altogether unwelcome—tingling that ran across every sense, every fiber, setting them alight. Setting my soul afire.

There was only one man who had that effect on me.

My soul mate.

Kye.