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Quinn pulled in to one of the free parking spots. The car had barely stopped when I scrambled out and ran, the sound of my shoe heels hitting the road surface echoing across the silence of the still-sleeping night.
There were no lights on in Liander's three-story terrace house, nothing to indicate there was anything wrong. The front door was open, though - and while it wasn't busted down or damaged in any way, that wasn't a good sign. Liander was too security conscious to leave it like that. And I doubted Rhoan would have left it open. If the door had been closed when he'd gotten here, he probably would have busted it down in his anxiety to see what the problem was.
I would have if the situation had been reversed.
I ran through the gate and up the steps. Quinn was a warm, dark presence behind me, but as I ran through the doorway, he stopped.
I twisted around to look at him. He grimaced. "Liander's never invited me in, so I can't cross the threshold," he said. "But go find your brother. I'm here if you need anything."
"How would the bhuta have crossed it? I sure as hell can't imagine Liander inviting him in."
"He didn't need to. Bhutas don't operate under the restrictions that hamper most vampires."
"More fucking wonderful news." I spun and continued on into the darkness.
There was no sound in the house. The scent of roast lamb and spicy vegetables lingered on the air - evidence of the dinner Liander had planned. His scent, soft and masculine, filled the house. Rhoan's warm spices and leather scent was absent, but I could feel the heat of his presence. He was upstairs.
I grabbed the handrail and began to climb. My footsteps made little sound against the thick carpet, but it wouldn't matter. Rhoan would know I was here, the same way I knew he was here.
I reached the first floor - the one that held the bedroom. The silence seemed to get thicker, and while the air still held the rich scent of cooking and Liander, something else began to invade it.
Fear.
Blood.
Energy caressed my mind, a tingling of warmth that stirred the fibers of my soul, intimate in a way that went beyond touch, beyond sex. Quinn, pushing lightly at my shields, wanting to talk to me, wanting me to open the psi-door we'd developed as a means of communication.
I dropped several layers of shields and said, Nothing yet. Rhoan's on the top floor, but I have no idea where Liander is. I hesitated, then added, I can smell blood.
So can I. There's not a lot of it, though, so that is at least one good thing. But there is only one heartbeat on the top floor. If Rhoan is up there, then it has to be his.
Then where the hell is Liander?
I don't know. Just be careful. The anger I can feel is fearsome.
He's my brother, Quinn. He's not going to hurt me.
Being blood kin doesn't always protect you. Not when there's this level of fear involved.
I licked my lips and climbed to the next floor. This one was basically one huge open area that Liander used for an office area, and it was wrapped in darkness just like the lower floors.
And while there was no sound, the smell of anger and fear thickened, and it was all twined up in Rhoan's leathery scent.
"Rhoan?" I said softly, pausing briefly on the top step and looking around.
"He's gone. We had an argument, and now he's gone."
The voice that rose out of the darkness was a frail shadow of its normal self. Fear lashed at me, thicker and stronger than before.
"What do you mean by gone?" I stepped into the room, then stopped. Moonlight filtered in through the windows at either end of the large room, lending enough brightness to highlight the smashed furniture, scattered paperwork, and the blood splattered across the wall.
Oh God, oh God...
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Liander couldn't be dead. Rhoan wouldn't be talking if he were. The shock of a soul mate's death often left the living partner in a catatonic state - something that Ben had basically confirmed when he talked about the death of his mate.
I took another few steps forward, and finally saw Rhoan. He was kneeling near what used to be Liander's main desk, though now it was little more than splintered remains. Evidence to the fact that he really had put up a major fight. But he was fighting something far stronger, far faster, than him. Something that didn't even operate under the normal rules governing vampires.
He'd lost, but he wasn't dead. That was something to hold on to, something to work with, at least.
