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"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.
I walked closer, and saw that Rhoan was hugging something to his chest. Something that was white, but stained dark in patches. Patches that smelled a whole lot like blood.
No, no, no, I thought, and took a deep shuddery breath to calm the ever-rising fear.
"Rhoan," I said. "He's not dead. We need to get out there and find him."
He finally looked at me. His gray eyes were wide and shocked, filled with a pain that went soul-deep. "He's hurt. He's dying."
"But he's not dead." I forced a sharpness into my voice. I needed to get past the shock, the hurt, and the guilt; needed to goad him into action. "Liander wouldn't be sitting there hugging a bloodied shirt if the situation were reversed. You're the fucking guardian. Start acting like it!"
He surged to his feet and threw the bloodied shirt at me. "Smell that! Feel it! That's his blood on the shirt. His fear! Whatever came for him, he couldn't handle it alone. And he was military-trained." He shoved a hand through his thick, red hair, then spun away. "I wasn't here, Riley! I should have been and I wasn't."
I caught the shirt one-handed. The blood was thick and sticky to the touch, an indication that it wasn't very old. And the smell of sweat and fear lingered - telling signs, considering I'd never known Liander to be afraid of any physical threat.
I tossed the shirt on the tipped-over chair and said, "This is no time for recriminations, Rhoan. He's alive. Let's start from there and try to find him."
"I can't." The words were torn from him. "I can feel he's in trouble, I know he's hurt, but I can't feel where he is. It's not like you and me."
"Then we find him the old-fashioned way - through good old-fashioned detective work."
"How? We don't even know who or what did this to him."
"Actually, we do."
He swung around to face me, and the sheer fury in his eyes was knee-quaking.
Be careful, Riley. He's not thinking straight right now and he's looking for something - or someone - to take his anger out on.
Tell me about it. I held up my hands - a useless gesture if he actually decided to attack. "One of the cases I'm investigating involves what Quinn tells me is a bhuta - a vampire with no physical body in the daytime."
"What has this got to do with Liander's disappearance?" His voice was flat and cold, and his eyes had gone from resembling anything human to something that only saw death. Only wanted death.
The look of a guardian. The look of a killer.
I'd only seen it a couple of times, and it certainly wasn't something I'd ever expected to see aimed my way.
I raised my chin a little and met his gaze defiantly. Perhaps not the best move when facing a wolf on the edge of madness, but I couldn't afford to back down, either. If he smelled or saw any sort of weakness in his current state, he might just attack anyway.
"I'm not entirely sure how Liander's involved, but Aron Young - the bhuta in question - seems to be intent on tracking down and killing anyone who was in the same class as him in tenth grade."
"And Liander was?"
"Yes. I did tell him to be careful, Rhoan, but I really didn't think he'd be in danger - "
I didn't get any further and I never even saw the punch. One moment I was standing there, the next I was flying across the room. I hit the wall with enough force to knock a hole into it, then slithered to the floor.
I felt him move: a furious force coming straight at me. Battling stars and the need to throw up, I flung myself sideways, grasping the leg of a nearby shattered chair, then swung with all my might.
The blow hit him just below the left knee. There was an almighty crack as the chair leg broke, but the force of the blow knocked him off his feet and onto his back. I grabbed another chair leg then scrambled to my feet, sniffing back the blood beginning to run from my nose as I jumped onto his stomach, pinning his arms with my knees and thrusting the chair leg under his chin.
