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"We've some clothes for you in the back of the car, if you'd like to climb in and dress." Quinn glanced at me.
"You need to put the guards back."
"Put them back how?"
"The vampire tripped on some loose carpeting going up the stairs, hit the hall stand, and knocked himself unconscious."
Meaning I'd have to ensure there was loose carpet. "And the wolf?"
"Before the vamp had his accident, he and the wolf had a minor altercation. The wolf was knocked down and smacked the back of his head on the tiles."
And given I'd neutralized my scent before we'd come here, no one would scent me. "Neither man has appropriate bumps."
He glanced at me, his smile cold. "Oh yes they have."
I snorted. "And you stopped Lyndal from hitting him."
"I built my bumps into their memories."
"You could have done it to hers."
"It's not easy to account for bruising to the front and back of the head. In a case like this, where you're adding memories and forcing them not to see certain things, too many complications can risk blowing the whole thing."
"Which is what happened with me."
He nodded. I grabbed the vamp's arms, dragging him back through the hall and up the stairs. I was sweating by the time I reached the landing. He might appear to be little more than a string bean, but he obviously had heavy bones.
I dumped him on the floor, knocked over the hall stand, then ripped up a little of the carpet covering the top step. Then I ran back downstairs to grab the werewolf. Him I dragged into the kitchen.
I locked the front door as I came out. Quinn touched my back lightly, guiding me across to the car. At least the ear-splitting music had stopped. "We must find time to undo your mind restraints, too."
"As I said, that's not important right now. We need to track down our killer first then confront Blake."
He opened the passenger door and ushered me inside. "You do know that this time, defeating him won't be enough."
His words had something twisting inside, if only because they were forcing me to confront what I'd long known but hadn't really admitted.
Because the guards inside that house weren't the only ones who were dead men walking.
Blake and whoever else was involved in this scheme were, as well.>A shiver ran through me. For Evin's sake, I had to hope that I was imagining the worst. That she was fine and unharmed in any way.
And tomorrow, pigs might fly.
I brushed the thought aside and slipped out into the hallway. The stench of vampire suddenly seemed stronger, and though I could hear no sound, instinct warned me he was on the move.
The stairs were to the right. I stepped across the hall and, keeping my back to the wall, crept toward them. The vampire scent was getting stronger, and my nose twitched in distaste. I still couldn't hear him, but then, Blake had the money to hire the best.
He'd hired Kye, after all.
For the first time since I'd killed him, my soul didn't ache at the mere thought of his name. The emptiness remained - would probably always remain - but the pain and the hurt were no longer knife-edged. Maybe my decision to commit to Quinn had been exactly what I'd needed - what my soul had needed.
I stopped several feet away from the corner, with a hall table between me and the stairs. I reached out and carefully picked up a vase of long-dead flowers. The vamp had to know I was here - he'd hear the beat of my heart even if he was as blind to body heat as I seemed to be - and he'd come around that corner fast. So I needed something to distract him with.
I waited, breath caught somewhere in my throat, for his approach. When it came, it was lightning fast. One minute the hall was empty, the next minute there was a long, thin stretch of vampire hunkered down in the middle of it holding a gun.
I swung the vase and let it go. Dead flowers and foul-smelling water flew, soaking the carpet. I jumped forward, following the vase with a kick. He ducked both and pulled the trigger. I twisted out of the way, felt the bullet burn past my hip, and lashed out, my clenched fingers taking him under the chin, throwing him up and back but not knocking him out. He hit the carpeted floor hard and his gun went flying.
I leapt for it, my fingers latching onto the barrel even as he caught his balance and lunged for me. I didn't have time to shift my grip to the trigger so I simply twisted around, smashing the weapon against his face with as much force as I could muster. Flesh and bone gave way under the impact and he went down, but he was still far from out. I scrambled to my knees and hit him in his throat with the side of my hand. His eyes rolled back into his head and he went limp.
