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She nodded. “But watch what happens when I touch them."
She placed a finger against his skin and began to trace the outline of one of the scars. Her finger was warm against his skin, her touch sending waves of energy tingling across his nerve endings. After a moment, the black and blistering skin began to disappear under her caress, becoming lines and symbols similar to what had been on her back. Her hand moved on, revealing the symbols entwined around his spine. As her touch moved, the symbols faded, becoming ugly scars once more.>"Didn't you?"
Her breath was enticingly warm against his mouth, but he resisted the temptation to kiss her again and said, “No."
She blinked and pulled her chin from his grasp. “If you want answers, vampire, you'd better start trusting me. We both know you cannot force the answers from me, because your telepathy isn't working right now."
"And how would you know that?"
"Because the same magic that has robbed you of your psychic skills has robbed me of my ... skills." Skills? Why would she use that word rather than magic? “Meaning this barrier you mentioned earlier?" She nodded, her nostrils flaring, as if she was as acutely aware of the smell of blood and death that surrounded them as he. She ran a slightly trembling hand across her forehead and said, “Look, can we take this discussion elsewhere?"
"In a moment.” He wasn't quite ready to go, simply because he wanted to keep her unnerved. He had a feeling it might be the only way to keep her out of trouble and out of harm's way. She stared at him for a moment, and he could have sworn he heard her swearing at him, even though her lips never moved.
"Did you find anything else?” she finally asked. “Is there any clue as to how the murderer got in here?"
"There's a connecting door. It leads into another whore's rooms."
"Have you checked it?"
"Yes. There's a window."
She frowned. “I didn't see any stairs other than the one at the side." Amusement ran through him. “Dunleavy is a vampire. Two stories is not much of a leap for us."
"Oh. Yeah.” Her gaze skated across the room before coming back to his. “Nothing else?"
"Other than the fact there didn't appear to be a struggle of any kind."
"How...” she stopped, swallowing. “How can you tell that in all ... this?"
"No blood or skin under the fingernails."
"Oh.” She went even paler, if that was possible. “Can we go now?” she asked quickly. He relented and stood to one side. She ran out. He caught up with her as she stopped in the middle of the road, sucking in great gulps of night air.
"You don't appear to have a strong enough stomach to be hunting the likes of Dunleavy." Her smile was slightly bitter. “Monsters don't bother me as much as some of their deeds."
"Then why hunt monsters?"
She snorted softly. “Because the man I love insists on hunting them."
"And he lets you? The man is a fool."
She looked at him, a strange sort of smile touching her lips. “He's not a fool. He just made a good choice."
"If you were mine—” He stopped abruptly. He had no right to be saying such things when Christine lay rotting in the ground, her death not yet avenged.
"Let's get you back home,” he said coldly.
Her gaze searched his for a moment, and then she picked up her skirts and began walking. “I'm not staying in that house tonight."
The thought of her staying at one of the hotels made him cold. “Where then?" His voice was sharp, and she looked at him, amusement playing across her lush lips. “I've arranged to rent a room from one of the rangers."
"And will the ranger be there?"
"No. He's staying at the Wheaten Hotel."
"Good."
She chuckled softly. “For a man who doesn't trust, and who claims to have no interest, you're acting a little proprietary."
