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“Like … hell.” His words were punctured with the smack of flesh against flesh.
“Hitting it is not going to damage it.” Exasperation edged her voice. If she lost the soul-sucker’s trail because of this man’s stubbornness …
“He’s injured. Bleeding.”
“And already dead,” the vampire snarled. “As you and the bitch will be by the time I’m finished with you both.”
“As I said to the lady, like hell.”
His words were emphasized
by a grunt of effort and another smack of flesh. The vampire made an odd sound deep in his throat and staggered backward. It was the break she’d been waiting for. She reached deep, drawing on all her remaining kinetic strength, and flung the shapeshifter back—far back, across the warehouse. Surprise whisked around her a moment before he smacked against the wall, then all emotion died. He hit his head. At least she didn’t have to worry about him getting in the way.
She raised the stake and ran at the vampire. He snarled and tried to dodge, but his movements were slowing, and he was nowhere near fast enough. She drove the stake through his chest into his black heart, then leaped sideways as he lashed at her with clawed hands. His fingers slithered down her leg, tearing through her jeans and into flesh. She cursed and kicked him, shoving him backward.
He hit the ground with a splat and didn’t do anything more than writhe. Blue fire encased his torso, and the smell of burning meat churned her stomach. She climbed to her feet, brushed the dirt from her hands, and watched the vampire incinerate. She felt no elation at her victory. She couldn’t. Not when there was one more horror still running free.
When there was nothing left but ash, she turned and ran for the stairs. The shifter was safe enough now that the vampire was dead, and with any luck, Gran and she would be well gone by the time he awoke. Because if the hostility he’d projected was anything to go by, it wouldn’t be pleasant to be within a ten-mile radius of the man when he eventually stirred. Especially after she’d knocked him cold.
The moonlight seemed abnormally bright after the shuttered darkness within the warehouse. She blinked and hesitated, searching for some sign of the soul-sucker. Evil was a distant echo, moving away fast.
She shifted shape and flew down the alley, skimming past the cops who raced toward the warehouse. This time, the creature headed for the main street. Perhaps it hoped the noise and motion might loosen any psychic hold she had on it—which was a definite possibility after all she’d been through tonight.
The soul-sucker hit the street, its ethereal form getting lost in the warm glow of lights. It whisked away to the right, and the psychic leash she had on it snapped with a suddenness that had her plummeting to the ground.
She hit with a grunt, then shifted shape and rolled onto her back, staring up at the moon.
She’d lost it.
ETHAN IMPATIENTLY THRUST THE PARAMEDIC’S HAND AWAY. “Enough, already. The cut is not that bad.”
“Sir, the wound needs stitches—”
“It’s stopped bleeding, hasn’t it?”
“Yes, but there’s still the possibility of concussion—”
If the ache in his head was anything to go by, it was more than a possibility. But right now, he had no intention of going anywhere—as much as the paramedics and the captain might wish it. “I haven’t got a concussion, and I have no desire to go to the hospital.”
“Sir—”
“Goddamn it, Morgan.” The second voice rose out of the night, cutting through the paramedic’s words like a foghorn. “I thought I told you to keep away from this investigation.”
The captain huffed to a stop three feet away, nose and cheeks beacon-bright in the stark light coming from the ambulance’s interior. Ethan knew the cause was not so much the cold as blood pressure. This case would kill Benton if they didn’t solve it soon.
“You didn’t tell me to keep away from the warehouse,” he said with a calm he certainly didn’t feel. “It’s not my fault one of the suspects decided to head my way.”
“I told you to stay completely away. That means out of the whole damn area.”
Benton dragged a stick of gum from his pocket and undid the silvery wrapper. He offered it to Ethan, who shook his head. The captain had given up smoking two months earlier—in an effort to save some money more than save his health—but he now appeared to be spending more on gum than he ever had on cigarettes. And his health hadn’t improved either—although this case certainly wasn’t helping anyone’s physical or mental well-being.
“Just what the hell happened in that warehouse?”
Ethan shrugged. “As I told Mark, I heard the man and woman enter the building. I wasn’t sure who they were or what they were doing, so I waited. When the man attacked the woman, I intervened, but the woman somehow managed to knock me unconscious. You know the rest.”
Benton grunted. “Was there anyone else in the warehouse other than those two?”
“No.” Though he’d certainly had a sense of something else, something he couldn’t exactly define. “Why?”
