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The pseudo-intellectual feel-good sayings made me instantly dislike her. Sure, we might pick the same color schemes, but if I ever decided to go the whole decal sayings route, I’d go withIt takes forty-two muscles to frown, twenty-eight muscles to smile, but only four muscles to reach out and slap somethingandIt probably could get worse.
Troy stood back and silent as I went around Rachel’s living room, finding nothing useful. She seemed to be a reader. That always felt a bit like a self-important thing, like people who said they meditated.
I, on the other hand, had a bookshelf full of books I never read. The cracked spines on Rachel’s collection said she either bought used or read often.
Her house pointed at a good life. “So if she had friends, family, a great job, what was she doing around Olin?”
Troy let out a long sigh, as though we’d had this conversation many times. “She didn’t need to be doing anything for Olin to target her. You’re looking for a connection that probably isn’t there.”
“There has to be something.”
“Why?”
I turned toward him, frustration bubbling over. “Because I need to understand what happened! I can’t close my eyes and not feel that void, pulling me in and drowning me. I already have nightmares every goddamned night of my life—I can’t have that thing living in my head, too. I’ve got a limit of shit I can deal with and this crosses the threshold.” I hadn’t even realized I’d started to shake, that my breaths had turned rough and ragged, until Troy grabbed me and tugged me against his chest.
Which was crossing all sorts of lines for us, and yet I couldn’t push him away. It was a sweet gesture and far too welcome. His heart pounded, strong and steady, and I closed my eyes to listen.
He ran his hand up and down my back, and I breathed in his wild scent. Where Hunter smelled of fire, Troy was like rain, like deep forests in the darkness.
And maybe a bit like wet dog.
I shuddered to let the excess energy slide from me. When I did, he released me, and I very pointedly didnotlook right back at him. Instead, I glanced around the room.Let’s pretend that moment didn’t happen.
“Maybe she was just at the wrong place at the wrong time…”
“I know that isn’t a comforting answer, Ava, but I’ve dealt with a lot of vampire kills over my life. I’ve rarely found a good reason they died. No matter how much I looked into it, no matter if the guilty party was brought to justice or not, I never found anything that made me feel like there was a reason behind it. It was just bad luck.”
I nodded and looked at a picture of her on the wall, at how she looked so full of life, so different from the corpse in that pit. “Does her family know she’s gone?”
“No. Even if you told us what shallow grave the coven put her in, I wouldn’t go find it. The remains vampires leave create questions that there are no good answers to. I wish her family could have closure, but discovering her mangled corpse won’t give that. It’ll stay a missing persons case.”
“Do you know where she was killed, at least?”
“Here. Magic has a scent to it, and it’s all over her bedroom. I’d guess the coven had a mage clean it up.”
Suddenly the apartment, which had seemed quaint, held a darker edge to it. I could almostfeelthe blood, as though it hadn’t been cleaned but rather hidden. It made my stomach roll, and I pressed a hand there.
Troy didn’t try to reassure me again, instead using a finger against the bottom of my chin to lift my face and meet my gaze. “Thisis what they are, Ava. I know vampires can seem alluring, that Kase can come across as charming and civilized, but they are killers through and through.”
“And you aren’t?”
His lips thinned. “No, Ava, I’m one, too. Why do you think I keep trying to get you to keep your distance from us all?”
Well, at least he’s honest…
* * * *
I sighed as I put my feet up on the ottoman in front of my couch. As annoyed as I might have been about Kase demanding the wards, I had to admit, theydidhelp me to relax.
Nothing weird had happened since the sun had gone down, since arriving home from Rachel’s apartment. That felt like some sort of record for recently. No huge swirling darkness, no people breaking in, no being kidnapped in the middle of the night.
It was downright boring, which I planned to enjoy the hell out of.
I had a cup of tea held between my palms, the sort with chamomile and lavender, meant to relax a person before bed.
Not that I ever drank it. Honestly, I hated tea. Still, Gran always told me I needed to drink it, and every health article said a person should have some to relax.
So I liked to make tea and pretend I was the sort of girl who actually would drink it, who did yoga regularly and had a great skin-care regime. Then the tea would get cold and I’d pour it out, blaming my lack of drinking any on it being tepid rather than my absolute hatred of the gross leaf juice.
