Darkness Hunts (Dark Angels #4)

Darkness Hunts (Dark Angels #4) Page 46

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. I could read his thoughts as clearly as if they were mine. Anger surged, so fierce and bright that Valdis’s flames flared in reaction.

“They will not be casualties in this cause, Azriel. I’d rather give the keys to my father than let either of them die.”

“The fate of our worlds rests—”

“I don’t fucking care!” My grip on the glass tightened. How it remained intact I have no idea. “This isn’t negotiable, Azriel. If what my father says is true, then you won’t be getting the keys. End of story.”

Red flickered through the tips of Valdis’s flames. It was an indication of her master’s emotions—emotions he was otherwise very carefully controlling.

“Then I had better check the legitimacy of his comments as quickly as possible,” was all he said.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “You’d better. And while you’re at it, ask what can be done if the keys can’t be destroyed.”

“If they cannot be destroyed, we are all in trouble. Neither the Raziq nor your father will rest until they possess them.” He eyed me critically. “Ilianna’s and Tao’s fates hang in the balance no matter what option you choose, Risa.”

I knew that. I’d always known that.

But it didn’t alter the fact that I wasn’t willingly going to do anything that would place them in the direct path of either my father or the Raziq.

Azriel sighed. It was a frustrated sound. “What is the clue?”

I repeated what my father had said, and he frowned. “That does not tell us much.”

“Which is exactly what I said. And he basically said ‘tough.’”

My phone rang, the ringtone telling me it was Rhoan. I dug it out of my pocket and hit the vid-answer button. No picture came up, which was odd, but maybe he didn’t want me to see what was going on around him.

“Uncle Rhoan,” I said. “Please tell me you’ve caught the bastard.”

“Indeed I have,” a familiar voice said. “He’s currently tied up tighter than a turkey at Christmas.”

Ice entered my body.

It wasn’t Rhoan on the other end of the phone.

It was Zane Taylor, my faceless hunter.

Chapter 13

For too many minutes I couldn’t speak. All I could think was, He can’t be dead. Please, God, don’t let him be dead.

“What the hell have you done to him?” It came out a hoarse whisper, because my throat was locked tight with fear.

“Nothing that will kill him just yet.”

I closed my eyes in relief, but it didn’t last long. Not when the madman at the other end of the phone had Rhoan’s life in his hands—and no doubt wanted mine.

“How did you even know—” I stopped, suddenly realizing the answer to my question before I’d asked it. “The cameras at the warehouse. You deliberately revealed yourselves so that we could find you.”

“Yes,” he said. “I had worried that the Directorate might catch on to our little trap, but, as usual, I overestimated them.”

Because no one in his right mind would expect a suspect to deliberately parade about in front of security cameras. But then, Taylor and sanity weren’t exactly chummy.

“Rhoan isn’t the one you were hunting, so why are you even bothering to keep him captive?” My voice shook as I spoke, and I took a slow, deep breath in an attempt to remain calm. Clearheaded thinking was what this situation needed, not panic, not fear—even if there was plenty of both.

“He and I were playing this game before you came onto the scene, and would no doubt have arrived at this situation sooner or later.” He paused, and I could almost feel the satisfaction oozing from his pores, even though the screen was blank and he was nowhere near me. “As to why he is still alive, that’s simple. I believe he might be a much better lure to capture you than anything else I could have come up with.”

He had that right. God, if anything happened to Rhoan, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself—let alone face Aunt Riley. He might be a guardian, and this might not be my fault but rather a danger Rhoan willingly faced every day, but that still didn’t alter one fact. I was involved, and I’d bear the brunt of guilt if he was hurt. Or worse, killed.

Oh please, don’t let it be worse.

I took another deep breath that did nothing to ease the queasiness threatening to overwhelm me, then said, “So what do you want?”

“Why, dear huntress, you, of course.”

I closed my eyes. Even though I’d expected the answer, the thought of willingly walking into this man’s trap horrified me. “Why? I’m not one of your so-called aberrations you’re destined to destroy. Why hunt me, when your calling gives you so many other options?”

“Good question.” There was an edge in his voice that spoke of amusement. This bastard was sick. Sick, sick, sick . . . I thrust the mental chant away. That way lies madness. He continued. “The simple answer is boredom. That is why I originally started playing my game with the Directorate. In a life as long as mine, a challenge is sometimes needed.”

“You’re killing these women because you’re bored?”

He sighed. “Huntress, that is not what I said. I kill the women because that is my calling. I taunt the Directorate because it is fun.”

He was definitely a fruitcake. He had to be, because taunting the Directorate was stupid and dangerous.

“So where do I come into the picture?” I knew where well enough. I’d defied him on the fields, threatened him, marked him. For someone who obviously considered himself beyond the Directorate’s reach, that had to be galling.

“You intrigued me, huntress. You, and the one who guards you both. I have not come across your likes before.”

A chill ran through me. How the hell could he know about Azriel? “I’m not sure what you mean—”

He tsked. “Come, huntress, let’s not play this particular game.”

I swallowed heavily. If he knew about Azriel, then he probably also knew how to stop him. My reaper might not be of this place, but he could be blocked and killed here. That might be in this madman’s plan. After all, what bigger buzz could there be for someone as sick as Taylor than killing a celestial guide?

God, this situation was getting worse and worse.

“How do you know about him? Few can see him.”

“He did do a good job of concealing himself, but the astral plane is my world, not his, and there are few there who can hide themselves from me.”

Markel. He was talking about Markel, not Azriel. Thank god.

“What does it matter who I have following me around? This is between you and me.”

“Oh, the end battle will be, for sure, but that does not dampen my wish to see just what your guardian can do.”

Markel couldn’t do half of what Azriel could, but that didn’t make him any less dangerous. Not that Markel would actually be getting involved—not unless it was absolutely necessary. Especially when Azriel could project any human form he desired.

“So,” I said in a flat voice, “you wish to challenge us. How do you plan to do that this time?”

“Oh, the game hasn’t changed; the stakes are just a little higher.”

The stakes being Rhoan’s life. I closed my eyes again and tried to control the rush of panic. I could do this. I had to do this.

“Just tell me what you want me to do.”

“This time it is easy. I give you an address; you and your guardian go to it.”

“And?” I asked, when he didn’t go on.

“Inside, you will find Rhoan Jenson. You will lie down beside him and take astral form. From that point on, you and I will begin a battle from which only one will return.”

It was too simple, too easy. For a man who claimed to love his games, there had to be more than this. My grip on the phone had become so tight my hand was beginning to ache. I flipped it over to my left hand, then flexed my fingers. It helped with the ache, but not the overall tension.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“I’m shocked that you don’t trust me, huntress.”

I very much doubted it. “If that’s all you want me to do, why do you want my guardian along?”

“Well, there are one or two things I forgot to mention.” His voice was still jovial, but this time it held a darker edge that had horror crawling down my spine. “The first being the fact that your uncle has been injected with hemlock. So far, it has done little more than rob him of speech and movement. However, the suppression of movement will soon spread to his respiratory function, and death will result.”

Oh fuck, oh fuck. I gulped down air and tried to keep calm. But my heart was racing and there was sweat dribbling down my spine and all I wanted to do was run into the bathroom and throw up. Only sheer force of will—and fear of what might happen to Rhoan—kept me on the spot and on the phone. “That still doesn’t tell me why you want my guardian there.”

“Your guardian is there because you have a choice to make. He can keep your body safe, or he can save Rhoan Jenson. He will not be able to do both.”

“Why not?”

“Because if you wish your uncle to live, he has to be taken to hospital. But doing so will leave your physical form unprotected.”

Trepidation crawled across my skin, but I had no intention of worrying about what he’d planned in the event I was left unprotected. I wouldn’t be, as simple as that, even if it meant calling in not only Markel but the whole damn Directorate.

“And do not think to call in aid from the Directorate,” Taylor said, seemingly reading my thoughts. “Because the place you walk into has been wired with explosives. The minute my people see anything out of the ordinary, they will detonate. And that, dear huntress, would be an inglorious end for one such as you.”

And it sure as hell wasn’t the way I wanted to go, either. I shivered, feeling colder and more helpless than I ever had before.