Darkness Unmasked (Dark Angels #5)

Darkness Unmasked (Dark Angels #5) Page 12

“You should do that more often,” he said softly.

“Do what?” It was said absently as I eyed the building in front of us. Dark Soul matched its name. It might not be a vampire-only hangout, but with blacked-out windows and smoke drifting out through the gothic metal gates guarding the doorway, it certainly gave off a dangerous vibe. Or maybe that was merely the haunting, ethereal melodies drifting from the shadowed interior.

“Ride your bike. It makes your soul glow.”

I stopped abruptly and swung around to face him. “Damn it, Azriel, you’re going to have to stop doing that.”

Confusion briefly crossed his features. “Stop what? Complimenting you?”

“Yes.” I shoved my hands in my pockets and forced my feet onward again, feeling suddenly foolish.

He was beside me in an instant. “Why is this suddenly a problem?”

“Because,” I muttered. “It just makes me want you more.”

“Ah.” Amusement laced his tones. “I see.”

“No, I’m betting you don’t.”

“Then you would be wrong, Risa Jones.”

I glanced up, saw that flare in his eyes again, and my breath caught briefly in my throat. Because it wasn’t just need. Wasn’t just desire. It was far deeper—far scarier—than that. Something that should not—could not—be, if only because we were two very different beings from two very different worlds. We might have made a decision to pursue this thing between us, but he was not of my world and never could be. What I’d just seen could not be anything more than an echo of my own emotions. It was an illusion—one that would turn to ash and totally destroy me once all this was over.

But maybe it was already far too late to start worrying about that happening.

I swallowed heavily. “Well, it wouldn’t be the first time, would it?”

“No. And more than likely not the last.”

Sadly, a truer statement had never been made. The doorman opened the metal gates for us, and Azriel lightly cupped my elbow and guided me into the interior. It was, as the name suggested, a dark place, and it took a couple of seconds for my eyes to adjust. There was little noise in the room, even though it was full. Everyone’s attention seemed to be trained on the stage at the far end of the room, their expressions one of rapture as they listened to the dark-skinned woman who played a pan flute. The music was haunting and beautiful and definitely not something you’d hear on the radio. I wasn’t sure it was worthy of the rapture that seemed evident around us, but then, a pan flute, however nice the sound, wasn’t really my cup of coffee.

The room itself was thin and narrow. A metal bar lined the left-hand side, and the scents emanating from it suggested it wasn’t only booze being served, but synth blood. Maybe that was the reason behind the darkness—they didn’t want to scare the human patrons with the knowledge of what they were serving vampires. It certainly wasn’t illegal to serve synth blood, but it wasn’t often done in places that catered to all races. Humans, vamps, and blood—even if only synthetic stuff—sometimes weren’t a very good combination.

I made my way across to the bar. A small, thin vampire came up and gave me a pleasant smile. “What can I do for you?”

“I need to talk to the manager.”

He raised a pale eyebrow, his gaze briefly skating down my length. Or what he could see of it, anyway, given the bar stood between us. Energy spun through the air, teasing the outer edges of my mind. He was trying to read me telepathically, but he didn’t have a hope in hell, thanks to the superstrong nano microcells that had been inserted into my earlobe and heel. Nanowires—the predecessor of the microcells—were powered by body heat, but for the wires to be active, both ends had to be connected so that a circuit was formed. The microcells were also powered by body heat, but they were contradictory forces that didn’t need a physical connection. Once fully activated, the push-pull of their interaction provided a shield that was ten times stronger than any wire yet created.

With them in place, no one was getting inside my head. Well, almost no one. Azriel certainly had no problems, and I suspected Lucian could read me more than he’d ever admitted.

And then there was Hunter, who always seemed to catch my thoughts at inopportune moments. Like when I was cursing her.

The energy died and he sniffed. It was a somewhat disdainful sound. “And who might I say is wanting her?”

“Risa Jones.” I hesitated. “I’m here on orders of the vampire council.”

“Really?” Amusement touched his mouth. “Just a moment, and I’ll see if she’s in.”

“Tell her she’d better be, because she really wouldn’t want a visit from Madeline Hunter right now.”

The other eyebrow rose to meet the first, but he didn’t say anything, just spun around and headed down the far end of the bar, disappearing through a rather solid-looking door.

I leaned back against the bar and studied the woman on the stage. “Do you think she might be our suspect?”

Azriel glanced at her, then shook his head. “She is a vampire. Whatever killed Hunter’s friend was definitely something more.”

“But the music she’s playing seems almost hypnotic. I mean, look at them.” I waved a hand around. “They can barely take their eyes off her.”

“That is deliberate on her part. She feeds off them.”

My gaze jumped sharply to his. “She’s an emo vampire?”

“If that is a vampire that feeds off the life force of others, then yes.”

“An emo feeds off emotion, not life force.” I frowned at the woman. “Is anyone in danger?”

“I would suspect not. She appears to be taking only a small quantity from each—it amounts to little more than minutes from their lives.”

“It shortens their lives?”

He raised an eyebrow, amusement lurking around the corners of his mouth. “Did I not just say that?”

“Apparently.” I scrubbed a hand through my short hair. “Should we try to stop her?”

“That is not why we are here; nor is it your place to do so. If she takes it too far, the Directorate will deal with her.”

“And will she? Take it too far, I mean?”

He studied her for a moment, his eyes narrowed. “That possibility is there. It always is whenever a life depends on feeding from others.”

“Huh.” I glanced over my shoulder, saw the barman coming back, and turned around.

“You have a couple of minutes,” he said. His tone held a mocking edge as he added, “Seems she’d prefer not to have Hunter after her.”

“She’s through that door?” I nodded toward the heavy wooden door.

“Yes.” He picked up a tea towel and began polishing glasses, his expression one of disdain. Hunter’s lackeys, it seemed, were not held in high regard in this place, even if the woman herself was feared.

I pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped into a long, semidark corridor. Several doors led off it, all of them closed except the one down at the far end. Light flickered from within—some sort of computer screen, I thought, as I headed down. My footsteps echoed lightly, but no one came out to usher us into the room or greet us.

I paused at the doorway. The room was almost bare, with little more than a bank of security monitors and a large desk—complete with a light-screen monitor and keyboard—in the room. Behind the desk, in a chair that was larger than she was, sat a diminutive, dark-haired woman. She didn’t bother looking up from whatever it was she was reading, merely waved a hand in a “come in” motion.

Given there were no seats on our side of the desk, I stopped in front of it and waited.

And waited.

She tests you, Azriel commented.

I gather that. My reply was grouchy. Why is it that female vampires seem to be such bitches?

Perhaps they feel the need to prove themselves more.

I snorted softly. Or they just like being bitches.

That is also possible. Perhaps you should flex a little muscle. Or would you prefer me to?

She’s hardly likely to respect me more if I ask you to beat her up. By the same token, I doubted I’d actually have what it took to do that. I might be part were, but she was vampire. But then, I did have other talents I could call on—talents she wouldn’t have seen before.

“You know,” I said, keeping my voice conversational, “I came in here to ask a few polite questions about Wolfgang Schmidt, but if you’d rather do things the hard way, I’m more than happy to oblige.”

She finally looked up, her expression mocking. “Am I supposed to cower in fear? Because, let’s be honest here, a werewolf provides little threat to one such as I; nor does a man who wears the mask of death.”

She sees you as a reaper?

Yes. To her, he added, “Then you are a fool.”

“And certainly not a good judge of character.” I raised a hand and called to the Aedh, then siphoned the surge of power into my raised fingertips. They went translucent in an instant, neither flesh nor Aedh, but somewhere in between. Her gaze went wide. I added, my voice still even, “Because, you see, I’m not just a werewolf. I’m someone who can reach into your chest, wrap my fingers around your heart, and rip it beating and bloody from your flesh.”

She blinked, staring at my hand in awe and perhaps the tiniest touch of fear. And I have to admit, I liked seeing that, if only because I was getting a little sick of being on the wrong end of fear all the time.

Maybe it really was time for me to start flexing a little muscle.

“What are you?” she said after a moment.

“As I said, something more than a werewolf.” I released the Aedh and let my hand return to full flesh. “Now, if you’ve finished with the games, tell me about Wolfgang Schmidt.”

She shrugged. The fear—if indeed that was what I’d seen—was gone, but so, too, was her somewhat disdainful demeanor. “He’s a regular, comes in two or three times a week.”