Demons and Lovers Page 9

  Damn cat.

  After leaving Kali to her lunch, I headed back into my living room and heard a knock at the front door. I wasn’t expecting anyone and had no idea who it might be.

  “It had better not be someone selling magazine subscriptions,” I muttered as I went to the door and jerked it open.

  My lips parted in surprise when I saw Rodán. He was nothing less than gorgeous with his long white-blond hair and elegant features, one of the most handsome men in existence. Rodán hadn’t been to my apartment in ages. When he wanted to speak to me, he always summoned me to his nightclub. He’d already requested my presence for tonight, so there was no reason for him to be here.

  As a matter of fact, he never left the club during daylight.

  Something was wrong, really wrong. I knew it with everything I had.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked. “What’s happened?”

  Without a word he stepped into my apartment, swept me into his arms, and kissed me.

  He tasted like grass. Dry, dust-coated grass.

  Not Rodán! Not Rodán!

  My first reaction was to jerk away. I wanted to puke from kissing what I realized in that moment was a Metamorph, one of the cursed.

  Shock and revulsion threw me off guard. I’d just kissed a disgusting Metamorph. The fact that the being had managed to get this close to me, without me realizing what he really was, added to the shock. And the fact that he looked like Rodán… How?

  He had a gun to my temple before I could blink. The gun didn’t faze me. Even in my human form I could have taken out a single Metamorph.

  The thoughts flashed through my mind all at once, but it was enough time for more Metamorphs to charge through the door, causing me to stumble back. Eight more Metamorphs had just rushed through the open doorway and surrounded me.

  If I’d been in my Drow form, with my Drow strength, dragon clawed daggers, and my elemental magic, I would have taken on all of them.

  I started to call my air element to aid me when one of the Metamorphs behind me slapped a cloth over my nose and I smelled something acrid.

  The floor dropped out from under me.

  Everything went black.

  Chapter 2

  Like a metal ball in one of those old pinball machines Rodán kept at the nightclub, the earth spun. Whirled. Bounced. Pinged. Every time I thought I would rush down into oblivion, something hard would smack me back into a spinning orbit.

  What is happening to me?

  I couldn’t think clearly. My mind wouldn’t stop spinning like that metal ball. Where was I? Why did I feel like that tiny pinball had smashed me like a wrecking ball? My whole body was one big mass of pain. I felt fluid trickling from my nose and over my lips, and tasted blood.

  “Look at me, Tracker.” At the sound of the male’s voice I startled. Could a voice be hard and cold, yet amused all at the same time? Apparently it could. “Now, Tracker.” The word Tracker was said with clear disdain.

  I blinked open my eyes and tried to focus on what I saw in front of me. The images of three human males were wavering and trying to merge into one. Finally they became one and my head spun a little less. The male was dressed like a NYPD officer and he was holding a baton streaked with blood. My blood.

  The smell of alyssum, like newly mown hay, meant there was a Metamorph close. The strength of the smell told me there was more than one. At least two, maybe three. Despite my muddled state, I was pretty sure the male I was staring at was a Metamorph, one of the damned, the cursed. Or rather the male I was looking at was the reflection of the human whose appearance the Metamorph had taken.

  “Thought I’d get the beating out of the way.” The male snapped his baton then returned it to its place on his duty belt. “You’ll be less likely to draw out a game that you’ll lose…Nyx of the Dark Elves and Night Tracker.”

  Connect the dots, Nyx.

  Chills rolled down my arms. This being might be one of the damned, but he was more dangerous than any I had met before. How did he know who I was?

  I knew I was in my human form because I sensed it was still daylight and I felt the differences in my body. So how did the Metamorphs know how to find me during the day or even know that I was a Night Tracker?

  Night Trackers patrolled their territories to make sure scum like Metamorphs who broke the laws were eliminated or taken off the street and put into the detention center. It depended on the severity of the crime as to the Metamorph or other paranorm’s sentence.

  The dizziness came back as I looked around the room I was in. Instead of some windowless interrogation room, we were in a large kitchen with peeling wallpaper and cracked and chipped laminated flooring. I was sitting on a chair in the middle of the cramped space. A dining table was shoved against one wall along with three brown wooden chairs, the varnish darkened with age and worn in places. Apparently I was in chair number four.

  “Tracker filth.” The male crouched in front of me. Instantly, from his powerful alyssum smell, I knew that he definitely was a Metamorph. “I’m Tom Smith. Remember my name, because I decide whether you live or die.”

  He moved ever closer to me, placed his finger against my forehead, and I shuddered with revulsion as I felt the touch of the cursed. Sheer reflex had me moving my head back but he followed my movement, keeping his finger pressed to my skin.

  Bits and pieces of memory came back to me as my mind began to clear. More chills rolled through my body. I stared at Smith at the same time as thoughts of how they had captured me flashed through my mind. My stomach churned.

  A Metamorph had taken on Rodán’s form and had kissed me.

  I’d realized too late that it was one of the cursed.

  Right now I wanted to shake my head, shake off the memory. But my head hurt too much to move it. My stomach churned as I glared at Smith. Metamorphs had gotten me. Metamorphs.

  The fog in my mind started to dissipate a little faster. Everything raced through my head so fast that I was almost dizzy from the thoughts. What were the Metamorphs doing? What did they want?

  I narrowed my gaze at Smith. I wanted my hands around the Metamorph in front of me so badly I could almost feel myself squeezing his neck. Feel it snapping. I attempted to lunge forward but my arms jerked against chains and metal cuffs bit into my wrists. The legs of the chair I was in scraped the floor as I struggled. I snarled and tried to lash out with my feet. They wouldn’t move. Metal ankle cuffs dug into my skin.

  When I looked down at my shackled ankles, my long, tangled black hair fell over my eyes. Blood dripped from my nose onto my pale cream blouse and slacks. My clothing was torn, bloody, filthy. My shoes were missing, leaving my feet bare.

  When I fisted my hands, pain flared through me, causing me to fully take in the fact that they’d beaten me while I was out cold.

  The elements. I could take care of this whole situation and be done with it. A small cyclone would do.

  With all that I had I called to the air element, trying to bring it to me. Nothing. The handcuffs that bound me had to have been treated with elemental magic.

  I called to my earth element hoping that I was wrong. But my second attempt just reaffirmed the fact that I had been restrained with cuffs that should not have been able to hold me.

  Smith looked amused. “Where’s your magic, Tracker?”

  My jaw ached from grinding my teeth so hard. The specially made cuffs weren’t supposed to affect Trackers. They’d all been altered to recognize every one of us in New York City so that it wouldn’t affect our magic. How had these Metamorphs been able to contain me? I tried all four elements and none of them came to my aid.

  I frowned in concentration. Maybe I had to shift into my Drow half to neutralize the cuffs so that I could use my elements again.

  “Don’t even think to try anything,” Smith was saying. “You are mine now.”

  Mentally I shook my head. No, Smith was wrong and I knew it with every fiber of my being. I sensed that nightfall was approaching and it wou
ldn’t be long until I would be Drow once again. None of the Metamorphs would be getting out of this place alive once I was through with them.

  My hair was in my eyes and stuck to the blood on my cheeks when I raised my head.

  I almost smiled when I saw the stove three feet away on my right and the sink two and a half feet away on my left. Fire. Water.

  If I could get out of these cuffs I’d be able to use the elements of fire and water and either toast or drown these creeps.

  I was leaning toward the idea of toasting them. Although both drowning and toasting at the same time sounded very appealing.

  Smith got to his feet. “I’m going let you watch me cut your boyfriend into itty bitty pieces.”

  Rodán? Smith must mean him since he’d been the one who had been impersonated to catch me. But that couldn’t be? How could any being possibly capture Rodán?

  Fear and instinct drove me to try to lunge for Smith’s throat. The chair only rocked and I wanted to scream with rage as my bindings held me fast.

  “Underworld sloth.” I glared at the Metamorph. “The pieces I cut off of you won’t be so tiny if you dare hurt him.”

  Smith slapped my bruised face so hard that my head snapped to the side. The pain caused me to grit my teeth, but the effort to not cry out was worth it as I turned slowly to glare at him again.

  He scowled as he wiped his palm on his black pants. “Your Proctor’s life is getting shorter every minute you mess with me, Tracker.”

  “What. Do. You. Want?” My face hurt as I hurled each word at the Metamorph.

  “I was misinformed about the whereabouts of tonight’s Paranorm Council meeting.” His question surprised me enough to cause me to blink. “The council gathers at sundown and my men are ready to greet them on my order.”

  “What do Metamorphs care about the Paranorm Council?” Disgust edged every word I spoke. “Metamorphs don’t even have a representative.”

  By the way his hands shook, I was pretty sure Smith was holding back his anger, trying to control himself this time. “That will change.”

  “Yeah, right.” I gave a hollow laugh. “Like that’s going to happen.”

  He lost a good portion of that control and slapped the side of my head so hard my ear rang from the force of it. “Tell me now or you die, Tracker. So does your boyfriend.”

  I had to stall somehow. If I could keep him busy until sundown I would likely get my powers back. “How do you know I’m a Tracker?”

  “We have informants.” Smith gave a casual shrug. “We know you are a human PI for the paranormal world during the day. By night you become a Tracker.”

  I narrowed my gaze. “Why me?”

  “You are one of the very few paranorms who can come out in daylight.” He grinned. “And you’re predictable.”

  Predictable? As a PI, maybe I was. That was going to have to change.

  I said nothing, just stared at him. I didn’t know if he was bluffing about Rodán, so I had to call his bluff. I almost groaned when he drew out his baton and snapped it to its full length.

  “Carl.” Smith looked up, somewhere over my shoulder and made a slight motion with his head. By the smell of alyssum, I knew it was another Metamorph who moved in front of me. Also dressed in a NYPD uniform, Carl looked and walked like a flesh and bone version of Robocop. Built like a power weightlifter with too much muscle, he was slow to move. “Get the Proctor,” Smith said.

  My heart pounded and my body radiated with tension. The bulky Metamorph strode through an archway of the place we were in, his bootsteps loud against the tile floor before the sound finally faded.

  The tapping of high heels came from the other side of the archway just moments after the Robocop Metamorph left. I continued to stare at the archway as another Metamorph walked in.

  With rich waves of mahogany brown hair and big gray eyes, this Metamorph was gorgeous—at least the replica of the human or paranorm she mirrored was. And she knew how to dress. Despite her sophisticated, beautiful looks, the fake innocence in her eyes and her pouty lips made her look like a spoiled, pampered, brat.

  “Becky.” Smith went to the woman and hugged her in a way that made their relationship obvious. He kissed her before he pinched her ass cheek through the fine organza of her dress.

  “Have I missed anything?” she said in a voice so squeaky it caused me to wince.

  Footsteps again, only this time I heard two pairs—one pair stepping purposefully, the other walking in unsteady shuffles. I glanced back at the archway in time to see the muscle-bound Metamorph shove Rodán into the room. He was shirtless and appeared to be drugged, his body and face bloody and bruised, his white-blond hair matted with blood.

  Rodán collapsed face-first on the tile.

  And didn’t move.

  Chapter 3

  “Rodán!” My cry cut the air in an involuntary shout. I couldn’t stop myself from calling out to him.

  I lunged against my bonds again and this time I nearly toppled my chair. Smith grabbed a spindle of the chair and kept me from pitching forward.

  My breath burned harsh and heavy in my chest. “You might as well start thinking up your last words.” I turned my glare to Smith as I spoke with slow, deliberate malice. “You don’t have very many left.”

  Almost imperceptible fear glittered in his black eyes before he laughed. A forced laugh that almost made me smile. He was scared of me and I had to give him credit for not being stupid enough to make the mistake of totally disregarding what I might be capable of.

  Rodán groaned and a tempest of emotions whirled through me as I swung my attention in his direction: relief that he was alive; followed by anger that he’d been hurt so badly; then shifting into fear as Robocop Carl aimed a handgun at Rodán’s head.

  I still couldn’t understand how they had managed to capture Rodán, but then after being drugged and beaten, I was having problems thinking clearly.

  “A very important council meeting is being held tonight. As a Tracker this is something you well know.” Smith crouched so that he was at eyelevel with me. “What location has the meeting been changed to?”

  A trickle of blood rolled down the column of my throat from an open wound on the side of my head. “What are you going to do?”

  Smith scowled. “What do you care, Tracker? You treat all Metamorphs like scum.”

  I pulled against my bonds so that my body was a fraction closer to him. He looked like he wanted to shrink back. “You’re so slimy the only thing you’re good for is greasing machinery. Bet you’d screw that up, too.”

  The Metamorph’s complexion turned an odd shade of taupe. Smith unsheathed a dagger from his cop duty belt. The sharp edge gleamed in the kitchen light. He grabbed a handful of my hair and jerked my head back so that I was looking at the ceiling that was yellowed and dirty from years of cooking in this cramped space.

  “Tell me or we can use the Proctor’s brains to grease the floor.” Smith bared his teeth in a freakish smile as he leaned over me, blocking out my view of the ceiling. I felt the cold, sharp edge of the dagger’s blade as he pressed it against my throat. “Where has the meeting been moved to?”

  I didn’t dare swallow or I knew the blade would slice into my throat. The feeling of helplessness I experienced was not one I’d faced often. I heard the sound of a round being chambered in a handgun and my heart started pounding hard enough the sound of it throbbed in my ears.

  “Now, Tracker.” Smith jerked my hair harder. “Tell me or that’s it for both you and your Proctor.”

  Sundown was approaching and I would be shifting within twenty minutes. I couldn’t think of any way to stall without getting Rodán or myself killed. I’d just have to take care of the problem then. But for now, what choice did I have?

  It took everything I had to force myself to give him what he wanted. I swore to myself that I would stop them as soon as I got free.

  I choked out the words. “It’s still at the Paranorm Center near the northern end of Conservato
ry Water.” I couldn’t help swallowing and gasped as the dagger bit into my flesh. “Below the Alice in Wonderland unbirthday party sculpture.”

  The Metamorph narrowed his gaze but released his grip on my hair. “We were told the location had changed.”

  “It was a ruse.” I raised my head as he backed up. “There were rumors that some kind of interruption might happen, but the council members didn’t want to move the meeting. To make sure no one would try to barge in, they put out the word it had changed venue.”

  My gut churned as I glanced at Rodán, and he groaned and rolled onto his side. Carl still held his gun aimed right at him.

  I didn’t feel my own aches and pains. Instead it was as if I felt every bruise on Rodán’s body as I stared at him. I still couldn’t comprehend the state he was in.

  “I believe you.” Smith turned and walked away from me. He glanced over his shoulder at me. “Now to put my plan into action.”

  “Metamorphs won’t be screwed around with anymore.” Smith drew a Glock from his cop’s duty belt and aimed it at Rodán’s head. “And I’m finished screwing with you, Tracker.” Smith leveled his gaze on Rodán. “If you lied to me, here’s what will happen to your friend DeSantos.”

  “Olivia?” I said, but then my mind spun as Smith’s aim followed Rodán’s movements as my former lover shifted and groaned again.

  Smith squeezed the trigger.

  A loud retort echoed in the kitchen.

  I screamed.

  Blood splattered the kitchen walls.

  Horror and shock made my head spin as Rodán slumped face down in a lifeless mass on the floor. My entire body was rigid, every bone in my body so heavy they might as well have been made of stone. I couldn’t think. Couldn’t move.

  “You—” I gagged on useless words as I stared at Rodán’s body. In my mind spun thoughts of, “you promised” and “you lied.” Stupid, worthless words. I felt like I might never breathe again.

  “Have your fun, Carl,” I heard Smith say, but his words were muffled by the emotions flaring in my mind.