Darkness Devours

Was it a trap? It couldn’t be. Hunter wanted to use me; she didn’t want me dead.



But Hunter wasn’t the council. She didn’t control it. Not yet.



I licked my lips and reluctantly trailed after her.



“Going to that room isn’t a good idea.” In more ways than one. And yet I couldn’t retreat, couldn’t run. Hunter might be striding purposefully toward the feeding room, but there was a coiled readiness in every moment. She would react—fast and brutally—if I ran. “The fact that they’re ghosts doesn’t mean they’re incapable of understanding everything that goes on in that room. If we discuss anything there, they might just pass the information on to whatever is causing this.”



She glanced over her shoulder at me. “I know.”



I blinked. That wasn’t exactly the answer I’d been expecting. “Maybe I’m a little slow, but wouldn’t the ghosts passing on the information mean the killer may run?”



“If it is a Rakshasa, as your reaper suspects, then I doubt it. They are creatures drawn to the dark energies of death, despair, and revenge, and there are few places in Melbourne that hold those in great abundance. It will continue to be drawn here while it is in its feeding stage, regardless of the threat we pose.”



I studied her curiously as we stopped near the doors to the bigger feeding room and the three people who waited inside. “You’ve come across them before?”



She looked down her nose at me—no mean feat when she was actually shorter than me. “I have lived a very long time, and I’ve hunted far greater nightmares than a Rakshasa.”



And she’d be right at the top of any sane person’s nightmare list, I thought grimly, and saw her green eyes flash dangerously. With the way my luck had been running of late, it was no surprise she caught that particular thought.



Marshall opened the door for us. The room was the same sterile, ghost-filled place it had been before, only this time the smell of antiseptic wasn’t as strong. Marshall had stopped the use of this room.



But this time the ghosts were not the only beings in the room.



All three were long, thin strips of humanity. There were two men and one woman, different in looks and nationalities, but all sharing two common traits—a fierce, cold-blooded glow in their eyes and a cruel twist to their mouths.



I’d thought Hunter was the most dangerous person on earth. Seemed I was wrong.



“Marshall, close the door, please,” Hunter commanded. As he obeyed, she joined the three in the center of the room, then swung around to face me. If she sensed the ghosts, she had no reaction to them.



“I have the list of those who have died in this room,” she said without preamble. “But the Cazadors will chase that avenue. What else do you want to know?”



She made no effort to introduce her companions, and they remained silent, studying me with cold intent. Chills raced up and down my spine, and Amaya hissed in useless fury. I flexed my fingers, and tried to concentrate on the business at hand. I had a bad feeling that I would find out what was going on soon enough.



“In other words, you have no intention of telling me how many died in this room.” I took one step closer to her and the ghosts, then stopped. The bitter, bloody anger that surged around me struck as sharply as any whip. My flesh shuddered under the impact of it, and I half wondered if my already battered body would gain yet another rainbow of bruises to add to its collection.



“That is not something you need to know.”



My gaze flicked to the vampires on either side of her. The energy that poured off them felt dark and coiled. I licked my lips and said, “What about the autopsy reports? Can I see them?”



“There is nothing in those reports that disagrees with what you already know. All five victims were torn apart and half consumed, and the poison used could not be identified.”



Frustration and fear swirled through me. “I wanted to see the reports so I can read them myself. If I’d simply needed questions answered, I would have asked them.”



Step warily, Risa, Azriel warned. I do not think it wise to be too antagonistic toward Hunter in front of her peers.



Once again my gaze flicked across the three, and I had the sudden sensation of snakes about to strike. I shivered.



“There are no files, Risa. Every report comes to me verbally. As I’ve said, I will not risk this investigation—or these clubs—becoming a matter of public knowledge.”



I crossed my arms, but resisted the urge to rub the chill from them. “Okay, did all five victims come from a similar social and economic background?”



“No.”



I waited, but she wasn’t forthcoming with any further information. Which was damn annoying given that they supposedly wanted this case solved, and wanted my help to do it.



A slight smile teased her lips. The bitch might not be reading my mind, but she was certainly reading my reactions to this whole situation and enjoying them. And while she wanted my help to find the keys and—to a lesser extent, it seemed—to hunt down this killer, she was also very much a cat toying with a mouse it might yet decide to eat.



If the three council members didn’t devour me first.



“The first two victims had high-profile jobs in the advertising industry,” she drawled eventually. “The third was little more than a pen pusher in the local government’s vampire affairs department. The last two were living off charity.”



“If the first two victims were high profile, why did they come to a place like this? You’ve inferred this is not one of your more up-market blood whore clubs.”



“It isn’t,” Marshall said. “But there are some who do not wish their addiction to be known in the wider vampire community, and so they attend clubs that they would otherwise consider beneath them.”



Vamps like the first two victims might not want their addiction known, but in coming to this particular club, they’d served that information up to Hunter on a silver platter. And I had no doubt that she would use it to her own advantage. “How long has each of the victims been addicted?”



“All five were long-term addictives.”



“Define ‘long-term.’”



“Centuries rather than years.”



That raised my eyebrows. For some reason I’d been thinking blood whores were a modern phenomenon, but I guess it made sense that they’d been around almost as long as vampires. After all, addictions had been alive as long as humanity—it was just the substances that had changed over time.



“Meaning the Rakshasa could be specifically targeting those who have caused the most suffering.”



“It is a possibility.” Her tone suggested it was one they’d already thought of.



“So maybe all you have to do is tell longtime addictives to avoid the club until this thing is either caught or goes away.”



“That,” she said heavily, “is extremely naive thinking.”



“Yeah, well, that’s what you get when you expect a restaurateur to become a hunter.”



Her green eyes flashed again, and Amaya’s hissing suddenly sharpened—one bitch wanting to taste another’s blood.



I shivered again, suddenly realizing I was beginning to understand the static language of my demon sword. That was almost as scary as the four people who stood so elegantly in front of me.



“You are far more than just a restaurateur, Risa, and we both know it. Although your current level of questioning is more than a little disappointing.”



I wasn’t so worried about disappointing her right now—which was probably proof of my insanity—but rather the three silent council members. The tightly coiled energy radiating off them seemed to be getting stronger—even the ghosts were reacting to it. The moaning and wailing had sharpened to a continuous shriek that vibrated through every part of my being. Between it and Amaya, I felt like I was being torn apart by sound.



I took a deep breath and tried to ignore the assault on my senses, tried to think more like Aunt Riley. There had to be some similarities in all five murders besides this room and the manner of their deaths. If there was one thing I’d gleaned over the years from hanging around two guardians, it was the fact that most killings had a particular pattern, even if it wasn’t immediately evident.



“Okay, then, what about the times of their deaths?”



Hunter paused. “All between the hours of two and three. An exact time of death could not be determined due to the extensive damage done to the bodies.”



I frowned. “Does that mean you also have no idea when the inhibitor was introduced via the scratches? Or where it was applied?”



Marshall said, “I checked the security footage. All the victims bore scratches when they left this club, but this is not entirely unusual.”



They had good cameras installed if they could pick up minor scratches. “No, but in this situation, it’s definitely another link. What time did they all leave the club?”



“All five left at different times.”



I frowned. “So had they been here feeding beforehand for very long?”



“Yes,” Marshall said. “As has been noted, they were long-term addictives. Unfortunately, the longer the term, the greater the need.”



That wasn’t unusual when it came to any sort of addiction, but we weren’t talking about an inanimate substance here; we were talking about human life. I couldn’t help asking, “But surely there comes a time when such an addiction becomes too dangerous for both the abuser and the vampire population in general?”



“It does,” Hunter said, her expression impassive yet cold. “And when that happens, it is dealt with appropriately.”



Meaning good-bye addictive. I rubbed my arms. “So what time did they all stop using these rooms?”



“All four were stopped from using the facilities just after one a.m.”



And the hour between midnight and one was witching hour—the hour when all things dark and dangerous came out to play.



“That,” Azriel said softly, “is a possible link.”