“What the fuck has been going on here, Em?” Sam’s voice was low but so thick with anger, it vibrated.

We were standing outside, well apart from both the paramedics rushing the man I’d cindered toward the waiting ambulance, and the woman who was interviewing Jackson. She was PIT, like Sam, but not someone I’d met before—not that I’d met that many of them. Just Rozelle, Sam’s bed partner and a Fae like Jackson, and Adam, the vamp who worked with Sam during nighttime incursions.

I crossed my arms and met Sam’s gaze evenly. The outward calm, however, was little more than bravado. The darkness within him had risen to the surface again. The force of it was so fierce, it swept away any warmth or comfort I might have gained from the morning sunshine, and left my insides trembling. Unfortunately, that part of my reaction wasn’t just fear.

“You know what we were doing here, Sam, because you know who this place belongs to.”

“Yes, but to attack—burn—Radcliffe’s man like that—”

“The bastard attacked me!” I grabbed the collar of my shirt and pulled it away from my neck so that the bruises became more evident. “You saw the size of him—what else was I supposed to do? He had me at the point of unconsciousness. My only way out was to shift.”

His gaze rested on my neck, a dangerous weight I could feel through to my very core. “You could have used a thread of fire to lasso him away or something like that. I know you’re capable of it.”

Knew because he’d seen me do it? I frowned, thinking back to the forest and the gray-cowled stranger who’d ordered the red cloaks to attack us. That figure hadn’t been Sam; I was certain of that—even if he had the same vibrant blue eyes—but I couldn’t escape the notion that there was some sort of connection between them, however tenuous. And then there was the whole “You will be mine” threat that oddly implied we’d met previously.

Of course, it was also possible that that stranger was a cloak Sam had attempted to kill and, in his attempt to seek vengeance, was concentrating on erasing all Sam cared about. Sam had admitted when I’d saved his ass in Brooklyn—the apparent hot spot for red-cloak activity here in Melbourne—that he’d made it something of a personal crusade to kill every one of the bastards. It would certainly explain the gray cloak’s odd fascination with Sam—although if he knew anything at all about Sam, he’d know we were no longer an item, and that my death wasn’t ever likely to affect him. Not in the way the stranger seemed to think it would, anyway.

“And how would you know that?”

“How do you think? PIT has a dossier filled with general information about the abilities of a phoenix.”

The intensity of Sam’s gaze seemed to be growing, and it both repelled and allured. I wasn’t sure why that should be, but it oddly reminded me of the glamor vampires could sometimes place on their victims, making the unwilling willing.

I frowned and briefly looked away. Even so, the weight of his gaze had my knees threatening to buckle. Or maybe that was simply his closeness, and the wash of his scent across my senses, a rich mix of woodsy earthiness and musk.

“You’re right,” I said eventually. “I probably should have. But I was on the verge of unconsciousness, as I said, and instinct took over.”

He made a low sound in the back of his throat, then lifted his gaze and looked past me. The abrupt release from the weight of it actually had me taking half a step to steady myself.

Which was strange—almost as strange as the man himself. But then, Sam had never been normal. His dedication to his job, the fierce way he cared about the people in his life, his sheer love of life combined with his adventurous nature, were part of what had attracted me in the first place. The addition of that dangerous darkness just gave him more of an edge.

As Jackson had noted, the heart really wasn’t a sensible organ.

Sam took a deep breath and released it slowly. “Okay, just tell me why you came here. There wasn’t much more than thoughts on that USB I gave you, and certainly nothing that provided a link between Wilson’s missing research and Radcliffe.”

“Maybe not, but Rosen certainly has links to him.”

His gaze rested on mine again. I rubbed my arms against both the chill that ran across my skin and the desire that stirred in the deeper recesses.

“We’re aware of that.”

“And I’m guessing you released Rosen rather than charge the bastard because you want to uncover who Radcliffe is selling the secrets to.”

He didn’t deny the statement but simply said, “Rosen won’t be selling any more government secrets to either the sindicati or the city pack—not unless they’re ones of our making.”

The werewolves were buying government secrets? I’m not sure why that surprised me, given what Jackson had said earlier about the werewolves working with the sindicati, but for some reason, I’d expected better of them. Which probably just came down to naïveté and a lack of interaction with them on my part.

“Good.” I paused. “Maybe that’s why the sindicati—or, at least, two wolves who claimed they’d been employed by the sindicati—tried to kill him yesterday.”

“What? When?”

“In the afternoon, just after four. I daresay you’re familiar with one of the two goons who took him—Theodore Hunt, the werewolf who almost killed Amanda Wilson.”

“If the sindicati are Radcliffe’s buyer, it makes no sense that they’d want him dead. Our enforced restrictions only apply to government projects, not privately funded ones. Believe me, his company is working on a couple of projects the vamps would love to get their hands on.”

So why didn’t PIT protect those? Was it simply a matter of the other projects’ holding no threat to humanity in general? If that was the case, then what else was Rosen’s company working on? Maybe that was a question we needed to ask Rosen—if we ever found him again, and if PIT’s restrictions didn’t also apply to us.

“Of course,” Sam added, “it could also be someone wanting to implicate the sindicati. Did they give you a name?”

My smile held as little humor as his had earlier. “Morretti.”

“This mess just gets more and more interesting,” he murmured. But before I could ask why, he added, “Where’s Rosen now?”

“We don’t know.”

He frowned. The shadowed darkness that haunted his soul seemed to have retreated a little, but that only increased my awareness of him.

“What do you mean, you don’t know? You rescued him, didn’t you?”

“Yes, and took him somewhere safe. Only trouble is, we left to talk to his son, and he was gone by the time we got back.”

His frown grew. “What the hell has Rosen’s son—” He paused, and I could almost could see the cogs turning. “He was Hamberly’s lover, wasn’t he? Did he see anything?”

“That depends on your definition of ‘see.’ He’s something of a psychic.”

“So he saw the creature coming and ran out on his partner?” Sam’s tone held a thick edge of dislike. “It would seem the son takes after the father.”

“Except that he claims Hamberly was already dead, just as he would have been if he’d stayed.”

“Was he able to give you much information?”

“Not much.” I smiled, and Sam’s pupils widened. While that was generally considered a sign of sexual interest, I wasn’t sure it was one I could rely on here—if only because there was little other indication that he was, in any way, still attracted to me. Certainly not in his expression, which remained ungiving. “Most of it made no sense. He did say the creature had human form—that of a thin, middle-aged woman with dark hair and bloodshot eyes.”

“We’ll talk to him.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I’m surprised you haven’t already.”

His sudden smile held very little humor. “Sometimes even PIT can be behind the eight ball—and we’ve only got indentations on the pillows and a hair removed from the scene to initially go on. Forensic results don’t happen overnight, as much as we might wish otherwise.”

And even forensics couldn’t grab a name out of DNA. The paramedics finally slammed the ambulance doors closed; in a matter of seconds it was gone, racing my victim toward the hospital.

“So why,” he added, “were you here? Don’t make me bring you into PIT again, Em.”

I sighed and pulled my gaze from his once more. And noticed that our drinks and vanilla slices were still sitting on the table where we’d left them. The folk around here were obviously honest.

“Rosen told us that Hunt and his muscular friend had been sent by Radcliffe, not by the sindicati. We were just coming here to clarify whether that was the truth or not.”

“And you didn’t think he’d scarper the minute he saw you on the security cams?”

“We didn’t see them until it was too late.” I shrugged. “We took a chance that the rat didn’t have an escape route. We were wrong.”

He grunted and glanced across to the woman interviewing Jackson. She gave him a slight nod, then said something to Jackson and rose. No handcuffs appeared, and surprise rippled through me. “You’re letting us go? Just like that?”

“Until or unless it can be proven that you didn’t act in self-defense, then yes.” A ghost of a smile—a real smile—touched his lips, and my stupid heart did something of a happy dance. “And we both know how unlikely it is that any of Radcliffe’s men will speak.”

I was counting on it. Granted, we didn’t technically attack first, but we sure as hell did break and enter. “And Morretti? You’re not going to warn us off pursuing him in any way?”

His smile faded, and part of me mourned its loss. The stupid part, obviously. “I don’t have to. Morretti was murdered last night.”

By Scott Baker, perhaps? He’d certainly seemed intent on sending the sindicati a message, but I’d been under the impression he intended to do it via the vampires who’d been waiting for Hunt rather than by killing someone so high up in sindicati ranks. That sort of reaction could spark a war, and I doubted that was what Baker actually wanted. “Who by?”

“And why would you think I’d actually answer that question?”

I squinted up at him. “Because you’re a kind, generous, and very giving soul?”

My attempt at humor was met by an even stonier expression. “That might have been true once, but not anymore.”

I didn’t say anything, because there was little point. What he said was an obvious truth no one could deny—not if they’d had any recent interaction with him.

But even as that thought crossed my mind, I remembered the warmth and caring that had been so obvious between him and Rozelle the one time I’d seen them together. He wasn’t stony to everyone; it was just me, obviously.

I glanced away. “I don’t expect an answer, Sam. I don’t really expect anything. Is that it? Can we go?”

He studied me for several seconds, and it was very much a silent demand to turn and look at him. I didn’t and, after a moment, he said, “Where are you staying, just in case we need to get hold of you?”

“If you need to get hold of me, just ring.”

“Em, don’t be difficult. We know you’re not spending much time at your apartment, and you certainly haven’t been staying at the office since it was raided, so where?”

I crossed my arms and met his gaze again. “So you’re still having me followed?”

He hesitated. “No. But we are keeping tabs on your whereabouts. Given your refusal to stop investigating Baltimore’s murder, it is a logical course of action.”

“Except that we’re working for Rosen, looking for Wilson’s missing research notes. We haven’t even thought about Baltimore recently.”

Which was the truth, as far as it went. But that didn’t mean we wouldn’t change investigation streams if we came across anything relating to Baltimore’s research notes or his murder—although could it really be considered a murder now that he’d risen from the dead either as a vampire or one of the red cloaks?

And Sam obviously knew that. His thin smile held little humor as he said, “Maybe, but unless you want to go back to being followed twenty-four/seven, tell me where you’re staying.”

I blew out a frustrated breath and gave him the address of the hotel.

“Thanks. And remember, if you learn anything else about that creature, we need to know.”

“No problem.”

With that, I turned and walked away. The weight of his gaze pressed against my back, and once again desire stirred deep inside. But I resisted the urge to look back at him and just kept moving. Jackson grabbed the drinks and vanilla slices we’d left on the table, then met me at the car.

“Well, that turned out a whole lot better than I’d expected,” he said. “Any clue as to why they’ve simply let us go, without even a caution?”

“No one died. Seriously,” I added when he raised an eyebrow.

“Fair enough.” He unlocked the car and we climbed in. “But it seems damn odd that we weren’t even given a warning not to pursue Hunt, the sindicati, or even Morretti.”

I took one of the slices he offered me. “That’s because Morretti was murdered last night.”

His gaze snapped to mine. “Who by?”

“Sam didn’t say.”

“Can’t have been Baker. That sort of action would start a war.”

“My thought exactly.” I bit down on the slice and hurriedly shoved a hand under it to catch the thick, gooey custard that oozed out the sides of the puff pastry.

“Maybe it was the sindicati faction that’s seeking to control the whole kit and caboodle.”

“Or someone who was simply pissed off about Morretti’s lack of recent results.” I shrugged. “Either way, we should definitely check out that warehouse in Laverton North.”

“I agree. But I’d wait a day or so, until the hubbub over Morretti’s death dies down a little.”

We finished the slices and the now-cold drinks. Then Jackson started the car, and we headed out.

“Where to next?” I tossed the rubbish into the empty middle console and brushed the pastry crumbs from my clothes.

He pulled Radcliffe’s wallet out of his pocket and handed it to me. “Radcliffe’s driver’s license gives us a home address. I think we should go investigate it.”

“He’s unlikely to go there since he now knows we’re after him.”

“True, but we might just find the elusive Mrs. Radcliffe you’re so certain exists there.”

“Also unlikely.” I retrieved Radcliffe’s driver’s license from the wallet and typed his home address into the GPS. “If he’s denying her existence, she won’t be living at an address so easily checked.”

“Also true.” He shrugged, and we continued on in silence.

Radcliffe lived—somewhat surprisingly—in the rather middle-class suburb of Keilor East. His home turned out to be just as surprising—a standard 1970s redbrick house, which was single story in the front and double at the rear. A large brick patio that looked to have been added on at a later date covered the entrance to the front door, and to the left of the house was a two-car garage. There was little in the way of a front garden, but the lawn had been recently mown. There were no cars in the driveway, and the blinds were all closed.

Jackson stopped in front of the neighboring house and twisted around to look back. “I can’t see any security cameras.”

“Which is decidedly odd if Radcliffe does live here,” I commented, “especially given all the technology at the café.”

“Yeah.” He turned and studied the rest of the street. “What do you think?”

“I think if Radcliffe owns this place, then he’s probably got an escape route ready to go.”

“My thoughts exactly. You take the front; I’ll take the back. Hopefully we’ll catch the rat somewhere in the middle.”

“One of these days, breaking into places is really going to get you into trouble.” My tone was dry as I opened the car door and climbed out.

“Undoubtedly.” His expression was amused and uncaring. “But until it does, I shall continue on my merry way.”

“Is this need to walk the edge of danger a Fae thing, or just an inherent desire of yours?”

“In my case, a bit of both.” He shrugged. “But it does take a little craziness to attempt to restrain the power of the elements in any way, and I have seen more than one Fae consumed by it.”

I nodded. It could happen to us, too, if we held on to the earth mother’s power for too long. Using her always came at the cost of our own strength, but the ultimate payment was death itself, with all that we are, all that we’d experienced, being drawn into her vast bosom. I had no idea if it was possible to be called back to the mother—I’d never actually heard of any phoenix being caught like that. But it was a warning handed down from generation to generation, and there were very few such myths that weren’t at least based on some truth, however tenuous.

Jackson jumped over the small brick fence and headed for the rear yard. I continued on to the driveway and walked across to the front door. It was plain and painted white, but there were cobwebs in the corners of the frame, and the locks were old and not particularly strong looking.

I glanced around to see if anyone appeared to be watching, then stepped back and gave the lock a good kick. It sprung open with little fuss. I darted forward to grab it before it could smash back into the plaster, and I was hit by the scent in the air—it was musty, as if no one had opened a window and let in fresh air for a very long time.

If anyone actually lived here, let alone Radcliffe, I’d give up sex.

I closed the door, then looked around. There were two more doors—one directly in front and the other to my right—while on my left was a long corridor that ran past a staircase and had several other rooms running off it. I went right and found myself in the living room. The carpet was pristine, but the geometric pattern and the brash red and black coloring looked to have leapt straight out of the 1970s. The furniture was similarly dated, with dark wood and heavily patterned fabrics. The room was L-shaped, with a dining area in the other corner. Off this was a kitchen. A couple of recently posted envelopes were on the counter, but both had been opened and were now empty. It did, however, suggest that someone came here fairly regularly, even if only to collect the mail. I continued on and found myself back in the hall.

Jackson appeared out of one of the rooms. “Anything?”

I shook my head. “No sign of either a rat or a rat hole.”

He grimaced. “I’d guess, from the smell of the place, he’s using it for license purposes only.”

I waved a hand at the stairs. “I’ll head up.”

He nodded and walked into the first room past the stairs. I bounded upstairs, the sound of my footsteps muffled by the awful carpet. There were four bedrooms up here as well as a large bathroom, and all of the bedrooms were unfurnished. I checked the wardrobes, just to be sure, but there was nothing except dust and dead spiders to be found.

I walked back down and met Jackson in the hall again.

“Well,” he said when I shook my head, “it was always a long shot.”

“Yes, but he has to live somewhere, and it isn’t underground. That suit he was wearing at Crown was damn expensive, and neither he nor it smelled even vaguely of sewers.”

Jackson pressed a hand against my back, lightly guiding me out. “I’ll contact my source and see what she can come up with.”

“Given the trouble PIT has had pinning him down, it’s unlikely she’ll be able to come up with much.”

He shrugged and slammed the door shut. “Even a few more addresses to check could be helpful.”

And it wasn’t like we had many other options right now, anyway.

“True,” Jackson said, obviously catching my thought as we walked back to the car. “I’m thinking we go back to the hotel and check out not only what is on that USB you have but see what sort of information we can drag from Rosen’s phone.”

“When I was talking to Sam earlier, he said there wasn’t much relating to Wilson or his research on the USB.” I flashed Jackson a smile of thanks as he opened the passenger door for me. “And Rory’s computer hasn’t got any sort of program capable of cracking key codes on it.”

“It soon will. They may have stolen our computers, but they won’t have gained access to the information I store in the cloud.” He slammed the door shut and ran around to the other side of the car, climbing in.

“If you’ve got a program capable of cracking key codes, then surely the sindicati will have something similar to crack passwords.”

“Undoubtedly. But my cloud isn’t any of the regular service providers. A friend of mine runs one of the larger ISP companies here in Australia and has given me space off-grid, so to speak.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You seem to know some very well-placed people.”

He shrugged and pulled out of the parking spot. “Fae tend to live a long time, remember, and that gives us the opportunity to build contacts.”

I shifted in the seat and studied him. “Fae aren’t exactly ‘out’ to the general population, so how do you get around the problem of living longer than humans without their noticing?”

“We move around, like you.” He shrugged again. “And admittedly, most of my friends are Fae, just like me. It’s easier than explaining.”

“I thought Fae were loners by nature?”

“We are, in that we don’t live in one another’s pockets month by month. Hell, I don’t see some of them for years. But if I ever need help, I can call on them and know they’d be there.”

“So this secret police source of yours is another Fae?”

“You,” he said, flashing me a smile, “are entirely too quick at connecting the dots.”

“Which isn’t actually a yes.” My tone was dry. “So, you’ve backed up all the office files on this cloud service?”

“Just active cases and programs I don’t want to lose. My friend is generous, but I haven’t got an infinite amount of space on his system.”

“And will I ever get to meet these friends of yours?”

“Considering you’ve become a fixture in my life, more than likely.”

I smiled. “Being called a ‘fixture’ isn’t exactly a term of endearment.”

“No, but it’s certainly a truth.” His grin flashed. “After all, light fixtures shine brightness on otherwise dark and dreary days, and that’s certainly what’s happened since you cannoned into my life.”

Which was a rather sweet thing to say, even if he’d initially started seeing me in the hope I might be able to help out his investigation into Wilson’s disappearance.

It was close to six by the time we’d returned our rented vehicle and got back to the hotel. We ordered burgers and chips from the room service menu, then booted up Rory’s laptop and shoved the USB into it.

Sam hadn’t been lying—there wasn’t a whole lot of information about either Wilson or his research on it, but there were a lot of observations, in the form of notes, that Amanda Rosen had made about the sindicati and anyone else she happened to meet.

The stuff on the sindicati was enlightening, providing a whole lot of information about them. Apparently, the sindicati, like the mafia, had originated in Sicily, but unlike its human counterpart, the organization was ruled by a council. Unfortunately, there was no information on who was on this council or how they were chosen. The only people who had access to the council were the four generals—one of whom had been Morretti—and it was through them that the council’s wishes and rulings were relayed. It also suggested the reason for the recent split was all about control—Morretti’s faction was considered old-school and out of date in its methods and beliefs, and many younger vampires believed it was time to change. And the leader of that section was one Anthony De Luca.

“Have you heard of him?” I picked up my mug of tea and stared at the screen thoughtfully. Amanda must have been a very strong telepath if she’d picked up this sort of information about the sindicati. As Jackson had said, telepaths didn’t have open access to human minds, but rather they had to have a specific target in mind, and both vampires and werewolves were usually harder to read than humans. That ability was undoubtedly the reason she was still alive: The sindicati—and whoever else had been in the darkened room I’d been taken to after the truck crash—really did have plans for her. But if she’d been working for Morretti, did that mean De Luca now had her? Or had it been someone in Morretti’s own faction—perhaps even the person responsible for his death?

Jackson shook his head. “But that’s no real surprise, considering how little inaction I’ve had with the sindicati. What is surprising is that PIT left all this information on the USB.”

“They obviously checked it. Maybe they just didn’t think we could or would use it.”

Someone knocked on the door. I put my mug down and walked over, checking the peephole before opening the door. A smiling hotel waiter brought our food in, accepted his tip, and then headed out again. I closed and locked the door, my mouth watering as the delicious aroma of hamburgers and fries filled the air.

“And to be perfectly honest, we really can’t use it.” Jackson took the covers off the meals and handed me one of the plates. “It’s handy background information, but it’s very fragmented. We haven’t got either addresses or images to chase down.”

I picked up my burger and bit into it. The meat was thick, juicy, and cooked just right, and I all but groaned in pleasure. Jackson chuckled but got down to the business of demolishing his two. It was only when we’d finished the meal and I had another mug of tea in my hand that I said, “The solution is, of course, to find someone who can connect the dots.”

He leaned back in his chair and contemplated me for a moment. “Someone like Lee Rawlings?”

“Well, he works for hire, and he had no qualms about handing over Morretti as the person who’d wanted me kidnapped—”

“Only if we covered the fee he would otherwise have missed out on,” he cut in.

“And that is the entire point.” I shrugged. “Getting hold of him will be the main problem.”

“Not really,” Jackson said. “He said it was a commission rather than a job.”

I frowned. “There’s a difference?”

“A huge one. Accepting a commission means the job didn’t come through the sindicati themselves, but rather through nonallianced representatives.” He paused to drink some coffee. “It also means Rawlings is not sindicati himself—as evidenced by his being so willing to sell them out.”

“But why would they hire an outside source? They’re the sindicati, for fuck’s sake—surely they have plenty of muscle in their own ranks?”

“Yes, but even the sindicati will have certain actions or situations that they do not want linked back to them. Kidnapping you might have been one such case.”

“If that were true, then they wouldn’t have told Rawlings the job came from them.”

“They may not have. Rawlings could have picked up that information through other means. He’s empathic, remember.”

“Empathy is not telepathy,” I said. “He can’t read minds, just emotions.”

“Yes, but he also appears to be a very old vampire who is working as a bagman and surviving outside the sindicati circle. I’d place bets on his not only being able to uncover a whole lot about a person from just his emotions, but knowing a hell of a lot more about the sindicati than the average thug. He’d have to.”

“All of which is undoubtedly true, but if the sindicati didn’t give him the commission themselves, then who did?”

“The coalition.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You’re telling me a political party put out a contract on me?”

Jackson threw a leftover fry at me. I caught it with a laugh and ate it.

“Not that coalition, idiot. Its official name is the Coalition of Nonhumans, and it’s an independent resource center for vampires and werewolves, funded by member contributions.”

“So, something like a union? And why would such a union come after me?”

“The CNH wouldn’t in and of itself, because that’s not its main brief. Its priority is both the protection of nonhuman rights in the workforce and the promotion of nonhuman-friendly legislation at all government levels. I’m surprised you haven’t heard of it.”

I shrugged. “I’ve no reason to be aware of an organization like that, and I certainly can’t remember its being mentioned on the news recently.”

“The CNH tends to keep itself low key, especially with the rise of the antiwerewolf and vampire squads.”

I frowned. “Wouldn’t the CNH provide those squads with the perfect hunting ground? If vamps and weres are constantly coming and going, it’s virtually a smorgasbord of targets.”

Jackson grimaced. “That actually did happen when the CNH was first set up. It now has twenty-four-hour security installed, and there’s been a law passed that makes it illegal for anyone to loiter outside the building.”

“Obviously the lawmakers weren’t aware of the existence of long-range weapons when they passed that particular ruling,” I said. “It wouldn’t be exactly hard for someone to make a hit from a distance.”

“Again, that has happened, but the assailants were quickly caught.” Jackson’s smile held an edge of grim humor. “PIT has werewolves in its ranks, and they can track scents as well as any hound, believe me. After two particularly well-publicized cases, the rate of more professional hits has dropped to practically zero.”

“Which is just as well. If the hunting squads got too well organized, it’ll result in a war that could only ever end badly for everyone.” I sipped my tea. “So if the CNH’s main brief is nonhuman rights, where does the whole contract angle come in? And why, if we want to get hold of Rawlings, would we go through them?”

“Because some twenty-five years ago, when the CNH was seriously cash strapped due to some poor investments, someone got the idea of establishing a small off-the-records department to handle nonhuman business activities that were not only a little less than legal but that required anonymity. That morphed into the current contracts department. It has no official phone number, so even if you try to contact them via the main switchboard, you won’t get put through. You have to submit job requests via snail mail.”

“That’s a rather old-fashioned means of doing things, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but it’s also virtually untraceable once said mail is destroyed. The CNH is a legit business; the contracts division just happens to be a behind-the-scenes but very profitable sidearm.”

“It can’t be too behind the scenes if you know about it.” I paused and yawned hugely. Although it was barely nine, my lack of sleep over the last couple of nights seemed to be catching up with me. “And if you know about it, PIT surely does.”

“But, as is the case with the sindicati, they can’t prosecute unless they have evidence of a crime, and getting that is difficult. The CNH itself is too handy an organization, and few are willing to rat it out, even if they don’t agree with the activities of the contracts department.”

I was betting PIT didn’t actually need evidence of a crime. If Sam’s actions with the red cloaks were anything to go by, if they suspected wrong doing, they’d go in and stop it, regardless of who or what was involved.

“So, in order to talk to Rawlings, we need to send them a letter, state what we need and what we’re willing to pay, and wait for contact?”

Jackson nodded. “If Rawlings is willing to accept the commission, he’ll contact us. If not, we’ll have to think of something else.”

I yawned again, then waved a hand in apology. “Sorry.”

He grinned. “You’ve no stamina, that’s the problem.”

“No, the problem is that you have far too much of it. Or you did both last night and this morning.”

“Hey, I didn’t hear any complaints at the time.” His gaze swept over me, and his smile faded a little. “You do look tired, though. Why don’t you just head to bed?”

“You’re suggesting I go alone?” I leaned forward and pressed the back of my hand against his forehead. “Are you ill?”

He laughed, caught my hand, and kissed it. “Probably. But I also need to download the key-code program onto the laptop, and it’ll take time to set up. There’s nothing you can do, so might as well catch some Zs.”

“Thank you.” I kissed his cheek and rose. “I’ll feel you later.”

“You will.”

I left him to it. My head had barely hit the pillow when sleep hit, and it was deep and dreamless.

But it didn’t stay that way.

Images began to stir through the shadows of slumber, pulling at my consciousness, waking me and yet not.

The creature was hunting its next victim.

Once again its form constantly changed, but this time the embers of its being didn’t settle on the one shape but rather swirled through them all, as if it were unable to decide which shape was appropriate.

We were in a lane barely wide enough for a car to pass through. It was dark and deserted, and the brick walls of the buildings on either side were lined with street art that gave the immediate area a bright and cheerful feel. But that soon gave way to more regular graffiti and grime as we moved deeper into the lane. The creature’s ever-changing form was ghost quiet, and the night was still. Even the water that trickled from the downpipes and ran down the lane’s center drain made no sound. As before, the dream was hushed. Ungiving.

At the far end of the lane were several green Dumpsters sitting in front of a gray roller door, but the lane itself made a sharp right turn. Once again the creature paused, and its embers condensed enough to form the long snout of the dog I’d seen last time. It sniffed, and its hunger rolled over me, thick with anticipation.

It had found its next victim.

The embers shifted, condensed, until what stood in front of me was an abnormally large black cat. It moved forward, its backward paws making no sound on the wet asphalt. We swept around the corner; on the right-hand side of the lane were more green bins, interspersed between roller doors and building exits. On the left were the clean concrete walls and upper windows of an office building.

For a minute, the darkness failed to reveal what the creature had scented. Then, as the creature paused and its form grew even larger, I saw, huddled in the corner of one of the exits, the bundle of stained rags clutching a bottle sheathed in a brown paper bag.

And, as Denny Rosen Jr. had predicted, he was alive.

I wanted to scream. Wanted to run forward, shake him, and wake him. Wanted to grab the creature and somehow stop the play of events.

Wanted to wake up and not see what was about to happen.

But the dream’s grip was fierce, and it would not release me.

The creature stepped forward and carefully sniffed the stranger. He stirred and mumbled something incoherent, and randomly waved a hand. The creature ducked the feeble blow, then raised a gigantic paw and smacked the man hard across the head. The blow sent him sprawling; his head hit the nearby bin as he went down, and the scent of blood began to taint the air. He didn’t move, but the contents of the bottle he’d clutched so fiercely emptied into the lane and joined the water running down the center drain. In the shadows of this dream, it looked like blood.

The creature raised a paw and slashed the man’s tattered clothing. It peeled away with little resistance, exposing his emaciated body. The creature’s tongue flickered out, lovingly tasting his flesh and marking the spots for its violation. I clenched fists that weren’t real, fists that were aflame and yet held no heat and posed no threat to this thing, helplessly watching as the creature’s needle-fine teeth pierced the stranger’s body above his liver, then his heart, and consumed them both.

While the old guy was undoubtedly now dead, that wasn’t the end—not of the dream or this creature’s atrocities. Because this time, it gutted the stranger and ate his intestines.

And the dream forced me to watch.

Fire burned through me, around me. Dimly, I heard someone calling my name, but the dream went on relentlessly.

The creature finally rose, blood and flesh dripping from its teeth and mouth as it studied the street at the end of the lane. Its body began to shrink, until it was little more than the size of an ordinary house cat. Then, without a backward glance, it padded forward.

I followed and finally saw the clue I so desperately needed—the name of the lane.

The dream snapped and I woke. The fire that had burned through me in the dream burned around me in real time, but it was little more than an orb of fire and smoke that was restricted to my flesh and the bed immediately beneath me. Through the haze of its heat I saw Jackson; his expression was distant, distracted. He was controlling my flames, constraining them to the small bubble of heat that surrounded me.

I took a deep, shuddery breath, then sucked all the heat, all the fire, even the smoke, back inside. As it flushed through my limbs and lit my soul, my gaze met Jackson’s.

“That,” he said grimly, “was one hell of a dream you were having.”

“It wasn’t a dream.” I scrambled out of bed and grabbed my clothes. “The creature’s chosen its next victim. We need to get there and stop it.”

“Finlay Lane runs between Little Lonsdale and Queen streets—it shouldn’t take us that long to get there from here.”

I glanced at him sharply as I shoved my boots on. “You shared the dream?”

“Only bits and pieces, and only once I started trying to control your flames.” He rose and walked back into the living room, grabbing his coat and the car keys before heading for the door. “It seems the presence of fire strengthens our link.”

Another interesting development—but not one I had the time to worry about right now. I picked up my coat and purse and followed him out. It was, according to the clock on the wall, three a.m. It seemed the creature had a liking for the extreme hours of the morning.

Once we’d left the hotel, we ran for the car. I didn’t bother checking whether we were being watched or followed, because right now it didn’t really matter. I had a bad feeling the dream’s warning hadn’t come with a lot of time to spare, so if we wanted to stop this thing, we had to get to that lane. Fast.

As Jackson started the car and blasted out of the parking lot, I pulled out my phone and dialed Sam’s number, leaving him a message with the details and location of the possible murder. And hoped like hell he got there before us—even though I doubted that was even possible. It was the middle of the night, for fuck’s sake, and he was most likely asleep.

Jackson roared through the empty streets, not even bothering to stop for red lights unless forced to by cars coming through the intersection. I bit my lip, hoping against hope that we’d get there in time to save the old guy, even as the deeper, more intuitive part of me said we probably wouldn’t.

Jackson swung onto Queen Street and slammed on the brakes just outside the beautiful old building that housed the Registrar General’s Office. But I didn’t wait for the car to come to a complete halt; I didn’t even wait for Jackson. I just scrambled out and ran across the road to the lane.

And there, feasting on the old man, was the creature.

It looked up as I appeared, and snarled, its bloodied teeth glowing white in the shadow-filled lane even as the rest of it began to disintegrate. I cursed and flung a lasso of fire, trying to ensnare the thing before it totally disappeared.

The stream of flames shot down the lane, turning night into day and momentarily halting the creature’s transformation. It flung itself sideways and scrambled under the nearby Dumpster, embers trailing behind it. I raised a hand and made a sweeping motion. My flames swung around, but even as they did so, the creature’s form became full embers and it bolted—not down the lane or back toward me but up the side of the building.

I swore, but there was no way on this earth I was going to let that thing escape me now. I became full flame and gave chase.

As ash and fire we raced up the side of the building, then over the parapet and onto the rooftop. The creature streaked through the cooling towers and antennas, its form barely visible. I flung another ball of fire and caught the tail end of its embers as it leapt onto the rooftop of the next building. Several cinders spun away from the bulk of the creature’s body, flaring a vivid red before they flamed out and fell lifelessly downward. The creature squealed, the noise a weird mix of cat and dog, but it didn’t stop.

And god, it was fast.

Even in spirit form I was having trouble keeping up with the thing. As we raced through the cooling towers of another rooftop and leapt across a small street, the creature was slowly drawing ahead, becoming more and more difficult to see. If I didn’t do something soon, I’d lose it. I flung more fire, but this time the creature’s embers parted, allowing the flames to pass right through the middle of it before reforming and racing on. I cursed but didn’t recall the fiery orb; instead, I held it ahead of me, close to the creature’s tail in an effort to keep the night at bay and to stop the creature from fully disappearing.

Two more rooftops flew by. Then, on the next one, the creature hit a flock of roosting pigeons. Feathers and birds flew everywhere, creating a cloud of gray and white impossible to see past. Several hit my flames and were instantly cindered, causing even greater panic among the rest of them. I slowed; I had no choice. By the time the birds swept upward, into the night sky, the creature was gone.

I swore again, long and loud, though anyone standing near me would have heard little more than a roar of flame. I became flesh and walked to the edge of the rooftop. Down below, lights twinkled, golden and bright in the night. Several cars passed by, but there was no sign of a cat or a dog or even a bat. And definitely no scent trail—not that any of my forms were all that proficient at following scents.

Maybe the damn thing had taken to the skies in the middle of the surging pigeons, though I couldn’t imagine birds wanting to be anywhere near such a form. The bats here in Melbourne might be fruit bats and no threat to pigeons, but even they’d sense the differences in this particular one.

I blew out a frustrated breath and headed back across the rooftops, only switching to spirit form when necessary. Once I neared the lane that held the old man, I leaned over the parapet to check whether the coast was clear.

It wasn’t. The police were there, blocking the entrance into the lane.

And Sam was also there.

So much for his being asleep.

Jackson was standing near the Queen Street end of the lane, talking to a thin, tall man with blondish hair. It took me a moment to realize it was Adam, the vampire who worked with Sam.

I pulled back. With so many people down in that lane, I couldn’t risk shifting to spirit form; PIT and Sam might know what I was, but I wasn’t about to advertise the fact to anyone else. I walked across to the other side of the building to check the lane’s other exit and, unsurprisingly, discovered it blocked by a police car. The vehicle’s blue and red lights cast an eerie glow across the colorful artwork, as well as on the two cops who stood beside the car, looking bored.

With little other choice, I turned and retraced my steps over the top of the other buildings, searching for somewhere I could get down to ground level without being seen. I was close to Elizabeth Street before I found another suitable lane. I became spirit and flowed down the side of the building, landing lightly and in human form. Only then did I make my way back to Finlay Lane.

Sam was squatting next to the victim, and Adam was farther down the lane, looking upward, but both glanced my way as I appeared. Adam nodded briefly and went back to studying the building—it was the one the creature had fled up—but Sam didn’t even nod. He simply went back to inspecting the body.

I stopped beside Jackson—not only because I had no wish to foul the crime scene any more than I already had but because it was safer for my sanity and heart if I at least tried to keep some distance between me and Sam.

“When did they arrive?” I asked softly.

“About three minutes after you flamed up that building. Which, by the way, looked rather spectacular.”

Sam and Adam had obviously been out on another job and nearby when my call came in. But the question was, why? Vampires might not need to sleep—it was more a habit left over from their time as humans than any real necessity—but Sam was human, and he’d worked the day shift. And while he’d always considered the job more important than his own health, surely even he couldn’t run twenty-four/seven without a toll being taken. “And?”

“They’ve been okay. Polite even.” A wry smile touched Jackson’s lips. “Of course, that could all be because they obviously need our help on this particular case. I expect a return to regular hostility once this thing is caught.”

“Emberly,” Sam said, his voice every bit as soft as ours but carrying clearly across the night. “Come here. Miller, remain where you are.”

I grimaced but obeyed. I stopped when I was still a few feet away from the old man and shoved my hands into my pockets. This close to him, the odd, almost chemical smell that had been on Hamberly was very evident here, as was the scent of blood. The old man hadn’t yet been covered up, and the remains of his intestines spilled over his stomach and onto the road surface, a mix of grayish purple and red that gleamed wetly in the darkness.

I swallowed heavily and briefly looked away. “We were too late to save him. We tried.”

“At least you got close enough to give chase, and that’s more than we’ve been able to achieve.” His gaze was on the dead man rather than me, and there was an odd mix of anger and sympathy in his expression. “The poor bastard was alive when the creature did this, wasn’t he?”

I nodded, even though he was still staring at the old man. “But it knocked him out first. I’m not sure whether it was intentional or not, though, as he made a swipe at the creature when she was sniffing him.”

Sam grunted and finally glanced at me. His face seemed thinner than it had earlier today, and there were deep shadows under his eyes. But that wasn’t so surprising; there were probably shadows under my eyes, too, given the continual lack of sleep. But despite the shadows, the blue of his gaze was luminous in the darkness and oddly reminded me of the night we’d met. It had been in a nightclub rather than a seedy lane, but then, as now, it was this blue glow as much as the warmth and love of life so evident with it that had caught my attention.

Something flickered across his expression—memories, perhaps, of happier times. Then it faded, as did the warmth, and the night seemed somehow harsher.

“Did you uncover anything else about the creature?” His voice was cool and businesslike—not that that was surprising. “Anything that might help us catch it?”

I hesitated. “It’s fast, and it can shape-shift on the run. And even in ember form, it can be hurt by flames—I cindered its tail two roofs over.”

“How did it give you the slip? I would have thought you’d be pretty fast in flame form.”

“I am, but I’m still a spirit, not Superwoman.”

Amusement flared briefly in his eyes, warming them, warming me.

“How did you lose it?”

“The creature flew into a flock of pigeons and used them as cover to escape.”

“Unfortunate.”

“Frustrating, more likely. I was so damn close.”

He grimaced and rose. “Welcome to my world.”

No thanks; not when your world involves red cloaks and dangerous darkness. I crossed my arms and somehow kept the words inside. As Jackson had noted, Sam seemed to be in a rather good mood, and I didn’t want to do or say anything to change that.

“So tell me exactly what you saw in the dream, and what happened when you and Jackson arrived here.”

I did. Once I’d finished, he stepped over the victim and walked over to the Dumpster. “So it went under about here?” He motioned to a point slightly off center.

I nodded. “My flames seemed to have prevented it from fully changing, so it was half cat and half ember. It was only once it hit the darkness under the bin that it fully shifted.”

“Interesting.” He squatted down and studied the ground intently. After a moment, he pulled a glove out of his pocket and carefully picked something up.

“If the creature’s main form is embers, then this might just be a piece of it.” He held up what looked like a large piece of sooty-colored skin.

“Do you think you can get DNA from it?”

“Possibly.” He placed it into a plastic bag and sealed it. “We’ll search the entire area, as well as that rooftop where you flamed it. If we can pin down what we’re looking for, it might make the job of finding it easier.”

“If it’s an Aswang, it also has a human day form. It’s not going to be easy to track.”

His gaze came to mine again. “What makes you think it’s an Aswang?”

“Google.” I half smiled. “It seemed the best fit for what we know of the creature so far.”

“It’s certainly one of the possibilities.” He glanced down at the old guy again, and the wave of anger that rose from him was so fierce, it momentarily snatched my breath. “We will find it, and we will stop it.”

It was softly said, and very much a promise to the dead. I didn’t say anything, just watched him. He might be completely different from the man I’d fallen in love with, but when the darkness within him was being held at bay, I could still see glimmers of who he’d been.

And they just made me wish … I chopped the thought off abruptly. Move on, I told myself fiercely. Just get over it and move on.

Easy to think. Harder to do.

“Do you need me to make a statement or anything?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Not in this particular case.”

I frowned. “Why not?”

“Because the regular cops weren’t called in to investigate.”

“But they’re here now, guarding the lane entrances.”

“And that’s all they’re doing. As I’ve said before, PIT works under very different laws—and it’s not as if the things we hunt were going to get their day in court, anyway.”

Meaning they really were a kill squad. But what was even more chilling was that the government actually deemed them necessary. Were things really that bad, or was it more a case of prevention being better than a cure? Were PIT and its powers a warning to the nonhuman world that there were boundaries beyond which they should not step? That there would be serious consequences for those who did?

“So, we can go?”

He glanced past me for a moment, and then nodded. “We know where to find you if need be.”

“Thanks.” I hesitated, and added in a softer tone, “Good night.”

“Night, Em.”

It was absently said and held little in the way of emotion. His attention had already returned to the body and clue seeking. A wry smile twisted my lips. Why on earth had I expected anything else?

I turned and walked away. This time, I didn’t feel the weight of Sam’s gaze between my shoulder blades. Didn’t feel much at all, really, beyond sadness. Mine, not his.

Jackson fell in step beside me and hooked his arm through mine. It was only once we were on our way back to the hotel that he said, “I didn’t get much information out of Adam. I’m supposing you didn’t do much better with Sam?”

“No.” I rubbed my eyes wearily. “And the trouble is, the creature now knows I’m after it.”

“Just as it’ll be aware that the police and PIT are after it. That hasn’t stopped it from hunting. I doubt tonight will, either.”

“It might be better if it did,” I muttered. “At least it would give us more time to find it before it decides to kill someone else.”

“You keep using this ‘we’ word,” Jackson noted. “Even as you keep denying the desire to go after it.”

“I can’t help that desire—it’s inbuilt. Believe me, I’ve tried so many times over the centuries to ignore the dreams and let fate take its course, but I just can’t.” I shrugged. “But I also can’t chase what can’t be found, so unless I get another dream showing me either this thing’s day form or its den, then it’s PIT’s problem, not ours. Did you load the break program onto the laptop?”

He acknowledged the change of topic with a wry smile. “Yes. It’s working as we speak.”

“How long will it take?”

He shrugged. “Anything from a couple of hours to days or even weeks. It generally depends on the complexity of the numerical code.”

“I can’t imagine a four-digit phone code would be too complex.”

“No. We’ll probably be able to access the information being stored on the phone sometime in the next twenty-four hours.”

I grunted. “In the meantime, maybe we’d better start looking for Rosen.”

“Not tonight, we’re not.” The gaze he cast my way was etched with concern. “You’re pale and drawn, Emberly. You need to sleep.”

“What I need is fire and heat more than sleep.” I was tired, there was no doubting that, but the chase across the rooftop had also depleted my energy stores, and while I was nowhere near exhaustion, I really didn’t want to push myself into that state. Not with everything that was currently going on.

“Then we’ll swing by the furnace and you can top up.” He did an abrupt U-turn and headed back into the city. “I want to grab a couple of things from the office anyway.”

I raised my eyebrows. “You’re not coming in with me?”

“That will only lead to sex, and while I wouldn’t mind, I really think now is not the time.”

“Good god, a Fae backing away from the possibility of sex? You really are sick!”

He chuckled softly. “No, I’m just momentarily being sensible. Don’t expect it to happen too often.”

“I should hope not. I’m not sure I could cope with a sensible partner.”

It didn’t take us long to drive to the office. As before, Jackson parked around the back, out of sight, then stopped the car and handed me the key to the rear roller door.

I climbed out and headed in. The heat emanating from the fire’s coal was a siren’s call that guided me through the darkness. I stopped beside the furnace and reached for it, calling to the heat within the coals. Fire immediately answered, and fingers of flame leapt upward and enveloped my hand. It was a caress that had anticipation shivering through me. I brought the fire to full life and threw my hands and head back, calling it to me. But I didn’t immediately feed, instead allowing the flames to play around me for several minutes, enjoying the fierceness of them, the rush of heat, energy, and pleasure that came with them. Then I sighed and somewhat regretfully drew them deep within.

With my skin still glowing with heat, I banked the fire and headed back to the car.

“Better?” Jackson asked, starting up the vehicle and heading off again once I was belted in.

“Much.” I touched his leg and his muscles jumped, as if stung by fire. “Thank you.”

His smile was wry. “You’re welcome. But if you don’t remove your hand, I’m going to stop the car, rip this seat belt off, and jump you.”

I grinned but did as he bid. “Not only sick, but holding no self-control. Shameful, really.”

“Woman, you have no idea just how much control I’m asserting right now.” Despite his stern tone, amusement danced around his lips. “You’re practically glowing with heat and desire, and that’s something few Fae can resist.”

“Ah. Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Just be prepared for our next lovemaking session to be short and sharp.”

I laughed and glanced at the side window as we swung onto Stanley Street. A few cars were parked in the center strip, but there was little sign of activity. It was too early for any of the other businesses to be open, and the few houses scattered along the street were dark and silent.

Jackson pulled up in front of his building and climbed out. I did the same and headed for the stairs—only to stop abruptly halfway up the steps.

The damn door was open again.

Jackson did a quick sideways step to avoid cannoning into me. “What’s wrong?”

I didn’t answer, just motioned to the door. He swore softly, then moved around me and cautiously pushed the door open …

To reveal Rosen, his throat cut and splayed out like a sacrifice, lying in the middle of the floor.