“We’ll do our best.” Sasha held the distressed monarch’s gaze and then she looked away. It was time to get out of here. But she had to show Sir Rodney what she had found. Extracting the card from her wallet, she held it out to him. “She was a blood donor for the Vampires… Were you aware of that?”
Sir Rodney straightened and snatched the card from Sasha and then flung it down on Ethan’s desk. “I knew she’d danced for them once or twice, but I d’not know she was a damned donor.”
Sasha glanced at Hunter. Sir Rodney’s Fae brogue had become thick, his rage allowing his dialect to surface as swiftly as the color that had risen to his face.
“In that case,” Hunter said evenly, “we’ll approach the death as highly suspicious.”
“It
Sir Rodney’s voice had escalated on every word. Sasha gave Hunter a look to allow her to speak in a more calming female voice to the upset monarch. Hunter inclined his head slightly, agreeing without words.
“It was female and feral, but none like we’ve ever encountered in this region. That’s two potential leads… the only clan of local Weres we know of that has any feral females is the old Buchanan clan. This card,” she said, walking over to the desk to pick it up and stash it back in her pocket, “means, of course, we have to stop by the baron’s establishment just to rattle his cage for grins.” Oh, yeah, she and Vampire Baron Geoff Montague had history, the rat bastard.
“If you need anything-men, artillery, whatever you require, say it, and it is done.”
“Thank you, Sir Rodney… we’ll be sure to do that. But first we need to do the groundwork before we go to war.”
Hunter held his gaze. “We want to be sure to seek redress from the right culprit.”
“Yes, yes, you’re right,” Sir Rodney said, blotting the sweat from his brow. “Just keep me advised.”
“We will,” Sasha said, glancing at the air conditioner’s thermostat. She felt like she was burning up, yet it was only on sixty-seven degrees and blowing full blast.
A trickle of sweat ran down Sasha’s neck and almost made her jump out of her skin. The cellar with a body in it was giving her the heebie-jeebies. For reasons she couldn’t explain if her life depended on it, her senses were more than keen-there was a level of skittishness haunting her now that was normally not a part of her makeup as a soldier.
Hunter caught her start, his gaze steady but questioning. There was also something too tense in it that she wasn’t ready to cope with right now.
Regaining her concentration, Sasha sought Sir Rodney’s sad expression as a focal point. “If someone was chasing her, there would have been Phoenix plumes all around, and it doesn’t look like there was a struggle. No crates are crushed, the shelves are intact, there are no scuff marks on the floor or evidence of an accelerant, if someone came in and set her on fire or anything. No sulfur residue, so I’m not so sure it was a Vamp attack… a Black Death charge leaves a really distinctive odor. But having a card from their club means something-I can feel it.”
Charred remains still stung her nose, even though they were well away from the immediate site, and the general-regulation damp cellar scent added to it, making Sasha slightly queasy. But there was nothing abnormal for her to latch on to… except a feral animal odor that she couldn’t define-and blood. She looked at Hunter for a moment, frustrated by the lack of evidence. “If it was wolves that went after her, well… they generally don’t go in for barbecuing their victims first.”
As soon as she’d said it, she regretted the last part of her statement when Sir Rodney blanched and looked away. “I’m sorry, you know what I mean. Wolves eat raw, the attack is immediate, and Desidera’s remains weren’t disturbed as though a wolf had gone after her and left her dismembered before she flamed.”
“It’s all right,” Sir Rodney said, turning away. “I know you’re just trying to make sense of this the best way you can… and your assessment matches mine. That’s why I just don’t understand how something like this could happen. She wasn’t suicidal. She was happy!”
Sir Rodney’s gaze was fixed on a point on the wall and he slowly nodded. “Save for her unusually nervous behavior tonight, she was happy.” He briefly closed his eyes again as he released a long sigh. “The damnable part of this is, it all happened in a crowded establishment. There could have been hidden Vampires here, sorcerers, witches-covens even, Werewolves from the outlawed Louisiana Buchanan clan. How would we even know where to begin? But she got on with everyone… didn’t have an enemy in sight.”
Sasha and Hunter exchanged a glance.
“Before you arrived, we searched the entire cellar, even turning over dusty bottles and looking within and beneath every crate down there,” Sir Rodney said, his voice tight with emotion as he pushed off the banister. “There’s nothing there but her remains. As you said, no sign of a struggle, no Vampire sulfur residue, and no evidence of a Werewolf attack. It makes no sense.”
“That’s just the thing,” the bodyguard said, his gaze traveling to each face before him, “Ethan McGregor told us that his girls have no reason to be down there. His bartender might go for a restock of private label-should they have Vampire guests… but ever since that disastrous row with them a few months ago, they wouldn’t put out a shilling much less pay US currency to support his establishment. McGregor claimed that he hadn’t had to break a blood-tainted case of Marsecco in months. So, if milady ventured down here, for what reason could it have been?”
“Rest assured, man,” Sir Rodney said, glaring at his best man before returning his angry gaze to Sasha and Hunter, “this was no accident, nor is it contagion, and it has nothing to do with her wanting privacy to flame. Someone was responsible and I want that person found!”
Sasha reached into her back pocket and held out her notebook to Sir Rodney, flipping to the page that she’d sketched the symbol on. “No offense… but you knew her body nude, I’m assuming. Did she have this mark on her before she died?”
Sir Rodney snatched the book and quickly handed it back to Sasha. “No!”
“What is it?” Sasha said in a soft voice as Sir Rodney turned away.
“Sorcery at its worst.”
CHAPTER 2
Hunter pulled the jeep into the driveway and cut the ignition. As expected, all the lights were off in Penelope’s small trailer, but the outside light at the front door drew a flutter of moths. Sasha dabbed her temples and neck. Sticky June humidity made her clothes cling and a visible line of moisture was beginning to form on her tank top around her gun harness.
But the moment they got out of the car, both she and Hunter froze. The scent of charred flesh hung in the air as though an afterthought. Hunter approached a front window and forced it up an inch as Sasha covered him. He didn’t need to nod to tell her that her sense had been right; it smelled just like the crime scene they’d just left.
“Shit.” Hunter’s gaze narrowed as he headed for the front door with Sasha on his heels.
He opened the screen door and then pushed the front door open with ease. Sasha gave him a look; it wasn’t locked. The air conditioner was on full blast, circulating the putrid air within Penelope’s trailer. It was the same. Charred Phoenix mixed with something feral. But this time, no blood. Sasha’s wolf senses were keen in the darkness. She could see Hunter’s deep amber irises glow as he stalked through the small living space, and then suddenly, he stopped.
Sasha lowered her weapon for a moment as she looked down at the body at her feet. What did these two women do that got them murdered? Her mind was on fire and her grip tightened on the semiautomatic. If whatever did this was still here, she had a full clip of silver slugs for it.
“Stay with the body,” Hunter said in a low rumble, casing the rest of the trailer.
When he returned and clicked on the living room light, Sasha stooped down to fully examine the remains.
“Just like the other one,” Sasha said, standing after a moment to look around the cozy, well-kept trailer.
