again, despite the spell on his back. She nodded. 'I'll meet you back at the house later.'
He stepped away, then stopped again, reaching out to brush a thumb across her mouth. 'Be careful.'
'I will.'
He wrapped the shadows around his body, disappearing from normal sight, but not her enhanced sight.
He was a whitish blur that ran quickly towards the tunnel and disappeared.
She bent to retrieve her knife. The blade was nicked, the end broken. Even so, it was a useful enough weapon against a vampire or shapeshifter. She shoved it back into its sheath, walked around the star and headed for the tunnel.
And tried to ignore the weight of the earth pressing down on her as she made her way back to the entrance.
When the beams of sunlight began filtering through the darkness ahead, she gave a huge sigh of relief.
She wiped the sweat from her eyes and tried to convince herself her reaction was due to the clingy atmosphere in the tunnels rather than fear itself.
She'd been in tunnels in San Francisco and hadn't felt like this. Nor had she when she and Michael had traveled to Jackson Hole and confronted the dead and his past. But those tunnels hadn't really reminded her of the tunnel that had trapped her. This one did.
She leapt up, grabbed either side of the opening, and hauled herself up, wriggling and cursing and wishing her butt was a little less heavy.
When she finally reached the surface, she collapsed in an ungainly, sweating heap, trying to catch her breath and wondering why her muscles were aching so much when she was supposedly so fit.
'That has to be the most inelegant exit I've ever seen,' a voice said dryly.
She bit back the urge to curse and looked around. Kinnard was sitting on the steps of the dead ranger's house, idly twirling a long reed of grass in his hand.
'What are you up to, Kinnard?' she snapped, hauling herself into a sitting position before dusting off her hands.
Kinnard's gaze slithered up her exposed legs. She snapped her skirt down, and he grinned.
'Just waiting for you to come up for air, girlie.'
'Were you down in that darkness, spying again?'
'Maybe I was. Maybe I wasn't.' He flicked the blade of grass away and stood. 'That vampire of yours won't be able to fight the creatures waiting at other sacrifice sites alone, you know.'
She raised an eyebrow. 'And just how do you know we found the sacrifice site?'
'Half the town heard the explosion. I'm surprised you and the vamp weren't more seriously hurt.'
'We run fast.'
'You must. Just be warned—the next time, it could be deadly.'
She rose to her feet. 'Or so you would like me to believe.'
'Oh, I didn't mean deadly to you, girlie.'
'Then what did you mean?'
His gaze slid to the town. She grabbed his arm, wrapping her fingers around his cold, almost slimy, flesh and called to the fire deep within. Flames responded, leaping from fingertip to fingertip, touching, but not really burning, his skin. Kinnard's eyes widened in surprise and, perhaps, a touch of fear.
'You hurt any more of those people down in that town,' she said, keeping her voice flat, 'and I'll hunt you down and burn you to cinders.'
He jerked his arm free and stepped back. His flesh was white were she'd touched, her fingerprints seemingly burned into his arms.
'You try that, and your vampire lover dies.'
'I don't think your master is going to be too impressed if you kill one of the two vital elements he needs to bring his brother back to life.'
Kinnard snarled at her. It was her turn to grin. 'Yeah, I figured it out. I may be blonde, but I ain't dumb.'
'Aren't you?' He snorted softly. 'Then why are you here, rather than finding the man who will die in an hour's time?'
She stared at him, her heart racing. No one else was supposed to be killed. Dunleavy had only set that task to keep her occupied—hadn't he?
Yet, Seline had warned five would die. Surely though, the sacrifices would be in that number. Unless, of course, Emmett Dunleavy had killed more people than Seline was aware of. But if that were the case, how did Weylin know? He'd been nowhere near Hartwood when his had brother died.
Or had he?
Realizing Kinnard was waiting for a reply, she said, 'Dunleavy's changing the rules already? We must be closer than I thought.'
Kinnard hawked and spat. She shifted her foot, and the glob landed in the dust near her toes.
'It's Dunleavy's game you're playing. He can do what he wants.'
'Not for much longer.'
The old man merely grinned. 'You wanna bet, girlie?'
'Not with a lecher like you.'
'And not when you know the odds are on our side.'
She stepped back. She wasn't about to get into a war of words with this man—not when she had a feeling that's exactly what he intended. 'Remember what I said, Kinnard. You kill someone else, and you burn.'
She turned and walked away, but his gaze followed her down the slope—piercing her spine and sending chills racing across her skin.
And yet, when she looked over her shoulder, Kinnard was gone. His stare had been imagination, nothing more.
Hadn't it?
Somehow, she suspected not. He was still watching her, even if she could no longer see him. The foul caress of his gaze still burned deep.
She turned a corner and, finally, the sense of him watching disappeared. She blew out a relieved breath and let her gaze roam across the old buildings crowding the main street. It was extremely quiet. Either everyone had finally passed out from all the booze they'd consumed over the last few days, or Dunleavy had decided it was better to keep them docile and conserve his strength in the process.
Her gaze went to the two-story building at the end of the street. Though the day was still reasonably bright, the whorehouse's roof seemed oddly locked in mist. It was as if the clouds that raced the threat of rain towards them had paused for breath over that particular building. Even from where she stood, she could feel the tremble of electricity in the air.
Another chill raced through her. Something was happening up there, something she really didn't want to discover.
But what choice did she have?
She scanned the remaining buildings, sensing no life in any of them. Not that she really would. Her talent had never been sensing life, but rather un life. Even before Michael had turned her world inside out, she'd been able to sense other creatures—even if she hadn't been fully aware of it. The circle around this town had shut down that ability, but if she and Michael shut down at least one other sacrifice site, would the rest of her abilities start to seep back?
She suspected they might. She also suspected Dunleavy would try to ensure they didn't shut down any more of his sites. He had to know Camille and a dozen other circle operatives were waiting outside the barrier, waiting for the chance to get in and hunt him down.
So how did he plan to escape?
Another tunnel, perhaps?
Her gaze hit the whorehouse again, and after a moment's hesitation, she walked toward the old building.
The buzz of electricity got stronger, crawling across her skin like biting ants. The closer she got, the more
