Darkness Hunts(36)

It was also a room protected by magic. It caressed my skin, a touch that was warm and yet filled with power. It wasn’t as strong or as ancient as the force that protected the Brindle, but it wasn’t something anyone sane would want to mess around with.

Although I’d hazard a guess that our no-face killer didn’t exactly fall into the sane category.

“Okay,” Rhoan said, as he came into the room after me. “Strip off that dress.”

I did as I was bid, suddenly glad that I’d had the foresight to tuck clean underclothing into my purse before I’d met Lucian. Rhoan carefully stuck seven sensors on me—one at the base of my spine, then the others at the top of my head, middle of my forehead, my throat, near my heart, solar plexus, then the final one below my belly button. The chakra points, I realized. They were monitoring my energy flow, not my vital signs. I glanced around to Elga.

“We need to detect incoming energies.” She waved a hand to the bed.

I walked over and lay down. “And if you do detect them?”

“Then we will recall your astral body instantly.” She hesitated. “It shouldn’t be a problem, as this room is well protected. But it’s better to be safe than sorry when we have no idea what—or who—we are dealing with.”

With that, I could only agree.

“Now,” she continued, “do you remember the process?”

“Yes, but I prefer it to be dark.”

The lights went off instantly. Though it was pitch-black, Azriel’s eyes seemed to glow, blue stars in a world that was otherwise black. He didn’t say anything, didn’t do anything, and yet, strength surged. He was here, and I was safe.

But on the astral plane it was a different matter entirely.

I closed my eyes and concentrated on my breathing, waiting until the sense of peace enveloped me. Then I imagined that cord hanging above me, and reached for it. This time, pulling free seemed faster and easier.

I didn’t hang about, simply imagined the dark and grimy warehouse area where I’d first confronted the no-face stranger, and suddenly I was there.

The first person I saw wasn’t our faceless killer but my Cazador follower.

Fancy meeting you here, I said, my voice dry.

He bowed slightly, amusement creasing the corners of his brown eyes. You sound about as pleased to be here as I am.

It’s more accurate to say I’m less than pleased about my reasons for being here. A soft vibration began to stir the air, a sensation that crawled across my skin and made me shiver. I rubbed imaginary arms and added, I gather you’re still on a watching brief?

Yes. His gaze swept me critically, one warrior sizing up another. Not that I’d ever be half the warrior Aunt Riley was, let alone go up against someone like him. But your energy levels do not seem up to scratch right now, so I will step in if he threatens harm.

I frowned. Why?

Because Hunter would not be pleased if you were in any way hurt during this.

Yeah, because then I wouldn’t be able to do her dirty work. The unpleasant vibration was getting stronger, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I turned and scanned the shadowy environs, glad that at least on the fields you couldn’t actually smell anything. With the heat of the last few days, the rubbish and putrid-looking puddles would have been close to rank.

The sensations rolling across my skin seemed to reach a peak. Once again both the Dušan and the charm at my neck reacted, the latter burning so fiercely it cast the figure of the man who suddenly appeared into stark relief.

Fear stirred briefly. There was something very wrong with this man. Yet he wasn’t evil. Just wrong.

I resisted the urge to retreat and studied him as intently as he seemed to be studying me. He still had no facial features, but lank hair that seemed to merge with the shadows around us covered half his brow, and he was dressed casually in faded jeans and an Adidas sweater. For some reason, that struck me as odd. I hadn’t noticed his hair last time, let alone his clothes, and I suddenly wondered why I was doing so now.

Was it deliberate on his part? Because he certainly didn’t look comfortable in them.

You came. His voice, as before, held little in the way of emotion, and yet I had an odd sense of amusement.

For the second time that day, I said, It’s not like I had any other choice.

No, it is not. You, huntress, are the type determined to save. It is your failing.

Perhaps. The air continued to roll away from him, washing his darkness across me in fetid waves. I resisted the urge to step back, sensing I couldn’t afford to show any form of weakness to this man.

If a man he was.

Right now, I wasn’t so sure.

If I am the type to save, then what is your type? Because it wasn’t me hunting on these fields, stranger.