Darkness Hunts(97)

Oh please, don’t let it be worse.

I took another deep breath that did nothing to ease the queasiness threatening to overwhelm me, then said, “So what do you want?”

“Why, dear huntress, you, of course.”

I closed my eyes. Even though I’d expected the answer, the thought of willingly walking into this man’s trap horrified me. “Why? I’m not one of your so-called aberrations you’re destined to destroy. Why hunt me, when your calling gives you so many other options?”

“Good question.” There was an edge in his voice that spoke of amusement. This bastard was sick. Sick, sick, sick . . . I thrust the mental chant away. That way lies madness. He continued. “The simple answer is boredom. That is why I originally started playing my game with the Directorate. In a life as long as mine, a challenge is sometimes needed.”

“You’re killing these women because you’re bored?”

He sighed. “Huntress, that is not what I said. I kill the women because that is my calling. I taunt the Directorate because it is fun.”

He was definitely a fruitcake. He had to be, because taunting the Directorate was stupid and dangerous.

“So where do I come into the picture?” I knew where well enough. I’d defied him on the fields, threatened him, marked him. For someone who obviously considered himself beyond the Directorate’s reach, that had to be galling.

“You intrigued me, huntress. You, and the one who guards you both. I have not come across your likes before.”

A chill ran through me. How the hell could he know about Azriel? “I’m not sure what you mean—”

He tsked. “Come, huntress, let’s not play this particular game.”

I swallowed heavily. If he knew about Azriel, then he probably also knew how to stop him. My reaper might not be of this place, but he could be blocked and killed here. That might be in this madman’s plan. After all, what bigger buzz could there be for someone as sick as Taylor than killing a celestial guide?

God, this situation was getting worse and worse.

“How do you know about him? Few can see him.”

“He did do a good job of concealing himself, but the astral plane is my world, not his, and there are few there who can hide themselves from me.”

Markel. He was talking about Markel, not Azriel. Thank god.

“What does it matter who I have following me around? This is between you and me.”

“Oh, the end battle will be, for sure, but that does not dampen my wish to see just what your guardian can do.”

Markel couldn’t do half of what Azriel could, but that didn’t make him any less dangerous. Not that Markel would actually be getting involved—not unless it was absolutely necessary. Especially when Azriel could project any human form he desired.

“So,” I said in a flat voice, “you wish to challenge us. How do you plan to do that this time?”

“Oh, the game hasn’t changed; the stakes are just a little higher.”

The stakes being Rhoan’s life. I closed my eyes again and tried to control the rush of panic. I could do this. I had to do this.

“Just tell me what you want me to do.”

“This time it is easy. I give you an address; you and your guardian go to it.”

“And?” I asked, when he didn’t go on.

“Inside, you will find Rhoan Jenson. You will lie down beside him and take astral form. From that point on, you and I will begin a battle from which only one will return.”

It was too simple, too easy. For a man who claimed to love his games, there had to be more than this. My grip on the phone had become so tight my hand was beginning to ache. I flipped it over to my left hand, then flexed my fingers. It helped with the ache, but not the overall tension.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“I’m shocked that you don’t trust me, huntress.”

I very much doubted it. “If that’s all you want me to do, why do you want my guardian along?”

“Well, there are one or two things I forgot to mention.” His voice was still jovial, but this time it held a darker edge that had horror crawling down my spine. “The first being the fact that your uncle has been injected with hemlock. So far, it has done little more than rob him of speech and movement. However, the suppression of movement will soon spread to his respiratory function, and death will result.”

Oh fuck, oh fuck. I gulped down air and tried to keep calm. But my heart was racing and there was sweat dribbling down my spine and all I wanted to do was run into the bathroom and throw up. Only sheer force of will—and fear of what might happen to Rhoan—kept me on the spot and on the phone. “That still doesn’t tell me why you want my guardian there.”