Deathtrap (Crossbreed Series Book 3)(6)
“That’s sick. Wouldn’t the baby die?”
“We’re Breed. Our children are stronger than humans. They steal the baby from the womb so that no one can identify the child, not having seen nor touched it. No Chitah will have imprinted their smell, no Sensor will know their touch, and no doctor or father will recognize a birthmark or face.”
I slid my jaw to the side. “Maybe I was hunting down the wrong people all these years. Had I known that kind of thing was going on, I would have targeted those assholes instead. What could they want with a Chitah baby? Or a Shifter? Do they only sell them to couples? Do these parents realize that they’re indirectly responsible for a mother’s death?”
Claude put his arm around me—not to offer me comfort, but because it was too cold to do anything else but huddle. “The children are collected and sold regardless of who wants them, and most people bidding are not loving couples. Lucky is the child who is sold to real parents. Chitahs are excellent trackers; train them right and they’ll grow up to become obedient killers. There’s a dark side to our world, Raven. Even darker than you can imagine. Immortality breeds the most evil men imaginable.”
The sky took on a deep sapphire hue as the day came to an end. The orange glow from a streetlamp illuminated the snowflakes, which were falling at an angle.
“A Mage did it,” I said.
“How do you know?”
“Well, she’s obviously not a Mage since they can’t have babies. And back in the salon, I felt a strong flare of energy—the kind that happens during a fight when there’s a lot of adrenaline going. Some guys don’t know how to level down when they get excited. Gem felt it too.”
He rubbed his nose. “The smell of fear burns,” he said absently. “It seems to permeate through walls. The female doesn’t have the characteristics of a Chitah,” Claude offered. “I’ll ask the cleaners to give us her identity after they search the vehicle. Wyatt can run a check on her name to see what turns up.”
“Did you pick up another scent?”
He nodded. “Didn’t matter. She was my priority.”
I turned around and looked at the car. “You know what’s bugging me? The doors were locked and the windows unbroken.”
Claude frowned.
“No sign of a struggle,” I pointed out. “Why does a woman, who’s living in her vehicle with her baby, open the door for someone? She wouldn’t have been sitting in her car with the doors unlocked.”
Claude pushed off the car and strode around to the driver’s side, his eyes downcast and scanning the ground. “She knew him.”
“He got away fast. Maybe his energy spiked when he was driving off.”
“This is the Breed district,” Claude reminded me. “People who commit murders don’t tarry.”
I kicked the tire. Had I not snoozed in the chair with a towel on my face, would I have gotten bored and walked around outside? Would I have been close enough to help her in time? It must have happened fast.
Claude briefly stuck his nose inside the car, and when he reappeared, his mouth was open, his eyes hooded. “Stay here.”
“Wait, where the hell are you going?”
“Hunting.”
In a flash, he took off, leaving me alone with a dead body and no jacket.
Chapter 4
Later that evening, after the cleaners had shown up and taken our statements, I headed out on foot. Claude had returned after searching the streets in vain for the killer, his shoes and pants soaking wet. Apparently it was much harder to run at Chitah speed in snow and ice to catch up with a moving vehicle. Everyone at Keystone was probably sitting around, waiting for me to show up and cook dinner, so I used my phone to order them a pizza. After seeing a dead woman, I didn’t feel like going home, and I sure as hell didn’t feel like cooking a meal for nine people.
After a long walk, I wound up in a club called Nine Circles of Hell, also known as Club Nine. They had nine specialty drinks, each representing a circle of hell. Skilled Sensors, who were also mixologists, spiked the drinks with just enough emotional flavor to make the drink worth every penny. Treachery was green, wrath red, limbo yellow, lust violet, gluttony orange, greed pink, heresy blue, violence turquoise, and fraud chartreuse.
I was currently enjoying a glass of wrath. “Can I have another?”
The bartender—a sketchy-looking man named Hooper with three lip rings and designs shaved on each side of his head—placed his palms on the bar and forced a smile. “One specialty drink per person. Otherwise, this place would be hell for real.”
“Tequila.”
While Hooper set a shot glass in front of me and filled it to the brim, I scanned my text messages. The only one I’d received was a Vampire emoji from Christian. Viktor didn’t keep us on a tight leash, and we were free to come and go as we pleased. Getting out was good for my sanity, and even though Breed clubs had never been my scene, I was learning to appreciate the company of my own kind. Maybe it had something to do with not being the scavenger anymore, not fearing someone would turn me over to the law. Now I had protection, and that offered me more freedom than I’d once had.
I caught my reflection in the mirror. Claude’s trendy cut was hardly noticeable amid the tousled clumps of wet hair, thanks to my standing in the snow without a hat.
Instead of knocking back the tequila, I sipped it.
“Nice hair,” a man said.
I glanced to my left, and recognition sparked my memory. “You’re the guy from the salon. No pink tips, huh?” The roots of his hair were dark, but a good chunk of it was bleached white and styled in every direction like an anime character. If it weren’t for his alternative hairstyle, his faded jeans and button-up shirt were so ordinary that he could have easily blended into a crowd.
“Is this seat taken?”
I closed my eyes and smiled.
“I know. It’s cliché.” He set down his glass and made himself comfortable.
I nodded at his specialty drink. “Which one is that? I keep forgetting all the colors.”
He lifted the green glass to his lips. “Treachery.” Then his eyes flicked down to my tequila.
I raised it up. “Apparently I’ve hit my limit on wrath.”
“All in good fun. This isn’t my usual, but then I thought, what the hell.”
I knocked back the rest of my tequila and stared absently at the bottles behind the bar.
The man beside me bit his thumbnail, and I could see in the mirror that he was watching me.
I glared at him. “What?”
“Can I have your number?”
“No.”
He turned his head and looked at me in the mirror. “I didn’t think it would be that easy. Just thought I’d ask.”
“You don’t even know me. I could be your worst nightmare.”
“We’re each our own worst nightmares.”
“I’ll drink to that.”
“How is it you don’t have a boyfriend?” He chuckled warmly and lifted his glass. “Just a hunch.”
“I guess I’m lucky,” I quipped.
“Ah. A spinster at twenty-five. Such a tragic tale. Maybe you should give me your number after all. I’d like to buy you a cat.”
I snorted, still talking to him through the reflection in the mirror. “Why? So when I slip in the bathroom and hit my head, he can nibble on my remains?”
“At least he’ll be well-fed.”
“What makes you think I’m twenty-five?”
When he shifted to face me directly, I felt more comfortable looking into his hazel eyes than through a mirror. They were inquisitive and friendly, and his dark eyebrows sloped down in the middle just enough that it made it look like he was concentrating. “I’m an excellent guesser. When you’ve been around as long as I have, it comes naturally. By your manner of speech, I’m going to guess you’re newly made, but you’re more seasoned than most.”
“You’re assuming I’m a Mage?”
He propped his elbow on the bar and played with the ear stud in his left lobe. “Chitahs and Vampires are automatically ruled out. You mentioned having a boss, so that means you’re not likely a Relic since they work with partners and don’t waste time at social events, like the dinner you mentioned back at the salon. Most Sensors are self-employed traders. You could be a Shifter, or maybe something else.”
“What else is there?”
He winked. “Lots of things.”
Two women grinding against each other caught my attention. Their eyes scanned the bar, and it was clear they were searching for a third party to join in on the action. I was dressed down, and my body language wasn’t inviting anyone over to play. So why was this guy wasting his time with me?
“You should go talk to them,” I suggested.
He turned all the way around to admire the women, his elbows resting on the bar. “Eh. Same tits, different night. I never thought I’d be so sick of looking at tits.”
“Maybe women aren’t your thing.”
“Maybe flagrant misuse of sexuality and wielding it like a toy isn’t my thing. We’re immortals, and look what we’ve become. Could you ever have imagined that men who have been around since before the Roman Empire would be doing this with their time?”