Electric Storm(55)

She ignored his question. Keeping her eyes closed, she allowed the world to drop away. When only her mind and the chaos within surrounded her, she reached out for the current that always swarmed through her. She’d thought she’d wanted to be normal. Now, without the current, she felt vulnerable and exposed and only half a person.

The same ball of energy rested at her core, but wrapped around it was a dark shadow that blocked anything from escaping. When she probed the foggy layer, a deep cold slithered through her, stealing an inch of her heat at a time.

The shape moved, and Raven sensed she was under observation. The creature felt alien and wrong. She froze, unwilling to draw more attention to herself. The thing evidently found her lacking and curled up on itself, going back to its slumber.

Heart pounding in her ears, she scrambled for answers.

It was trying to stay warm.

She didn’t know where the idea came from, but once formed, she knew it was true. When she would’ve backed out, she saw another shape in the shadows. Then another.

Something warm and furry brushed against her mind. Her chest hurt at the contact. Understanding slammed into her and a rush of air escaped her lungs. Something was making her various animals manifest themselves.

Her eyes snapped open, and she gasped to see Taggert crouched inches from her face. The concern and pure fear she saw didn’t reassure her.

“We need to get you home.” The tremble in his usually placid voice raised her hackles.

“What did you see?”

Taggert stood, turned away and shook his head. “We need to go.”

Before she could demand more information, he walked back toward the crime scene. She saw him talk to Scotts, purposely keeping his back to her so she couldn’t read his lips. The way Scotts spun to watch her turned her displeasure to anger.

She picked up her gloves and pushed to her feet. She staggered, then gained her footing and thought better of stalking over there. Instead, she slammed the door. It felt good, but it didn’t ease her anger. It curled around her, demanding retaliation. Each minute that passed, her rage grew.

She embraced the change. Anything was better than feeling weak. She couldn’t allow herself to be helpless. Business was scheduled for tonight. A tour of Bloodhouses, local clubs marked by red doors that catered to vampire clientele and their blood donors. She clenched her hands into fists, relishing the prospect of a fight.

Though some clubs followed the rave circuit to avoid being targeted by vigilantes, the Bloodhouses were created with the safety of both parties in mind. Everyone walking in with a tag was free game for the vampires and couldn’t cry foul.

She gazed at Taggert and Scotts. They must have recognized something in her look for they both took off running toward her. She snagged the door handle. The temptation to leave wrapped around her, but some part of her mind recognized that her actions weren’t rational.

The need to hunt swelled. She opened the door and slipped behind the wheel, tossing her gloves in the passenger seat. Scotts waved, yelling something, but it was the determination on Taggert’s face that made a thrill go through her. The engine turned over, and she slipped the car in gear, eager for the chase. Excitement had a mischievous smile tilting her lips.

Jackson would understand. She wished he was here.

Warmth brushed against her mind, and a sliver of reason battled against the urge to slam on the gas. She peeled her fingers off the wheel, and curled them into fists, relishing the pain as her short nails dug into her palm and drew blood.

The door ripped open. It was too late to change her mind now. An angry howl ripped through her mind. She leaned back against the seat, her whole body shaking. She shoved the car in park and turned off the engine. “We should go home.”

They ended up in Scotts’ car. It shouldn’t have surprised her, but Taggert didn’t have a valid license. Apparently very few slaves were granted the privilege. And the darn fool, Scotts, refused to let her drive. Courtesy of a rookie, her own vehicle would arrive later.

Once they pulled up to the house, she knew she wouldn’t be able to leave again if the others found out what had happened. She couldn’t allow that. “How old was the last victim?”

“Male, age eighteen to twenty-five.” Scotts didn’t take his eyes off the road. “What did you see?”

“This one was different.” This victim was healthy. Possibly the informant who had called Cassie. But she couldn’t say more for fear the police would demand to question Cassie. Turning a human into a vampire wasn’t exactly against the law, not yet anyway, but Cassie was in no condition to answer questions, her moods too volatile to handle any additional stress. “That was a fresh kill. Did Ross give you a timeline?”