Home.
God, I ached for it—ached for the people who I couldn’t remember but who I was suddenly certain made home home—so badly the word stuck in my throat and made breathing suddenly difficult. I might not remember where home was exactly, but I so wanted to see Rhoan and Liander and …
Someone else, someone who was my heart if not my soul.
Someone who was in that battered, bloody, black car. Someone I’d already been told was dead.
No, something inside me screamed. No!
I rubbed my forehead wearily and battled to keep that scream inside. At least some information was slowly leaking back. I had two more names now: Rhoan and Liander. They were a part of me—not just a part of my life. I felt that with every fiber.
Which meant one of them, at least, was my brother.
Rhoan, that little voice whispered. My brother, my twin.
I took a deep, somewhat shuddery breath and released it slowly. I was tempted to ask Harris to do a search for him, but instinct said not to. Harris was right—whoever was behind this plot had planned it thoroughly. If Rhoan was my brother, then any official search for him might just raise alarms. Hell, even if I found his phone number, just ringing him might lead to more drastic action. Like his death.
That voice had said that he wanted me to suffer. And what better way was there to achieve that than to wipe my memories, take me away from everything and everyone I loved, then slowly allow those memories to come back—only to have each and every one I cared about murdered the moment I contacted them?
It would be his style. Whoever “he” was.
But first things first. I needed to find my brother’s location, either through Google or the old-fashioned way, via the White Pages—and at least looking through a phone book would leave nothing to trace.
I could decide what my next step should be once I’d found him.
“You’re looking rather lost in your thoughts,” Harris commented, and the sudden sound of his voice made me jump. I’d totally forgotten he was there for a moment. “Care to share?”“Just remembering some names.” I shrugged. “Their relationship to me, however, remains tantalizingly lost in the fog.”
He grunted, and I wasn’t entirely sure he believed me. “You ready to leave?”
I raised an eyebrow. “I have a choice?”
Again a slight smile tugged his lips. “No, you do not.” He waved a hand toward the doorway. “After you, Hanna London.”
I opened my mouth to tell him that wasn’t my name, then snapped it closed. My name was there, I could feel it, but it just wouldn’t reveal itself.
Patience, I reminded myself.
Only I had a suspicion patience was the one thing I didn’t have a lot of.
I made my way through the house and out the back. Harris closed and locked the door behind us, then turned around and said, “I won’t find you inside again, will I?”
I smiled, but my reply was cut off by the sudden sound of screaming.
Screaming that was male and filled with fear.
Screaming that was cut off almost as quickly as it had begun.
Chapter 11
Stay here,” Harris said, barely even looking at me as he ran off.
I snorted softly. Like I was really going to obey that order when I hadn’t obeyed any of his others so far.
I took off after him, our footsteps ringing sharply across the darkness. The wind remained free from the scent of blood, but the taste of fear was growing sharper.
We rounded the last of the buildings and turned in to the paddock area where Landsbury had been attacked and killed. The young policeman was still at his post, but he was staring at the emptiness beyond the hills. He looked relieved when he saw Harris.
“Sir,” he said, voice a little strained, “there’s some sort of kerfuffle out in the Northern Ranges.”
“Did you see anything or anyone, Benny?” Harris asked.
“No, sir. Just heard the screaming.”
Harris nodded and ran on. I followed close on his heels. We raced out of the paddock area into a sandier, wilder area, sprinting up a hill. Harris paused at the top, and I stopped beside him, my nostrils flaring to catch any hint of blood or vengeance or any other scent that didn’t belong. None of those rode the wind, but the smell of fear was thicker.
“There,” Harris said, pointing sharply to the left.
I followed the line of his finger. Several hilltops away, metal gleamed briefly but brightly in the moonlight. Someone had raised a knife, but whether that someone was male or female was anyone’s guess, because—thanks to the hill—all we could see was the hand and the knife.
“This time, stay here,” Harris said, and plunged down the slope. He shifted shape as he ran, flowing from human to brown wolf with a fluidity and grace that was breathtaking to see.
I plunged after him and reached for my own wolf. I could feel her, feel her eagerness, deep within my soul, but there was still some sort of barrier between us. Pain flared so bright and hard inside my brain that I stumbled and had to flail my arms to keep my balance.
Tears stung my eyes and frustration burned through my body. Whoever had done this to me would pay. Big time.
I ran on, my feet flying over the sandy soil, oddly keeping up with Harris even though he was in wolf form and could move with greater ease over the ground. Maybe there really was vampire in me.
The scent of blood began to stain the air. We were too late—far too late—to save the life of whoever it was who’d screamed. But we still had a chance to catch the killer.
We ran up another hill, plunged down the far side. From beyond the next hill came a brief flash that lit up the night. It looked for all the world like someone was taking a photo.
But only a sicko would take photos of their handiwork—although given these murders seemed to be based on vengeance, maybe it wasn’t the work of a sick mind, but rather someone taking snaps for whoever was behind this particular murder. Not everyone could attend the murder scene like Hank Surrey had …
I filed the name away and continued running. As we reached the top of the hill, the scent of blood and death and fear sharpened, filling the night air with its taint. Just below us, spread-eagled and naked, was a man. Like Landsbury, he had a gaping, bloody wound where his penis and balls used to be.
We ran down the hill, Harris shifting back to human form as he did so. His shirt was ripped across the back, but his clothes seemed to hold together a whole lot better than mine ever did. Of course, Harris wasn’t the type to wear flimsy lace. I was, and I paid the price for it when I shifted. It was annoying that I could remember that, and not more important things.
“No scent of the killer,” he said as he stopped near the body.
“He’s probably using a scent-nulling soap.” I said it absently, my gaze scanning the night, looking for something, anything, that might give some clue as to where our murderer had gone. He can’t have just disappeared—unless, of course, we were dealing with a vampire, then yeah, he could. Or at least, he could disappear to the human eye.
But not to nonhumans. Not to the eye of someone who had vampire blood in them. I blinked, switching from one type of vision to another.
After a moment, I became aware of Harris looking at me.
“What?” I said, not bothering to meet his gaze. We needed to find the whereabouts of our killer fast if we were to have any hope of catching him.
“You really do come out with some of the most amazing facts.”
“I know some pretty amazing people.” In the distance, I spotted a hint of red. It was vague, and darkish, nothing solid, more insubstantial, and oddly pulsing.
Body heat. Only it wasn’t the heat of a human body—it wasn’t bright enough. Our quarry was a vampire.
“There,” I said, pointing. “He’s damn fast.”
Harris had barely looked at where I was pointing before he was running. He flowed again from one form into another, his tongue lolling out and eyes bright. Every wolf enjoys a good chase, and the murderer was certainly giving us that.
But we were holding our own. Slowly but surely, we were catching him.
Another sound rode across the night—a soft whump, whump. It took me a moment to realize what it was.
“Helicopter, closing in fast.” It was a rather useless statement given Harris was in wolf form and would hear it better than I could. So I added, “If we don’t stop him, he’ll disappear as quickly as the other killers have.”Harris responded with an increase of speed, until it seemed our feet were flying over the red sands. The heated blur of our quarry was closer, but so, too, were the sounds of the helicopter. It had no lights on to give away its position. The only way we knew it was near was by the ever-increasing volume of the rotor blades.
Then it became visible, swooping in from the skies like a big, pot-bellied bird. And we were nowhere near close enough to stop the vampire from climbing aboard.
The bastard was going to get away.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
Harris shifted shape again, his speed slowing a little in human form but still running damn fast. Energy began to stir around me. Initially it was little more than a gentle caress that raised the hairs along my arms, but all too quickly it became a tornado, stinging and tearing at my skin.
And its focal point was Harris.
He didn’t say anything, his gaze on the helicopter. It was close to the ground now, its blades stirring huge clouds of dust, making the invisible visible. Our vampire murderer was a man—a rather slender man, not big like Landsbury had stated. As a vampire, he didn’t need to be.