"You're lying. I can taste it!"
"Mr. Surrey, please calm down. I promise - "
I didn't get the rest of the sentence out. Surrey finally moved, launching himself through the doorway and firing his weapon in one swift, deft movement.
Chapter 4
The shot reverberated through the emptiness. I threw myself sideways, felt the sting of metal past my cheek, and fired my own gun. I hit the concrete with enough force to bruise, but ignored the shock reverberating through my muscles and rolled into a kneeling position, the gun held at the ready.
I needn't have bothered.
My shot had flown true, hitting Surrey in the middle of his forehead. Not even a vampire can survive having his brains splattered out of the back of his head.
Nausea rose. I closed my eyes and fought back the bitter taste of bile in my throat. Justified or not, I'd let instinct take over and had fired to kill rather than wound.
I don't want to do this anymore. The thought came thick and fast, its force so strong it made me shake.
But the truth was, I would. Time and time again. I would do what I had to do, until the killer took me over.
Because I had no other choice, no other option.
Kye had offered an option, some stupid, silly part of me whispered. It might have even been a way out.
But it was a way out that would have involved more killing. He'd been a hunter, just like me, only he'd enjoyed it. He wouldn't have changed even if I'd asked.
But I hadn't asked. I'd killed him instead.
Tears stung my eyes, but I savagely blinked them away. Feeling sorry for myself wasn't going to help.
I took a deep, somewhat shuddery breath, swiped a hand at the blood dribbling down my cheek, then flicked the safety back on the weapon and pushed to my feet.
Surrey might be dead, but I could still get my answers - if his soul was a little more cooperative than his flesh had been, that was.
I walked across to the office doorway and squatted beside his body. In death, he looked small and harmless, his body so thin it was almost wasted. His face was gaunt, his nose and cheeks sharp and prominent, and his skin had that pale, translucent look of a vampire who wasn't feeding enough. The thick scent of the blood and brains that were leaking from his head made my nose twitch, but it was the smells riding underneath that caught my interest. Because underneath the reek of vampire was the tantalizing, nebulous aroma of werewolf.
Sometime in the last few hours, he'd been in close contact with one of us. And if Surrey had been in the van Johnson's soul had mentioned, then he'd just given us our first clue as to who his partner in crime was.
I rested my arms on my knees and waited. For some odd reason, humans seemed to believe that vampires had no souls. Maybe because, for most vampires, the turning process did involve the death of their human forms as their bodies evolved into vampire - and for humans, death generally meant the soul moved on. But whatever the reason, it wasn't true. Although right now, it seemed Surrey's soul was a little afraid to come out and speak to me.
I shuffled back a fraction, hoping that by giving him a little more space, he'd feel a little less jumpy.
I'd never met a soul that was scared of me before. Confused and frightened by what had happened to them, yes, but not actually afraid.
It took a few minutes, but gradually the chill of death began to infuse the air. Wispy strands of smoke began to rise from his body, the tendrils gathering several feet above his flesh until they'd formed a ghostly, almost humanlike figure that had no features. He didn't swirl as so many other souls did, but I felt the sharp tug of him sucking at my energy.
You lied, he said, his voice far clearer, stronger, than was usual for the dead. But maybe that was merely a result of the freshness of his demise. Usually I didn't arrive on the scene until at least an hour afterward.
"Anyone who shoots at a guardian needs to be prepared. We don't often miss." Although I could have, if I'd just taken a moment to think rather than react. It would have been better to interrogate his live body rather than his dead one.
But I didn't kill anyone, he said. His anger and fear swirled around me, through me, in a bitter, vengeful cloud.
It was the same bitterness I'd tasted in the park.
"If you didn't kill Johnson, then why were your prints found in the van? And why was your scent at the murder scene?"
He just sat there, a pulsing cloud of conflicting emotions. And he didn't seem more inclined to talk in this form than he had when flesh.
"If you want to move on and find peace, you'd better talk to me, Mr. Surrey."