Darkness Rising (Dark Angels 2)

Azriel appeared beside me as I walked across the park to the bike. “So you go to this sacred site next?”

I glanced at my watch. What I really wanted to do was go see Lucian and lose myself in a couple of hours of loving, but I guessed that really wasn’t an option right now. Hunter was tracking down the same leads I was, and faster, and maybe this test was my investigating skills against hers. And that was a test I would always lose.

As if to hammer home this particular point, my phone rang and Hunter herself appeared on the vid-screen.

“So,” I said, by way of greeting, “when exactly were you planning to tell me you were working on this case yourself?”

She laughed softly, but there was very little humor in the sound or in her expression. “Did you honestly think the council wouldn’t have other investigators on the case? How else would they judge your usefulness?”

“But it’s not just any investigator—it’s you. And you have a vested interest in keeping me alive, because you want the keys found.”

“Which does not mean I will hesitate to erase you if I find the killer before you do,” she said, with deadly calm. “And the council members are well aware of this.”

Oh, fabulous, I thought sourly. The one person on my side really wasn’t. “When were you planning to send me that list I asked for?”

“As soon as you forward Catherine’s list to me.” Cool amusement played about her lips—probably because she knew I’d be pissed off.

Which meant I couldn’t give the bitch the satisfaction.

“She hasn’t sent it yet. She’s not dead already, is she?” I glanced across to Azriel for confirmation. He shook his head and held up five fingers. Meaning either five hours or five minutes, I guessed.

“No, and I am severely disappointed.” She laughed again, the sound low and cruel. “The woman really does deserve it.”

I bit back my instinctive retort—the one that went along the lines of Catherine not being the only one—and said, “I’ve talked to Adeline Greenfield, the witch who set up the magic protecting Alston’s apartment. She mentioned that Alston requested it after something that happened at the council almost three years ago.”

“Three years ago?” Hunter’s perfect features creased into a frown. “I don’t think—” She paused, and another cold smile touched her lips. “Ah, yes. The Whitfield affair. Ironically, his name does not appear on my list, and I doubt it will on Catherine’s, either.”

“What did Whitfield do, and why isn’t he on your list?”

She paused, considering me. Weighing her options on just how much to tell me. “Robert Whitfield was a vampire with only a few hundred years to his name who went against council rules and created a nest for himself.”

I frowned. “A nest?”

“A term we use for a large number of fledgling vampires created and controlled by one master. It is not considered a practical option in this day and age, as it is generally hard for a creator to either feed or control such a large number.”

And we all knew what happened to vamps who couldn’t control their fledglings—the Directorate stepped in and wiped them out.

“So what happened?”

“His nest was culled, of course, and he was severely punished.”

“The culling of his blood kin wasn’t enough?”

“Of course not. That was merely a practicality. Punishment needed to be rendered so that others would not be tempted to follow in his stead.”

“So what happened to him?”

“He was drawn and quartered in front of the council, then a dozen of the younger

members were allowed to feed from him.”

Nice. Not. “I can’t imagine he was too happy about that.”

“It’s hard to say, since he did not actually survive the experience.”

Which was why he wasn’t on the list. “You allowed the younger ones to kill him?”

“I didn’t. The punishment was administered by the Melbourne council, not the high council.” Mirth glinted in her cool green eyes. “His death was not intended, but things got out of control. It happens sometimes.”