Embraced By Darkness (Riley Jenson Guardian 5)

A threatening rumble rolled up my throat. The Lab stopped, his expression one of confusion as he sniffed the air. Then his head and tail dropped, and he hunkered down. Recognition of a superior.

I gave him a pat as I passed, following the voices to the back of the house. Two windows had the shades drawn, but the third didn't. I stopped and peered in.

They were in the kitchen. She was putting on the kettle, and he was yelling and gesticulating wildly behind her. He had some sort of accent, and was talking so damn loud and fast I could only understand half of what he was saying. Not that I needed to when the underlying message was clear.

Hubby knew where she'd been and what she'd been doing - even if not who.

My gaze went back to the woman. The creeping sense of evil no longer seemed to hover over her, but it was here, somewhere. Its darkness stained the night - a floating, nebulous feeling of death and destruction that sent chills skating across my body.

If this thing was a soul, then it was a hungry one.

And Mary Jamieson was about to become its next victim. I rubbed my arms, and wished I could pinpoint the precise location of the dark soul. It seemed near and yet not, outside rather than inside. Which was why I stood here rather than getting that woman out of the house and away. I might be risking her life by remaining still, but I didn't dare do otherwise until the dark soul was near and visible. This might be our only chance to understand what the hell was going on.

The kettle whistled, the sound almost lost in the husband's continuing tirade. Mary reach for two cups, then tipped coffee into both.

That's when I saw it.

Black smoke, seeping into the room through the partially opened window on the opposite side of the room. It was featureless, this soul, bearing no resemblance to a human in any way, shape, or form. Perhaps it had never been human, even in life, though the anger and need to destroy that seemed to be emanating from it were both very human emotions.

It flicked along the baseboards, keeping itself low and long, barely visible against the dark carpet. When it neared the still gesturing husband, it began to curl upward and around his legs, elongating and stretching, spreading itself ever finer, until it was nothing more than a smoky cloak covering his back. Then it seemed to melt into clothes and skin, and disappear.

Becoming a part of him.

The change, when it came, was quite sudden. The gesturing and shouting ceased, and an unnatural calm filled the void.

The woman didn't even seem to notice the silence, let alone the sudden leap of menace in the air. She just blithely continued to make her coffee.

Time to get in there.

I took several paces backward, then blew out a breath and ran for the window, diving headfirst through the glass. It shattered, shards scattering everywhere as I hit the carpet and rolled to my feet. Mary turned, her mouth dropping into an O of shock, the teaspoon clenched in her right fist like a weapon.

The husband didn't react. Didn't look. Didn't seem to even realize I was there.

Or didn't care.

It was a chilling thought.

"Directorate of Other Races," I said, raising my badge to show her. "Mrs. Jamieson, we've reason to believe you're in danger."

She raised an eyebrow, amusement touching her lips as her gaze skimmed my admittedly somewhat bedraggled and bloody state. "And do Directorate personnel often bust through people's windows wearing torn dresses and party shoes?"

"Only when we need to, ma'am," I said, my gaze on her still unmoving husband. "If you'd just drop the spoon and move around the bench toward me, we'll get you out of here."

She laughed. "So who am I supposed to be in danger from?"

I hesitated. "Your husband is not - "

She laughed again, the sound this time harsh and cold. "Frank? He's a spineless little turd who's all talk and no action. In the bedroom, and out of it. Hence the little diversions he's currently raving about."

And she was such a loving, understanding wife.

Christ, why did people like this even get married, let alone remain that way? Surely divorce was better than this sort of misery.

"Ma'am, you'll just have to trust me on. this one. Please walk around the bench and come here."

She sniffed, but put down the spoon and began to approach me. The minute she did, the husband moved. Or rather, launched. Headfirst across the bench, straight at his wife.

She screamed and backed against the fridge, hands raised to protect her face. I swore and dropped a shield, reaching for her husband mentally.