Darkness Hunts (Dark Angels 4)

But on the astral plane it was a different matter entirely.

I closed my eyes and concentrated on my breathing, waiting until the sense of peace enveloped me. Then I imagined that cord hanging above me, and reached for it. This time, pulling free seemed faster and easier.

I didn’t hang about, simply imagined the dark and grimy warehouse area where I’d first confronted the no-face stranger, and suddenly I was there.

The first person I saw wasn’t our faceless killer but my Cazador follower.

Fancy meeting you here, I said, my voice dry.

He bowed slightly, amusement creasing the corners of his brown eyes. You sound about as pleased to be here as I am.

It’s more accurate to say I’m less than pleased about my reasons for being here. A soft vibration began to stir the air, a sensation that crawled across my skin and made me shiver. I rubbed imaginary arms and added, I gather you’re still on a watching brief?

Yes. His gaze swept me critically, one warrior sizing up another. Not that I’d ever be half the warrior Aunt Riley was, let alone go up against someone like him. But your energy levels do not seem up to scratch right now, so I will step in if he threatens harm.

I frowned. Why?

Because Hunter would not be pleased if you were in any way hurt during this.

Yeah, because then I wouldn’t be able to do her dirty work. The unpleasant vibration was getting stronger, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I turned and scanned the shadowy environs, glad that at least on the fields you couldn’t actually smell anything. With the heat of the last few days, the rubbish and putrid-looking puddles would have been close to rank.

The sensations rolling across my skin seemed to reach a peak. Once again both the Dušan and the charm at my neck reacted, the latter burning so fiercely it cast the figure of the man who suddenly appeared into stark relief.

Fear stirred briefly. There was something very wrong with this man. Yet he wasn’t evil. Just wrong.

I resisted the urge to retreat and studied him as intently as he seemed to be studying me. He still had no facial features, but lank hair that seemed to merge with the shadows around us covered half his brow, and he was dressed casually in faded jeans and an Adidas sweater. For some reason, that struck me as odd. I hadn’t noticed his hair last time, let alone his clothes, and I suddenly wondered why I was doing so now.

Was it deliberate on his part? Because he certainly didn’t look comfortable in them.>God, as if I didn’t have enough on my plate already.

I followed him silently through the maze of corridors. Though I’d never been down here before now, I’d learned enough over the years to be able to draw a rough floor plan of the place. If the ten levels aboveground were the public face of the Directorate, then the five below were the heart. The majority of the guardians were housed and trained down here, and it was also where the liaisons—the people who made the guardians’ reports legible, who catered to their everyday needs, and who gave them their assignments—operated.

Rhoan slapped his palm against a scanner, and the door slid open. Three other people were already there, but only two looked up as we entered. The first—a brown-eyed, heavy-jowled woman in her mid-fifties—was a stranger. The second, a tall, dark-haired werewolf with handsome features, was Harris West, who’d been recruited by the Directorate after he’d helped Riley out of a deadly situation; I had met him before.

But it was the third man who caught my attention, even though he wasn’t anything out of the ordinary to look at. He sat at the far end of the table, the bright glow of the com-screen in front of him casting a bluish light across his weatherworn features and bald head.

I’d never actually met him, but I knew him all the same. This was Jack Parnell, senior vice president of the Directorate and the man in charge of the entire guardian division.

He was also Madeline Hunter’s half brother, and that made him very, very dangerous, even if he didn’t look it.

He finally looked up from the com-screen, then leaned back in his chair and studied me. There was little in his expression to give away what he might be thinking, but that was no surprise. He might be a few hundred years younger than his sister—an oddity due to both the long life span of shifters and the fact that they were born at either end of their father’s life—but he was still a vampire and more than a little practiced at controlling himself. I guess with a sister like Hunter, he’d have to be.

“Risa,” he said, his voice gravelly and holding the slightest hint of warmth. “Thank you for coming so promptly.”

“It’s not like I’ve got any other choice, is it?”

“Now that’s the sort of comment Riley would make. You’ve been hanging around her and Rhoan too long.” A half smile teased his lips, but it faded quickly as his gaze ran past me. “And this is your reaper?”

He’s not my anything. He’ll never be my anything. I swallowed the hollow bitterness that accompanied the thought, and simply said, “His name is Azriel.”

Jack raised one eyebrow. “All reapers are called Azriel, are they not?”

“Yes.” Azriel stopped beside me, his energy warm and intoxicating. “And you are well enough aware of the reason why.”

“All names have power,” Jack said. “Is that why Risa has you at her beck and call?”

I opened my mouth to refute the statement, but again Azriel jumped in before me. “You know the reasons I am here. Let us not play these games when life hangs in the balance.”

Again a smile played briefly about Jack’s lips. I glanced questioningly at Azriel, but he merely looked away. Which was frustrating, to say the least.