Darkness Hunts (Dark Angels 4)

But it didn’t alter the fact that I wasn’t willingly going to do anything that would place them in the direct path of either my father or the Raziq.

Azriel sighed. It was a frustrated sound. “What is the clue?”

I repeated what my father had said, and he frowned. “That does not tell us much.”

“Which is exactly what I said. And he basically said ‘tough.’”

My phone rang, the ringtone telling me it was Rhoan. I dug it out of my pocket and hit the vid-answer button. No picture came up, which was odd, but maybe he didn’t want me to see what was going on around him.

“Uncle Rhoan,” I said. “Please tell me you’ve caught the bastard.”

“Indeed I have,” a familiar voice said. “He’s currently tied up tighter than a turkey at Christmas.”

Ice entered my body.

It wasn’t Rhoan on the other end of the phone.

It was Zane Taylor, my faceless hunter.

Chapter 13

For too many minutes I couldn’t speak. All I could think was, He can’t be dead. Please, God, don’t let him be dead.

“What the hell have you done to him?” It came out a hoarse whisper, because my throat was locked tight with fear.

“Nothing that will kill him just yet.”

I closed my eyes in relief, but it didn’t last long. Not when the madman at the other end of the phone had Rhoan’s life in his hands—and no doubt wanted mine.

“How did you even know—” I stopped, suddenly realizing the answer to my question before I’d asked it. “The cameras at the warehouse. You deliberately revealed yourselves so that we could find you.”

“Yes,” he said. “I had worried that the Directorate might catch on to our little trap, but, as usual, I overestimated them.”

Because no one in his right mind would expect a suspect to deliberately parade about in front of security cameras. But then, Taylor and sanity weren’t exactly chummy.

“Rhoan isn’t the one you were hunting, so why are you even bothering to keep him captive?” My voice shook as I spoke, and I took a slow, deep breath in an attempt to remain calm. Clearheaded thinking was what this situation needed, not panic, not fear—even if there was plenty of both.

“He and I were playing this game before you came onto the scene, and would no doubt have arrived at this situation sooner or later.” He paused, and I could almost feel the satisfaction oozing from his pores, even though the screen was blank and he was nowhere near me. “As to why he is still alive, that’s simple. I believe he might be a much better lure to capture you than anything else I could have come up with.”

He had that right. God, if anything happened to Rhoan, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself—let alone face Aunt Riley. He might be a guardian, and this might not be my fault but rather a danger Rhoan willingly faced every day, but that still didn’t alter one fact. I was involved, and I’d bear the brunt of guilt if he was hurt. Or worse, killed.

Oh please, don’t let it be worse.

I took another deep breath that did nothing to ease the queasiness threatening to overwhelm me, then said, “So what do you want?”

“Why, dear huntress, you, of course.”

I closed my eyes. Even though I’d expected the answer, the thought of willingly walking into this man’s trap horrified me. “Why? I’m not one of your so-called aberrations you’re destined to destroy. Why hunt me, when your calling gives you so many other options?”

“Good question.” There was an edge in his voice that spoke of amusement. This bastard was sick. Sick, sick, sick . . . I thrust the mental chant away. That way lies madness. He continued. “The simple answer is boredom. That is why I originally started playing my game with the Directorate. In a life as long as mine, a challenge is sometimes needed.”

“You’re killing these women because you’re bored?”

He sighed. “Huntress, that is not what I said. I kill the women because that is my calling. I taunt the Directorate because it is fun.”

He was definitely a fruitcake. He had to be, because taunting the Directorate was stupid and dangerous.

“So where do I come into the picture?” I knew where well enough. I’d defied him on the fields, threatened him, marked him. For someone who obviously considered himself beyond the Directorate’s reach, that had to be galling.