Kiss The Night Goodbye (Nikki & Michael 4)

"You think so?"

She ducked the blow of the human and punched him hard in the gut. Too late, she saw the knife in his hand. She swung away, but not fast enough. The knife slashed through her skirt and bit deep into her thigh.

Both men chuckled.

"Nice start,” the thin man said. “But I've got a hankering to see a little more flesh than that, girlie."

"You've seen as much as you're going to,” she muttered, grabbing the hand that held the knife even as she kicked him in the nuts.

He dropped with a hiss of pain. She pulled the knife from his slack grip and spun, slashing with the blade as the shifter came at her. The knife scored his chest, cutting both shirt and flesh as easily as butter. He roared in anger, lashing at her with a clenched fist. She ducked the blow, heard the crash of glass behind her, the scream of air. Not knowing what was happening, but certain retreat was better than valor at this particular moment, she dropped to the floor and rolled away. The shifter hit the ground and didn't move. She climbed to her feet and saw why. Three feet of wooden railing was sticking out of his chest, the rest of it buried deep inside. He'd been dead before he hit the ground.

There was a gargled cry, and she swung to see the second man scramble to his feet. He dove at her, his eyes wide with shock and grief, his mouth open in a scream that never passed his thin lips. She sidestepped him and stabbed with the knife, feeling the brief resistance of flesh before the knife slid deep. The thin man dropped and didn't move.

She took a deep, shuddering breath and looked at the window. Michael stood there, his dark eyes filled with a fury she could feel through the link.

"What the hell are you doing here?” he said, voice flat and all the more deadly because of it.

"Investigating what happened to the ranger who owned this house.” She bent and retrieved her knife, wiping the blood from the blade on the dead man's shirt, while trying not to think about the fact that she'd killed him.

"And you didn't think to mention this need earlier?" She shrugged. “You ran before I could."

"So you were intending to mention it after you'd seduced me? Somehow, I seriously doubt that ." The anger she could feel edged his soft tones this time, and she couldn't help smiling. The spell might have taken his memories of her away, but deep down, some part of him remembered how she usually acted.

"I wasn't thinking of anything much beyond seduction,” she said honestly. “But given I wasn't successful, I turned my mind to other things."

"You could have turned it to sleep."

"But there might be some clue here to find. I didn't want Dunleavy erasing it before I got the chance to investigate."

"Given those two men were in the house, waiting to attack you, it's a fair bet that any clues that were here are long gone."

"Not necessarily.” She retrieved her second knife, and shoved it back into her wrist sheath. “Is there anyone else in this house?"

He frowned, his gaze narrowing slightly as it went beyond her. “No. Only a dead man."

"Then that's were I'm headed."

"You are the most frustrating, annoying woman I have ever had the displeasure of knowing." She raised her eyebrows, trying to hide her grin and not being very successful. “It's a trait that'll grow on you, believe me."

"I doubt it,” he muttered, stepping back from the window. “I'll keep watch out here." Her grin broke free. “Like you have any other choice."

He scowled at her. “Just hurry up. That leg of yours needs attention."

"No more than your shoulder does,” she bit back and spun, heading down the hall. Truth was she could feel the blood running down her leg. While she couldn't exactly bleed to death any more, blood loss could still weaken her, and she certainly couldn't afford that. The dead man waited in the room at the end of the hall. She stopped in the doorway and turned on the light. He was lying on his bed, as naked as the day he was born. Unlike the man who'd been sacrificed on the roof, though, this man had obviously fought to survive. The signs of a struggle showed in the tangle of the bed covers, the bruising on his body, and the shredded remains of pajamas on the floor. They told a story of violation as much as death, and bile rose in her throat. She swallowed heavily and forced herself to step closer. There were bite marks on his neck and deep bruising around his mouth, indicating a hand had been clamped over it for a long time. Her gaze skated down his body and rested on his feet. She thought of the odd burn marks on the soles of the other man and shifted slightly to see better. This man, too, bore the kiss of lips. And suddenly she remembered Kinnard's reaction as he'd sucked in the anger of the miners, the way his body seemed to flesh out and glow with renewed health.

Kinnard fed on emotions. He'd fed on the man on the roof, and he'd fed here, on this man, while his master had bastardized this ranger and sucked away his life.

They were both monsters.

Which in itself was no real revelation, and certainly not much of a clue as to how they might track down Dunleavy.

Frowning, she turned and studied the rest of the room. There was nothing here that jumped out at her and said “evidence.” Frown increasing, she backtracked and went into the other rooms leading off the hall. One was a bathroom and held the ranger's shaving gear, a couple of towels, and some shampoo. The other was a second bedroom. The bed was messy, indicating someone had slept there. Is that how Dunleavy got in? Had the ranger invited him in to stay the night?

She'd never know for sure, but it was certainly possible. She walked around the bed, but she didn't find anything that seemed out of place, so she headed back into the main room. Stopping in the middle, she looked around again. Maybe Michael was right. Maybe Dunleavy had cleaned up, and the attack of those two men was nothing more than an attempt to follow the sequence of past events. Yet ... instinct itched. There was something here, something Dunleavy had missed. She was sure of it. Her gaze came to rest on the small mat in front of the door. She hadn't noticed it when she'd come in, having been more interested in what lay beyond the silence of the room. It was full of mud. But it didn't look as if it had rained in this area for some time, so where had the mud come from?

She knelt beside the mat and picked up a clump. It was more clay than soil, and darker in color than what was around here. Possibly, it had come from one of the mines. But if that were the case, why wasn't it caked with the reddish soil that surrounded the town? Vampires couldn't fly, she knew that much for certain, and while Dunleavy might also be a shape changer, he took human form rather than animal. So how did he get so much mud on his feet and yet not pick up any dirt from the street?

She shoved the clump into her pocket and opened the door. Michael was standing just beyond the threshold.