Embraced By Darkness (Riley Jenson Guardian 5)

I stood to one side of the doorway, studying the shadows and listening for anything out of place. The normal sounds and scents of living drifted up from the apartments below, but the air also held the slightest hint of staleness - the type of staleness I'd long associated with vampires. Though this wasn't as bad as some.

My shooter had definitely been past here, but I doubted he was still hanging around. His scent was fading, and I couldn't "feel" any other nonhuman in the immediate vicinity.

Still, if he knew I lived here, there was no saying he wasn't waiting in the shadows near my apartment.

I ducked around the corner of the broken door, feeling a little foolish but knowing it was better than feeling a little dead. Hell, Rhoan would never forgive me if I got myself killed this easily after everything we'd been through this last year or so.

None of the shadows moved, though, and the darkness hid nothing but dust. Even so, I edged down each step carefully, every sense tuned. No one jumped out at me. Nothing but darkness hid on the fire escape.

When I neared the hallway of my own floor, I hesitated, switching to infrared and scanning the area. Again, nothing.

But the heat of two bodies flared to life in my apartment, and neither the shapes nor the murmuring voices were familiar.

Infrared couldn't actually tell me what race the two people in my apartment were. All it could do was tell me that blood pumped through their veins - perhaps a little faster than what was normal for a vampire, but that was no guarantee one or both of them weren't bloodsuckers.

I studied their images a little longer, fixing their positions in my mind, then padded softly down the hall until I was near my door.

After taking another deep breath and releasing it slowly, I stepped forward, hitting the lock in the sweet spot and springing it open.

Two men spun around, one of them reaching for a gun. He was fast, real fast.

But I was faster.

I blurred, running at him at full speed, snatching the gun from him with one hand and punching his jaw with the other, sending him back and down.

Then I turned and leapt for the second man, who was already running. I hit him in the back, the weight of my body dragging him down. He slammed into the floorboards with a grunt, but twisted and punched. The blow caught my cut lip, sending my head snapping backward and blood flying. I cursed, smashed an elbow into his face, then wedged the tip of my stolen weapon under the point of his chin. His sour scent told me he was the wolf I'd smelled earlier.

"Try something like that again, and I'll blow your frigging head off," I growled.

"Okay, okay," he rasped, voice showing more anger than fear.

For the first time, I got a good look at him. Saw the flat, nondescript features, beady gray eyes, and harsh, uncompromising mouth.

It wasn't a stranger I'd beaten up and threatened.

It was Patrin. I have to say, my first reaction was one of intense satisfaction. I'd spent a good portion of my younger years afraid of this bastard and his siblings, unable to retaliate for fear of reprisals from their father. To be sitting here on top of him, sucking in the scent of his anger and fear - to see the blood gushing from his smashed nose and split lip - was an undeniably sweet turnaround.

But in the heat of battle I'd forgotten he wasn't alone, and that was a very stupid thing to do.

As the sharp snap of a gun being cocked confirmed.

"Put the weapon down and step away from him." The voice was soft, almost without threat, and that, in my books, suggested that the wolf with Patrin was very dangerous indeed.

I didn't move, didn't look at him, even though just about every sense I had was tuned for the faintest whisper of movement. I continued to stare at Patrin, letting him see the hatred in my eyes, letting him wonder if I really would pull the trigger.

"You willing to bet the life of your employer on the fact you're faster with a gun than I am?" Yes.

"Then you're a fool. And Patrin obviously hasn't told you what I am."

"You're a fucking useless half-breed who needs to be taken down a peg or two, that's what you are," Patrin snarled.

I smiled grimly and wedged the gun barrel into his neck a little harder. Sweat popped out across his forehead and the scent of his fear increased.

God, it felt good. Damned good.

"And who's going to do that, Patrin? You? Or will you run to Daddy for help like you always do?"

"Bitch, I don't need my father's help to take the likes of you. I never have."