Darkness Devours (Dark Angels 3)

She snorted. In the background water splattered into a sink; then came more footsteps. She’d finally moved out of the bathroom.

“Here’s Adeline’s phone number.” She reeled off the number, and added, “But don’t you dare ring her now. She’ll be asleep, like most normal people.”

“Don’t worry. I’m only this inconsiderate to my friends.” I paused, then said with a grin, “And besides, I’m sure you and Mirri can find a pleasant way to pass the time until sleep arrives again.”

“Mirri’s on night shift,” she reminded me, “so if I play with anyone, it’ll be myself.”

I grinned. “Flying solo can be fun.”

“I’ll remind you of that the next time you’re whining about the lack of men and sex in your life.” Her voice was dry. “Just be careful, Ris. I’m still getting some bad vibes from this whole Hunter deal.”

No surprise there, since I had a council execution order hanging over my head. But I didn’t say anything—she was worried enough as it was. She didn’t need to know the details.

“I’ll be fine,” I said. “Just make sure you be careful, as well.”

“I will. Night.”

“Night.”

I hung up, shoved the phone away, then leaned back against the wall, listening to the growing wailing and wishing it could cover up the other sounds and smells coming from the room. The scents of hunger, desire, and blood, the moans that were filled with ecstasy rather than anger, the rending of material and the smack of flesh against flesh. The vampire involved tonight was obviously into aggressive sex as well as blood taking.

Normally, sitting here listening to someone else getting sexed would have had lust surging through my veins, but in this atmosphere, it was little more than ashes from which no fire could be raised.

As the sounds in the other room began to ramp up to a climax, the howling of the ghosts became so sharp and bitter that I had to cover my ears with my hands. But even that failed to lessen the impact. It was a sound that tore through the fabric of my being, until it felt like I was unraveling.

And then something else began to creep into the atmosphere. It was an ill wind, dark and twisted, barely there at first, but gathering in strength as the feeding in the room drew closer to culmination and the howls and screams of the ghosts got stronger and louder.

And they weren’t the only ones. Amaya was hissing fiercely, her fury filling my mind, her need to rent and tear so strong, I had to dig my nails into my hands to resist the urge to run out into that room and kill everyone.

Because it wasn’t just ghosts, a blood whore, and a vampire out there now.

The Rakshasa had finally answered the desperation of the ghosts.

Chapter 8

Azriel, I thought, you’d better get your ass back here right now, because I am not facing this thing alone.

But I drew Amaya regardless. She slipped eagerly into my hand, the lilac fire dripping from her black edges sizzling as it splattered across the floor.

Then energy of a different kind swept around me and, a heartbeat later, Azriel appeared. Valdis was drawn, her blade running with blue electricity. The fires of the two blades filled the small room with light and, in the other room, that gathering of dark energy began to fade.

“It has sensed my arrival and retreats to the gray fields,” Azriel said. “Quickly.”l’s gaze swept my face, and he nodded minutely. Meaning, I guessed, that he approved. “Why would we need to talk to his soul when we already have all the information he could give us?”

“Well, he actually didn’t give us everything, since someone had tampered with his memories. But would those blocks hold after death?”

“I do not know,” he said slowly. “It is not something any of us have needed to discover.”

I picked up my purse and slung it over my shoulder. “Do you think it would be worth trying to find out?”

“As I said, I cannot speak to the lost ones. It’s not a matter of breaking some rule. We are physically not capable of speaking to them. They are lost—to rebirth, and to us.” He paused. “But you could most certainly attempt it.”

I frowned. “But I haven’t the training—”

“No,” he agreed. “But the witch Adeline Greenfield suggested you had more of your mother’s talents than you thought. Was not one of her specialties talking to the lost ones?”

What he called lost ones—people who died before their time—I called ghosts. And no matter what Adeline had said, I’d certainly had no luck trying to communicate with the ghosts at the club. “Mom talked to souls, yes, but I never got the impression she targeted ghosts.”

“Who else could she target?” He said it gently, as if he were talking to a simpleton. “Souls who die at their given time move on to either the light or dark path. There is no communicating with them once they have gone through the respective portals.”