Darkness Devours (Dark Angels 3)

I shook my head and stepped forward cautiously. Sunlight filtered through the open doorways on either side, crisscrossing the hall and lending the honey-colored floorboards a richness they might not otherwise have had. The first room was a living room, but there was nothing out of place in it, or in the two bedrooms that followed. Every room was as neat as a pin—there weren’t even dust motes dancing in the sunbeams.

But the blood scent was getting stronger the closer we got to the closed door at the far end of the hall, and tension slithered through my body.

If that scent was anything to go by, whatever awaited in the room beyond was bad. Real bad.

I licked my lips, then carefully pushed the door open with the tip of my shoe. The scene that greeted me froze me on the spot.

Because the room beyond was a kitchen that was a smaller version of my mum’s.

And just like my mum, James Blake had been totally and absolutely ripped apart.>“It’s one of the benefits of being a reaper rather than a humanoid.” His face was back to being its usual unreadable self, and while I’d expected it, I still hated it. He held out the phone. “Do you wish to answer this?”

“Who is it?”

He glanced down at the phone. “Jak.”

I groaned, but raised a hand, made a “give me” motion, then hit the RECEIVE button and said, “You’d better have a good reason for ringing me at this hour, otherwise I will have to kill you.”

His laugh was soft and teasing, but my hormones were too sated to react. “And here I was thinking I was the only one who woke up with a hangover.”

Hangover? I glanced at Azriel and he shrugged. I guess it was one way of getting around the whole memory problem—you simply gave them a reason not to remember every little detail.

“Well, it was a long night.”

“It sounds like you didn’t enjoy yourself,” Jak said. “I’m totally hurt.”

“Oh, I enjoyed myself.” More than he could ever imagine—only he’d had nothing to do with it. I glanced at Azriel as that thought crossed my mind, and caught the half smile that flirted briefly with his lips. “But I’m not enjoying this conversation. What do you want, Jak?”

He sighed dramatically. “And here I was thinking that after our dance, you might be a little less business, and a little more pleasure.”

“Yeah, well, you thought wrong.”

“Sadly, yes.”

“Jak, the reason you’re calling is…?”

He laughed. “Damn, but it’s fun baiting you. The reason I’m calling is that I found James Blake, the photographer Jacinta mentioned.”

“I’m surprised he’s not dead, like Logan and everyone else who could identify Nadler.”

“Yes—although it does lend weight to the theory that our face-shifter doesn’t believe his past is much of a threat to his future.”

“Which makes me wonder why we’re even bothering to follow up on these things.”

“Hey, we gleaned one vital fact yesterday—the real Nadler had a scar. Who knows what we may gain today?”

“I’m breathless with anticipation.”

My voice was dry and he chuckled softly. “I hope you remain that way until we meet. I’d love a repeat performance of last night.”

I ignored his comment and looked at the clock on the bedside table. It was nearly eleven, which meant I’d had a whole two hours’ sleep. No wonder I felt like crap. “Where is his studio located?”

“He’s retired, so no studio. But he lives in Williamstown and he’s expecting us around lunchtime.”

If he was living in Williamstown, he had to have made a lot as a photographer, because that area—thanks to its proximity to both the sea and the city—wasn’t cheap. “I’ve got to hire a car, so it’ll probably be at least an hour before I can get there.”

“I’m already on my way, but I’ll grab some lunch to waste some time.”

“Don’t go question him without me.”