Darkness Devours (Dark Angels 3)

Only when I did, it opened slightly. And the minute it did, I smelled the blood.

Fuck.

“The source of that,” Jak said grimly, “is more than just a paper cut.”

“Yeah.” I pushed the door all the way open. Several rooms ran off the long central hallway, but the door at the far end was closed. The blood scent seemed to be coming from that direction—certainly there was nothing out of place in the hall itself.

“Should we go in or call the cops?” Jak said.

I glanced at him, eyebrow raised, and he grinned. “Okay, okay, we both know I want to go in and investigate, but I thought you might prefer to call the cops.”

“Given that we don’t know yet what we’re dealing with, I think investigating is a better option.”

His grin grew. “I’ve always loved the way your mind works. And the body isn’t half bad, either.”

“Umm, blood? Possible dead body and front-page article?” I reminded him.

“Oh, yeah. Right.” He became all business in an instant.

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.

Chapter 9

“Oh my god,” Jak whispered, horror in his voice. “That can’t possibly be—”

I flung out an arm to stop him from moving into the room. The gesture was automatic. My gaze had locked on the gore and blood scattered around the room, and a sick sense of déjà vu crawled across my skin. Though this murder—and my mom’s—were similar to the MO of the Rakshasa, this wasn’t her work. She fed off her victims. Whoever was responsible for this simply tore their victims apart. Somehow I managed to say, “It can and it is. We need to call the Directorate.”

He glanced at me sharply. “Why? This is gruesome, no doubt about it, but there’s no indication it’s the work of a non-human. I mean, not even a vampire could tear someone apart this completely. Some kind of power tool must have been used.”

“It wasn’t. Trust me.” I took a deep, shuddering breath and closed my eyes. Bad mistake, because the minute I did, I saw Mum bits, Mum’s head… Bile rose and I swallowed heavily, then grabbed Jak’s hand and dragged him out of there.

“What the fuck?” he said, trying to wrench himself free. “Risa, there’s one hell of a story in there—”

“And it’s not one you’ll ever be allowed to print,” I said. I stopped in the garden and sucked in several deep breaths. It didn’t do a lot to ease the churning in my stomach, but it at least cleared the scent of blood from my lungs.

“Why not?”

“Because I’ve seen this before.”

He studied me for a moment, frowning. “Where?”

“When my mum died.” I waved a hand toward the house. “That’s precisely the way she was killed.”

“Oh, fuck,” he said, his face going white. “I didn’t know. I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t,” I cut in. “No one knew outside the Directorate and me, so you have nothing to apologize for.”

“And that’s the reason you want the Directorate called in? Because they’re the ones that investigated your mom’s death?”