Darkness Devours (Dark Angels 3)

“Then may I suggest that you press what looks to be a piece of chewing gum on the upper part of the left rear wall?”

“Seriously?” I studied the gum a little distastefully, then stepped forward and did as he bid.

Nothing happened. Not immediately, anyway. I stepped back and frowned at the wall. As I did so, there was a faint crackle. “And you would be Risa Jones, I’m guessing,” a deep, somewhat dry voice said. “Hunter is nothing if not efficient with her people.”

“I’m hardly her people,” I retorted, my gaze searching the top of the wall for some sign of the camera that had to be there, with little success. Whoever had installed them had done a damn fine job.

“If you work for her,” the voice said, “then you’re hers. There is no escaping her web once she has spun it around you.”

A comment that echoed Ilianna’s fears, and not something I wanted to hear. “Look, I’m here to see Brett Marshall. If you’re him, let me in. If not, tell him I’m here.”

“My, we are an impatient one, aren’t we?”

“The sooner I check this place out, the quicker we may be able to track down the killer.” And the sooner I could get away from it. I might not have been inside yet, but Hunter’s words loomed large in the back of my mind. I did not want to be here any longer than necessary.

“Then by all means, come in.”

As he said the words, the wall gently slid to one side, revealing a long, steep staircase that led down into darkness. Trepidation flicked through me and I hesitated.

“I will lead if you’d like,” Azriel said softly.

I frowned as I glanced over my shoulder and met his gaze. “You can see in that ink?”

He withdrew Valdis. Her fire flickered across the dull concrete walls and danced through the darkness. “I will sense more than see if anyone nears.”

I stepped to one side and waved him through. No one could ever accuse me of letting valor get the better of sanity—at least not when it came to stepping into dark vampire pits.

He moved into the stairwell, his steps barely audible on the concrete. I followed, keeping close, my fingers itching with the need to reach out and touch him—to keep a physical connection between us as the door silently closed and the shadows pressed close.

The walk down seemed to take forever, but in reality it was only a few minutes before the stairs gave way to a long corridor. The air here was cool and musty, and surprisingly free of the scent of vampire. Black tiles lined the walls and the floor was covered by a dark red rubber matting that swallowed all sound.

Valdis’s bright flame lifted the darkness, revealing the doorway at the far end of the corridor. It was metal and extremely solid. Not something that would be broken down in any great hurry.

I glanced behind me, wondering if our astral-traveling Cazador was still following us.

No, Azriel said. He awaits on the street.

Wonder why?

Azriel shrugged. Maybe Hunter fears that one of the vampires in this place will sense him and give warning.

Maybe. And it was good to know that we weren’t going to be shadowed absolutely everywhere.

The door opened as we approached. The room beyond was small and somewhat intimate in its feel. While the black and red theme continued here, electric wall sconces gave the room a muted warmth and the combination of blackwood furniture and well-padded sofas lent it a feeling of casual elegance. A small desk hugged the right side rear of the room, and behind it sat a woman. Like the room itself, she was black, from the tips of her hair to the leather pumps that were evident underneath the desk.

“Brett Marshall waits for you in the main room, Ms. Jones,” she said in a smoky sort of voice. “Please go in.”

Two doors—which I hadn’t actually noticed until that point—slid silently open at her words, revealing a larger, darker room. The air that wafted out was filled with the aromas of vampire, blood, and hunger. A shiver ran through me as Amaya’s hissing began to filter across the back of my thoughts.

I glanced at Azriel. How many people are there?

A dozen vampires, and at least twenty humans. Distaste ran through his thoughts. They are thralls, and yet not.

I frowned as I walked warily into the darkened room, wondering how someone could be a thrall and yet not. But the question went unanswered. Either Azriel didn’t know or he wasn’t saying.

The former, he said, voice full of censure. You really need to start trusting me more, Risa.

I do trust you—to watch my back and keep me alive. What I don’t trust is that you’re ever going to be completely honest with me.