Darkness Devours (Dark Angels 3)

I glanced at him. “That being?”

“He doesn’t get to dance with you.” And with that he winked out of existence again.

Goddamn you, Azriel. You can’t keep running like that.

Why not? his thought came back. You do.

Which was not something I could argue with. I grabbed the cab, gave the cabbie the hotel’s address, then dragged out my phone again and called Hunter.

“This is not what I would term a timely phone call,” she commented, and though her voice was mild, I was suddenly glad the vid-screen was broken. “Yeah, sorry, but I had an accident and fell off my bike.”

“I am aware of that fact,” she said crisply. “Just as I am aware that you’re planning to be at the FMFFC ball tomorrow night. I do hope you were intending to include that in your report.”

I closed my eyes and swore internally. I’d forgotten all about our damn watcher. “If I’d gotten the chance to make a report, I would have.”

“And I, of course, believe that implicitly.” Her voice was dry. “I have the information you requested, but with the privacy requirements of this investigation, I will not be sending it to you, electronically or otherwise.”

Meaning I’d have to meet the bitch. Great. I rubbed my aching head wearily. “Where and when?”

“Dark Earth. Half an hour.”

She hung up before I could answer. I swore again, this time out loud, then leaned forward and gave the driver the new address.

Unfortunately, it didn’t take long to get there. Azriel appeared the minute the cab stopped, catching my hand and holding me steady as I climbed out, then just as quickly releasing me. Even so, the memory of his fingers against my skin seemed to linger, teasing imagination and desire.

Damn it, this avoidance—on both our parts—just couldn’t go on. I might not want to confront whatever it was that was actually happening between us, but it was getting clearer and clearer that I would have to. For the sake of my sanity, if nothing else.

But not yet, that voice inside whispered. Not yet.

It seemed my inner voice was very much a coward.

Barkley Street was a hive of activity. Half of Brunswick had apparently decided to shop here tonight, which surely meant that getting into the club via its secret entrance without anyone seeing us would be that much harder. I couldn’t wrap the shadows around me like a vampire, after all, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to take Aedh form. Not when the Raziq were actively hunting me.

But as we neared the nook, the buzz of magic began to crawl across my skin and the shadows within seemed dense and forbidding. It was a place that repelled inspection rather than inviting it. I couldn’t even see the door, although it was little more than an arm’s length away.

Hunter suddenly appeared out the darkness. She looked me up and down, then said, “Nice to see you’re prompt about some things.”

Her voice gave as little away as her expression, but that still didn’t stop the tremor that ran down my spine. I was entering a club that catered to vampires with a blood whore addiction, and I was doing so with one of the most powerful vampires in Australia. I was insane.

Thank god I wasn’t alone.

Her gaze went to Azriel. “You’re allowing me to see your true form. Why?”

“Those I hunt always see my true form,” he replied evenly.

A comment that briefly made me wonder if he was, in some way, hunting me, despite his assurances to the contrary. It would certainly explain why I saw his real form when generally I only saw whatever form the reapers took on.

Hunter raised dark eyebrows, amusement glowing in her green eyes but not actually altering her otherwise remote expression. “Are you suggesting my mortal soul is in danger?”

“What you do not possess cannot be in danger.”

She laughed. It was a rich, warm sound that nevertheless sent another round of chills down my spine. “I like you, reaper. Very much.”

With that, she turned and walked back into the nook, becoming one with the shadows. I hesitated, glancing up and down the street to see if anyone was paying any attention. No one was—unfortunately. As Azriel’s fingers touched my spine and urged me forward, I took a deep breath and followed the bitch inside.

The dual fire of the swords peeled back the darkness and provided glimpses of Hunter ahead. Amaya was hissing again, the sound a constant static in the background of my mind. She didn’t like this place any more than I did.

The heavy door at the end of the corridor swung open as we approached—Hunter and Azriel silently, me with more of a clatter—and Brett Marshall himself appeared to greet us. Or rather, to greet Hunter.