Darkness Hunts (Dark Angels 4)

Somehow, I’m not believing that.

It was wryly said, and he acknowledged it with an almost regal nod. Perhaps I do oversimplify.

Perhaps? I seriously doubted there was any “perhaps” about it. I hesitated, then asked, Just how closely do you follow me?

Again that half smile appeared. It gave his almost stern features a softer edge, but didn’t ease the impression of . . . not menace—not exactly. Perhaps it was more an underlying sense that the urban exterior was little more than a veil concealing a darker, more deadly soul.

I cannot enter your home, if that is your concern.

Surprise rippled through me. So the vampire threshold rule applies on the astral plane?

Yes. He hesitated. I tail you everywhere else, though.

Everywhere else? I repeated, a little mortified by the thought.

He cleared his throat, and I had an odd sense that he’d swallowed a laugh. This Cazador did not fit the image I’d created of them. But then, neither did Uncle Quinn. Well, bathrooms are out of bounds, of course. As are boudoirs.

Oh, thank God.

This time, he did laugh. It was a somewhat harsh sound, as if he didn’t do it often. You’re an interesting person to talk to, Ms. Jones.

Thanks. I think.

He bowed again. You’d best return to your body. The weakness grows in you.

Odd that he could sense that and I couldn’t. But then, I’d become very good at ignoring my needs of late. Chat with you later, Markel.

Undoubtedly, he said.

I closed my eyes and imagined my body, and suddenly I was back there. I gasped at the shock of it and opened my eyes, but I didn’t move, wary of causing a repeat of the sickness that hit me last time.

“Well,” Rhoan said, voice impatient. “What happened?”

“Give her time to regain her full senses,” Elga said crossly. “In fact, go get her coffee and chocolate. This poor girl needs some fat on her body; otherwise she’s going to be of no use to anyone.”

“I’m a werewolf,” I murmured. “We’re naturally lean.”

But when even speaking hurt, I really was in trouble. I closed my eyes and rubbed my forehead somewhat gingerly. There was a low-grade throbbing deep inside my skull, and I knew it was a result of doing too much on too little sleep and food.

“Werewolves are lean, granted,” Elga commented. “But you, my dear, are positively scrawny. You obviously need someone to sit you down and make you eat regular meals.”

Is this one of those occasions where an “I told you so” would be appropriate? came Azriel’s silent thought.

Probably. But I wouldn’t suggest it because I might get nasty.

And that is supposed to scare me? The dry amusement in his tone swirled through me, sending warmth fluttering.

It would scare most men.

I am not a man.

True. You, reaper, are frustration personified.

Not unexpectedly, he made no reply. Rhoan came back carrying a large bottle of Coke and two chocolate-covered protein bars. I carefully hitched myself upright, but the room still spun around me. Elga was right—I couldn’t keep risking the astral plane feeling like this. Not when we were hunting someone who was obviously very familiar with it, and also very dangerous on it.

Elga frowned. “Coffee would be better—”

“Trust me, it’s not coffee that refuels her, but Coke. She was born with the stuff running through her veins, I think.” He squatted beside the bed and handed me the Coke. “I know I’m rushing you, and I’m sorry, but we really do need to know what happened.”