Circle of Death (Damask Circle 2)

She shivered, more from his touch than any chill. “No. I’m okay. Really,” she added, when he gave her a disbelieving look. “I think I just need a coffee.”

“And something to eat. You can’t continue to run on empty, you know.”

“I know.” She looked away from the concern in his eyes. Despite the temptation to believe otherwise, she knew it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. They were strangers who’d shared a mad moment of passion. Nothing more. Nothing deeper.

You’re wrong. And you know it.

His thought whispered through her, its touch as warm as the wind on a hot summer evening. She certainly wasn’t telepathic, and while she’d been able to catch Helen’s emotions easily enough, it was never something that had expanded to anyone else—until now. That she could hear Doyle’s thoughts as well as feel his emotions scared the hell out of her.

On the street ahead, yellow cars gleamed. Taxis, lined up in a row, waiting for customers. “We’ll have to head back to my place sometime,” she said, reminded suddenly that she didn’t have any money.

“Might be safer if we didn’t,” he muttered. “You’ll be less tempted to run without cash.”

She didn’t refute his statement, just crossed her arms and tried to keep warm. Though her back was on fire, the rest of her was so cold her bones were beginning to ache. They climbed into the taxi and he gave the driver the address. The center wasn’t far away, and it didn’t take them long to get there. The taxi stopped just shy of the locked main gates.

“Looks quiet,” she said, climbing out of the taxi and studying the rows of old red-brick buildings visible behind the gates. They looked like factories—or a prison.

“It should be. It closed down a few years ago and is apparently little more than a storage facility now.”

“It looks like it should have closed down earlier than that,” she muttered, noting the peeling paint and cracked walls on the building closest to them. The whole place looked little better than a dump.

Had it always been like this? She couldn’t say, because she had no real memories of it. She knew well enough that she’d met Helen here, and that meant she’d obviously been here for some time, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t remember anything else about the place. And yet she could recall every one of her foster parents. Could still recite their names and addresses. Had this place been so bad she’d wiped away all memory of it? Or had it just been so bland there was nothing worth remembering?

“Camille’s van is just down the street,” he said as the taxi drove off.

“What about your friend’s car? Is that still about?”

Doyle shook his head and moved toward the main gate. He had the padlock undone and in his pocket in two seconds flat. “Russ doesn’t need a car,” he said. “Make sure you close the gate behind you.”

She nodded, doing just that before following him across the damp lawn. “Why doesn’t he need a car? Don’t tell me the hype about vampires turning into bats is true?”

He flashed her a grin. “No, vampires aren’t shapeshifters. They don’t have to be, when they can run like the wind.”

Shapeshifters. The word reverberated through her. She stopped abruptly, staring at his back. “That’s what you are, isn’t it? That panther—it was you, wasn’t it?”

Tension ran through his back muscles and he slowly turned, his expression a mix of uncertainty and resignation. “Yes, it was,” he said. “But you knew all along I wasn’t entirely human. Your magic told you that when we first met.”

She licked her lips, not entirely sure what to think now that she had made the connection. “You could have told me,” she said softly. Could have mentioned she’d almost made love to a man who was half-beast.

“I’m still just a man, whether or not I’m in panther form. Don’t get the werewolf legends confused with the reality of shapeshifters.”

She thrust a hand through her hair. “I can’t deal with this now.” Didn’t want to deal with it now. Her world was in the process of zooming out of her control, and her head felt like it was spinning. She didn’t need this, not on top of everything else.

“You’ll have to deal with it eventually,” he murmured and turned away, walking toward the west side of the building.

Only if you stay, she thought. And she knew that wasn’t going to happen.

He disappeared around the corner of the building, and she hurried to catch up with him. Azaleas and rhododendrons battled for space with weeds in the small garden bed lining the wall. The path was covered in moss and looked like it hadn’t been swept in months. No caretaker, she thought, and wondered if the place was even still used as a storage facility.

He’d stopped about halfway down, his expression grim and his hands on his hips.

“What’s wrong?” She stopped beside him and stared at the window. There was nothing she could see that would cause such a fierce frown.

“Blood,” he said, stepping back and studying the windows on the first floor.

“There is?” She stepped forward, intent on getting a closer look, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

“Careful. It’s a trap.”