"
I shook my head. "And here I was thinking you were a nice vampire. "
"There is no such thing as a nice vampire," he said. "Just different shades of the same color. You'd be wise to remember that, especially here. "
Wasn't that the truth. "I'm not going to take another test. " I wasn't that concerned for Rhoan's safety. Not yet
I tackled the pile of files in my inbox instead. The morning crawled by, and the sensation that Rhoan was in trouble neither waxed nor waned. Which was odd. If he was in trouble, and unable to get out of it, surely the danger should build? What the hell did it mean when it remained at the same level?
At lunch, I grabbed a sandwich and cola from the machine in the foyer, then headed back to do some info searching on the mysterious, but oh-so-delicious, Quinn
There were lots and lots of yummy pictures - whoever started the myth that vampires couldn't be photographed was either a loony or had never actually tried it. And there were lots of articles, which swung between calling him a monster and hailing him as a savior of small companies. One article was all about a dead vamp found on one of Quinn's transport planes. Another mentioned expansions in his Sydney pharmaceutical company. And there was a small clipping about his engagement to one Eryn Jones - and a snapshot of the two of them together. She was a slender, brown-haired woman, and as pretty as hell. But then, I don't suppose someone like Quinn would end up with anyone dowdy. I glanced at the date on the top of the article - January 9. Six months ago
He had to love her a lot, because vampires didn't often commit themselves to one person. Kelly had once told me it was simply too hard to watch someone you love wither and die while you stayed eternally young. A vampire's only other choice was to turn their lovers into vamps, yet few relationships survived the turmoil of turning. Vampires tended to be territorial and two vamps couldn't often live in harmony
A few articles later, I found an interesting one about Eryn herself - or rather, her mysterious disappearance. Quinn had apparently been questioned by police, but released, and the inquiries were "ongoing. " Meaning the cops didn't have a goddamn clue
Was this the reason behind the attack on Quinn? Did someone, somewhere, suspect that he was behind her disappearance? If so, why was he waiting at my place to see Rhoan? Was it something to do with the missing Eryn or something else entirely?
How did he even know Rhoan if he normally lived in Sydney?
Frowning, I did a search on his fiancee, but didn't come up with much more than the fact she worked for a well-known pharmaceutical company - one Quinn had apparently bought, then dismantled, several months after her disappearance
Interesting, to say the least. Though God only knew how it connected to Rhoan's current troubles
Jack came back in from his lunch break, and I got back to work. The afternoon crawled by, and though I kept glancing at the clock, no word came from Rhoan. Jack pretended to be totally oblivious to anything but whatever it was he was doing on his computer, yet I knew he was watching me. Knew he was waiting for me to say something. To ask about Rhoan and the possibility of a search and, of course, that pesky retesting
Which I wasn't going to do until I'd exhausted my own avenues - and I intended to check them out as soon as I went home and changed. Unless, of course, the feeling of trouble sharpened dramatically
At six, I signed off and got the hell out of there. Given it was Saturday, and late evening to boot, most of the usual pedestrian traffic had already gone home. There was even breathing room on the train
Night was setting in by the time the train pulled into my station. I climbed out and walked up the platform to the exit. But the sensation that I was no longer alone crawled over my skin. I looked over my shoulder
As usual, half the lights were out. Shadows lurked along the fence line and crept skeletal fingers across the platform itself. No one had gotten off the train but me, and no one or nothing hid in the shadows. Not that I could sense or see, anyway. I glanced across to the platform on the other side of the tracks. No one there, either
So why did my skin prickle with awareness? An awareness I knew meant there was a vamp nearby, hiding in the shadows somewhere
Why couldn't I pinpoint his location?
And why did the night feel suddenly hostile?
Frowning, I slung my bag over my shoulder and continued on up the platform. But as I neared the steps that led up to Sunshine Avenue, the sharp scent of musk, mint, and man teased my nostrils
Not the vampire, but a wolf. The male of our species tended to have a slightly sharper basic aroma than males of other species. Or maybe it just seemed that way because we females were naturally more attuned to them
I stopped abruptly. He stood to the left of the steps, hiding between the station's wall and the ramp for disabled folk. He was absolutely still, something that is extremely rare for us wolves. Unless asleep, we tend to fidget if we stay in one spot for too long. The energy of the beast, barely contained, was Rhoan's theory
"I know you're there," I said softly. "What the hell do you want?"
The shadows parted, and the wolf stepped out into the light. He was rangy, mean-looking, and so much like Henri Gautier it could have been his brother. Only, as far as I knew, Gautier didn't have a brother
"Riley Jenson?" His voice was guttural, thick, and so cold a shiver traveled down my spine
"Who wants to know?"
"Got a message for you. "
My heart leapt. While I didn't think scum like him would be a friend of my brother's, I wouldn't put it past Rhoan to use his like for a messenger
"What?"
"Die, freak. "
His hand blurred, and I saw the gun
I moved, as fast as I could
Heard the booming report
Then there was pain
Nothing but pain