Keri Arthur - Circle Of Death

"Why?"

"I don't know." He shrugged and looked at her, his gaze suddenly intense. "Some things just are, Kirby.

You don't question them; you just accept."

"You accept," she muttered, dragging her gaze from his. "I'll continue to question." It was a whole lot safer that way.

Though the mist still covered the tops of the gums, the drizzle was beginning to lift and, above all the gray, patches of blue were showing. They might yet even get a fine day. Which would be good, she thought, dragging the ends of her coat together. She needed to get warm—it felt like the chill of the last few days had settled deep into her bones.

"If you're cold, you can have my coat," he said, rubbing his hand up and down her arm.

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 felt 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 all that long to get there.

The taxi stopped just up from 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.

"Should be. It closed down a few years ago and is apparently little more than a storage facility now."

"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 memories of it. Not one. Though both she and Helen had apparently spent some time here, nothing had stuck in her mind. 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 mate's car? 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 shapechangers. Don't have to be, when they can run like the wind."

Shapechangers.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 shapechangers."

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 well 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 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 as if it hadn't been swept in months. No caretaker, she thought, and wondered if the place was 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, 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."

She stared at him. "How can you tell that just by looking at it?"

"I can't. I can feel it."

"You can? How?"

"Now is not the time, believe me." Without glancing at her, he moved off down the path.

"Now is never the time," she muttered, stomping after him.

They rounded the corner of the building. About halfway along this section was an old wooden door.

Squatting in front of it was a woman. Though she had gray hair and from a distance looked reasonably old, her multicolored sweater was so bright you almost had to squint to look at it. To complement this, she also wore black leather pants and red runners. A woman who didn't care about the opinions of others, Kirby thought with a smile.

The woman glanced up as they approached, a smile creasing her lined features.

"About time you got here, boy. I can't get this damn lock to open." The woman's bright gaze swept past Doyle, fixing on her. "You'd be Kirby, then?"

Her blue eyes were luminous, almost electric. Not a woman who missed much. Kirby nodded. "You're Camille?"

"That I am." She swatted Doyle's arm then rose a little stiffly and moved out of the way. "Get a move on. We can't stand out here all day, you know."

"I gather there's no spell," he said, voice dry as he squatted in front of the lock.

"Of course not. If there was, I would have removed it."

Kirby crossed her arms and watched Doyle work on the lock. "Are you sure your friend is inside?"

"Something is," he said, as the lock clicked open. "I can hear them scuffing around."

She frowned. Did vampire's scuff? Somehow it didn't fit the image she had of them. "It could be a trap."

"Could be," he agreed, rising. "Which is why you'll wait out here."

"I'm not—" "You are. We need someone to watch for security patrols. You're it."

She bit her lip. It made perfectly good sense for her to remain out here, and they both knew it. Problem was, she didn't want to be left alone in this place. Something about it spooked her. But whether it was forgotten memories finally surfacing, or something else, she wasn't entirely sure.