Keri Arthur: Circle Of Death

Though it made no sense, one thing was clear.

Doyle Fitzgerald wasn't exactly human.

Magic burned across Doyle's skin, a touch as warm as her fingers were cold. Fear flitted briefly through the vibrant depths of her eyes, though whether it was fear of him or the situation, he couldn't say. Maybe it was both.

Right now, though, it didn't really matter. It was more important that they got out of here. Manarei's usually traveled in pairs. There would be another out there in the darkness, and it would have felt the death of its mate.

Somehow, he had to get Kirby into the car without alarming her any further—no easy task, he suspected. Especially if she noticed the manarei was beginning to melt away.

He stepped in front of her, blocking her view of the creature. "You need those wounds tended to."

It sounded rather lame, but he couldn't think of anything else to say. He certainly couldn't force her into the car—not when the thrum of magic pulsed between them. Light danced across her fingertips, a gentle play of energy that lit the night with miniature thrusts of lightning. Though he'd never come across anything like it before, one thing was clear: One wrong move and that energy would be aimed at him. And that, he suspected, would not be pretty.

"So you're offering to drive me to the nearest hospital?" She pulled her arm from his grasp and wavered on one leg. "Why?"

"Because you're going to bleed to death if you don't get medical help soon." The emergency room was actually the last place he wanted to take her. There were too many people—and too many forms the manarei could assume.

"And you're what? The local neighborhood watch out on evening patrol? And I suppose you just happened to have a gun handy in the glove compartment."

Inferring, no doubt, that he was a crook and up to no good. Once upon a time that might have been true, but not these days. Not since he'd joined the Circle. "Listen, all I'm trying to do is save your ass."

Irritation bit through his words. He thrust a hand through his hair and tried to remain calm.

She snorted softly. "Why the hell would you have any interest in saving my arse? You don't even know me."

"But I know a fine ass when I see one, and yours certainly deserves to be saved." His irritation was more obvious this time, and he took a deep breath. Damn it, why was her distrust getting to him? It was more than natural. In her shoes, he probably would have used his magic first and asked questions later.

A startled look crossed her face and, for a moment, a smile touched her lips. It transformed her features, thrusting them from pretty to extraordinary.

"Compliments ain't going to get you anywhere, chum."

Her tone was still tart, despite the lingering warmth on her lips. Lips he suddenly had great difficulty tearing his gaze away from.

"Tell me how you know my name, and why you're really here," she said, a slight flush invading her cheeks.

Before he could answer, a howl ran across the night. It was a high-pitched wail of distress that sounded more human than animal. The manarei's mate giving voice to its grief.

Time was running out. Though he still had four silver bullets in the gun, facing a grief-stricken manarei was an entirely different proposition to one in a feeding frenzy. Given the option, he preferred to run.

"The creature had a mate." Her gaze searched the night, and her voice was soft, edged with fear.

Doyle raised his eyebrows, wondering how she knew. "Yeah. And it's going to be a little pissed that we killed him. We have to get out of here."

"Why didn't you just say that earlier, instead of rambling on about the hospital?"

Her gaze met his. It seemed to delve right to his soul, tasting secrets he'd rather keep hidden. "Didn't want to alarm you more than necessary."

She snorted softly again. "Like my night hasn't been one huge, monster-filled nightmare already."

And she was counting him as one of those monsters, at least until she knew who and what he was—something he was in no hurry to tell her. "Can we just get in the car?"

He touched her elbow. Warmth flared, washing electricity between them. Not her magic but something deeper, something more basic. Her gaze flicked to his, startled, but she didn't pull away, didn't run. But only, he suspected, because the other manarei was still out there hunting her.

He helped her over to the car and opened the door. The lightning still danced across her fingers, stronger now than it had been before. He wondered what her magic was, and why she hadn't used it against the manarei .

Another scream cut across the night, closer than before. Doyle slammed the door shut and hurried around to the driver's side. The wind whipped around him, bringing with it the scent of death. Their death, if they didn't get out of here.

He started the engine, switched on the lights and threw the car into gear. The wheels spun on the wet road for several seconds before the car lurched forward.

"You know, you neatly avoided answering my question before."

She was leaning against the door, as far away from him as she could possibly get. Her arms were crossed, hands hidden, but he sensed this was less a defensive gesture and more an effort to keep warm.

She must have been out in the rain for some time, because she looked soaked.

He leaned forward and switched the heater to full blast. "And what question would that be?"

She made an exasperated sound. "Why are you here?" she repeated. "And how do you know my name?"

The lights changed to red up ahead. Doyle braked and glanced at the rearview mirror. Though he couldn't see anything, he knew the manarei was out there. Its grief was so strong the night reeked with it.

"I'm here because an old witch told me to be here."

"And I suppose this old witch just happened to tell you my name, as well?" Her voice was sharp with disbelief.

"Actually, yes, she did." He shifted gears and edged forward, wishing the lights would hurry up and change again.

"I see."

The tone of her voice told him she didn't. She stared out the window for several seconds. Tension rode her. Ready to run, Doyle thought, and knew if she did, she'd die.

"Look," he said, trying to keep his voice as calm and nonthreatening as possible. "I'm a private investigator. I'm working on a case that bears striking similarities to what happened to your friend tonight, and I came to investigate. That's all, nothing more."

"Then why did you stop back there? Why come down Grice Street at all if you were going to my place?"

He shrugged. "I got lost." The lights finally went green. He pressed the accelerator and sped off.

She studied him for several long seconds. "You're a liar, Doyle Fitzgerald."

He glanced at her. Her green eyes were flecked with silver and gleamed brightly in the darkness. So pretty, and yet so full of anguish and mistrust. "I'm not lying about the reason I'm here."

"Maybe." She looked away. "And maybe you'd better just stop and let me—" She hesitated, and gasped.

The shadows moved ahead, and the streetlights gleamed off the metal garbage can hurtling towards them. Doyle braked hard, and the car slewed sideways. The bin hit the hood of the car, shattering the windshield before rolling off into the rain swept darkness.

Through the spiderweb of cracks, Doyle could see the manarei , eyes gleaming yellow fire as it raced towards them. He cursed and threw the gears into reverse. The tires spun then gripped, and the car lurched backward.

But not nearly fast enough.

"Look out," Kirby screamed a second before something heavy hit the hood.

Glass shattered, flying everywhere. Kirby screamed again, a sound lost to the manarei's howl. It reached through the large hole it had shattered in the windshield, claws slashing wildly. Doyle braked, but the sudden stop failed to dislodge the creature. He thrust the car into neutral then threw a punch, connecting with the creature's jaw. The force of the blow jarred his whole arm but had little effect on the manarei . He might as well have been hitting concrete.