Keri Arthur - Tempting Evil

Or maybe she was the plant.

But for some reason, I thought not—and I have no idea why, other than the fact that I liked her. Considering my low batting average of late when it came to picking friends, I really should be taking that as a sign to be more cautious around her.

"I think we have a rich, eccentric recluse who likes to show off to his friends by throwing wild sex parties."

"But the arena? I like fighting, don't get me wrong, but this seems a little more serious than the stuff I usually do."

"You fight for a living?"

"I'm a wrestler by trade."

Well, she certainly had the size for it. And though I'd never seen a bear-shifter in action, she probably had the speed, as well. Real bears could certainly move damn fast, for all their bulk. "There's a fair bit of money in that, isn't there?"

"If you're good. I don't make half as much as Ginny."

I frowned, "Who's Ginny?"

"The tat lady. You must have noticed her in the line earlier."

Ah—the light-on-her-toes woman. I'd been right. She did fight for a living. "So you know each other?"

"We work the same circuit."

Which could have meant anything from they were the best of friends to mortal enemies.

"You're both out of work at the moment, then?"

"No. But for me, this otter is just too good to refuse. It'll give me some decent fall-back money. I might even be able to buy myself somewhere to live." She paused. In the brief silence, I heard the squeak of seats as the other women moved. None of them were talking. Maybe they were riveted by our conversation.

"So what were you up to when they recruited you, wolf?"

"I've only just come down from Sydney."

"Why?"

"Things got a little heated up there for me. Thought retreat was better than ending up sitting behind cell bars."

She didn't say anything, but there was suddenly a decided chill coming from her direction. "Anything major?"

"Just getting a little light-fingered in the wrong place."

"A thief."

She said it in a flat-toned, disapproving sort of way. Not surprising, given the brutally honest tendencies of her race. But her tone also suggested I'd just lost a potential friend. That was sad, because I generally found it hard to make friends, and things had, up until that moment, seemed hopeful.

"When I need to be." I shrugged. "A girl's got to live."

"A girl can get a regular job."

"I do. They always fire me."

"I'm not surprised if you're light-fingered."

I didn't say anything to that, and she lapsed into silence. The rest of the journey seemed to take forever, but eventually the blackout was lifted, revealing a long white driveway that was lined with elms. It led up to a white-pillared house that looked as if it belonged somewhere in the deep south of America—only it was far, far larger than any of those southern mansions. The "wows" that suddenly filled the bus were echoed by me, even though I'd already seen the floor plans. Obviously, crime paid extremely well.

The bus didn't stop at the front of the place, but turned to the right and headed toward the rear. I studied the gardens and paddocks rather than craning my neck to view the building like everyone else, and managed to catch a glimpse of several bunkhouses, including one that was fenced by wire. The whorehouse, probably. And if you had to live in a whorehouse, then this was the type to go for. It was a miniature replica of the main house, with lush landscaping and its own small pool. Still, given the wire fencing and the cameras mounted on each corner, I was damn glad we hadn't followed our original plan. Getting out of that place on a regular basis would have been hell.

The bus came to a halt around the back of the house and military guy stood up. "As I read your name, you will leave the bus and walk over to the red door. From there, you will enter and complete the obstacle course. Depending on whether you pass or fail, you will be led to either your quarters or returned to the bus. Is that understood ?"

We dutifully nodded, and he said, "Nerida Smith."

The fox-shifter stood and marched off the bus. As she neared the red door, it opened. She went through and the door closed behind her. Though I listened hard, I could hear no sound coming from behind the door. Whatever was happening inside was quiet. Either that, or the house was extremely well soundproofed.

The twins were next, then a dark skinned woman who looked extremely fragile. About five seconds after she'd entered, I heard the screams—high and frightened. Military guy looked down at his folder and ran his pen across the page. Our first failure.

Ginny, the tat lady, was next, then Berna. "Good luck," I said, as she rose.

She gave me a tight sort of nod that spoke of nerves more than a reluctance to acknowledge me, and headed out of the bus. No screams came from either woman, which I guess meant they'd passed. A blonde went next, and she also failed.

"And the lucky last," he said eventually, "The mouthy werewolf."

I stood. "I guess you're meaning me."

He pointed toward the red door with his pen. "Let's see how sassy you get in there."

"Obstacle courses don't scare me."

His sudden grin held a decidedly nasty edge. "Oh, this one might."

And wasn't that something to look forward to. I jumped off the bus and headed for the door. "Going into the house," I murmured. "Turning off sound until I'm sure it's safe."

"Luck, Riley."

"Thanks."

I lightly pressed the com-link to switch it to off, then took a deep breath as the red door opened. The room inside was long and shadowed, and filled with varying stacks of boxes. I looked up as I went through the doorway, noting there was no door sensor on the inside of the frame. Meaning this particular exit was one way only. Cameras lined the roof at regular intervals, so someone was monitoring everything that happened between this door and the exit.

I wondered if they'd intervene if things got nasty.

The door began to swing shut automatically. I stopped on the small landing and sniffed the air. There was nothing more than age and dust to be smelled, but that didn't mean the room was empty. Awareness tingled across my senses, a warning that there were several other non-humans hiding within the maze of boxes—and one of them was a vampire.

The door clicked shut, then the lights went off, leaving a darkness that was blacker and thicker than night. I blinked, switching to the infrared of my vampire sight. An unfair advantage, but then, who said I had to play fair?

Whisper soft steps rode the stillness. I glanced to my left—not because that was where the footsteps were coming from, but because someone was hiding there. I couldn't see them—they had to be hiding behind some sort of metal because I wasn't seeing their heat signature. But their presence itched at my skin, as irritating as sand caught in a shoe.

I ignored the stairs, leapt over the railing, and dropped lightly to the floor. The footsteps stopped. For several seconds there was no sound other than the light rasp of my breathing. Then the red heat of a body flickered across the darkness, moving from one pile of boxes to another. Not the vampire, but some other nonhuman. I wasn't getting specifics, which made me wonder if they had some sort of psi-deadeners installed in the room.

I undid my buckle, then pulled the belt out from around my waist and held the two ends lightly in one hand. I didn't want either the people in this room, or those who were watching, to realize exactly what I could do, so using the spider-shaped buckle as a weapon might just deflect from the fact that I was faster and stronger than any half-breed should be.

I moved forward to the first line of boxes. Movement stirred the air, not footsteps but something else. Something that was arcing toward my head with deadly force. I dropped and lashed the buckle across the darkness. It hit something solid, and a man grunted. I followed the soft sound and dove forward, tackling the person I couldn't see with infrared at knee height and bringing him down. His head hit the concrete with a sizeable crack, and he didn't move. And he still wasn't visible, even though he was solid to the touch. A spirit lizard, probably. The one I'd killed after he'd assassinated Roberta Whitby—the sister Starr had wanted out of the way—had been little more than an outline, a figure who had a basic shape but no distinct features.