Kim Harrison - Hotter Than Hell

Mari took a shuddery breath, and exhaled it softly. She was a small, pale woman with even paler hair. Not an albino, because her eyes were brown, but she still possessed that almost ethereal delicateness albinos often had. It was rare for a cat shifter to give off that sort of vibe, because they were usually the independent, don’t-you-worry-about-me types, but maybe it was simply the stress of the situation.

“He went to bed at ten, as usual. His light was still on at eleven, so he was probably online, chatting.” She shrugged. “He does that most nights.”

“And you went to bed when?” Ethan asked, his voice all business, all matter-of-fact.

Which should have put me at ease, but didn’t. After the long, close-quarters drive down here, I was still far too aware of the man. I blew out a breath, and tried to concentrate on her voice, listening for anything out of place in her answers that might help find the missing teenagers.

“Midnight,” she answered. “I said goodnight, and he answered.”

“And you heard nothing all night?”

“Nothing at all. The dogs didn’t even bark.”

And they certainly had at us. But then, we were wolves, and basically invading their turf.

“What time did you notice he was missing?” I asked softly.

She looked at me. “As soon as I got up at seven. His door was open and the bed empty.”

“What did you do then?”

“Looked for him, of course. But he was nowhere.” She stopped and gulped, then looked back at Ethan. “Frank said you’d find him. He promised.”

Frank was a freaking fool who should have known better than that. Ethan touched the woman’s frail shoulder and squeezed it lightly. “We’ll do our best, Mrs. Symmonds.”

“Thank you.”

Ethan looked briefly my way. The dangerous spark still glittered bright in his eyes, but I wasn’t entirely sure if it was anger or desire. “We should go to his room and look around. Mrs. Symmonds?”

She led the way along the daisy-strewn stone path to the main house—a rambling, two-story affair so often found on older farms. Which this had once been, before Mari and her now-dead hubby had sold it off to developers.

As we neared the back door, Ethan pressed a hand to my back, guiding me inside. Even that slightest of touches had my system going into meltdown.

This wasn’t good. Not when the lives of a couple kids might well depend on my ability to concentrate. I stepped away from him, but the air between us still seemed so very heated.

“If you don’t mind,” I said, touching Mari’s arm gently. “I’ll get you to wait here. The less interfering vibrations up there, the better.”

She didn’t ask what I meant, simply nodded. Ethan and I moved up the stairs. We knew the layout of the house—it had been included in the files Frank had given us.

Ethan stopped in the doorway while I continued on. We’d worked together enough now that this side of our relationship had almost become routine. Lord how I wished the other part, the part I kept denying, had the same, easygoing feel.

“Sense anything?” he asked.

I stopped near the bed and drew in a deep breath, tasting the flavors in the air, feeling for the emotions and shadows that rode underneath.

The world was filled with such things. I’d learned to leash and control the senses that detected them, but had never truly been able to explain it. Especially since I come from a very long line of mundane, normal wolves that wouldn’t know a psychic skill if they fell over it.

But for me, the very air I breathed was alive, and sometimes, that wasn’t a good thing. There were the standard, everyday emotions that everyone could see and feel and sometimes taste, but there were just as many that ran underneath normal sensory lines. Many of these were the darker, more destructive emotions and aromas, and they lingered like a cancer in the air, polluting and destroying any sweeter scent.

This room was filled with such a darkness.

“It feels like a vampire,” I said, the chill running across my flesh making me suddenly glad of the multiple layers of clothing.

“Vampires can’t cross thresholds uninvited.” Ethan’s footsteps echoed on the wooden boards as he walked across to the window.

“There’s no saying Jon didn’t invite it in.”

“Except the cops reported that all windows and doors had still been locked from the inside.” He paused, looking out the sea-salt blasted pane of glass. “Besides, we’re on the second floor, and there are no nearby trees. Vampires can’t fly.”

“But they can climb ladders.”

“Soft soil. They would have found ladder imprints.”

I sucked in the air again, felt the foulness of it swirl through me. “It’s definitely a vampire. Or at least something along those lines. It has that same dead feeling.”

“And there’s nothing else?”

I sifted through the undercurrents and deeper threads of lingering emotions. “No fear. Whatever took him, he wasn’t afraid. Not at first, anyway.”

He glanced at me. “Not at first?”

I crossed my arms, and frowned. “No. I have a feeling that fear might have come later, but at the very beginning, he was a dreamer caught in a dream.” I paused, finding a hint of arousal and excitement—and neither emotion had anything to do with Ethan or me. “He was chasing sexual completion.”

Ethan raised his eyebrows. “He’s run off with a girlfriend?”

I shrugged. “It would explain the locked doors and windows. Most teenagers his age have keys.”

He studied me for a moment, then walked over to the rumbled sheets, his nostrils flaring as he breathed deep. “There’s no lingering scent of sex.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Would you have sex with your girlfriend when your mom was in the room next door?”

His sudden smile was decidedly roguish, and had my pulse doing one of those excited little quicksteps.

“You’d be surprised what I got away with when my mom was in the next room.”

“Actually, no, I wouldn’t. ”

He picked up a photograph and stared at the image. “Going off with a girlfriend doesn’t explain why you smell vampire.”

“It would if the girlfriend was some sort of succubus.” Succubae—or energy vamps, as they were sometimes called—sucked life force rather than life blood and, unlike true vamps, they had fewer restrictions. Like being able to cross thresholds.

“They’re rare—especially in a small, out-of-the-way place like this.”

“Rare doesn’t mean can’t exist.”

“True.” He put the photo frame back down. “You up to visiting the other kid’s room?”

Part of me wanted to say no. Tasting shadows and darkness was never a pleasant thing, and usually I avoided doing it more than once a day. “It’s doubtful any useful scents will remain after a week.”

“But are you up to trying?”

I rubbed my arms. “Yeah. I guess.”

But only because time was of the essence if we were dealing with a succubus. Unlike regular suckers, they didn’t drain their victims in one hit, but rather over a couple of days. We still had a chance of finding Jon alive if we hurried.

Hope had all but faded when it came to the first boy, though. Succubae rarely went after another victim until they’d finished with the first.

“Did it say anywhere in the file whether the two boys hung out together?”

He shook his head. “But in a town this size, they probably would.” He paused. “Why?”

“Because it just seems odd an energy vamp would go after two teenage boys. I always thought they went after older, stronger life forces.”

“Normally, yeah.” He looked down at the bed for a moment, then walked around it and lightly touched my elbow. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”