He slid his phone from his pocket and thumbed.
“Central. How we doin’?”
“Jeannie, what the hell is going on? There’s already a cavalcade of medical and law enforcement vehicles here.”
“I don’t know what to say.” A flurry of taps followed. “I’m not getting anything.”
“Shit.” There was only one reason Central’s network hadn’t picked up this mess—Greaves was here. Holy shit. “Okay. Do you see any mist trails?”
“There are a few minor ones around the death vamp, and yours, of course. I’m seeing a dull area to the west of you about twenty yards away. Do you see a Ramada or something?”
“Nope, but the party’s right there.”
“Holy shit,” Jeannie cried. “Has to be the Commander. Even you can’t do mist like that, and you do it better than anyone.”
“Gotta be Greaves. Stay close.”
“You got it.” He heard more tapping.
He dropped low. He could see the victim from where he crouched. She was stretched out on the sidewalk, a woman whose curly black hair was just visible from beneath a white sheet. All around her, red stained the cement. His heart sank into his gut. She’d been drained in public long before sunset. And now he had a circus to manage.
What the hell was the Commander doing at a medical complex? Which begged the question, why had the death vamp shown up here as well?
He rose up then walked a good twenty yards to the west. He kept his mist tight. Any mortal looking in his direction would experience confusion of mind and fail to see him.
A host of onlookers surrounded the scene, lining the cement stairs and gathering in pockets across a two-story courtyard catwalk to watch the doings. In front of the catwalk, the death vamp floated about eight feet off the ground and turned in a lazy circle, euphoria on his face, blood on his mouth. His black wings, at full-mount, obscured a number of the onlookers from view.
Kerrick thumbed his phone then brought it to his ear again. “Found our head case. Big wings, too, which means he’s been around a few centuries. He’s twirling between two sets of stairs, enjoying one helluva high from the drain. At least he had enough sense to mist the area first.” Kerrick could see a faint web-like structure around the death vamp, but his powers of penetration far surpassed the pretty-boy’s ability to create the mind-bewildering substance.
“In addition to the death vamp’s signature, there are two strong grid signatures nearby as well.”
“Two?” he cried.
“One is probably the Commander,” Jeannie said. “And the other?”
“Who the hell knows?” He lowered his phone but stayed on the line.
The whole situation bugged the shit out of him. The only directive the Commander’s army honored was the law of absolute secrecy. However, the gore he’d cleaned up earlier, as well as the woman now on the sidewalk, had been left for anyone to see. So either Greaves’s army was getting sloppy or they no longer had orders to do cleanup. One way or the other, the war was becoming a whole new kind of nightmare.
He did a quick scan of all the individuals present, from the police officers and emergency techs, to the spectators near the crime scene, to the various huddled groups all up the stairs, until on the catwalk above the courtyard he found a blond female whose gaze was fixed not on the white sheet and black curls but on the spinning death vampire. Everyone else was focused on the crime scene.
Holy hell.
By every natural law, she shouldn’t have been able to see the death vamp, but her face had a wind-blasted expression so he knew she wasn’t looking at a goddamn maypole. Yet how was that even possible, and what did it mean?
The death vamp hid part of her from view. Kerrick strengthened his mist and moved to his right. When he saw her fully, time slowed, thickened, then stopped, a hard slam on the brakes.
His lips parted to allow for more air. A sense of knowing flowed through his mind, his body, a wide erotic river. The mortal was as familiar to him as blood down his throat, though he had no idea who she was. She was at least six feet tall, blond, blue-eyed, an elegant figure, although those were just a group of stats. He knew her.
His body set up a dedicated hum. Even his wing-locks vibrated. How did he know her? He searched his memories. Nothing came forward. The same river of knowing once more flowed through him, like he’d already been inside her in every possible way or that somehow he knew he would soon be with her. Holy shit. The small of his back tightened and he began to grow hard.
Okay. This was way the hell off target.
He pulled himself together and focused on the situation. Something was really wrong.
He moved a few paces again to his right in order to complete his scan of those catwalk spectators that the twirling head case still blocked from view.
Holy motherfucker, so it was true. Commander Greaves stood right next to the mortal as calm as you please and even inclined his head to Kerrick in a slight bow of recognition. Naturally, Greaves could see through his mist. Holy shit. Holy hell. What the f**k was going on? What was the Commander doing with this mortal female? No wonder Endelle was freaking out.
Must be an ascension in progress, yet everything he was looking at was completely without precedent.
Despite his shock, however, he needed to prepare for battle.
He drew in a deep breath and felt the familiar vibration through the muscles of his back, the sweet thrum that preceded the powering of his wings through his wing-locks. He let them fly. He let them extend to their full height and breadth. He stretched them and held them at the farthest reaches of full-mount until his head swirled with endorphins and a fighting sheen of sweat flowed over the entire surface of his skin. He wanted Greaves reminded of the extent of his powers, that he wasn’t an ordinary warrior, and that if he wanted to go head-to-head, Kerrick was goddamn ready, right here, right now, this place, this time. Bring-it-the-fuck-on.
The Commander, however, merely inclined his head again, acknowledging the presentation of his wings as a threat. Then he turned to the female and said something—so, yeah, he knew her. Afterward, he simply departed, leaving in the opposite direction, away from the crowd lining the stairs. No flash, no spectacle, this man, this vampire, just infinite maneuvering and plotting, the bastard.
Kerrick jerked his phone back up to his ear. “Jeannie?”
“Yeah? Trouble?”
“I need to know if one of the two signatures just fell off the grid.”
A pause, followed by a series of taps.