He wasn’t. At least, not yet.
Though for a minute there, when her hand had pressed against his chest, he’d had an uncomfortable flash of poor Michael House.
He’d been too far gone to stop then, but apprehension had risen in the back of his mind, for just a moment.
Fucking ridiculous.
Cara wasn’t a killer. Her alibis had checked out. She was the best sex he’d ever had—the perfect lover—and he was a damn lucky man.
“Hurry back,” Cara whispered, and the husky sound of her voice made his c**k twitch. He saw the white flash of her teeth as she smiled.
“Because I want you inside me again,” she said.
That was sure as hell where he wanted to be.
Yeah, dawn could bring reality. For now, he’d take his goddess and the dreams she offered to him.
The killer returned to the scene of the Dayton murder.
Going there was stupid—no denying it, but there really hadn’t been a choice for him. The compulsion to go to the scene had been too strong to resist.
A line of yellow police tape marked off the room. The door was closed. Sealed shut. The same garish plastic tape crisscrossed the windows.
He gave a moment’s thought to breaking into the hotel room, but decided the risk just wasn’t worth it. The body was long gone, so there really wasn’t a point to forcing—
A police cruiser circled the parking lot. Shit. He made a quick slide back into the shadows.
Damn it. It shouldn’t have happened this way. The plan had been different.
That poor bastard hadn’t even been on the list.
A door opened to the left. A young girl peeked out, then pushed a cleaning cart forward.
Perfect.
“Excuse me, miss…”
The girl let out a quick squeak of surprise.
He stepped into the light. The cops were gone. It was safe now. For the moment, anyway.
“I want to ask you a few questions.” Power pulsed beneath the words.
The girl’s eyes went blank. She wouldn’t remember the questions later—so she’d get to live.
“Y-yes, sir…”
And he would get his questions answered.
Because before he dealt out his punishment, he had to be certain of the crime.
Good partners were so very hard to find.
Only a few women enjoyed the bittersweet mix of sex and death.
“Tell me about the body you found. Every. Single. Detail.”
The girl began to talk and his hands balled into fists with every slow word that she uttered.
He’d known, of course, the instant he’d learned the man’s name.
But when the sweet young thing before him started talking about the blood and the knife that the cops had found…
Fuck. The last betrayal he’d expected.
By the one woman he’d trusted.
Oh, yes, he was gonna make the bitch pay .
She’d been his perfect bait.
Pity.
Now he’d have to add her name to his list.
“Thanks, sweetheart,” he told the girl softly, and bent to give her a light kiss—and to steal a wisp of power.
The girl swayed before him.
He stepped back, left her. He couldn’t very well kill her—finding a woman’s body wouldn’t fit the MO he’d created.
Not that the last murder fit, either— because of that whore.
But he’d show her. He’d find her, and make the bitch beg. Let her know that, before the cold hell of death, there could be such sweet, hot pleasure.
Chapter 7
“I need to know,” Colin told Emily as he paced the small confines of the precinct office. “Just how many supernaturals out there can kill with a touch.”
Emily kept her gaze on the crime scene photos. “You’re certain a more…human method wasn’t used to kill these men?”
He sighed. “Hell, doc, I don’t know.” He came behind her, settled his warm, strong hands on her shoulders and began to gently knead her flesh. “The tox report isn’t back yet on the last victim.”
Oh, God, but his hands were skilled. She closed the folder. Tried to stop picturing the dead. “What about the first two victims?”
“Smith was out. Phillips ruled ’em natural causes. Heart attacks.”
“But you don’t think that’s what happened?”
“Michael House has a handprint on his chest. Not a bruise, an actual outline of a hand. His heart—his whole body, according to Smith—was in perfect condition. No reason for a guy like him to up and die.”
“Unless he was given drugs or—”
“Or one of our local supernatural ass**les has decided to start f**king with the humans again.”
She had to wince at that because, technically, he was a supernatural who happened to be, ah, f**king with a human.
“Tell me what supernaturals out there can kill with a touch,” Gyth repeated, his voice hardening, “and I’ll start tracking those bastards down.”
Yes, he was very good at tracking. Hunting. It was the nature of the beast he carried. Her lover was a wolf shifter, a fierce breed, and once he started hunting his prey, he wouldn’t stop until he’d run the killer to ground. “I’ll need some time to think, to check my books and—”
“You already have suspicions, doc.” He wheeled her chair around, crouching at the same time so that when the chair’s wheels stopped moving, she found herself staring straight into his bright eyes. “So spill it.”
Her lips tightened. “There are…several beings who could potentially murder this way.” Potentially was the key word. Just because the Other could kill that way, well, it didn’t mean that any of them had.
One black brow lifted. “And they are?”
She had to be careful here. She couldn’t break her client confidentiality, but she had to give him as much knowledge as she possibly could. Fighting monsters was never easy. Her shifter knew that. “An incubus. A succubus. Both could—”
“Wow! Wait!” His eyes widened. “The sex demons?”
A slow nod. Most Other had heard of the incubi and succubi. Even if they hadn’t had, er, personal contact.
Because once a being had personal contact with one of that particular breed, well, it was said that the experience was unforgettable.
And, unfortunately for some, very addictive.
“I thought those two were supposed to get high off pleasure.”
Emily frowned at that. “They don’t ‘get high,’ as you put it.” She sniffed. “They literally live on it. Like vamps and blood.”