It had been a brutal introduction for her. One that she had apparently not recovered from yet.
Of course, he couldn’t really blame the woman. If he’d been held captive by a sadistic psychopath who also happened to be a damn powerful supernatural being, well, he would have freaked, too.
Not that Smith had freaked, per se. The lady was far too controlled for that. But she’d changed. No denying it. Shut down.
Blocked herself off.
She wouldn’t be able to live that way.
No one could. Not and stay sane. He knew. He’d tried once—after his mother’s shooting. He hadn’t wanted to feel again after that. The pain had been too much for him.
Over the years, Todd had learned a hard truth, though. If you weren’t feeling, you weren’t living, and life was too damn short to sit on the sidelines.
Smith used to know that.
The screech of a wheel caught his attention. His head turned, and Todd watched as Smith pushed a sheet-covered body toward them.
“Just finished some more work on him. Was about to transfer him out…”
Then they’d arrived just in time.
Smith’s gloved fingers pulled back the sheet. Todd heard Cara’s sharply indrawn breath. When he glanced at her face, he saw a faint quiver shake her lower lip.
Maybe demons weren’t so different from humans, after all.
She’d deceived him, yeah, no f**king denying that, but his Cara wasn’t a killer.
And he didn’t need his “psychic edge” to tell him that.
“Lower the sheet more.” Her voice was soft but steady.
Smith pulled down the sheet, exposing the surgical marks on Michael House’s chest and the dark handprint.
Cara’s fingers lifted over him. Hovered above that perfect impression. Her hand was smaller than the print, by at least a few inches.
Cara’s fine-boned fingers were nowhere near close to being a match. He hadn’t thought they would be, though. He hadn’t brought her down there to match hands—he’d brought her there to show her the print— and to find out what the hell it was.
“Cover him.” A tight order as her hand fisted. Smith jerked the sheet back up. Cara’s breath came faster now. Her gaze lifted, shot to his. “You were right, Todd. Damn it, you were right. ”
He noticed that Smith and Colin craned just a bit closer. “You’ve seen that mark before.”
“I’ve seen a mark like that before.”
“How was the impression made?” Smith immediately wanted to know. “The bruising isn’t like—”
“It’s not bruising.” She cleared her throat. “And it was made with a simple touch.”
“I don’t understand.” Smith frowned at her.
Me, either, Todd thought.
Gyth said nothing, but his attention was completely focused on Cara.
“We like to feel the beat of the heart when we take power from someone.”
He remembered the soft press of her hand against his chest.
“In ancient Egypt,” her voice was strangely calm, almost dispassionate as her gaze stayed on the sheet-covered body, “they believed that the true essence of a man was kept in his heart. His spirit. His soul. All in the heart. Not the brain.”
“That’s why they used a stick to yank out the brains,” Smith sniffed. “Didn’t really care about preserving that part.”
Todd wondered where the history lesson was going.
“When the brain stops functioning, a person’s body is still alive.” Cara’s gaze dropped to House’s covered chest. “As long as that wonderful heart keeps beating, the person is alive.”
She wet her lips, continued, “To my kind, the heart is life. We want to feel that precious beat. To share the pleasure, the thrill.
Sometimes that release of pleasure is so intense,” her voice dropped, “so powerful that the urge to keep taking is too strong.” Cara swallowed. “If you drain a human while you’re feeling the wild beat of a heart, when the human dies, the stain of the touch will remain.”
“Then you’ve seen this before?” He repeated. She seemed absolutely certain, but Todd had to know.
“Something like this. Yeah, once.” Shadows cloaked her eyes. “But I’ve heard stories. Before the killings stopped—”
Yeah, well, if she was telling him the truth, the succubus killings hadn’t exactly stopped.
“—brands like this were found all over France. England. Humans didn’t understand what they were seeing back then.” A quick glance at a silent Smith. “Now the doctors know it’s not just a bruise.”
It was a brand. A f**king calling card left by a killer who’d wanted to mark his victims.
“The hand, it’s average size,” Smith said, “could be a woman with long fingers or maybe a man with sm—”
“No.” Cara’s denial was absolute. Said at once. She shot a frowning stare at the body. “You all need to understand something—
Michael—he was straight. There’s no way an incubus could have been with Michael.”
She’d know.
“An incubus can only seduce those who would find him attractive. Same thing for a succubus. It’s a basic, primitive response.” A firm shake of her head. “Michael would never have gone with an incubus. The killer, hell, the killer’s a succubus.”
She swiped a tear from her eye and whispered, “You deserved better than this.” She spoke to Michael, her voice the intimate one of a friend.
Or lover.
“I’m sorry, Michael.” She sounded completely sincere. Her hands balled into fists.
Damn, but Todd wanted to comfort her.
To protect and to f**k. Two drives that should have been at odds, but with her, they seemed perfectly in tune.
Todd huffed out a hard breath and wondered just what he was going to do about his sex demon.
Smith cleared her throat, looked a bit less hostile as she asked, “Uh, does she need to see the other body?”
Todd gave a grim nod. “Show her.” No sense putting it off now. Besides, he’d been the one to come up with the idea of bringing Cara to the Crypt.
He just hadn’t realized that seeing her pain would hurt him so much. “Hurry, Smith.” He wanted Cara away from that place.
Smith turned toward the vault. Pulled back the gleaming handle and grasped the covered slab. The slab rolled toward them with a rush of icy air.
Cara inched forward. Gasped when Smith revealed the body and she caught sight of the deep wounds on his chest.