A Soul So Wicked (Moon Chasers) (10 page)

“I know it sounds crazy, but I saw the murder as it happened tonight.”

Flannery’s gaze remained fastened on Tresa. “You’re a psychic.”

Not a question. Tresa took that as a good sign. Maybe Flannery had an open mind.

She nodded tightly; it was the easiest explanation.
There were plenty of hacks out there who claimed to be clairvoyants. It wasn’t a crime. They couldn’t prove her wrong and they couldn’t arrest her for it.

“And you saw the killer?” Flannery pressed, her dark eyebrows drawing together. “Do you know what he looks like?”

“No. The killer wasn’t in my direct view.”
Because I was in her mind
. “I watched as—” Tresa caught herself before saying
she
. She didn’t want to reveal that much yet. First, she’d see how seriously they took her. “I watched the killer carve him up.”

“C’mon, Flan. Let’s get back to the station. We’re wasting time on this crap.” Simpson looked at Tresa scathingly. “She’s got nothing.”

Flannery sent him a quelling look, clearly unwilling to give up yet. After a moment of silent communication, he sighed and motioned for her to continue the questioning.

The female detective took out a notepad. “How many of these visions have you had?”

“I’ve had visions of all the other victims, if that’s what you’re asking. I didn’t connect what I was seeing until I saw photos of the victims on the news. That’s when I knew these were more than nightmares.” Always go with a kernel of truth.

Flannery paused in her writing to stare at her thoughtfully, presumably gauging the truth of this.

Tresa gazed back calmly. This could be her opportunity to prove that she deserved to be included in this investigation. Once that happened, she could ferret out useful information that would help her lead them to the witch to make an arrest. Once the female was behind bars, Balthazar could do little damage through her.

“I haven’t seen the killer, but I can describe the scene. And are you sure your killer is a man?” There. She’d said it.

And that got their attention. Simpson looked dubious and Flannery looked expectant. Like she’d better deliver something good or they were out of here.

“Your killer is a woman,” she stated.

Flannery looked at her partner sharply.

He looked shocked but tried to hide it, shrugging a shoulder as if she hadn’t just said something significant. “How did you know…” Simpson’s voice faded at Flannery’s sharp look.

Tresa cocked her head to the side. “You already knew that?” It hadn’t been in the news.

Flannery inclined her head. “We found hairs at the scene. We suspect we’re looking for
a female. But we haven’t released that to the public.”

“So you believe me?”

Flannery didn’t answer that. “And you know the killer is female… because of your visions?”

She knew because witches were female. Instead of saying that, she nodded.

Flannery fished a card out of her pocket. On the back she scrawled a phone number. “You call me day or night with what you see. I don’t care how minor the details may be.”

Tresa stared steadily into her eyes, trying to see how serious the woman was. Flannery didn’t blink. She meant it.

Tresa grasped the cool edge of the card. “I will.”

Locking the door behind them, she flipped on the television, glad for the noise in the silence. That was probably what she liked most about TV, why she was grateful for its invention. It filled the awful silences. She could turn it on and not feel quite so alone.

She found a local news station and left it there, hoping for some information about tonight’s victim. If her suspicions were correct, the guy had been someone her witch knew. Maybe another student at San Vista University.

Watching the screen, she sat on the bed,
smoothing her palms over her soft cotton pajama bottoms. This time she didn’t jump at the knock at the door, thinking the detectives might have returned with more questions.

A glance through the peephole showed one of the hotel maids. Opening the door, Tresa said, “Yes?”

The woman blinked, as if she didn’t know how to respond. Then she looked searchingly to her right. Tresa followed her gaze… and gasped at the large shape there.

She tried to slam the door shut, but he was too fast. He grabbed her arm and thrust her inside the room before him, pausing only to lightly pat the maid on the cheek as if they were old friends.

His deep voice rumbled on the air. “Thank you, sweetheart. Forget about me and go back to work now.”

She nodded rather dazedly, smiling at Darius with yearning. It was clear she didn’t want to go anywhere. She was enamored of the lycan, and not by accident, Tresa was sure. Lycans possessed the ability to enthrall—especially when it came to the opposite sex.

“Go. Now,” he commanded.

She moved away.

And then he shut the door. Sealing them in.

She yanked her arm free and stumbled away, rubbing her skin, still feeling the burning imprint of his fingers there.

“You found me,” she rasped.

He’d survived. A ripple of relief coursed through her that she quickly squelched. She didn’t want him to know she was relieved. The last thing she needed was for him to think she was happy to see him.
She wasn’t.

He crossed his arms and squared off in front of her, blocking the door. “Not too difficult.”

“Now what?” she asked, her voice quivering. She lifted her chin. “You cuff me to the bed again? Settle in and wait for a demon?”

He moved from the door, apparently unconcerned that she would bolt for freedom. And why should he worry? She could never outrun him.

Yes, she had powers, abilities. She could bring the ceiling down on him if she wanted to, but did she really want to draw Balthazar to her side with Darius here? No. That was the last thing she wanted to do.

He clasped his hands behind his back and strolled around the room with a calmness that belied the tension swirling in the air. Her gaze swept over him. All lean lines and well-honed muscles, his body was built for conquering.
Or for giving pleasure
. She banished the outrageous thought. There was no pleasure to be had at the hands of a lycan.

He stopped beside the window and peered out through the curtains before looking back at her. His silver eyes pinned her. “Did you make that tree fall on the house?”

She snorted and sat on the edge of the bed, suddenly needing to sit—her legs were shaking too badly. “How else did you imagine it happened?”

“Why’d you do it?”

He continued to stare at her, his pewter gaze hot and probing. Her skin tingled where it roamed, and she resisted the urge to fidget.

He moved closer now. One step and he could touch her. A shiver skimmed her spine.

She shrugged one shoulder, uncomfortable beneath that stare, suddenly wishing she was still standing—and farther away from him. “It didn’t seem right, leaving you there at their mercy.”

“
Right?
” He uttered the word as though he had never heard it before. Clearly he didn’t expect her to be concerned with matters of right and wrong. Well,
wrong
maybe.

“As you’ve pointed out, you are what you are through no choice of your own. It doesn’t seem fair that they should kill you for that alone.”

“It doesn’t?” He gazed at her like she was a curiosity.

“You’re not like the other…” She couldn’t bring herself to say it.

“Lycans,” he supplied.

“You’re trying to break the curse, however pointless your efforts.”

“Such a pessimist.” Shaking his head, he moved to the window again and looked down at the parking lot. She took the time to study him unreservedly. The broad expanse of his back; the perfect mold of his jeans over his ass. Heat washed her face.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, still staring out at the night. “These murders interest you. Why?”

She tensed. He knew what had brought her here, and she had to decide how much to tell him since it seemed unlikely that she would shake free of him again. At least not until he realized he was well and truly cursed. Forever. No undoing it.

Because he was as trapped as she was.

T
EN

Y
ou want to know why I’m here? Very well. I’ll tell you,” Tresa said.

At the sound of her silky-smooth voice, he turned and studied her. She held herself tensely, her lithe shape reminding him of a wire stretched taut. Her hair hung sleekly around her face. His palms tingled, itching to touch the strands and feel if they were as silken as they looked. Just the sight of her drove home how dangerous she was.

He knew she was clever. He couldn’t trust her—even if she had helped him escape from those hunters.

He lowered himself to the bed beside her, keeping a careful distance. He had no wish to touch her. Well, he did. He had desires, after all, and she was lovely. Alluring. But he wouldn’t succumb to the temptation. He couldn’t.

She obviously didn’t want to be close to him,
either. She scooted inches away, moistening her lips, and his stomach clenched at the sight of that pink tongue tracing her very desirable mouth.

She continued, “I was telling the truth about my demon. He hasn’t bothered me in over a year. In the past, even in cold climates, he would make brief appearances and try to regain control over me.”

“Go on. What has this got to do with you being here?”

Her lip curled in the semblance of a smile. “I’m here because Balthazar is here.”

Everything inside him leapt to life. The very demon who’d granted her wish and started the lycan curse… was
here
. He started to push up from the bed, as if he would go find the bastard right then. Her hand on his thigh pulled him back—and that touch drove every thought from his head.

A hissing breath escaped him.

She jerked her hand back, color staining her pale cheeks.

“Don’t,” he warned.

She nodded quickly, obviously understanding. She’d been around long enough to understand the nature of a lycan—the urges, the lack of impulse control. He’d stopped himself from
killing and feeding during the last century, but he didn’t live as a monk. Sex was the one vice he allowed himself. Occasionally and with caution.

His thigh burned where her hand had touched him. He looked away, clenching the edge of the bed until he regained his control, wrapping it around him like a shield.

After a moment, he leveled his gaze back on her and got to the matter at hand. “Balthazar. That’s his name?”

Her voice floated, whisper soft. “Yes.”

“Why did you come looking for him? I thought you wanted to avoid him.”

Her throat worked as she swallowed. “I have to stop him. He’s found another witch to manipulate. They have to be stopped.”

“Ah, such an altruist.”

The gold in her eyes flashed like warm candlelight. “Believe me or not. It’s the truth.”

“Easy,” he soothed. “I believe you.” And amazingly, he did. She was trying to stop her demon from hurting others. Just like she’d saved him from the hunters. “How do we find him?”

We
.

As easily as that, before he’d consciously decided it, he’d already accepted that they were
in this together. They were going to have to team up to hunt down this demon.

She stared at him with wide eyes. Apparently she hadn’t missed the
we,
either.

“Like I said, he’s found another witch. Someone willing to commit depravities. So he’s not eager to reconnect with me now.”

He stared at her, the puzzle pieces fitting together. “She’s the Rose Petal Killer.”

Tresa nodded. “I’ve been in her head when she does these horrible things. My bond to Balthazar puts me there. I’m there, but I can’t see her. I don’t know who she is.”

“But you’re a witness to the killings.” He absorbed that. “We can figure this out. We can find her.” And when they found her, they’d find the demon.

She nodded, sliding her hands nervously along her thighs.

The motion seemed so… human. Something a normal woman would do when she was nervous. Those slim fingers held his attention too long. He remembered the pressure of her hand on his thigh and his gut tightened.

He blinked and looked away, struggling to reconcile what was before him with what he had created in his head.

Standing, he moved to the phone and dialed
the front desk. “Yes. We’re going to need to move into a larger room. Two beds. Tonight if possible.”

After listening to the clerk, he hung up the phone and faced her. “Gather your things.”

She hesitated only a moment and he knew the wheels were spinning in her head. She was trying to decide whether to fight him on this.

At last she reached a decision. The right one, apparently, because she nodded jerkily and gathered a few things. Moving into the bathroom, she returned with a small striped cosmetic bag that she stuffed into her luggage. A quick look around confirmed that she’d left nothing else. “I’m ready.”

Was her seeming malleability another ploy? Would she try to escape the first chance that came along?

She sighed beneath his scrutiny. “I’m not going to run.” Evidently her powers extended to mind reading. “All I want to do is find Balthazar’s witch and stop her. As long as you don’t get in my way, then we won’t have any problems.”

“Then we won’t have any problems,” he agreed, lifting her luggage. “We’re both after the same thing.”

For now, they were in this together.

Her mouth curled humorlessly. “Who would ever have thought that possible?”

She glided past him and out the door. Shaking his head, he followed her into the hall, marveling that he should feel anything less than hatred for her.

But it was there. A decided lack of animosity for this witch who would delay her own escape to save him. Who wanted to stop another witch from taking innocent lives.

He stared at her slim back, ramrod straight. She strode ahead of him with effortless grace. Her hips swayed in a way that beckoned him, called to the animal inside him that craved a mate—the carnal, savage part that wanted to seize her hips, pull her beneath him and drive his cock deep into her heat. And maybe most alarming, it wasn’t just about claiming her, fucking her until the urge was gone.