[Kassandra Lyall Preternatural Investigator 03] - Bloody Claws Page 4

  "Darling," she said, "All's fair-"

  I put a hand against her chest. "If you finish that sentence, I will not have sex with you tonight."

  She laughed at me. "Oh you think so, do you?" Her mouth sought my neck as she placed a tiny kiss upon my pulse.

  My heart gave a loud, resounding thump throughout my entire body.

  "Fuck," I murmured. "I can try."

  Her hand found my hip, thumb tracing distractingly over my slacks.

  "I do believe," she mumbled, "we have played this game before."

  Her tongue teased across my pulse a second before her teeth clenched lightly, catching and releasing the skin without breaking it. I gripped the back of the couch until the wood creaked in protest.

  "I'm confused. Which of us are you teasing?"

  She cupped the back of my skull. "Both," she said, tangling her hand in my hair and pulling my face up to hers.

  Her lips were like silk against my own, cool and smooth. She tasted of cinnamon toothpaste, but beneath the cinnamon, I could taste the faint undertone of blood. Zaphara's blood. My stomach turned. It wasn't the taste of blood that made my stomach turn; it was the fact that it was Zaphara's and that it was everywhere in her mouth that did me in.

  "What is it?" Lenorre asked, searching my face.

  "Next time," I said in a near growl, "use mouthwash."

  It was like watching someone slam the blinds down over a window. Lenorre's guard tumbled that fast.

  "I'm sorry," I said. "That was harsh. Zaphara was teasing me again. I know she's your blood donor." I shook my head, wrapping my arms around myself. "But for some reason, I really want to punch her in the face right now."

  It may have been childish, but it was honest.

  The corner of her mouth twitched.

  "Don't you dare laugh at me," I said.

  "How can I not when there is an obvious solution?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "If you are so jealous of Zaphara being my blood source, why do you not offer yourself in her stead?"

  A little flicker of discomfort went through me too quickly to hide. The muscles in my shoulders tensed.

  I didn't know what to say.

  Lenorre stepped back. "Does the idea of feeding me frighten you so, Kassandra?"

  "You've bitten me before."

  "I have drunk your blood during sex," Lenorre said. "You would not let me bite you, truly, or enchant you."

  "Is that what they're calling it?" I made little quotes in the air. "Enchant?"

  "Would you prefer it if I said you would not let me fuck your mind as much as I fuck the rest of your body?"

  It felt like someone had pulled my legs out from under me. I clung to the back of the couch and bowed my head, hiding behind my hair.

  Lenorre gave a short laugh this time. "Your mouth forms words that say one thing, but your body and your pulse say another, Kassandra."

  I raised my face. "I think you're misinterpreting my physical reaction."

  "How so?"

  "I'm not excited, by any means, at the idea of you mind-fucking me, Lenorre."

  "Fair enough," she said. "However, you are excited by the thought of being bitten. I believe we have already garnered such knowledge."

  I held her gaze. "Yes."

  "Will you let me bite you?" she asked bluntly.

  "I don't know."

  Lenorre let out a long, frustrated sigh. "I do not understand what is truly so bad. What makes you so uncertain when it comes to sharing blood with me? What is in the way, Kassandra? You have shared during sex. You have bled me during sex. What is the issue?"

  "I don't want to be food."

  "You are my lover," she said, somewhat incredulously. "Zaphara is food. You are my lover. You are the one I want most to share blood with. Do you know how mutually pleasurable such a thing could be?"

  "I've upset you."

  Lenorre's dark eyelashes fluttered closed. "A little."

  "Why?"

  "You are withholding a piece of yourself from me to avoid getting too close. Are you that afraid I will hurt you? Do you distrust me so, even now?"

  I thought about denying her words, but I knew it was pointless. She was a vampire, and despite my job description, I'd never been much good at lying to the people I cared about. The best liars are the ones who are capable of convincing themselves of their lies. In this, I was too aware of myself to dissemble.

  "Damn it, Lenorre."

  "Damn it? You are not going to disagree or argue with me?"

  "That would be a lie and pointless, wouldn't it? I'm not trying to hurt you."

  "I know you are not trying to hurt me," she said. "But can you see how it would?"

  I stood there, watching her as she fell into that vampiric stillness. She had this uncanny ability to see past my walls, to force me to turn around and look at myself behind them. It was exciting and frightening. Exciting because she understood me. Frightening because the more she understood me, the more in love with her I fell.

  I sighed, breathing the word, "Yes."

  She took a step back. "We have a scene to look at for the police," she said. "When you are ready, Kassandra."

  It was obvious she wasn't referring to the fact that I needed to get dressed so we could go, but was referring to me opening up, letting down my guard, and giving that piece of myself to her.

  That's one thing the stories don't tell you, that sometimes, love, real love, is a scary bitch. Love will ask you to face the things within yourself you'd rather just ignore. And the catch is, in order to make a relationship work, you can't. You have to face your inner demons and fears head on, or they get bigger, nastier.

  Lenorre was asking me to face them. If I didn't, I risked hurting her.

  Sadly, I'd always been better at dealing with the monsters outside myself than the ones within me.

  At least the ones outside me I could shoot.

  CHAPTER six

  found a pair of black boots I'd left at Lenorre's. The boots looked good with the dress slacks. Lenorre was wearing a white knee-length jacket that cinched at her waist. The onyx waist-length curls of her hair looked delicious against the white coat. I was wearing the same black pea coat I'd worn to the office. Between the two of us, the only splash of color other than black and white was Lenorre's wine-colored blouse.

  Arthur was right. The entire street was blocked off, and the red and blue police lights were a flashing beacon. I put the car in park, unbuckled my seat belt, and reached over Lenorre to open the glove compartment. I retrieved the spiffy new badge Arthur had given me, draped the lanyard over my neck, and pulled my hair out from under it.

  "We're going to get stopped by at least three police officers after getting past the tape."

  Lenorre gave me a look. "Do you want me to make it so we will not?"

  I shook my head. "Nah, after so many years, that would be weird."

  She smiled slightly. "I shall follow your lead."

  "Good idea." I got out and slammed the car door shut.

  I ducked under the Do Not Cross tape, wondering if Lenorre could seriously use her vampire wiles and walk in and out of the crime scene completely undetected. The thought was just a little unnerving.

  Arthur met us in the front yard and led the way through the house.

  "In here," he said, and we stepped into what appeared to be the victim's master bedroom. The scene before me didn't match the signature of violence that hung in the air. Unlike the scenes in the photographs that Arthur had shown me, I didn't see or smell any blood, but just because I couldn't see or smell anything didn't mean anything. I could feel the tension in the air like the calm after a thunderstorm.

  "Martha is on her way," Arthur said.

  Martha Apostolos was the Chief Medical Examiner, and once she arrived on scene she'd be in charge of examining the body and collecting any evidence from it. I wasn't here to collect evidence to send back to a lab or to transport the body for further examination. That's not my area of expertise
. I was here because I was supposed to help the cops figure out if this crime had anything to do with the preternatural and if so, how?

  Lenorre stood next to me. I took the pair of latex gloves that Arthur offered. I'd put my hair back before we'd left Lenorre's. If Forensics was going to be all over the place, I didn't want them accidentally picking up any DNA I shed.

  I went to the side of the bed.

  The victim was laid back against the pillows. She was clothed, wearing a light pink nightgown that ended just below her knees. Her dark brown hair spilled out against the white pillowcase. Her eyes were still open, wide and terrified in that last moment, glazed with death. Something a lot of people don't realize is that it's easier looking at a body when the victim's eyes aren't open. There's always something more peaceful about it, a part of the childish mind that can imagine they're only sleeping. But when they're not shut, that last second of life seems frozen, like a film stuck on the last frame.

  One thing I had noticed when we entered the bedroom was the small altar setup on a wooden dresser that was placed under the only window. The smell of some thick and cloying incense lingered, mingling with the soft and floral scent of soap on the body. She'd showered recently, though her hair was no longer wet.

  I examined the white sheets carefully.

  "Arthur," I said, as something caught my eye. He stepped up and I gestured toward the woman's leg.

  "Is that a burn mark?" he asked.

  The same mark I'd seen on the wall in the crime scene photographs was imprinted on the victim's leg, red and raw against her pale skin. I leaned closer to the body and realized it was a mistake. The smell of something musky and sour hit the back of my tongue.

  I called Lenorre's name and felt her move to the opposite side of me.

  "What can you smell?" I asked her.

  I watched as she drew in a deep breath, sorting through the scents in the room more obviously than I would've done in front of the nice policemen.

  "Incense," she said, "soap, fear, arousal…"

  "Arousal?" Arthur asked. "You can smell arousal and fear?"

  "Yes, Detective."

  "So if you smell arousal, does that mean you smell sex?"

  "'Tis probable," she said carefully.

  "Our victim was raped?" He was looking at me now.

  I touched the victim's wrist with my gloved fingers and the body was fresh enough to move easily. I turned the wrist and lowered it gently back to the bed. I got Arthur to move out of my way.

  "She was strangled," I said, noting the faint bruising that was beginning to blossom like a necklace around the victim's neck. "I can't tell you just by a glance if the victim was sexually assaulted. I don't see any bruising at the wrists, which you'd commonly find."

  "Not always," a voice said from the doorway.

  Martha Apostolos entered the room wearing a flowing long-sleeved blue dress and heels. Her dark mane of hair was pulled away from her face, revealing her soft, Greek features. She gave a smile that reached her red-brown eyes when she said, "Kassandra, it's been a long time."

  Arthur and I both stepped away from the body, getting out of her way. I returned the friendly smile. "I take it your night has been interrupted too?" I asked.

  "It has," she said. "I was out with a friend." She fixed Arthur with an accusatory stare, as if it was all his fault.

  Arthur handed her a pair of gloves and said, "Sorry to interrupt."

  "Oh, no, you're not." She laughed. "As I was saying when I walked in, you won't always find signs of restraint and force left behind. I would say that it doesn't appear your victim struggled, but I'll know more once I've had the opportunity to examine the body more thoroughly."

  "All right," Arthur said. "Thanks, Martha. We'll get out of your hair."

  Martha offered a sharp nod, but she was already eyeing the body and intently setting to work. We left her to it.

  *

  Lenorre knelt beside the bed in the guestroom, which was decorated in a lot of blue and a lot of gray. I could smell the unmistakable scent of cat urine and kitty litter in this room. If I looked closely enough, I could see black cat hairs on the bed.

  "We suspect our victim in the other room is Leana Davey," Arthur said. "She lives here alone."

  Lenorre said, "Not exactly, Detective," as a black cat slipped out from under the bed. The cat looked at me, ears twitching, pupils dilating. Lenorre stroked a hand down the back of its head. The cat looked startled for a second before rubbing against her leg. Apparently, cats like vampires. Who would've thought? I would've petted the cat, but I didn't for two reasons. One, it wasn't my cat. Two, the look it had given me told me I'd be sticking my hand in a kitty blender.

  "Familiar?" Arthur asked.

  I shrugged. "Could be? Who knows. Tell me what else you know," I said. "Does this scene match the other in that there are no signs of forced entry?"

  Lenorre continued to pet the cat, which was greedily gobbling up her affection.

  Arthur looked at me as he leaned against the wall closest to the door. "Same," he said. "Do you think it's human or preternatural?"

  "Honestly," I said, "I don't know. At this point, the only connection I can make between this crime and the last one is the victims' spiritual preferences and that damned symbol."

  "It could easily be either," Lenorre offered.

  "Do you have any idea what the symbol means?" I asked her.

  She shook her head. "If I had, Kassandra, I would have spoken so. I am sorry. I do not."

  Berkeley Ackerman chose that moment to walk into the room. She held a phone out to Arthur. "Holbrook wants to talk to you," she said.

  "Shit," Arthur said, taking the phone and walking out of the room with it.

  I heard him say, "Kingfisher, here," and a few, "Uh-huhs," as he made his way down the short hallway and out into the living room.

  I felt Ackerman staring at me.

  "So, it's true," she said, crossing her arms over her dark blue uniform.

  I knelt, peeking under the bed. There might not be any clues there, but it didn't hurt to look. I stood carefully, trying not to scare the cat that was keeping a precarious distance and huddling against Lenorre.

  "What's true?"

  She nodded toward Lenorre. "That's your girlfriend?"

  "My personal life isn't your business, Ackerman."

  "I don't know why Holbrook keeps you on retainer," she said snidely. "It's not like you do much of anything aside from shooting people."

  One breath. Two breaths.

  "Ackerman," I said, trying not to sound as bitchy as I felt. "If that's what you want to think, then fine, think it. If it helps you sleep better at night, knock yourself out. I really don't give a shit what you think of me."

  "What I think of you?" Her brows raised a fraction. "It's fact, Ms. Lyall. You're nothing but a fancy licensed killer."

  I took three quick strides that put me in her face.

  Ackerman flinched as if she were afraid I'd hit her.

  "If you thought what I did to Lukas Morris was terrible, you should have seen what he did to his victims. Why are you so oblivious to the fact that he committed murder? He was a serial killer, you idiot. He took innocent lives. Maybe you have sympathy for him. But I don't. I don't have a fucking ounce of sympathy for the twisted bastard."

  She stood up, tall and straight, as if she were trying to tower over me. As if to say, "I'm taller, which makes me tougher." However, she wasn't as tall as Lenorre, and when she tried to use her height to intimidate me, I saw Lenorre stand out of my peripheral vision. I didn't hear her take a step toward me, but I knew she had when Ackerman's gaze flicked nervously past my shoulder. If there was one thing she knew about the vampire standing behind me, it was what and who she was. And it was obvious in that moment that Ackerman wasn't exactly comfortable around her.

  I wondered if that's why she'd been staying so close to the door.

  "Officer," Lenorre said, infusing that one word with the undercurrent of a smooth t
hreat and warning.

  Ackerman kept her gaze averted, refusing to look at Lenorre.

  Was she afraid of all vampires or was it just Lenorre?

  "I've seen the file," Ackerman said. "I saw what she did to that man."

  "That man wasn't a man, Ackerman. That man was a serial killer and a lycanthrope."

  Lenorre's energy crept up my spine like cold needles and I tried to ignore it.

  Ackerman turned her head very slowly to look at Lenorre and something happened. The air felt heavier, humid, slightly tinted with the scent of mesquite. Lenorre's energy tingled along my spine and was met by a soft wave of heat.

  The heat was coming off Berkeley Ackerman.

  "You are not my Countess." I watched as specks of dark chocolate and amber rose to the surface of Ackerman's irises.

  I automatically slammed my shields shut tight, very tight, like a steel glove encasing my body, and took a wide step away from her.

  I did not touch Ackerman. That had been my mistake with Hunter. When one lycanthrope touches another, they're going to recognize each other as what they really are. I wasn't sure what Ackerman was, but I knew the flavor of shape-shifter when I smelled it. So far, Ackerman hadn't recognized me. I didn't know how she didn't recognize me, but I wanted to keep it that way.

  "No," Lenorre said, "but I know what you are."

  "That is why you found Lukas's fate so terrible," I said, bringing Ackerman's attention back to me. "You're not human."

  "What I am isn't any of your business," Ackerman said, low and defensive.

  I laughed and Ackerman jumped.

  "I don't care if you're a shape-shifter, Ackerman. I care if you're a good one or not."

  Ackerman's chest was rising and falling a bit too quickly behind her blue uniform.

  I took another step back, giving her room. "But just because you're one of them doesn't mean you have to defend all of them. How the hell are you supposed to be a good cop if you're going to protect murderers just because they have the same condition as you?"

  Her energy pushed against me like a wave of warm honey.

  "You're not about to go furry, are you?" I was concerned. Ackerman must've been experiencing some very strong emotions. Anger, most likely, but there was fear there too, so it was hard to tell. Either way, in order to keep her control of whatever beastie she was, she needed to tone down the emotions a few notches.