Night Games (31 page)

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Authors: Crystal Jordan

BOOK: Night Games
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“That is the only one it affects,” she insisted, but the last word broke on a soft sob.
“Not anymore.” He wanted her to believe that, if he could convince her of nothing else.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” The desperation in her voice hurt, and he knew she was trying to make this easier, but he didn’t want it to be easier on her. He wanted it to be really hard to leave him.
“It would rip a hole in my heart if I lost you now, Selina.” He laid it out for her, whether she wanted to hear it or not. If he’d done that for Heather, maybe he wouldn’t have lost her so young. Maybe she wouldn’t have given up all hope. He couldn’t bear those doubts with Selina. He didn’t want to keep making the same mistakes over and over again, so he told her the bald truth. “I need you too much to watch you die before your time.”
A tear streaked down her cheek. “It
is
my time.”
“Not until old age gets you, it isn’t.” He reached over and brushed the moisture away. “You can run from the truth if you want to, honey, but that won’t change it. In the end, it doesn’t matter what I want, it matters that
you
want to live.”
Her hands strangled the steering wheel, strain drawing the skin taut around her eyes and mouth. “It’s not that simple.”
“It’s a start.”
His cell rang before she could respond, and it was Peyton with information on the situation at Selina’s house. He put the blue light on her dash and lit it up. She put her foot on the gas pedal, speeding them toward whatever Fate had in store for them.
16
T
his was it. The end game. Selina could feel it to her bones.
She tried to calm her racing heart, to focus on something besides this one inevitable moment she’d known was coming for so long.
They had the house surrounded. Her house. They’d scanned it with infrared to see if Isaak’s body heat showed up. Nothing. Any attempts to try magical scans had failed. The evil was too powerful to penetrate. It was near, that much she knew. She could feel that same wave of uneasiness go down her spine as before, when Grim had been snapping at shadows. The cursed object. It disrupted magic, made it flicker like static, pulled at it like a magnet, sent a creeping chill down her spine.
Grim vibrated with disquiet next to her as they worked their way across the lawn, silent as the grave. Peyton was in front of her, Jack just behind her. They lined up against the rear of her house, their backs to the wood siding. Her flak jacket felt bulky and heavy, and sweat slid in sticky rivulets down her neck.
Ready, Grayson?
Peyton motioned to her, his staticky telepathic voice in her head, and she nodded. Gathering every last bit of magic she could muster, she’d blast in the back door in three ... two ... one ...
Boom.
The percussive burst made her wince, and Peyton and Grim snarled as it hit their sensitive ears. The werewolf whipped through the door, his weapon leading the way. They filed through the door, covering each other, moving from room to room, searching for the evil Normal.
Her heart thudded against her ribs every time they entered a room. So familiar, and so alien. Nothing was out of place, and yet it felt violated. As if the very air had become dark and twisted. He’d been here, in her home. If, by some miracle, she survived this, she couldn’t live here anymore.
If.
When had she even had a shred of hope of surviving? When had that happened without her noticing? She shook herself. Focus. This was no time to let her attention wander.
Her steps careful, she eased down the hallway toward her bedroom. Jack was across from her, working his way along the wall. His brows furrowed, but when he met her gaze, he winked. She almost smiled. Almost.
Spinning to the opposite side of the doorway, he nodded to her to let her precede him into the room. She ducked her head to do a visual scan, tried her magic, and found the same irritating jangle of evil scraped along her nerves. She looked again, saw nothing, and flipped around the doorjamb, her pistol pointing at anything that might so much as twitch while she inspected the closet, under the bed, behind the big armoire in the corner.
Nothing.
The air deflated from her lungs. He wasn’t here. “Clear.”
“Clear,” Jack confirmed.
The house is all clear.
Peyton’s voice drifted through her mind.
Slapping her hand hard against the footboard, she cursed in every language she knew. “Not again.”
She spun for the door, not bothering with quiet now. Her boots rang against the wooden floorboards as she went through the house. The few agents she passed stepped aside to get out of her way. She heard Jack following behind her, but futile rage burst in her veins.
No.
No.
He couldn’t slip through her fingers again. Her muscles were so tense she was shaking, and she tightened her grip on her weapon to control the tremor. She couldn’t have come so close to catching him and fail once more. She would never forgive herself for letting Bess down that way. Not again.
She made it to the living room, where Peyton stood clustered with a few other men and women. Grim sniffed every crevice, working his way through the house as thoroughly as the humans had.
“Damn it,” she hissed, shoving a hand through her hair. “I can
feel
the cursed object. He’s nearby, toying with us.”
“I can sense it, too, but it’s fucking with my werewolf abilities.” Peyton blew a breath out of his nose, the closest she’d ever seen him come to losing his cool. “Fuck me if I can figure out which direction it’s coming from.”
Jack’s voice rumbled from behind her. “We’re going to have to set up a search of the neighborhood and expand from there. Do this manhunt the Normal way, since everyone’s magic is hosed.”
“Yeah. Hang on.” The wolf turned back to say something to one of the other agents.
“Live to fight another day, huh?” Jack tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, a tender smile on his face.
Her throat closed tight. He
loved
her. He’d said so. She’d been trying to deny it, suppress it, not think about it since the moment it came out of his mouth, but
gods.
He loved her. It filled her up with something so bright and beautiful, it was painful. It was too enormous for words, too wonderful. She caught his hand and turned her head to kiss his palm. She didn’t care who was watching. This feeling was too powerful to let anyone else affect it.
“Jack, I don’t—”
A deafening howl rent the air, and Jack and she spun toward it at the same time. Her heart froze in her chest. Gods, that horrific noise came from her familiar.
“Grim!” Jack shouted.
They both ran, pelting in the direction of the sound. She saw his tail disappearing around the side of her neighbor’s house. “He’s got Isaak’s scent!”
Arms and legs pumping, she sprinted after him, Jack keeping pace beside her. She heard engines starting up, people yelling and running, and knew the others would circle the block to try to cut the murderer off. Good.
Grim jumped the fence out of her neighbor’s backyard, and she grabbed one of the planks, planted her foot, and executed a quick flip. She stumbled when she landed, but regained her footing and hauled ass after her familiar. No way was she losing him now. Jack vaulted easily over the fence, managed not to slam into her, and tore off in the same direction as Grim.
Her heart hammered, her breath rasped in her throat, and her lungs burned. The heavy bulletproof jacket didn’t help. It slammed down on her chest every time she took a step. She ignored the discomfort, gripped her weapon tight, and ran flat out.
“Hey!” Peyton caught up with them, but he didn’t sprint past them the way she expected. He seemed to be working hard to maintain his speed. The cursed object dicking with his wolf skills, she realized. They were all at a disadvantage.
There. She saw a flash of his back, dressed in black with reddish hair like his brother. He slammed into an apartment building halfway up the block, Grim hot on his heels. Pouring on more speed, she powered after him.
“I’ll cover the back.” Peyton split left, skidding around the corner of the building.
Jack held a radio to his mouth, barking out the address to the other agents, ordering the place surrounded. His boots thudded up the stairs behind her as she shot after Grim’s unholy keening. Sweat slid down her face, and she swiped at her eyes to clear her vision.
She slipped around a corner, her gun leading the way. Empty hallway. Skittering further along, she tried to control her breathing, her rabbiting heartbeat, tried to hear anything that might clue her in to where they were. Grim’s snarling grew louder to the right, so she ran down that hallway, darting through the maze of halls and staircases. Up, up, left, right.
She could hear them now, Isaak cursing, the distinct sound of a dog attacking. Peeking around the corner, she saw Grim had the Normal down on the ground, and Isaak was fighting hard to escape. She turned back to say something to Jack, only to realize he wasn’t there. When had she lost him? She’d been so focused on getting to Isaak, she’d left herself without backup. Rookie mistake. Fuck.
Pulling her radio off her belt, she cued the comm. “Laramie, Peyton, this is Grayson, come in.”
“Copy,” they both replied. Jack’s voice was breathless and livid. “Where the hell are you?”
“Fourth floor.”
“I’m coming up. Wait for me. Do
not
engage.” His words were sharp, an edge of fear to them.
She held the radio to her mouth. “Copy tha—
Grim!
”
A boom of gunfire, the howl of an animal in pain, and she knew she couldn’t wait. Ice froze the blood in her veins. She checked around the corner again, and her heart stopped. Blood. Grim’s blood. Splattered everywhere.
Oh, gods. Rage, black and ugly, clouded everything else. “The building is surrounded, Isaak. Drop your weapon and put your hands up!”
“You know my name.” He sounded more curious than anything else. “Selina.”
Revulsion crawled over her skin at the way he said her name, almost a caress. Her stomach heaved. “Yeah, I know who you are. I know about all your other murders between New Orleans and now.”
He chuckled and it echoed in the empty hallway. “You always were my favorite.”
Ducking out, she squeezed off a shot. And missed. He didn’t. One bullet caught her in the shoulder, where her bulletproof vest didn’t cover, and spun her around. Her arm spasmed and she lost her weapon. The next shot hit her protective talisman and ricocheted, the pendant shattered. The force of the bullet knocked the wind out of her and drove her to her knees. She gagged, trying to breathe, to get air in her lungs. A third bullet hit her thigh, and dark crimson blood spurted out. Femoral artery.
Her mind catalogued the catastrophic damage, even as she crashed to the floor on her side. Then the agony hit, and she screamed. Iron. He’d used iron bullets. It burned as it dissolved in her veins, spreading through her. Her muscles locked, and she shrieked again. Nothing had ever hurt this way before. It went beyond pain, it boiled her flesh from the inside out. If she could have crawled out of her own body then, she would have.
A hand closed over her shoulder, flipping her onto her back. Isaak. He looked like Gregor, but older. The older younger brother. Vampirism had stopped Gregor’s aging, while the ravages of time and disease were on Isaak’s face. If Selina had thought Gregor was enigmatic and deadly, his brother was ... soulless. The darkness of the cursed object had drained him of whatever humanity he had left. His hand clutched it to his chest.
Grim whimpered, snarled, tried to drag himself with his front paws toward them.
Isaak ignored the familiar. “Drinking your blood is going to taste so sweet. I’ve grown to love that flavor. Pity I can’t collect it and take it with me for later like I usually do, but I’ll improvise for you, Selina.”
His free hand slid the metal fangs into his mouth. She tried to scoot out of his reach, but all her body could manage were uncoordinated jerks. He pinned her arm to the ground and pressed the cursed talisman to her. Agony sliced into her, and an inhuman shriek tore from her throat. She could feel it pulling at the magic that was at the very essence of her being, ripping at her, raping her soul. He chuckled, plunged his hand into her hair, and twisted viciously. Arching her throat, he bent to sink his fangs into her flesh, to bleed her dry.
Slapping at him, she tried to fend him off, but knew it was no use. She’d lost too much blood, had iron searing her insides, and that evil talisman wrenched her magic away. Weakness stole into her limbs, and she knew her life could be counted in minutes, seconds.
A moment of absolute clarity hit her. She didn’t want to die. Gods, no. Not like this. She wanted to live. It was bitterly ironic that it took her until right now to realize she didn’t accept her fate, that she wanted the years she could have had with Jack.
That she loved him.
Isaak’s fangs pierced her flesh, and a gurgling cry wrenched out of her. Her cheek was pressed to the floor, Isaak hunched over her on one side, which gave her the perfect view of her bleeding, dying familiar whimpering as he continued to try to crawl forward and save her. A sob spilled out of her. She could hear Jack calling in the distance, could hear his running footsteps, but it was too late. That was how things had always gone with this case—she figured it out too damn late to save anyone, including herself.
She heard glass breaking, a window shattering. Shadows danced in the hallway, and something moved that was too fast for her to see. Isaak lifted away from her, and he shouted something she couldn’t quite grasp. Darkness edged at her vision, and her mind spun in sickening loops. She heard screaming, horrible screaming that didn’t come from her. Two men wrestled, one slamming the other against the wall.
Was it Jack? Peyton?
She blinked hard, tried to focus. She flinched when Isaak’s body hit the floor near her, his eyes blank and staring. Dead. Her head lolled like a broken doll while she tried to see who had killed him. The feel of evil pressing down on her eased, and she drew in a ragged, clean breath.
Perched in the window, the cursed object in his hand, was Gregor. His red hair shone like a penny in the hallway light. “You’re just lucky it’s overcast enough today for me to be here. With a little more luck, you might actually survive.”
A bit of magic sparked back to life within her, and she tried to slow the bleeding in her leg, her arm, her neck. It was futile. Her breath gulped in tiny gasps, and her throat worked while she tried to find the power to speak. “Why?”

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