The End of Darkness (2 page)

“You’ll be okay,” Cheveyo said. “I don't know how similar Darkness is to my ability, but when I get worked up, I feel my cat want to take over. You need to practice, get comfortable with Darkness, because control is everything. I’ve got a place out near Flagstaff, Arizona. Why don’t you spend some time in new surroundings?” Away from Jessie, he didn't say. “Take as long as you want. We’re staying here, waiting for Amy to have her baby. I couldn't pry Petra away now. Stay for the shower and then head out.”

Magnus had planned on attending the baby shower, since the guys in their group of Offspring were invited too. That was before he’d been infected. The heavy feeling was like the blackest part of the night inside him. “I’m not in the mood for the party, but I've got gifts for the baby.” He pinned Lachlan with a look. “You'll take them, right?” Make him go to a baby shower, small retribution for stealing his lass.

“Anything for you,” Lachlan said, clearly meaning it. But Magnus saw his upper lip twitch at the thought.

Anything but give up Jessie. 

He turned to Cheveyo. “Your place sounds like exactly what I need.” Especially if Lachlan and Jessie were staying at Sanctuary. 

Lachlan walked closer. “Spend some time with Jessie's dad. He’ll tell you what you need to know.” He put his hand on Magnus’s arm. “Take a week or so, work through it. But keep in touch. My brother once told me that we had to stick together because we were all we have.”

But that was before one of them became a beast…and the other fell in love.

Erica Evrard trolled through her Google Alerts, just like she did every night. Only the computer screen lit up the small bedroom, splashing pale light over a desk covered in notes and maps, and a bed she shared with no one. 

First post: a new serial killer novel coming out from Erica Fleming. Not a well-known author, just a woman trying to make a small living from writing novels based on the wretchedness she read about in all those newspaper stories. The evil she faced down in dark places. She deleted that one. 

The second entry detailed a possible serial killer in Strasford, Arizona, a sick son of a bitch who ripped out people's hearts while they were still alive. The authorities were baffled, not completely ruling out a wild animal, given the claw marks left behind. That the bodies were left intact made it seem more like a sick human act. The three victims were female visitors to the small desert town not far from Las Vegas. 

The serial killer wasn't the locals' only concern. They'd been experiencing tremors, despite the fact that no fault line existed beneath their town. People were on edge, prone to violent attacks and fits of rage. A seismologist was investigating the tremors, but they had no leads as far as the so-called Heart Ripper was concerned.

She stared at the lines that crisscrossed the backs of her hands and arms. Every time she used the ability she'd dubbed Lightning, because of how the lines looked, the scars moved farther up her arms. Closer to her heart.

She mapped the route to Strasford and shut down her computer. Time to pack and hunt down a killer.

CHAPTER 2

One week later…

Erica stepped out of the chilly night and into a loud, warm bar. Places like this—rough around the edges, smelling of beer and smoke—seemed like a second home. Killers and rapists often hung out in them to troll for their next victim and sometimes to brag. She was good at putting out the victim vibe because she'd been one. Finally she'd figured out that body language attracted abusive men. Now she could spot the vibe in others: the hunched shoulders and downcast eyes, the way a woman carried herself as though she expected abuse. Deserved it. No woman deserved to be treated with anything but respect. Erica put on the act when 
she
 trolled for a killer.
 

Not that she'd found him yet. But this was her hunting ground. Two of the victims had come in here. Erica headed toward an empty stool at the bar. The band on the small stage was banging out a not-half-bad version of 
Born to be Wild
.  
 

Speaking of not half bad…as she took one of the stools, her gaze lit on the drummer. Even though he was in back, he was eye-catching: big and muscular, wearing a tank top that showcased his enormous biceps. He tossed a head of curls as he gave himself to the music, his eyes closed, mouth curved in a smile. His passion intoxicated her. 

No time for that.
 

That's what her mind said. Another part of her, one she never dared look at too closely, said otherwise. It unfurled a need inside her that tightened her chest. 
You know how well that works out. Sex that feels good for, oh, about three minutes. Then that awful sense of shame and dissatisfaction.
 

“Miss?”

She turned to the bartender, who'd set a napkin in front of her. “Killian's, please.” She liked the red beers, though she always nursed the one all night. When he set the bottle in front of her, she said, “The band's great.”

The man beamed. “Thanks. That's my son, playing bass.”

She took in the gangly young man on guitar, but her gaze slid right past him to the drummer again. “He's good. So is the drummer.”

“Yeah, he is. Magnus, I think his name is. Something Scottish. A godsend he was. The band's drummer got into a fist fight right before the first set.” He shook his head. “Both hotheads went to the hospital with broken noses. That guy stepped up and said he could use the sticks. And he's right.”

So he likely wasn't a local. Could he be her killer? Anticipation tightened her chest. She watched Magnus through the next four songs, playing as cohesively as if he'd been with the band for years. In between, she chatted up the bartender. “Someone mentioned that tempers have been flaring a lot around here lately. Yesterday a woman threw the gas nozzle because she couldn't get it to pump. Earlier that day, a man nearly punched a cashier because the register didn't ring up the sale price.”

The man's expression turned grim. “I think the tremors have everyone on edge. We've never had them before so we're not used to thinking in terms of earthquakes.”

“Having a serial killer in the area probably isn't helping.”

“I think it's an animal, but either way it's not great for attracting tourists.”

When the band finally took a break, Magnus and the others made a beeline for the end of the bar. The bartender served them a pitcher of beer. Magnus ordered a Guinness, asserting that American beers tasted like piss-water. They launched into a deep discussion on the qualities of beer and why drinking it cold made it even worse (Magnus's opinion, in stark contrast to the other guys'). Magnus's eyes crinkled when he smiled, and he had a low, infectious laugh. 

He slung back the rest of his mug and headed toward the back of the bar. He had to pass her on his way, and she watched to see if he was searching the crowd for a potential victim. His gaze remained ahead, maybe where the restrooms were. But as he passed, he turned to her. She felt a frisson of electricity like a mild shock when his brown eyes met hers. 

She spoke before he could continue. “You're good. I mean, on the drums.”

“Thanks. I'm just filling in. I was in a band back in Maryland.”

She'd have to see if there'd been any murders in Maryland recently. She held out her hand. “I'm Erica.”

“I’m called Magnus.”

Their hands connected, and she felt the frisson even more. He seemed to feel it, too, because he looked down at their clasped hands. 

“Where are you from?” he asked.

She was from Maryland too, originally, but that time of her life brought back too many painful memories. “Kansas City, Missouri.” A lonely apartment she was rarely at. 

He released her hand slowly and nodded toward the back. “I've got to hit the loo before our next set.” He arched a thick eyebrow. “Any requests?”

She was startled by the one that popped into her mind: 
Take Another Little Piece of My Heart
. “I Can't Get No Satisfaction,” she said instead. That fit her sex life.
 

“I think I can fix you right up.” He gave her a smile she was sure had 'fixed up' many a woman. Especially along with his slight Scottish accent. Was he flirting?

The thought tickled her stomach as she watched him weave around the tables, pausing to collect another compliment on his drumming before disappearing down the hallway. Had he meant he could fix her up 
that
 way? She wasn't good at flirting, so she knew nothing of the subtleties. Most of the men she had sex with didn't either. In bars like this, it was more like, “Wanna go someplace else?” 
 

Magnus gave her another smile as he passed by on the way to the stage, where the band prepared for the next set. He had a certain grace to his gait despite his size. All muscle, strong enough to…well, to rip out a woman's heart? 

Don't get caught up in that boyish charm. Ted Bundy was boyish, too. 

Their gazes met throughout the set, which included 
Can't Get No Satisfaction
 and, coincidentally, 
Take Another Little Piece of My Heart
. Janis had a tragically short life, a concept that spoke to Erica's soul.
 

At two in the morning, the band finished their final set to the applause of those who were left. Erica leaned against the bar, facing the stage, blatantly watching Magnus. His gaze went to hers as she clapped, too. He made his way over, rubbing a towel across the back of his neck. If he were the killer, then she could end this now and go back to her little apartment. If he wasn't, she could…

Hope to find what you haven't in all those other encounters? 
her snotty inner voice piped in.
 

The thing she craved, probably because she could never have it. Love. Normalcy.

Yeah, take another piece of my heart.

She enjoyed the spark between them as he sat down beside her. It wasn't something she often felt. “Thanks for playing my song,” she said. “How did you know the Janis Joplin one was my favorite?” She tried to give him a playful smile, but the coincidence was eerie.

He dipped his chin a little, all serious-like. “Maybe I'm psychic.”

Whoa
. This guy was pushing all the right buttons. 
 

He tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and said, “Let me see what else I can pick up. You're from out of town. You're here for…”  His eyes opened. “A dark reason.” He wasn't altogether kidding.

She forced a laugh, freaked by how on target he was. “Setting research. I write suspense novels about killers.”

“Ah, that explains it. Any romance in these books?”

Not usually. She had no idea what romance was. “There's sex in them.”

Maybe he'd ask if she needed research help with that aspect. She hoped he wasn't a killer, because something about him…

“Hey, Magnus, we're heading back to Chip's place. You want to go?”

Magnus was leaving. That thought tightened her throat. She expected him to bid her goodnight. 

“Do I want to go?” he asked her instead.

“Stay,” she heard herself say. 

“I’m good, thanks. See you tomorrow night, if you need me. You have my number.” He waved at them and turned to her. “We could go somewhere quiet.”

She slid from her stool. “Your place?” If she thought a guy was a potential killer, she wanted to go back to his place. That way she didn't have a body to deal with in her own motel room. Although Lightning made it look like they'd died from a heart attack, she didn't want to have to answer any awkward questions.

“My place is about an hour from here. I drove out this morning, just exploring. The guys in the band were going to let me crash at their place for the night so I didn't have to drive back so late.”

He'd lost his place to stay because of her. She assessed him. Unlike psychopaths, Magnus's eyes were deep and rich. Not flat and emotionless. She saw not a killer gleam but a hint of the same hunger she felt. 

Bryan Adams's old song, 
Lonely Nights
, played in her mind:
 

Baby, I just can't stand another lonely night, 

So come over and save me…

And more importantly, he probably wouldn't make her disappear when the band and bartender could place him with her.

“Then let's go back to my motel room,” she said.

He followed in a black BMW, taking turns way too fast. Anticipation and trepidation fluttered in her stomach. She felt something with Magnus she'd never felt. That electricity between them. 
Remember who you are. Why you're here.
 

How could she forget? She looked at the long sleeves of her shirt, imagining the scars beneath them and what they meant. She'd never had the experience of falling in love for the first time, losing her virginity to a man of her choice. Sexuality had always been wrapped in shame and anger. 

Once inside the room, Magnus said, “I'd like to shower up, if that's all right. A night playing in a bar leaves me grotty.” He gave her a playful look. “Want to join me?”

The question took her off guard, the thought of exposing herself like that… “No. Go ahead though.”

He took a quick shower, stepping out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. He had a beautiful body, tanned, not a scar on him…and an erection that showed through the thin terry cloth. The sight of it stirred that primal part of her. 

He must have sensed it because his eyes flared with the same kind of lust. He walked closer, smelling of soap, and pulled her close. His mouth came down on hers, gentle despite his ardor. She didn't like kissing, but he eased her in, nudging her lips apart and tempting her into opening to him. 

This was the part of the one-night stand where she didn't feel so damned lonely. When, for the next hour or so, she wasn't alone. This part was okay. She could fool herself that it would be different this time. That she would feel something. 

And it was. Magnus kissed her, taking his time rather than pushing her right down on the bed and getting down to business. Which would be great if she weren't messed up. His hands cupped her face, thumbs stroking her jaw, his kisses growing more intense. He eased her out of her shirt, kissing her neck and shoulders with a tenderness that made her want to cry. She wasn't used to this. He unhooked her bra and started to pull it away. Yeah, he knew what he was doing.