Circle of Death (6 page)

Not that he was altogether unhappy about that—though in many ways, life as a thief had been a hell of a lot less complicated than life in the Circle. And it had certainly been a hell of a lot safer.

“I’ll give a call once we hole up somewhere.”

“Do that,” Russ said and hung up.

Doyle shoved the phone back into his pocket and glanced at Kirby. Her eyes were still closed and she was slumped against the door, but the tension riding her shoulders told him she wasn’t unconscious.

“You want to go through your pack and see if there’s anything in there that shouldn’t be?”

Her eyes opened a sliver. “Like what?”

“One of my partners thinks you’re being tracked by magic, so you need to go through your things.” He glanced at her when she didn’t react. “Now.”

She studied him for a moment longer, then twisted around to grab her pack. She pulled out an odd assortment of clothes as well as, of all things, a small but cheerfully wrapped box.

“Is it your birthday?”

“Not yet.” She shoved the present between her knees, then upended the pack. “There’s nothing else in here.”

Which didn’t mean the tracker wasn’t there, just that it was well hidden. He’d have to search himself—but later, when she was asleep.

“Know anywhere decent we can stay?” he asked.

She raised an eyebrow. “What’s this ‘we’ business?”

“Like it or not, I’m all that currently stands between you and those
manarei.
” Which was something of a lie
—manarei
rarely traveled in packs. They were far from sociable creatures, and he actually doubted that whoever was behind this could control more than two. But that only meant something far worse might be on her trail.

“What about the police?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Were you not under police protection when the first
manarei
attacked?”

“Yeah, but what makes you think you’re going to fare any better?”

“I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“Just
why
you’re here is another point I’d like to discuss.”

She was persistent; he had to give her that. “Later, perhaps, when we’re out of this rain and you’ve had that leg tended to.”

She regarded him silently. He could see from her thoughts that distrust was a habit, and he wondered what had happened in her life that now made her suspect the motives of everyone around her.

“Don’t suppose you can suggest a good motel around here somewhere?”

She looked away. “No, I don’t think I can.”

He wasn’t entirely sure whether she was talking about trusting him or knowing of a motel. “Then let’s travel along this road and see what we find, okay?”

She didn’t answer, but the lightning was beginning to flicker across her fingers again. “Kirby,” he said gently, “I’m not going to hurt you. I have no intention of doing anything more than tending to your wound and guarding you from future attacks.”

“I only have your word on that.”

If her tone of voice was anything to go by, his word wasn’t worth a dime.

“Then believe this. Whatever or whoever sent those
manarei
after you is going to be pretty pissed at their deaths. And they
will
come after you again.”

She shivered and rubbed her arms. “I know.” She glanced at him, eyes rich with suspicion. “And that’s why I can’t trust you. This whole thing may just be a ruse to gain my trust.”

Killing two
manarei
was a hell of a dangerous way to gain her trust. Doyle shook his head in disbelief. “Look, you’ve got a pretty potent weapon at your disposal. I’ve seen it in action, and I know it can kill. You think I want to risk that?”

She bit her lip. Droplets of water ran down her face, shimmering silver in the warm wash of the streetlights. They looked like tears. Maybe they were.

“You make one wrong move, and I will use it,” she said after a moment.

“Fair enough.” He spotted an illuminated sign ahead and slowed the car. “This motel okay?”

She shrugged. “Do you really care anyway?”

“I guess not.” He stopped at the motel’s office and
opened the car door. Then he hesitated and glanced at her. “Wait for me. Don’t go anywhere.”

She shrugged. It could have meant anything. He frowned. “Promise?”

She snorted. “Bit old for that sort of foolishness, aren’t you?”

He raised an eyebrow and stared at her. After a moment, she looked away, muttering, “Yeah, I promise.”

He nodded, then headed inside. The motel’s manager gave him a room, some advice on where to get the windshield replaced, a bottle of antiseptic and several bandages, both of which he cheerfully added to the bill.

By the time Doyle got back to the car, she was gone.

K
IRBY LEANED AGAINST A LAMPPOST AND BATTLED TO
catch her breath. The night around her spun drunkenly, and she wrapped an arm around the pole. She’d pushed too hard tonight, and now she was beginning to pay for it. But the night wasn’t over yet. She had to get out of this rain. Had to find somewhere safe.

She remembered Doyle’s warning and shivered. Maybe he was right. Maybe there was nowhere left for her that was safe. Maybe she’d run as far as she could, and now fate was going to force her to make a stand.
If only Helen were here …
She bit her lip.

No amount of wishing could ever bring Helen back, so she’d better get used to life alone. Tilting her head back, she let the rain wash the heat from her eyes until her face felt as numb with cold as the rest of her. Then, resolutely, she pushed away from the pole and continued on.

In the distance, a bell dinged—a cheerful sound that seemed at odds with the stormy night. A brightly lit tram swayed along its tracks, rattling toward her. She dug into her pockets, then realized she’d dropped her purse beside the box of chicken in the doorway at
home. She grimaced. She’d have to go back. Without cash or credit, she wasn’t going to get very far.

She splashed on through the night, keeping to the shadows as much as possible. Doyle had probably discovered her absence by now, and she had no doubt that he’d come looking for her. It had been no accident that he’d found her on Grice Street, no matter what he said. And she wasn’t inclined to trust someone so conveniently placed in a position to help her. Especially when that someone used a gun so well.

An image of the creature’s bubbling, dissolving flesh flashed through her mind, and her stomach turned. Why had that happened? Why would a mere bullet make skin and bones liquefy like that? She thrust the thought from her mind. Right now, the why behind the melting wasn’t so important. Getting out of this rain and tending to her aching leg were. Maybe then she could start concentrating on finding answers. Find out why Helen had been murdered.

She hurried down a side street. The wind slapped against her, thrusting cold fingers of air past her sodden clothing, chilling her flesh. She shoved her hands into her jacket pockets and wished she’d grabbed her long woolen coat when she’d had the chance. It might not have provided any more protection from the rain, but it was a hell of a lot warmer than the padded nylon raincoat she currently had on.

A car rounded the corner ahead, its headlights cutting through the darkness. She hesitated, but she knew she couldn’t take the chance that it wasn’t Doyle. She ducked into a driveway and hid behind a car. A dog barked furiously, and inside the house, someone yelled at the mutt to shut up.

She waited, aching with cold and the need to get moving. The lights drew close. She bit her lip and watched the car cruise slowly past. It wasn’t Doyle’s car or Doyle, but whoever it was, they were obviously looking for someone. Maybe even for her. Why else would they be going so slowly?

And that, she thought grimly, was surely paranoid thinking. Why wouldn’t the driver be going slowly when the wind was driving the rain so hard that visibility was down to practically nothing?

She rose and moved back to the footpath. The car had parked up near the top of the street. Its lights were out, and the driver was nowhere to be seen.
See?
Kirby told herself.
He’d been going slowly because he lives here. Nothing to worry about.

Yet the creeping sense of danger increased. She hurried down the street, away from the car. The sooner she got home, the better.

She crossed the railroad tracks and headed toward her street. Something scraped behind her. She spun, fists clenched and her heart in her mouth, but there was nothing there. She scanned the night, her stomach churning. Something
was
there, even if she couldn’t see it. Its presence crawled through her, dangerous, evil.

She turned to run, but her leg buckled. She went down, hitting the pavement hard. Cursing softly, she twisted around, looking behind her again. The shadows seemed to part, disclosing a tall man with gaunt features and matted-looking hair. He looked like someone spaced out on drugs, and there was an odd sort of neediness, maybe even desperation, in his eyes. Then he smiled. His canines were long and
white—the sort of canines you saw on Hollywood vampires. He was crazy—or was she? Had the crack on her head sent her imagination tripping?

Evil washed across the night, burning her skin.
This is no dream
, she thought, horror rising. The stranger snarled and leapt toward her. She screamed and scrambled backward.

From out of nowhere came a growling black mass, all sinew and power.
Panther
, she thought, and rubbed her eyes. Maybe she
was
tripping. Only the creature reminded her of the cat she’d seen when she’d first touched Doyle. He and the animal
were
connected—of that she was certain.

The cat hit the vampire hard, and the two went down in a fighting tangle of claws and teeth. The shadows seemed to close around them, momentarily hiding them from sight. When they parted, it was Doyle fighting the vampire—Doyle wrapping an arm around the stranger’s neck and twisting hard. There was an audible snap, and the man with the vampire teeth went limp. He didn’t move; he wasn’t even breathing.

Dead
, she thought, and felt her stomach rise. She scrambled over to the grass and threw up what little she’d eaten for lunch.

Footsteps approached. Kirby wiped her mouth and sat back on her heels. She didn’t turn around. Didn’t want to face him. His gaze all but burned a hole in her back. She clenched her fingers and waited.

“A person is only worth as much as her promise,” he said eventually.

Though his voice held no inflection, his anger surged
around her. She rubbed her arms and wondered again why she could feel his emotions so clearly.

“Well, I’ve pretty much been told all my life that I’m worthless, so I guess that it’s true, isn’t it?” Bitterness crept through her words, but she just couldn’t help it. He had no right to judge her, even if he had saved her life. Twice.

“At least now I know I can’t trust you.”

Tears stung her eyes. She blinked them away. She didn’t need his trust. She didn’t need anyone’s trust. All she wanted was to wake up from this nightmare. “A fine statement coming from a man who’s just killed someone.”

“That someone was about to suck you dry and spit out the remains.”

She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the chilled fingers of dread creeping through her body. She knew instinctively that tonight’s strangeness had only just begun. “What do you mean? What was he? And what happened to that cat I saw?”

He made a sound that was close to a growl. “I refuse to answer any more questions out here in the rain.” Exasperation sharpened his warm voice. “Get up—or do you need help?”

“I don’t need anyone’s help,” she muttered and pushed upright. The night spun violently, and she swallowed heavily against the sudden rise of nausea.

“God grant me strength against stubborn women,” he muttered.

Suddenly his arms were around her and he was lifting her up, cradling her gently against his chest. It felt safe and warm and oh-so-secure. Frighteningly so.

“Put me down,” she said, struggling against the strength of his grip.

“No.” His arms tightened slightly. He was holding her so close that she could feel the wild beat of his heart. It might have been her own.

“Damn it, Doyle, release me!” She thumped his chest.

His gaze met hers. Deep in the depths of his eyes wildness burned—the sort of wildness she’d seen briefly in the panther’s rich blue gaze.

“I’m wet, I’m cold, and I’m running out of patience,” he said grimly. “And you just punched the wounds the
manarei
gave me.”

She looked at her fist. It was bloody. “Oh God, I’m sorry. I didn’t know … You didn’t tell me.”

“And you didn’t bother asking.”

She bit her lip. No, she hadn’t. This man had risked his life twice now to save hers, and the fact that she didn’t know
why
worried her. But that didn’t excuse her lack of courtesy. He’d earned that much, at least. “I’m sorry,” she said. “And thank you for saving me.”

He nodded, though amusement seemed to gleam briefly in his eyes. “Now, will you just remain still until we get to the motel?”

“I suppose I can manage that.” She didn’t mean to sound ungracious, but she couldn’t help it. Being held so carefully, as if she were precious cargo, was doing odd things to her pulse rate.