Embraced By Darkness

Who? I asked the question telepathically, though I was still unsure as to whether a soul could actually understand or even hear me.

The figure stirred—an insubstantial form with only vague features. Liam.

So they could hear me, even if some didn't answer directly. Who is Liam?

The smoky form became agitated, and the chill got fiercer, until it felt like fingers of ice were creeping into my flesh.

She swirled faster, her movements almost angry. With every turn, energy built in the air, until the small hairs along the nape of my neck were standing on end.

Only then did the words come again. We were to be married. We were to live here.

With that statement, the energy fell away, and the soul disintegrated, fleeing to whatever region of afterlife it was bound.

And with it went the sense of evil, although that faded a lot more slowly. It was almost as if it wanted to linger, but something else was drawing it away.

I shivered again, then met Cole's curious gaze. "She said her fiancé did this."

"Her fiancé?" He looked around. "Seems he wanted to get out of that marriage real bad."

"Yeah." I glanced at her remains, and wondered just what her fiancé was. Surely not human. It was doubtful, really, that he was even a were or a shifter. As strong as either race was, most didn't have the sheer physical strength to rip someone apart so cleanly. Although there was one type of shifter who probably could.

"Would a bear-shifter be capable of doing this?"

Cole frowned. "Maybe, if they were in bear form. But from what I've seen, there don't seem to be any claw marks on any of the limbs."

"No." I looked at her torso and swallowed heavily. "I think I'll get out of your way and go question the neighbors."

This time, the amusement on his lips did light his pale eyes. "And you said it wasn't going to be my day."

"If you're not careful, I'll come back especially to mess up your crime scene."

"You probably will anyway."

"Not if you promise to send me a direct report ASAP."

"Done deal."

"Thanks," I said, and got the hell out of there.

Once in the open air—and free of the gloves and the booties—I stopped and sucked in several deep breaths. Death might still cling to my pores, but at least it no longer fouled my lungs.

I looked up and down the street, studying the house numbers. Once I'd spotted the one I wanted, I crossed the road. After shoving open the rickety gate, I bounded up the steps to the front door of the house. There was a small doorbell to the right of the handle, so I pressed it and waited. A dog yapped somewhere in the bowels of the house, then the lace curtains covering the window to the right twitched and a small, sharp face appeared.

"Shut that gate," he said, voice shrill and wavering. "You want the dog getting out?"

I very much doubted the dog would come anywhere near me, but I dutifully turned around and wrestled the gate closed. Only when I'd done that did the old guy open the door. The yappy dog was at his heels, still yapping away. It might be little, but it sure as hell made a lot of noise.

"Yes?" the old guy said. "What do you want?"

"Mr. Hammond?"

"Yes."

"I'm Riley Jenson, a guardian with the Directorate of Other Races. We're investigating the crime you reported this morning."

"Did you catch those buggers? I hate them boys, always breaking into them vacant houses and wrecking things."

I frowned. "Boys? You said in your report you only saw a shadow."

"Well, I did," he said, over the noise of the dog, "but I know it was probably them boys again. I've run them off a few times since the house was sold."

I shifted slightly, bringing one foot closer to the door. The yappy little dog took a sniff and recognized wolf. The tail dived between its legs and it scampered away as fast as it could. The sudden silence was bliss.

"So you know who bought the house?"

He shook his head. "Seen 'cm a few times, that's all."

"Do you know their names?"

"Nah. Just watched them, you know?"

I knew. Every neighborhood seemed to have at least one neighbor who knew all the comings and going, even if they didn't know all the names. "Could you describe them to me?"

"She was a pretty little blonde. He was tall, thin, with dark hair," He shrugged. "They always came in a green BMW, if that's any help."

It wasn't. Green BMWs might not be a dime a dozen, but they weren't exactly scarce, either. "When was the last, time you saw the couple arrive at the house?"

"Last night. Three in the damn morning, it was. They were making so much noise Mitzy starting barking."

I had a feeling it wouldn't take a whole lot to set that yappy terror off. Still, the question was—why did they come here? Even if they'd just bought the place, it wasn't exactly the most romantic spot for a rendezvous. Hell, the stench of urine alone would be enough to put the most ardent Juliet off her game—though I had no doubt there were Rom cos out there who wouldn't have given a damn.

"Did you hear them leave?"

He shook his head. "Not then. Just yelled at them to shut up, then went back to sleep."

Obviously, he was a fun neighbor. I restrained my amusement and asked, "So what were you doing when you saw the shadow?"

"Getting the paper. The bastard paperboy threw it in the bushes again."

Deliberately, I was betting. "And you can't give me a description or anything?"

"It was just a black shadow." He shrugged.

Had he seen a vampire? It was possible—though he'd have to be an older vampire, considering it had been well after seven when Hammond had reported the break-in.

But why would a vampire waste so much blood?

And why would the woman's soul have said her fiancé made the kill if a vampire had been involved? None of this was making any sense.

But then, I guess crimes like this rarely did when the investigation was only just beginning.

"So you didn't see this figure leave, either?"

"No. I watched until the cops came. The boyfriend left not long after I made the report, though. He had all this goo over him. Couldn't make out what it was, but it was red, like blood."

Probably because it was blood. "Why didn't you tell the cops about the boyfriend?"

He shrugged. "It's his house, like."

"But didn't you think it odd that he walked out after you'd reported the break-in to the cops?"

"No. Didn't think about it much, really."

I held back my irritation. "Did you notice anything else odd about him, besides the goo?"

He shook his head, then said, "He was barefooted. Odd considering the cold."

Yeah. But at least it meant he'd leave a scent trail, which I might be able to track. "Which way did he go, then?"

"Left." The old man sniffed. "It was strange, really, because his car is still parked up the road."

I stared at him for a moment, not sure I'd heard right. "His car is still here?"

"Yeah. Down there." He waved a hand over my shoulder, indicating the right side of the street.

"Mr. Hammond, you've been extremely helpful."

He beamed. "Always a pleasure to help the boys and girls in blue. Just don't forget to shut the gate properly on your way out."

I left. The beemer was ten cars down from the house, parked in a no-standing zone. There was no one inside and the car was locked.

I dug the phone out of my pocket and dialed the Directorate. "Sal," I said, when her not-so-cheery features came online, "I need a plate check."

"Is this official business?"

"Hell, no. I just thought I'd ring you up to piss you off."

"That would be no surprise." She sniffed. "What's the plate number?"

I read it out, then peered inside the car while I was waiting. Two warm winter coats had been thrown across the backseat, the vibrant red of one suggesting it belonged to a woman, while the other was definitely male in design. There was also an umbrella and several newspapers.

"Okay," Sal said. "That plate belongs to a green BMW, registered to one Li am Barry."

So it did belong to the victim's fiancé. "Could you do a background check on him? I think he might be the boyfriend of our victim, as well as her murderer."

"A lovers' tiff?"

"Trust me, this was more than a tiff."

"It'd have to be, otherwise we wouldn't have been called in."

True. "Can you get that information to me as soon as you have it?"

"I'll think about it, wolf girl."

I didn't bite, just hung up. I set the phone to record then did a slow walk around the car, detailing how I'd found it and who it belonged to. Then I placed the phone on top of a fence post, stripped off my coat, and used it as a shield as I smashed the front passenger window. Though I'm not sure why I bothered—a few more glass cuts surely wouldn't have made much difference to my already impressive array.

Glass sprayed over the seats, glinting brightly in the cold morning light. I shook the coat free of glass, then dumped it on top of the car and opened the passenger-side door.

The car smelled of leather, musk, and the tangy, flowery scent of perfume. The date on the newspaper was yesterday's, and it was the Age rather than the Herald-Sun. Upmarket rather than mass-market.

I reached for the man's jacket and sniffed it. The scent was musky, entwined in an earthy, piney aroma. Not an upmarket man when it came to cologne, obviously. Either that, or the girlfriend had bought it and he was just wearing it for her sake.

I took another sniff, just to clarify the scent in my mind, then checked the rest of the car. There didn't seem to be anything more than the usual rubbish that collected in cars—CDs, candy wrappers, and dirt.

No indication of drugs or alcohol. Nothing that would explain his sudden, violent outburst.

I closed the door, stopped recording, then called the cow to have the car picked up for closer forensic inspection.

Then I shoved the phone in my pocket, grabbed my coat, and headed back to the house. The bird-shifter was squatting in the doorway, carefully placing a piece of bloodied skin in a bag.

"Could you tell Cole I've just fouled one of his crime scenes?"

"Cole will not be pleased," the shifter said, voice gruff and somewhat harsh. Oddly enough—although perhaps not, given he was a bird-shifter—it reminded me of an eagle's call.

"Yeah, I know," I said, with a grin. "Tell him the green BMW with the smashed side window is the fiancé's. I've already asked for a pickup."

"Will do," he said, still concentrating on whatever was on the floor more than me.

"And keep an eye on this jacket, will you? I need something to change into after the shift."

He grunted, making me wonder if anything I was saying was actually registering. I dumped my jacket over the fence, then called to the wolf within.

Power swept around me, through me, blurring my vision, blurring the pain. Clothing disappeared into the magic as limbs shortened, shifted, and rearranged, until what was standing on the footpath was wolf not woman.

I nosed around the gateway and, through the many scents that crowded my olfactory senses, found the one I was hunting for.

With my nose to the ground, I followed. The chill wind ruffled my fur but did little to affect the trail. Liam obviously hadn't run after he'd murdered his girlfriend—not if these spoors were anything to go by. Running steps tended to be longer, the distance between each step—and therefore each scent mark—greater.

Liam had walked. Casually, unhurriedly. As if he hadn't a care in the world, despite all the blood that must have covered him.

I followed the trail into Rose Street, then crossed another road and found myself in a park. Trees lined the rim of the park, and seemed to snake through the middle. Liam didn't stay on any of the well-worn tracks, instead heading for a small but thick clump of trees in the middle.

It was there I found him.

Only he was well and truly dead.