“You can’t remember anything right now, so is it really surprising you don’t remember the ceremony?” he said awkwardly.
“So I was there?”
“Yeah.” He grabbed my arm again and walked me—quite forcibly—toward the car. “Now, let’s get home, get you cleaned up, and then call the doc.”
Let’s not, I thought, and pulled my arm from his grasp again before stepping back. Damn it, he was my brother. Surely to God I could trust him? But I didn’t, and I didn’t know why, and it was just so frustrating that I wanted to scream. I drew in a breath to try and calm the sudden, angry shaking, and that’s when I smelled it.
Blood.
There was blood on the wind.
A lot of it.
Which could only mean that someone nearby was dead.
Chapter 8
I swung around to follow the scent and sidestepped Evin’s attempt to grab my arm. “Can’t you smell that?”
“It’s blood. So what?” He fell in beside me, his expression none to happy.
“It’s human blood,” I corrected. “Someone’s dead. Or about to be.”
“Hanna, we’re not cops. This is not our business.”
“Well, I’m making it mine.” I frowned up at him. “What if we walk away and the victim could still have been saved?”
He tried grabbing my arm again, but I slapped his hand away. He growled in frustration and said, “This is not smart—”
“Damn it, Evin, if I can save someone, I will. I’m more than a little fed up with the other option.”
Confusion flicked through his expression, which I suppose was understandable, given I wasn’t entirely sure what I was talking about, either.
I followed my nose into a side street that was little more than dust, and past several houses. Ahead lay a grassed paddock. A small dam filled with muddy-looking water dominated the middle of the paddock and, beyond it, there was a stand of scrubby-looking wattle trees and shrubs. The blood scent was coming from that direction.
Evin’s steps slowed. “Hanna, we really should get the cops.”
“Then do it.” I walked on.
He muttered something under his breath and dragged his phone out of his pocket, but continued to follow me nonetheless.
“Cathie?” he said, his voice seeming to echo across the overheated air. “It’s Evin again. Look, we’ve scented blood in the paddocks behind the station. You might want to get either Harris or Mike out here.”
I tuned him out, my gaze sweeping the ground. There wasn’t any sign of a fight that I could see, and no indication of either recent tire tracks or footprints. Of course, there was also no reason that there should be. Just because this was the most logical way for pedestrians to come if they were heading for the few houses dotted beyond this paddock didn’t mean whoever was lying either dead or near dead in those trees had actually walked this way.
I passed the dam and switched my gaze to the trees. The scent of blood was so strong my nose twitched, but I couldn’t yet see a body. But blood dribbled down the trunk of one of the nearest wattles, gleaming wetly in the moonlight.
Evin’s footsteps faltered. “Jesus, Hanna—”
I frowned and glanced around at him. His face had gone white. “What the hell is wrong with you? Anyone would think you’ve never seen a body before.”
He glanced at me sharply, “Which sounds like you have.”
“It’s an everyday part of our goddamn job.” My confusion was growing. Why was what I was saying and half remembering so at odds with how he was reacting?
Who was the disconnected one here?
“It’s not an everyday part of my fucking job.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. Gold gleamed thickly amongst the red. “Look, Cathie says we should avoid disturbing the area too much. Harris is on his way.”
“I have no intention of disturbing the crime scene.” And no intention of simply standing back here waiting for the cops to arrive, either.
I kept walking. Evin sighed, and it was a sound of frustration if I’d ever heard one. Which I probably had.
The air underneath the trees was a riot of aromas. First and strongest was the metallic stench of blood, but under that ran a mix of vanilla from the yellow blossom puffs and the aromatic resinous smell of the smaller wattle shrubs scattered between the bigger trees.
And below even those, the scent so faint part of me thought I might have been imagining it, was the taste of anger. Of vengeance.
This murder had been planned, not accidental, if that scent was anything to go by.
I scanned the ground again. There were footprints here. Weird prints that resembled cloven hooves rather than anything human. Maybe our victim had been attacked by a goat.
The body lay in a small clearing in the middle of the trees. He was big-boned and rough-looking, his skin pale and flaccid, as if he neither saw much sunshine nor did much to look after himself. His head was bald, but thick black hair matted his chest, trailed down his stomach and … my gaze stalled at his groin.
His genitals were gone. Penis, balls, and all, just gone. Hacked out of his flesh, leaving only a raw, gaping wound that still oozed blood—an indication this death hadn’t happened very long ago.
“Oh, shit.” Evin’s voice was hushed, as if he feared disturbing ghosts.
“Someone really didn’t like the way this man used his tool.” I said it lightly, trying for humor but obviously not succeeding if Evin’s expression was anything to go by.
“How can you joke about something like this?” He motioned toward the body with a hand that appeared to be shaking. “Someone cut this man’s nuts off!”
“And maybe they had a damn good reason.” It was absently said. There was something here, something I couldn’t quite catch or explain …
“And there’d better be a damn good reason for you two being here.” The voice was deep and authoritative, and not one that I knew. “Especially when Cathie’s already warned you to stay away from the crime scene.”
“Tell me about it,” Evin muttered, then added, “Hanna thought we’d better check, just in case there was someone here who needed medical help.”
“Hanna?” The other man’s gaze seemed to rest on me. I could feel the weight of his annoyance. “Isn’t she the sister that went missing?”
“Yeah. We just got back. I asked Cathie to let you know.”
“Well, she didn’t.” He stepped up beside me, surrounding me with his scent—warm spices and musky wolf.
“You really need to step away.”
“And you really need to know that there’s something else here.”
“What?”
I glanced at him then. He was several inches taller than me, with dark hair and well-defined, handsome features. His shoulders were broad, his body lithe—the build of an athlete, not a bodybuilder. Something within me leapt and my gaze jerked up to his face, searching for a reason for the tug of familiarity. He was wearing dark glasses, so I couldn’t see if his eyes were as dark as his hair. But part of me wanted them to be—expected them to be.
Except that he was a werewolf.
That bit didn’t fit with what I was expecting.
I tore my gaze away from his and motioned toward the body. “There’s something else here. An odd sort of energy.”
It was thick and strong, and it felt like fingers of ice caressing my flesh, cooling the heat of sunburn, sucking at my strength.
It was also something I’d felt before, back in the times I couldn’t remember. I had no fear of it, even when the slivers of pain began to stab at my brain—a pain that was scarily similar to the pain that occurred when I’d tried to shift shape.
Something had obviously gone seriously wrong when I’d hit whatever it was I’d hit.