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Maybe he'd gone.
Maybe he was waiting for a clearer shot.
I sniffed the air, trying to get sonic hint of who and what my adversary was. The air ran sharp with many aromas—including the metallic scent of my own blood—but there was no hint of vampire on the breeze.
I switched to infrared and sca
Cursing softly, I walked over to the corner of the building, going near, but not too near, the edge. At least a dozen shell casings littered the ground. Someone had wanted me very dead. Question was, who? And had they moved up from using cars and trucks to using bullets?
I suspected they had. But why? Certainly there was nothing happening in my private life that warranted such actions, so it had to be co
Problem was, I only had two on my plate at the moment, and neither of those were likely prospects. I mean, it wouldn't be our evil soul, because he preferred more direct methods of destruction. I also doubted it would have anything to do with Adrie
I left the casings lying where they were—not only because I didn't have gloves but because I knew squat about guns and wouldn't have been able to tell one casing from another—and followed the building's edge, looking for a clue as to where my would-be assassin had gone. I wasn't close enough to see the pavement directly below, and technically six flights shouldn't have had my phobia rising, but the breeze whistling up and over the edge gave a feeling of greater height and my stomach twisted.
I reached the other end of the building. There was a small jump over an alleyway to the rooftop of my building, and someone had not only taken it at speed but had misjudged their landing. Several of the aerials were either bent out of shape or broken. The old cow of an owner would have a pink fit—she loved her TV above everything else.
After a quick glance down at the gap between the two buildings, I backed away from the edge and pressed the corn-link button in my ear.
"Anyone home?"
"Oh joy, it's the bitch," a familiar voice said.
I smiled. "Hey, Sal, welcome back. I missed you."
She snorted. "Yeah, I'm gone a whole twenty-four hours and you're pining for me. Right. What can I do for you, wolf girl?"
"Someone's just taken a potshot at me. With silver bullets."
"So who'd you piss off this time?"
"No one that I know of."
"I find that extremely hard to believe."
So did I, actually. "He missed."
"You do like stating the fucking obvious, don't you?"
I gri
"Well, fuck him."
"Yeah." I took a breath then, with my heart racing a million miles an hour, ran at the edge, and leapt over. It wasn't really a wide gap, no matter what my stupid fears were saying, and I landed on the other side without problem. "The shooter was on the roof of the apartment next to mine. I'm currently on my rooftop and heading down."
"Any evidence?"
"Shell casings. There might be prints."
"I'll send a team out."
"Thanks, Sal."
"You won't be thanking me when you get the repair bill, wolf girl."
I chuckled softly, clicked off the corn-link and walked around to the fire exit. The stair door was hanging off one hinge and swaying softly in the breeze. And what looked to be a footprint was neatly etched into the metal. My attacker was on the small side, if this print was any indication.
I stood to one side of the doorway, studying the shadows and listening for anything out of place. The normal sounds and scents of living drifted up from the apartments below, but the air also held the slightest hint of staleness—the type of staleness I'd long associated with vampires. Though this wasn't as bad as some.
My shooter had definitely been past here, but I doubted he was still hanging around. His scent was fading, and I couldn't "feel" any other nonhuman in the immediate vicinity.
Still, if he knew I lived here, there was no saying he wasn't waiting in the shadows near my apartment.
I ducked around the corner of the broken door, feeling a little foolish but knowing it was better than feeling a little dead. Hell, Rhoan would never forgive me if I got myself killed this easily after everything we'd been through this last year or so.
None of the shadows moved, though, and the darkness hid nothing but dust. Even so, I edged down each step carefully, every sense tuned. No one jumped out at me. Nothing but darkness hid on the fire escape.
When I neared the hallway of my own floor, I hesitated, switching to infrared and sca
But the heat of two bodies flared to life in my apartment, and neither the shapes nor the murmuring voices were familiar.
Infrared couldn't actually tell me what race the two people in my apartment were. All it could do was tell me that blood pumped through their veins—perhaps a little faster than what was normal for a vampire, but that was no guarantee one or both of them weren't bloodsuckers.
I studied their images a little longer, fixing their positions in my mind, then padded softly down the hall until I was near my door.
After taking another deep breath and releasing it slowly, I stepped forward, hitting the lock in the sweet spot and springing it open.
Two men spun around, one of them reaching for a gun. He was fast, real fast.
But I was faster.
I blurred, ru
Then I turned and leapt for the second man, who was already ru
"Try something like that again, and I'll blow your frigging head off," I growled.
"Okay, okay," he rasped, voice showing more anger than fear.
For the first time, I got a good look at him. Saw the flat, nondescript features, beady gray eyes, and harsh, uncompromising mouth.
It wasn't a stranger I'd beaten up and threatened.
It was Patrin.
Chapter Nine
I have to say, my first reaction was one of intense satisfaction. I'd spent a good portion of my younger years afraid of this bastard and his siblings, unable to retaliate for fear of reprisals from their father. To be sitting here on top of him, sucking in the scent of his anger and fear—to see the blood gushing from his smashed nose and split lip—was an undeniably sweet turnaround.
But in the heat of battle I'd forgotten he wasn't alone, and that was a very stupid thing to do.
As the sharp snap of a gun being cocked confirmed.
"Put the weapon down and step away from him." The voice was soft, almost without threat, and that, in my books, suggested that the wolf with Patrin was very dangerous indeed.
I didn't move, didn't look at him, even though just about every sense I had was tuned for the faintest whisper of movement. I continued to stare at Patrin, letting him see the hatred in my eyes, letting him wonder if I really would pull the trigger.