He scrubbed a hand over his face. "Jesus, Hanna, I don't know if it's the right time - "
"Tell me," I demanded. "What don't I remember? Why are we here?"
"He's dead," he said abruptly, but with sympathy in his expression. "Your soul mate is dead. Hit by a truck and crushed."
I stared at him. Just stared at him, as the words rolled around and around in my brain. My soul mate is dead.
Yes, I thought. Yes. The emptiness was there, deep inside. It felt true and right. I closed my eyes, again saw that truck, that black car, and felt the rising pain - a pain so deep it felt like my heart was being torn apart. He was dead. The man who couldn't be killed was dead.
Tears stung my eyes and suddenly I was sobbing and shaking uncontrollably. Evin took me in his arms and held me tight as the plane roared into the night.
W e landed on an airfield that was little more than a strip of dust beside a ramshackle collection of aging buildings. By that time, I was numb. The tears had stopped and there was nothing left except emptiness and an odd sort of disconnect.
I stared out the window, taking in the scenery. There was little enough to be seen. Not because it was night, but because there was nothing there. No tower, no guide lights, and certainly no terminal. Frank taxied around to one of the few large buildings in the immediate area, then killed the propellers and twisted around to face us. "If you're feeling like a drink later, lassie, the first one is on me. Sounds as if you could do with one."
I forced a smile. "Thanks. I just might take you up on that."
"Do." He flung open his door and climbed out, quickly disappearing inside the old hangar.
Evin opened the back door and lowered the steps, climbing down before turning around and offering a hand to me.
I paused on the top step and looked around. There were buildings and houses in the distance, their lights twinkling like stars, but I'd been expecting a city and Dunedan obviously wasn't anywhere near that large. The air itself was rich and clean, and smelled ever so faintly of the ocean.
This place, like the man waiting at the bottom of the steps, was unknown to me.
"You coming?" Evin said.
I placed my hand in his and let him help me down, but he didn't release me, keeping hold as we walked around the back of the building. An old blue Toyota four-wheel drive was parked at the far end, and it looked as beaten as I felt. Obviously, we couldn't afford to hire anything better.
Evin opened the passenger door, waited until I climbed in, then slammed it shut and walked around to the driver's side.
"Why did we come to Dunedan?" I said, as he reversed the car and pointed it in the direction of the buildings.
He glanced at me. "Because you wanted to get away from everything. Friends, family, everything."
Well, I'd obviously succeeded, because I couldn't remember anything. And how much more "away" could you get? "But why here?"
He shrugged. "You took a pin and poked it in a map. This was the nearest town to that pin, and here we are."
"Why did you come with me?"
He smiled. "Because, sister, we do everything together. Besides, Mom would have had a fit if I'd let you come out alone in your condition."
Mom. It was a word that raised a surprising amount of emotion - and not all of it was good. Yet I couldn't even picture her face. "What do you mean, my condition?"
He hesitated. "You survived your soul mate's death, but you were being treated for severe depression. Which was why I was looking for you so frantically. I thought you might have gone off your tablets and tried to kill yourself again."
I frowned. His words had the ring of truth, and yet, there were lies there, too. Or was I merely seeing problems where there were none? I rubbed my forehead wearily, and wished the aching would stop. I'm sure it would all make so much more sense if it just didn't hurt so much.
"Meaning I've already tried to kill myself?"
He grimaced. "That wound on your shoulder is from a gunshot. You only missed because I managed to grab the gun in time."
Liar, liar, pants on fire ...
And yet, the wound was a gunshot wound. Maybe he was telling the truth. Maybe it was my internal voice that was lying.
"How did I get hold of a gun?"
He snorted. "We're licensed security officers, so guns aren't a problem."
I didn't feel like a security officer. I felt like I was something more. Not a cop, but something along those lines. Someone who dealt with life and death on a daily basis.
Which I guess a security officer could do, if we were in the business of guarding people rather than possessions.
I looked out the window, watching the emptiness go by, feeling its echo deep inside. "I can't remember any of this."
His gaze swept me again - something I felt rather than saw. "Well, you've obviously received several nasty blows to the head, so that's probably why. Give it time."
Time. For some reason, that was something that seemed in very short supply.
A week, that voice had said.
What would happen after that?
I didn't know, and I didn't intend to hang around long enough to find out. Whatever this was, whatever was going on, I needed to sort it out well before then.
I shifted my focus to the approaching town. It didn't look huge, but it seemed quite pretty. The main street was about half a mile long, with grand old buildings clustered on either side of the road and the blue of the moonlit ocean visible down at the far end. Cars were angle-parked along the street, and people strolled about casually -
some in beach gear, some not. Trees and wide verandas provided shade from the elements, as did the white umbrellas that sat above the tables in the outside restaurant areas. Hanging pots filled with flowers and creeping vines dangled from the ornate light posts that lined the street, and the nongardener in me wondered how the hell they managed to keep them alive in the heat.
"Where are we staying?"
"Bayview Villas. We have a two-bedroom unit right on the beach."
"Sounds nice."
"It is." He swung into a side street and the buildings gave way to old but pretty houses. We passed several more streets then swung right. The sea suddenly seemed a whole lot closer, the sound of waves crashing against the shoreline sharper.
He swung left, into a driveway, and stopped. The building was white concrete, but had the same wide verandas that the older buildings did. It also had a big blue-and-white sign out the front that said POLICE.
I raised my eyebrows and looked at him. "Why are we here?"
He undid his seat belt and climbed out. "Because I reported your accident and the fact you were missing, and now need to unreport you, before they arrange another search party for tomorrow. You coming?"
I shrugged but climbed out and followed him into the station. The inside reception area was cool and dark. A woman behind the desk glanced up as we entered and gave us both a warm smile.
"Evin," she said, standing up. She was tall and thinnish in build, with sandy-colored hair and sunburned cheeks.
"You've found her."
Her scent said she was a werewolf, and if the hunger in her eyes was anything to go by, then she was very interested in Evin, but he didn't seem to notice or care. And that oddly seemed right.
"Yeah," he said, stopping several feet away from the desk and studying her with an almost amused expression.
"Is Harris about?"
"No, he's been called out."
"Well, could you let him know I've found her? If he wants me to make a report, then he knows where to find us."
"I will." She paused, then added, "Are you going to the pub later on?"
"Sorry, love, I don't drink. But that doesn't mean I won't be there later." He gave her a wink, then swung me around and headed out.
"You do so drink," I said, when we were out the door. "Why didn't you tell her the truth?"
"What, that I'm moon-sworn and unavailable? Why spoil her day?"
Shock rippled through me and I stopped, ripping my arm from his grasp. "When did you go through the moon ceremony?"
Something flitted through his eyes, and I had a vague suspicion he'd just said something he shouldn't have. But why would he want to keep something like that a secret?
Why was I so damn suspicious of everything?
"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.
