Blood of Innocence (Sloan Skye)

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Authors: Tami Dane

BOOK: Blood of Innocence (Sloan Skye)
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Also by Tami Dane:
 
Blood of Eden
 
“Werewolves in Chic Clothing”
In
The Real Werewives of Vampire County
BLOOD OF INNOCENCE
 
TAMI DANE
 
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
 
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
 
Adopt the pace of nature; her secret is patience.
—Ralph Waldo Emerson
 
1
 
There are three things I would have gladly given my right arm—and leg—never to see.
How hot dogs are made (trust me, you don’t want to know).
How Porta-Potties are emptied (ditto).
And this.
I’m Sloan Skye, summer intern for the FBI’s PBAU—that’s the Paranormal Behavioral Analysis Unit. You know how the BAU, aka the Behavioral Analysis Unit, profiles criminals? We profile criminals too. But our bad guys have fangs and fur.
At the moment, I was standing in a pretty neighborhood, in a pretty house, in a pretty bedroom ... that also happened to be the scene of a horrific crime.
It wasn’t that it was a grisly scene. There was no blood spatter. No sign of a struggle. The victim was lying in her bed; her blankets were tucked under her chin. She looked peaceful, as if she were sleeping, with the exception of her eyes. They were staring blindly. And she was grimacing. It was a creepy sight.
At my first crime scene—which happened to be on my first day on the job, which just happened to be last week—I threw up. I was determined not to do that again.
When a cool gust from the open window carried the scent of death to my nose, I gagged. It wasn’t looking good for me.
I headed for the window, hoping some fresh air might help.
Special Agent Jordan Thomas—aka JT, aka the drool-worthy, heart-palpitatingly handsome man I’d kissed a couple of days ago—was standing next to the bed. I was guessing he was completely unaware of my struggle to keep my lunch where it belonged.
“Hmm. Looks like the killer punctured the femoral artery,” he said.
I had to assume he’d uncovered the victim. There could be no other way for him to know that. “Is that so?” I said, sticking my face up to the screen and poking at a little hole in the corner. A big blackbird was perched on a tree limb outside. It snapped its wings, zooming into the early-morning sky.
Using gloved hands, I pulled the screen up and looked down. There was no way for a killer to get up here. Unless he was a really good climber. And small. The scraggly ornamental tree outside wouldn’t hold the weight of a full-grown adult, by my estimation. “I don’t think he or she came in this way.”
“No sign of forced entry downstairs either,” Gabe Wagner, another member of our team (who also happens to be just as good-looking as JT), said as he strolled into the room. “And look, jewelry sitting in plain sight on her dresser. Nice stuff too.” My body bristled at the sound of his voice. It tensed even more when I realized he was coming toward me. “What do you have there?” He leaned in, close enough for me to smell his cologne and the subtle hint of warm summer air still clinging to his clothes.
Avoiding eye contact, I slid the screen back in place. “Nothing.”
Before you get the wrong idea, let me explain something to you. Gabe and I have a bumpy history. We dated. A long time ago. He dumped me for another girl. We’ve been frenemies since. Actually, we’ve been more like enemies than friends. He even stole my dream job with the BAU. That was just last week. Then he had the nerve to request a transfer a couple of days later. To the PBAU.
So, of course, I was in full I-hate-him mode at that point.
But then, a few days ago—right after I was rescued from a kidnapper—he confessed he still had feelings for me.
I wasn’t sure what to say or think about that.
Then JT kissed me.
And I didn’t know what to say or think about that either.
It’s all very messed up.
And it’s pretty much all my fault.
At the moment, I just wished it all would go away so we could concentrate on our jobs. Someone had killed this woman. It was up to us to profile who did it and help the police stop him.
“Oh, damn,” JT said.
Thankful for any excuse to get away from Gabe, I headed back toward the bed. As crazy as it sounds, the corpse was the lesser of two evils. “What is it?”
“I think this woman is—was—pregnant.”
“Oh, damn,” I echoed. “Is there any chance ... ? The baby ... ?” I couldn’t say the words. They wouldn’t come out.
“Based on the fact that rigor has begun to set in, I’m thinking ... no.”
The contents of my stomach surged up my throat.
Oh, shit.
I raced back to the window, shoved open the screen, and hung my head outside.
So much for my pride.
And my lunch.
 
 
“‘A single white prince, with a passion for juicy steaks, good beer, and moonlit strolls on the beach, seeking single elf with similar interests for long-term commitment.’”
Katie, my roommate, best friend, and the closest thing to a sister that I’ll ever have, spewed a mouthful of cola all over me. After hacking for about five minutes like a lifelong smoker, she said, “Sheesh. Sorry I spit in your face, but you can’t post that.”
Blinking away the droplets that had landed in my eyes, I scrutinized my personal ad for errors. I didn’t see any, not a typo. Nada. “What’s wrong with it?” I wiped a cheek with my sleeve.
“What isn’t wrong?” Katie kindly went to the kitchen for some paper towels. “It’s clichéd. It’s misleading. Not to mention, you used the word ‘elf.’ You’ll get a bunch of fruitcakes dressed like Santa’s little helpers if you post that.”
I ripped several towels off the roll and dabbed my face. “But I
need
an elf. That’s the most important part.”
Katie flopped next to me on the couch. She didn’t pick up her glass of cola, thank God. This conversation clearly needed a spew warning. “Regardless, you can’t put that in the ad.”
“How else am I going to find an elf? Elmer needs a bride. And that bride must be at least half-elf, like me. If I can’t find him a willing vict ... er, wife, he’ll be dragging me down the aisle. Again. Have you looked at him? That face.” I shuddered. “Those creepy eyes—”
Sniffing the air, Katie patted my shoulder. “I know, honey. Scary.”
“Scary doesn’t even come close.” I clicked delete.
So much for that.
This wasn’t going to be easy.
I was no matchmaker. I couldn’t even manage my own pathetic love life—at the moment, I was trying to figure out what to do with not one but two men. And here I was trying to hunt down a bride for the prince of the
Sluagh
?
If I’d had any choice in the matter, last week I wouldn’t have promised Elmer, my so-called ex-fiancé, I’d help him. But I was desperate. He’d kidnapped me and was trying to force me to marry him. Besides, I sort of felt bad for the guy. Not only was he freakishly ugly, but he was also miserable. He can’t eat. He can’t drink. Being fond of food myself, I couldn’t survive a single day walking in his shoes. Not to mention, he can only materialize after sunset. Supposedly, all his problems will magically disappear when he marries.
Being a cynic, I wanted to tell him that plenty of people had believed that over the years. Many had learned otherwise.
Staring at the keyboard, I sucked in a deep breath in preparation for a long, drawn-out sigh.
Mistake.
Smoke.
Putrid odor.
Gag.
“Katie.” I pointed at the thick haze billowing out of the kitchen.
“Oh, shit.” Katie jumped up. “I’m on it.”
Katie is finishing up her master’s in chemistry. I love her dearly. And I generally have no issues with her doing experiments in our kitchen. It would go unused, otherwise. But sometimes it got a little old, living with the constant stench of
eau de sewer.
“Shitshitshit,” Katie yelled.
Crash.
Thump.
A darker, more menacing cloud rolled into the living room.
Not moving from my cozy spot on the couch, I shouted, “The new fire extinguisher’s under the sink.” Reading some information about a dating site on my computer, I reached for my gas mask. Most people have framed photographs on their living-room tables. Or books. Figurines.
Not me. I have emergency gear on my living-room table.
“Where?” she shouted, sounding a little frantic.
“Under the sink.” I clapped the mask over my mouth and nose and kept reading.
“Ah, thanks. Found it!” A second later, she said, “Everything’s fine.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“What the hell is that stench?” someone else said.
I jumped, jerked so hard my knee slammed into my computer, sending it flying. Luckily, I caught it before it crashed on the floor. I gave the guilty party a glare. “You scared the hell out of me. I told you, you’ve got to stop sneaking up on me like that.”
“I can’t help it.” Elmer, the sneaky prince of the
Sluagh,
blinked his beady little
Sluagh
eyes at me, and my glare evaporated. “I tried to think about someplace else at sunset, so I wouldn’t zap here. But ... well ... magical transportation isn’t exactly a science.” He glanced at the computer. “What’re you doing?”
“I’m writing your personal ad for an online dating site. Want to help?”
“Online dating?” he echoed, sounding less than enthusiastic.
I didn’t want to point out the obvious, like how much easier it would be to charm a girl if he didn’t meet her face-to-face right off the bat. Elmer had some pride. I wasn’t about to shred it. “I thought we’d give it a shot, since you’re sort of limited to socializing during nighttime hours.”
“I was thinking we could try one of those speed-dating events.”
“Speed dating?” I didn’t see that working for him. But I didn’t have the heart to say that.
“Yeah. I read about one in the newspaper. They take all types.”
“Sure, even elves?”
“That I don’t know.”
“I think we should stick with online dating for now.”
He looked disappointed. That wasn’t a pretty look on a guy who already had the face that only a mother could love.
“If we strike out, we can try the speed dating next.”
“Okay.” He wilted.
“Doubting me already?” I was doubting myself, but I sure didn’t want him to know that.
“Maybe.”
“Remember, you’ve got nothing to lose. If I don’t find your dream girl, you will still get married.”
His wilt grew wiltier. “To you.”
“Yeah, to me.” I grimaced. “Since when wasn’t I good enough?”
He grumbled something unintelligible. I decided to ignore it. Then he cleared his throat. “I’m the man of your dreams. Sexy. Rich. A genuine prince.”
“What?”
“I’m dictating my personal ad. Why aren’t you typing?” He poked at my computer.
I set my fingers on the keyboard. “I am now. What was that?”
 
 
Early the next morning—before sunrise—I dragged my exhausted body out of bed, stumbled into the shower, cooked myself in the scalding spray for as long as I could, and cut off the water.
Dripping wet, I grabbed one towel and turbaned my hair. I used a second towel to dry my face as I stepped out.
I ran smack-dab into someone.
“Aaaaahhh!” I screeched, jerking the towel away from my eyes. “Elmer!” I clasped the towel to my breasts, smoothing it down to cover my vitals. “What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you.”
“In my bathroom?” My ass was hanging out. I knew it. Elmer knew it too. I backed up, pressing it against the wall.
“Um ... sure.” He grinned. “I thought you might need someone to wash your back.”
“Get out!” Flustered and irritated, I repositioned the towel to cover my butt as best I could, stomped to the door, wrenched it open, and motioned with my head. As Elmer took his time leaving, I said, “Don’t you dare look at my ass.”
“Too late.”
“Urk!” The instant he was out, I slammed the door. “Wait a minute. I thought you could only materialize between twilight and midnight? That’s what you said.”
“Oh. Yeah. I did say that, didn’t I?”
“Yes, you did. So what’s the deal?”
“I ... er ... Actually, I can materialize any time between twilight and dawn. I kinda lied.”
“Why?”
“Because I thought it made for a more convincing story.”
“Elmer.”

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