Cursed by Fire (Blood & Magic Book 1) (3 page)

No one answered. I knocked three more times and again waited, doing my best not to fidget. Patience was not a virtue of mine.

After several long moments there was the distinct sound of a lock being retracted and the door opened just a crack.

“What do you want?” the man behind the door asked. I could make out his olive skin tone and fall of chestnut hair, just like Daniel’s.

“I’m Aria Naveed, a mercenary with Sanborn Place. I’d like to speak with you about your son’s death.”

“He didn’t just die,” he growled. “He was murdered.”

“I know,” I said in what I hoped was a calm and soothing voice. “I’d like a few moments of your time to interview you and see if you might be able to present any leads. I’m trying to bring down your son’s killer and I need your help to do that.”

For some reason, Eric Delaney looked a bit crazed. His eyes were bloodshot and his hair was a mess. I faintly wondered if maybe he was having trouble sleeping. Then mentally slapped myself as soon as the thought crossed my mind. Of course he was having trouble sleeping, his kid was just murdered.

He peered over my shoulder and eyed James up and down before his eyes strayed to the car parked just a few yards away. I watched as his nostrils flared, inhaling our scent, and saw the moment he realized James was a shifter flash across his face, all color draining from his expression as he put two and two together. Only one shifter drove a car like James’. Taking a step back, Delaney opened the door wider and motioned for us to come in.

I moved to take a step into the house but before I could pass the threshold, James slid in past me, blocking my way. He stood still as stone for a tense moment before making his way further into the house. Stupid shifter habits, always thinking women needed to be protected. James knew better than most, I was capable of looking out for myself.

Rolling my eyes I moved to follow and was met with the overwhelming stench of booze and sweat. I wrinkled my nose and did my best to breathe through my mouth as Eric led us through the entryway and into the living area. Taking a seat on one of the sofas in the room, James sat beside me while our host sat across from us, nervously playing with his hands. The smell in the room was all encompassing. If he truly was sober before calling the Pack, how the hell had things gotten so bad, this fast? I could only image how it was affecting James with his enhanced shifter senses. I had to repeatedly blink my eyes just to keep them from watering, but I was fighting a losing battle.

Composing myself as best as I could, I tried to size up Eric Delaney. He was small for a man, around my height of five-foot-seven and was much thinner than I would have expected for a shifter. Most shifters were built with corded muscles and an athletic body. Eric was so thin he appeared sickly, almost malnourished. I surveyed the room and spotted several empty bottles strewn across the carpet and several shards of broken glass, likely remnants from previous bottles as well. There was a questionable pile in the carpet near the window and the flies buzzing around it led me to believe it was vomit.

Gross.

I returned my gaze to Eric and took a breath, instantly regretting it as the smell of vomit hit my nostrils. God what had he been doing, drinking himself into a coma?

“Mr. Delaney,” I began, “when was the last time you saw your son?”

He didn’t seem to hear me because his gaze kept flitting back and forth from James to me and then to the floor, all the while making restless movements with his hands and feet.

“Mr. Delaney?”

Still nothing. I looked at James, a question mark on my face.

He sighed. “Eric, I’m not here to hurt you. Answer her questions.”

I raised a brow, but James didn’t bother answering my unspoken question. Why would Eric think James was here to hurt him? Did they have past issues or something?

Regardless of the why, Eric seemed to immediately calm down and was able to sit partially still though he continued to wring his hands. “Umm…three years ago or so,” he finally answered.

“And why is that?” I said. He looked even more uncomfortable than he had a few moments ago. I watched as a deep flush rose up his neck.

“Umm…because…I was a drunk,” he whispered. Well it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that one out.

“Still am,” he admitted a second after the first admission.

I sighed. This wasn’t going to be as productive of a meeting as I had hoped.

James and I spent close to an hour at Delaney’s house grilling him for any information he may have held relevant to Daniel’s death. In the end, we still came away with nothing. Eric Delaney was a sad man who walked away from his son because he’d thought in some twisted way that he was doing the right thing.

I found out he’d requested leave from the Pack because he was ashamed. The Pack wasn’t aware of his drinking habits but assumed he’d requested the time to help mend his broken heart after his divorce. They’d respected his privacy and while he was on leave, he’d managed to check in every three months with his Alpha, continuing to buy himself time and avoid any suspicion.

After the divorce his drinking took a turn for the worse and when he’d finally gotten himself clean and sober, he had approached Jessica, Daniel’s mother, about seeing his son but when he called, her curt reply had been that Daniel was missing. Days later, she called him, notifying him of Daniel’s death. As a result, Eric took yet another downward spiral back into a drunken stupor until he sobered up just enough to phone his Alpha and ask for help.

He had no information. No idea why his son may have been targeted or who might be responsible. We all knew it was a vampire based on the twin puncture marks left on the body and the significant blood loss but that remained the only piece of relevant information we had. The wrench in the entire thing was that the body had also been mutilated leading me to believe it was a rogue who had attacked the boy. If that were the case, our culprit would be much harder to track down than a Coven Vampire. A rogue’s bloodlust led them to be messier eaters. They’d lost every shred of humanity, giving in to the call for blood and feeding relentlessly, never feeling any sense of fullness. The thought of a rogue being our culprit didn’t add up either though because if we had a rogue in the area, our body count would be much higher.

As we walked out of Delaney’s house, James hung back for a few moments and spoke to Eric in private before following me outside to the car. Climbing into the Mustang we both mulled over what Delaney had told us in silence. I kept going back to the why. Why Daniel? Why him of all the kids out there? The vampire who attacked him had to have known he was a shifter. Their senses were enhanced enough to catch even a hint of shifter genes in a person, so why follow through?

From what I’d been told, vampires didn’t like the way a shifter’s blood tasted. It didn’t provide the same effect human blood did and even rogues tended to know the difference. There had to be more to it.

“What did you say to Delaney?” I asked as we headed back into downtown Spokane.

James peered over at me and considered my question for a moment.

“I told him the Pack was going to send him some help and that we were putting him into the Pack’s rehab program.”

“Does he want that?”

James shrugged. “I doubt it since he didn’t check himself in the first time around, but it doesn’t matter what he wants now. He needs to get sober, that’s all there is to it.”

I digested that tidbit of information. Guess the Pack did what they thought was best and while I agreed Eric needed to get sober, that didn’t mean it should be forced on him. He should have a choice in the matter. The thought led me back to his initial fear. Why was he afraid of James and why did he assume James was there to hurt him?

I tried to find the best way to phrase my next question. I wasn’t sure if James would actually tell me but figured it was worth a shot.

“What do you do?” I asked him, keeping my voice casual as I gazed out of the passenger-side window.

He gave me a perplexed look. “You know what I do. I run the gym.”

James owned Hills Fitness Center, a local gym in Spokane, Washington specializing in mixed martial arts and hand-to-hand combat training. That didn’t explain Eric’s fear though, so I knew there was more to it.

“Not your day job, what do you do for the Pack?”

I knew each member played some part within the Pack’s hierarchy and while most still had a day job, their main occupation lay within the Pack whether it be as minor as working in the kitchens or as major as running Pack security.

James remained silent. After several long minutes I wondered if he was going to answer me at all.

Finally he heaved a sigh and pulled over to the side of the road. Killing the engine he sat still for a moment before turning to face me.

Oh dear, shit was about to get serious.

“I’m the Pack’s Hunter,” he said in a grim voice, staring me straight in the eyes. Oh shit. He was the Hunter. I schooled my expression to hide my shock. This was a big deal, like 500-pound big. I’d been trying to figure out who the Hunter was for close to a year and he’d been right under my nose. Being the Hunter meant you were outside of the hierarchy in a way. He wasn’t an Alpha, nor could he be. But he wasn’t beneath anyone either. The Pack needed a Hunter. I wasn’t supposed to know any of this though. Humans weren’t supposed to know about the Pack’s inner workers. We were outsiders, so staring back into his eyes with a blank expression on my face, I quirked a brow.

James let out an exasperated bark. “You have no idea what that means, do you?”

I shook my head. Oh I knew all right, but saying no aloud would make me a big fat liar and he’d know it. Shifters could scent a lie so a shake of my head was much safer. I smiled as I watched him fidget. James was cool as steel, he was always calm and collected, using humor to lighten any situation, but for whatever reason, the topic of being Pack Hunter made him uncomfortable.

“I’m the one responsible for delivering Pack justice.” His voice sounded defeated, like the words tasted wrong on his tongue.

“Are you not very good at it?” I was confused over why he made his position sound so distasteful. Being responsible for issuing justice on behalf of the Pack made his role as my partner that much more valid and made him a huge asset to the Pack. Very few were capable of being a Hunter.

“No, that’s the problem. I’m good at what I do. Perhaps too good.”

I still didn’t understand why that was a problem. James must have understood my confusion because after another minute he continued. “When a shifter turns rogue, Declan sends me in to handle it.”

I gazed out the window, a pair of crows picked at a deceased carcass of what I could only assume had been a deer based on the size of the body. I sniffed the air, the slight cloying scent of decay coming through the AC vents.

“And what exactly goes into ‘handling it?’” I said, turning away from the scene.

James shrugged and didn’t say anything more.

“You kill them, then,” I said. I didn’t bother to voice it as a question.

“If it’s necessary.”

I nodded. That could be rough. I knew that shifters often went rogue. From what research I’d been able to conduct, there was close to a thirty-percent chance of it. They had to constantly work to keep their animal sides in check and maintain a balance. If signs were caught early enough though, a shifter could be pulled from the edge before there was no going back. I’d heard stories of shifters going off the deep end and killing their entire families in their madness.

About a year ago, there had been reports of a bear shifter going rogue and killing almost an entire community. Over 500 people were massacred in a fit of uncontrollable rage on the outskirts of Cheney, a small town about an hour from Spokane. The Pacific Northwest Pack spread throughout Washington, Oregon, Idaho, and Montana but its primary compound was in Spokane. It had taken the Pack just over an hour to get to Cheney once word of the bear hit their ears. A lot could happen in an hour and rumor was, not much had been left when they’d arrived. I could see why the Pack needed a Hunter. I could also see why it would suck to be the Hunter.

“Do you need to talk about your feelings now?” I asked.

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

“Sure do. It’s a wonder you’ve put up with me as long as you have.”

James smiled, a real smile that met his steely grey eyes. “You know, I ask myself that question all the time.”

I jovially punched him in the shoulder. “Jerk,” I said. James flashed his teeth in a feral grin as he pulled the car back into traffic.

“Hey, Ari.”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

I smiled. “Anytime, James.”

T
he rest of the day seemed to go by in a blur. After meeting with Eric, James and I called it a day with plans to speak with Mrs. Blackmore and her husband the following morning. I knew James was ready to make some headway in the case. He was just as eager for justice as I was, but he could tell I was exhausted so when he voiced that he had other obligations he needed to catch up on, and that we’d regroup the following day, I didn’t object.

Spending eight days with sleepless nights searching for Daniel only to find I was too late had taken its toll. That, coupled with the stress of the hunt, put me a little on edge and I could feel myself burning out. Despite my desire to find the culprit, I took the bone James offered and had him drop me off at my apartment. Mike would have my car dropped off later in the evening.

It was only four in the afternoon but my body didn’t care. It craved sleep and food, in no particular order. I dragged my exhausted self up the four flights of stairs to my single-bedroom apartment, pausing only to say hi to my neighbor Melody.

“Hey, Mel,” I said, making my way past the first set of stairs. Melody was perched on the railing near the top of the staircase, her ebony mane falling in waves down her back and blending into the blue-black feathers covering her bird-like wings.

“Hey, Aria,” she said around a mouthful of food. She clutched a small basket in her arms, a wide smile spread across her face like she’d just won a prize.

“Stealing from Ryan again?” I asked.

Melody’s smile grew and she took another bite from her stash. Ryan was another neighbor of mine, one that Melody seemed to have a thing for and being a harpy, she showed her feelings by stealing his food. A strange method, but it seemed to do the job because like all the times before, here came Ryan, storming down the stairs. The heavy footfall of his boots thundering with each step.

“Melody!” he shouted. “Where is it?”

I smiled as I continued along my way, brushing past Ryan. Their banter just like any other day. Listening to their arguing below, I persisted in my trek up the stairs. I eyed the elevator with disdain each time I passed it on my way up the winding staircase. A small part of me wanted to step inside of its confines and lean against the cool inside wall until it chimed on my floor but I couldn’t. A single step inside that cold metal box would send me into a spiraling panic.

Stupid elevator.

So instead, I walked up what felt like an endless flight of stairs, grateful for my athletic build and strong endurance as I listened to Melody tell Ryan that it was his fault that she stole his food. That he never should have left it out for her to find so easily if he didn’t want it taken. She failed to mention to him that to obtain the food he’d supposedly left out, practically waiting for her, she had to pick the lock on his apartment window and the lock he had recently added to each of his kitchen cupboards. I wondered when he would realize that the harder he tried making it for her to steal from him, the more often she would do it just for the challenge.

Finally reaching the fourth floor, I dug through my messenger bag for my keys, the slight distraction causing me to run headlong into what felt like a solid wall. Looking up I made a correction, the solid wall happened to be a person. I stumbled back and would have fallen on my butt had said person not reached out, grabbed my arm, and steadied me with a slight tug.

As soon as I had my bearings the man quickly released his hold, almost as if he sensed that I didn’t welcome his touch. I eyed him suspiciously, a slight buzzing sounding in my head.

Odd
.

I didn’t recognize him, had never seen him in my apartment complex before and I knew every tenant at least by sight if not by name. Maybe he was a neighbor’s friend or relative. Though for some reason the notion didn’t sit right in my gut. There was something about him that seemed off somehow. His eyes were a startling blue-grey, so clear it was like looking into a pool of water. He had sharp cheekbones and a square masculine jaw with a strong slash of a mouth. He looked imposing but there was a lethal edge to him, like a blade. He reminded me of the daggers I kept at my waist, deadly yet beautiful—

“Are you all right?” he asked, interrupting my train of thought. Gah, my brain wasn’t working with him around. The smell of rainstorms assailed my senses. Shaking my head to clear my thoughts I stared up at the god-like statue in front of me. That annoying buzzing still lingered in the back of my mind.

“Yeah, thanks for the save,” I muttered, stepping around his broad form, careful not to brush up against him, while making my way towards my apartment door. There was something about him that made me feel off balance. I didn’t like it.

Pulling out my keys, they jingled as I fumbled to insert the right one into the deadbolt. This was humiliating. I didn’t even have that many keys on my key ring. I could feel his gaze on my back which seriously was not helping.

Dammit I was putting the stupid thing in upside down. I cursed under my breath, finally unlocking the mechanism and pushing the door open. I looked back over my shoulder to see the stranger still standing in the same spot. He had the oddest expression on his face. A look of anxious anticipation almost.

I gave him one last wary look before stepping into my apartment and quickly shutting the door. I threw the deadbolt, then locked the doorknob too. Just in case.

Once inside I tossed my keys and messenger bag on the small dining room table and headed straight into my bedroom at the end of the narrow hallway. My apartment was simple, on the right, the living and dining area with a small open kitchen. To the left down a narrow hallway, my bedroom and single bathroom, sectioned off from the rest of the apartment. It was a strange layout but it suited my needs.

Once in my room I kicked off my military style black leather boots and peeled off my leather jacket. Pulling out a soft pair of grey cotton pants from my dresser drawer, I quickly changed into the more comfortable attire and padded softly on bare feet to my kitchen.

My stomach growled as I made a turkey sandwich with mayo, cutting the crust off. An old habit from childhood I’d been unable to curb. Sandwich in hand, I ate it on my way back to my room practically swallowing each bite whole. Finishing off the last of it, I realized the buzzing in my head had stopped but was too exhausted to care why. Instead I crawled into bed, unconcerned by the crumbs now dotting my olive green comforter. I’d shake them off come morning.

Curling into myself under the covers I closed my eyes and allowed sleep to pull me down into its warm embrace.