Darkness Rising: The Dark Angel Series: Book Two (18 page)

But
this
felt slightly different from that earlier version. It was darker. More bloody. Which didn’t exactly make sense.

“Ah,” a voice behind me said, just about giving me a heart attack in the process. “You’re awake. Excellent.”

I twisted around sharply—too sharply, if the needles of pain driving into my ribs were any indication—and saw him. Or rather, saw his outline, which appeared tall and wiry. The rest of him was difficult to make out, simply because he seemed to merge with the shadows, though I had no sense of a vampire. But I had no sense of humanity, either.

In fact, I still had no sense of
anything
living. It was as if he weren’t even here.

I frowned and flared my nostrils, dragging in the foul air, sorting through the various stenches. There was definitely no indication that there was anyone else in this underground room besides myself.

So if he wasn’t here, where the hell was he?

And just how well could he see me?

“Who the hell are you?” I asked, wincing a little at my loudness but, at the same time, glad the shakiness that still afflicted my muscles wasn’t apparent in my voice.

“I actually believe you’ve been looking for me,” he said, his voice jovial and plummy. “I’m—”

“Ike Forman,” I finished for him as I scanned the walls again. I couldn’t see any cameras or microphones anywhere in the room, and rather doubted he’d have access to the sort of nanotechnology that Stane would—or that he’d risk such expensive equipment in a place like this. So even if the figure in front of me
was
a projection rather than a reality, he still had to be somewhere close by. If only because most projections had distance limits. “You’re the man who has taken over Handberry’s team—not that there’s any of them left right now.”

“No,” he said sadly, as if he really did regret losing them though I suspected quite the opposite. “They rather underestimated your capabilities. But rest assured that I will not.”

Men had been underestimating me my entire life. I was hoping it wasn’t going to stop now, despite Forman’s statement. “What do you want with me?”

I pushed upright, only to discover my legs were tied together and my feet somewhat numb. I fell back
down, my knees hitting the concrete so hard it jarred my already aching body.

I swore and his mirth swam around me. “Your legs are tied together with wire. I was tempted to use silver, but that might cause more damage than I wish just yet. We may need to leave this bolt-hole in a hurry if your dark protector breaks the outer barriers.”

Meaning Azriel was somewhere close by? Part of me hoped so, and part of me refused to rely on that hope, preferring to depend on my own instincts and abilities.

Then the words
just yet
registered. I licked my lips and tried not to think about the underlying threat. I tried to think with some degree of clarity. It wasn’t easy when my head felt like someone was trying to claw their way out of it.

So why
was
he using ordinary wire when silver was a much safer option for werewolves? If he knew enough about me to construct a barrier capable of preventing me becoming Aedh, then he’d obviously know I was also part were. What was he planning?

It was a thought that niggled as I said, “To repeat my earlier question, what the hell do you want with me?”

“I want what my predecessor wanted. The keys, or the book that tells us how to find them. I’m not fussed either way.”

“But why do you want them? You’re neither Aedh nor reaper, so gaining the keys to heaven or hell would be useless to you.”

“Who said
I
wanted the keys?”

I carefully shifted position until I could see both him and the wire that was holding me hostage. It was a fine gray line that snaked away into deeper shadows. I had no idea what I was attached to, but I had no doubt it would be secure. I tested it anyway, and got the result I expected. No give, and no indication that it would readily pull free of whatever waited at the other end.

Interestingly, Forman didn’t comment. Which maybe meant that, if I kept my actions small enough, he wouldn’t see them.

“So it’s Harlen who actually wants the keys?” I said.

He paused. “I don’t know a Harlen.”

“Well, you certainly did when you were talking to Handberry the night he died. In fact, Handberry was going to meet him. I guess it’s lucky that Harlen didn’t actually turn up, or he might have become the soul stealer’s dessert.”

I shifted back onto my butt and hugged my knees close to my chest. Fire ran up my bruised legs, but I ignored that. The position got me closer to the wire tying my legs together. But there was no knot to undo. The damn thing had been soldered on.

“Ah yes, I do recall that conversation now,” he said, clearly amused if the note in his voice was anything to go by. “But Harlen is of no interest to either of us right now.”

And yet his casual dismissal had instinct suggesting that the very opposite was true. “I hate to break this to you, but anyone involved in the attempted murder of my friends is of interest to me right now.”

“Harlen didn’t order any attacks on your friends.”

“Indeed?” I shifted my arms a little so that they pressed against my sides. I still had my phone. I still had my knife. This man might not be underestimating me, but he sure as hell hadn’t searched me very well. “Then Harlen isn’t the man behind the buyout of premises on West Street?”

“No, he’s not behind the buyout, although he will definitely benefit from it.” Once again it sounded like it was all one big joke only he could understand. “You really must tell us your sources.”

“The Directorate,” I said, crossing my arms to hide my hands. Slowly, carefully, I grabbed my jacket and pulled it around until the pocket holding the knife was at the front of my body. “They did capture one of your boys and they do so enjoy the odd routine-breaking bit of interrogation … as you will experience yourself once I hand you over to them.”

He laughed. “My dear, I’d start worrying about
your
future rather than mine.”

I reached into the pocket and wrapped my hands around the hilt of the knife. “Look, I don’t know where the goddamn book is. I don’t know where my father is. Those facts cannot be changed, no matter how much you might wish otherwise.”

“We shall see.”

He moved, and his shadowy form wavered briefly—the first real indication that I was indeed watching a projection rather than a real person. I quickly scanned the wall behind his image, and for the first time noticed the faint outline of a doorway.

Then his image flicked a nonexistent switch—or at least it was nonexistent in
this
room—and something
hit me with the force of a sledgehammer. I was thrown backward, my spine hitting a wall with bone-crunching force and my body shaking, trembling, and tingling. The assault stopped almost as soon as it had began, but the skin underneath the wire felt like it was burning, and my whole body felt weird. Numb, almost.

“Now that you’ve had a taste of what I can do, please answer the question.”

I licked my lips and somehow croaked, “What fucking question?” God, there were spots dancing before my eyes, and my ears were ringing. What the hell had he done to me?

“Where is the book?”

“I don’t
know
—”

I didn’t get any further. The force hit again, and only the wall at my back prevented me from being thrown. But it didn’t stop my limbs from shaking and dancing, and it didn’t stop the energy that was flowing through me.

Electricity
. He was using electricity on me. God, the
wire
. It was coming through the wire around my legs.

The energy snapped off again, leaving me a trembling, twitching mess. And yet my mind was suddenly clear. I had to get the wire off before he hit me a third time.
Had
to.

I closed my eyes and once again forced shaking fingers toward my pocket. The knife was still there. Relief surged.

“Answer the questions,” Forman said, in that same dispassionate voice, “and the electrocution will stop.”

I groaned in response and curled into a tight ball, my knees drawn up close to my chest. With my hands once again hidden, I slowly wrapped my fingers around the knife and drew it from the sheath.

“Risa,” he said, an edge of sympathy in his voice. “I really have no desire to cause you such pain. All you have to do is answer my questions.”

I slipped the knife from my pocket then flipped it back along my forearm so that it was hidden from view as I moved my arm down toward my curled-up legs.

“The book,” I said, forcing my eyes open to watch for any indication that he realized what I was up to. Though what I would do if he
did
realize, I had no idea. I wasn’t exactly in an ideal position right now. “It’s on the gray fields.”

He tsked. “That is most unfortunate, as neither I nor my employer has access to those fields.”

His employer
. Not Harlen, then; otherwise he would have simply said it. That was a name I already knew. Although maybe he simply thought I was fishing and was just being careful.

I flicked the knife around and caught the wire in the notch at the top of the blade. Slowly, carefully, I began to bend it back and forth.

“That,” I said, my whole arm shaking with the effort to break the wire, “is not my problem.”

“But I’m afraid it is,” he said, “because it means you’ll just have to fetch it for us.”

Not on your fucking life
. The wire snapped, and I quickly squeezed my calves together, stopping it from snaking away. If he flicked that switch now, I was still a goner, but that was a risk I had to take.

I sheathed the knife then reached down and caught the end of the wire, holding it gingerly.

Now what?

I glanced over to the silhouetted figure. I had to get up and over there fast. Really fast—because God knew what other traps he had waiting for me.

“Look,” I said, keeping my voice croaky and weak—which wasn’t really all that hard given I’d just been zapped. “I didn’t hide the book on the gray fields. The reaper did. And
he
doesn’t want the book found
or
used, trust me.”

“Well, that is not helpful,” he said. “I shall have to consult with my employer to see what he wants done.” He paused, then added softly, “Please behave yourself. I am watching and—trust me—I can get to the switch far faster than you could ever hope to escape the wire or pull it free from the wall.”

He turned away, giving me the only chance I was ever likely to get.

I released the wire. It made little sound as it snaked backward along the concrete. With my eyes on my captor’s back, I pushed carefully upright. My limbs protested the movement and lights did a crazy dance in front of my eyes, but I bit my tongue, using one pain to ignore the others.

Then I ran—as hard and as fast as I could—for the door behind the figure.

He sensed me—he was always going to sense me—but I crashed through the projection of his body and then into the door, hitting it so hard I broke it off its hinges, sending me and the door spilling into the small room beyond.

He was already up and running. I scrambled to my feet and gave chase, launching myself at him as he fled through a second door. We both went down in a tangle of arms and legs, rolling along the concrete before we dropped off a ledge and splashed into some foul-smelling water.

Forman swore, his body twisting and bucking, his blows raining across my shoulders and back. It was all I could do to hold on. I didn’t have the strength to fight back—not right now. Not when I was still suffering the aftereffects of both the electricity and the accident.

Then one of his knees hit my ribs and, for a moment, everything went red. I gasped and my grip loosened a fraction. He was up in an instant, and running yet again.

“Stop, or I’ll shoot,” a voice boomed out behind me. A voice I recognized but wasn’t expecting.

Lucian.

Forman slowed and turned around. Surprise registered then his features disintegrated as the gun boomed and the bullet exploded his head, sending bits of blood and bone and brain matter splattering across the wet, slimy walls behind him.

As he slumped—lifeless and headless—to the ground, I battled the bile that rose up my throat. No reaper came to collect his soul, and that could only mean his death wasn’t supposed to happen now.

I closed my eyes and attempted to keep my breathing even as footsteps approached. Then Lucian was bending over me, his warm fingers lightly brushing damp hair away from my face. “Are you okay?”

I nodded, swallowed again, then said, “Why the hell did you shoot to kill?”

“He had a gun.”

“He did?” I hadn’t felt it when I was grappling with him. And if he’d been armed, why didn’t he just shoot me rather than running?

“Yes. Wait here.”

He rose and walked forward. I took a deep, shuddering breath and regretted it almost instantly as the stench of the muck I was lying in made my already unstable stomach twist harder.

I pushed to my hands and knees and clambered from the water to the concrete walkway lining it. After a moment, Lucian returned. This time he was holding two guns.