When Temptation Burns: A Shadow Keepers Novel (Shadow Keepers 6) (10 page)

CeeCee didn’t tell Luke and Sara about the place at first. She didn’t know why—they’d been so kind to her, maybe she was afraid they’d think she was ungrateful? Or that they weren’t enough? Whatever the reason, she’d come here during the day, because she was still young and the sun didn’t bother her. She’d tell them she was walking on the beach, and leave it at that.

Then one day Luke’s car showed up outside, all black and tinted windows. And when the sun went down, he got out of the car and came inside. He’d stood by the door until she’d noticed him, and then she’d shuffled toward him, certain he was going to rip her a new one, because that’s what her asshole of a stepfather would have done.

Instead, he told her that they worried when they couldn’t find her, and that they’d appreciate it if she’d just call or text them when she came here. They’d even come and pick her up so she didn’t have to walk, or Sara would walk with her since she could still tolerate the sun, too.

And that was that.

Honestly, her new guardians were pretty cool.

And Luke’s approval couldn’t have come at a better time, because the truth was, she enjoyed spending time at the Center. And not just because the library had donated a new stash of books. But because Kurt Wiley had started coming there after school.

Kurt Wiley
. He was tall and gorgeous and he played basketball like a pro. But he wasn’t just a mindless jock. He read, too. And once or twice, CeeCee had seen him
playing chess with the younger kids, so that meant he was a nice guy, too. And he was funny. He’d spoken to her a couple of times—offhand comments when they happened to be together in the television room or the library. Nothing deep or meaningful, but that could come eventually, right?

Except, it couldn’t.

Because what would be the point? Even if she got the nerve up to go talk to him—even if she managed to articulate a real sentence instead of some shy grunting—in the end, she was going to be sixteen forever, and in the blink of an eye, he’d be twenty, thirty, forty. And, sure, maybe that wasn’t such a big deal. Alexis was human and Serge was head-over-heels happy with her, and she with him. But Alexis knew the truth. She’d known before they fell in love that Serge was a vampire.

Kurt didn’t even know CeeCee existed. Not that she was looking to get all relationship-y. But even just dating was, well, stupid. So he’d take her out for dinner. But that would be a big lie, wouldn’t it? Because what she’d really be hungry for was blood.

Or he’d hold her protectively if they passed some scary gangbangers on the Venice Beach biking path. But he’d never know that she could kick the shit out of them.

And it wasn’t like she could tell him. She wasn’t living in a drama airing on the CW network. This was real life where most humans either didn’t believe in vamps at all—or they were terrified of the mere idea.

Which meant that CeeCee came to the Center and she watched Kurt from the sidelines and she pined, just like a human girl too scared to talk to a cute guy.

And she wondered why the hell she bothered at all.

Doyle pressed his cheek against the car’s window, wishing the coolness could bring him back to life. He was so far gone he could barely move. And they were still blocks away from Orlando’s.

“I’m not going to say I told you so,” Tucker said.

“I got the girl, didn’t I?” Doyle’s voice sounded groggy, his words slurred as if he were drunk.

“You did great, partner. In an hour you’ll be good as new.”

Doyle nodded. Or he thought he did. He wasn’t entirely sure.

The sharp ring of his phone cut through the mush in his head like a knife. He fumbled for it, managed to close his fingers around it, and pressed the button for the speaker.

“Agent Doyle? Ryan?”

Shit
. He knew that voice. That was Luke’s voice.

“What is it, Dragos?” Tucker said.

“We need Doyle at the Club Rouge. Dead weren. We need him there now.”

“Can’t do it. He’s wiped. Completely wiped. I’m taking him to Orlando’s.”

“Forget Orlando’s,” Luke said. “Consider this a direct order.” As the Chairman of the Alliance and the governor of the Los Angeles territory, Luke was well within his rights to issue orders to PEC agents, even though
that reality pissed Doyle off mightily. “We need into this guy’s head.”

“Then get another percipient, because Doyle’s useless at the moment. He doesn’t feed, he doesn’t see. You know that as well as I do.”

“You know damn well that Doyle’s the only one on the continent,” Luke said. “And he’s going to want to see this guy.”

At that, Doyle lifted his head, the effort costing him. “Who?”

“Jordan Lowe.”

“Who the hell is Jordan Lowe?” Tucker asked, but Doyle didn’t answer. Just motioned for his partner to turn the car around.

“Go.”

Tucker cursed under his breath, but he turned. “He’s not going to be any good to you,” he told Luke.

“I’ll have a source waiting.”

Doyle shuddered. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tucker watching him, waiting for him to protest. His partner knew how much Doyle hated feeding directly off humans. At Orlando’s, the succubi on staff extracted the souls that were sold by willing donors, then stored them in special receptacles. Those who needed them for nourishment could either lay with one of the girls or obtain the soul through a less personal mechanical process. That was what Doyle always opted for. He was still sucking down part of someone’s soul, but somehow it seemed more palatable that way.

“Who’s Lowe?” Tucker asked.

“Informant,” Doyle said. He had to force the word out.

“You don’t have a CI working right now.”

“One of my first.” He pressed his fingertips against his
head to ward off the pounding. “Haven’t talked with the kid in years.”

“That explains why you didn’t argue with Luke. Pretty sure I’ve never seen you not argue with Luke.”

“Hurry. Someone killed him. I want to know who.”

They arrived in less than five minutes to find the building cleared out and the humans’ memories altered. True to his word, Luke had a source waiting—a succubus whom Doyle had met before on one of his trips to Orlando’s. He cut a glance at Luke. He’d been afraid that he’d be forced to feed from a homeless person or a streetwalker. Though feeding from humans was illegal for vampires, certain concessions existed in the law for species that required souls to live. Doyle, however, didn’t stoop so low. Not unless he was desperate.

Today, he would have been desperate enough, and despite the constantly pounding thrum of anger he felt for Luke, he had to acknowledge that for this, at least, he was grateful.

“Hello, Ryan,” the succubus said, reaching for his hand. “There wasn’t time to bring a device with me. I hope I’ll do.” Doyle was relieved that she had dark eyes. He didn’t want to think of Kathryn. Of her pale eyes. Or of the reporter whose eyes had so startled him. Was that only a few hours ago? It seemed like days.

“Hurry,” Luke said. His expression was taut, and he seemed more imposing than usual. “He’s been dead for hours. Apparently the folks in the club didn’t move particularly fast.”

“Fucking vampires,” Doyle said, looking defiantly at Luke, because he didn’t want to be grateful to his old friend for anything. But Luke refused to be baited. He simply inclined his head and repeated, “Hurry.”

The woman took Doyle’s hand. Normally such things were done in private, but she pulled herself in close, pressing her body against his, and her soft mouth to his lips. That was all it took. Even if he’d wanted to resist, he couldn’t, not with his hunger this high, and the moment their lips met, his parted, and he breathed in the warm, sweet ambrosia of soul.

He could feel it curling through him, warming him in the same way that good liquor spread through a man. The same way that the pleasure of pure passion built up in the moments before release.

He groaned, and in his mind, he saw her. Those eyes peering at him. Those lips, smiling. So close he couldn’t see her face, but he ached for what he’d done to her. For how he’d failed her. Then the image shifted, coming more fully into view. Not Kathryn.
Her
. The reporter who’d been interviewing Creevey.

Startled, he broke off from the succubus, pushing her away.

“Did you get enough?”

“It’ll do.” He took only a moment to gather himself, and then he was all business. He looked down, frowning at Jordan’s body sprawled on the ground. The lights were on, and the shabby condition of the place was obvious. “What was he doing in a vamp bar, anyway?” Doyle asked.

“Later. We’ve already wasted too much time.”

Doyle nodded, then bent down beside the young weren who’d worked closely with him so many years ago. It wasn’t right that he’d died like this, and Doyle was determined to find out who’d done him in. “Help me out, Jordan,” he said. “Show me what you know.”

But it had been too long.

He got in, yes. Sucked into the dark. Into the pain and the fear. He could tell that Jordan had tried to organize his thoughts before he died; that he’d wanted to leave Doyle a message. He heard Jordan’s voice—
Get the percipient
—and then he felt the cold hand of death sweep the boy away.

And then Doyle was left in the void, alone with a few lingering images. Three faces. Young men. And names. Wes. Kevin. Stu. And another name, this one without a face. Paul. And fear, shock, and urgency.

“Danger,”
he said, as the vision snapped shut and he was thrust out of Jordan’s mind. “Danger from the humans. And bad. I don’t know what, but it’s bad.” He looked up at Luke. “The only reason I got that much is because he tried to leave a message for me in his mind.”

“What message?”

“I don’t know. Too much time’s passed. All I got were names. Emotions.” Doyle told him the specifics, and Luke’s face hardened. “I think the faces I saw belonged to the men who killed him. But who’s the other one? Who’s Paul.”

“Their leader,” Luke said. “One of them, anyway.”

“
Their
leader? Whose leader? What are we dealing with here?”

“A group of humans,” Luke said, and the genuine concern in his voice made Doyle frown. Doyle knew how dangerous humans could be—his mother was a prime example—but most shadowers considered humans to be pretty innocuous.

“What group?” Doyle asked. “You have intelligence?”

“Some. Jordan was our man inside. They call themselves the Dark Warriors. And while they started out as little more than a nuisance, we have reason to believe they’re becoming a serious threat.”

Doyle exhaled and looked down at his informant, dead on the floor. “I guess you could say that.”

“No,” Luke said. “You don’t understand. If what we fear is correct, Jordan’s death is nothing but the beginning.”

Andy pressed a damp cloth against the fifteen-year-old boy’s nose, trying to stop the bleeding. Usually things were calmer at the Teen Center, but sometimes the basketball court turned into a war zone.

“I’m sorry, Miss Tarrent.”

“Andy. Come on, Jerry, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Andy?”

The kid shrugged, and she laughed.

“I’m not your teacher, your principal, or your mom. I’m not going to lecture you. Do you think I don’t get how hard it is for you to control your temper?”

“David baited me,” he said. “All that crap about my mother? Like it’s any of his business what she does for a living. He’s—”

“You’re right. It’s none of his business. But sometimes you just have to rein it in.”

The kid snorted. “Not that easy.”

“I know. I’m proud of you. You didn’t pummel him.”

“Yeah, and look what I’ve got to show for it.”

She gently pulled the cloth away. “I think it’s stopped, but keep pressure on it for a few more minutes, okay? Seriously, I’m proud of you. A few months ago, I bet someone would have walked off that court with a couple of broken bones.”

He shrugged and said nothing, but she had the feeling
he was pleased with the praise. She hoped so. She’d like to know she was making a difference.

After a few moments he headed out of the kitchen area. She lingered behind to check her cellphone, which had just buzzed to signal an incoming text.