Ghostly Justice (Seven Deadly Sins, #2.5)(6)

“You know you’re dead, right?”

Yes.

Her voice became agitated.

I died in the mountains. They took my blood because they said it was pure and rich. I didn’t know what was happening, I was so confused...I don’t know why I went. I just...did.

The air swirled around him. Amy was becoming angry, and with anger she might be able to manifest herself or move objects. He couldn’t risk it, especially the real possibility that she’d disturb other spirits lurking around. But he needed more information, a direction to go.

“I know you’re upset,” he said as calmly as possible, trying to soothe the girl. “I’m going to help you. Who were you with that night?”

I don’t know. It’s so fuzzy. So unreal.

“Slow down, Amy. Think back. Were they friends?”

Yes. No. I don’t know. It was the blood moon, and at first everything was beautiful. And then it wasn’t. They said everything would be wonderful. I was special. I felt so special. Looking at the stars, at peace. Then I was so tired I just went to sleep.

An icy sliver ran down Rafe’s spine as for one brief second he saw Amy as she’d been when she died. In the long, flowing ceremonial gown. Her skin pale, her eyes glassy. Under a spell or drugged, more likely a combination. The marks on her neck were symbols, not a fatal bite, but someone had tasted her blood. She stared at him, confused, unable to move. He had a flash of the moment before she lost consciousness, her last memory. If only he could tap into it—

—but that would be extremely dangerous.

“Your parents are going to take care of you,” Rafe said, his voice shaking. “Wait in the room.”

And then she was gone. He didn’t see or hear her, didn’t know if she had gone back to stay with her body or disappeared forever, but he wouldn’t be able to shake her image for a long time.

The realization that he knew how to extract her last memories unnerved him. He had no recollection of how he’d learned, he just knew.

Grant stepped out of the viewing room. “Who were you talking to?”

Rafe shrugged. “No one.”

Grant eyed him suspiciously. He didn’t believe him, but Rafe didn’t care to elaborate.

“We have a meeting with a pal of mine from Narcotics. Carter has a handle on the underground clubs. I think blood-suckers would qualify for underground.”





Chapter Two




“Fucking vampires,” Moira mumbled as they walked down the street toward the Starbucks across from police headquarters. Less than a month ago she was here gathering information about the Demon Lust; now she was back in L.A. and it had nothing to do with the Seven Deadly Sins. She wanted to scream. All sources were dry; no one had any clue where the demons were operating or why there were no signs of increased demonic activity. It was like Hell was on vacation. Like that was possible.

“They’re just people,” Rafe said. “There’s been no one who’s successfully performed the ritual for vampiric immortality.”

“That we know about.”

“We’d know.”

“They’ve tried.”

“They’ve been stopped.”

Moira stood outside the Starbucks entrance. “Rafe, what I felt—it was bad. But it isn’t the Seven. We shouldn’t be here.” Moira almost wished she’d lied about the residual magic she’d sensed on Amy’s clothing. Staying to help Grant meant more time away from their primary mission: hunting the Seven Deadly Sins. “It’s not our job.”

“Last time I looked, there was no formal designation for demon hunter.”

Rafe had a heart bigger than the Pacific Ocean. He wanted to help everyone, even those who had dug their own graves. Moira, on the other hand, had to focus on what needed to be done—capture the remaining five Sins before they devoured more souls. If she tried to help every idiot who dabbled in the dark arts, she wouldn’t have time to save the world.

“I just don’t see how we can help. These vampires aren’t demons, they’re people.”

“They’re practicing black magic.”

And that was the crux of the problem. Any portal to the underworld was a potentially dangerous hotspot, and they were responsible for monitoring those. “And therefore, it’s my problem. Got it.”

Moira closed her eyes. Her ability to sense magic was part gift, part curse. The constant exposure was both making her stronger and wearing her down—she was like an addict. One slip and she’d fall hard off the wagon. There had been moments when she wanted to lash out with a magical curse, but she couldn’t afford to use even the smallest spell lest she put everyone she loved in jeopardy. She was a former witch; if she went back to practicing magic, she’d be calling on the same forces she was trying to stop. There was no going back.

Rafe reached out and touched her cheek, his thumb lightly caressing her skin. “I love you.”

She wanted to run away with him to an uninhabited island where neither of them had to risk their lives to help people she didn’t even like.

He kissed her lightly. Her soul burned for Rafe, a passion so intense, so vibrant that the colors around her sharpened. How could she love so deeply? Last time she’d loved like this, it had ended in a brutal death.

Love like this? Rafe wasn’t Peter. She had never been this honest, this certain that she was where she was supposed to be, that she was with the man she was supposed to be with.