Storm's Heart (Elder Races #2)(61)

This time Dr. Telemar stepped forward to join the circle around the autopsy table. She cradled a snake head in her hands and pet it, her eyes wide with fascination. She said, “You’ve either got a copycat or you’ve got the same perp.”

Rune smiled at the medusa. He said, “It’s possible we could have a copycat, but unlikely. A copycat would have to know some pretty obscure information that we’re only just now piecing together, which would indicate some intimate knowledge of the perpetrator of the first attack. He would also have to have the means with which to act very fast in setting up the second attempt. The odds are we’re looking at the same perp for both attempts.”

Tiago buried his chin in the heel of one hand as he regarded the Dark Fae Commander from under his brows. Arethusa cocked her head at him and said, “What.”

“Something else occurs to me,” he said. “We’re only talking now by accident. And if we hadn’t talked, we wouldn’t all know what we know.”

Arethusa said, “Are you thinking someone has been counting on that lack of communication between the Dark Fae and the Wyr?”

Tiago nodded. “Maybe if we start sharing more on our investigations, we should keep it quiet. That might give our perp the opportunity to make another mistake.”

The Dark Fae Commander’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, nobody’s going to see me chatting up you guys in public,” said Arethusa. “Everybody knows I think you’re all a bunch of rat bastards.”

More blah-f*cking-blah happened. Other people called it pleasantries. Polite chitchat. Tiago called it agonizing. The beast crouched inside him and waited, and its silence took over his mind.

He watched the slight rhythmic flutter of the pulse at the Dark Fae Commander’s neck, and took note of the increasing flicker of the medusa’s nictitating membrane. The medusa did not look at him directly again, but half a dozen of her head snakes peered at him from around her waist and shoulders. They tasted the air as they watched him with their tiny jeweled eyes glittering.

Tiago’s sharp hearing caught a slight buzz, and his entire attention focused on tracking it. The tiny sound emitted from the front pocket of Rune’s jeans. He watched as Rune dragged out his iPhone, checked the screen and frowned. Rune started to put the cell back in his pocket while he began uttering good-bye blah-f*cking-blahs.

Tiago’s breath stilled, and every muscle in his body tightened. He knew in his bones that the message Rune had received was about Niniane. And Rune didn’t appear to be inclined to share.

Before the instinct had the chance to fully form in his mind, Tiago sprang forward and snatched the iPhone out of Rune’s hands. The Dark Fae Commander grabbed one of her swords and the medusa made a high-pitched sound and leaped back two feet. All her head snakes whipped around to hiss at Tiago as Rune swore and spun to snatch at his phone. The other sentinel might be famous for his speed, but Tiago caught him by surprise and he was too late.

“Goddammit, Tiago!” Rune swore. His lion’s eyes blazed. “GIVE IT BACK!”

Tiago drove the heel of his hand into Rune’s chest and knocked him backward as he tilted the phone to read the screen.

It was a text from Aryal:

OUT 4 BEERS + SHOTS. PD CHICK > BIG RED’S = GD COP BAR. FARY NEEDS STRSS RLIEF BAD. GNNA TRY 2 GT HR LAID.

Tiago’s beast snapped its leash.

ELEVEN

The thunderstorm rolled over Chicago in a matter of minutes. It blanketed the city with heavy, sulfurous black clouds, a deluge of lashing rain and flashes of jagged lightning that split the sky, followed by rolling sonic booms that rattled skyscrapers.

The predator hurtled through the storm. When his huge wings rose and hammered down, the sky roared in response and the earth shook.

He ignored his pursuer. In flight, he was the one who was faster, his powerful body streamlined for slicing through the air. He was also the creator of the storm. It fulminated around him while hurricane-force winds buffeted the one who fought to follow. The storm blew that one behind.

The predator was one of the world’s best trackers. Locating his prey was child’s play. She was too innocent. She had not known to hide from him. As he fell to earth, he changed to wear his human skin, but the beast that raged inside him was far older and much more dangerous than a human being. His clothing, absorbed when he took his Wyr form, settled into place again on his body.

He slammed open the doors of the Big Red bar and stalked inside.

The predator paused for a heartbeat as human sights, sounds and smells assaulted him. Laughter, music, liquor and food. Perfume, perspiration and aftershave. He ignored the fragile humans. He noted the location of the real possible threats, the harpy and the Vampyre. They leaned against one end of the bar while they talked and watched a crowded dance floor, their alert, watchful, roaming gazes belying their bodies’ casual posture.

Then he caught sight of her, his prey, on the packed dance floor and she was—

He gave his head a sharp, disbelieving shake. The beast inside him roared.

She was a small, exquisitely boned, deliciously curved, raven-haired beauty who shimmered with so much molten light as she danced, she looked like she was a creature made of sunlight and lightning. Enormous gray eyes glittered under sultry lids, and her soft, glistening lips were painted the intoxicating color of poppies. Her slender, curved white legs with those narrow delicate knees were naked, and her tiny feet arched in four-inch f**k-me silver high-heeled shoes. She was a teacup temptress, undulating in that silvery light slip of scandalous something that she wore—