Warrior (Relentless #4)(151)

“Are you serious? Do you know I hunted him for four damn years without a glimpse of him?”

“Well, he’s dust now.”

“Who is dust?” I asked, walking into the safe house, back from chasing down another dead end. It was our second day in Salt Lake, and I was certain Sara was no longer in the city. The warlock I’d seen couldn’t find her with a locater spell, which meant she’d most likely left the area. And I didn’t have a single lead on where she could be.

Two warriors from the local unit stood in the living room. Martin, a cheerful Englishman with a buzz cut, grinned at me.

“Stefan Price. Someone took him out last night in New Mexico.”

My eyebrows shot up. Killing Stefan Price was on the bucket list of half the warriors in the country. It was right up there with killing a Master, because he was almost as elusive and as deadly as one. Whoever had bagged him was going to bask in the glory of that kill for years.

“Who killed him?” I wondered if it was someone I knew.

“No one knows,” Martin replied. “The Albuquerque guys said it happened at Orias’s place out in the desert, and it was some female warrior. The rumor is she’s Mohiri, but she couldn’t be one of ours.”

“Why not?”

“Well according to a witness, she was short.” Martin chuckled. “Have you ever seen a short Mohiri female?”

“Only one.” My stomach fluttered. No. It can’t be her. “What else did they say about her?

Martin scratched his chin. “Not much. Just that she was short with long dark hair. Oh, and she supposedly had a werewolf with her. She was probably a were– Hey, what’s wrong?”

I pulled my phone from my pocket as I raced upstairs. “Chris, where are you?”

“Down in the control room. What’s up?”

“Sara’s in Albuquerque. I’m leaving in two minutes.”

I grabbed my saddle bag and stuffed my clothes in it. We always kept a few changes of clothing stored on our bikes in case we had to go somewhere in a hurry.

Like chasing down runaway mates.

Chris appeared in the doorway. “Albuquerque? How do you know?”

I picked up my bag and looked at him. “Did you hear Stefan Price was killed last night?”

“I just heard. What does that have to do with Sara?”

“Sara killed him.”

The thought of her anywhere near that monster sent chills down my spine. Her power was growing, but she wasn’t strong enough to take down a vampire that old. Still, I knew in my gut it was her.

“Sara?” Chris followed me when I left the room. “Why would you think she killed him?”

I stopped at the top of the stairs to face him. “Martin said a Mohiri female took Price down. A short Mohiri girl with long dark hair and a werewolf.”

Chris stared at me. “Jesus.”

“Grab your stuff. We’re going to New Mexico.”

I’d driven all over the country, sometimes going for twenty-four hours at a stretch, but the trip to Albuquerque was one of the longest rides of my life. I couldn’t stop thinking about Sara facing down Stefan Price. Had she really killed him? Had she been afraid? Hurt? Very few people could emerge unscathed from a fight with a vampire as strong as Price.

I tried not to think of her wounded and in pain somewhere. Instead, I wondered what could have brought her to Orias’s of all places. Orias was one of the most powerful warlocks in the country, so the Mohiri knew him well. We kept an eye on anyone who could raise a higher demon, which was where warlocks got most of their power.

Unlike most warlocks, who were very selective in their clients, Orias dealt with anyone who could pay his exorbitant fees, and he prided himself on his discretion and his clean business establishment. He mostly did protection spells and glamours, and he liked to gather information that others might find valuable. He had proven to be a useful source of information to us on occasion, so as long as he stayed clean, we had no problem with him.

Why would Sara need to see such a powerful warlock? Had she gone to him looking for a locator spell for Madeline? Those spells were difficult and expensive. Where would she have gotten the money to pay for it?

We didn’t stop when we reached Albuquerque, heading directly for Orias’s place in the desert. The warlock was wealthy enough to live in a California mansion, yet he chose to live out in the middle of nowhere. When asked about it, he always said being around too many people and other magic affected his work. Out here, away from civilization, he did his best work.

I’d been to Orias’s more than once, a good thing since he kept the place well-hidden with his glamours. I knew I was there when I crossed the small wooden bridge that marked the front of his property. As soon as my tires hit the dirt on the other side, a large two-story adobe building came into view.

Normally, the building was lit up, but it was oddly dark tonight with only one light shining from his office on the second floor. There were no cars out front either, which meant he was not seeing clients tonight. Good. I was in no mood to wait.

The front door was unlocked, mainly because few people were stupid enough to attack a warlock like Orias in his home. Chris and I passed through the dark waiting area, walking down the short hallway and up a flight of stairs to the second floor.

Orias’s door was open, and he called to us before we reached the top of the stairs.