When Temptation Burns: A Shadow Keepers Novel (Shadow Keepers 6) (19 page)

“Hell yes. Anything you’re doing to bring these monsters down, I’d like to hear about it. For that matter, I’d like to help.”

“Are you set up like an army?” Andy asked. “Do you recruit people into basic training?”

She leaned back against the booth and took a deep breath, realizing as she did that she really
did
believe these creatures existed. And she really
did
want to help fight them. A werewolf had killed her mother—so help her, she believed it. Seeing Stu’s ripped-up body had
twisted something deep inside of her, like tumblers falling in place in a lock. The rose-colored glasses she had worn her entire life had been soundly smashed under the heel of reality.

“I’m sorry. I’m hammering you with questions, but I—”

“You’re eager,” Paul said. “That’s good. And I promise, you’ll learn. But slowly. To answer your questions, yes, we train. And yes, we do have ranks like the army does.”

“How do you find recruits? It’s not like you can just put out an advertisement.”

“No. We recruit from among those who already know the truth. Who’ve seen it with their own eyes. There’s more of us than you might think.”

“But how do you find them? Kevin went to a meet-up, but that can’t be the only way.”

“It’s not. Which makes recruiting a slow process. Ultimately, it comes down to word of mouth. Making connections. Learning people’s secrets.”

She caught Doyle’s eye across the table. “That’s not always easy.”

“It’s not,” Paul said. “Which is why our group grows slowly and carefully.”

“So what happens after someone joins the team? Then you train them to do what? Handle a stake? Fire silver bullets?”

Paul laughed. “Something like that. It’s a shame Bryce wasn’t at the party. I think you would have enjoyed talking to him.”

“Bryce?” Doyle asked.

“I consider him my right arm.”

“Why wasn’t he there?” Andy asked

The corners of Paul’s mouth tightened. “He had something to attend to.”

Doyle, she noticed, was eyeing him curiously. But if Paul was aware of the scrutiny, he didn’t show it.

“So, how big is all of this? I mean, what’s your goal? To eradicate all of the monsters?”

Paul appeared to genuinely consider the question. “No, that’s more what I would call a corollary. Our mission is to protect. Sadly, we failed Stu.”

“We need to find the werewolves who did that,” Doyle said, his voice tight. “And we need to make them pay.”

Andy looked at him, moved by the passion in his voice. He spoke with such vibrant intensity that it seemed like he had actually known the boy. She knew he hadn’t, though. What he wanted was justice. Or revenge.

She thought of her mother and knew that, yes, she wanted those werewolves to pay, too.

“How did they find him?”

“My guess is that he bragged to the wrong people,” Paul said.

She shuddered, thinking that it could easily have been Kevin.

“And I think that’s enough talk. I can see from the look on your face that I’ve said too much.”

“No—really,” she protested. “I was just remembering Stu. The way he looked …”

“Exactly my point.” Paul’s voice was soft, fatherly. “Let me take you home. Get a good night’s sleep. You’ll have more questions, and I’m happy to answer whatever your father can’t.” He glanced at the bill and left some cash. “Breakfast is on me,” he said, as he slid out of the booth.

She followed him out, and Doyle was close behind her. She didn’t pay much attention as they walked, and she only half-noticed that the parking lot was pitch black; the street lights had all been snuffed out.

She heard the beep when Paul pressed the unlock button on his key-chain fob, then she hurried to keep up as he moved across the lot. Suddenly, a dark shadow leaped into her field of vision, and she felt Doyle’s hand on her arm, yanking her backward even as Paul’s surprised cry filled the air.

“Stay down,”
Doyle urged, and then he was gone, and she was left behind, terrified by the knowledge that something horrible lurked ahead in the dark, and Doyle was rushing right into the arms of the monster.

Doyle had no trouble seeing in the dark, and he watched as Paul thrust a stake toward Rhys. Just like a good little vampire hunter, he had come prepared.

But Paul had never been up against a vamp like Rhys, and with one brutal blow the vampire not only knocked the stake out of his hand, but shattered his arm as well. Doyle knew; he heard the bones cracking.

As much as Doyle wanted to stand back and watch Rhys destroy the human, it wasn’t part of the plan. Paul’s death would only make him a martyr, and Doyle was certain that Bryce or Travis or Andy’s father would step in to fill the gap.

A bag of trash was gaping open just a few yards from Paul’s car, a broken chair leg protruding from it. It would have been a nice coincidence, except it wasn’t a coincidence at all. Tucker had put it there, ensuring that
Doyle would have the tools he needed to fight the vampire, keeping in mind that he would need to come across as human if this bluff was going to work.

Now the pseudohuman Doyle lunged forward, stooping only long enough to grab the stake, then leading with it as he broadsided Rhys, who was leaning in for a second attack on Paul.

“Doyle?” Paul cried out as Doyle and Rhys crashed to the ground. The vampire rolled them over, his massive strength reduced by both the hematite injection and the influence that Tucker had planted in his mind. The bastard was still strong, however, and Doyle found himself cheating a bit and calling upon his own preternatural strength to fight back. One good thrust and—yes—he had Rhys flipped over. The stake was in hand, and he thrust downward. Nice and clean and fast.

The kind of quick in-and-out that was sure to impress Paul.

Unfortunately, Rhys had other plans. They’d landed on a piece of cardboard, and as Doyle drove the stake down, Rhys pressed his palms to the asphalt on either side of their corrugated pad. A quick push and he slid down, knocking Doyle’s aim off and forcing the stake to embed a solid three inches above his heart.

Well, shit
.

He still had a grip on the thing, and he tightened his fist to pull it out. As he did, Rhys’s brow crinkled. “You,” he said, and Doyle had to lift his other hand and send his knuckles crashing down into Rhys’s mouth, breaking his jaw.

It wouldn’t do for Paul to know that Rhys and Doyle had history.

His maneuver shut the vampire up, but it also made him lose the pressure he’d been keeping on Rhys’s chest. Without that steady pressure, the vampire burst up, driving his forehead into Doyle, the whole thing happening so fast that Doyle could only react, not think.

At the same time, Rhys rolled sideways and yanked the stake out of his body, sending it flying off into the parking lot. Doyle scrambled off the vampire and was about to sprint for the stake when Rhys grabbed him by the back of the neck and jerked him back.

A manageable situation for the paradaemon Doyle. For the fake-human Doyle, it was more dangerous, especially since Rhys was digging his fingers into the side of Doyle’s neck. One quick twist, and he’d snap the bone, and
that
was definitely something Doyle wouldn’t be able to explain away.

The stake
. He could summon the wind. Blow it toward him. Maybe Paul wouldn’t notice.

Except Paul was watching. Though his face was twisted with pain, he was still conscious. That was good—Doyle needed him to see this. Bad, though, because he needed the damn stake.

The vampire’s fingers tightened, and Doyle cried out with genuine pain.

He tried to spin around, but Rhys’s grip was too strong, and Doyle had to wonder if they’d injected enough hematite. If Tucker’s compulsion was holding.

He struggled, trying to jerk free, but his attacker’s grip held fast.

He had to risk going for the stake. With luck, maybe Paul wouldn’t—

“Stop it!”

Andy’s voice rang out, and Rhys tossed his head back
in pain, before whipping around and smashing her hard across the cheek.

Her anguished cry rallied Doyle like a battle hymn. She went down, and Rhys pounced immediately, the broken chair leg she’d tried to embed in his back still protruding from it.

Doyle didn’t waste any time. He leaped onto the vampire and ripped out the stake. Then—using all of his daemonic strength—he thrust it through Rhys’s back and straight into his heart. More force than a mortal could have conjured, but Doyle was over this bastard. With any luck Paul wouldn’t question him. Even if it compromised the mission, though, Doyle knew he wouldn’t have done it any other way. A second’s hesitation, and Rhys might have killed Andy, and Doyle couldn’t let that happen. He didn’t know why—and he sure as hell wasn’t going to analyze it now—but she’d gotten under his skin, and he couldn’t bear the thought of losing her.

Slowly, he bent down and extended his hand. “Are you okay?”

Her eyes were wide, her expression panicked. But she took a breath and calmed herself, and after a moment, she nodded slowly, brushing at the Rhys-dust that now covered her. He had to admire her strength. “I’m going to have one hell of a bruise, but I’ll survive. One thing’s for certain—if I had any doubts left, they’re gone now.”

“Seeing is believing?”

“Almost getting killed works well, too.” She took his hand and he pulled her up, stopping short of pulling her into his arms. Instead, he forced himself to release her and hurried to Paul’s side.

“Bone snapped,” Paul said through gritted teeth.

“Shattered is more like it. Come on. I’ll get you to a
hospital.” He hooked an arm around the injured man and helped him to his feet.

“Pretty damn impressive,” Paul said.

“I’m an impressive guy.”

Paul looked at him seriously for a moment through eyes hooded with pain, then he nodded. “That you are. We should talk.”

“Right now, we don’t need to do anything except get you fixed up.” His tone was restrained, but inside he was cheering. Their plan had worked.

Hopefully saving the world would go just as smoothly.

Kyle Creevey knew he wasn’t dead, because his head hurt too damn much.

He peeled open his eyes, squinting against the light that shot into his head like knife points. That was pretty much all he could see. Just burning white light. And shadows. Tall, moving shadows.

Fuck
. They were men. And now he could see their uniforms. Military. Just like the guys who’d pulled him off the bus.

“Who the fuck are you?” His voice sounded far away, like it was coming from someone else.

“Guess you could say we’re your guardian angels,” a voice replied from just as far away.

“You pulled me out?”

“We did.”

“Think I’m going to thank you?” He tried to sneer, but his voice still wasn’t working right.

“I don’t give a fuck what you do.” The shadow that was talking shifted closer, and as he did, he came into better focus. “At least not as long as you do what you’re told.”

“That right? And what are you telling me to do?” The man in front of him was short and dark.

“My employer needs some information.”

Creevey barked out a laugh. “And why would I help you?”

“Tit for tat, I’d think. We gave you your life, after all. I’d think a rescue from death row is worth a bit of tangible gratitude.”

“That was always in the bag,” Creevey said. “You people just got to me first.”

The man glanced back at the soldiers who were lined up behind him, then returned his attention to Creevey. “Be that as it may.”

Creevey sat back. The world around him was becoming crisper. He was in a room with metal walls and, as far as he could tell, only one door. And he was strapped to a chair, with electrodes attached to his temples. The wires led to a machine, and a man sat at the machine, his eyes trained on the guy who was speaking.

Not a lot of options.

“So tell me,” he said. “What is it you want to know?”

“The vampires you admire so much—they’re centralized. We believe they have some sort of local base of operations. We think you know where.”

Creevey barked out a laugh. “You think I know that?” He knew they were right—Rhys had told him about something called Division 6 and the PEC. Apparently it was all over the globe, but there was an office in Los Angeles. An actual fucking office where the vamps and shit showed up each day in suits to play cops and robbers with the shadowers gone bad. Some fucked-up shit, that’s what it was. But Creevey didn’t have a clue where it was. “I don’t know shit, asshole.”