furtive leer as Winter. Ancient Patomani legend spoke of a demon cousin to the moon, Sissong. Sometimes Sissong would come out to dance, entrance his victims, then steal their spirit and eat them. If she didnât know better, sheâd swear Sissong was hiding behind that moon. What was Winter hiding behind?
Joe had already started the engine and she hopped in the car, wondering what else could happen tonight.
Â
Stephen listened to the dogsâ baying, whining and barking at being forced to stay near the crime scene. âControl those dogs or get them the hell out of here.â He didnât take his eyes off of Fala Rainwater as she rode away.
âYes, sir.â The officer snapped an order to one of the canine team members.
Stephen narrowed his eyes on the outline of Fala Rainwaterâs head fading from view as the cruiser sped around a bend in the road and disappeared entirely from sight. He didnât know what he had expected at his first up-close-and-personal meeting with Fala Rainwater, but it wasnât the physical shock heâd experienced at touching her. Heâd grown instantly aware of her power. It had been almost painful as she had prodded his spirit, trying to break through the magic shield cloaking him. She wasso powerful heâd felt her energy crackling all over him, and heâd found himself fantasizing about his tongue and the dimple that hollowed the middle of her square-jawed chin. And those raven brows that shadowed periwinkle eyes. The blue glowed with an inner flame, and he had found himself being drawn to that flame like a moth to its death. For a moment he had thought the dark magic wouldnât be strong enough and she might discover just what he was. He couldnât let that happen yet, or his plans would be in ruin.
Yes, his destiny and her destiny were linked now, and there was no turning back. He walked toward the medical examiner, who was still working the scene and heard the polystyrene coffee cup crunch eerily beneath his shoe. It sounded like tiny screams in the heavy, damp stillness of the night.
Chapter 3
F ala ran up the front steps of the Twenty-first Precinct. The brick Greco-Roman building had housed the Twenty-first for over a century. It still stood like a bastion of strength in the middle of a block of restaurants and small businesses. Light poured out through the windows of the precinct doors, cutting a jagged edge across the dark steps. Joe had dropped her off and driven around back to cover the rear.
Colt drawn, she crept up to the doors and glanced inside at the main hallway and front desk. No one in sight. Definitely odd. The small police station fortified the heart of the District, and it hummed with activity round the clockâespecially on full-moon nights.
Fala eased open one of the doors and slipped through. Dead silence engulfed her. It blanketed the normally buzzing front desk. A cup of coffee sat on the counter, steam spiraling up from it like a ghost in the air.Computer screens hummed on the desks behind the front reception area.
Someone got an email; âYouâve got mailâ pinged in the silence.
Somewhere a radio squawked for a dispatcher. She noticed the benches in Processing sat empty; no criminals handcuffed, waiting to be booked. No lawyers or bail bondsmen. No hookers. It was like being thrown onto the set of 28 Days Later.
She walked past the desk and sniffed the air. Her keen senses detected the metallic scent of human blood. Then the supernatural vibrations struck her with such force it felt like sheâd walked into a hive of hornets, a very large one. The same eerie, negative energy as at the park.
She bent and touched the floor. The trail of energy was fresh, the underworld darkness in it palpable. Evil vibrated through it. Her hand began to tremble, her fingers on fire from the dark magic. She jerked her arm back and stood, gripping her .45. Adrenaline raced through her. Her own heartbeat pounded
Joe had already started the engine and she hopped in the car, wondering what else could happen tonight.
Â
Stephen listened to the dogsâ baying, whining and barking at being forced to stay near the crime scene. âControl those dogs or get them the hell out of here.â He didnât take his eyes off of Fala Rainwater as she rode away.
âYes, sir.â The officer snapped an order to one of the canine team members.
Stephen narrowed his eyes on the outline of Fala Rainwaterâs head fading from view as the cruiser sped around a bend in the road and disappeared entirely from sight. He didnât know what he had expected at his first up-close-and-personal meeting with Fala Rainwater, but it wasnât the physical shock heâd experienced at touching her. Heâd grown instantly aware of her power. It had been almost painful as she had prodded his spirit, trying to break through the magic shield cloaking him. She wasso powerful heâd felt her energy crackling all over him, and heâd found himself fantasizing about his tongue and the dimple that hollowed the middle of her square-jawed chin. And those raven brows that shadowed periwinkle eyes. The blue glowed with an inner flame, and he had found himself being drawn to that flame like a moth to its death. For a moment he had thought the dark magic wouldnât be strong enough and she might discover just what he was. He couldnât let that happen yet, or his plans would be in ruin.
Yes, his destiny and her destiny were linked now, and there was no turning back. He walked toward the medical examiner, who was still working the scene and heard the polystyrene coffee cup crunch eerily beneath his shoe. It sounded like tiny screams in the heavy, damp stillness of the night.
Chapter 3
F ala ran up the front steps of the Twenty-first Precinct. The brick Greco-Roman building had housed the Twenty-first for over a century. It still stood like a bastion of strength in the middle of a block of restaurants and small businesses. Light poured out through the windows of the precinct doors, cutting a jagged edge across the dark steps. Joe had dropped her off and driven around back to cover the rear.
Colt drawn, she crept up to the doors and glanced inside at the main hallway and front desk. No one in sight. Definitely odd. The small police station fortified the heart of the District, and it hummed with activity round the clockâespecially on full-moon nights.
Fala eased open one of the doors and slipped through. Dead silence engulfed her. It blanketed the normally buzzing front desk. A cup of coffee sat on the counter, steam spiraling up from it like a ghost in the air.Computer screens hummed on the desks behind the front reception area.
Someone got an email; âYouâve got mailâ pinged in the silence.
Somewhere a radio squawked for a dispatcher. She noticed the benches in Processing sat empty; no criminals handcuffed, waiting to be booked. No lawyers or bail bondsmen. No hookers. It was like being thrown onto the set of 28 Days Later.
She walked past the desk and sniffed the air. Her keen senses detected the metallic scent of human blood. Then the supernatural vibrations struck her with such force it felt like sheâd walked into a hive of hornets, a very large one. The same eerie, negative energy as at the park.
She bent and touched the floor. The trail of energy was fresh, the underworld darkness in it palpable. Evil vibrated through it. Her hand began to tremble, her fingers on fire from the dark magic. She jerked her arm back and stood, gripping her .45. Adrenaline raced through her. Her own heartbeat pounded
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