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  He’d even circled back and seen that wonderful swirl of blue lights a bit later on.

  His kill had been found. Soon, everyone would know what was happening. They would know about his power, and there would be no denying the truth…

  Werewolves were real.

  He watched the news. Watched the stupid weatherman make small talk with the pretty, blond anchor. Watched while they talked about a mugging near the Riverwalk. Watched while school kids were shown singing in some stupid recital.

  Where’s my body?

  The minutes ticked by. More stupid stories about the humans.

  Nothing about him. Nothing about his kill.

  Fury burned in his blood.

  And claws broke from his fingertips.

  ***

  Jane glanced at her watch. “Could we get on with this? I have a case waiting.”

  Annette’s brows rose. “Jane, you and I both deal with the dead. You’re a homicide detective—any case you have can just keep waiting. Not like the guy will get any deader.”

  “But the trail can get colder.” Jane leaned forward and pointed toward the black scrying mirror that sat on Annette’s table. “So do what you need to do and let’s get the show on the road.”

  The temperature in the room seemed to instantly drop a good five degrees.

  Wrong word choice.

  “I’m sorry,” Jane said, and she meant it. “You’re not a show. I’m just…I’m being a bitch.”

  Annette smiled at her. “Nothing wrong with being a bitch. Men like to use that word because they think it makes us seem weaker. I don’t think so—I’m a strong bitch and proud of it.”

  It was so easy to like the woman. Even though Jane was pretty sure Annette had a serious dark side…Jane strongly suspected Annette had been behind the mysterious death of the voodoo queen’s ex-lover…But in Annette’s defense, the guy was a homicidal maniac. And Annette hadn’t killed him outright. She’d used her magic to do the job. That’s why I can only suspect that she took him out. Suspicions didn’t hold up in court, so Jane hadn’t pursued the case. And…

  And Annette had saved my ass. Because Annette’s ex-lover had been hell-bent on killing Jane, too.

  Jane huffed out a breath. “There’s a new vampire in town.”

  “I know.”

  Jane’s brows rose. “Has he been to see you?”

  “No, I saw him. Here. In my glass.” Annette’s fingers slid over the dark scrying mirror. “I knew he was coming.”

  “Um…yeah, and you didn’t think to warn anyone that a killer was coming to town?”

  Her fingers kept sliding over the mirror. “You think he’s the bad guy,” Annette murmured.

  “He is the one who drinks blood. Vamps don’t exactly have a good track record.”

  “Yet…you’re a vampire.”

  Her heart drummed too fast. “I’m not.”

  Annette just gave a little smile. “I’ll need a few drops of blood, if you want a strong reading.”

  She’d feared as much. Jane offered her hand to the other woman. “Don’t cut me deep. I’m not really a fan of blood and bleeding and pain.”

  Annette pulled out a long, wickedly sharp knife.

  “What the hell?” Jane blurted. “You just keep that thing under your table all the time?”

  Annette curled her fingers around Jane’s wrist.

  “Tell me that it’s super sanitized,” Jane spoke quickly. “That it has never been used on anyone else before—”

  Rolling her eyes, Annette pricked Jane’s finger. Then she squeezed three small blood drops onto the mirror.

  And just…stared at it.

  Jane leaned forward a bit more, now sitting on the edge of her chair. She saw absolutely nothing in that mirror. Though the heavy piece was not even a mirror, not really. More like a big chunk of black glass.

  But Annette had gone statue still and the woman barely seemed to breathe. “Your father…”

  Jane didn’t need to relive that particular torment again.

  “He can’t wait…” Annette said, her voice husky, “for you to be just like him.”

  “What?”

  “She hid you…but he told them where you were. He knew you’d do…great things. Terrible things. Beautiful things…”

  Jane shivered.

  “He…regretted it, though…tried to help.” Sadness flickered over Annette’s face. “Too little…too late.”

  Jane glanced back down. The mirror still looked like black glass to her. “I’m going to have to say that I’m a little confused here.” A lot confused. “Could we maybe focus on the new vamp in town?”

  “No.” Annette’s voice had gone gravel rough. She seemed to stare straight at Jane only...her eyes look just like the black glass. The light brown color was gone. Only darkness remained in Annette’s eyes.

  “You still want to be the hero.” Annette’s words were curiously flat. “Even though that’s not what you’re meant to be.”

  “What am I meant to be?”

  “The end.”

  Jane shot to her feet. “You’re wrong.”

  “He will kill you.”

  “Who? Who’s going to kill me? The vampire—Vincent?”

  “Kill, then you rise.”

  “I have to die violently for that to happen, right? So tell me when and where and I can change this fate. I can change everything.” She was sweating and shaking and desperate.

  “There is no changing what will be.” Annette’s cold voice and her soulless eyes were sinister. “You are the end.”

  “I won’t be,” Jane vowed. The mark on her right side seemed to burn and she realized that her fingers were pressed hard to it. “Tell me when and where.”

  “Don’t be the hero,” Annette whispered to her. “Just…don’t be.”

  Then she blinked, once, twice, and the blackness faded back into the light brown of her normal eye color. Annette collapsed into her chair.

  Jane stood before her, her hand still on her side, her body tense, and her mind rebelling. “That’s not,” she finally managed to say, “the news I was hoping for.”

  Faint lines appeared near Annette’s mouth. Lines that hadn’t been there before the reading. “If you don’t like what I see, then you shouldn’t ask to know what’s coming.”

  Jane swallowed. “What was that bit about my father? Not cool, Annette. Seriously not cool considering I saw him die before my eyes when I was eleven years old.”

  “The dead talk to me all the time.” Annette rubbed her temples. “And I didn’t say your step-dad came to visit me.”

  Jane took a step back and bumped into her chair.

  “You’re a born vampire, Jane. Sure, there are some truly random events that cause the birth of a human who is a vamp-in-waiting, but that random event didn’t happen with you.” Annette’s hand fell from her temple. “And I have to wonder…how long have you known that your birth father was a vampire?”

  “He wasn’t.”

  “Jane…”

  “He wasn’t a vampire when he first married my mother!” Those words tore from her because…she’d seen the pictures. She knew what her father had been like…before. When her brother had been younger, there had been so many happy pictures of him and their parents. She’d seen those pictures.

  Smiling. Laughing. Living.

  “He was attacked. He…changed. He hurt my mother.” This was Jane’s shame. So much shame. “I figure it must have been right after the attack…he came home to my mother. I-I was conceived.” Don’t think about what happened that night. Don’t think about the pain and terror that had been in mom’s eyes when she talked about her pregnancy. Don’t.

  “My brother said our father was a monster.” She hated this part of the story. Jane hadn’t known…but Drew had. “He would whisper that, over the years. Whenever I asked about my real father, Drew said it was good that he was gone. That dad was a monster. Only my mom kept telling me…monsters aren’t real. Almost every night she would say i
t. Monsters aren’t real.” Jane licked dry lips. “It wasn’t until much later that I realized she wasn’t trying to convince me. She was trying to convince herself.”

  “I’m sorry,” Annette said, sounding as if she truly meant the words.

  “So am I.” She was her father’s daughter. Conceived when he’d stopped being human. But her brother…He isn’t like me. That was why she wanted Drew to stay safe. To stay very far away. “It would really help things out if you would tell me exactly when and where I’m supposed to die.”

  Annette held her stare. “It doesn’t work that way. Things aren’t…so clear.”

  “It seemed clear enough when you were telling me that I was the end.”

  Annette’s long lashes shielded her eyes. “I think it’s…soon, Jane. It felt soon.”

  Hell. “What am I supposed to do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did you see who killed me? Was it the vampire? Is Vincent the one I have to watch out for?”

  Now Annette’s brow furrowed. “He was there. So was Aidan. They were both there but…I don’t know who kills you.”

  She spoke so matter-of-factly. As if Jane’s death were just a done deal. To her, maybe it was. “I won’t let it happen.” Jane spun away from the other woman. “Thanks for this little glimpse into my future hell, but I will change it. I’m not going to become a monster.”

  She was nearly at the door when she heard Annette’s sad whisper.

  “You already are…”

  ***

  Jane didn’t slam the door when she left the Voodoo Shop. Just as she hadn’t pounded furiously when she arrived.

  Blowing out a hard breath, Annette slumped deeper in her chair. She wished Jane’s fate had been different, but wishing didn’t exactly change anything. It—

  A faint creak sounded behind her.

  In a flash, Annette was on her feet, the knife in her hand as she lunged toward the man who’d somehow slipped past her security system and into her shop.

  “Easy!” Paris Cole said, his voice low as he dodged her knife strike. “I’m not here to hurt you!”

  Her teeth clenched. Werewolves. Freaking werewolves. “Sorry if I don’t believe you,” Annette gritted out. “I don’t have the best track record with werewolves.”

  His golden gaze darted between the knife and her face. “Your ex was a bastard to us both. I’m sorry I ever called him friend.”

  Her grip tightened on the knife. “These days, I just call him dead.” Because he was. “How long have you been here?” Her stomach clenched as she waited for his response. Werewolves could move so silently. Paris wasn’t an alpha, but he was still plenty powerful, and the guy was Aidan’s right-hand. If he’d overheard her talk with Jane…

  “Long enough,” Paris replied grimly.

  “You shouldn’t eavesdrop on private conversations!”

  “When it comes to the pack, I do just about anything.” His body was battle ready. “Now are you going to stab me with that knife or can we talk like normal people?”

  She slowly lowered the knife, putting it back on her table. It wouldn’t be much good against him, anyway. It wasn’t made out of silver. “We aren’t normal people.”

  “True. But then, I’ve always thought normal was highly overrated.”

  Her gaze slid over him. Paris. Handsome Paris. The ladies’ man. The charmer. The guy who usually wore a grin but… “I know what you are.”

  “A werewolf.” He shrugged. “Guilty as charged.”

  “More. A werewolf in sheep’s clothing.”

  He gave a little pout—one she was sure plenty of ladies had found incredibly sexy. “I think you just insulted me,” Paris drawled.

  “You are far more than you seem. The easy going façade doesn’t fool me. Not for an instant. You’re a predator to your core.”

  “Kind of goes along with being a werewolf…”

  “You’re Aidan’s assassin.”

  He stiffened. That sexy pout was long gone. Good.

  “I know,” she said softly. “There is very little that I don’t see.”

  “In that black mirror of yours?” He headed toward the table and picked up her mirror.

  Now she was the one to stiffen. It wasn’t as if a mirror like that one was particularly easy to come by. She’d built the power in it slowly.

  Don’t let him know. Never let anyone know what matters to you. That way, people couldn’t hurt her as easily.

  Gazing into the darkness of her mirror, Paris mused, “You saw Jane turning in this mirror.”

  She didn’t speak.

  “You know that can’t happen. She’ll have too much power if she rises as a vampire.”

  She wondered if he was afraid. “Do you think she’ll be stronger than Aidan? That he won’t be able to stop her?”

  He shook his head. Sadness flashed across his handsome face as he set the mirror back down. “No, I’m afraid he won’t have the heart to do it.”

  Did Aidan truly love Jane that much? She’d wondered…

  Love or the pack? Which would he choose? That she hadn’t been able to see.

  “I came to talk to you about the vampire in town,” Paris announced, his voice turning brisk.

  She put her hands behind her back. “Seems like plenty of people are curious about him.”

  “Did you work a spell for him?”

  Now she laughed. “Do I look like I want to be helping vampires?”

  “For the right price, I think you might help anyone.”

  She schooled her expression. “Now I’m the one insulted.” She pointed to the front door. “How about you haul your handsome ass out of here? I think we’re done.”

  He marched—toward her. Not to the door. “He vanished, right before Aidan’s eyes. Just disappeared.”

  Oh, no…someone knows how to use some very powerful magic. Part of her was impressed. Another part was very scared.

  “I don’t know about you,” Paris continued in that deep voice of his, “but that seemed a bit abnormal to me. I’ve come across plenty of vampires and I’ve never seen one do that.”

  Her hands twisted behind her back.

  “Did you give him a spell?” He leaned in toward her. She could feel the threat then, stirring in the air around them.

  Aidan’s assassin. “No.”

  He studied her, as if trying to decide whether or not she was lying. This time, she wasn’t.

  “Then how did he do it?” Paris’s scent—rich, masculine, oddly sexy—circled her.

  “Maybe…maybe he knows a few spells, too.”

  “So he has a witch working for him? Someone like you?”

  She wasn’t a witch. “It would explain…how he found Jane.”

  “No, plenty of people know about her. It’s hard to keep someone like Jane a secret for long.” He stepped back. “What do you know about Vincent Connor?”

  “Nothing.”

  He smiled at her. Flashed dimples. A wolf in sheep’s clothing. “Come now, that’s not true. Just moments ago, I heard you tell Jane quite a few things about him…for instance, you said he was there when she died.”

  “Y-you need to leave.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I’m not here to hurt you.” His voice had softened. Paris almost seemed sincere.

  It was good that she knew better than to believe a werewolf’s words.

  “If you learn more about Vincent…” Paris pulled a card from his pocket. “Call me. You’ll be well paid for the information that you offer.”

  She forced herself to take the card. Their fingers brushed and—dammit—she felt a little electric surge at the contact. The last thing she wanted was to get involved with another werewolf.

  Especially one who might try to kill her.

  Or Jane.

  If Aidan can’t do the job, will his assassin take care of eliminating Jane when she turns?

  He turned away from her. Took two steps. Then stopped, snapping his fingers. “Oh, one more thing…” Paris glanced ov
er his shoulder at her. “Good to know you think I’m handsome.”

  “I said you were a handsome ass.”

  “No, you said I had a handsome ass.”

  She hadn’t. She—

  He left.

  Her shoulders fell. Annette grabbed the mirror. “Does he kill her? Does Paris kill Jane?”

  But in the glass, all she could see was the blood. Jane’s blood. And not just three little drops.

  A river of blood.

  Chapter Six

  Talking to grieving family members was the worst part of her job. Death was a bitch, no one liked it, and no, staring into the heart-broken eyes of Alan Thatcher’s sixty-two-year-old mother hadn’t been an easy task. It had been gut-wrenching.

  Jane paced in Alan’s dorm room. The guy had been a senior at Tulane, majoring in chemical engineering. Just a semester away from graduation. His whole life ahead of him. And now…

  A grave is waiting for Alan.

  There was nothing in his room that she could use. The guy had been normal. A human with human friends. He’d had a pretty ex-girlfriend, one who’d posted lots of pictures on social media sites of the two of them. He’d had a caring family. He’d had everything.

  Now it was all gone.

  “Why did he pick you?” Jane whispered. The guy had a New Orleans Saints shirt on his bed. Game tickets were in the garbage can.

  She raked a hand through her hair. A knock sounded at the dorm room door and she stiffened—

  “Hey, Thatch! You in there?” A loud male voice called.

  Before Jane could answer, the door swung open. A tall, dark-haired guy stood there, looked to be around twenty-one, maybe twenty-two. He blinked in surprise when he saw her.

  “Oh, didn’t realize Thatch had…company.” He flashed her a broad smile, one that showed a dimple in his left cheek. “I’ll come back. I can talk to him later.”

  “No¸ you can’t.” Dammit, she hated this part. Jane pulled out her ID. “I’m Detective Jane Hart.”

  The guy hesitated in the doorway. “Is Thatch in some kind of trouble?” His pale green eyes were worried. “He’s a good dude, I swear. Smart, you know. Wicked smart. He helps me with my math when I need it and, sure he likes to party a little hard, but who doesn’t—”