She sheathed her knife and stepped past him and onto the roof. Just in time to see a slug-like creature slither away from the naked form lying in the middle of the pentagram. It slid down through the cracks between the wooden roofing and disappeared. A shudder ran through her. Obviously, whatever that thing was, it wasn't overly choosy about who it had sex with. Male, female, near dead, dead… It didn't really matter.
She blew out a breath and walked over to the body. It was a different man lying here, and while part of her wanted to know what had happened to the remains of the first victim, she very much suspected that it was better not to know.
He was lying in the middle of the star, his arms and legs outstretched, as if he were welcoming the death visited upon him. His expression backed this up—he was smiling, his blue eyes frozen in a look of warmth.
And like the first man they'd found on this roof, he had a small knife wound in his chest. Blood still trickled out, the flow sluggish as it crept down his side.
She glanced down at the black star etched into the roof. There was no sense of power coming from it, no tingle of energy cutting through the air. While the slug had crossed those dark lines without harm, she wasn't about to test them. If Camille and Seline had taught her anything, it was a high respect for magic.
Just because she couldn't feel any energy coming from the black pentagram didn't mean it was inactive.
Still, she had to do something about it. Dunleavy was using this place to feed either his strength, or that of his dark gods. For that reason alone, it had to be destroyed, and the only means she had to do that was her fire.
That would mean destroying evidence—this man, the bloody room downstairs, the woman's remains, her head…
She swallowed and tried to ignore the gruesome images that surged into her mind. Destroying evidence was a better option than leaving this pentagram here and allowing Dunleavy to use it to kill more people.
And besides, given what she'd learned about the circle in the last few months, she very much doubted whether the police would even be aware that something foul had happened here. This place would be cleaned of all evidence, the survivors would be given the best medical attention and counseling available, and their memories would be "rearranged." How the Circle would handle the dead, she didn't know—but if she'd learned anything about the organization, it was that they took care of those hurt. The families of the dead would be compensated in some way.
She reached down inside herself for the power of the flames. This time, she intended to burn, intended to destroy, and the flames that sprang to life across her fingertips echoed that intention. They were fierce, hungry, and didn't resemble flame imps in the slightest.
The scrape of a nail made her jerk around. The wolf had stepped onto the roof, and the flames reflected in its yellow eyes, making them glow eerily.
It stepped forward, its snarl low, fierce and deadly. She stepped back, the fierce golden fire of her flames burning back the fog, allowing weak sunlight to filter in and lift some of the shadows. But sunlight only made the wolf's intentions more obvious. It would stop her anyway it deemed necessary.
From behind the wolf a figure rose. The stranger staggered to the roof's entrance, his face white, and his breathing still little more than a rasp.
"Get her," he said, in a low, dead voice that didn't match the man or his injuries and oddly reminded her of Kinnard. "Just remember, injure, not kill."
The wolf stalked forward. She retreated, her gaze on the stranger more than the wolf. His brown eyes were still glazed, unblinking. Did that mean Dunleavy was controlling his actions, but not actually seeing what this man saw? Why else would he not react to the flames burning across her fingers?
The wolf walked around the edges of the pentagram. With the stranger blocking the exit to the stairs, she had no other choice but to back towards the far wall. Once she hit that, her only options were to either fight or risk the two-story drop.
Her gaze went to the pentagram. She had to destroy it. It was one source of Dunleavy's power, and the more they destroyed his supply options, the better chance they had. And the better chance Camille and the rest of the Circle had of getting in here to save the day should she and Michael fail.
Not that they would fail, because she had every intention of marrying her vampire, and no psycho out for revenge was going to stop her.
Her gaze went to the stranger. She couldn't let him die, though, and she very much suspected that might happen if she flamed this roof. Dunleavy had his mind, and wherever Dunleavy was, it surely wasn't close enough to see the fire until it was too late.
The wolf had reached the top of the pentagram. A few more steps and it would be within launching range. She stepped sideways, raised her burning hand, and reached for more of the power surging through her veins.
"Burn this place to cinders," she said softly.
Fire exploded through her, around her, and the air was suddenly thick with heat. The wolf yelped, a sound full of surprise, but she wasted no time seeing what had happened to it. She'd left it an escape route—over the roof edge. Shifters were tough—it could take a two-story fall without breaking a nail.
She spun and ran for the stranger. When she was close enough, she launched herself at him, twisting in the air so that she'd hit him feet first. He didn't react, merely stood there dumbly, confirming her guess that Dunleavy wasn't using this man's eyes. She hit him hard, and sent him flailing backwards. He hit the landing's back railing, and with a crack that sounded like thunder, the wood splintered and gave way.
With arms flailing, the stranger fell backwards into the fog and disappeared.
She barely had the chance to swear before the impetus of her leap took her over the edge and down into that same fogginess.
"Oh, shit ," was all she managed to say before the free fall experience was over. She hit the ground with enough force to jar every bone in her body and send her teeth through her tongue.
She slumped face first into the dirt and lay there for several minutes, trying to remember how to breathe, trying to ignore the pain pouring through every nerve ending. She'd never fallen two stories before, and it was certainly an experience she never wanted to repeat. It damn well hurt.
Concern flooded through her mind, and suddenly there were warm hands on her back, her neck, feeling for a pulse, checking that she was okay.
"I'm all right," she murmured, and forced herself to roll over. "Just winded."
Michael's face was dark with dust, and there were smears of blood near his temple, as if he'd dragged bloody fingers through his hair. "Are you sure?"
She wiggled her fingers and moved her feet. "I'm fine. Really."
The relief and love evident in his gaze made her heart do its usual happy dance.
"I was in the mines and felt your pain." He paused and frowned. "Odd, really."
She smiled and touched a hand to his cheek. "Not as odd as you might think. Did you find anything?"
"Another circle. I destroyed it, though the pentagram is still viable." He glanced up at the roof of the whorehouse. Orange flames were now visible through the rapidly retreating fog. "Looks like the one up there is in the process of being destroyed, though."
She nodded and grabbed his leg, using it to help her sit up. He winced, and as she pulled her hand away, she saw the blood. "What the hell…?"
He shrugged. "Dunleavy wasn't about to let me take one of his sacrifices without a fight. He had three wolves protecting the stones. I used one of their bodies to displace the rocks."
"Since your jeans are soaked with blood, you definitely need that wound treated."
He gave her a gentle smile. "Blood is easy enough for me to replace. The man I rescued needs treatment first." He paused, looking past her. "Who is that?"