Moon Sworn (33 page)

“I’m betting it’s not as peaceful as it looks. They wouldn’t be that careless.”

“There will probably be alarms on the house, at least,” he agreed. “And we also have the problem that, as a vampire, I can’t go into the house. Not without an invite, and I very much doubt they’re going to extend one.”

“So, we need a distraction.” I paused as we cruised past the boundary of our house and another—slightly prettier—one came into sight. A light shone in one of the rooms on the first floor. Night owls were
not
what we needed right now—not when they were right next door to a house we needed to break into. I glanced at Quinn.

“How well can you act?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Did you know I was once a very sought after actor in Elizabethan times?”

Amusement ran through me. “Weren’t Elizabethan actors considered rogues and treated with suspicion?”

“Only initially. Once the queen began granting licenses to the aristocracy for the maintenance of troupes, acting became more regulated and the actors’ popularity increased greatly.” He smiled, almost wistfully. “That was a very enjoyable period of my life.”

“Meaning there were lots of women to be had, no doubt,” I said with a grin.

“Of course,” he said, amusement warming his words. He swung the car into a driveway and turned around.

“Although it’s been a while since my stage days, so my acting skills are probably rusty. But I think I could manage a passable drunk looking for his lover’s house. If I make enough noise, it’ll hopefully distract their attention.”

“It’s extremely difficult for vamps to get drunk,” I said doubtfully. “Given that the men inside that house won’t be human and will sense what you are almost immediately, do you think they’ll buy the drunk act?”

“Just because it’s difficult doesn’t mean that it doesn’t happen.” He shifted the gear into first and drove back past the house. “Besides, there just happen to be several bottles of Dom Perignon sitting snugly in the backseat. I’ll tip a little over me for increased verisimilitude.”

I gave him a look of utter horror. “And waste such fine champagne? That’s
criminal.”

He chuckled softly. “I said a
little
. The rest we can save for later.”

“Well, that’s all right then.”

He drove back past the house and continued on to the end of the street. Once there, he pulled over to the side of the road and stopped. “How long do you think you’ll need to get to the house?”

I glanced at my watch. “Five minutes should be enough. I doubt they’ll have much in the way of sensors or alarms in the paddocks—the wildlife would play havoc with them. I’ll just have to be more cautious near the house.”

He nodded then handed me a cell phone. “Take this, because you may need to prove who you are to Lyndal. And be careful. I don’t want my wife-to-be getting too messed up before our wedding night.”

“Trust me, I’ve had more than enough excitement lately to last me a lifetime.” I returned his kiss briefly, then opened the door and climbed out.

The night was crisp and cold, and the darkness somehow more intense with the absence of street lighting. I ran across the road and climbed through the wire fence. It was tempting to simply run down the road, but if someone
was
up in our target house, then a lone runner at this hour of the night was going to raise all manner of suspicion.

Not that someone jogging across paddocks
wasn’t
.

Of course, I could wrap myself in shadows and run along the road that way, but there was no guarantee that both of the guards were wolves. Blake knew I was Directorate, knew the Directorate would be involved in any search for me, so he’d surely have more than wolves as backup. And he would have figured out a way to get a vamp guard past the threshold restriction—and rented houses did have restrictions, even if public places didn’t. It was still somebody’s home, and that was the difference.

I kept close to the tree-lined boundary fences—though the trees themselves were small and shrubby, and didn’t really provide much in the way of cover. But they at least gave me deeper shadows to hide in.

Somewhere off to my right, a dog began barking, the sound more friendly and excited than one of warning. I slipped through the wire fence dividing the two properties and ran forward, once again keeping to the fence line until I was near the house. There was very little in the way of cover around it, but there were garden beds with white stones along the length of the side I could see, and a covered patio area around the back. A garage dominated the right side of it, and it had motion sensor lights attached to the front. I cursed inwardly and scanned the roofline, and saw more lights jutting out from the corners of the house. The minute I went near it, those damn things would come on.

Which left me with one option—the roof. It was a basic, red tile roof, the sort that could be seen on millions of houses all over Australia. And tiles—unlike the iron roofing often used these days—were easy to move. I called to my seagull shape and took to the sky. As I landed, a car turned into the road, tires squealing as Quinn took the corner too fast. High-beam lights turned the shadows into day, and music—heavy, thumping rock—blared so loud that I could hear it from here.

I’d wanted a distraction, I thought with a grin. Quinn was certainly giving me it.

As the car drove up the driveway and the bright lights pinned the house, I shifted back to human form and carefully began sliding tiles to one side. Given they were concrete, it was difficult
not
to make noise, but I hoped the steady thumping beat of music would cover any sound I was making. By the time Quinn had pulled to a halt outside the front entrance, I’d created a big enough hole to get through. I didn’t drop into it, however, wanting to make sure the guards’ attention was on Quinn rather than what else might be going on within the house.

“Hey, Emma?” The voice, though Quinn’s, was loud and slurred. “Why did you leave me, baby? Come out and talk to me.”

The lights came on around the house, then a booming voice said, “There’s no Emma here. You’ve got the wrong house.”

“Who the hell are you?” Quinn said, with all the belligerence of a true drunk. “And why the hell are you in Emma’s house?”

I grinned and dropped down into the roof space. It was—not unexpectedly—dark, so I switched to infrared and carefully began crawling along the rafters, dodging the air-con vents and various pipes and wires that seemed to breed up in roof spaces.

Outside, the rumble of voices was getting louder—not so much on Quinn’s part, but certainly that of the guard who’d answered the door. His frustration over the “drunk’s” refusal to believe he was in the wrong house was increasing. He hadn’t yet ventured out—his voice was still coming from the same position—but maybe if he got angry enough, he would.

He’d be Quinn’s the minute he did, which would leave me with only the one. And while I’d coped with more than one assailant many times, I was still sensible enough to prefer one at a time.

Unlike my brother, who often seemed to think the more, the merrier.

The trapdoor was located in the far corner. I crawled through a final strut and grasped the latch handle. There was no sign of body heat in the room immediately below, and little in the way of noise to give away the position of the second guard. Not that much else could be heard over the racket erupting from the front.

I pried the cover up and looked down into the white-tiled bathroom. The air here smelled warm and moldy, and there was a pile of damp towels thrown into the corner near the shower. Obviously, the guards weren’t into washing.

There was no one in sight. I listened for any indication of where the other guard might be, but the house was quiet—if you ignored the music and two men yelling out the front, anyway. I flared my nostrils, drawing in the more distant flavors, trying to find some hint of the other man’s location. Cabbage and cooking meat were the most intense scents filling the air, but underneath that ran the foul scent of vampire.

It wasn’t strong, meaning he was probably several rooms away, but that was close enough to hear me—or, rather, hear my heartbeat. So why hadn’t he come running?

Maybe Quinn was doing a better job of distraction than I’d thought.

Praying that it kept that way for a few seconds more, I grabbed the sides of the manhole and dropped down lightly, my rubber-soled shoes making little noise as they hit the tiles. I stayed in that half-squatting position, my heart racing as I listened again for any hint of movement.

Again, there was nothing. I crept forward, still half crouched. My barely healed leg protested, and pain slithered through my muscles. I ignored it and continued on.

The scent of vampire was stronger near the door, and seemed to be coming from the right. I couldn’t see the blur of his body heat in the immediate vicinity, though, which was odd.

I risked taking a quick look into the hall. It was empty of life
and
unlife. There were three doors to the left, two of them open, the other dead-bolted. No need to guess who lay behind
that
door, I thought grimly. The only real surprise would be her condition. I had no idea what Blake’s orders would have been for Lyndal, but given that he probably had measures in place to kill us all the minute anything went wrong, he might not have cared what the men did to her as long as she remained able to talk to Evin.

A shiver ran through me. For Evin’s sake, I had to hope that I was imagining the worst. That she was fine and unharmed in any way.

And tomorrow, pigs might fly.

I brushed the thought aside and slipped out into the hallway. The stench of vampire suddenly seemed stronger, and though I could hear no sound, instinct warned me he was on the move.

The stairs were to the right. I stepped across the hall and, keeping my back to the wall, crept toward them. The vampire scent was getting stronger, and my nose twitched in distaste. I still couldn’t hear him, but then, Blake had the money to hire the best.

He’d hired Kye, after all.

For the first time since I’d killed him, my soul didn’t ache at the mere thought of his name. The emptiness remained—would probably always remain—but the pain and the hurt were no longer knife-edged. Maybe my decision to commit to Quinn had been exactly what I’d needed—what my soul had needed.

I stopped several feet away from the corner, with a hall table between me and the stairs. I reached out and carefully picked up a vase of long-dead flowers. The vamp had to know I was here—he’d hear the beat of my heart even if he was as blind to body heat as I seemed to be—and he’d come around that corner fast. So I needed something to distract him with.

I waited, breath caught somewhere in my throat, for his approach. When it came, it was lightning fast. One minute the hall was empty, the next minute there was a long, thin stretch of vampire hunkered down in the middle of it holding a gun.

I swung the vase and let it go. Dead flowers and foul-smelling water flew, soaking the carpet. I jumped forward, following the vase with a kick. He ducked both and pulled the trigger. I twisted out of the way, felt the bullet burn past my hip, and lashed out, my clenched fingers taking him under the chin, throwing him up and back but not knocking him out. He hit the carpeted floor hard and his gun went flying.

I leapt for it, my fingers latching onto the barrel even as he caught his balance and lunged for me. I didn’t have time to shift my grip to the trigger so I simply twisted around, smashing the weapon against his face with as much force as I could muster. Flesh and bone gave way under the impact and he went down, but he was still far from out. I scrambled to my knees and hit him in his throat with the side of my hand. His eyes rolled back into his head and he went limp.

It wouldn’t last long. Vampires were too tough to be immobilized for very long—even by a blow that would have killed a human.

I switched the gun’s safety on, shoved it into the waistband of my jeans, then took a moment to rub at my leg. There was no blood and the wound hadn’t split, but the ache was deep and relentless, despite the numbness that still ringed the actual wound.

But I guess if that was the worst aftereffect of getting shot with silver for the umpteenth time, then I could consider myself lucky.

I grabbed the vamp’s arms, lifting his head and shoulders off the floor, then dragged him down the stairs. The other guard hadn’t come up to investigate the gunshot, so I had to presume Quinn had managed to grab him outside.

Indeed I have
. His thoughts rolled through mine, warm and amused.
It appears my acting skills are not as rusty
as I thought. Did the other one manage to wing you?

The bullet barely even scraped my side
.

Which, knowing you, probably means there’s a hole the size of a fist in your body
.

I laughed and hauled the vamp down the last step, then dragged him across the foyer to the open front door. Quinn was standing on the porch, his arms crossed as he watched me. The other guard was propped up against the thick white columns.

“I’ve dealt with the first guard already.” As I stepped over the door threshold, Quinn took the vamp’s arms and jerked him sideways, depositing him rather roughly beside the other guard. Not that either man deserved any form of gentle treatment after the hell they’d put Evin through. “Neither of them will remember our arrival or notice their captive is missing.”

“Good.” I glanced down at my side. My sweater was torn, but the wound was little more than a scratch and there wasn’t even much blood. Which was probably a good thing, considering how much I’d lost before Harris had removed the silver bullet. “Has either man got a key on them? Lyndal’s door is chained and padlocked.”

He patted down both guards, then shook his head. “Nothing in their pockets. Check the kitchen or their sleeping quarters.”

“On it.” I spun around and headed back into the house. The kitchen was at the back, and it was huge. But the counters were full of crap and the sink was littered with unwashed dishes. Obviously, neither of them was worried about mice or ants, because there were crumbs all over the floor and ants were currently enjoying the leftovers on several plates.