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  Josiah frowned. "Considering his attire, madam, I would think he would want time to change first."

  Sandor laughed, and not kindly. "Why? Is he dressed in animal skins and a horned helmet, like the barbarian he is?"

  Josiah drew himself up and shot Sandor a disapproving look. "Not at all, sir. However, I'm sure that Master Thorsen would want to pay the Dame the respect due her, and dirty jeans are hardly the appropriate attire for that."

  "That's quite all right, Josiah." Judith hid her amusement at her butler's ability to look down his nose at someone who towered over him by at least six inches. "Please ask Ranulf to come directly here. Waiting for him to change will only delay matters."

  Josiah left, and almost immediately she heard the front door open and close. Josiah spoke first, answered by Ranulf's deep rumble in disagreement. She couldn't hear the particulars, but she was willing to bet that Ranulf would prevail. A few seconds later, Josiah reappeared to announce her guest's imminent arrival.

  "Dame Judith, Talion Ranulf Thorsen asked me to say that he'd be joining you in five minutes."

  "That's fine, Josiah. Would you put together a meal for him? I suspect he'll be hungry after his long trip." A Talion of his power would need food to counterbalance the energy feeding he would have done on his way to answer her call.

  Josiah nodded, then glanced at Sandor. "And you, sir, would you like a small repast as well?"

  Sandor set down his glass. "If it wouldn't be too much trouble. I'm guessing it's going to be a long night."

  "Yes, sir. I wall serve you all in a few minutes."

  When Ranulf appeared in the doorway, Dame Judith could see why Josiah had thought he'd want to change. Very few of her people would have dared appear before her wearing dirt-streaked jeans and an equally filthy flannel shirt that reeked of smoke. Interesting. Where had he been? To give the man credit, his shoulder-length hair had been recently combed and his face freshly washed.

  She held out her hand, and his huge one engulfed her fingers as he bowed and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. No matter what Sandor thought, her Viking warrior knew how to behave— when he wanted to.

  "I'm glad you've made it, Ranulf. It has been a long day and promises to be even longer. Josiah should be along in a moment with something for you to eat. I trust you are otherwise well?"

  Among the Kyth, asking if another had recently fed was considered rude. But however delicately she couched the question, it was important to know the answer. His bright blue eyes narrowed as he straightened up. The lines bracketing his mouth spoke of tension, but he seemed in control of his emotions.

  "I am well, my lady. Out of necessity, I made a couple of stops on the way here."

  He stepped away and she noted that he was careful to stand near the door with his back to the wall. A lifetime of fighting made a man understandably cautious.

  She picked up the folders full of articles she'd clipped from the local newspapers. "Why don't we adjourn to the dining room? Once you've eaten, we can decide what steps we need to take."

  She led the way across the hallway and sat at the head of the table. Sandor automatically sat on her left, while Ranulf took the seat on her right. Josiah immediately entered from the kitchen, carrying a tray laden with sandwiches, sliced fruits, and cheeses.

  Both men reached for the folders she held out to them. "I'll give you some time to eat while you read over the information I've gathered. I've called you both here because I suspect we have a renegade in our midst."

  It would be interesting to see if her Talions came to the same conclusions she had. Her instincts screamed she was on the right track, and if a renegade was running rampant in Seattle, leaving a trail of death and pain that could lead straight to her front door, that could spell disaster for them all.

  It didn't take long for both men to read through the material. Sandor frowned as he closed the file, but Ranulf looked especially grim.

  "It's a renegade, all right." He tapped his forefinger on the stack of papers. "But these were only his opening moves."

  Sandor frowned. "And you know that why?"

  "Because he set fire to a dance club downtown tonight and did his damnedest to kill a whole lot of people." The calm announcement didn't disguise the fury in the Viking's eyes. A shimmer of hot energy danced over his hands as he shoved the file back toward the center of the table.

  "On my way here, I heard about the fire on the radio and thought it was worth checking out. I don't know who the son of a—" Ranulf stopped, glancing at Judith. "Uh, I don't know who was behind the fire, but he's definitely one of us. There were too many people and too much smoke for me to be able to track him through the crowd, but I could taste his presence. First thing tomorrow, I'll go back and try again. There won't be much left to look at, but I should be able to pick up traces of his energy signature. Once I have that, he won't be able to hide for long."

  "How many were killed?" Judith grasped the talisman that hung around her neck and prayed to the gods that the number was small.

  Ranulf's grim expression softened. "Near as I can tell, none. They hauled a few off in ambulances, but no one was seriously hurt. Not like you'd normally expect from a fire that size."

  Sandor looked puzzled. "But from what you said, the place must have burned to the ground."

  "It did. But there was a woman who managed to get everybody out of the club before the roof caved in." Then he smiled. "And, Judith, she's one of us."

  Kerry was so tired that her hair hurt. Coop had kept her sequestered for hours with a sketch artist while he wrote a report. Finally he'd sent out for breakfast for everybody. The wonderful combination of salt and grease went a long way toward improving her mood, but if she didn't get some sleep soon, she wouldn't be responsible for her actions.

  Coop appeared in the doorway so silently that she had to blink twice to make sure he was real. He looked even worse than she felt.

  "You sure you don't want to go to a hotel, at least for today?" His voice was rough with exhaustion.

  "No, I'll be fine. I'd appreciate a lift home, though."

  He gave her a wry smile. "Did you think we'd boot you out the door and let you fend for yourself?"

  "Sorry—it's been a long twenty-four hours."

  "For all of us." He stepped back. "Come on, I'll give you a lift, and then we can both get some rest."

  As she followed him down the hallway, she noticed he had a death grip on a folded newspaper. When they reached the elevator, she braced herself and asked, "Did the reporters find out about me?"

  He nodded and shoved the paper at her. "Evidently one of the women you carried out of the fire gave them your name."

  Kerry sighed. "She asked for it after I carried her out of the building. It won't take the reporters long to find me, will it?"

  "Probably not." Coop ran his fingers through his sparse hair as the elevator bumped to a stop. "Look, the idea of your staying at a hotel room really makes good sense."

  She considered her options as they went to his car and got in. She never slept well in a strange bed, but she doubted she'd sleep at all if a gaggle of reporters decided to camp out on the sidewalk outside her apartment.

  "Maybe that would be best for today. Eventually I'll have to face the press, but I'll do better after some sleep." She leaned her head back.

  "Duck down. I'd just as soon no one outside of the department knows you're with me."

  He slowed the car to a crawl until she slid down out of sight. The last thing either of them needed was to lead a parade to her temporary sanctuary.

  Darn, now she was uncomfortable as well as tired. It was hardly Coop's fault, but she was having a hard time keeping a lid on her temper. Finally, she poked her head up and looked around. "Is it safe?"

  "I think so. I'm going to take you to a hotel on the east side, where a friend of mine works. He'll let me register you under a fake name, and supply you with some of the basics from the gift shop."

  "I appreciate everything you've don
e."

  "It's the least I can do. Your quick thinking saved lives, and that picture you drew might help us catch the bastard who lit the match."

  It was only luck that had prevented anyone from dying, Kerry thought. Coop had checked with the hospital, and most of the victims had been treated and released. The only admission had been the woman with burns and an injured ankle. Although the doctors were at a loss to explain it, the burns had already visibly improved and her ankle was only a bad sprain. Kerry would have sworn that ankle was broken, but she'd take all the good news she could.

  Was the bastard who set the fire disappointed? She shivered. Of course he was. And whom would he blame? Her. The danger would only get worse when it became public knowledge that the authorities had a sketch of his face. She stubbornly shoved the fear aside, concentrating on just staying awake.

  A short time later, Coop turned into a hotel parking lot, checked his rearview mirror, then parked the car.

  "Okay, lady, let's get you checked in."

  "Yes, sir." She executed a mock salute as they headed into the hotel.

  An hour later, she was showered, fed, and sound asleep.

  Ranulf skimmed the morning papers over a late breakfast. They pretty much all said the same things about the fire, which wasn't much. Obviously the reporters had submitted their articles to meet a deadline before they'd known many details. At least now he knew the mysterious woman's name: Kerry Logan.

  But reading between the lines wasn't hard when you knew what to look for. Or rather, who to look for. There were definitely two different people involved in the fire who would require Judith's attention: the arsonist and Kerry Logan.

  "Was the Logan woman treated for any injuries?" He looked up from the clipping to find Dame Judith watching him.

  "Not as far as we know. Miss Logan disappeared right after the fire was out, and no one has seen her since." She pushed her plate away. "I've made inquiries, but there is only so much I can do without drawing undue attention."

  "He may have already gotten her." Sandor closed his file and reached for his coffee. "May the gods help her, if he has."

  Ranulf went with his instincts. "I'm sure that was her I saw leaving the scene in a fire department vehicle, but you're right to be concerned. Even if the culprit was an ordinary arsonist, he'd be angry at her interrupting his fun. But since he's one of us, he'll also find her extraordinary reaction to the fire as intriguing as we do. He might forgive the interference if it brings an unschooled Kyth into his crosshairs. We can't let that happen. I won't let it."

  Judith gave them both a satisfied nod. "So, gentlemen, your orders are simple. Sandor, find the girl and ingratiate yourself using that abundant charm of yours. Ranulf, do what you can to help keep Miss Logan safe, but bring this arsonist to justice. Our justice."

  Ranulf met the old woman's sharp gaze. She was ordering him to carry out an execution, just as he'd known she would. It was the best use of their talents, logical, cold, and brutal. Ranulf didn't enjoy being the messenger of death for the Kyth, but he knew his duty and he would do it. He closed his eyes, seeing his life stretch from his past to his future filled with nothing but an endless line of violence meted out for the good of their kind.

  Judith seemed to be waiting for some response. What could he say?

  He grasped his talisman and met her gaze head-on. "By my honor, the renegade will die."

  Half an hour later Ranulf was on his way back to the club, his blood singing with the joy of the hunt.

  Back when he'd been a boy, the warriors had always enjoyed the choicest bits of the game they'd brought back to the village. Now, for him, it was the spicy, hot taste of the black energy a renegade had fed on. Even the smallest taste of human joy could keep a Kyth electrified for days, but the dark end of their emotional spectrum had the richest flavor and the most power. Ranulf had consumed so much of it in his job as enforcer that it had extended his life for centuries beyond the norm.

  And that was why the Dame's other chief Talion, Sandor Kearn, didn't trust Ranulf.

  Maybe the pup was right, but Ranulf didn't like to think so. Not once in all of his centuries of service had he ever been tempted to harvest the dark energy straight from the source. Renegades went after humans with cold cruelty, wallowing in the pain and misery and terror they drew from their victims. They took pleasure in the unspeakable.

  The law of the Kyth demanded that punishment match the crime, and it was the job of the Talion to carry it out with no hope for appeal. When a Kyth turned renegade, destroying a human's mind and soul, Ranulf hunted the bastard down and stripped him of every bit of energy he'd stolen and then his own life force as well, leaving only a dead husk behind.

  That made Ranulf the stuff of Kyth nightmares, the horror whispered about in the dark of night.

  He parked the Packard half a block away from the club. The charred bones of the building jutted up against the sky, giving mute testimony to the violence that had consumed it. It was a miracle that no one had died in that inferno.

  He wondered if the owners had needed the insurance money, but he rejected the idea. His gut feeling was that the people inside the club had been the target, and the building just collateral damage. It all added up to the perfect menu for a renegade's banquet: terror, pain, panic, and death. The bastard would be riding high for days from the dark energy he'd have gotten. Except that one woman's unexpected heroics had shortchanged him by keeping the death toll to zero.

  Kerry Logan was one gutsy woman, and Ranulf hoped that her courage didn't cost her too dearly. If the renegade found her before Sandor did, there'd be hell to pay, so Ranulf would work with the devil himself to save her life. It was the least he could do to reward such bravery.

  He climbed out of his car and headed down the sidewalk to the club. Closing his eyes briefly, he listened for the sound of heartbeats but heard none. He circled the building, studying the details. The fire had started in the front near the door, convincing him that he'd been right about the arsonist's intent. Block the exits and people would die— horribly.

  The stench clogged his mind and senses. The air tasted acrid with the tang of burned human flesh and ashes. It was as if pain was a memory, forever burned into blackened bits and pieces of wood that surrounded him. He'd tasted the savory energy often enough, but only secondhand from a renegade's cache. This was too recent, too direct.

  Clasping the Thor's hammer amulet at his throat, he felt its power thrumming and burning. He forced himself to walk forward until he came full circle around the building. He moved closer to the outer wall, seeing everything and focusing on nothing. His mind roamed freely as he processed the scene on multiple levels: scent, taste, and sound. Echoes of the event still hovered in the air for someone able to hear them.

  Ranulf cocked his head to one side as he traced the path of the back hallway into what had been the dance floor. He closed his eyes and listened to the fading notes of music as they were drowned by a rising crescendo of panic and screams. He only saw faint traces of the events as they'd played out. Sight was the weakest of his senses, but he could hear and he could feel.

  A single column of wood still stood, holding up the remains of the roof. He trailed his fingers along the ebony surface, soaking up the memories held in the charred remains. Heat. Flashing lights. A woman. Not just any woman; Kerry Logan had stood right there. His pulse sped up, keeping time with the driving rhythm left behind by the music.

  Oh, yeah, she was Kyth, with nearly pure blood flowing through her veins. Anything less and her impression wouldn't have remained so strong. He followed her essence, the trail somewhat confusing because she'd crisscrossed the room multiple times last evening. In one place he could feel where she'd knelt and then walked away, burdened with something heavy. Perhaps one of the victims she'd snatched from the licking tongues of fire?

  Now that he'd tasted her scent and her essence in its purest form, the urge to find her and keep her safe intensified. His hands flexed, ready to protect the wo
man he'd only met briefly, the strength of his reaction a surprise. If just her echo affected him this strongly, what would she do to him in person? Damned if he didn't want to find out—and soon.

  As swiftly as the thought crossed his mind, he rejected it. It was Sandor's job to bring the newly discovered Kyth into their society, Ranulf's job to take out the arsonist. Sandor was the light; Ranulf, the dark. The younger Talion wouldn't appreciate any interference in his duty—but maybe that was just too damn bad.

  Ranulf dug out his cell phone and hit Sandor's number on speed dial. It rang half a dozen times.

  "What?" Sandor sounded distracted.

  "I was right. Kerry Logan is definitely Kyth, and close to a pureblood."

  "Have you found her?" There was a definite excitement in Sandor's voice.

  "No, I'm at the dance club. The fire has been out for hours, and I can still feel her here."

  "If she's that strong, how have we missed her all these years?"

  "A good question." To find a Kyth of this strength was a valuable gift to their dwindling race.

  "I'll let Judith know. Thanks for the heads-up. I appreciate it," Sandor said, sounding as if he really meant it.

  Would wonders never cease? Ranulf shook his head as he hung up. After another trip through the ruins looking for a trace of the arsonist, he returned to the club's parking lot. The firebug would've wanted a front-row seat to watch the entertainment. The question was, where? Several buildings were close enough to give him an unobstructed view without the risk of being seen. Ranulf turned slowly, studying the windows staring down at him like so many blind eyes.

  No. It felt wrong to him. Fire was no good unless you could feel its heat and smell the smoke. The arsonist would have needed to be close to ground zero to get the most bang for his buck. This time Ranulf studied the various possible vantage points at ground level. His eyes drifted past an alley but were immediately drawn right back to it.

  He headed straight for it on instinct, and after reaching the mouth of the alley, he stopped and looked back toward the club. Yeah, this felt right.