Free Laws of the Blood 2: Partners by Susan Sizemore Page B

him mercilessly as he drove the streets, looking for the creature he was going to kill.
    He thought that if he took a few more drinks, the voice would go away. But if he took those drinks, he’d lose his edge, and the voice that told him he was a coward would still be there when he sobered up.
    You panicked. You ran. Coward.
    “Did you see that thing?” Haven was looking at the reflection of his own eyes in the rearview mirror when he asked the question. He reached for the bottle, then thought better of it.
    The anger inside him raged on as a stoplight changed from red to green. Haven drove the Jeep too fast as usual down the steep street. Used to driving rugged mountain roads, he didn’t pay much attention to Seattle’s civilized streets. He did notice the lack of traffic on a Thursday evening and put it down to good luck, for once. He’d gotten a call from Santini. He was on his way to meet him. He hoped the biker had some action lined up for them, because Haven really needed to kill something, preferably supernatural, if only to shut up his own carping inner demon.
    He wasn’t a coward. He’d shot the thing, and it stillkept coming. He’d never seen anything like it before. He thought it had come to the clearing to feed on the dead woman and figured him for fresh meat. There had been no use hanging around waiting to get torn to shreds when you could live to fight another day.
    That made a lot of sense, but it didn’t stop Haven from calling himself a coward. He was glad Santini had telephoned him. Haven needed someone to talk to. That wasn’t easy for him to admit. He always firmly maintained that he didn’t need human contact, but after what he’d seen in the woods . . .
    “Screw it.” He reached for the bottle at the next stoplight. He took a long pull and decided that maybe all he really needed was to get laid.

Chapter 8
     
    C HAR DID NOT know where she was. She did know two things with certainty. One, that the night was colder than it ought to be on some streets, made no sense. The second was the identity of the woman standing behind her.
    Char stopped hugging herself in the effort to get warm and turned to face Della. Krystalle’s companion had changed a lot in the last few years. Blue eyes looked out of an unlined, dark-skinned face, but her heavy black hair was now peppered with white and cut buzz short. The mortal woman who had been slender to the point of anorexia ten years ago was now rounded and curved, gone from elegant to earthy. Her age showed in her eyes more than in the gray-streaked hair. Della wouldn’t start to show mortal age for a long, long time. That was one of the benefits of being a long-time companion, even a lost and abandoned one. Della carried Krystalle’s blood in her, still enhancing the psychic gifts she was born with.
    Della held herself with a wary pride where Char expected haughty disdain as they looked into each other’s eyes. Char had lied when she’d told Helene Bourbon thatshe’d only heard of Della. For a while Krystalle and Jimmy had shared a nest. Krystalle had a roving eye and hadn’t tried too hard to control her companion. Della had been jealous and had made life hell for everybody in the nest. Char hadn’t lived in the nest, but she’d been more than delighted when Jimmy decided to get his own place and had her come live with him.
    “You’re thinking about the old soap opera,” Della said after a few tense moments. There was a smile on her face but not in her extraordinary eyes. She waved her hands. “Water under the bridge, Hunter.” She gestured toward an open doorway. “Come in out of the cold.”
    How did Della know she was an Enforcer? Char wasn’t exactly wearing a sign.
    “I know too much of everything.” Della tapped her forehead and laughed softly as Char looked around. “Street’s empty of everyone but you and me. Come inside and have a hot meal.” She gestured again. “You look like you need it.” She laughed. It was a rich,