Murder Game (GhostWalkers #7)(40)
Author: Christine Feehan

He could feel the pressure tugging at her relentlessly. An escaping thread in a larger tapestry she tried desperately to unravel to find the other end. He took a breath, let it out, breathing for both of them as he rested his chin on top of her head.

“I’m sorry I got you into this, babe.” His hands slid up and down her arms in a soothing motion, but he was soothing himself, not her, and he knew it. Damn, emotions were difficult to deal with.

She waved away his apology. “Let’s just go after another one right now. Maybe I can figure out what’s bothering me. There are two different . . .”

Again she trailed off and he got the same impressions in her mind: a chaotic whirl, too much data triggering her alarm buttons, but nothing tangible she could grab with both hands.

Kadan glanced at his watch. “We’ve only got about two hours and then we’ll have company. You’re going to be hitting the headache just about the time they arrive.”

She shrugged off his warning and reached for another of the ivory pieces.

“Damn it, Tansy.” He caught her wrist and all but yanked her to the table’s edge. “Put on the fuc—” He made an effort to stop himself. “Gloves. Just get them on.”

She pulled on the gloves and, without pause, reached for the snake. The figurine was very detailed, the long body coiled and covered in a pattern of scales, the head up, mouth wide open to show curved fangs. Even the eyes seemed to blaze with defiance and a menacing threat. The tongue was long and forked. When her fingers curled around the game piece, the oil poured into her mind, a fast torrent, carrying malice and glee. This one liked to see pain. Where Frog wanted his victims to acknowledge his existence, his power, this one simply fed off the pain of others. And it mattered little to him if his prey were an animal, a child, a woman or man. He just needed the pain and the screams.

The breath slammed out of her lungs as the thick, bloody mud rushed into her mind, and for a moment she couldn’t remember how to breathe properly. There was the terrifying sensation of being dragged under, of gasping, desperate for air, pulling in filthy, oily muck instead, so that it filled every corner of her mind and packed her lungs so solid there was no hope of breathing. She was drowning—drowning—and she wouldn’t be able to get back. It happened too fast; her quarry was too strong.

She felt a mouth move against hers. Feel me, baby. I’m with you. Warm breath pushed into her lungs. She inhaled, took air in to push out some of the thick goo coating her insides. Another breath. He can’t have you. I’ll breathe for both of us.

She could do this! She accepted another stream of air, shuddering with effort, forcing it into her lungs, concentrating on pushing past that first wave of violent energy that threatened to consume her mind. Snake couldn’t have her because she had her own personal guardian angel. Kadan Montague was the strongest man she’d ever known. And he was on her side—not only on it, but at it, breathing in and out, sharing air with her.

She found him there in her mind, and a tiny part of her held tight to him while she allowed the familiar expansion to push her own spirit out, to make room for the beast pouring into her, threatening to devour her.

He was eager for the kill. Couldn’t wait. He wanted them alive, lasting a long time while he hurt them. The places he’d been where he’d discovered appreciation of his talents were long gone, but now he could have fun again. This cool opportunity brought back memories of the tunnel in Vietnam where he’d trapped the two farmers. They’d lasted two days. Glorious fun. Both were babbling when he ended them—and he almost hadn’t. He’d been so tempted to leave their raw, bloody bodies for the rats to find, but he hadn’t, and he’d thought of that ever since. Maybe this time—and he’d set up a camera where no one would find it just so he could go back later and watch them being devoured alive. Such fun. The pleas were starting, growing stronger, although Tansy tried to keep the victims away for just a little longer.

She needed to escape the snake and look for the other one, the master behind the puppets. All powerful killers, tied to strings. He pulled—they danced. The masculine whisper grew stronger. She found the thread, faint but there. The master. She had him now. She was an elite tracker and he wouldn’t escape no matter how subtle he was. She blocked out the surge of oily sludge that was Snake spilling around her and kept on track. This was what—or who—had been eluding her. Elation filled her as she targeted the thread.

A hint of satisfied amusement. No one would ever know. Genius surrounded him. Psychics, all of them, but they didn’t suspect, didn’t have a clue. It was his orchestra, his play, and he was the maestro conducting his performers to play their instruments with such flair. He fed the egos and raked in the cash. Millions, with millions more to be made. Untraceable millions and all for him.

Tansy struggled to stay on the thread. It was so faint, so subtle alongside Snake’s violent need for pain. The victims grew louder, as they always did, demanding she recognize them. See them. Give them justice. She shook her head in an attempt to dislodge the wailing. The accusations. The oily muck swirled with enjoyment, building to a crescendo. Ah, just give me all night with these three. Not as strong as the ones in the tunnel, but I don’t have as long. He would let the rats feast and he’d come back later to see his handiwork and enjoy the entertainment. Screams. Pleading. Begging. Tansy shook her head again, stretching for that subtle thread. The master didn’t kill, so the violence edged him out, but he was there, imprinted in the ivory. Seeing it. Part of it. That subtle weave of influence feeding the killers at each site. She just had to keep pulling at the thread to unravel the mystery.

She knew him now, knew she’d seen this trail before, so light she’d missed it in the first two murder scenes, but he’d been there. How was it that he was with each one? Had he been on the West Coast too? Was he present? Was he . . .

She felt Kadan’s sudden alertness, his warning system roaring in full-blown alarm. Icy fingers of fear crept down her spine. Something moved—something alive in the midst of all the blood, in the midst of all the victims. Something that was bloated and shadowy like a giant spider at the center of a web. She drew back as the shadow turned, and she knew it was as aware of her as she was of it. Terror poured into her as it—he—blinked his eyes and looked at her. For one instant there was a flicker of astonishment followed by grudging respect, almost camaraderie. He wasn’t afraid. She got the impression of smug amusement.