Nausea roiled in her gut and she stumbled back against the corridor wall.
She slammed her eyes closed and thought of her hotel.
The dull noise of the club faded, replaced by the hum of late-night traffic. When she opened her eyes, she found herself in the middle of her hotel room. Weariness hit. The building was in Old Town, and traveling always shattered her. She used to call it teleporting until … a friend offered her a different name for it.
Afraid but needing to know, she moved slowly toward the bathroom, careful not to touch anything with her bloodied hands.
She stared at her reflection in the mirror above the sink.
Blood splattered her face, the globs of wet dark red in her hair turning those strands a muddy brown. Her clothes were stained with it.
Clearly, she’d inflicted some serious damage on the vamp before she dusted him.
She’d obviously torn him apart.
She couldn’t remember.
How could she not remember this level of violence?
She lunged for the toilet just in time.
Shuddering, shaking, she hovered over the bowl for a while before she could gather the courage to stand and look at herself again.
What she’d seen those vamps do in her vision was traumatizing. They’d inflicted terror and pain beyond imagination.
But what had she done in return?
Tears slipped down her cheeks.
Who was she?
With a swipe of her hand, the tingle of magic, the blood was gone. Her clothes gone, replaced with clean ones. It was like it had never happened.
But as she peered into the mirror with the same aquamarine eyes as his, she still saw the blood in her hair, even though it was gone.
Who was she?
She didn’t know anymore.
All she knew was that she wasn’t the woman she used to be.
Raising her hand, she gave her wrist a flick and magic transformed her hair color.
She was now a brunette.
You couldn’t see blood spatter on dark hair, could you?
A chill shuddered through her at the wicked thought.
1
February
Moscow, Russia
It had been many years, but he still remembered winter in Japan during his mortal life. The icy burn of a brittle wind on his cheeks, the heavy wet of snowfall soaking his clothes, and the tingling sensation from the relief of fire from the hearth they called an irori.
Now Kiyo didn’t feel the cold as he had when he was human.
Then again, he’d never experienced a Moscow winter.
For the first time in a long time, he felt the chill. Not as the humans did, but still … the icy dampness tried to invade him as he stalked through the well-lit darkness of the Kitay-gorod district.
To blend with the humans he wore a winter coat and scarf, forgoing a hat and gloves. His feet were sure and steady on the paved ground of Manezhnaya Square. Although the square was mostly clear of snow, small patches of ice and muddy rocks of frozen, dirty water lingered here and there.
As he neared the hotel his quarry resided within, Kiyo slowed.
His timing couldn’t have been more perfect.
The tall brunette stepped outside the entrance of the Four Seasons and forged out into the subzero temperatures without a glance left or right.
He narrowed his eyes on her short dress, her legs bare and uncovered except for her calves, protected by a pair of knee-high wedged boots. She turned left, walking with a steady grace, uncaring of the weather. Her conspicuous behavior knew no bounds, apparently. Humans shook their heads at her supposed stupidity as she walked through Moscow without a coat.
They didn’t realize that as fae, although she felt the freezing temperature, it didn’t affect her.
Following, Kiyo tried to keep enough distance between them that she wouldn’t sense him. He’d been told that her kind had a radar for fellow supernaturals.
Impatience niggled beneath his skin. He wanted this part of the job over with.
At first, he thought she was heading north, but then she took another left, leading them east. He had a sneaking suspicion regarding her destination. As difficult as it had been these past few weeks to keep up with her, reports placed Niamh Farren at nightclubs throughout eastern Europe.
Either the fae-borne woman liked to party after playing Superwoman, or she was still playing Superwoman at these bars. As cliché as it was, vampires loved a dark nightclub.
Kiyo knew Niamh was rescuing people from bus crashes and burning buildings, but if she was also playing dark hunter, she was in more trouble than he’d thought. And according to his employer, Fionn Mór, Niamh was already buried under a pile of enemies.