Theron noticed the glow on Lyra’s hands, but he could tel instantly that the spel wouldn’t be strong or quick enough to protect the area. He moved in behind her, pressing intimately against her back, and placed his hands on top of hers.
Instantaneously, their magic mingled together into a bal of heated light. He could feel it prickle across his hands and up his arms. It was both exhilarating and frightening to experience.
She flinched from his intrusion but didn’t stop mumbling the words of the spel . He could feel her unease with him so near but knew their mixed power would incant the spel faster.
Gritting his teeth, Theron forced his magic from his hands and into Lyra’s.
Years before, he had attempted to mix his magic with another’s. It had had disastrous effects. Effects he stil had nightmares about. That was when he’d been dabbling in black magic. Undisciplined and naive, he’d attempted to do a spel that would give him great power—power to rival his father’s.
But it had gone all wrong and his young, eager apprentice had been hurt. Shaking his head, he pushed the memory from his mind. He couldn’t think about it now.
But this magic felt different. He didn’t experience the same cold dread but rather a feeling of euphoria. He became light-headed and his stomach flipped over but not in fear or revulsion. He almost felt giddy with it.
Final y, after a few more seconds, there was an audible popping sound and a protection bubble formed over the body and crime scene in a ten-foot radius. The rain splattered against it and ran down its invisible domed sides.
Dropping his hands, Theron moved away from Lyra. His skin stil tingled and he rubbed his hands against the sleeves of his jacket. He was uncertain how he felt about her magic stil lingering on him. It wasn’t unpleasant, and that was part of the problem.
“Good work, you two.” Mahina gave them the thumbs-up and went about marking a search grid around the body.
Lyra glanced over her shoulder. “Thanks.” He noticed that she, too, was rubbing her hands against the legs of her pants.
His magic was obviously stil sticking. By the look on her face, she was unnerved about it, as wel .
“You’re welcome.”
He watched her as she moved away from him and started her work. Efficiently, she stepped through the crime scene, taking pictures and col ecting evidence. He admired her ability to do this every day. It was obvious she had the tenacity and the desire for the job. He didn’t think he could do it. Wel , he knew he couldn’t. After working a few cases with Inspector Bel monte, hadn’t Theron told him not to cal again? That he was done helping the police?
So why had he volunteered this time? Watching Lyra gave him his answer. It was because of her. In some way he wanted to impress her, despite her prickly demeanor toward him.
“Theron,” Caine cal ed. The vampire gestured him over to the body. “I’m done here. It’s your turn.”
Cautiously, Theron knelt down on the other side of the body. It was difficult to look at her and not see Lyra lying there, cold and unmoving. Dead and decaying. He had to swal ow the bile rising in his throat. It wouldn’t do anyone any good, if all of sudden he lost his breakfast all over the crime scene. With the victim uncovered, he could see what had been done to her. Symbols had been painted on her torso in red. Blood, he assumed. He recognized some of them from his book. Now he could truly understand why Lyra had been so adamant about using his tome. Why she had resorted to stealing it from him in the first place.
“Are you ready?”
Lifting his gaze from the victim’s body, Theron nodded. He wasn’t ready, not by a long shot. How could anyone be ready for what he had said he would do?
Caine handed him a latex glove.
“I have to touch her skin. It doesn’t work through any type of barrier.”
“I’l have to fingerprint you later for the file.” Caine shoved the glove back into his coat pocket.
“That’s fine.” Taking a deep breath, Theron spread his fingers out and placed them one by one along the girl’s cheekbone.
She was like waxy ice. The urge to pul his hand away itched at his skin. The feel of her flesh made his stomach roil.
To stop from retching, he had to open his mouth to breathe.
Pressing hard, he searched for the residual thread of memory that usual y hung around after death. Spiritual energy was the last thing to leave after death. Sometimes it could even hang around for days or weeks. And in some rare instances forever.
“Getting anything?” Caine asked.
“Nothing yet, but—”
His hand grew colder and his breath came out in puffs of steam. A rush of images peppered his mind like a barrage of bul ets from a machine gun.
Silver frost. White plastic. Streaks of red.