"What were you talking about on the phone? Who killed themself?" She hesitated, then added, voice lowered. "What's wrong?"
"I'm not sure." He rose and stepped toward the window. Magic burned across his skin, its touch so sharp it felt as if he'd walked into a hornet's nest.
"Kirby, get dressed."
She didn't argue, simply scrambled out of bed and ran for her clothes. He narrowed his gaze, trying to concentrate on the flow of power. It condensed near the window, finding form, finding shape.
Became the biggest damn wolf he'd ever seen.
Six
Kirby froze and stared at the creature that had suddenly appeared before them. It was big, with a shaggy gray coat and wild yellow eyes that were somehow almost human. It looked like a damn wolf. It even snarled like a wolf. But wolves didn't exist in Australia, not outside the confines of zoos, anyway. Maybe this one had escaped, though that didn't explain how it had gotten past the locked door and windows and into their room.
The wolf took a pace forward. It snarled again, teeth gleaming brightly. She reached for the fire.
"Don't," Doyle said softly. "Wait."
"Are you crazy?" But she clenched her fists, holding in check the energy that flowed warmly across her fingers.
He continued to stare at the wolf. After a moment, the animal stopped snarling, but its head was still lowered, and it looked ready to attack.
"You are under a light glamour," Doyle said softly to the wolf. "I can feel its restraints on you."
Kirby frowned. A glamour was some kind of spell. She knew that much from Helen. But why would he think the wolf was under one? And why would he think a wolf would even understand or care?
"If you attack, you will die," he continued. "You know what I am, and you know I am faster and stronger than you."
The wolf didn't move, just continued to stare at Doyle with an odd sort of intelligence in its eyes. It was almost as if it could understand what Doyle was saying, which meant it was a good two steps ahead of her.
"I can open the door and let you leave, or you can die. The choice is yours, wolf."
No one moved—not Doyle, not the wolf, not her. Energy burned across her fists, flickering wild fingers of light across the ceiling. She continued holding her power in check, even though she doubted the sanity of doing so. After several seconds, the wolf sat back on its haunches.
"Wise move," Doyle said and opened the door.
The wolf glanced at her a final time, then padded out.
Doyle locked the door and swung around. "Move. I don't think we have much time before another attack comes."
"How did that thing get in here?" She grabbed a pair of jeans out of her bag and pulled them on. She didn't bother with socks, just slipped on her still damp running shoes over her bare feet.
He'd stripped off his coat and was pulling on his shirt. He had the body of an athlete—a runner. Trim, taut and well-tanned. Very nice, even with the white ring of bandages around his ribs.
He glanced at her, amusement glimmering in his eyes. Heat stole across her cheeks. "Stop reading my thoughts and just answer my damn questions," she snapped.
"I have no idea why I'm catching your thoughts so clearly, so I can't exactly stop it." He put his coat back on and swept up her bag. "And to answer your question, that wolf was sent here by whoever is after you." She frowned. "But sent here how?"
"Magic. You ready to go?"
"Yes." The sooner they got moving, and the sooner she got away from this craziness, the better. "Where are we going?"
'To find a woman named Rachel Grant." He ushered her through the door, then grabbed her arm and walked her down to reception.
Not taking a chance on her running, she thought with amusement. Which she would, if he made one wrong move. "Why are we trying to find this woman?" He hesitated, his gaze considering her for several seconds. Judging her, she thought, and wondered why it suddenly seemed so important she pass his test.
"We believe she's the next in line to be murdered." He opened the reception door and motioned her through.
A chill ran through her. "Have you told the police?"