My sigh was one of frustration, but I knew better than to argue with Azriel—at least when he had that face on. "It doesn't alter the fact that a body—even one that is half energy—can run on empty for only so long."
A fact he knew well enough—his own lack of energy was the reason he'd been unable to heal me lately. Of course, reapers didn't "recharge" by eating or sleeping or any of the other things humans did, but rather by mingling energies—which was the reaper version of sex—with those who possessed a harmonious frequency. Unfortunately for them, such compatibility wasn't widespread, and Azriel's recharge companion had been killed long ago while escorting a soul through the dark portals. The good news was that he could apparently recharge through me—though why he could do this when I wasn't a full-energy being, but rather half werewolf, he refused to say. Just as he'd so far refused to recharge. Up until very recently, he'd been more worried about the threat of assimilation—which was when a reaper became so tuned to a human, their life forces merged and they became as one—than the lowering of his ability to heal me.
All that had changed when I'd almost died after a fight on the astral plane. Because, as I'd already noted, without me, no one could find the keys. My father's blood had been used in the creation of the keys, and only someone of his blood could find them.
Of course, making the decision to recharge and actually doing it were two entirely different things. Especially when I barely had enough energy to function, let alone have sex.
Which was another sad statement about the state of my life.
I punched the security code into the discreet system sitting to the left of the doorframe. The device beeped, and the light flicked from red to green. I opened the door but didn't immediately enter, instead letting the scents within the house flow over me.
The most obvious was the smell of death, although it wasn't particularly strong and it certainly didn't hold the decayed-meat aroma that sometimes accompanied the dead. Underneath that rode less-definable scents. The strongest of these was almost musky but had an edge that somehow seemed . . . alien? It was certainly no smell that I'd ever encountered before, although musk was a common enough scent among shifters.
Was that what we were dealing with, rather than a demon? I had to hope so, if only because I then had more of a chance of perting the search to the Directorate.
The hallway that stretched before us was surprisingly bright and airy and ran the entire length of the house. Several doorways led off it from either side and, down at the very end, double glass sliding doors led out into a rear yard that contained a pool. Like the front yard, both the hallway and the rear yard were meticulous—there didn't appear to be a leaf out of place, and there certainly wasn't even the slightest hint of dust on the richly colored floorboards. Whoever looked after this place—be it Wolfgang or hired help—was one hell of a housekeeper.
I took a cautious step inside, then stopped again, flaring my nostrils to define where the death scent was strongest.
"The body lies in the living area down at the far end of this hall," Azriel said. He was standing so close that his breath tickled the hairs at the nape of my neck.
I eyed the far end of the hall warily. Why, I had no idea. It wasn't like Wolfgang's husked remains would provide any threat. It was just that smell—the oddness of it. "Does his soul remain?"
"No. The death was an ordained one."
This meant that a reaper had been here to escort him to whichever gate he'd been destined for. It probably would have been comforting news to anyone but Hunter. "Does that also mean whatever did this isn't a demon? If this death was meant to be, then surely it can't be an escapee from hell?"
He touched my back and gently propelled me forward. My footsteps echoed on the polished boards, the sound like gunshots in the silence. Azriel was ghostlike.