The Vow (Black Arrowhead #1) - Dannika Dark Page 0,97

to a tiny bathroom on the left, a coat closet straight ahead, and a bedroom to the right. Since the bedroom didn’t have a window, I switched on the overhead light.

Crow lived in a dump. The headboard rested against the left wall, only a blanket and a pillow covering the stained mattress. Ashtrays were on the floor beside it, ashes scattered everywhere. To the immediate right of the door was a dresser with arrowheads, lighters, pieces of jewelry, and an empty beer can on top. I opened a drawer and found several stacks of large bills.

Why would he choose to live like this if he had money?

The cedar chest at the end of the bed seemed like an odd thing for a man to own, so I lifted the lid and peered inside. “Purses?”

I pulled three out. Each was filled with items like lipstick, pens, wallets, and keys. If I’d had an inkling about it before, I was now certain that Crow had to be the serial killer. What else would he be doing with all these personal items? I thought about the covetous look in his eyes when he admired my pendant. Even though he was an owl, it seemed that Crow couldn’t be a more fitting name for him. It perfectly described his thieving nature, as crows were bandits and loved stealing.

No pictures were on the walls—no sign that the purses might have belonged to a mate or a girlfriend, as he’d implied. It must have been a ruse to make women feel more comfortable around him. I wondered if he’d slept with any of the victims and gotten a kick out of hunting them afterward.

I need to get out of here.

I switched off the light and hurried through the living room. Before I made it to the front door, I skidded to a stop. A wooden bow was propped against the couch, and the quiver beside it looked like the same kind that Tak owned. In fact, other tribal possessions were lying around the house—a small dreamcatcher, a doll, a necklace.

My eyes narrowed. “That asshole!”

I grabbed the necklace for a closer look. It was the turquoise pendant that I’d given to Koi’s mother. He’d flown overhead while they were at the funeral and pilfered it! He must have sat in the treetops, spying on them all the time. No wonder Tak was an easy target to pin the murders on. Crow could see his comings and goings and use that information to time when he decided to kill his next victim. I put the necklace in my jeans pocket and traded my knife for the bow and arrows.

I wondered how well Crow could see in the dark without a glowing moon in the sky. After a quick glance outside, I tiptoed toward the car. That stupid light pole felt like a big blinking arrow pointing right at me.

Torn, I glanced at the private road just ahead. Eventually he was going to circle back. I wondered how far I could get. Even though my wolf could eat that owl for dinner, I wasn’t about to fall into his trap of hunter and prey. I needed to outwit Crow and do what he least expected—turn the tables and hunt him instead.

Lakota barreled down the road until he reached the turnoff to Crow’s property. The truck tilted when he made a sharp right turn, a cloud of dust kicking up behind the rear tires as it skidded onto the dirt road.

His wolf thrashed and snarled beneath his skin, hungry for blood. He’d never felt so overwhelmed with the desire to kill—the need to protect what was his.

Lakota shut off the headlights and forced himself to slow down so that he didn’t announce his arrival to Crow.

Then again, what the hell was that joker doing if not sending out an open invitation to come find him? Kidnapping Mel and then waving at the cashier as he left the scene of the crime—he wanted Lakota to follow him, but he also wanted enough lead time to allow him to do whatever it was that he had planned. Perhaps that was exactly what had happened with Koi and his girl, and with that in mind, Lakota needed to think rationally and not make any hasty decisions.

He slammed on the brakes and killed the engine. When the headlights shut off, the night cloaked him in darkness. Lakota emerged from the truck and headed up the dirt road, his footsteps masked by the chirping crickets