Ivan:A Vampire's Thirst(3)By: Marissa Farrar
“Where is she?”
“Not here. She went away. Wanted to get out of London.”
He gave the man a small shake. “Where”
“I don’t know. Somewhere down south. She said she wanted to go somewhere remote, where no one else could find her. The moors, I think she said.”
Ivan frowned, narrowing his eyes. “The moors?”
“Yes, yes. Dartmoor!”
Ivan didn’t know that part of England. The farthest south he’d been was Folkestone to get into France via the Channel Tunnel. Maybe it would do him good to get away from London as well. There wasn’t much here for him, not now Nikolai had found his Bloodmate, and Michaela was gone. He had his businesses in the city, but they’d manage without him for a few days. So much could be done online these days, and he was sure even Devon had WiFi.
“Do you know where she’s staying?”
“No, but she made the arrangements from Deacon’s office.”
Hmm. Perhaps there would be something there that would tell him where she’d gone. He believed the human when he’d said he didn’t know where she was staying. It wasn’t as though he’d been hard to get information out of.
Ivan loosened his hold on the man’s shirt, and he dropped to the ground and scrabbled away.
“Don’t worry about locking up,” Ivan said as he moved towards the still-open doorway. “I’ll see it gets done.” He paused and then added, “Oh, and if you happen to see or speak to Michaela, make sure you don’t mention that I was here.”
He didn’t give a shit one way or the other if the club was locked up or not, but he didn’t want Michaela to know he was stepping on her territory. Perhaps the club would make a good place for squatters—after all, there were enough homeless on London’s streets. The place certainly wouldn’t be opening as a new club any time soon. The Directive had frozen all of Deacon’s assets, including this place. If it had been acquired by ill-gotten gains, the club and everything inside it would be dissolved.
Ivan knew his way through the club’s back corridors. Slipping inside, he navigated them quickly, making his way to what had once been the werewolf Deacon’s office. Electricity was still being run to the place. Ivan’s eyesight was excellent in the dark, but once at the office, he flicked the switch and flooded the space with light. There was no point in working harder than needed.
He moved behind Deacon’s desk, his gaze scouring the wooden surface. He wasn’t sure what he thought he’d find—a printed invoice, perhaps, or a scribbled note with the name of a hotel on it. But most of the contents of the desk, like everything else in the club, had been cleared out.
Ivan let out a growl of frustration. Maybe she didn’t want to be found. That was most likely correct, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him. He wanted to tell her that he had never intended for things to end up as they had. Maybe it wouldn’t help, but he was a selfish creature, ruled by his own desires, and he thought it might stop him turning over the events in his head.
It didn’t look as though he was going to find anything of use here, however.
He was about to leave the office when the phone on the desk caught his eye. The computer had been removed by The Directive, most likely wanting to see if anything on it would help them learn if the trafficking had spread further than just Deacon. So there was a chance she’d used the phone to book where she was going. It was a long shot, but he picked up the handset and hit the redial button. With his hearing, he didn’t need to place the handset to his ear to hear what was being said.
“Good evening, you’re through to the Hare and Hounds Hotel.”
Ivan didn’t respond. Instead, he gently placed the handset back down and allowed a hint of a smile to curl one side of his lips.
He knew where she’d gone.
“What the bloody hell would do something like this?”
Police Constable Charlene Ramsden shook her head as she stood over the body of the mutilated sheep. Its previously white wool was stained pink with blood, so only its rear end resembled anything of the animal’s normal colour.