Jax, what have you done now?
So Jax had drunk himself silly, threatening to take his own life. Boo-freaking-hoo. Like I didn’t have enough problems of the soon-to-be-dead kind, and no one saw me whining about them. He was alive. He’d survived a trip to the demon realm. That should be good enough.
If I got there and he wasn’t serious about killing himself and this was just a pity party, I was going to kick his ass.
I felt a sudden rush of anger and vehemence. I moved my legs as fast as they would go without looking like a speed-walker on crack. At the end of the street, a large two-story building spread before me. No lights shone from the windows that lined most of the first floor. It looked like an abandoned department store. A name was stenciled above the front entrance, its washed out, weatherworn letters barely a legible shadow of what it once said. The numbers above the glass doors read 1900—the address Ethan had given me.
What the hell was Jax doing in there? And why would he get drunk and drive all the way out here to kill himself? I’ll admit, it was away from prying eyes and the angel-born community. Still, something about this whole thing felt wrong. Very wrong.
I started trembling as soon as I came towards the building. Adrenaline always did that to me.
I sighed. A pizza, a juicy, cheese dripping home-made pizza, with Italian tomatoes and my gran’s special sauce was waiting for me, but I was here—at some creepy abandoned department store looking for a stupid and drunk Jax. Swell.
“You better be dying,” I grumbled and pulled open one of the glass doors.
The first thing that hit me was how stale the air smelled and how claustrophobic it felt, despite its large size. It was big and barren, leaving me only with the whispers of what it used to be. Burnt out fluorescent light fixtures hung from the high ceiling, their tubular bulbs covered in dust and cobwebs. Light from the setting sun spilled in from the windows, and I knew in a few minutes I’d be left in darkness.
Two naked female manikins greeted me at the door, their plastic skin gleaming softly in the dim light, their too-thin bodies twisted and posed unnaturally with their heads looking over their backs. Manikins were creepy enough with their clothes on. Seeing them naked was so much worse. Yikes.
I walked past more naked manikins—because it was just that kind of day—and made my way forward. There were still the bones of shelves and racks, forming long aisles where there used to be hundreds of clothes hanging on hangers, but now were barren.
All kinds of red flags went up. Something was really off about this place. Why would Jax come here? Part of me wanted to bolt. This was stupid. I shouldn’t be here. Jax wasn’t my problem. But I knew if I left, knowing that something was seriously wrong with Jax and I could have helped, I’d never forgive myself. Hate was a strong emotion, but guilt was worse.
“Jax?” I called and waited, listening. “Ethan?” Still nothing. I took a breath and shouted, “Marco?” Because, let’s face it, it’s fun. Still no answer.
Footprints spotted the heavy, dust-packed floors that had once been polished. And if I had to guess, more than just two people made those. Possibly four. The footprints led to the back of the store, so I followed them.
I crept forward, throwing out my senses and scanning for any familiar, cold, demonic energies. My innate ability to hunt and track demons came from my demon heritage—thanks to dear old Dad. Even then, I didn’t get any traces of demonic energies. The place was clean. As far as I could tell.
The footprints led to a door at the back. The sign EMPLOYEES ONLY was stenciled in black. My pulsed jumped and then settled as I pulled open the door and stepped through. I’d stepped into a back store, with shelves and boxes piled all the way to the top. The room smelled of candles and the faint metallic scent of blood. Voices drifted towards me, talking in hushed, urgent tones.
Jax.
I ran towards the back, following the voices. I couldn’t see them, and they couldn’t see me. My boots were silent on the dust-packed floor as I hurried forward. I held my breath. Ethan thought I could talk Jax out of harming himself. I wasn’t sure I could, but a kick in the ass would.
I stepped past the last row of shelves and my heart gave a thud.
Gathered around a summoning circle made with what looked like fresh blood and about twenty candles were five people, all in their mid-twenties, of various shapes and sizes and both genders. My gaze found Ethan among them. But there was no sign of Jax.
And when I looked past Ethan, horror trickled through me.
A man lay on the ground inside the circle, naked and spread-eagle, most of his innards piled around his chest and legs in a puddle of his own blood. I didn’t have to look very hard to recognize the demon letters that made up my name.
Ethan chortled, low and long, and I suppressed a shiver. “Rowyn, Rowyn, Rowyn. The infamous Hunter,” he said wryly. “So predictable. So weak. And so very stupid.” He bared his teeth at me in a threat thinly disguised as a smile and said, “Got you.”
Crap. Now I was in trouble.
21
Call me crazy, but I’m not a big fan of bullies, especially ones that tricked me and called me stupid and weak.
My eyes moved to Ethan, who was wearing jeans and a black military-style jacket instead of the tailored suits I’d seen him in. His clothes were stained in blood. Though clean at first sight, I could see still see traces of blood on his fingers, like he’d wiped them on his jeans.
My face went slack in surprise. It lasted for a second. Then my face twisted in fury, my eyes narrowing. The pieces were all starting to fit together, but the puzzle wasn’t as simple as I had thought. I’d never seen this coming. Never. I was losing my touch as a Hunter, and I’d walked right into a trap.
Damn it all. I’d been so, so wrong.
The archdemon Lucian had never killed the half-breeds.
Rage fueled me and I glared at Ethan. “You,” I hissed, yanking out my hunting knife. “You did this. You twisted son of a bitch! You killed the half-breeds. Why? What kind of sicko angel-born are you?”
The smile Ethan gave me was nothing like the timid, soft spoken young man I’d come to know, and it terrified me. “Angel-born? Is that what you think?”
I didn’t like the way he said that. I stayed where I was, assessing them. My eyes moved from Ethan to the other four. There were two females and three males, counting Ethan. One of the young men, the largest of the three, had a shaved head with earrings, and I could see some tribal tattoos peeking from the collar of his shirt. His skin was dark and with his high cheekbones, I pegged him as having Mexican ancestry. The other guy was fair, tall, lanky and forgettable. The girls, well, one was blonde and nearly as tall as me, while the other shorter one was a brunette.
They were mostly dressed in casual clothes—jeans and t-shirts under leather jackets—except for the smaller female who wore a tight leather pant ensemble with a leather corset. Yup, the kinky kind.
They were as different as they could be, but they all had two things in common: their eyes sparkled with barely contained wrath, and they all had the same angel-born stink, the lemony, citrus scent of angels. And yet, the more I focused on them, the more I could sense something else. Something not angel-born, but still something I recognized.
Demon.
But how could that be? I looked at the skin on their necks for traces of the archangel sigils, but found none. And then I realized I’d never seen Ethan’s either.
“Who the hell are you people?” I blurted, my eyes resting back on Ethan. A sick feeling was welling in my gut. “Who are you, really?”
“Family, I suppose,” said Ethan, and the others laughed softly like this was some inside joke. He raised his arms and gestured to the others. “I guess you can say we’re your brothers and sisters.”
Worry colored my anger. “Impossible,” I said. “My mother never had—” I hesitated. “Are you saying my father had affairs with different angel-born women?” I added, looking at the others and seeing how different
they were from each other.
“No, silly,” laughed Ethan. He looked me up and down, his gaze lingering on my neck before looking back at my face. “We’re just like you. We’re... Unmarked.”
I laughed bitterly. “I don’t know what you’re smoking, but you should ask for a refund, buddy. All the Unmarked are dead except for me. The Greater Demon Degamon and his pal Vedriel made it so. You’re full of shit, Ethan.”
“Are you denying that we’re angel-born?”
I grimaced. “No. You’ve got their stink, all right.” But I’d sensed something else too. Something dark... something demonic.
Ethan never stopped smiling as he lifted the collar of his shirt and showed me the skin around his neck and collar bone, where the archangel sigils of Michael and Gabriel would be. Nothing. Then he proceeded to lift the sleeves of his shirt all the way to his elbows, where the sigils of the other houses were usually covered in clothing. And again, there was nothing.
“Like I said,” continued Ethan as he pulled down his sleeves. “We’re family.”
My head spun, my heart pounded in my chest, and I swallowed. He was telling the truth. They were Unmarked, just like me.
Demon balls. Now I really wished Tyrius was here with me, at least to unscramble the lies from the truth.
“But how?” I stammered, not sure if I was excited to have others like me, or just really freaked out. “How is it that Degamon missed you? You all reek of that angel-born au de toilet. That’s hard to miss. Trust me.” But then I realized they probably had no idea who Degamon was and what I was talking about.
“Because we weren’t born yet,” said the angel born with the shaved head. “The summoning spell that bound the demon doesn’t affect us.”
Weren’t born yet? And how the hell did they know about the summoning spell that had bound Degamon to Vedriel’s will? Now I was really confused, or those candles weren’t just burning wax.
“Sure you were,” I said slowly, as though speaking to a child, my mouth dry. “You all look like you’re in your twenties at least. Give or take a few years.”
The tall young woman laughed. “She doesn’t know,” she said and gestured mockingly to the other female who shared a private smile with her.
I gave her an equally sour look. “Don’t know what?” Now I was getting pissed. I hadn’t had a really good cat fight in a very long time, and they looked like kitten meat to me. “Spit it out. I don’t have time for this twisted crap.”
Ethan took a step forward and my tension spiked. “We are made from you. From your blood. We all share it. All of us.” He snickered. “Like I said, we’re family.”
My mouth dropped open as I recalled the conversation I’d had with Lisbeth about choosing already pregnant angel-born women to infuse with my blood the dark witch Evanora Crow had stolen from me. But that had been more than seven months ago. Only seven months ago...
I took a shaking breath. “But... but that makes no sense. You can’t be. You’re fully grown people. Even if it were true, how is this even possible? You’d be like... seven-month-old babies.” I raised a brow. “You’re very big for your age.” My gaze flicked back to the other Unmarked. Had the demon energy I’d sensed on them been like my own?
“Dark magic.” Ethan shoved his hands in his pockets, seemingly pleased at the distraught look on my face. “It took lots of dark magic to... help along our birth mothers.”
I paled. “Evanora,” I hissed, knowing she was behind this freak show. Oh, God. This was bad.
“Yes,” said Ethan, looking delighted. “Her magic helped to speed up the process. We were all born within a month of conception. And then, another two months later...”
“You were full-grown freaks,” I guessed. “I think I just puked a little in my mouth.” I frowned. “I should have killed that old witch long ago.”
Ethan licked his lips. “Perhaps. But it’s too late now.” His face darkened, and it was harder to read what I saw there, his features twisting into something ugly. “We have your blood in us, but we also have something you don’t—that you’ll never have.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Slightly larger breasts?”
“We have magic. Dark magic.” Ethan paused to give a more dramatic effect to what he was about to say next. “Power,” he added. “The witch gave us all a little parting gift. A bit of dark magic.”
Pulse racing, I tightened the grip on my knife. Okay there were five of them and one of me, but they were newbies, freshly grown, I could still kick their ass. Magic or not.
“Okay, so you might or might not have magic. Whoop-de-freaking-do,” I mocked and cocked my hip. “I don’t care what you are. It still doesn’t explain why you’d go through the trouble of killing half-breeds? And why did you have to carve my name? Why add me to this freak show?”
When he didn’t answer, I pressed, “There are rules, you know. Which side are you on?” Lisbeth’s, no doubt. But I had to ask.
Ethan looked to the other Unmarked and laughed. “There’s only one side, Rowyn,” he said as his eyes met mine. “The side without half-breeds. When we’re finally rid of them. Half-breeds are a threat to us. To our very existence. And we will rid our world of them.”
I held his gaze, heart thrashing as I saw past the man to the monster. Frightening ideas churned behind his eyes, shining with a promise of violence.
I took a deep breath, my stomach knotting. “You’re insane,” I spat, wishing I could stab him right here right now. “You are all insane.”
“No. We’re just better than you.”
“News flash, dumbass,” I growled, shaking even more now as a hot wave of rage entered my body. “If it’s really my blood you have, you have demon blood.” No point in saying it was archdemon. “You all have demon blood in you. Just like the half-breeds. You’re basically just another version of them—a distant cousin twice removed. You’re killing your own kind.”
“Spoken like a true half-breed lover,” he mocked, and I seriously resisted the urge to spit in his face. “Your love of the half-breeds was always going to be your undoing.”
My jaw tightened. “You are one sick bastard, Ethan.”
“See? That’s exactly why we can’t have you around,” said Ethan, his face in shadow making it look gaunt. “Lisbeth ordered us not to kill you,” he said. “She says she needs you. I just don’t see it. We’re better. Stronger. We’re loyal to the cause.”
“The cause?” I laughed, but inside I was raging. “What is this? A revolution? Listen to yourselves. This is crazy. Do yourselves a favor and stop this. It’s not going to end well.” Because you’ll have my knife in your throat.
Ethan pulled a blade from a pocket inside his jacket, the silver blade and handle glinting like it was illuminated from the inside. Damn. A soul blade. He caught me looking and gave me a smile. “What better way to get rid of you than to pin these murders on you—and then kill you because it’ll be fun.”
My rage came swarming up again. “Not if I kill you first, you degenerate clone douche.”
Ethan paused, eyes fixed to mine. “It’s time you take the blame for what you’ve done, Rowyn.” He pointed to the dead half-breed who could have been another vampire, witch, or werewolf for all I knew.
I shifted, lips parted as I looked at him. “You don’t scare me, you seven-month-old man-baby. You’ll be back in diapers when I’m done with you.” Yes, they had the numbers, but I had the experience.
Ethan’s smile was terrifying. “Oh... but you should be scared. Really scared.” At that, the Unmarked all laughed, Ethan laughing the loudest and hardest of them all.
Yup. I was in knee-deep in doo-doo. My gaze darted to the two guys as soul blades appeared in their hands. The women lowered themselves into fighting stances, the glint from their soul blades flickering with the savage sparks in their eyes.
So, this was a fight, eh? I loved fights. Especially with bullies.
I grinned. “Bring it on, bitches.”
And then they did.
They were fast. Damn fast, and a hell of a lot faster than me, admittedly.
I’d barely had time to block Ethan’s strike as he came at me without pause. I caught his blade with my hunting knife, blade on blade, just as I saw the bald guy coming at me from the left.
I kicked out my leg. It connected, pain reverberating all the way up my thigh. I knew I’d hit Ethan hard. He yelped and stumbled back, and I dropped to the floor, rolling as I avoided the bald guy’s blade skewering me.
As I flipped to my feet, the surprise on the bald dude’s face filled me with confidence. “Didn’t see that coming. Did you?”
The odds were that they were going to kick my ass, but I almost always beat the odds. I was ticked. Pissed that they wanted to kill me, yes, but angrier that they wanted to blame the half-breeds’ deaths on me. Hell no.
From my line of sight, I spotted the two females waiting in the shadows, like a wrestling tag team anticipating their turn for a piece of me.
Bald dude didn’t wait. He came at me swinging with a kind of vampire-speed that was truly impressive. But his swings were fueled with anger and emotion, not with skill or precision. I’d trained for years... these guys were newbies. Fledglings, as Tyrius would call them. God, I missed that cat.
Baldy came with a burst of speed. But I slipped aside. His strike went wide before he realized his mistake. I caught him by an ankle, twisted, and sent him stumbling away just as the lanky, pale, guy came at me.
He struck more proficiently than his brother, his soul blade whistling as it cut through the air aimed at my chest. I had a split-second to whirl before it struck. That almost cut me.
I jumped back. “Why, you sneaky son of a bitch,” I hurled at him, shouting. I faked a jab and drove a front kick into his groin—never forget the groin.
Dark Gift Page 17