Leopard's Kiss (Shadow Guardians) (Shadows Guardians Book 1)

by Stephanie Rowe

  Leopard’s Kiss

  A Shadow Guardians Novel

  Stephanie Rowe

  SBD Press

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peek: Dark Wolf Rising

  Sneak Peek: Darkness Awakened

  Sneak Peek: Dark Wolf Unbound

  Sneak Peek: Hunt the Darkness

  Books By Stephanie Rowe

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Copyright

  Leopard’s Kiss (a Shadow Guardians novel). Copyright © 2016 by Stephanie Rowe.

  ISBN 10: 1-940968-29-1

  ISBN 13: 978-1-940968-29-2

  Cover design © 2016 by Kelli Ann Morgan, Creative Inspire Services.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, disseminated, or transmitted in any form or by any means or for any use, including recording or any information storage and retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the author and/or the artist. The only exception is short excerpts or the cover image in reviews. Please be a leading force in respecting the right of authors and artists to protect their work. This is a work of fiction. All the names, characters, organizations, places and events portrayed in this novel or on the cover are either products of the author’s or artist’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author or the artist. There are excerpts from other books by the author in the back of the book.

  For Malinda Davis-Diehl, for being a great friend, and for inspiring women everywhere to love themselves unconditionally. The world needs more people like you, Malinda!

  Chapter 1

  The night smelled of a damp spring rain.

  It would soon smell of nothing but death.

  Like all of his nights.

  Slade Cross moved silently down the darkened sidewalk. Each streetlight went dark as he strode beneath it, falling into veiled shadows that cast the upscale Boston residential neighborhood into an ominous haven of doom. He didn’t need to turn his head to know that the residents were instinctively closing their windows as he passed by their brownstone townhouses. They didn’t understand their sudden impulse to protect themselves from what lurked outside their windows, a threat so subtle they couldn’t even grasp it consciously. Slade, however, was aware of every nuance of life near him. He could feel their withdrawal, and he could hear the sudden hiss of fear in their breath. He could taste their quickened pulse, and the sudden shift of oxygen into their arms and legs, subconsciously preparing to fight to the death.

  But tonight they would be spared.

  Tonight, they were not the target.

  After Slade passed by, he could hear the windows being opened again, the occupants having no understanding of their body’s reaction to a threat that they were too civilized to comprehend. In another block and a half, he’d be at his destination. His quarry was there. He knew she was. He could feel her presence, which was growing stronger by the moment. He’d locked onto her essence seven thousand miles away, through the scrap of fabric given to him. It had been easy to track her once he’d locked onto her.

  Always easy.

  They never had a chance to escape him.

  Never.

  She would be dead within minutes of his arrival, and another chunk of change would flood into his bank account. Money for death. Death for money. He was the best, and he made sure to keep it that way.

  A low growl caught his attention, and he glanced to his right. Back in the shadows of the alley was a black dog. It was tall and rangy, with pointed ears and a shaggy coat that suggested it was part wolf, a hybrid that skirted the edge of civilization, unseen by oblivious humans. It raised its lips, baring them in a snarl. Slade stopped to face the dog. For a moment, the two hunters studied each other.

  He went down on one knee and held out his hand.

  The dog didn’t move, its lips curled back to reveal sharp, pointed teeth.

  Slade didn’t move either.

  He simply waited.

  After a moment, the dog’s ears flattened against his head, and he lowered his head and his tail, abandoning his aggressive posture. He darted across the filthy garbage, stepping over the trash littered across the alley, heading right for Slade’s extended hand.

  The moment he reached Slade, he shoved his head against Slade’s palm. His fur was coarse and slick, like porcupine quills that had been worn down by overuse. Slade rubbed his hand over the dog’s head, scratching it behind the ears. The hybrid moved forward, and pressed his head into Slade’s stomach, somehow sensing that Slade was not an ordinary human that he had to avoid.

  “I know,” Slade said softly. The animal was warm beneath Slade’s hand, a living creature that offered no judgment and asked for nothing.

  It was but a sliver of a moment in time, a whisper that would be gone in the next breath. Slade drank it in, his fingers sinking into the thick fur, offering comfort and taking solace in the connection. The dog stayed utterly still, as if it, too, wanted to live in this one moment, before reclaiming its solitary existence.

  He couldn’t take the dog with him, but he knew the dog wouldn’t go with him even if invited. The animal’s solitary, shadowed existence was woven into the fabric of his soul, and Slade sensed his need for freedom. “We’re the same,” he said softly. “You and I. Except that you kill for food, and I kill for money. You win the battle of ethics tonight, my friend.”

  Not just tonight. Every night.

  Something moved in the shadows, and the dog stiffened, jerking his head up to look into the darkness. His body tensed for flight, and Slade shoved his hand into the pocket of his leather trench coat. He found what he was looking for, and pulled out two large dog biscuits. “It’s not much, but it’s all I’ve got left. Left a bunch with a mama a few blocks back.”

  The dog snatched the biscuits out of his hand and took off down the street, his paws moving with silent efficiency on the cobblestones. Slade continued to crouch, pausing to admire the animal. The hybrid moved with the confident elegance of a predator navigating familiar territory, using shadows to escape notice. Slade smiled slightly. “We’re the same,” he repeated softly. So much the same.

  Running swiftly, the dog disappeared almost instantly into the shadowy night, no doubt taking his food to a safe place before stopping to eat it. Slade rose to his feet. Was there such a thing as a truly safe place? Or simply one where you thought you could let your guard down? Those were the places he invaded, the safe rooms, an illusionary oasis in hell where his quarry forgot to pay attention for one fateful moment.

  He flipped his collar up against his neck and turned to resume his hunt when he felt a wave of terror…the kind of terror that made a soul scream with anguish. Chills raced down his spine and he spun back toward the alley, searching the darkness.

  There was no whisper of
movement. No brush of breathing. Just silence. Too much silence. He glanced over his shoulder at the street. He had to keep going. The timing on this job had to be precise. He began to turn away, and then caught another wave of terror. Guilt. Regret.

  Swearing, he spun back toward the alley, striding quickly toward the back of it. He had no time for this. But the guilt, regret, and fear could not be ignored. Very few living souls deserved to feel that kind of pain.

  He’d walked another ten feet when he saw them, pressed into a darkened, dank alcove deep in the alley.

  It was a woman in a short black skirt, a skimpy leather top that didn’t hide her nipples, and seven-inch heels. Her bleached hair was tangled around her shoulders, and her painted face was designed to lure men into opening their wallets in exchange for a few moments of feeling like they mattered. A man had her pressed against the wall, his forearm across her throat, his hand on her breast. He blended into the shadows, his existence almost more of a suggestion than an actual presence.

  He turned his head slightly, his gaze slanting toward Slade. “I paid for this, so back the hell off.”

  Slade ignored him and looked at the woman. She was staring past both men, looking at a blank spot on the opposite wall of the alley. Her expression was stoic and resigned, accepting what she’d taken money for. She made it clear she wasn’t asking to be rescued.

  It wasn’t Slade’s problem, and neither one of them wanted his interference.

  Then he felt her emotions again. Anguish. Guilt. Regret. Fear.

  Shit. He couldn’t ignore that. You want help? He sent the question into her mind.

  She jerked her gaze off the wall and looked at him in shock, clearly startled to hear his voice inside her head, but instantly grasping that was what had just happened. Silently, she shook her head.

  But it was too late. He’d seen her face. He knew she was young. Probably not even eighteen yet.

  Shit. He couldn’t be late. His quarry couldn’t be allowed to have her meeting. It was scheduled to start in five minutes. His instructions were exact: wait until the meeting starts, then kill her before information can be exchanged. Make an example of her. The timing had to be precise, and he couldn’t be late.

  But neither could he leave her here. “Leave her alone,” he said. One warning was all he would give. He didn’t have time to negotiate…plus he didn’t like negotiation. It bored him. Make a decision, then move on. Don’t waste time looking back.

  The man turned his head to look at Slade. “Back off, asshole.” Red light gleamed in his eyes, and Slade swore under his breath. It wasn’t a man. It was a demon, one that Slade couldn’t afford to cross. He wasn’t capable of killing a demon, but if he left it alive, the creature would hunt him down…and anyone who mattered to him. Hell.

  His fingers closed into fists. One of his iron rules that had kept him alive for so long was to never acquire an enemy who was stronger than he was. Not many fell into that category, so it had been an easy rule to implement. Full demons met that standard, and he’d made sure to never, ever be noticed by one, let alone acquire one as an enemy.

  He couldn’t interfere. He couldn’t. But she was a child. Gritting his jaw, he asked the question anyway. “You going to kill her?”

  The woman’s terror jacked up at his question, and her eyes widened.

  The demon’s eyes glowed brighter, a blood-red glow of death and pain. “You would be wise to walk away, scum. I want female flesh now, not male. You have a chance…” He drew out the “sss,” like a snake preparing to strike.

  “Listen, you can have your money back,” she said quickly, reaching for her hot pink purse. “I don’t think—”

  The demon slammed his arm into her neck, cutting off her air. Ignoring her as she clawed at his arm struggling to get free, it sniffed the air. “You smell familiar,” it said to Slade. “Do I know you?”

  Hell. He couldn’t afford to be identified. His face was a mystery, his existence a legend. Anyone who met him soon forgot, but he couldn’t wipe a demon’s memory. His identity would be compromised if he made a move. He kept his gaze on the demon’s face. “Pick another. This is not the place. Not tonight.” He pushed with his voice, trying to command obedience from a creature that followed no rules.

  “It is the place. It is tonight. This is the one.” The demon smiled, its lips stretching into a grotesque grin. “You want to watch? Is that what you want?” It dismissed Slade and turned back to the girl, who was struggling frantically, her efforts useless against the beast. “Watch how it is done,” it whispered to Slade. “It’s nothing like you’ve ever seen.” It opened its mouth, a gaping cavern of fangs and poison.

  Slade struck fast, with lightning speed. His fingers sank into the demon’s hide, his skin burning from the acid as he ripped the demon off her. He threw it into the brick wall, shattering the brick as the woman raced down the alley, screaming for help.

  The demon didn’t move. It lay on the ground, black blood oozing from a cut on its head as it stared at Slade. “No one moves that quickly,” it said thoughtfully, its eyes gleaming with interest. “No one.”

  Slade didn’t answer. He just waited, using himself as a shield while he listened to the woman’s fading footsteps. Find a cab, he ordered her. Get away. He had less than three minutes to kill his quarry. He had to leave. Get a cab now.

  “The Black Swan,” the demon said softly, its gaze boring into Slade. “He is real. The legend walks on two feet and smells like a man.”

  Double hell. He’d just been identified. He latched onto the demon’s mind, hurtling past its shield, plunging deep into its psyche. It screamed in pain as he twisted its memories, scraping its consciousness into a tangled mess, smearing all thoughts of the Black Swan into a muddy hell. It wasn’t complete. It wouldn’t last. But it would give him time.

  He heard a taxi door slam. The woman was safe. The demon’s thoughts had been lacerated into fragments. It was time to go. Slade spun around and sprinted down the alley, vanishing into the night and leaving no trail.

  For now.

  How long would it take before he became the prey of this opponent who was more powerful than he? A day? A week? A month? A century? How long until the demon discovered the one thing that made Slade vulnerable? He thought of his brother, and the world seemed to close down on him.

  He’d made a mistake.

  A massive, horrific mistake that could cost the life of the only person in the world who mattered.

  Shoving the demon out of his mind, Slade focused on his prey as he sprinted down the street. No longer was there time for strolling. He had never failed to complete an assassination, and he wouldn’t now. A broken neon light hung across the doorway of the bar he was headed toward, flashing vomit-colored letters that had once said “The Dungeon,” but now claimed “h D g on.”

  He laughed softly at the idea that there were people in the world who wanted to go to a place with that name. People who liked to play with danger and hell were people who had no idea what it was really like.

  Slade vaulted to the door, glaring at the bouncer before the heavily muscled human could even react. Wisely, the bald-headed glutton turned his head, pretending he hadn’t seen Slade at all. Of course he reacted that way. Everyone did. No one wanted to see him, as if the danger he posed would just go away if they pretended he didn’t exist.

  Shadows were real, even if you didn’t see them.

  Slade shoved open the door and stepped into the bar. It was crowded and dark, with the kind of lighting designed for people who didn’t want to be seen clearly. He scanned quickly, ignoring the laughter, the low hum of conversation, and the camaraderie filling the boisterous Friday night atmosphere.

  He located his target almost immediately. She was in the back right corner, hidden behind several groups of people. He could sense her, but he couldn’t see her yet.

  He didn’t know her name. He never knew names. Names were messy. Names were things that people had, and his targets could never be all
owed to present as people. He identified his targets by touching something they’d owned, something that had mattered to them, something that they’d connected with. To him, his targets were an essence, a scent, an energy signature, a job.

  Ducking a bride trying to do shots off a tattered veil while her girlfriends screamed with laughter, Slade began to weave around people, his internal clock calculating exactly how much time he had until he had to strike. Two minutes and thirty-seven seconds.

  He hadn’t asked why it was so certain that the meeting would start at that exact time. He didn’t care. His job was just to kill her.

  As he neared the corner, he began to discern the shape of a person tucked in the shadows. His focus sharpened, and he began to reach out with his mind—

  “You’ll have a choice.” A woman stepped in front of him, staring at him.

  Slade stopped, startled by her appearance. He wasn’t used to anyone addressing him directly. He was accustomed to eyes sliding past him, not seeing him, not wanting to see him. He couldn’t remember the last time a random woman had stepped in front of him and demanded his attention.

  It wasn’t normal.

  So, he said nothing, studying her carefully. Her auburn hair cascaded almost down to her waist, and her deep blue eyes were haunted and stark. Her black leather pants and sequined pink top showed off a body worth admiring, but he didn’t bother. He never bothered.

  “You get to choose, Slade,” she said.

  She knew his name? He narrowed his eyes. “Choose what?” He didn’t believe in coincidence or accidents, including obscure statements by apparent strangers who knew the name that no one knew. He’d seen too much in his lifetime to disregard anything. He still had over two minutes to take care of his target. He had time to engage her.