by JL Madore
“Go. To. Hell.”
At the crack of resin, he glanced down. He’d clenched his key-fob into dust. “Been there more than once—gotta say, I’m not a fan. Now, stop stalling and get out of the fucking truck.”
“We can wait here until your officer friend arrives. I mean to feel his badge and call it in for verification before I go anywhere. I want—”
“You’ll want to do what you’re told. I’m not the only one being brusque and rude tonight, cowgirl. Careful it doesn’t get you into trouble.”
He breathed deep and cursed. Courtesy of this song and dance, she now teetered on the precipice of losing it—and not in the good way. He needed to move this along.
“Look, Austin, I’ve had a miserable night and it’s about to get worse. A female was taken from my club. I have to help her, and we’re bound together. Get over your modesty or prudish ideals or whatever this is, because we are going inside. I have shit to tend to.”
“Are you threatenin’ me?” She crossed her arms over her ample chest and the restraints pulled his hand into a position of getting him slapped. Why couldn’t she obey him and shimmy across the seat?
With a curse, Zander leaned in until his forehead almost touched hers. “I’ve got a solid buck-twenty-five on you in the weight department and we’re attached to one another. You are going—whether you like it or not.”
An all-powerful urge to drag her into his lap lit him up. Disobedience was a punishable offense in his world. Zander stared at her bare thighs, pale against the black upholstery. She scissored them tighter and tugged the edge of his vest to cover the highlights. Her embarrassment didn’t mean as much as finding that missing female.
Right. Without another word, he scooped under her legs and dragged her over the console and across the seat. “Put. Me. Down,” she squawked, writhing. “Help! Help me, someone!”
“I’m not kidnapping you,” Zander said, hoping no early morning workers witnessed the display. They passed the few cars left in the staff lot, rounded the dumpster and climbed the three metal steps to the side door. The instant he set her on her feet, she struck. He fended off her blows with one hand, punched the security code in the keypad, and forced her inside the steel door.
Once it clanged shut behind them, he grabbed her shoulders and gave a solid shake. “Calm the fuck down.”
Her knee connected with his inner thigh and he grunted. Thankful his reflexes were sharp, he gave up on reason and thrust his thigh between her legs. Clasping both her wrists he pressed her against the wall and spoke against her ear. “If I wanted to hurt you, I would have. You’re safe. The club is closed. The staff knows what it’s like when life kicks you in the balls. We’ll go in and get you covered up. We’ll talk to the cop and get these cuffs off. We’ll call your husband. We’ll call your priest. We’ll call whoever you want, I swear, but I need to handle things. Stop being so fucking selfish.”
She stilled.
He clamped his jaw and tried to calm. As furious as he was—and he definitely was—her indignant scowl, mixed with the scent of her sorrow, was hands down the sexiest thing he’d ever seen, especially with her body’s warmth tight against his.
He eased off his hold and softened his tone. “You understand that, right? You’re free, but another female is still missing. This is more important than your hurt feelings.”
Tears welled in her eyes but refused to tumble. She blinked and cleared her throat, her color drained. “I just want to go home and make like none of this happened.”
Zander bit his lip and nodded. Austin had lost her hold on life. How infuriating it must be for her, knowing no matter how capable she was, her lack of sight created a vulnerability that held her dependent on him. At least for the moment.
And he’d berated her for it.
Well, shit. He wasn’t sure where the rabbit hole had been, but he’d definitely taken a header into Wonderland.
Austin followed Zander, finding it harder and harder to move. Her legs grew heavy, her mind too full to think any longer. The hum of fluorescent lighting buzzed above as the chill of ceramic tiles soothed her sore, bare feet. Pots clanged and water spray hissed against metal surfaces to the right.
“My god,” a woman said. “How difficult is it for you big, strong men to go out the door and throw garbage bags over the rail and into the dumpster? I tripped—”
“Jules,” Zander said, his voice tired, “is Danel or the cop here?”
“No. Kyrian set up shop with his phone and a bottle of Scotch in VIP if you want him.”
Austin listened to the woman’s voice but saw nothing. No colors. No silhouetted outline. Maybe this new sight only worked on men?
Zander squeezed her hand and they continued walking.
“Hey, Zander,” Jules said. “Is, uh, everything all right? Did you find that woman? Were you able to help her?”
“Not yet.” Zander paused, straightening at Austin’s side. “Listen up, guys, what happened here tonight will stir rumors. Colt’s men and our guys will find the woman. If you hear anyone say anything to the contrary, you remind them it is business as usual. Got it?”
Austin shivered. That woman was lucky Zander had dedicated himself to find her. No one would be searching for her. Deceased Texan parents. Idiot, cheating ex-boyfriend. Other than her clinic patients, no one would even notice her gone. She’d taken a couple weeks of personal time, so not even them. How long would she have stayed there before someone stumbled upon her body? Days? Weeks?
Images flooded her mind: her lying in a sticky blood pool, eyes dead and frozen, or maybe they would have gouged them out, or stored them in a mason jar as a sick prize. She had no idea what people like that did for fun. She did know one thing.
Evil had touched her life.
She rubbed her chest, vaguely aware of people speaking. The sounds around her fritzed in and out like a movie with bad reception. She tried to draw breath.
No air . . . just crushing suffocation.
A door swished open close by. “Zander, you’re back—Shit, you brought her here?”
Another one. Austin watched the emerald green silhouette flare around a slim, athletic man. His lilt resonated inside her with the same powerful draw as Zander’s deep voice. “And why the hell are you still bleeding, my brother?”
Bleeding? Zander’s hurt? He’d been cranky, though she suspected his disposition had nothing to do with injury. Heat flushed her skin. He’d been hurt, and she’d been fighting him at every turn. Had he fought the monsters in that warehouse? Her palms shook. A cold sweat chased away her flush and a violent shudder took her.
“She’s going over.”
Austin couldn’t fight. Couldn’t hold back the bombarding world. With her cheek pressed against Zander’s broad chest, his arms came around her. His hair tickled her cheek, the smell of his shampoo mixed with the strong scent of male.
“You’re all right, cowgirl. I’ve got you.”
She was so tired of being strong, so tired of holding the world at bay. Maybe Zander was strong enough to fend off the world for a bit. Just until her strength returned.
CHAPTER FOUR
Danel dragged a hood-rat, human teenager, through the warren of maze-like corridors that made up what the locals referred to as ‘Hotel California’. The abandoned hotel stood as a derelict reminder of its former glory. The fabric wall covering pooled down over urine stained burgundy carpets, the stench of booze and vomit almost overpowering the growth of mold.
At least once a month the sensors set up throughout this hangout of horrors alerted them that yet another group of fidiot human teenagers was sneaking in for a thrill.
Turning the corner to the lobby, he shoved the barrel of his sawed-off into his thigh holster and released his grip on the kid’s hoody. The mindless boy staggered his baggy-ass past torn couches and overturned tables, to his trembling flock, who—Danel was pleased to see, had wisely obeyed him and remained right where he’d left them—threatening them with the pain of death shou
ld they think to move.
“Next time you want a thrill, try a theme park,” he said, approaching the nifty little bonfire they’d kindled in the center of the lobby floor. “And read the fucking warning signs. You are not welcome here.”
Every entrance sat chained tight and covered in no-trespass signs, graffiti warnings and threats of bodily horror. Still, these imbecilic creatures flocked, with their bolt cutters, vapid girls, and cases of cheap-ass beer, to fire up a baggie of ditch weed and wait for the paranormal experience of their insipid lives.
He wished he could just sit back and let humans reap what they sowed. They imitated the Dark Ones, coveted them, had their bodies surgically altered to resemble them. Alone in places like this, who could blame daemons for exploiting human stupidity. The only question was—would they prefer to be a drink box, a meat suit or a midnight snack?
An improvement, any way he looked at it.
A Barbie-doll wannabe stuffed into a midriff-T sidled forward, eyeing him shitkickers to leather trench to crotch. Nipples peaked. Cheeks flushed. Her pink tongue glossed full lips. Typical. She swayed her double-jointed hips his way, and her lust hit him like a punch to the gut. Humans only saw a Nephilim’s angel side and were drawn to it. If she wasn’t part of such a pathetic race, she’d see his mark—his true warrior appearance. If she had any clue, she wouldn’t be so quick to send out the come-hither signals.
“Are you a ghost hunter or something?” she said, her voice saccharine sweet. “There is something real freaky going on here and you’re like, not even scared.”
“No, the ghosts live here. This is their domain. Tonight I’m an idiot hunter. And look, it’s been a busy night—I caught eight.” Confronted by the dazed looks of half-baked confusion he rolled his eyes and walked away. Why did he even bother?
Oh, right, perpetual servitude.
An undulation of utter darkness hovered in the shadows. To say that the space behind the dilapidated reservation desk ebbed blacker than black didn’t describe it. It was the absence of light—the absorption of it. He nodded to the shapeless mass and the Night Shade took form. Danel recognized him.
Decent spirit. Old. Hungry. He’d encountered his kind before and knew what he needed. With a wave of his hand, Danel locked the lobby doors and leaned up against a lopsided planter. “Up for a little game of quid-pro-quo, my friend?”
The darkness ebbed closer. “What is it you want, Watcher?”
“Intel, if you have it. If and when I ask.”
Orange eyes glowed brighter. “And in return?”
Danel gestured to the flock of mindless sheep bleating quizzically behind him. He always aimed to make friends on both sides of Otherworld lines. Not all Dark were bad. Not all Light were good. Smart to cover the bases. “A fear feed. Eight should satiate you a good long while.”
After considering, the spirit nodded. “Very well, Watcher. You have my vow. Information when asked, if the telling puts neither me nor mine at risk.”
Danel appreciated the end-clause. Smart. “Done deal.”
He chuckled at the confusion blanketing the human youths. They, of course, could only hear one side of the conversation and had clued in that something unpleasant was going down. Well, unpleasant for them. He chuckled again. “Go for it, my friend. Give it all you got.”
With what might have been a smile, the nebulous male transformed into a six-legged beast with several heads and tusks poking out at odd angles. The veil hiding his presence dropped as the thing launched off the counter and his skin burst into flames. An eardrum piercing screech shattered the night.
Eight humans scattered like shrapnel, ricocheting around the space, careening off each other and pulling the locked handles of the main doors. Three girls dropped to the litter-covered floor in a trembling heap of tears, while the baggie-ass kid and his buddies tripped over them before scrambling back to their feet and run some more.
Danel watched teens Ping-Pong around the room and laughed harder. These were the moments, few and far between, that he loved his job. Another Shade and two residual ghosts materialized.
“Go ahead,” he said to the newcomers. “Scares only. No soul-siphoning or possessions or we’ll have a problem.”
The fright night portion of the evening had just burst into an inspired second wave when his phone vibrated on his hip with the third text from Kyrian - 911.
Releasing his hold on the main doors, he let the heavy wooden slabs swing open. Protocol demanded he clean the group’s memories. Screw it, the text said urgent. Worst case scenario, a pack of drunk potheads would spout off ghost stories nobody believed. People would chalk it up to a hallucination manifest from bad weed.
The kids bolted. The smell of fresh urine and the slap of rubber soles to asphalt told him that group wouldn’t be back.
“Sorry to cut your fun short,” he said to the hotel haunters. “I’m on the move.”
“Safe evening, Watcher,” the Shade said, settling beside his friends.
Danel checked his gear, slung his arm through the duffle’s handle, and moved into the humid night. The low rumble of an angry sky had him searching the almost starless night. Not that he could see anything celestial even if it were there. The lights of the city drowned out anything happening in the stratosphere and beyond. He preferred the days before modernization. Days when you could lounge on a village hillside and stare up at the brilliance of constellations.
After re-securing the chains on the front door he thumbed through the contacts on his phone and hit Kyrian’s number. “Yeah . . . Greek, what’s the emergency?”
***
Zander tore his gaze from the Tavern clock on the wall and checked his watch. Nope. Despite what it felt like, those two-hundred-year-old hands still ticked away the approach of day. Six a.m. and he was about to explode.
An auburn-copper sunrise washed the Toronto skyline like an ocean of blood. As the gray of night dissolved, the window of opportunity to catch those responsible for the slaughterhouse kidnappings would slam shut. Twenty minutes more and the cockroaches would scurry down Hell’s darkest crack until nightfall. And in mid-August, the next round of darkness loomed more than fifteen hours away.
“Z, did you hear me? The garrison wants a face-to-face.”
Zander’s head dropped to the back of the couch. How many hours had he been awake? His eyes burned and his head weighed a ton. The silk sheets at the end of the hall called to him, though it might be difficult to convince Austin to slide into bed beside him. He supposed he could have taken her there instead of parking her on the couch when she’d passed out.
She shifted in her sleep, undulating against his side. Her warm breath teased the hair on his neck. His erection throbbed behind his jeans like it had its own heartbeat. He closed his eyes and winced. It had been so long for him. Too long.
“Zander? Are you listening?” Kyrian moved closer and shot him a dry look.
Right, the men wanted a pow-wow.
“They’re worried, my brother. Tanek is MIA and you—”
“And me what?”
Kyrian threw his hands up. “Pick your point of panic. Your side not healing. Your mark glowing. Getting knocked cold.”
Zander shot a sideways glance across the blanket mountain atop the woman. Yeah, he’d been knocked cold. It didn’t have to be said aloud. Ball-shriveling weakness wasn’t something you broadcasted in the Otherworld. Especially if the success of your life’s mission depended on people remaining wary. Fear was their best offense. “You’re a bunch of gossipy old women, the lot of you,” Zander said. “It was an energy overload. End of discussion.”
“Something’s off, Z. We all feel it, so don’t deny it.”
Zander probed the tender flesh not healed on his side. “Where is Danel? Did you fucking tell him to get his ass down here? Did you give him my order—”
“Hey now, piss off the messenger and he might just stab you while you sleep.” Kyrian’s voice held an edge he saved for violent club patrons. Bred for a
ppearances and politics in the highest social circles, the guy was all about emotional restraint.
Until he wasn’t.
“Apologies, adelphos,” Zander said in his brother’s mother tongue. “None of this is your fault.”
Austin moaned against his shoulder. Her eyes fluttered as her consciousness resurfaced from the depths of exhaustion and whatever traumas she suffered.
Kyrian retrieved his phone from hip pocket and slipped off toward the kitchen to give them a little privacy.
Wakey-wakey, sleeping beauty. Welcome back.
“You’re safe, Miss Navarro.”
She arched her back and covered her mouth as she yawned. “How long have I been out?”
He tried not to notice that her breasts weren’t properly contained in the vest. Tried and failed. Miserably. “An hour. I thought the rest would do you good. How are you feeling?”
“I’m uh, tired. Sore. A little dizzy. More myself, though.” She sat up, gathered the blanket’s edge, and covered herself. “Where are we?”
“In my loft above the club.” His neck tingled as he remembered carrying her. After her initial collapse in the kitchen, he’d scooped her up in his arms. She’d roused a bit, nuzzled against him, and then fell asleep, breathing little feminine noises against his neck.
“Is your friend here?” She wrapped her arms around herself. “The detective.”
“He was. I told him what I knew and he called it in and went to the warehouse to join the investigation. He said to call when you wake up and he’d come back. Kyrian is speaking with him now. In the meantime, can I get you anything?”
“No, I’m fine, thanks.” The grimace on her face was subtle but one of her facial cues. A small line appeared between her eyebrows when she was tense, it deepened when angry, and when she hid truths from him, the edges of her lips turned down in an almost imperceptible grimace. Like now.
It wasn’t an all-out lie, but evasion for sure. “What is it?”
Her cheeks flushed. “Well, I need to use the ladies room.”