Altered: A Beyond the Brothel Walls Novel

by Ryans, Rae Z.

  “Fuck me, Dorian.” His fist pounded the wall. “I need you, now.”

  My finger rimmed his entrance, teasing Cain, and attempting to relax his tightened stature. A brow rose at the discovery.

  “Damn, you’re tight.” Either he wasn’t a regular bottom, or he hadn’t allowed anyone the pleasure. I dipped a wet fingertip into his snug ass.

  Every muscle tensed, and he stilled. “Fuck.”

  “Damn it.” My old war resurfaced. My finger withdrew and I fought the sigh. When had Death become such a pussy?

  “What’s wrong?” Cain’s voice and body shook.

  “C’mere, babe.”

  He turned around, but refused to look at me again. I glanced to the street. My knees cracked, shifting my weight back to the balls of my feet, squatting instead of kneeling. Pink cheeks dimpled into a forced smile, but his eyes widened, and his gaze landed on me. I crooked my finger, beckoning him lower, and he crouched down in front of me. Cain swallowed hard.

  “Let’s get a drink, and you can tell me about the lost soul. We don’t have to do this.”

  “But—”

  I held up my hand. “Rain check?”

  He nodded, and I reached for my holsters, guns, and coat, ignoring the throb and complaints from my groin. We righted our clothes, saying nothing more.

  I pulled out another cigarette and offered him one.

  “Nasty habit.”

  I shrugged. They wouldn’t kill me.

  “Thanks, Dorian.”

  “For?”

  He blushed again and tried to hide his shy smile.

  Damn it, what had he done to me? When had I ever cared about another man’s comfort over my own release? The way he had squirmed and begged… “Don’t mention it, babe.”

  Chapter

  Three

  Dorian

  As we moseyed the barren sidewalks, the thought of gripping his hand infiltrated my thoughts. We arrived on my street, after a longer than usual stroll through the dusky cover of gray darkness. Our hands swayed but didn’t touch. Charged air swept through my widened fingers, and the scent of arousal lingered, like a thick perfume. If he had asked or offered, I would have held his hand. How strange that I was thinking about it. Handholding was for relationships.

  My old Victorian sat on the corner, unmoved by the weather or destruction, serving as my office-slash-home. I had converted it, despite Belle’s protests to preserve the historic building, but the ABDA had funded the project. Under normal circumstances, most of my business occurred here. For whatever reason, Belle had met Cain in public. I smelled a rat, and my mind wandered, connecting today’s events.

  “I live on the other side of town,” Cain offered, breaking through my thoughts. “The houses here are a little out of my price range, but they’re beautiful.”

  My stride slowed. My side of town had seen less damage from the quakes, and we bordered a rocky cliff, a port, and the railroad tracks. I watched the Halifax Station from my windows, and the train whistles, foghorns, and crashing waves soothed my soul.

  “How long have you lived over here?” Cain asked.

  “Awhile.” Fear and doubt clouded my mind, except for the rawness he had awakened. Ache I had hidden eons ago when I forbade anything beyond a passing fancy. Not only lust, for that was the way of the Angels and Demons. No, the connection stirred something deeper and made me care. He’d unearthed feelings I reserved for my family and Belle. A sigh teased my lips, and I covered the sound with a forced cough. Lust, like a best friend or the back of my hand, and desire had driven me to his ex all those months ago.

  Seven months, my mind whispered, seven to the day. Hunger stretched and hooked within me for Cain’s touch, his voice, or even his gaze. But did he share the same emotions? Would any of it matter when the real me surfaced? My eyes narrowed, rolling over his face, searching for any indication, but he offered none.

  I opened the metal gate and waved him through. Layers of snow covered the dead grass of a once-lush green lawn. He brushed against me and I gulped.

  Like all matters of the world, the grass had died. And this was where doubt and fear came into play. Even if he could care, everything died and Angels ascended to Heaven. Demons and their ilk went to Hell or Tartarus—a part of my dominion.

  Pain laced into his honey eyes. He strained his neck, eying past me to the street. The train chugged away from the station. He appeared captivated by the billowing steam rising in the dusk. At least we held something in common. We both liked trains and hid our pain as best as we could, yet he couldn’t hide it in his eyes.

  I worked the key into the doorknob. Would Cain run away, screaming when the time came to reveal my truth? His caramel gaze shot to me, and I was thankful they were mere thoughts and not spoken words.

  I opened the front door and pushed the questions from my mind. Neither of us had said much, nor had he offered any information on the lost party. Part of me wondered if one even existed, and the other wished he had sought me out solely for myself.

  “After you,” I whispered, and his slanted eyes met mine. My throat swelled, and saliva flooded my mouth.

  Cain brushed past me again, his contact lingering, and I froze. His electricity grounded my feet; dizziness rattled my head. My hands reached behind me and grasped the doorframe for support as his wet soles squeaked over the hardwood floor. I shook the sensation off and entered the dark foyer, closing the door behind me. The sun had set on the stroll here, and that meant busying myself with lighting the oil lamps. I meandered about and walked into my office. Behind me, Cain’s teeth chattered. He required a fire. How easily I forgot the comforts of others when I didn’t need them.

  “Sit.” I motioned to the large leather chairs.

  Refusing my hospitality, Cain silently shadowed me; I lit the oil lamp on my desk and another over the hearth in silence.

  “You’re not hooked into a line here?” he asked.

  “Solar.” I removed my weapons, hanging them by my office door. Biofuel and steam power were old technologies, brought back after the collapse. Less daylight in the winter, but I liked the softer radiance of the lamps. Yeah, who would guess Death has a romantic streak. At least I had been before, but the old me, no, the old me had turned into a distant, bitter memory.

  The blizzard developing on the horizon stole my attention. Snow thunder rattled the windows. Often, I swore my brother created the violent destruction and blended the beauty of pristine snow. He denied my accusations, of course.

  Sulfur wafted through the air. I glanced to Cain. He knelt by the hearth and prepared the kindling. Thick thighs balanced his slender weight. His match dragged across the bricks and hissed to life before he held the flickering flame against the twisted paper.

  I leaned against my desk and grinned, fingers gripping the wooden edge. He seemed at ease in my home. Cain cast a sideways glance, stretching for more paper, and returned the gesture. Genuine emotion crinkled around his golden eyes.

  Business had slowed in the recent years for extractions, but out of nowhere women, men, and children had disappeared again. I had no solid leads yet. We dealt with smaller matters, mainly local missing persons who moved and decided not to tell their families and other small detective work too. Most of those cases I passed onto Belle, and I usually signed on for the dangerous, undercover missions and extraction gigs, pulling children and women from Garland’s lands with the aid of my brothers-in-arms.

  “What do you know about slaves?” I broke the comfortable silence.

  Cain whispered, “The stolen are forced into slavery or killed. Sometimes both.”

  He faced the fire, but the defeat lacing through his words raised my eyebrows. Lost souls were what we called slaves. The ABDA thought dressing the word up would change the facts, but a rose by any other name was still a damned thorny, blood-sucking, stinky rose. I hated the technical terms. The victims faced a permanent death if their owner wished to snuff out their life. Arcadia and the ABDA didn’t have the numbers to take over
the southern countries, though, and that was where I came into play with my secret weapon: The Council of Seven compromised of the seven Archangels. Combined, we were nearly invisible.

  “And the penalty?”

  A tremor shook the house, and the windows rattled again. A steamer approached, but Cain’s eyes widened and his nails scraped against the sooty hearth. Shocks occurred on occasion if the trains gained too much speed, but I was used to them.

  Whistles blew outside, emitting high-pitched hisses, and Cain’s shoulders stiffened. “Servitude to Hell and eternal damnation in the fiery lakes or Tartarus.”

  “Some would argue Hell is not so different from slavery.” I had lived through the eras of slavery myself, but I never owned one. It wasn’t right.

  Cain’s brows twisted. “How do you free a stolen soul?”

  As if I would reveal my secrets, Rag would have my proverbial head. Ignoring his question, I motioned for Cain to approach my desk, and he eased his body into the leather chair. White knuckles gripped the sides, and his legs trembled, boots tapping the floor.

  “Relax you’re safe here.”

  Cain sucked in a deep breath, and his legs steadied. Tension remained in his body, though. A forced smile touched his lips, and he could not hide the sweaty sheen coating his forehead.

  The ability to interpret situations and people was a gift I’d always had. With Cain, it seemed amplified, as if we were connected. Like a sixth sense almost, feeling his presence before he had entered the bar, when he was near. Having a connection touched me, but it twisted my stomach too. Anyone deserved more than I could offer them. What did I know about relationships or feelings? The damp brow and fidgeting, sharp movements didn’t bother me as much as the fading light in his eyes. I sat behind my desk and flipped to a clean page in my notebook. Did Cain even want a relationship? I pressed the notion aside and asked, “Do you have a name?”

  Brown brows rose and fell. “Lily Westcott. The demons renamed her. I don’t know what, though.”

  Issuing new names wasn’t unheard of among the demonic hordes. Flashy, sexually enticing names created an illusion. Lily sounded too sweet and innocent, which would have suited a virgin.

  “Relative?”

  He nodded.

  “Physical description? Age?”

  “Five foot-three inches, brown hair and eyes, and slight build,” he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a wallet, “I have a photo.”

  “Recent?”

  Cain said, “No.”

  I stared at the tintype-photo and the young girl with her arms around Cain. Just a kid, she couldn’t have been older than fifteen in the photograph. A twinge of jealousy squeezed my heart, despite their status. A dunce could’ve made the connection, even with the different eyes. She had his wavy hair and a sprinkling of freckles across the nose. Another woman stood behind them, but her hair was darker, and she held ferocity in her eyes.

  “Sisters.” I didn’t pose it as a question.

  A tear slid down his cheek.

  I fought the urge to smack myself. Such an asshole. I shook my head. Everything he had done in the alcove…all he had been willing to do…

  “Fuck me.” I hid my face with my hands, and hoped it muffled my voice. Slowly, I released a breath, but bile burned my throat at the truth. He’d used me and insured I had accepted the case. I cracked my neck. Any worry of a relationship ended, but not the unsettling of my gut. I lifted my head from my palms, but said nothing of my outburst; he didn’t question it, though, and I wondered why.

  “What are you? What is Lily?”

  Dimples etched into his pink cheeks. Cain raised his hand. Sparks ignited and grew larger until a ball of purple fire formed, resting in his palm.

  The show of magic told me zilch. But I squirmed in my seat. Illusions and curses were familiar, courtesy of Markos and Fauna’s witches and warlocks, but I didn’t understand them, or their magic. Father had created them, putting my brother and sister in charge. Fauna controlled the witches and warlocks, but Markos charged of a legion of demons. Oftentimes, they’d worked together to tempt the humans.

  A sly smile deepened his dimples, and I tried not to swoon. Cain was easier to ignore when I thought him an incubus. I sighed. Whatever I was feeling inside for him was all me. No spell or trick. It’d make my job harder seeing his sweet face and knowing this was all a game to earn my services.

  “I’ve shown you mine. Now, show me yours. You’re not one of us.”

  The chair groaned as I adjusted myself. “You don’t want to know.”

  Cain glared at me, and his mouth dropped.

  “Trust me.” My hand reached for my hat, but it wasn’t on my head or the peg. Instead, I yanked on the too long locks, but they did nothing to hide my face. “How long’s she been missing?”

  “A month,” he snapped, and looked away. Cain’s bottom lip jutted out and distracted me.

  I had to put him out of my mind and forced myself to look elsewhere. “Why’d it—”

  “You’re the fifth person.”

  Mouthing fifth, I nodded.

  Cain rose and wandered to the large picture window behind my desk. “The first four failed. Two from the ABDA never came back.”

  That didn’t bode well in my uneasy stomach, even if I was immortal.

  “I called the ABDA, too, and a friend gave me this office’s number.” His lips trembled, and his voice softened into a whisper. “You’re my last hope.” Hurt laced his tender tone.

  I couldn’t say no. Not to Cain, or anyone. With a soft spot for rescuing the lost and forgotten, it wasn’t so much because he asked me, but that an innocent girl’s life hung in the shadows. After rescuing Belle, I had vowed never to turn down a case. Not even knowing if he was lying, or holding back from me, would have stopped me from trying.

  “Trackers or Vampires?” I asked through gritted teeth. Both were actually vampires. Trackers, however, worked directly for the ABDA. Vampires, well, they worked for me.

  Cain blinked, as if not understanding me.

  I repeated, “Did you hire trackers or vampires?”

  “Both.”

  Five in a month? Something didn’t add up; a trip to Garland could take a month by train, and the only agents they sent into the Deep South were those on the council and me. Mainly Gabriel and I teamed up. Yet, it was the first I’d heard of his sister by name.

  I jotted notes and made a mental note to contact the vampires in the area, along with the ABDA headquarters, to double check his accusations. No surprise they hadn’t helped, though. A case like his they would’ve referred to me anyway. The extraction division itself was too young. They dealt with politics and kept survivors fed and alive in Sanctuary. I chewed on my pencil as my mind connected all the events and captures, searching for a recent connection.

  “Dorian?” Cain’s fingers slid across the desk and rested over my hand.

  A breath sucked in, and I didn’t know if it was his or mine. His fingertips danced over my skin. My heart beat faster, and I swallowed the pooling saliva. However, the thought of two dead trackers, or vampires, soured my mouth too.

  “Sweets.” Cain snapped his fingers.

  “Right.” I cleared my throat. “I’ve a few associates I can reach out to. They might know more about the vampires and your sisters. I need to know everything, though.” I flicked out fingers. “When you last saw them. What they wore. Scars? Anything that will help me identify them.” I leaned across the desk, narrowing my eyes. “You’re not telling me something, and that something could make or break a case.”

  “Sister,” he corrected, sitting down in his chair. “Just Lily.”

  The other was safe?

  Cain rubbed his neck. “Not Angelica… just Lilith.”

  Death didn’t frighten me, but Belle could die along with anyone else involved. All it took to unravel a plan was one lie or half-truth. Belle wouldn’t last a minute in capture, and she was a tough cookie to crack.

  Uninformed people always
asked how brutal Boric Garland was. He sold out his own family, and there was another rumor. The thought curled and twisted my insides; he had raped and slaughtered his own sister-in-law too. I would love to hunt him down, but a man like that deserved Hell, not purgatory.

  “What else is there, Cain?” A stiff drink to ease my bundled nerves and wash the rumor away that was what. Saying that Garland disgusted me was an understatement.

  Cain’s chair shifted. He rose and strode to the large window behind my desk. How perfect his wide shoulders fit the image, as he stood right where I usually did. My shaky hand reached into my file drawer. Without averting my eyes, my hand withdrew a bottle of whiskey, followed by two glasses. I poured two fingers in each, and offered the liquid fire to Cain.

  “Thanks.” He accepted, but placed the glass on the windowsill, and sighed, his warm breath fogging over the window. “Dorian, I’ll find someone else.”

  I relished in the fire of alcohol sliding down my throat, searing thoughts of Garland away, and considered the man standing in front of me. “I’m the best.”

  A faint smile played at his lips, and confusion rattled my brain. I rubbed my forehead and ran my fingers over the deep lines etching into my skin. He had exposed his true intentions and all but ridiculed me in the process. He’d wanted me to say yes, but he changed his mind? Cain had brought me to my knees with continuous assaults of shy smiles, fluttering lashes, and deep dimples. My tongue itched to taste him again, and my hands burned to trace his soft skin. “Why would you find someone else after all the trouble you’ve gone through?”

  “Thought that was obvious.” Cain sipped his scotch and made a slight face before coughing. The cup tinkered as he placed the glass on my desk, eyes watery.

  My brow rose at his statement. Nothing with Cain teetered on obvious. I stood and leaned against my desk, but kept a short distance.