He opened the door on the far side of the fireplace and entered the darkened room. The earthy smell of wood hung heavy in the austere space as he trampled across the wood shavings and sawdust to the small fridge near the window. Snagging a bottle of water, he gulped down half the contents, his gaze roaming the place.
The room held nothing but a bench, a table with assorted tools, and a few blocks of wood. Several completed sculptures of varying sizes depicting animals and birds took up space on the floor. He didn’t bother with shelves since they all eventually became firewood.
Gulping down the last of the water, he tossed the empty bottle into the trash bin. Despite the thick walls and the fact he was three floors up, voices carried to him from the kitchen, along with feminine laughter.
Since their escape from Tartarus, he’d never joined the warriors at meal times. Didn’t see the point when he didn’t consume solids.
Restlessness crawling through him, he changed into sweats and a t-shirt and swapped his boots for sneakers. He jogged down the narrow side stairs, cut through the rec room to the terrace, and took off in a hard run across the manicured gardens, past the lake, and into the dense evergreens edging the estate—the shadowy canopy of trees taking him back to another dark time…in Tartarus. Gray skies, sweltering heat and endless wastelands—impossible hunger shredding his belly…
Breathing hard, Dagan shut off the dark memories, no good would come from remembering.
At the burn in his calf muscles, he slowed to a stop on the pebbled shores just off the north side of the soaring cliffs bordering the estate, and inhaled deep lungfuls of the cool, briny air. Minuscule waves fell in a gentle swish on the shore. Hedori’s sleek white sailboat moored farther down, bobbed on the calm waters near the boathouse.
As the night skies gave way to splashes of orange and pinks as dawn approached, a low disembodied voice reached him. Dagan?
Kaerys.
His lips flattened. He swiped the sweat from his face with the back of his arm.
He’d called her several days ago, and she’d ignored him. He knew why, too. The last time he fed from her, she’d been all over him, but he’d stopped her, simply wanting to eat and get back on patrol. She’d been furious.
“You would deny me again, after all I’ve done—after I saved you?” she cried. “You broke our betrothal, yet I forgave you. I waited five centuries while you were imprisoned...”
Kaerys always used the guilt card. Her cold-shouldering him wasn’t anything new either. Despite her being a minor goddess of chaos, vengeance would have been a more suited title. She could be callously vindictive when things didn’t go her way and took delight in making him pay. Tied to her as he was by his blood need, he didn’t have many choices.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled wearily.
Dagan?
Not in the mood to talk to Kaerys, he willed the gateway closed. Unfortunately, he’d have to relent soon since he needed her blood to keep his fucked-up DNA working and his power level recharged before his abilities flatlined. In his line of work, he had to be at full strength.
A sudden wave of power, though tamped down, briefly surrounded the island. The archangel had arrived.
Dagan dematerialized and took form near the imposing stone castle covered in ivy. A streak of gray rushed through the open rec room doors, only to skid to a halt on the terrace. Its fat belly dragging on the granite tiles, Echo’s pet crouched, the warning to stay the hell away from him clear in those unblinking amber eyes.
What? Dagan remained where he was, two stairs down, and stared coolly at the feline with the ginger ruff. Think I won’t bite you?
With a plaintive meow, Bob slunk sideways from him and sprinted to the other side of the terrace, disappearing into the bushes to watch Dagan from behind a potted shrub. Since scared cats weren’t on his menu, Dagan jogged up the steps and into the rec room, retrieved his black cigar case from the wet bar, and made his way to the Arc’s study. The French doors were flung wide, and the cool breeze, a mixture of the briny Atlantic Ocean and flowers, drenched the small room.
The leader of the Guardians wasn’t at his desk but outside on the small patio, his inky hair pulled back in a haphazard half-ponytail. Michael sat on the edge of the wooden table, stroking a euphoric Bob.
He looked up, his shattered irises appearing as if prisms of light were glowing from them. “Everything okay with you?”
No, just fucked in every way. “Yeah. Fine.”
The Arc’s eyebrow lifted, but he didn’t ask questions. After all, Michael had seen him at his worst, a monster held in the throes of bloodlust. He hadn’t judged, instead found a way for Dagan to survive without killing again. So, yeah, he owed him big time.
Footsteps echoed. The others appeared moments later.
Aethan leaned against the doorjamb while Blaéz claimed one of the wrought-iron chairs. Týr, the other. Dagan didn’t even glance at him. The enmity between them was too old, and something that could never be put to rights or healed, not with the spilled blood of innocents between them.
“Any repercussions since taking out the skin club?” Michael asked, folding his arms. And Bob let out a disgruntled meow.
Dagan recalled that particular incident from a year ago at Club Illudo—or the Sin Club as it was called. An immortal had been killing human females through autoerotic asphyxiation. Dagan had finally caught the bastard in action before Aethan turned everything to dust inside the club—demons included—with his formidable power of whitefire. The Fallen had been badly burned and close to death, and still he’d threatened Dagan with retribution. He was probably well acquainted with Purgatory by now.
“I checked it out tonight.” Aethan freed his bound hair. “It’s exactly as we left it, just rats and ‘roaches occupying the place now. Can’t believe the shit some of these immortals resort to for ultimate gratification, killing the innocent.”
Dagan’s stomach heaved. He’s been responsible for far, far worse.
Retrieving a cigar from his black case, he lit it and inhaled deeply. Even the sedative smoke couldn’t dull his remorse. He understood if he fed on a human again, he would revert back to that repugnant creature he’d once been, steeped in endless bloodlust. And, this time, he’d suffer the consequences.
He leaned a shoulder against a wooden trellis covered with thick, creeping vine. “The psychic killer’s back,” he said, changing the subject. “Two more bodies tonight, the third a demon, but he’d already been pulled back to the Dark Realm when I got there. A homeless man got caught in the middle of the fracas, suffered a stab wound. Said something about Satan killing people.”
“Yeah, I came across him after I got rid of the bodies—called me the devil,” Aethan added with a wry smile. “Probably caught a flicker of my power.”
“Nah, it’s the hair.” Týr smirked, reaching out to stroke an abandoned Bob. The feline rose and dove onto his lap, settling there with a happy purr.
Snorting, Aethan continued. “The vagrant was still mumbling about Satan using his weapon for revenge, then about someone stealing his worldly goods. The guy reeked like a defunct distillery. He was probably hallucinating from the blood loss. I healed him and sent him off.”
Michael’s brow furrowed. “So, two humans and a demon dead?”
“No.” Dagan blew out a spiral of smoke. “One of the dead was a Fallen.”
“That’s a first. Why would the killer target Fallens now?” Blaéz asked.
Dagan shrugged. Hell, he had no idea what the fucker was up to. “There is something else…” He frowned. The girl’s scent reminded him a lot of the psychic killer’s, but gut instinct said no. And as much as he didn’t want to talk about her, he had a job to do. “While tracking the killer last night, I came across a female. Human. She smelled almost identical to the one at the death site—”
“Rage?” Aethan cut in, his gunmetal grays narrowing. “Think she could be psionic?”
Dagan understood why he asked; his mate wa
s the first of the Watcher’s descendants to rise. Mortals born with vast powers from long-dead angels, something no human should ever possess.
He shook his head. “Not sure about that, though I did pick up a faint psychic impression from her.”
Why else would he react the way he had?
Blaéz smirked but merely said, “I’ve been keeping an eye on this situation with the human authorities. They’re conducting an investigation into the disappearance of those humans from earlier in the year. The female needs to be watched.”
Michael slowly nodded. His brows slanted in a frown as he scratched his whiskered jaw. “If this situation grows too dangerous, it will soon bring notice to us. The Celestial Realm won’t be pleased.” He glanced at Dagan. “Find her and keep an eye on her.”
Dagan’s fingers tightened on his cigar case. Damn the Celt and his idiotic suggestions.
“Why would those snobby assholes be interested in what goes on with our lowly investigation?” Týr asked, Bob forgotten on his lap. With a rumble of displeasure, the cat hopped off and waddled indoors.
A heavy sigh barreled out of the archangel. “Because even though Zarias was the leader of the Watchers, there were some amongst his band of angels who wielded immensely dangerous powers. The M.O. of these killings bears a striking resemblance to Zarias’ second in command, Laius. When the female’s calm, you’ll probably get a false reading. It’s best to have her in a contained place to be certain.”
Calm? Dagan frowned. Hell, she’d been furious when she punched him in the face.
Psychic? A mere whisper of it.
A killer?
Hardly.
Shae pulled on her black boots and laced them, her gaze on the folded piece of paper on the bed. She should be excited about this, right? One step closer to finding her mother.
Except she couldn’t get her mind to focus because of this sense of unsettling disquiet she felt. It had plagued her last night and the entire day while she holed up in the developing studio downtown, as if she should remember something. But the memories continued to elude her.
She rubbed her temples. Harvey had met her in the alley, and he’d put her through the wringer, testing her fighting skills. That she recalled. He’d given her the demon’s name, but something had disturbed him, and he’d bolted out of there, saying something about being in trouble. And then she stopped at the club. So, what was she missing?
Ugh. She huffed out an annoyed breath at hitting a blank, sending the strands of hair dipping into her eyes into disarray.
Her cell rang. She grabbed it from her nightstand. Harvey. “Hey, you okay?”
“I’m good. Sorry I had to bail last night. I just wanted to avoid someone who’d kill me without a second thought if he saw me.”
Her stomach dipped in anxiety. “Who—why?”
A heavy sigh coasted down the line. “Because I got in the way of his job. I had to rescue my idiotic kin, who took to joining a group of blood-demons. He was caught with them while they fed from humans. My kin hadn’t done anything, but regardless, he would have died. There’s no reasoning with those cold Guardian bastards.”
She wiped at her damp brow with the back of her hand, her temperature rising again. “I’m happy you’re safe but don’t ever scare me like that again. Harvey, let me call you back. We can meet up to summon the demon, ‘kay?”
“Sure, later.”
Dropping her cell on the bed, she rose. The room tilted. Dammit, she sat down again. With shaky hands, she snatched the frosty, plastic bottle with the glucose solution from the bedside table, unscrewed the top, and swallowed some of the concentrated mixture. Having to deal with sudden dips in her blood sugar was bothersome as hell.
Sweat beaded on her brow, her mind buzzed, and her heart pounded too fast. She drank more of her ice-cold liquid and inhaled deeply, trying to calm down… Finally, the heat eased a little, as did the hum.
Shae collected the things she needed: cell phone, the folded paper, some cash from the bedside, along with a roll of Dextrose candies, and pushed them into her jacket pocket. Covered for her evening, she headed out, skirting the marble podium in the corridor with the priceless Ming vase, and ran down the stairs.
Uncle Lem had gone on an overnight business trip to Chicago, but he’d be home soon, and she needed to leave before he coaxed her into staying and having dinner. He was the one person she couldn’t say no to. But she had a demon to summon, and it was nearly ten p.m.
In the kitchen, she grabbed a slice of toasted brown bread with cheese and ham from the microwave. As she ate, she dumped the dishes into the dishwasher with her free hand, switched on the machine, then shoved the last bit of her sandwich into her mouth. Still chewing, she hurried into the living room, determined to be gone before Lem came back.
The study door opposite the living room opened. “Shae?”
Aw, crap. She swallowed her food, slapped on a smile, and pivoted. “Uncle Lem, you’re home early.”
“Yes.” His sea-blue gaze twinkled. “I got in a little while ago and came straight here to pick up some papers for the office. I have a late-night conference call.”
In his mid-forties, average height, with short, light brown hair and angular features, Leamas Hale was one of those men who looked good in anything he wore. But he favored suits, and it flattered his lean frame.
She’d known him since she was a little girl. He’d been her father’s best friend. After her dad had died several years ago, he’d been there for both her and her mom. But just thinking of her father, and pain burrowed deeper.
“Shae?” Lem crossed to her, anxiety creasing his brow. “What is it?”
“Nothing.” Before he started with the questions, she asked the one thing guaranteed to stop them. “Did you find her?”
A tinge of pity flashed in his eyes. “She doesn’t want to be found, Shae. If she did, wouldn’t she have contacted you?”
Despite hearing her own thoughts from Lem’s lips, pain still seeped into her. To be responsible for driving her own mother away, perhaps she deserved to be abandoned and alone.
“It doesn’t matter, I want her found. Then she can tell me to my face that she hates me instead of leaving you to do her dirty work—how could she?” she cried, unable to hide her bitterness. “Nine years after Dad died, now she—” Shae pulled in a deep breath and turned away before he could reach for her. She didn’t want comfort, didn’t deserve it. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled.”
“It’s all right.” He awkwardly patted her back. “You are her child, you’re distraught at her sudden departure from your life.”
A child? Harsh laughter escaped her. Right. One she could no longer stand to look at. There was nothing else to be said, was there? Her mother hated her for sending her father to his death.
“Shae, your mother was quite distressed at what happened the night before she left.”
“What?” She spun around to him, feeling as if an iron fist squeezed her chest. “Mom left because of the accident?” And not because her father had been mugged and killed when he stopped to buy her ice cream?
He nodded. “I didn’t want to tell you, but seeing you hurting this way… That evening your laptop exploded, with glass splintering everywhere”—his gaze settled on the scar on her face—“and she hit the wall across the room, it terrified her.”
“But she said…she said it wasn’t my fault.” A whisper of pain. “And I don’t have any new abilities, except for sensing Others. It was a glitch.”
“I know, child. However, before she left, that was what she told me. She couldn’t get over losing your father and then that... I’m sorry.” Lem’s lips twisted in sympathy.
Swallowing hard, Shae slipped her hands into her jacket pocket, her fingers squashing the piece of paper with the demon’s name. No matter. She’d find her and hear for herself. Then she’d close that part of her life. “I have to go. I’ll see you later.”
Instantly, Lem’s expression morphed into a stern one. “I
don’t like you out on the streets alone, Shae.”
He made no bones about the fact he thought her career choice dangerous. Well, it was—not that she’d tell him. She didn’t want Lem worrying himself into an ulcer or worse, a heart attack. He was all she had left.
“I’m not working tonight, Uncle, I’m going to the club.”
Nothing showed on his face, but she sensed his disapproval. Whatever his feelings were toward Ash, she was grateful he kept them to himself. She didn’t have many friends. Many? She stifled back a harsh laugh. It was just Ash and Harvey. After her father’s death, Lem had had her home-schooled, so friends weren’t a priority.
Shae left and made her way to the penthouse elevator. The moment the door closed, she inhaled deeply, squeezed her eyes shut, and struggled to center herself as the cage carried her down in death-defying speed from the eightieth floor. The moment the elevator opened, a little dazed, she stumbled out, reached for a candy in her pocket, and popped the thing into her mouth.
A little steadier, she cut through the elegant foyer with its marble pillars, smiled at the older doorman, and stepped out into the busy street. Harvey wasn’t on duty tonight. Who knew the part-time doorman of The Tower would become her best friend? She’d known him since she moved into the penthouse, when he’d befriended a lonely fifteen-year-old who’d just lost her father.
Her gaze swept the street, searching for a cab. At the sight of a tall, familiar, fair-haired man standing a short distance from her, she hastily hid behind a group of people also waiting for a taxi.
Aza. Her uncle’s right-hand man and business partner was talking to a heavyset demon. A few of Lem’s business associates were Others, but he never invited anyone home. Except Aza. A Fallen.
Sometimes, Shae wondered about her state of mind when she accepted his offer to search for her mother in exchange for a date. Sheesh, she’d been such an idiot and she realized the truth too late as the weeks passed and he didn’t find anything. He just wanted her.
Sure, he was good-looking, but something about him made her uneasy. After three months and a few dates, she’d rescinded the offer and took to avoiding him. Yeah, Harvey had called her crazy for agreeing to the Fallen’s deal.
Guardian Unraveled (Fallen Guardians 3) Page 3