by Brenda Trim
CHAPTER THREE
Cranking off the shower, Santi wondered what he could do to get some more water pressure in the place. He would’ve thought it would be better with as much as he’d paid for the loft. He’d stood under the fine mist for thirty minutes trying to rinse the soapy suds away. No, he preferred a heavy downpour to beat the shit out of his body, cleansing his soul along with his flesh.
Wrapping a towel around his waist, Santiago exited the bathroom and crossed in front of the big picture window. It was the only window in fact, and looked out over the city he loved.
The atmosphere was vastly different in this part of Seattle. Zeum was located on the outskirts of the city, in the suburbs, where they were surrounded by trees and nature. Steel, glass, and concrete surrounded him now and it was slowly driving his wolf crazy. He'd have to go out to the Eastside to let his wolf run soon.
Turning away, he was saddened by how the cold from outside had seeped into and permeated his new home. Even with the noise of traffic, and humans surrounding him, he'd never felt more isolated. The few furnishings he had still smelled like the factory they'd come from, rather than the rich scent of history he was used to.
Despite the fact that he'd chosen dark leathers and dark woods like he had in his rooms at Zeum, it was very different. He'd never realized the difference between the antique furniture that graced Zeum as opposed to brand-new items. From a shifter's perspective, antiques carried stories and love from previous owners, which had its own scent. It was an almost intangible quality he'd never really paid attention to before.
He'd hoped that choosing the large one-room floor plan would help the feeling of isolation. Having his bed ten feet from his sofa and TV was supposed to make him breathe easier, not reinforce the fact that he was alone. Supernaturals weren't meant to live alone. In fact, he didn't know many who lived alone and survived long. He tried to shake off the discomfort as he entered his closet and threw some clothes on.
It was a vast improvement from the hotel he'd been forced to live in for weeks, but it didn't really feel like home. Sighing, he grabbed his boots and weapons and sat on the edge of his bed, lost in thought while he laced up his shitkickers. His stomach rumbled, reminding him he had skipped lunch. It was a bitch catching up at work, and he hadn’t stopped from the minute he sat down at his desk.
The sound of his boots hitting the floor echoed off the brick walls and rafters. The noise was like a staccato of gunfire and felt as ominous as he took the dozen steps to the fridge. Was it the lack of walls in the place that made it feel so empty, or was it the fact that he was all alone? For fuck's sake, his best friend would hardly look at him. And then there was the sexy female plaguing his mind.
Opening the fridge door, he realized he hadn't spent the time to really stock his place with food yet. It wasn't something he'd ever had to worry about. Someone else handled that at Zeum. Looked like he'd be grabbing a bite to eat before he hit the streets for patrol.
He'd put off his duties too long and needed to be out there protecting others from things that went bump in the night. He might not be an official Dark Warrior, but that didn’t mean he was any less dedicated or committed to the cause.
He tucked a titanium sgian dubh into his boot and another at the base of his spine then pulled on his leather jacket before heading out the door. He wondered if Nate would tell him where they ordered their leathers. He'd gone down to a human store and picked up some black leather pants, but they were stiff and uncomfortable. Until they were broke in, it would be a challenge to fight in the pants.
Thinking of his leather pants made him think of Tori and the tight clothing she had been wearing the night before. That female was so fucking sexy, but she didn't know it, which made her even more attractive. Her long black hair was the softest silk, and her thunderstorm scent was strongest at the crook of her neck and shoulder. He hadn't intended on kissing her, but once he'd started he couldn't stop.
If she hadn't pulled free of his arms, he'd have taken her on the dance floor regardless of the humans that surrounded them. Never before in his life had he lost all sense of reality. It pissed him off that he had been so entranced by a female. She could have led him into a death trap and he'd have gone happily just to follow behind that fine ass of hers.
Worst part was, he was helpless to tell his traitorous body any different, as was evidenced by the steel rod being strangled by his zipper. It would serve his cock right if it was permanently damaged.
He was halfway down the hall when he remembered he needed to go back and lock the front door. Cursing himself all kinds a fool, he hurried back and locked the dead bolt. Not only was he completely distracted by thoughts of the alluring Valkyrie, but he couldn't recall the last time he had to lock the door to his home. It wasn't an issue living with the Vampire King and his family. They were in a home surrounded by a twenty-foot stone wall, as well as numerous magical spells that would repel humans and confuse supernaturals. Unless invited, no one reached the front doors of Zeum.
Stepping into the brisk spring evening, he loped down to the sandwich shop and picked up a large Reuben to go. Taking a huge bite, he chewed and walked while his mind wandered back to Tori. It bothered him that such an attractive female killed for a living. Not that it should surprise him.
The Valkyrie were a vicious bunch of females who were known assassins. In fact, it was expected for every Valkyrie to take up the sword, so to speak. That image didn't fit Tori in his mind. Why the fuck he would think something like that he had no idea, but it just didn’t suit her.
He didn't really know the female well enough to say that her personality was softer, but his instinct told him she was. A thought niggled at the edge of his awareness, but before he could tease it out, he caught the scent of skirm. There was no mistaking the stench of the archdemon minions. He had always wondered if it was the venom the archdemon injected when he changed the human males that caused the stench. Whatever it was made Santi want to hurl.
He tossed the remains of his sandwich. The hunt was on. His blood hummed, his breathing evened out, and a smile spread across his face. He had missed this. It was good to get back to his roots. For almost half his life he'd been with the Dark Warriors. He had taken to hunting and fighting skirm like a duck to water back then, and had known immediately that he was meant to be a warrior.
He'd been a farmer before Zander found him, but had never felt like that was where he'd belonged. He had always believed that was because of his asshole father, but in light of what had happened between him and the warriors he was now questioning everything. Maybe he didn’t belong anywhere.
Losing the scent when he passed some clubs, he headed in the direction of Capitol Hill, hoping to capture the scent again. The most popular hunting ground was in and around Pioneer Square, with its high homeless population, but second to that was the suburbs. Skirm generally hunted around areas that provided some privacy for the feed. They could drag a homeless person into an alley or an unsuspecting victim to their backyard.
Passing his favorite Ethiopian restaurant, he caught the smell again. Sensing they were close, he kicked into a run but then halted in the middle of a path at Greenlake. On the other side of the trees, Orlando, Gerrick, and Rhys were fighting four skirm. At first the sight pissed him off, but as he continued watching he missed the camaraderie of a unit.
The crushed granite trail was narrow and splattered with black and red blood. The thick green grass bordering the path had been splattered as well, obvious from the brown spots left behind.
Skirm blood was a toxic substance that killed plants of all kinds. And then there was what skirm saliva and bites did to the body. You could play dot-to-dot with the multiple scars Santiago had on his body, but luckily most faded over time. Skirm were unnatural, destructive creatures that left devastation in their wake.
There was no communication as Gerrick slashed out and caught one skirm in the arm, making him stumble into Orlando, who laughed and shoved him out of his way while
keeping track of his own enemy. Orlando plunged his small blade into the chest of one combatant and turned to face another before the flash of fire turned the first to ash.
"I know I'm sexy, but I'm afraid I have to turn you down," Rhys quipped to the skirm that had wrapped its arms around Rhys, pinning his arms at his sides. Santiago jumped to go to his aid, but ultimately stayed put, knowing they wouldn't welcome his help. And wasn't that a slap in the face after giving the Dark Warriors two hundred and fifty years.
"I'm a mated man now," Rhys continued taunting the male, "and my angel is a possessive little thing. You don't want her to send her brothers after you. They're mean motherfuckers that’ll kill your ass with a sword of light."
"Fucking Rhys," Santiago breathed out of habit, then cursed himself as three heads swiveled his way. In the moment of distraction, the skirm sunk his teeth into the flesh of Rhys's shoulder, thrashing his head from side to side.
Rhys howled and Orlando and Gerrick kicked back into gear. Santiago watched in awe as Rhys tore free and battered the skirm until he fell to the ground. Lying on the ground whimpering, the terrified skirm looked into kaleidoscopic eyes that turned pitch-black with anger as Rhys brandished his sword.
Silver glinted in the moonlight and flashed as it arced downward, sinking into flesh. The fire was instantly followed by the skirm turning to ash. For a split second the male looked like a stone statue huddled on the ground with his arms out and a grimace on his face. The breeze caught the figure, blowing ash into Rhys's face.
Coughing, Rhys brushed off his face then checked on Orlando and Gerrick. He didn't need to worry, Santiago thought, both males had their shit under control and had taken out their enemies in the next breath. Gerrick dusted off his black shirt as he approached Rhys.
"Let me see," Gerrick demanded his longtime friend and partner. Santiago missed his partner, who was watching the pair with a peculiar look on his face, making Santiago wonder if Orlando missed him as much.
Gerrick lifted the fabric of Rhys's shirt, revealing a deep wound. There was a chunk of flesh hanging loose. The skirm had managed to inflict some damage because of Santi’s distraction. Guilt washed over him, making him momentarily flush. He was a powerful warrior just like these males and there was no reason to play stalker in the bushes. He had enemies to hunt down.
As Santi walked away, Gerrick's voice drifted on the wind. "Good fucking thing Jace has that antidote to the venom. We can't afford for you to be out of commission with us being down a man. And before you bitch, you can have Illianna kiss it and make it all better. But after that, we need to get back out here."
Santiago contemplated all the things that had happened over the past month as he walked away. He had missed many momentous events during his absence from Zeum, and wished more than anything he had been a part of Rhys’s mating ceremony, as well as the birth of Zander and Elsie’s child. Despite his anger over how he was being treated, he was happy for both couples.
He tried to imagine Zander's offspring and which of them she might take after. When he'd been shopping for sheets and blankets, he'd seen a large stuffed wolf that he wanted to send to baby Isobel. Wracking his brain about where he'd seen it, he was distracted by a sweet pungent zing in his nostrils, earthy and wet.
His body instantly tensed, his cock hardened in his pants, and an image of Tori moaning as she surrendered to him entered his mind. That female affected him even when she wasn't around.
There must be a storm brewing and his sensitive shifter nose was picking it up. His ability to affect the weather made him more aware than most of anything related to a change in the environment.
Cocking his head to the side, he used his internal barometer to check if he was sensing the stirrings of an actual storm, or something else. No wind greeted him and the ozone wasn't any different than normal for Seattle. It had to be Tori. She had been through there recently, and immediately his feet were in motion, following an invisible trail.
Anticipation fizzed in his veins and a smile broke out across his face. Was she on a job, he wondered as an image of her stalking her prey flashed into his mind. To see her crouched behind bushes in a black spandex catsuit with her hair braided down the back made him chuckle. She was not a catsuit kind of female, no matter her profession.
He'd been so distracted by the thought of the Valkyrie in tight spandex that he missed the danger lurking nearby. Strong arms banded around his waist and lifted him off the ground. Sharp teeth tore into his throat, hitting an artery. Red blood spurted from the side of his neck as gulping sounded in his ear.
Regaining his senses, Santi retrieved the weapon at the base of his spine and threw his head back. A loud crack sounded in his ear, followed by howling. His injury burned like hell and he was becoming light-headed. The wound was severe and wasn't going to heal before he lost consciousness.
"Shit," Santiago cursed, and turned to see one of the largest skirm he'd ever seen hunched over, holding his nose as black blood poured out and sizzled on the ground where it landed. A motionless victim off to his side grabbed Santi’s attention.
Anger bloomed over the thought that he may be too late. "You fucked with the wrong male. Say hello to your worst nightmare and good-bye to that new life you were given," he snarled.
"The only worry I have is from the Dark Warriors, which you are not, so I think it's you who is fucked," the skirm countered, getting to his feet.
Santiago couldn't afford to think too hard about what the scumbag had just said, but couldn't deny the way his heart skipped a beat. He recalled Jessie telling them that all Dark Warriors were brighter to her infrared vision. Surely the Goddess hadn't forsaken Santiago.
He was one of her best and definitely her most devoted warrior, going above and beyond to ensure society was safe from all harm. The victim lying in her own blood belied that point and told him he'd been useless to her. Her fingers twitched as if she'd heard his recriminations, and hope surged, telling him it wasn't too late to save her.
When spots danced in his vision, he knew the clock was ticking and he kicked into gear before he lost consciousness. He refused to fail this innocent female entirely. Lunging toward the skirm, he thrust his sgian dubh out and connected with flesh, but missed his heart. He cursed the fact that it was taking more effort than it should to extract the weapon from the skirm's chest.
His strength was waning faster than he’d expected. He was conditioned to fight under all circumstances. Hell, not only was he an elite warrior, he was the champion of the fight ring and had battled with all types of injuries.
"Your bark is worse than your bite," the male taunted, swiping his hand across his face. Black blood streaked over his lip and down his chin like an oil slick on water, but the bleeding had stopped. The skirm was healing and Santiago had better act fast before he passed out.
Rushing forward, Santiago held his knife by his side, feigning weakness until the last minute, when he lifted and thrust with all the strength he could muster. The blade slid through flesh and muscle and in between bone to connect with the racing heart muscle. Sparks caught Santiago's shirt as the skirm flashed on fire. He watched the skirm float away in a cloud of ash, victory washing over him. Suddenly, he felt eyes on him from somewhere nearby.
Stumbling, Santiago looked around but didn't see anything out of the ordinary as he contemplated how he was going to get the victim help. She needed immediate medical attention. He might be able to take care of some of her external wounds, but wasn't sure how serious her internal injuries might be.
He no longer had colleagues to call for a pickup, and when dizziness assailed again, he knew he was running out of time. There was a realm medical clinic nearby. That was going to be his best bet, he thought, as he stumbled and fell. He crawled to the female's side, intent on getting her to the clinic before she died.
CHAPTER FOUR
Santiago managed to get to his feet with the female vampire in his arms. Afraid he might drop her, he threw her over his shoulder and made his w
ay down the street. Using the shadows to hide them from humans, Santiago focused on putting one foot in front of the other. He only had a few blocks to go and he'd reach the realm medical clinic.
"Just a little further," he told the unconscious female. "Stay with me, you're going to be just fine," he promised. If he hadn't happened by she would have either been found by humans or incinerated by the sun when it rose in another hour or so.
Thinking back to the words of the skirm, Santiago rejected the insinuation. He was wrong. Santiago was a Dark Warrior through and through. Wasn’t the fact that he'd saved this female and killed the skirm proof enough?
Santiago glanced around again, feeling the same sensation of being watched. He was deep in shadow and didn't see anything other than the occasional car zipping by, but knew passengers wouldn’t spot him. Stealth and caution were natural instincts, and he was confident he could get her to the clinic without being seen—which was what made the sensation so disturbing.
Shaking his head, he continued on his way, stumbling with the extra weight on his shoulders. Every so often, he had to stop to clear the spots from his vision. He was weakening fast from his injuries and had a moment of doubt just before catching sight of the nondescript Victorian home.
The Dark Alliance council had set up various clinics throughout the world centuries ago with a realm physician at each location. There were about a dozen of them scattered around the Seattle area, because it was so heavily populated with supernaturals.
He was glad to see the telltale glamor indicating that the clinic was being hidden and protected. He needed to hurry and get through the gate before he was seen by a stray passerby. Taking a deep breath, he ran from the shadows, but suddenly he felt as though a spotlight was targeting his back. Maybe it was just the earlier sensation of being watched that he couldn't shake.
The click of the gate as it closed behind him seemed to deflate his lungs and steal all of his remaining energy. His legs wavered and he would have dropped his cargo if a nurse hadn't come rushing down the path to his side. The weight was lifted from his shoulders just as a set of arms wrapped around him.