Seven Seals, Books 1 & 2

by Traci Douglass

  Kagan pulled her into a tight embrace, so close she heard Wyck’s reply through the earpiece. “Thirty seconds until the cameras are offline.”

  “What the hell?” Mira struggled against the unexpected rush of desire his nearness unleashed.

  Kagan’s head lowered, his smile devilish. “We’re going to copy the database.”

  His lips brushed hers, and Mira fought the flood of desire simmering through her veins. His hand slipped beneath her hair to stroke the sensitive skin at her nape. She shivered, and he smiled against her mouth. The keypad buzzed loud, breaking their kiss. After a cursory glance around the area, Kagan guided Mira through the door then followed close behind.

  She stumbled over her own feet, and Kagan’s soft chuckle brought renewed heat to her face. “Distracted, piccola?”

  “Fuck you!”

  “Volunteering?”

  She flipped him off and he laughed.

  “In your dreams, asshole.” Mira climbed the stairs ahead of Kagan. “Can we get this done? I’d love not spending the night in jail.”

  His deep voice echoed behind her. “Scion don’t go to jail.”

  She halted and whirled to face him. He grabbed the railing on either side of her to prevent a collision. “Yeah, well, I’m not Scion.”

  “No, you’re not.” Kagan moved closer.

  His gaze dropped to her lips, and Mira cursed the sudden rush of passion swirling in her blood. Several floors down, the creak of a metal door reverberated, stealing Kagan’s attention. When he looked back to her, caution had muted his expression. “We need to get a move on, piccola.”

  “I know,” Mira said and resumed climbing with Kagan in close pursuit.

  • • •

  Chago waited for them outside the sixth floor stairwell. They moved to an empty supply room. Chago picked the lock before slipping inside without a word. Mira frowned and wondered again about their new arrival’s background, confused as to why she cared. Forty-eight hours earlier, she wouldn’t have allowed herself to engage. Now she couldn’t stop wondering about these strangers who’d turned her solitary life lopsided.

  “Chago seems troubled,” Mira said. No response. She glanced back. Kagan leaned against the cinder block wall, checking his phone.

  “What?” Kagan looked up from the handheld device. “I got a message from Xander.”

  “Don’t let me interrupt.” Mira pushed through the supply room door to find the object of her recent thoughts searching bottles of shelved chemicals. His gruff exterior intrigued her. “Chago, tell me about yourself.”

  His search didn’t miss a beat. “Not much to tell.”

  “You have a ranch in Montana?”

  “Si.” Chago selected a jug and took it to the sink lining the opposite wall.

  “What kind of ranch?” Mira crouched beside him while he dug through a box of parts, his expression the human equivalent of a Keep Out sign.

  “The private kind,” Chago said, his tone diamond hard. He stood to rummage through some nearby shelves.

  “Hmm. I’d guess cattle or maybe sheep. No, wait. Llamas!” Mira giggled, picturing the huge warrior wrangling the ornery creatures.

  Chago glowered. “Cattle, if you must know. Damn, woman, you’re a nuisance.”

  “You have no idea,” Kagan said, entering the room. The door clicked shut behind him. “Bene?”

  Chago gave him a brief nod and headed to a private corner with a handful of wires and parts. Her efforts at conversation thwarted, Mira took out her phone and sent a text to Zoe. Where are you?

  She stifled a snort when the response buzzed in a few moments later. Stuck in closet with a huge guy and a shitload of wires.

  • • •

  Argus hustled up the stairs of the dilapidated apartment building and, after a quick scan for followers, ducked inside. By the strength of the signal at the station, he’d recognized another Scion. Bitch must’ve dispatched all seven of the fucking douchebags on me.

  After unlocking the door, he lugged the briefcase into the living room and dropped it with a thud on the coffee table. He flipped on the lights and collapsed on the threadbare sofa, staring at the black case before him. His fingers traced the smooth exterior before grasping the two latches on the top and sliding them open. Nothing happened.

  He pushed again. Nothing. Frowning, he jammed the buttons to the side, over and over. Fuckin’ A. He pounded the case’s top before storming into the kitchen and returning with a large screwdriver. Argus stuck it into the space behind the latches and pried. It slipped, stabbing him in the thumb, and his pained howl echoed. Son of a bitch! Argus hurled the tool across the room where it skewered the wall. Next, the briefcase skidded to the floor, and he jumped up and down on it like a gorilla with luggage. Still nothing.

  Argus stalked into the bedroom and grabbed his gun. Boom, boom. Success! He fell to his knees and dropped the weapon. Handfuls of computer printouts spewed forth, vital lists of names and locations. He scanned each document before stacking them according to their use, his future arsenal growing with every new page. When he reached the last sheet, he placed it in a stack by itself and ran his hands through the interior of the case. Where the hell was it? He’d tracked his treasure for months, ever since the raids on Lucifer’s lair, and had witnessed his host purchasing the relic for a pittance at the local flea market. It has to be here, for fuck’s sake!

  Frustration exploded, and Argus hurled the now tattered attaché across the room. It came to rest beneath a window. A tiny glint caught Argus’s eye before he turned away. His heart raced along with his feet as he rushed to peer inside.

  His fingers snatched a triangle of bronze poking from the decimated lining. He claimed his prize from the black felt surroundings, alien heat radiating from its polished surface. Holding it high in front of him, Argus inspected the intricate hieroglyphs and sigils etched into its golden surface. A ruby sparkled from its center while the pendant swung from the chunky metal chain. At last, Antares.

  He slipped it on and the heavy weight pulled around his neck. Argus unbuttoned his shirt to let the amulet fall against his chest, bronze to bare skin. Energy pulsed. His flesh sizzled. The symbols branded deep into his body. He gazed at the glowing talisman, his eyes watering in blissful agony. Salvation.

  Argus grabbed the lone sheet of paper he’d set aside earlier and perused the left side, stopping toward the bottom of the page. Tolbert International. Lying bastards. His finger moved to the phone number beside the name. He dialed, only to slam the receiver down moments later. Past business hours. Shit.

  He walked to the bedroom closet and yanked the door wide. A sea of beige polyester and Sansabelt slacks confronted him. He jerked the wallet from his trousers and flipped it open. Two hundred in cash and several credit cards. Time for an extreme makeover, demon style.

  Chapter 7

  Kagan checked his watch and nodded across to Chago. “Ready?”

  “Ready,” Chago said.

  “Ready,” Wyck chimed in through the earpieces.

  Kagan glanced at Mira and gave her a nod. She quirked a brow and rolled her eyes.

  They all pulled on a pair of the latex gloves Chago had found during his search. Kagan crossed to the service door and cracked it open. He signaled for the others to follow. They crept into the darkened hall, hugging the wall until they reached the frosted glass doors.

  Kagan scanned the area before he whispered, “Team in place.”

  The automatic lock clicked open, and he ushered Mira inside. Chago remained in the hall to stand guard. Kagan and Mira weaved through a maze of cubicles and stopped beside a wooden door in a far corner. The plaque declared Office of Department Head. He crouched, picked the lock, and gave Mira a wink. “We’re in.”

  He walked to a large wooden desk at the office’s center and clicked on the lamp. Kagan opened the laptop and typed in the password Wyck had provided. He pulled the thumb drive from his pocket and slid it into the computer port with a click. Moments later, informat
ion filled the screen. Kagan leaned back and grinned, his arms behind his head. “Oca! Wyck, you’re scary good.”

  Wyck’s low chuckle echoed in his earpiece. “I know.”

  “Will my records be there too?” Mira asked, picking through the contents of a metal filing cabinet beside her.

  Kagan shrugged. “Should be. Wyck said they automated about ten years ago.”

  Stretched out behind the desk, he watched Mira skim her gloved fingers over the decorative objects on a bookshelf before stopping to examine a drawer at its base. His gaze narrowed when she pilfered a small object wrapped in plastic and shoved it into her pocket. Sticky fingers. His mind filled with images of her eating pizza the night before and exactly what he’d like her to be doing with those fingers. His body stirred. Merda! The last thing he needed right now was a stiff cock. He tamped down his desire and focused on the task at hand.

  Mira perched on one of the chairs and fiddled with her coat. “How much longer?”

  “Not long,” Kagan said, glancing at the progress bar on the screen. “Tell me about McClaine.”

  Her lips compressed, and she stared out the window at the gathering darkness. “He was my caseworker for the last four years.”

  His muscles tensed at her frigid tone. He asked the question foremost in his mind, the answer already looming like a phantom on his mind’s horizon. “What happened?”

  “The usual.” Mira walked to the windows, her arms hugged tight around her torso. “You know, groping and stuff. He liked his girls broken in before the deal.” A brittle smile curved her lips. “He’s more of a broker, really, not the end consumer.”

  “Broker?” Kagan sat forward, dread boring into his stomach. “What was he trading?”

  “Us.”

  Kagan hands fisted as his fury soared. This was worse than he’d suspected. “He sold the children under his protection?”

  “There’s a lot of cash to be had, Kagan.” Mira studied her boots. “The younger the better.”

  He moved to stand before her, barely restrained violence searing benath his skin. “Did he rape you?”

  She paused, hedging a direct answer, her expression a mask of sadness before it dissolved into steeled cynicism. “He laughed. Told me how disappointing I was. All show and no goods to back it up.” Mira focused on the skyline, refusing to look at him. “Except I got away. Got away and kept running. I don’t think he tried hard to find me. Not after the last attack.”

  “You were only a child.” His vocal cords strained as memories of his own human family—his younger sisters—filled his head. They’d been mere children too when the Praetorians slaughtered them. He could still see their mangled bodies, left as a warning by the front gates. He squeezed his eyes shut and banished the images to their dark hideouts.

  “I was sixteen, Kagan. Old enough to stop him. I couldn’t.” She leaned against the wall. “Guess it doesn’t matter now.”

  Kagan took her chin between his gloved fingers and forced her to meet his gaze. “It matters to me, piccola.”

  She blinked, then jerked out of his grip and turned away. “Chicago isn’t safe, not until he’s gone. Zoe and I both know enough to put the bastard away for a long time.”

  The computer beeped loudly, signaling the upload was complete. Kagan returned to the desk and removed the zip drive from the port before shoving it in his pocket. “Got it.”

  Mira joined him. “McClaine wouldn’t keep his records in the database.”

  “No, but I’d lay odds he keeps them close by.” He glanced at her while he shut off the laptop. “At his house, maybe? Now we have his address.”

  She walked to the door and paused, her eyes trained on the toes of her boots.

  “What happened with McClaine wasn’t your fault, Mira.” He took in the heartbreaking image she presented, his spirit aching for her lost innocence. “You know this, si?”

  She kicked the baseboard. “Can we not talk about this anymore?”

  Kagan walked around the desk and grabbed her hand. “Let’s go.”

  As they wound their way to the entrance, Wyck’s voice snapped to life in his ear. “You need to get out of there now. Sixty seconds until the office cameras come online.”

  “Si.” Kagan tugged Mira closer when they neared the door. He reached for the handle, but Chago’s sudden signal from the hallway had him ducking to the floor and pulling Mira down beside him.

  “What’s going on?” Mira started to raise her head only to have Kagan force it back down again.

  “Chago saw someone,” he said close to her ear. “He told us to wait.”

  “Thirty seconds.” Wyck’s tone now held an edge of tension.

  A soft knock sounded on the glass door, and Kagan’s head snapped up. “Vaff!”

  He grabbed Mira’s hand, opened the door and yanked her out into the hallway behind him. The lock clicked, and the security lights flickered on moments after they exited.

  Chago sheathed his dagger and led them to the service door. “The guards check every half hour. We’ve got less than one minute. Talk about cutting it close.”

  Their pace quickened when the elevator doors slid open behind them. The trio disappeared through the door, easing it shut without a sound.

  “Santo Cristo!” Chago cursed while they descended the stairs. “What the hell took so long?”

  “I don’t know. Ask Wyck. He’s the hacker extraordinaire,” Kagan said. He placed a hand on Mira’s lower back, urging her forward.

  “I prefer God of Technology, thank you.” Wyck’s affronted tone echoed loud in the earpieces.

  “You would, capullo,” Chago said, grinning.

  “Whatever, Spanish Fly,” Wyck said. “Are you in the lobby yet?”

  Kagan stepped out onto the ground floor and scanned the area, locating two guards behind the security desk. “We’re in position.”

  “Marvelous. You all set, Senor MacGyver?”

  Chago palmed the device he’d rigged together in the supply room. “Ready.”

  He pressed the trigger on his makeshift detonator then pocketed the crushed remains. A small tremor rippled the walls. Fire alarms wailed, and water sprayed from the sprinkler directly above Chago’s head, soaking him. “Joder! You were supposed to turn the sprinklers off.”

  “Oh, sorry.” Wyck chuckled. “Thought you could use a shower, Chay.” A high-pitched buzz shrieked from the earpieces, and a door slammed open above. Wyck’s last transmission was succinct. “Bollocks! Got to go.”

  After another quick scan of the lobby, the trio exited the stairwell. The drum of running footsteps approached, and they ducked behind a copse of large potted plants. Guards rushed by without slowing. The area cleared and they edged their way toward a side exit. The security panel allowing emergency workers access lit up, and they rushed out to the busy sidewalk, blending in with the holiday crush. The trio crossed the street and walked one block to rendezvous with Wyck and Zoe.

  Mira hugged her friend around the waist while they braced against the cold and focused on Kagan. “What’s next?”

  Wyck pulled out his phone. “Xan wants to meet at my apartment. Guess we should head there.”

  “Argus is close.” Kagan tracked a bus rolling past. A sudden jolt of electricity—the signal of another immortal—buzzed through his system. He glanced at Chago and Wyck. They both stood at attention, indicating they’d felt it too. “On the Metro.”

  Chago unsheathed his dagger. Wyck fired off a text to Xander then glanced at Kagan. “Xan says it’s your call. What do you want to do, K?”

  “Wyck, you take Mira and Zoe to your apartment. Chago and I can handle this,” Kagan palmed the Glock hidden in his pocket, his thoughts veering between defense and vengeance.

  “No!” Mira stepped away from Zoe. Kagan loomed above her in an attempt at intimdation. Mira stood firm beneath his menacing glower. “I’m going with you. McClaine’s my problem too.”

  “Mira, I don’t think—” Her foot shot out and pain zipped up his
leg from newly clobbered ankle. Those damn boots again! He scowled while she followed after the bus, now stopped one block ahead, and Chago took off after her. One of these days . . .

  • • •

  Argus craned his neck at the massive stone building before him. His gaze fixed on the illuminated sign for Neiman Marcus. He pushed his way through the crowds and into the revolving door. Inside, sparkling displays of jewels and cosmetics twinkled beneath the overhead lights. The smell of various perfumes wafted while he maneuvered through the center aisle, his rotund frame bumping shoppers on both sides.

  An attractive woman with a crystal bottle leaned toward him as he passed. She sprayed some noxious, burning liquid in his face while shoving a sample into his palm. The fumes stung his eyes and he sneezed. Argus hissed at her before continuing on.

  Humans bustled all around, stepping on the levitating steps before they disappeared into the ceiling. Stupefied, Argus gawked. He bent at the waist and peered through the hole above then straightened, took a cautious step and placed a toe on the metal stair. His leg stretched upward, creating a ten-worthy split, and he scrambled back.

  “C’mon buddy, I ain’t got all night!”

  Argus spun to face a perturbed African-American woman who looked like she meant business. She tapped her high-heeled shoe before knocking him aside with a swipe of her shopping bags. “Look two-pint, you need to get the hell out the way before I run your ass over.”

  The voluptuous bitch bumped past him and stepped on the moving steps. Fuck. Argus squeezed his eyes shut and climbed aboard. He gripped the rubber railing with freshly formed demon claws, shredding the soft covering before they retracted. The humans around him chattered away, unconcerned.

  At the top, his feet caught on the metal stop bar and he pitched forward, barely avoiding face-planting on the elegant marble floor of the next level. A shove from the shopper behind him dislodged him from the tread and sent him sprawling through a wide aisle. When he straightened, a sign before him proclaimed exactly what he’d come to find. “The Made-To-Measure Event.” He followed the arrows to the men’s department.