by Kyra Quinn
A shiver runs down my back despite the humid night. At the mention of Kane’s name, dozens of memories I’ve worked my ass off to suppress come flooding back. His face comes to me as clearly as a photograph, his devious smile and black eyes permanently etched into my brain. But his smile is soon replaced by wide eyes and hands covered in blood. My mother’s blood.
“Open it,” I demand, shaking my head as if it might shake the darkness from my thoughts.
Zeke reaches into his pocket and produces a gold key. He unlocks the door and pushes it open to reveal a storage closet converted into a makeshift prison. A man in an expensive pinstripe suit and tie stands in the center of the room. Thick steel shackles and chains pin his arms over his head, his body forming an awkward Y. Dried blood covers the left side of his face. He hisses when we enter, thrashing and twisting against his restraints.
“What the fuck.”
Zeke chuckles. “That’s about what I expected. Relax little lamb. He can’t hurt you. We’ve neutralized his powers.”
But his temporary impotence doesn’t comfort me much. “Why the hell is he here? We kill demons. We don’t take them prisoner.”
“Usually, yes. But this bastard isn’t just any demon. This is Marax, otherwise known as Hell’s Messenger.”
I raise a brow. “Hell has errand boys? I thought they handled everything with blood magic.”
“He’s not a pathetic postal worker,” Zeke says, lowering his voice. “Lilith herself sends Marax to Earth with weapons and instructions for the Legion’s next attack on humanity. We found him too late to confiscate the weapons, but this bastard knows where to find the Knights of Hell. Sources say he spends a lot of time with Leviathan and Lilith.”
He must read my disappointment on my face. He places a hand on my shoulder and adds, “My gut tells me that’s where we’ll find Kane. Your vengeance is close.”
My mouth goes dry. “Has he said anything so far?”
“Nothing yet, but we’ll make him talk.” He pulls the door closed, leaving the demon trapped inside. “After your injection, that is. The Knights won’t react well when they realize we have Marax. We need you sharp for what’s coming.”
I groan, but there’s no point in resistance. The few minutes of burning pain the shot brings are well worth the peace that follows. No more chilling visions or whispers infecting my thoughts. I won’t have to choose between insomnia and gut-wrenching nightmares. With one little prick, everything fades away. For another few weeks, darkness won’t suffocate my thoughts.
“Fine. But remember what you promised me, Zeke. Kane is mine.”
His lips twitch into the ghost of a smile. “Relax, I haven’t forgotten. Let’s get you fixed up. You’ll need all your strength if you plan to take on one of Hell’s top commanders.”
CHAPTER TWO
Kane
Call me a sadist, but I’ve always found the female body most beautiful when it’s bound and helpless. The way the breasts heave with each of the victim’s strangled breaths is more engaging to the senses than any sculpture or painting. A few feet of rope can turn even the least interesting woman into a thing of beauty and intrigue.
The creature bound at my feet is living proof. The more she wiggles and writhes, the deeper the rope digs into her flesh. Her panties are shoved in her mouth and taped in place to muffle her whimpers and screams. But it’s the sheer terror in her wide green eyes that holds my attention.
Even in her captive state, Thalia is easy on the eyes. She’s tall and slender with curves in all the right places. The rope harness tied around her chest accentuates her round, swollen breasts. Long chestnut curls frame either side of her heart-shaped face. But even her delicate features and begging eyes aren’t enough to make me forget I’m dealing with one of the deadliest sorceresses in the city.
I crouch beside her, pushing her hair behind her ear to whisper, “This ends the second you agree to tell me what I need to know. Where is the girl?”
The witch shakes her head. Tears spill down her flushed cheeks. If I didn’t know women better, I’d almost believe her bullshit.
I grip a handful of her hair and drag her face closer to mine. I lock my eyes on hers. “Are you sure Michael’s secrets are worth dying for? If you tell me where to find Hollie, I can promise you’ll walk out of here with more than your life. Dagon is prepared to pay a handsome reward for her return.”
I rip the tape from her mouth, just in case anything useful spills out. She spits the panties onto the ground and coughs, gasping for air. Pathetic.
“I-I don’t know anyone called Hollie,” she sputters, her voice uneven and raw. “And I don’t fuck with magic anymore. All it ever brought me was pain.”
I scoff. “You stopped practicing magic because you didn’t want to pay the price it comes with? When did you turn so soft?”
“Go to Hell,” she spits. “Not everyone is willing to slaughter their own kin for power. I can’t help you find your little lost witch. And if she’s warded herself as much as you say, I don’t think anyone else can either.”
I tighten my jaw. “Don’t do this, Thalia. Don’t force me to make an example out of you for the rest of your coven.”
I tap the .45 holstered to my hip for emphasis. Killing her won’t cost me any sleep. But it also won’t bring me any closer to finding Hollie and fixing my mistakes. The fleeting satisfaction of spilling her blood isn’t worth losing her secrets.
It took me three weeks to track the sly little witch’s location. The rumors around town said she’d moved to San Diego, but I never believed the gossip. Generations of Thalia’s witchy ancestors lived and died in Miami. Their bones, all buried in the same secluded cemetery outside Little Haiti, empower her magic. Leaving town would mean turning her back on everything her people worked so hard to build.
Thank Lucifer, Thalia’s cleverness could only hide her for so long. A succubus friend found her at a swanky bar in South Beach and called me. I waited outside the bar and followed her back to a spacious fourth-floor condo with views of the ocean.
Thalia’s face hardens. “If you kill me, no one else will help you. My coven will do whatever it takes to avenge my death.”
“Or, we can skip all that nastiness and you can help me find Hollie.”
I wait in silence for her to tell me that Hollie is dead. It's the only explanation that makes sense. Hollie and Dagon had their share of issues, but nothing serious enough for her to leave without a goodbye. Regardless of what I might have once accused her of, she and my brother loved each other for a time.
But it's been sixteen months since the night she disappeared and I'm no closer to figuring out what happened to her. I’ve interrogated damn near everyone who ever crossed paths with her. If anyone knows where she went, no one will admit it. Not even after I crossed a few of my own lines trying to get to the truth.
At first, I thought Hollie’s decision to bail would work out better for everyone. She distracted Dagon too much from the war and our plans. The Paranormal community in Miami needed us to protect them, and she compromised his ability to fulfill that responsibility. I figured with the seductive little witch out of the picture, my brother would double his efforts to end the war between Heaven and Hell and keep Lilith’s children safe.
Never did I expect to torture witches to find the little runaway thief over a year later. Karma has a sick sense of humor.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “People don’t vanish, love. Hollie was a member of your coven before she moved in with us. You must have some idea where she might have gone.”
“I wish I did,” she moans, and there’s genuine anguish in her voice. “Hollie never contacted us again after she ran off with your brother. We tried to reach out to her. She never responded to any of our summons or owls. We didn’t even know she disappeared until your brother turned up in our grove.”
I sigh and perch myself on the arm of the leather sofa in Thalia’s overpriced South Beach condo. I can’t prove she’s lying to me, but I c
an’t trust that she isn’t. Hollie’s coven members are the last people left who might know what happened to her. For my brother’s sake, I can’t afford to leave here without something useful. Anything.
There’s no way Thalia could afford this place without a little magical assistance, but her eye for decoration is outstanding. If she survives this brief exchange, I’ll speak with Dagon about commissioning her services. The chocolate leather sofas compliment pale pink walls. Glass sculptures and trinkets sit perched on asymmetrical wooden shelves against the back wall. For a witch’s lair, the entire condo reminds me more of a high-end retail store.
“This is your last chance to help me, Thalia. I highly suggest you think of something useful to say.”
“How? I want Hollie home as much as anyone, but I renounced my magic when I left the coven. None of the scrying spells or locator spells worked when we tried them last year.”
“So she’s dead?”
Thalia shakes her head. “I don’t know. Even if something terrible happened to her, the locator spell should have found her body. Either there’s nothing left to find, or someone doesn’t want Hollie found.”
I rub my chin and chew over the scraps of information. “So the hunters may have burned her body?”
“Or warded the gravesite. Who knows with Michael and his goons? He’s the one the world should fear.”
It’s hard to tell if she means it, but I agree anyway. Humans blame every poor decision they make on temptation from the devil. But Lucifer hasn’t stepped foot outside Hell’s gates since the second world war. Even the Prince of Darkness recoiled from the evil within mankind.
Michael is an unconventional story. The amount of blood on his hands should be considered a war crime. It’s not impossible to believe the Dark Hunt targeted Hollie. Murdering witches is a favorite pastime for hunters.
“What am I supposed to tell Dagon?” I lean forward, setting to work on unfastening the knots around her wrists.
“Nothing you tell your brother will satisfy him.” Thalia offers me a sad smile. “Not unless you can bring her back.”
She’s right, but I don’t want to accept it. Dagon doesn’t want closure or answers. He wants his obnoxiously spirited little witch back. Nothing short of her presence or a body to mourn will end his obsession.
I finish untying Thalia and thank her for her time before making my way back down the elevator and into the night. My pocket vibrates just as I slide into the driver’s side of my Aston Martin. I dig it out and groan when I spot Dagon’s name on the screen.
“On my way back now—”
Dagon’s frantic voice cuts me off. “We have a bit of a situation. The trio of terror showed up at our door.”
I swear under my breath, jamming the button to start the engine. If the Knights of Hell are in our house, something serious is about to go down.
“Be there in ten.”
I disconnect the call and throw my phone onto the seat. Fuck me. So much for unwinding at home with a drink after a long night of torture.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, I’m seated in an armchair in the living room across from three of my least favorite creatures in creation. My hand grips a glass of scotch until I worry it might shatter. The tension in the room is thick enough to choke a man, but I force myself to lean back against the armchair and gaze around the room with disinterest, as if their presence in my home doesn’t bother me.
After decades of service to the Knights of Hell, their visits shouldn’t unnerve me anymore. Like thunderstorms in the summer, the Knights blow in without warning and ruin plans with no apology. Dagon’s role as Moloch’s top General buys us ample freedom, but it also means the Knights require our services often.
Lilith crosses her long, pale legs and places her sharp midnight nails over her knee. She wears a high-waisted gown the color of wine, her breasts spilling from the plunging neckline. “We have a problem, gentlemen.”
“The hunters?” Dagon asks. “We heard what happened to Treznor.”
Lilith rolls her onyx eyes. “Treznor is the least of our concerns right now.”
“We’ve learned Michael and his squad received a weapon capable of stripping Paranormals of their abilities,” Moloch says, his voice deep and stern. His left hand clutches a smooth wooden cane, and a steel snake poised to strike adorns the top. “Whatever it is has the power to reduce our kind to mere mortals, rendering us easy pickings for the hunters.”
“And they call us evil.” Lilith shakes her head, tapping her nails against her thigh. “To take from my children the tools I blessed them with for survival is just sickening.”
I can’t decide if I’m annoyed or impressed. What is it with angels and their need for control? Michael and Zeke fell from grace long before I left Hell to serve the Knights, but their time on Earth has done little to mellow them out.
“It’s a pity Heaven won’t take them back,” Dagon says. “Their little squad is becoming a thorn in our side.”
“Where is this weapon? What’s it look like?” I ask, eager to put an end to this surprise encounter. Tracking the Dark Hunt will take some effort, and stealing from them might prove damn near impossible, but I’d rather risk my life with a suicide mission than spend any longer in the same room as Hell’s biggest brats.
Levi reaches into his breast pocket and retrieves a cigar. “If we knew that, we’d have no reason to ask for your help.”
Ask. As if we have a choice but to comply with their orders.
“We have one of our men on the inside posing as a captive,” Lilith says, sounding almost bored by the entire thing. “You two will kidnap one of Michael’s precious little hunters, and we’ll hold her hostage until they release Marax.”
It sounds too simple. Michael trains his hunters to withstand quite a bit of torture. But I have centuries of practice and an endless amount of creativity. It might take time, but I always break my victims.
“What’s the catch?” I tilt my chin.
“There’s a particular pair of hunters we want you to abduct. Girls we’ve noticed the angels keep close.”
Lilith bends and reaches into her oversized designer bag for a manila envelope. She turns it over and empties the pictures onto the mahogany table between us. “They usually hunt together, so grabbing them both shouldn’t prove difficult.”
I don’t recognize the girl in the first few photographs. A tight bun pins her chestnut hair on top of her head. A silver hoop hugs her right nostril. The photos are blurry, but I can tell the girl isn’t a year over twenty-one. Yet she has the tight scowl and rigid posture of a battle-hardened soldier. Whoever she is, she’s no novice to the Dark Hunt.
But it’s the other hunter I can’t pull my eyes away from. I never expected to see her face again outside my nightmares. Nadia fucking Gray.
It shouldn’t surprise me to learn she’s with the Dark Hunt. During the brief time I knew her a few years ago, Nadia never shied away from danger or excitement. Or even bloodshed. The disgust and rage in her steely eyes is still fresh in my memory from the night before she disappeared, like a festering wound that refuses to scab over and heal.
“What do we know about them?” Dagon asks, dragging one photo of Nadia closer with the tip of his index finger.
“They answer to Siren and Starfall,” Levi says. “We know Zeke and Michael care about them more than the rest of his posse, but we haven’t figured out why.”
Lilith rolls her eyes. “I’m sure there’s nothing special about them. They’re probably Michael’s favorite sex toys.”
“I doubt it’s that simple.” Moloch leans back and rubs his jaw. “There’s something about these hunters Zeke and Michael believe will work to their advantage in the war. They wouldn’t work so hard to protect them otherwise.”
“I suggested we kill them,” Levi adds, narrowing his eyes to shoot Lilith a nasty glare, “but my sister has other ideas for the girls. She suspects we can neutralize the threat and work these girls to our advantage.”<
br />
Good luck with that. From what I recall of Nadia, she won’t allow herself to be worked to anyone’s benefit but her own. Her stubborn strength is part of what I’d admired about her.
The scowl on the other girl’s face suggests she won’t break any easier, but at least I won’t mind hurting her as much.
“And what advantage is that?” Dagon asks. “What use do we have for a pair of hunters?”
“That’s for us to worry about,” Lilith snaps. “We’ve told you what we need done. Summon us when you’ve captured the girls. Should you fail, we’ll send you both back to Hell to explain why to Lucifer.”
The Knights rise to their feet in unison. Dagon stands and sees them to the door, but I don’t move. Fuck them. They’ve barged in enough times to know their way around. I have far more pressing concerns than social niceties.
I didn’t let myself think much about Nadia over the last couple years. No reason to. I spent a few days trying to track her after the night her mother died, but no one from her school or neighborhood knew where to find her. She didn’t even show up to her own high school graduation.
I assumed she’d skipped town or moved away for college. After a few weeks of chasing dead ends, I moved on. It’s not like anything happened between us. What right did I have to care where she went or how she’d lived with the invisible scars I left on her fragile human heart?
But she’s not gone. She never left. Nadia is now Starfall, whatever the hell that means. She’s with the Dark Hunt, and she’s now my primary target.
CHAPTER THREE
Nadia
“Listen up!” Zeke marches into the center of the cathedral and claps, demanding attention. “A teacher and mother of three had her heart ripped from her chest last night while jogging near her house. An elderly woman spotted her leg sticking out from beneath a bush at seven A.M. and phoned the police.”
“Jesus,” Nova scoffs under her breath. “How does no one notice this shit but us?”