Mercy Temple Chronicles Box Set 2

by Ciara Graves

  What Horace had said was that the one granted the change would lie on a stone altar and be swarmed by a mass of swirling red and black shadows. That the screaming sounded like something from a nightmare, but when it was over, that individual would become a hybrid.

  He said that the first few weeks, the newly-turned hybrids were weak and they could barely use the advantages of their combined races.

  I believed the one we were dealing with now had been a dragon first, then gifted with a mage’s essence—clearly stolen from another. When I’d first attacked him, a hint of mage fire had sparked to life at his fingertips, but immediately fizzled out.

  Stepping over the dead bodies, I turned to Damien. “I’ll go.” I left him with Horace, planning strategy, probably, then I strode toward the stairs.

  My hands curled into fists, breaking the already shredded skin on my knuckles. Fresh blood oozed from my wounds, but the pain was good. Pain was very good. It kept me focused on the task at hand.

  If I let my thoughts dwell on Mercy and what she was going through right now, I’d lose what tiny sliver of control I had on my rage.

  I had to pass through the kitchen on my way to the stairs and it was a hell of a mess.

  Looked like we’d interrupted during a meal preparation. Food was still cooking on the range.

  I turned off the gas burners. I wasn’t ready for the place to blow up. Not with us in it.

  Blood was smeared on the tile floor. The trap door Horace mentioned was dead center.

  A narrow, wooden staircase led down, and I gingerly stepped on the top step. It creaked under my heavy, black boots, but held my weight. Slowly, I descended.

  When I reached a dirt floor, the stairs ended.

  A growl rumbled through my chest at the sight that met my eyes.

  Iron cages lined the back wall of the brick cellar.

  I ducked under a low hanging wood beam to reach them.

  All five were empty, but the buckets the prisoners had been forced to use as a bathroom were almost full. The cellar reeked.

  I gagged and covered my nose and mouth with my hand to block out some of the smell.

  Blood dotted the dirt floor inside the cages and out.

  There was a fresh pool from where Horace took down the bastard.

  Walking around the steps, I spotted a rickety, wooden desk covered in papers.

  I shuffled through them, but couldn’t tell much as the only light down here came from two hanging bulbs. There were numbers and locations on the pages.

  I snatched them up.

  We might not have a lead on Mercy yet, but these papers might show us to the last two sectors with donors that were about to be sacrificed.

  On the floor, beside the desk was a small, black metal safe.

  I gave it one solid kick and the door dented inward, breaking the locking mechanism.

  I wrenched it free and felt around inside. There were several bundles of cash and an object on a chain.

  I pulled it out and held it up to the light.

  It was a medallion bearing a red moon behind a dead tree. On the other side were the images of the Sector 2 mages who ran the demon slum.

  Only then, as I held the medallion, watching it turn from one side to the other, did I finally make the connection.

  Lucas and his mages had borne the mark of a red circle surrounded by a branch. When I was younger, I’d assumed that it was the sun.

  Now I realized it was a moon. The Blood Moon.

  Franklin Monroe’s words came back to me about how long the mages had been using the slums as a holding place for sacrifices for Shuval and her hybrids. For the war she was about to bring down on all our heads. Back then, we demons had attacked the wrong enemy. Lucas had been simply been yet another piece on the board.

  Shuval was the true villain.

  And now I was convinced she had Mercy.

  With a furious roar, I threw the medallion across the cellar, embedding it in the brick from the force of my rage. I gathered the papers I found and climbed the steps to the kitchen.

  In the main bar, Horace and Damian stood in front of the hybrid. There were three more daggers protruding from his body, two at his shoulders and one at his thigh. Even more blood covered him and he appeared paler.

  I looked at Horace. “Say anything?”

  Horace punched the hybrid, and his head lolled to the side. “Nothing useful.”

  “I found these.” I handed the papers to Damian. “Possible locations for the other two sectors that have sacrificial victims.”

  Damian’s face scrunched. “Might be. What do you want to do with him?”

  “You can do nothing to me,” the hybrid snarled, eyes flaring with mage fire. Sparks came to life at his fingertips, and with a fierce shout, he yanked himself from the wall. His ear was left behind, not that he seemed to notice. He stalked toward me, an intent to kill on his face.

  “Wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Damian warned, not looking up from the papers.

  Horace simply tilted his head, lips curled in amusement, as he watched the hybrid limping closer.

  When he was within a couple of feet of me, he raised his hand and muttered under his breath. A burst of fire shot at me, but it lost its heat and became nothing more than a puff of steam. He shook out his hands, cursing.

  “Shuval will have her war. You’ll see. The dragons will rule this world, and you will never see your precious Mercy again.”

  My eye twitched, then my hands were on his head. One swift twist and his neck snapped with a crack. His body went limp.

  I let go.

  He crashed to the floor.

  So far, we had yet to come across any hybrids as strong as Envy. I figured they stuck close to her, guarding her.

  I nudged the dead body away from me, then stepped over it. “Burn it down. All of it.”

  “With pleasure.” Horace waltzed to the bar, humming under his breath.

  Out of the two brothers, Horace was the one on the crazier side, but they were damned effective as a team. It was a shame Horace had been undercover all these years. Mercy would’ve loved to train under him as she had with Damian.

  Horace took whatever booze bottles hadn’t been broken and shattered them around the floor and walls. He walked toward the kitchen as Damian and I exited the bar.

  “I think you’re right,” Damian said quietly as we waited outside for Horace to finish up. “I’ll have to run the information you found by Nor.”

  “He’ll ask how we got it.”

  “That’s why you let me do the talking.” He tucked the papers into the pocket of his combat pants, then glanced at as Horace as he hurried toward us. “Good thing this place is in the middle of nowhere. Otherwise, we’d be dealing with the local authority.”

  “Might be dealing with them soon enough,” Horace said with a smirk. He lit a match, flicked it into the bar, and warned us to back away.

  The match flew through the doorway, an explosion ripped through the building. Flames climbed into the night sky, and a rush of heat struck my face. Horace must’ve unhooked the gas line in the kitchen.

  Glass shattered and popped from the immense heat.

  A scream or two came from inside as those who had been unconscious awoke to find themselves on fire. We waited, but they didn’t make it beyond the door.

  The fire ate away at the wooden frame of the bar, devouring everything in its path. I could’ve stood there longer, watching the destruction, except the flames reminded me of Mercy’s mage fire.

  I turned away.

  I was no closer to finding her. I’d said I would keep her safe and now she was in the hands of the enemy. I told myself repeatedly that any day now, we’d get the lead we needed. We’d find her.

  When she was first taken, we immediately went to Sector 13 and tore the place apart as covertly as we could. There was no sign of her or Val.

  There was no sign of anyone except for the usual miscreants. Reapers pretended they had no idea who Shuval was. Th
e dark covens remained in hiding making it impossible to question them.

  Gigi even came with us and used every tracking spell she knew.

  Nada. No luck at all.

  There was no trail to lead us to Mercy. Wherever Val—no, not Val—Shuval. That witch had been Shuval the whole time. And wherever she took Mercy remained a mystery.

  “We’ll find her.” Damian squeezed my shoulder. “We will.”

  “Before or after it’s too late? Every time we go on one of these hunts, I expect to find her dead body. If we do, if she’s dead already—”

  “She’s not,” Damian cut me off. “Mercy is strong. She is not dead. Not yet.”

  My eye twitched. I nodded.

  “Get home and get some sleep. I’ll show these papers to Nor in the morning. If he asks you about how we got them, you keep your mouth shut.”

  Damian was right. I walked away toward the transport at the main crossroads of Sector 76.

  Nor had been trying to keep tabs on me, but I slipped away from the other agents. The last time he’d asked what I was up to, Damian had fed him some bullshit story, but my anger had cut across his words, and I flat out told Nor we were hunting down hybrids. Not to bring them in. To question them and kill them.

  Chief Nor had yelled at me for a solid half hour afterward and made me promise not to do it again.

  That was a week ago. I’d killed at least ten more hybrids since then.

  There was no Fed job waiting for me anymore. No future unless I found Mercy, and even then, what would we have?

  The war with Shuval would start soon enough.

  Then there’d be only blood.

  I was merely taking down her massive army, one asshole at a time.

  In the bathroom mirror, my reflection glared back at me. I tugged off my bloody, dirty t-shirt, tossing it. The fresh cuts on my shoulders and chest looked bad, but I’d live. My knuckles hadn’t healed yet. I ran cold water over them, the burn centering my rampaging mind. I was supposed to be sleeping, but how could I sleep?

  The bed was empty. My apartment was quiet. I could’ve sworn I heard Mercy talking now and again, but she wasn’t here.

  “You’re failing me.”

  I froze at the sound of that voice.

  “I always knew you would, because that’s what you do, isn’t it, Rafael? You fail everyone you love. Failed your parents. Failed your brother.” Familiar hands grabbed my shoulders and there in the mirror was Mercy, standing next to me. “And now you’re failing me.”

  “No,” I whispered.

  “You are. Do you have any idea what’s happening to me? Do you? Look at me.” Her shout bounced around the bathroom, deafening me from the force of her words.

  They battered at my skull as I watched her reflection shift and morph.

  Her face was drenched in blood as well as her hands. The scar on her cheek looked like someone had sliced it open. It was just a gaping hole now, revealing her teeth and mouth. Her eyes were solid black, dripping blood. I tried to turn around, but she held me in place, forcing me to look at her.

  “You’re killing me.”

  “No.” I attempted to tear myself away from her.

  “You are. You’re killing me piece by piece. Shuval is going to tear me apart. You’ll be too late. You’re a failure.”

  I bellowed in rage and punched the mirror. The glass cracking echoed around me,.

  Suddenly, I was sitting upright in bed, gasping for air.

  The sun had been up for a couple of hours. The bedroom was already warm. I held my head in my hands. Cold sweat covered me. This wasn’t the first time I’d dreamt of Mercy, but it was the first it seemed so real. Like she was really here.

  I fell back into bed, grabbed her pillow, and breathed in deep. The faintest hint of apples remained from Mercy’s shampoo. It hardly did a damned thing to calm me down, but it was either that or I had to go find someone to kill.

  “I’ll find you,” I whispered to the empty room. “I promise I will.”

  I shut my eyes, calling to mind the last time I saw Mercy as she walked out of the apartment, exhausted, but with a smile on her face. As I remembered the last moment we shared as I tried to convince her to stay. Why hadn’t I gone with her? Or kissed her more and distracted her from heading over to Gigi’s?

  A burst of pure anger flooded through me.

  I shouted, flinging pillows across the room as I kicked the sheet from my legs.

  I hauled my ass out of bed and buried my fist in the nearest wall, adding another hole to my current collection.

  I was shaking the dust from my fist when my cell rang. I considered not answering until I remembered what we’d found last night.

  “Yeah?” I said when I picked it up, seeing Damian’s name on the screen.

  “You get any sleep?”

  “Does it matter?” I shot back.

  “Not really. I talked to Nor. He wants us to meet him at the Fed building in an hour.”

  I rubbed my sore hand. “What the hell for?”

  “To go over what we found. Probably question me about how we found it.” He let out a long sigh. “And he wants us there to meet with Sycamore. He’s presenting his case against Quin Nolan today.”

  Joseph Sycamore was a member of the Gathered and the only mage I trusted, next to Mercy. He’d been helping us since the gargoyles attacked and had become a true ally. The last time I saw him was the night we returned from blowing up Sector 2. He’d left us to build a case against Quin Nolan, leader of the Gathered. Nolan and his cohorts were partly to blame for the mess in the demon slums. I hadn’t expected to be there when Nolan was confronted.

  “And if we don’t show up?” I dug around the mess of clothes on the floor for cleanish pants and a shirt.

  “Nor said we don’t have a choice, especially since his agents reported you left your place last night and didn’t come back ‘til the wee hours of the morning.”

  Shit. “Guess they were watching me better than I’d thought.”

  “Guess so. I’ll see you in an hour. And Rafael? Let me do the talking. All of it.”

  I had no problem with that, and told him so, then hung up.

  I dressed, splashed water on my face, and smoothed back my hair the best I could. I had no new bruises on my face for Nor to wonder about, but he’d see my hands, sure enough.

  Leaning heavily on the sink, I looked into my sunken eyes. I hadn’t been eating well and definitely wasn’t sleeping. To say I looked like shit was an understatement.

  Demons weren’t meant to be in rage all the time, the way that I was. Even now, though I appeared calm, raw emotions simmered just below the surface.

  One wrong word, one wrong move and I’d go off. Being in a room with Quin Nolan was not the best idea, but what choice did I have?

  “Just don’t rip the guy’s head off,” I told my reflection.

  And at the same time, I was certain I heard Mercy’s voice whisper in my ear, Why the hell not?

  I smirked darkly, then left the bathroom to finish getting ready.

  Chapter 2

  Rafael

  Damian was waiting outside the Fed building when I arrived. He had a cigarette hanging from his fingers, flicking the ash off the end when I approached.

  “Didn’t know you smoked,” I commented.

  He took a long drag, then dropped it to the pavement and crushed it. “I don’t. Quit years ago.” His face was drawn. The heat of the day had him without his usual black jacket, but he wore a long-sleeved black shirt, as well as his black pants. The look was finished off with boots. “You ready for this shit show?”

  “Yeah, let’s get this over with.”

  “Horace is working on another lead,” he said as we walked inside. “If it pans out, you up for another trip tonight?”

  “That even a question?”

  Agents eyed us as we walked through the lobby to the bank of elevators. They recognized me, but there were no greetings or looks of relief to have me back. Instead, they kep
t their distance, which was perfectly alright with me. Small talk had never been my thing. Now, I might end up punching someone for trying to engage me in casual conversation.

  The elevator opened and we walked in. I pushed the button for the sixth floor. We were heading there because Nor had texted me after I got off the phone with Damian asking us to meet him in the main conference room. It was a massive room, and I was worried about how many other people were going to be at this meeting.

  “You saw her again?” Damian asked as the elevator rose slowly higher.

  My jaw clenched. “I’m fine.”

  “That look on your face says you’re not.”

  “And? What do you expect me to look like? Three weeks, Damian. It’s been three weeks.” I stopped myself from going off on him, knowing he was hurting, too. “I can’t force a content look on my face. There’s too much rage. I won’t be able to keep tamping it down.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you? If I stay in this state much longer, you’re going to have a deranged demon on your hands.”

  I’d seen it once or twice before. A demon unable to let go of his rage would come apart and lose all sense of who he was, who he cared about. His friends, family, none of them mattered. He’d literally go insane and turn into a killing machine. I was flirting with that fine line every morning when I awoke.

  The doors dinged and opened on the sixth floor.

  We stepped out and into a group of waiting Feds. There were eight, four on each side.

  My lip twitched as I braced for a fight.

  Damian shot me a glare.

  “Chief Nor asked me to escort you to the conference room.”

  I turned at the sound of Iris’s voice. “I know the way,” I reminded her as she stepped forward.

  She and the rest of the Feds wore suits, but I could tell they were heavily armed underneath. The question was, were they here for me or for Quin Nolan?

  “I know. These men aren’t for you, Rafael. Stand down.”

  Her order rubbed me the wrong way, and I bared my teeth at her, feeling them elongating into fangs.

  Iris’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t back off.