Rebel Heart

by Tee Ayer

  Trees sighed behind her in a deceivingly gentle breeze. Evie drew closer—just close enough that an obliging gust would carry her scent to him.

  She counted the seconds under her breath.

  His back stiffened, his neck muscles rigid as he turned so slowly she could almost see the hair on his skin undulate as he moved.

  Her scent evoked similar reactions with all her marks. The perfume of death, their very own Reaper come to call. And she never tarried with them. Social niceties somehow seemed out of place where knives and blood and imminent death were intertwined. Besides, these creatures wallowed so far beneath her on the moral and genetic ladder as to be untouchable, unworthy.

  Baltazar swallowed.

  The tendons in his neck remained taut as bowstrings. Then he drew a ragged breath and opened his mouth. He may have intended to ask her a question. Something typically innocuous. A ridiculous gesture as none of their questions received an answer—if they ever got the chance to ask one.

  The demon didn't.

  In a swift and viciously smooth swipe of her left hand, Evie plunged the silver dagger deep into his chest, so deep only the carved hilt prevented farther penetration. The slim blade embedded itself securely within his heart, flaying open arterial walls, penetrating the center of his demonic soul. Creatures of the Underworld had a seething dislike for anything silver. Perhaps it was the metal's innate ability to end their miserable lives. The accuracy of her aim was helped by the conveniently human location of his heart.

  She followed quickly with her right hand, sweeping the curved blade of the Damascus dagger clean across his throat. The deadly edge slid smoothly through glamor, demon hide, and bone.

  Quick. Clean.

  Landing in a crouch, Evie held her breath and watched him through the strands of her hair, which had escaped its bindings at the back of her head. It happened so fast. Too quickly for the demon to defend himself. His body fell slowly, crumpling awkwardly onto his back until he landed beside her. Evie met his eyes. And sucked in a breath, an unconscious pause as she waited to see the last emotions fly across the demon's face.

  Always, she watched the last light in the eyes of her mark flicker and fade. She'd made herself do that whenever it was possible to be sure she never lost sight of the significance of her job. Evie had witnessed final moments of pure rage and comical disbelief. As a warrior of the Irin, she'd been doing Marcellus' bidding for six months now, and she'd begun to notice a pattern to the behaviors of her targets. They were always pissed when they got caught and always a little more than upset to find their existence about to be permanently terminated.

  This last one was different, though. This time, what she saw planted a tiny seed of doubt within the darkest recesses of her mind. His eyes were the palest of blues. It held anger and annoyance. But she also saw confusion and disbelief that faded as his life dissipated.

  Soon, wracking her mind, trying get a bead on the strange feeling that was so elusive, she stood over dancing amber embers flickering over the grass in the night breeze. The rising ashes and slivers of dust caught the next swift breeze and rode the night wind in silence. If she had learned anything in her long lifetime, she knew better than to ignore her instincts.

  She scowled.

  Something was wrong.

  Baltazar had been too easy to track. And she had taken his ignorance of her presence for arrogance. A nonchalance that spoke of a self-assured killer, but killers often got sloppy in their arrogance. They get careless, cocky. She had paused a few times to wonder if she had mixed up the scents. No. He had been the right mark.

  Now she stared down at the last of the fading embers.

  Soon, there was nothing but the glistening, almost-black blood that marred the slim, deadly beauty of her Damascus blade and the silver face of the dagger that had pierced his heart. As she bent to wipe her blade off on a nearby patch of grass, she neither mourned nor regretted her actions.

  This was just a job.

  The very act of wiping the blood off the blades was purely habit. She knew, as well as any other hunter of her ilk, that the essence of a demon's life force was destroyed when they were killed. For some unknown, and on her part unquestioned, reason, the Creator of these creatures did not wish the world tainted by their lifeless remains. Few people knew where these creatures went in their afterlife.

  These demons she killed, they were nothing. Murderers. Evil.

  Evie just seemed to be in the garbage business lately.

  So why was it bothering her more and more each day. Why did she feel a sense of wrong each time she killed a mark? Was it their human glamors that had gotten to her? That they lived a pretense of normal human lives to hide their true nature? Was it that before Marcellus she'd never belonged to a demon death squad? Or was it that she just missed doing good?

  She stood over the grassy spot where the blades were still bent at unnatural angles, having been crushed beneath Baltazar's weight. Of all the possessions left of him, it was a metal disk which had caught and held her attention. Only moments ago, it had hung on a fat bronze chain around the demon's neck. Thick, heavy and ornately carved with tiny swirls and patterns, its surface gleamed in the moonlight.

  Evie picked up the disc, feeling the solid weight of it in her palm. She frowned, trying to concentrate, but she quickly gritted her teeth, admitting she was unable to identify the language. But even as she did, she knew the script was beyond her knowledge. She'd have to wait to take it home.

  Frustrated, she glanced around the deserted clearing. Nobody would have seen her. She'd cast a glamor around herself and threw angel-light around her—standard protocol on a mission. Hidden within the blanket of her glamor, Evie wasted precious time studying the strange piece.

  Octagonal in shape, the disk bore a small carving on each of the eight corners. A hole bored through the center and inscriptions covered the back. The tiny carvings resembled Greek or Roman, possibly Persian, figures. An impressive relic.

  A sudden sound interrupted her thoughts. She breathed again. Just a car backfiring. But it was enough to remind Evie of her duties.

  Whether demon or human, the dead didn't take anything with them.

  Evie gathered the other solid items from the grass and threw them into a small envelope, which she hurriedly stuffed into her bag. Jewelry, belt buckles, and the odd spur or two needed to be rounded up from the scene. In the past she, would have dumped the remaining trinkets she'd found. Not in the last six months though. Marcellus had given them all strict instructions to ensure every piece of metal be brought to him. No questions. Marcellus certainly had a different method of running the Irin than Patrick. None of the teams enjoyed the feeling of being under his control.

  Most of all Evie.

  She clenched her fist. It was time to leave. Not that she feared being tracked, nor did she waste time worrying over being observed making a kill. She was too good at her job. It just annoyed her that she couldn't put a finger on what bugged her about this whole kill.

  Something feels off.

  Everything in order, she swept her eyes over the scene. One last check didn't hurt. Satisfied, she was about to take off when a ray of light bounced off something in the taller grass at the edge of the clearing. Her night vision was superb, so she admonished herself for not finding it on her first scan of the area.

  But when she looked closer, she saw it had been half hidden by a fallen branch. She strode over to the grass, bent to retrieve the trinket, and felt its weight immediately. The ring that lay in the palm of her hand looked ancient. Possibly Minoan from the carving and the color of the gold. What would a low-life, albeit high-level, demon be doing with an ancient artifact like this? Another little piece to add to the puzzle slowly growing around Baltazar's untimely end.

  Evie sighed and unfolded her wings. They stood a head taller than her, beautiful, pearly white and iridescent under the moonlight. Her angelic heritage had failed to bestow upon her all its glorious abilities, and so she could not disappar
ate to the Irin HQ, but she needed to calm herself anyway. Flying always gave her a sense of peace she could not find in anything else she did. She strengthened the glamor over herself, making her invisible to any eye that may be cast heavenward.

  Flexing and spreading wide, her wings lifted her up into the night sky. Toward the twinkling stars. Toward peace, silence, and calm.

  "It is done!" Daniel Feinstein stared at the list of names inked onto the ancient parchment. The relic lay dry and brittle beneath his sweaty fingers, waiting for the slightest change heralding Evangeline's latest successful termination.

  "She has terminated Baltazar.... This is good. Is it confirmed?" Seated calmly behind the heavy oak desk, Master Marcellus waited for Daniel's confirmation. The Master's black garb, as nondescript as the next Brother, did nothing to mark him as one apart from the group, above the rest in any way. Yet a dark air remained around him, shadowing him. Marking him as different.

  In addition, the previous Master, Patrick had conveniently fallen victim to a long and untimely illness. Despite his immortality, he had been unable to overcome the strangely inexplicable affliction. As Patrick's successor, it made perfect sense for the right hand of the old Master to take his place. Master Marcellus Bactor smiled to himself, taking comfort in his position of power. The Brotherhood still answered to him with the same reverence bestowed upon their previous leader.

  Daniel stared at the name "Baltazar" etched in ageless ink in an ancient and forgotten language. Progress dragged slowly, and it would be a while yet before the rest of the Seals were gathered. Daniel gripped the fragile parchment a little too firmly. The crackle of the paper brought him back and he loosened his grip.

  "Yes, his name has just disappeared from the list." Daniel glanced at Marcellus.

  He considered Marcellus and his position within the Irin. With the power of the Nephilim at their fingertips, they were fast becoming invincible. Half-breed angels from the four corners of the globe. This kind of reach was unimaginable until the Irin Warriors proved their prowess. They were the best tools to obtain the Seals. Even better—they were dispensable.

  Evangeline was on her way back. His eyes flicked toward the curtains framing the balcony. He could almost picture her there, blue eyes flashing, lustrous black hair framing a beautiful face. Yes, she had been blessed with angelic genes, so understandably she would have the face to prove it.

  She always entered through those doors when she returned from a termination. He assumed it was a display of some kind. Power perhaps? To remind the simple humans of what she was. What she was capable of. Ignorant whelp. If she only knew who she was dealing with....

  Daniel longed to teach her exactly where she belonged in the order of things. Sadly, she was the example by which many of the other Warriors marked themselves. She spelled trouble.

  He returned to his desk, a smaller, messier version of the Master's antique.

  A little restraint would go a long way. Alerting the Nephilim would be dangerous. Her vow was to serve the Brotherhood, to aid in wiping away the scourge of Hell seeping through the portals and worming its way into the human world. An unbreakable bond between Nephilim and Brotherhood. The Brotherhood of the Irin—they were Nephilim scouts or human agents who believed they served a higher purpose.

  As did Evangeline.

  ~ Continue Evie’s adventure in Retribution

  Retribution ebook~ Retribution Audiobook

  Immortal Bound: The Apsara Chronicles #1 Sample

  1

  In all the years of her particularly strange line of work, and her particularly strange kind of life, Vee Shankar had always done what was required in order to get the bad guy. But today, she was sure she hovered too close to that line she knew she’d never cross.

  Too close.

  Damned well better be worth the effort.

  Vee leaned against the cool brick of the alley wall, ground her already overly-gritted teeth, and tilted her head a little to allow her companion easier access to the curve of her neck, the kisser providing the best cover as she kept a cold eye on the bar across the street.

  With Kort a regular on this street, distraction was a better choice than destruction. And Vee may still find a use for him in the future. But, one of her biggest discomforts right now was what Syama would think of Vee’s current activities.

  Although thankful for the ever-watchful protection of a four-eyed, four-foot-high, black-as-night hellhound, make-out sessions—fake or real—had never fallen into the appropriate-to-witness box.

  A glance over at the hellhound—currently shrouded by a dense glamor that rendered her invisible to all other eyes, human or otherwise—confirmed that the bitch’s expression was downright judgmental. Vee suppressed a sigh. Making Syama feel better about guard duty for such a distasteful event was going to be a mish.

  She gave the hellhound a warning glare as Kort concentrated on making his way south. Vee’s attention then returned to the entrance of the only establishment on this street still open at the ungodly hour of two in the morning. All the other stores had had the good sense to close up at an hour closer to one deemed not on the straight path to hell.

  Around the corner was another story entirely; Hunts Point in the Bronx, not the place you’d want to spend your free time even in the stark light of day.

  But what did any of the residents of this neck of the woods really know? The dangers they saw were tangible ones, abusive pimps and drug pushers, trading in flesh and suffering. What they didn’t allow themselves to see lay strictly within the shadows.

  Within their nightmares.

  The stakeout was taking its toll on Vee’s bones. The late fall air—already edged with insistent cold—sank right through her fur-lined leather jacket, the icy wet ground seeping its way up into the soles of her boots to settle deep into her bones.

  A recent rain-shower had bathed the street in a film of moisture, dotting the ragged blacktop with luminescent puddles, each tinted a strangely undulating aqueous green. Above the entrance to the bar, neon lights flickered a sickly jade every few seconds, as if they considered their task unworthy.

  The sign for The Lucky Clover went dark for a full two seconds, then struggled to light up again.

  When it finally emerged, returning reluctantly from the place all fluorescent signs went to die, it was on its second wind, brighter than before.

  Blindingly so.

  Pity the sign was missing the “C.”

  Vee gave a silent snort, forcing herself to refrain from shifting away from Kort’s exploring lips. The bar would have to settle for being the only lucky lover around because Kort wasn't going to get any.

  In fact, it took Vee far too much concentration to prevent herself from shuddering in disgust as he traced a line along the side of her throat. And judging from the sizable interest pressing against her upper thigh, luck had damn well better have her in her sights soon, or the creep was going to end up having a go at her leg.

  He’d be a hot dead mess before he finished, judging by the look in Syama’s eyes. The hellhound rose, took a step forward, the muscles in her massive legs bulging, her obsidian claws clacking against the sidewalk, the sharp sounds a tattoo of gunshots to Vee’s ears.

  Vee shook her head, cringing at the thought. Syama lifted the corner of her upper lip an inch, revealing a hint of a big-ass canine. Then, the hellhound settled back on her haunches, her red-eyed glare underlined by the haughty lift of her dark and pointy chin.

  Sighing with relief, Vee narrowed her eyes as she stared through the front window of the bar, at the interior where shadows danced against the red-glazed glass pane of the double doors, the only entrance to the place this side of the block.

  Around back might have been a better choice, but Vee didn't want to waste time trying to save her wallet, her life, or her honor in that putrid back alley.

  Kort, though, was not going to be easy to get away from. She almost felt sorry for him, stringing him along like that, but he was a means to an end, and
certainly didn’t rate high on her list of people whose feelings actually mattered. He knew everything that happened on this street, and getting him to talk had been blessedly easy.

  Galvanized by the insistent roaming of Kort's hands, and the sudden soft growl that threatened to move past the glamor that hid the sound, Vee pushed away from the wall, and steered the seeking fingers back to her waist. Let him figure out what that meant.

  Movement at the corner of her eye drew Vee's attention to the entrance of the bar as thick shadows melded into one dense dark shape which closed in on the doorway. Someone was leaving and Vee prayed it would be Benny. His appearance would mean an excuse to get away from her overly-amorous companion.

  Considering he had to be amorous to make a living, she wasn’t entirely sure why he seemed so into her. She gave a mental shrug and focused on the job.

  At one-thirty that morning, Vee had received a call from her contact that a new shipment was coming in for Cressida Lane—real-estate mogul, class-A bitch, with cojones the size of the state of Texas.

  Cressida had fallen on Vee’s radar as a person of interest. Vee had once done the odd bounty-hunting job for the woman, but since Vee had hooked up with the FBI, Cressida had had little use for Vee’s law enforcement services.

  Either the woman was into the wrong kinda shit, or her problems were becoming far too numerous for her to handle in her own ruthless way.

  Today, word on the street was Cressida had misplaced one of her many employees. The fact that Cress happened to be a Class 2 sorcerer, and that Benny happened to be a low-level rakshasa demon, were two issues that were beside the point.

  The bell above that bar’s door tinkled eerily as Benny pushed it open, and Vee felt a shiver run through her. Not the kind of shiver that made a girl weak in the knees.

  No. This was the kind of rippling that made the pit of her stomach sizzle with toxic heat, that made her ears ring, that made the taste of bloody copper roil in the back of her mouth.