by Austin, RB
Chapter 6
Kate’s hand ran over the strips of tape right before colliding with the plastic case. Her head fell forward to rest against her arm. It’s here. She yanked the case away from the wall and pulled it out with a trembling hand.
The faded pink pencil case wasn’t anything to look at. She’d found it at a foster home when she was ten. It’d been in the basement covered with dust. But she’d recognized the Barbie logo. Kate had always wanted a Barbie of her own, but instead had the cheap knock offs, the heads and legs popping off after an hour of play.
The decal had since worn off, the color faded into a dull white. But the plastic material was waterproof and the zipper still worked. Plus she could easily fold it in half and shove it in her pocket if she had to take it somewhere.
Kate opened it now, expelling a heavy breath in relief. Her cash was still inside. Along with her most important possession.
She handled the photo by the edges, staring at the image of Stacy. Her gloved finger traced the younger girl’s face.
Stacy was nine years younger than Kate. Had believed Kate could fix anything. Would protect her from anyone. And she had.
Kate hadn’t wanted someone to look after. Especially not some little kid. She’d had less than a year before the system kicked her out and she couldn’t wait to be free. But Stacy, with the cherub face—despite the scar on her chin—had wormed her way in. Long blond hair hung in curls to the middle of her back. Bright, wide eyes had been so trusting. Kate couldn’t believe that after five years in foster care Stacy still viewed the world through Disney glasses, not seeing what it really was: a crumbling playground with only one working swing and no matter how hard she ran, someone would always beat her to it.
Kate had been living with Randy and Mary Thurman for eight months before Stacy arrived. From Kate’s first day, she pegged Randy accurately. Had recognized the expression on his face, the hard glint in his eyes. She’d lived in abusive homes before. Remembered the drill.
Keep your head down. Keep to yourself. Don’t create problems. Don’t ask questions.
Randy was a drunk, too. Kate had started leaving the house when Mrs. Thurman worked late. Until Stacy arrived. If Kate left, Randy would target Stacy.
No choice. She had to protect Stacy from Randy. And from becoming just like Kate.
So the girl went with her when Kate left the house or if that wasn’t possible, they stayed in. Kate gave the boy in third grade a bloody nose when he wouldn’t stop pulling Stacy’s hair and stealing her lunch. She picked up after her so Mary, who loved order more than her own husband, wouldn’t get upset.
Kate hadn’t meant to care for Stacy. Just wanted to do right by her.
And had.
Until she ran.
What happened to the little girl after she left? Did she remember not to leave her towel on the floor after her shower? Could she reach the microwave to warm up her Spaghetti O’s when Mary worked late? Did she still believe the world was made of gumball trees and sugar lanes?
“Oh, Stacy,” Kate whispered. “I’m sorry.”
Stacy would turn eighteen this year. Removed from foster care. No longer a ward of the state. Was she ready to live on her own? Maybe she’d been adopted. Had wonderful parents who cooked her dinner, tucked her in at night like Kate used to, made sure to scare away the boogey man under the bed.
The photo tucked inside, Kate zipped the case closed. Replaced the vent cover. Stood. She grabbed her backpack from the closet, shoving her meager clothes inside. Then stopped in the bathroom for a pair of still-sopping-wet underwear soaking in the sink, her almost dried black socks on the shower curtain rod, and a small amount of toiletries behind the mirror; pushing it all into the side and front pockets.
Two steps into the hallway, she froze. Heavy footfalls sounded outside her apartment—please keep going. Please keep going—and stopped by her door.
Shit.
Keys jangled.
Double shit.
She turned and bolted for the fire escape. The door opened as she crawled through the window. Her shirt caught on a jagged piece of glass.
“Hey!”
Kate managed one glance at the Super’s shocked expression, fast turning angry, before yanking free. She raced down the metal-grated fire escape steps, jumped off the last step to the ground, and booked it down the alley.
The Super was still yelling. Kate barreled around the corner and didn’t stop running until she was five blocks away.
Breath heaving, she crossed the street at a crosswalk and shrugged her pack into a more comfortable position. Her knees ached from the splat in the alley. She glanced over her shoulder every few feet, but didn’t relax until three blocks down. No one was following her.
Her stomach rumbled. A reminder she hadn’t eaten today. And, damn, she forgot to grab the bread and peanut butter.
No reason to ask if the day could get any worse. Kate glanced down. Was her knee swelling?
Great.
Three hours until her shift at Opulent started. She had to figure out a new place to sleep, where to shower, find another part-time job for during the day and, now more than ever, where to move next.
Somewhere warm would be nice. Winter in Philly could be a bitch.
Just to prove a point, the wind picked up and ruffled Kate’s hair. Although she’d dealt with colder winters in Chicago.
She inhaled sharply, dismissing the thought before it could fully form.
Stepping one foot back in Illinois, especially Chicago, was suicide.
Kate frowned.
What if she did go? She’d find Stacy. They could go to Mexico. Kate wouldn’t have to worry about the cops anymore. She’d find Eddie while she was in Chicago. Get a passport. Another license in a different name. One for Stacy, too. The police couldn’t still be actively searching for her. As long as she stayed under the radar, she could find Stacy.
And in Mexico, find a full-time, regular hour job. A permanent place to stay.
Could be possible. It wasn’t false hope. She could find Stacy. They’d be together again. Kate would take care of her properly this time. No running out.
A smile formed. She barely felt the ache in her knee anymore.
Soon she’d see Stacy. They’d build a normal life together.
Chapter 7
Lucas stood behind Gabe. Waited for a break in the crowd.
He often frequented this club after a blood ceremony. His sire’s blood had one unpleasant side effect: an erection that made Viagra seem like a piece of candy. Sex was the only cure. The club, Midnight Run, was the perfect place for meaningless sex with willing nheqebas.
The dance floor was full. Only one or two tables still free. Gabe sidestepped the Miley Cyrus-esque dancers. Lucas followed, gaze searching the crowds. The ring was still present. It was louder, although harder to discern with the music screaming.
He clenched the star in his pocket and, once again, wished for his gloves off. The pain would help him focus. Follower emotions punched into him, and the ring, music, and bass made it difficult to decipher his own heartbeat. It was overwhelming. He reached out to tap Gabe, wanting him to hold a moment. Maybe if they stood still, he could concentrate.
“By the back wall, to the left,” Gabe said over his shoulder.
Lucas spotted two men, both wearing jeans and a T-shirt. One in his mid-twenties. The other closer to thirty. Two Follower women sat between them.
To the humans, the Fallen were good-looking guys ready for a night of fun. To Lucas they appeared that way too, except for the scream in his ear when he focused on the pair and the glint of shine coming from underneath the table.
The one on the right had a knife.
Anticipation and excitement raced through Lucas. The zing of energy swirled through his bloo
dstream, ending low in his gut. He didn’t know if it was his or Gabe’s but he liked it.
They started forward. Lucas locked his gaze on the Fallen, followed their every move. Would the Fallen actually kill while still inside the club?
Yesterday he wouldn’t have thought twice about saying no. But now, he couldn’t say.
Their enemy was out in public, around a bunch of Followers. Witnesses who had the capability of videotaping or snapping a picture even faster than Lucas could run from one end of the club to the other side.
“What are they playing at?” Gabe asked.
The two still cozied up to their Followers. The Fallen on the right had yet to move his knife. The other nuzzled a white exposed neck. The nheqeba’s eyes were closed, blond head tilted back, rapt pleasure on her face. Lucas searched for a trace of blood. There was none. It appeared the Fallen was just kissing the human female.
Most Fallen were not sexually active. It was the Followers’ souls they craved. Though the handful of brutalized and violated nheqebas he’d seen over the years proved some did like to get it up.
Lucas maneuvered around the last crowd of barely clothed females. Then he and Gabe were in front of the table.
The Knife-toting Fallen whispered in a short, red-haired Follower’s ear, his free hand stroking her arm. The Follower gave a throaty laugh.
Gabe cleared his throat. To the humans, the sound was unnoticeable in the thump of the music and their own fast, excited beating hearts.
Lust swam through Lucas, heating his cheeks.
He used the prospect of a kill to kindle his strength and thrust the emotion away, then leaned down. “Excuse me.”
The blond jumped, her head jerking up.
The other Follower opened her eyes slowly. It was obvious the drink in front of her wasn’t her first or even her third.
“Go away,” the Fallen with the knife growled, gaze locked on his human.
Gabe flashed Lucas a WTF look.
Lucas’s lips curved. It wasn’t a nice smile. He dragged an unoccupied chair from the next table over and sat down. “What are you guys drinking? Beer? I’m in the mood for something a bit stronger. Something with a punch. Or a kick. Know what I mean?”
“Hey, asshole.” Knifey finally lifted his head from the red-haired Follower’s ear. “I said, get lo—” The Fallen’s voice drifted away, mouth dropping open.
Lucas’s smile widened, flashing fang. “Hello.”
“Oh, fuck.” The second Fallen had finally caught on to what was happening.
The table paused for one complete second. Then the Fallen vaulted over the back of their seats. The nheqebas’ shocked cries filled the air. Lucas gave chase. Gabe was right behind him.
Lucas was slowed by the Follower obstacle course, especially when the Fallen started pushing the humans in their direction.
“Toward the back,” Lucas shouted to Gabe. By the time he reached the employee entrance, the outside door was swinging shut. Lucas upped his speed, letting Gabe deal with the outraged Followers. He burst through the door. It led to the alley behind the club.
He blinked and his sight increased. To the right was the street in front of the club. To the left . . . were the Fallen. They had a good head start. It would gain them nothing. He took off.
His Sigma would come in handy right about now, but they were too close to Followers. It might be time to talk to Sarid about silencers.
Distance closing between them, Lucas lunged forward and gripped the collar of Knifey’s black leather jacket. The bastard wiggled out of his leather, turned, and ran the way they came, now heading toward the street.
Gabe barreled out of the club just as the Fallen ran past the door. “I got the runner,” Gabe yelled over his shoulder.
Lucas whirled. The second Fallen was out of sight. The alley’s other exit a good ways off. No way could the SOB have reached it. He must be hiding. Lucas palmed his gun, rethinking his earlier decree. The club’s bass was loud enough. The Followers inside the building and around the corner probably wouldn’t hear the shots. He smiled, allowing his fangs to descend.
Sigma trained on the dumpster a few feet ahead on the left, he stalked forward. The music’s noise drowned out any possibility of hearing heavy breathing or scuffling. The ring in his ears was faint. It was either behind the dumpster or . . . After a second glance, he spotted it. A door. On the right. Fifteen feet ahead.
Gun leading the way, Lucas rounded the dumpster. The bright blue glow from his eyes swept over the rats as they scurried underneath the rusty can. Clear. His gaze ran back to the door. He booted silently forward, grabbed hold of the handle and twisted.
It was a warehouse. From the smell, a seafood one. The lights were off. The machines shut down. Lucas wasn’t affected by the change in temperature, but he could feel it was ten degrees colder than outside.
The plants by the marina were staffed twenty-four seven. This must be a storage place, not a processing building.
The door closed softly behind him. Outside noises were replaced by a ring. A loud ring.
Beautiful Creator.
Lucas paused in the darkness and listened. The building was one floor. Filled with cold units and long, metal machines used for packaging. Plenty of places for a chicken Fallen to hide.
No matter. Lucas didn’t have any other plans tonight. He was more than happy to play hide and seek. For however long it took.
Except it didn’t take long. The Fallen was behind a wide metal unit hugging the wall. Lucas was slightly disappointed in the monster’s lack of imagination. Sigma in front of him, he strode forward and squeezed the trigger.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
The Fallen jerked into the wall as bullets slammed into his knee, groin, and chest.
Sharp ice points of fear surged through Lucas’s bloodstream. The Fallen’s.
Lucas holstered his gun, reached for his knife.
The ice turned Artic.
The Fallen’s pale face grew even paler.
Adrenaline ran through Lucas’s body, followed by a small spark of hope.
The Fallen was planning to flee. Again. Uh-uh. Not this time. Lucas flicked his wrist and the knife embedded deep into the Fallen’s chest. Two inches to the left of the heart. Fuck.
The Fallen moved two steps forward before falling to the ground. Lucas straddled its waist, pulled the knife out.
The Fallen screamed.
Gabe hadn’t screamed when the demon stabbed him.
Lucas raised the knife, aimed for the center of the heart then faltered.
Blood dripped down the knife handle and onto his gloves. It looked similar to the demon’s blood.
Lucas hadn’t been able to control the demon’s emotions.
Fallen were lower on the evil pyramid. He’d dealt with Fallen emotions for centuries. Was able to control their effect on him.
His hands started to shake. Breathing intensified.
One touch. That was all it took with the demon. His gift had done the rest. With skin-to-skin contact, he absorbed a stronger read of emotions.
He watched the scene play out from above, like an out of body experience, but at the same time completely present in the moment. His right hand set the knife on the cement, reached for the fingertips of the left glove. The cool leather slid over his skin, exposing his left palm. Then he was suddenly wrenched away from the Fallen and thrown back. He hit the ground, rolled to his feet, and crouched low.
It was Gabe. Lucas’s knife now in his hand.
Lucas hadn’t felt the telltale caress along his spine, announcing his ach’s arrival. He rose, watched Gabe pivot and strike the Fallen in the heart. In the next instant only a pile of ash remained.
“What the fuck, Lucas!” Gabe exploded.
Lucas still
ed as he was transported to the front of a waterfall. The roar in his ears was deafening. What would eliminate Gabe’s anger the fastest? He inhaled for calm and exhaled, pushing Gabe’s anger and his own disappointment away.
He couldn’t feel the disappointment, the contraction in his chest that reminded him of a deflating balloon. Gabe’s emotion overshadowed everything else. But Lucas knew it was there. How could it not be? When a prime example of what swayed his decision to touch that Fallen was right in front of him and in him.
With calm he didn’t feel, Lucas raised his head to Gabe’s furious expression. “Is there a reason why you took my kill?”
“Your kill? Is that why you set your knife on the ground?”
He had no response for that. Gabe’s emotions were making it difficult to think. Lucas shrugged.
Gabe stared.
The anger depleted, replaced by—his heart thudded once. Lucas sighed. He had no desire to alleviate the worry. His gaze fell to the floor. The blood and ashes would have to be removed. He stepped over the mess, heading for the closed doors on the far side of the warehouse. A mop and broom had to be somewhere.
Gabe followed.
His ach was silent as Lucas checked the first door he came to. An office. Next, a maintenance closet. Great. He thrust the broom behind him. Gabe took it.
Lucas wheeled out the mop and already filled bucket. The bucket’s squeaky wheel echoed through the warehouse. The roar had returned, combined with a gentle breeze flowing in his veins. Concern. Gabe’s worry had bumped up the scale. Lucas ignored it the best he could and started on the drops of blood while Gabe swept the ashes.
