by Gaja J. Kos
Sucking in more air, I sifted through the layers. The direction from which we came seemed a touch more saturated with the vampire’s scent than the others, but it also seemed like too big of a risk for our murderous prick to go with. Something about it made me willing to bet that Milton had run in that direction, then backtracked when he realized where he was—that ICRA was probably already nearby—which would explain the somewhat fattened scent.
Yet all other options smelled the exact same.
Growling under my breath, I dove deeper. A current of wind pushed down the street—
“Finn,” I called out. “I smell more blood.”
“Fuck.”
“I’m checking it out,” I said without looking at him, but as I made the first step, Finn’s fingers wrapped around my arm.
His concerned gaze bored into mine. “If this is Milton, I don’t like us separating.”
“What other choice do we have?” I glanced past him at the body.
Leaving a crime scene unattended was a no-no, and if we’d been the first to arrive even though Roth had received the call before we’d even made it to his crime scene, it didn’t look like the ME’s people would be showing up anytime soon.
“Let me call Roth,” Finn grumbled and yanked the phone from his pocket again.
He relayed our issue in curt, effective sentences, and a few minutes later, Roth showed up in person. He didn’t question why Finn refused to leave my side, just took over and sent us on our way.
It didn’t take us long to find the bodies.
Two girls, dressed for a night out.
I wasn’t sure why, but it seemed important that they hadn’t been at the concert. The scent that clung to them was that of a bar, not a euphoric, sweaty crowd. Not that it changed the fact that Milton had torn out the throat of the first and gorged on the second.
Clearly the blood he’d thrown up had made room for more.
Finn called it in while I scrutinized the scene. The rim of the blood spreading from the first victim was disturbed, and although the combination of light and dark made it harder for my eyes to adjust, I spotted the flecks on the sidewalk. My pulse galloped.
A corner of Milton’s boot had snagged the blood.
Finn came to stand beside me, took one look at the partial footprints, and met my gaze. I nodded. Between Milton’s scent and the tracks not yet wholly dry, the bastard had to be nearby.
We prowled down the street, but when we reached the intersection, I halted. Finn shot me a silent question.
I tapped my nose and pointed to the right—the opposite direction of the prints.
“You sure?” Finn mouthed.
I nodded.
Maybe Milton realized he’d been tracking blood and decided to throw us off his trail through backtracking and leaving a second path for us to follow. Maybe the bastard wasn’t working alone.
But if that were the case, we couldn’t let either of the vamps free.
Finn’s displeasure infused the air, and although a foreboding tightness coiled in my gut, this was where we parted. Lacking my wolf senses, Finn took the footprints while I tracked Milton’s scent.
The trail weakened on the main street where exhaust fumes and sporadic clouds tinged with alcohol and cigarette smoke lingered in the air, but now that I’d latched on to it, the scent wasn’t quite so easy to lose.
Milton seemed to be headed well away from the crime scenes, the club. Relief rolled through me at the thought, but it didn’t make capturing Milton any less urgent. I stalked the scent across the road, then veered into a residential, tree-lined street. Where the fuck was he going?
We hadn’t uncovered where the bastard lived. Could this be—
His scent vanished.
I backtracked a step, then I spun on my heel at the tug bearing the vamp’s flavor and dipped into a narrower, dead-end street occupied to the brim with side-parked vehicles. Footsteps silent, I slowly prowled forward to pick out which of the buildings he’d entered.
Just as I neared the second door, the weak but steady current shifted, delivering information it should not have delivered.
I barely had time to look up—then dive the fuck aside as a dark figure dropped from the overhead balcony, reeking of violence and death.
Chapter 25
Concrete scraped my skin and cuts bloomed down my shoulder and the arm I’d tried to tuck in properly but had nonetheless taken the brunt of my fall. None of that mattered. Not with the malice roiling through the air. Operating on pure instinct, I propelled myself into another roll—and not a second too soon.
Milton’s fist smashed into the side of the car where I’d been, denting the metal so hard, my bones wouldn’t have stood a chance.
My pulse ratcheted up.
The murderous violence in the atmosphere threatening to suffocate me, I dove out of Milton’s way, then pulled myself to my feet, just barely fast enough to block the blow that would have bashed my nose in.
Milton’s fangs flashed in the night, and he snarled, blood-heavy breath hammering into my face. My stomach churned, and my muscles shook as I held the block.
Fuck, the bastard was strong.
The second I tried to shift my stance, he’d gain the upper hand. I had just one shot to injure him and flip the tables—and even that only if I did it absolutely right.
With every millisecond that passed, the burn in my tendons increased.
Now or never.
“I should have killed you from the start,” Milton snapped.
I pulled back.
Though it wouldn’t qualify as a stumble even by a long shot, Milton’s balance did shift for a fraction of a moment. I slammed my fist hard into his stomach, followed by a powerful hit to the side of his head.
Milton whirled on me. I ducked, then launched myself over the parked car and onto the middle of the dead-end street. Milton was there in a heartbeat.
Shit.
My mind barely registered his presence when the bastard let his fists fly.
“Bitch.” Left. “Protecting.” Right. “The.” Left. “Fucker.” Left. “Who.” Left. “Set.” Lunge. “Me.” Swipe. “Up.”
I hardly heard his rambling over my heavy breaths. Over the punches that rained down on me with the singular determination to turn me into a bloody, meaty pulp.
Utilizing all my training, all my instincts, all the gods-fucking-damned wisdom I had, I fought to keep up with his attacks. But gorged on fresh blood, Milton was stronger. Faster. It felt like the whole damn evening had started catching up with me, but no, it was all him.
And it fucking terrified me.
“Roscoe’s golden boy,” he spat, and I dipped under his swipe to come at him from behind.
I got one fucking punch into his kidney in before Milton was on me again.
Spittle flew from his lips as he snarled, “Got all the good treatments. And what was I left with?”
Holding on to the back of the car with sweaty palms, I swung my legs around and kicked hard at Milton’s head.
The force of the blow sent him staggering into the vehicle I’d propelled myself away from, but the second I thought I had him cornered, Milton was back in the game.
He grabbed hold of my arms, spun us around, and rammed my back against the car. Glass shattered beneath the blunt force of my body.
“He fucking set me up to be tortured by a fucking hunter.” Milton yanked me to him and shoved me with all his might again.
More shards bit into my back.
“Tortured!” he screamed.
Shit, the fucker was losing it. He was really, truly losing it. His hatred for Aric had tipped him over the edge where there was no coming back.
As loath as I was to admit it, without backup, I was fucked.
“I had to get out of there on my own.” Spit glistened on his curled lips. “Broke my body a thousand fucking ways, just to be dragged back again and again. Over and over. The fucker got off on my pain. I kept telling myself it couldn’t be Sutter who’d h
anded me to this psychopath. That he’d come find me. That we had a bond. But it was him. It was him and his rotten fucking soul all along. Even Roscoe—”
Ignoring the sting of glass as Milton smashed me against the car again, I drove my knee into his groin. The bastard thrust his hip back, and what should have been a momentarily incapacitating blow just scraped his godsdamned junk. Shit.
He pressed his forearm across my throat with enough force to make me choke, then pinned me with the full weight of his body. The car groaned, denting—but didn’t give.
Milton dug into me harder. “Why him? What’s so fucking special about that Memphis dickstick that he’s got all of you wound around his finger?”
My mind swam from the lack of oxygen and my throat bruised from the force Milton was applying with his arm, but this was the best chance I was going to get. I needed backup if I wanted to get out of this alive. So, I let the bastard spew his hatred of Aric in my face—let him focus on choking me while I discreetly slipped my fingers into my purse.
“Why should he get everything?” Milton growled.
Three consecutive taps and I’d ping my location to ICRA.
I just hoped I’d have enough strength in me left to keep the bastard occupied without actually dying in the meantime.
“Fucking Sutter.” Milton’s spittle hit my face. “Thought he could have it all.”
I edged the zipper open with a nail.
“Thought he could play the whole fucking world.” He leaned into me. “Acts like he’s better, but I’ve seen him. I know what got him off. At least I ended things for them. And now”—he barked out an unhinged laugh—“I’ll end it for him.”
Lightheaded, I stared into Milton’s hatred-crazed eyes.
Shit, I never thought I’d wish to end up at the mercy of someone who enjoyed drawn-out torture over a short, brutal kill. But Milton—if that torturous side had ever been in him, it was long gone now. My death teetered in the charged air between us.
The only thing I had to hold on to to prolong my fall into the underworld was the vitriol flying from his mouth.
“Aric gets it all”—I wheezed and wiggled two fingers into the purse—“because he is better.”
Milton snarled but eased off my throat.
“Better vampire, better man,” I coughed through the words, raking my mind for all that stupid shit blockheaded guys tended to fly off the handle for. “A better biter, better looking, better in bed.”
I pressed the side button three times.
Milton’s gaze dropped.
With a snarl, he tore the purse off me and slammed it against the ground. The sound of the phone breaking grazed my ears. Milton stomped on it for good measure—momentarily forgetting about me.
With no time to shift, I willed all the strength I could drag from my reserves to tackle the bastard.
We flew across the road. Milton’s head cracked against the pavement, but when I gripped his shoulders to ram him down again, his hands shot up and caught mine.
Bones snapped.
I cried out—fury and frustration raking up a storm inside me. But Milton’s desire for my death surpassed that of mine for his.
He flipped us around and climbed atop me.
With my fractured arms useless until my healing swept in, I kicked and bucked to get the bastard off, but I just wasn’t strong enough. His fingers dug into my neck—choking me and drawing blood in deep, painful gashes where his nails split open my skin.
My eyes teared up.
Without a reprieve for my healing abilities to fully surge through me, they were only postponing my inevitable death by minutes. I needed those seconds. Needed the space to let the power flow. But a reprieve was something Milton would never give me.
I’d played my hand.
And I’d lost.
The prick clawed at my skin harder. “We’ll see how Aric does without his brainwashed wolf to tag behind him like a fucking pathetic stray bitch.”
A hint of magic wove through the ever more potent coppery scent of my own blood, but the fleeting hope that the energy was Finn’s died the second I caught a better whiff.
My vision blurred from more than just the tears that had punched to the surface with a viciousness I couldn’t contain as my life seeped from me, but there was no mistaking that Milton and I weren’t alone on the street any longer. I blinked furiously, fighting to keep my hold on whatever was still keeping me conscious.
A petite female stood by the wrecked car, watching Milton choke me to death.
Shelby.
It had to be.
Even if backup were on its way, even if I could somehow last that long against Milton… I was fucked.
In one final attempt to just gods-fucking-damned survive, I threw all I had at Milton. He jostled, then pinned me down and bared his fangs.
Nothing.
I had nothing left.
In the background, magic erupted like a damn volcano reeking of death.
Milton leaned in, his lips twisted into something between a smile and a snarl, and the vile magic shot from Shelby straight at my helpless, condemned form.
Chapter 26
Milton’s fingers twitched around my neck. Air flooded me for a blissful second before the weight of his body pushed it straight back out of my lungs.
The reek of magic saturated the air—almost breaking apart the very molecules—and as I lay beneath Milton, my mind fought tooth and claw to catch up with the different, not at all expected signals of reality.
I was still here. Still alive. And Milton…
His weight was all wrong.
His stillness wasn’t that of a vampire.
But a corpse.
My arms still not healed enough to risk the pressure, I shoved Milton off me using my entire torso. Pain lanced through my battered body, and although I wanted nothing more than to fall flat on my back beside the definitely dead vampire, I propped myself up and looked across the street at the witch.
Shelby’s long brown hair swayed in a breeze I didn’t feel, magic crackling around her with a deep violet tint that painted the dark of night and gave it an ominous depth that was as mesmerizing as it was terrifying.
Faintly, I registered the sting as my healing power expelled the shards of glass from my back, but my focus was on the witch—on the pieces that clicked together in my gradually clearing mind as I stared at her.
She’d killed Milton.
The waves of her magic’s malevolent charge prickled against my skin.
But she hadn’t done it for me.
Shelby approached with assertive, menacing steps. She passed by my trampled purse that smacked some more clarity into my mind—and also delivered a blaring reminder that I needed to fucking stall. I’d sent out the distress signal. I had to buy ICRA time to get the fuck over here.
But I was just too…broken.
Every damn bone in my body ached, my throat out of commission, and my healing slow enough that I couldn’t delude myself into thinking the damage Milton had inflicted on me was manageable—I’d patch myself up eventually, but Shelby would reach me long before that.
Worst of all, though, was Berlin’s undisturbed nightly pulse surrounding me from all sides. All life seemed so distant, disconnected from my here and now, and there was absolutely nothing in the faraway atmosphere that carried the signature buzz of ICRA reinforcements on their way.
I was still on my own.
When Shelby was halfway across, she stopped and scanned my pitiful form sitting slumped on the ground like a buzzed-out-of-her-mind drunk flirting with a hard bout of passing out. Shelby must have determined that I was no threat to her—which was as much of a harsh reality check of my survival prospects as it was a relief that she was in no rush to end this—because she flicked her gaze to Milton’s corpse, my sorry ass temporarily forgotten.
The witch sighed softly. “His was such a rare, beautiful breed of violence.”
A hint of…not exactly remorse, but something akin to nos
talgia tinted her tone.
Discreetly, I tested out my arms, then, once it became clear my bones wouldn’t refracture under the pressure, I braced myself on my hands.
They held.
My heart pounded against my ribs.
I shifted my legs to give me more purchase and tried to get up—
Barely an inch of air cushioned under my butt before I plopped back down. Aches that were sharp yet dull all at once zipped through my nerves, my flesh. Shit. I clenched my teeth, breathing through the pain as silently as I could to not draw attention.
When Shelby continued to gaze at Milton’s corpse, I tried again—and failed just the same.
I swallowed, my injured throat scratching in protest. Time. I needed more time.
“Why kill him then?” I rasped.
Shelby shrugged and strode closer but didn’t even glance at me as she said, “His ego got in the way.”
“Of what?”
A slow smile spread across her face. She turned to me, and I could have fucking sworn the very air iced over from the look in her eyes before everything stilled—then erupted in a cloud of toxic power.
I grabbed Milton’s body and yanked it before me like a shield.
His flesh warmed, the noxious magic prickling my fingers. With a grunt, I shoved the damn corpse at the witch.
Shelby sidestepped, and I bolted up, my stomach roiling uneasily as I demanded too much of myself. But if I didn’t move, I’d be just as dead as if Milton had finished what he’d set out to do.
I ran for the cover of the cars. Bolts of magic snipped at my heels and vicious whips lashed at my skin but, by some mercy, didn’t break the surface. No more than a second went by as I caught my breath, then I had to move again.
Lights flickered on in the building across from me, and a few shadowed figures moved toward the window. Shit. I’d been lucky that everyone seemed to have slept through Milton’s outbursts or had written them off as nothing but another Friday night drunk bellowing into the sky, but if they were sensitive to magic…
Silently, I willed them to stay safe, to stay the fuck indoors, then sprinted across the street and threw myself behind the nearest car.
