by Anne Hope
“What, exactly, are we looking for?” She surveyed the scene. She knew from the photographs she’d seen that the victim had been found on the bed, naked save for a matted fur vest. The body had been removed, but other than that, the bed had been left undisturbed.
Marcus approached the king-sized bed and laid his palm on the mussed sheets. If his stare had been focused before, it was downright incisive now. “Evidence that he was here.”
“He?”
“Kyros.”
If Kyros had been here, he’d left no trace of his black energy behind. The room felt clean. As clean as a place like this could feel. “Getting anything? ’Cause I’m not.”
His fingers fisted around a handful of sheets. “Why can’t I feel him? Who’s cloaking him?”
A frown yanked at the corners of her mouth. “Maybe he was never here. Someone else could’ve done this—”
“No.” His tone left no room for negotiation. “He was here. Unfortunately, our notorious firstborn seems to have gained himself a guardian angel.”
An oily sensation slid down her throat to settle in the pit of her stomach. “You think an angel is cloaking him? Why?”
Marcus’s dark, shimmering eyes snapped to hers. “Because whoever put this in motion needs Kyros alive. How else could he feed Ben’s soul to him and bring forth the end of the world?”
Her heart hardened to stone. “I thought you said Cal was wrong. Are you now telling me you think this latest prophecy of his is true?”
“I don’t know.” Marcus ran a rough palm over his face. “All I know is that Kyros has been cloaked, and only two creatures have the power to do that—an Ancient or an angel. Since Athanatos is dead, and I don’t know of any other Ancient who’d go through the trouble of cloaking Kyros, that leaves us with option number two.”
As much as she hated to admit it, everything seemed to point to the fact that Cal’s prediction was right on the money. The angels really were out to destroy the world, and Ben was the weapon they intended to use to do it. Now the question was, how did they stop them?
“So it’s a bust. We drove six hours for nothing.”
“Not entirely.”
She waited for him to elaborate, toeing an overturned chair out of the way and approaching him. Marcus didn’t disappoint.
“The witness claimed there was another woman with them. Her body wasn’t found, which means she’s still out there somewhere, and her energy is all over this place.”
A spark of excitement flared in her belly. “Think you can track her?”
“She hasn’t been cloaked. I see no reason why I wouldn’t be able to.”
Lust and admiration made for one potent drug. It took every ounce of strength she possessed not to throw her arms around him. “Marcus, I could kiss you right now.”
His shoulders tensed. “Not sure that’s such a great idea.” Despite his words, his gaze fell to her mouth, and a lick of awareness passed between them.
“Don’t get your tighty whities in a twist. It’s just a figure of speech.”
He gave her a murderous scowl. “I don’t wear tighty whities.”
Regan bit back a smile. “Really? I always figured you for a briefs kind of guy.” She let her gaze trail down the magnificent length of him in a deliberate attempt to provoke him. “Personally, I prefer to go au naturel.”
“Are you done?” His voice held just the right combination of heat and menace.
After the way he’d trampled on her emotions last night, it seemed only fair to torture him a little. Maybe he didn’t believe he could love her, but he wanted her, that much was evident in the way his eyes raked over her body.
“Can’t a girl have a little fun?”
He grabbed her by the arm and dragged her toward the door. “This isn’t the time or place. We need to get out of here before the cops return…or worse.” He scanned their surroundings, and she knew he was seeing past the walls of the motel to the street that lay beyond. “The Watchers have been here—I can feel them—and there’s nothing stopping them from coming back.”
The witness didn’t hesitate to let them in. All Jace had to do was tell her they were cops and she bought it, no badge required. In the past few months he’d honed his skill to the point where planting a suggestion had become second nature to him. He no longer needed to speak or make eye contact with a human. He could influence people with a mere thought, from great distances away. So convincing this woman they were with the Portland police was no great feat. Her aura was damaged, her mind easy to breach.
She lived in a rundown two-bedroom apartment over a nightclub in Old Town, where vagrants huddled on the streets and drug addicts tried to hustle money out of passersby. Despite the city’s attempt to clean up this part of town, it continued to cling to the shadows. Located right over the catacombs, it had suffered from the ill effects produced by the thousand or so Kleptopsychs living just below the surface. Even though the Kleptopsychs were now gone, the catacombs sealed off to them, the kind of damage years of exposure to their kind had caused would take decades to undo.
The woman ushered them through a small living room to the kitchen, where the walls were as red as her lipstick. She indicated that they take a seat at the black lacquer table. “Look, I’m all torn up that Mandy went and got herself killed, but I already told the police everything I know.”
“Sorry to bother you again.” Lia donned her most disarming smile, and Jace couldn’t help but experience that familiar kick beneath his ribs. She had a mind-blowing smile. It lit up her whole face and made her skin glow, even now when her soul no longer resided in her body. “We just need to get all our facts straight. We’ve got a dead woman on our hands and no leads.”
They’d gone to the morgue earlier today. A single look at the corpse had confirmed what they’d already suspected—one of their kind had performed the deed. The woman’s soul had been ripped from her body, causing her ribcage to collapse and her skin to shrivel beyond recognition. As usual, they’d removed the body, erased the autopsy reports and altered memories.
Next they’d visited the crime scene, where they’d blended with the cops and convinced them they were two of their finest. A detailed inspection of the grounds had provided no clues as to the identity of the murderer. No dark energy surrounded the area, which was impossible since no human could’ve inflicted the kind of damage they’d witnessed at the morgue. The killer was an anonymous, untraceable ghost, and as far as they knew only one person existed who could identify him.
“Could you describe the man you saw the victim leaving with?” Jace probed.
“Like I told the other guys, I didn’t get a clear look. It was dark, and I was standing on the other side of the street.”
Lia leaned over and covered the woman’s hand with her own. “Anything you can remember will help.”
The tension melted from the witness’s limbs, and she blew out a sigh. “He was tall, almost seven feet. His hair looked black, but like I said, it was dark out so I can’t be one hundred percent sure. It could’ve been brown. All I know is that it was long, about shoulder-length. Why don’t you just ask Jewel? I’m sure she got a better look.”
“Jewel?” Jace’s gaze cut briefly to Lia’s.
“The new girl. Mandy was training her. They both got into the Mercedes with the guy. She didn’t end up dead, too, did she?”
“Not as far as we know,” Lia said.
“Can you tell us where we can find this Jewel?” Jace gave the witness a silent nudge to cooperate.
In a hypnotic trance, the woman stood, grabbed a notepad and pen from the kitchen counter, then compliantly scribbled something on it. When she returned, she tore off the page and handed it to him. “Her address.”
Jace folded the note and slipped it in his pocket. He gestured to Lia, and she stood and followed him to the door. “When we leave,” he told the witness, “you won’t remember any of this.”
The woman nodded and retreated into the apartment, her blank, glassy
stare directed at the walls. As far as Jace could tell, she’d already forgotten them.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Marcus’s instincts led him to an old warehouse that had been converted to an apartment building, located at the end of a dead-end street, where the stench of garbage permeated the air and discarded wrappers and beer cans littered the sidewalks. Shadows fell like daggers to striate the streets, and dust rode a breeze that smelled faintly of pot.
He’d parked the Tahoe a couple of blocks away, and he and Regan had walked the rest of the way here. Regan studied the building, her gaze narrowing. “Looks like a crack house.”
“Wouldn’t be surprised if it is.” The front stairs creaked as he mounted them, with Regan only two steps behind.
He didn’t need to coax the door open. All it took was a soft shove, and it swung inward on rusted hinges, welcoming them with an eerie grumble. Inside, the shadows thickened, black fingers of gloom clinging obstinately to the cement floor and dingy walls. The only light came from two narrow windows, which cast a pale glow over a winding metal staircase. The compulsion guiding Marcus sharpened, stabbing into him with blade-like precision.
“Her energy is very strong here,” he told Regan. “The place reeks of her signature.”
They mounted the rickety staircase in silence, their heightened hearing tuned to their surroundings, ready to pick up the slightest shift in the atmosphere—the hiss of footsteps, the rustle of fabric, the gentle rasp of an intruder’s breath. The place was deserted, dead quiet, void of any form of life—soulless or otherwise.
The woman’s energy drew him to the unit at the end of the hall. Before he could pick the lock, Regan materialized on the other side of the wooden barrier and let him in, welcoming him with an exaggerated sweep of her arm.
“I told you it’s not a good idea to use our special skills while we’re being hunted. Remember what happened yesterday?” Using his powers to open the door of Cassie’s old apartment had been a colossal mistake. One that could’ve cost them everything.
“Oh, I remember, all right.” Her voice slid over him like cool, smooth silk.
It brought to mind their heated romp in the grass, the memory of her tight, supple body trapped beneath his, the feel of her feather-light fingers caressing his back.
Marcus cleared his throat and entered the loft. Regan didn’t bother to move out of the way, and he was forced to squeeze past her. His body unavoidably grazed hers, and prickles of electricity raced down his spine. The woman was doing everything in her power to provoke him, and it annoyed the hell out of him.
Determined to ignore the fevered ache that had crept into his bloodstream the moment he’d first held her, he concentrated all his energy on the task at hand. He rummaged through the apartment, examining everything—from the forgotten spoon on the kitchen counter to the stack of unopened letters sitting on a stool by the door. Every item was imbued with the woman’s individual aura. The lingering effects of her life-force tingled along his fingertips, a subtle current as incriminating as a person’s DNA. But the current, although strong, was frayed along the edges.
“She hasn’t been here in a while,” he said. “Not since she got in that car with Kyros.”
“We still have no proof the perp was Kyros.” Regan was hell-bent on second-guessing him every chance she got, and like everything else about her today it aggravated him.
“I don’t need proof. I know it was him.”
A defeated sigh escaped her lips. “Okay, for argument’s sake, let’s say Kyros is our man. Where did he take her?”
Marcus didn’t get a chance to answer. A frantic bark shattered the silence, echoing from the metal staircase and bouncing off the hollow walls. He and Regan ventured out of the apartment to find an enormous German shepherd guarding the stairwell. The dog faced the front door, a growl resonating deep in its throat. It looked up at them with intelligent eyes, barked another warning, then angled a glance at the door again.
“We better get out of here.” Regan’s gaze never wavered from the animal. Not that the dog would cause any real damage if it decided to attack them. Still, the experience wouldn’t be pleasant.
“Let’s go out back.” He’d seen a rear exit when they’d entered the building, leading to the alley that flanked the warehouse.
The dog watched them warily as they negotiated the stairs and backed up toward the door. It didn’t attack them, though. Quite the opposite. Its gaze reflected silent encouragement wrapped in a thread of urgency.
Only when they stepped out into the alley did Marcus sense the threat. Familiar energy surrounded them, and the scar on his wrist began to throb. He placed his thumb on the Watchers’ mark, the letter C in Enochian script. The same brand Regan bore on her right wrist.
“Feel that?”
She nodded. “My scar is pulsing. It’s never done that before.”
The blood vow bound the Watchers together, allowing them to sense each other even though they were cloaked, but usually the pull was a muted hum. Today it was an electric throb that screamed out a warning Marcus would be a fool to ignore. “The Watchers are near.” He fastened his gaze on hers, wondering if she’d identified the distinctive energy of those who approached.
The dismay in her eyes suddenly gave way to recognition. “It’s Jace.” Pleasure conspired with excitement to set her cheeks ablaze. If Marcus didn’t suspect the guy was her son, he would’ve been eaten up by jealousy. Yet another feeling that was all too human for his liking. “I have to go see him.”
He clutched her arm before she could vanish on him. “Bad idea.”
“Marcus, it’s Jace. We can trust him.”
He was in no mood to tussle with the Watchers, even if the Watchers in question happened to be Jace and Lia. “Right now, we can’t trust anyone.”
Frustration thinned her mouth. “Really? ’Cause that’s not what you said about your rogue son.”
He backed her against the wall, placing his hands on either side of her head, his body forming a barrier around her even though he knew full well she could dissipate like smoke if the urge struck her. “Are you finally admitting it? Are you ready to acknowledge that Jace is yours?”
Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Would it make a difference if I did?”
“No.” He brushed a wayward strand from her cheek, ensnared by her brilliant gaze. “You’re conveniently forgetting Jace’s ability to get others to do exactly what he wants.”
“He wouldn’t do that to me.” She raised her chin, bringing her lips dangerously close to his.
“You sure about that?”
“I’d bet my life on it.”
“Would you bet Ben’s?”
His statement had a sobering effect. The challenge went out of her, and she slumped against the wall. “Fine, have it your way. But you’re wrong about Jace. He’d never betray me.”
“Maybe not. But if you’re right and he and Lia cover for us, they’ll end up in as much hot water with Cal as we have. Is that what you want?”
Before she could answer, a bark alerted them to the dog’s presence again. Regan’s eyes widened in surprise. “How the hell did it get out?”
The yapping escalated to a fevered pitch, just as the rev of a motor reached their ears, followed by the scrape of tires rounding the corner and grinding to a halt.
“I think he’s trying to tell us our time’s up.”
The motor died down, and footsteps sounded from beyond the building. Tunneling his vision, Marcus watched Jace and Lia enter the warehouse and close the door behind them.
“Let’s go.” Looping his arm around Regan’s waist, he nudged her down the alley toward the street where they’d parked the Tahoe.
The dog didn’t follow them. Dampness clung to the asphalt like a film of sweat. Shadows stretched across the sidewalks to spill onto the streets. Overhead, a weak sun sputtered beneath a gray blanket of clouds. Humidity laced the wind, infusing it with a bone-searing chill.
Regan shivered agai
nst him, her delicious curves pressing into his side. She angled a glance toward the heavens. “Looks like rain again,” she moaned. “Remind me why we didn’t set up base in the desert. Nevada, Arizona, even the Sahara would’ve been better than this.”
“We’d better get to the car before it starts to pour.” He drew her closer in an unvoiced promise to protect her, not only from the elements but from all those who hunted them. Her body went boneless against his, and she seemed to find refuge in the circle of his arms. Briefly their gazes touched, and his brain went numb. When she looked at him like that—with tenderness and a bright flicker of expectation—he forgot there was a world around them. Nothing existed but her. In that stunted heartbeat when he was held captive by her molten gaze, he understood why he’d turned his back on everything he believed in. For Regan, he’d walk through hell and back if it meant keeping her safe.
Pretty powerful thoughts for a creature deprived of the capacity to feel. Downright unlikely, if not altogether impossible. Yet here they were, emotions so consuming they filled every hollow space inside him and made it damn near impossible to breathe.
They reached the Tahoe and climbed inside just as the clouds cracked open and the angels unleashed their fury. Simultaneously, the sun’s rays shredded the gray gloom, and a prism of color washed across their windshield.
“Where to now?” she asked, her voice unexplainably winded.
He latched on to the woman’s signature, felt the compulsive impulse to drive south. “Wherever the call takes me.”
The door had barely swung shut behind them when Jace’s scar began to throb, alerting him to a familiar presence. He tunneled his vision and saw Regan and Marcus hastily circling the perimeter of the building, then bolting down a neighboring street.
“They’re here.”
Lia, who’d walked a few paces ahead of him, stopped and spun around to face him. Confusion wrinkled her brows. “Who’s here?”
“Regan and Marcus. They must’ve sensed us and gone out the back.” He veered around and headed out the way they’d come, willing Lia to follow him.
