by JL Madore
She imagined dark walls with maybe neon, lager signs for atmosphere. There would be a big manly bar, and either a pool table or a vintage motorcycle in the corner. “Kyrian, could you describe the loft to me, please?”
“There are two bedroom suites at each end of the space with the usual dining room, kitchen, living room, laundry, office type rooms toward the center.”
“And the décor?”
“Twelve-foot ceilings, detailed wood moldings, amber-and-gold light fixtures and dark cherry floors. The walls are a rich gold color and have an almost Masters Gallery feel with all the paintings.”
That blew Austin’s mind. He ran a sex club, cursed like a foul-tempered trucker and wielded intimidation and physical strength to get what he wanted. Why would he live in classic style with museum grade artwork? But Kyrian lived there too. “Is the loft yours?”
Kyrian stopped and set her hand on the back of a chair. “No. It’s Zander’s place. I’m a squatter. I started helping with the club a few years back and claimed a bedroom.”
Kyrian’s deep Mediterranean accent bounced around the enormous dining room. Despite the succulent smells of food beckoning her, she wandered down one side of the long table and up the other and traced the chairbacks. Twenty in all. Wow. Her apartment had no dining room and her kitchen table sat a very cramped four.
She sensed when Zander joined them. He smelled of sandalwood soap, cologne and fresh, clean male, a huge improvement over the blood stench he’d given off all morning.
“Kyrian is the gentleman of our little group,” Zander said, his voice deeper than usual. Chair legs scuffed over the wooden floor as he stepped in beside her and pulled one out. When she settled, he placed a linen-wrapped cutlery setting in her hand.
“He is also a foodie with a gift in the kitchen. There is a ten-inch plate before you. A bacon cheese omelet a six o’clock with home-fries behind and buttered toast on the rim at two o’clock. A fruit platter sits beyond your plate with watermelon, pineapple and mango wedges. Is that all right?”
“I wasn’t sure what you’d like,” Kyrian said. “You’re not a vegetarian, are you?”
Austin laughed. “Definitely not. I’m Texan born and raised on down-home barbeque.” She unwrapped the napkin from the cutlery and located her plate’s edge. The ambrosia in the air eased more tension away. “This is perfect, thank you.”
“And to drink? Juice? Coffee? Tea—”
“Beer,” she said, with more force than she meant. “If you have it.”
Kyrian chuckled and headed along the opposite side of the table. He stopped about fifteen feet away and opened a buffet cabinet or something. “We live over a nightclub, sweetheart, we have beer. Dark? Light? Craft? What’s your pleasure?”
“Dark ale?” Austin ran a hand through her tangled hair and listened to the high-pitched ring of bottles jingling. She’d spent two days in that tin-can warehouse, drugged and thirsty. Her mind had been a fog, but still, she tried not to think about what was happening. Instead, she obsessed over the sweltering heat and how good a beer would taste. The roasted malt aroma. The rich tang on the back of her tongue. The icy bite as it washed down her throat and chilled her belly from the inside. Silly, but the distraction helped.
Zander squeezed her shoulder. She knew his touch by the tingle he fired under her skin. “I’ve set out a few things in the ensuite opposite my chamber. Kyrian will take good care of you, but I’ll only be up on the roof if you need me.”
Austin nodded and located the fried potatoes. She speared a few with her fork and gave in to her hunger. Kyrian did have a gift. The buttery warmth loosened the knots in her empty stomach. She took another bite. Good. She’d eat, shower, and pretend everything was dandy until she believed it.
All too soon Zander’s detective friend would arrive and she’d have to relive the past two days. How could she explain the monsters and fangs that slashed at her, the voices that cut through her darkness in sharp, evil swipes? They’d think she was crazy or that the drugs had skewed her memory. Maybe they wouldn’t take her statement seriously.
She couldn’t let that happen—not if she wanted those men caught and put behind bars. She’d think of something. Something that didn’t make her sound like a lunatic.
CHAPTER SIX
Warmth expanded Zander’s lungs as he drew the first deep breaths in ages. His boots beat a steady rhythm on the sleek, marble floor. He strode through the outer foyer and past the elevator’s wooden gates and metal screens. The security pad beeped each time he keyed in a digit to gain access to the roof.
The swell of emotion in his chest felt alien.
Twice he’d carried Austin unconscious in his arms, and both times he’d thought her dead weight far too slight. To feed her and fulfill her needs, even in a small way, satisfied something in him. He liked the feeling. She was delicate—a fragile doll with silk skin. She was tough too. The scent of her emotions swirled within him like nothing he’d ever taken into his lungs.
The throb of his erection grew more demanding. His footing faltered and he grabbed the rail. The dark stairwell glowed blue.
Shit. Sap. Stupid-ass sap.
Perched on the top step, he stared at his arms. He couldn’t go out to the men like this. He closed his eyes and focused on the tasks at hand: find Tanek, the kidnapped female, the Shedim behind the whole debacle, clear exposure from the warehouse, and notify the archangels.
Zander pictured the things before him. When he opened his eyes, the darkness was a relief.
The custom landscaped and furnished rooftop stood a stark contrast to the Goth-Metrosexual atmosphere of the club three floors below.
He took in the men gathered. Colt looked grim chatting with five Nephilim. Danel sat off to the side, stroking those metal handcuffs like a long-lost love. Seth and Phoenix took up all the space on the hot-tub gazebo’s cedar step, both still wore their pirate trenches and oxblood red Doc Martens.
“Hey,” Seth said, “you stopped glowing, Z. Good sign.”
Taharqa looked up from his stool at the built-in, brick grill. Hark seldom spoke, his mood as dark as his Nubian skin. After a quick nod, he went back to tuning his compound bow.
Brennus stood behind the outdoor bar. His wild mane burned red as the morning sun picked up the russet, gold, and copper that fell around his shoulders.
Zander stopped alongside the group. “All right, what do we know?”
Colt looked up from his double-double, his teal blue eyes reflecting light like a cat caught in headlights. Nothing could flaw the Ice Demon’s inhuman exterior. He was movie star heartthrob material, but Zander could see the morning had affected even him. “The warehouse is contained. I’ve got a crew there now and it will be scratched off the list as a point of exposure within the hour.”
“Are the cleaners, Darkworlders?”
Colt nodded. “Two Wendigo will consume the worst of the mess and a Djinn to absorb the evil. They’ll stage the remaining bodies to look like some human serial killer. No necromancers and no necrophilia. Guaranteed.”
Zander rubbed at the throb in his forehead. A kill zone with that much evil mojo would have drawn evil like iron filings to a magnet. The soulless sensed that level of depravity from miles away. Good thing Colt considered that. Tanek would have. He hadn’t.
“That’s great, thanks, cop.”
“What’s to be done about Tanek, Zander?” Brennus asked, his thick brogue rolling the ‘r’ of his name. “Day has dawned and not a word.”
The Celt frowned as he passed his hand over the locked cabinet and nothing happened.
Zander reached across the granite countertop to repeat the movement and the tumbler clicked open. He’d modified the locks to respond to only his energy signature to keep the men from helping themselves to his liquor. Just like now.
Brennus selected a 1921 bottle of First Malt Scotch. He lined up five glasses and poured a dram for each of them except Colt. Sober, the cop managed to keep his demonic tendencies locked down tight
enough to live as a Toronto detective. Add hooch to the mix and the guy went from being an occasional dick to an all-out demon.
Seth claimed his glass and cast a glance at the group. “Tanek needs to get his ass home to deal with the shit-storm we’ve been sucked into. The men in suits will descend before we know it. They’ll demand answers we don’t have.”
“What’s the final count?” Zander emptied his glass and set it back on the bar.
Phoenix set his glass down and raised his hands to sign. “Best guess, fifty-four. Forty women, fourteen men, and a couple domestic and wild animals. By the shredded clothes, they were transients and off-grid types. Probably why the killing didn’t register alarm bells.”
Zander ran rough fingers through his damp hair. “Somebody out there knows what Shedim is behind this. Do we have any idea where Tanek went? Is he here or in Hell?”
Cue the looks of frustration.
“What about the missing female from the club?” He rubbed his brow as his skull throbbed in earnest. He was exhausted. He was angry. And had suffered a perpetual state of arousal for hours. He thought the bulge behind his fly was an adrenaline rush at first, but now—he needed to work off some frustration.
Danel cracked his knuckles, the pops lost in the rising street symphony. “Kyrian and I screened the exterior surveillance videos and spoke to the club staff.”
“And?”
“Your boy on the door hit on that female. He tried to sweet-talk her into a jam session in the break room.”
“Staff extracurriculars don’t interest me. How does it help?”
Danel walked over to join him at the bar. “He said he realized something was off when she freaked at the attention. She wasn’t a Light One out for an adventurous night as he’d thought. She was a member of the Choir.”
What? “Bullshit. No way would an angel come down here and into my club for a wall-banger. Who’d you talk to?”
“Meck.”
Zander cursed. Meck had been with him for decades. The guy was solid. Dammit. If a member of the Choir had been grabbed from his premises, the archangels would end him.
“There’s more,” Danel continued, “Meck said she asked for you, by name. Wouldn’t talk to anyone else. When they told her you’d left for patrol, she headed out to the parking lot.”
Zander’s mind spun on that one. Why in the heavens would a member of the Choir come down to speak to him? He tapped his glass, got a top up, and emptied the thing again. “All right, let’s be really goddamn sure about what went on here before I call upstairs and stretch our necks on the block.”
Danel handed him a tablet.
The screen showed a video paused as the blonde female who’d been abducted turned into the club proper. He clicked on the ‘play’ arrow and watched as she passed over the threshold. A glance towards the camera and the black-lights caught her gaze. The flash of gold that reflected in her eyes might have been a trick of the light, but the glow of her aura was no mistake.
“Shit. She’s a Cherub.”
Zander abandoned his glass and claimed the bottle. When a wave of dizzy washed over him, he set a hand on the bar. “All right. Hark and Brennus, you stay on Tanek’s trail. See if you can track him and get him home. Seth and Phoenix, I want you focused on that female. Who is she? Did she arrive with someone? Did she speak to anyone else? If so, Light or Dark? I want her life story in my hands ASAP.”
“Consider it done,” Seth said.
Zander looked at the group and exhaled. “I want to know who this female is and why she’d be would be worth grabbing from an Otherworld safe zone. She must be one hell of a prize and I want her recovered if it’s not too late.”
“Why snatch her right under your nose?” Danel asked. “Everyone in the Otherworld knows you protect those at the club. If you were in her line of sight, why do it? There’s more to this.”
The image of Austin shackled and stoned flashed into his mind. The staging. Her physical features so like Niobe’s. No coincidence there. Zander exhaled hard. “Today we gather intel. If Tanek isn’t back come nightfall, we hit the streets like you read about. I want everyone to rattle cages and call in favors. I don’t care who you go to, or which fence they ride. I want Tanek. I want that Cherub. And I want to know what the hell is going on.”
“And what about the higher-ups, Z?” Danel asked.
There was no way to avoid it. The best tack was to hit that one head on. “Gabriel will know about the human killings, but I can’t summon the Angel of Death with a human in my loft. Michael will electrocute me if I can’t at least give him some theories on the disappearances of the Cherub and Tanek.”
Seth emptied another glass and shrugged. “Maybe Tanek’s got things under control and he’ll show up with the Cherub and answers in hand. Maybe we’re stewing over nothing.”
There was a rumble of male agreement.
Zander checked his watch. “If not, you have ten hours. We meet at six o’clock to make our plan for nightfall.”
“And what about the human in your loft?” Danel asked. “Is she part of this? An exposure risk? What have you learned?”
Sweet dick all. Zander straightened and pointed to the cop. “She’s waiting to speak to Colt. We’ll know more, soon.”
Danel set his glass down, his liquor untouched. “I say eliminate her and focus on the problems at hand. She’s a complication we don’t need right now.”
A car horn bellowed from the street below and Zander waited while the interruption died down. “Nephilim don’t kill humans to clear our timecards. The woman is blind. Odds are, she knows nothing concrete and will be scrubbed and gone within the hour.”
Colt tipped his coffee cup to get the last swig. “You could have dropped her off at the station. I would have taken care of her for you, one way or the other.”
It was ‘the other’ that Zander wanted to avoid. He didn’t want the life of a second woman hanging over him today. “Don’t forget, you took a vow to serve and protect, demon.”
Colt snorted. “Protect, yes. Fuck, absolutely. Entertain in my home waiting for archangels to burst my atoms to flame—hells no. Cast her back. Sink or swim, my man.”
Zander ignored the nods. “I offered to take her home, but her fear spiked off the chart. She’s no good to us terrified.”
“She was grabbed from her building,” Colt said. He tossed his empty coffee cup over the building’s edge to the street below. “I checked the reports. Late Thursday one, Austin Suede Navarro, a blind massage therapist, was abducted as she returned from walking her guide dog. Very messy.”
A sinking chill settled in Zander’s gut. “Phoenix, you mentioned animal carcasses. Any chance her service dog was in one of those heaps?”
Phoenix shrugged. I’ll check and get back to you.
The thought that they slaughtered her dog ignited a current under his skin. The stream charged his cells and expanded. The men narrowed a gaze at him. They needed to stop eyeing him or he was going to lose his shit. “Colt. Apartment buildings have cameras. Send me the security footage from the entrance and surrounding areas before and after her abduction.”
“I’ll see what I can—”
“No excuses, cop. I need that footage.”
Colt’s eyes flashed. “I’ll pretend you didn’t just confuse me with a whipping boy, Sumerian. I don’t bend over for anyone. Got that?”
Shit. Pissing off an Ice Demon was stupid. Pissing off the Ice Demon who bailed them out of exposure situations no one else could manage—waaaay beyond stupid. Great. He was making friends all over the place tonight. “Apologies. I should have chosen my words with more care. I just . . . we need to catch up with these assholes.”
Colt’s neck cracked as he stretched it side to side. After a moment, his eyes dimmed. “I’ll get you the footage and your human’s statement. Then, you scrub her and send her packing.”
Austin wasn’t his human.
Zander pushed off the bar. “Humans follow their own protocols and we�
��ll use that to our advantage. Colt’s the key, here. As a cop, he can find out what she knows and point us in the right direction without her even knowing it.”
“Child’s play.” Colt gestured to the roof door. “Women are my specialty. Watch and learn, Sumerian, I’ll show you how the magic works.”
Austin sat on the marble hearth and rubbed her hands in front of the fire. Nothing worked. She’d been buried under blankets, eaten a hot meal, stood under a scalding shower, and now had a fire raging in August. Still, her hands felt like ice and she couldn’t shake the chill from her skin.
She ran her palms down the soft sweater and denim jeans she wore, thankful Zander’s head waitress had brought her some clothes. With her hair washed and pulled back into a ponytail, she felt almost normal. Except for the bone-deep chill.
She’d decided on her statement for Detective Creed during her shower and knew what she wanted to say. She’d be direct, highlight the facts, and steer clear of all things strange and unexplainable. Amazing what a routine did for a girl. She’d find out about Stetson—good or bad—and then would ask to be escorted home.
“Feeling better, cowgirl?” Zander strode into the room. His voice triggered the stunning blue outline of his body. “I have a hot chocolate for you.”
She reached up and a warm ceramic mug pressed into her hand. “That was thoughtful.”
“Where’s Jules?” He propped his boot on the hearth.
“I sent her home to her kids, so I could have time to myself.” She sipped to check the temperature and smiled at the unexpected mint kick. “Spiking my drink, Mr. Ambrose? Attempting to get me drunk?”
Zander laughed, the rich timbre expanding his aura silhouette. “I doubt you’ll succumb to your inhibitions from a shot of Bailey’s. Besides, you set the precedent with your beer and eggs duo this morning.”
Austin took another long sip. “I suppose I did.”
