by S. J. Day
Not at you, doll face. The teeny poodle pranced daintily and looked at Eve with somber, puppy-soft eyes. At those around you. You feel it, too. You’re smack dab in the middle—
An explosion rent the air. Eve jerked in surprise, then found herself splattered with gore and fur.
“What the hell?” she screamed, leaping to her feet.
Izzie stood in the doorway with a gun. A second later, the light from the kitchen was blocked by the number of people crowded behind her.
Eve looked at the carcass on the ground and the mark’s potency rushed through her. “You idiot! What did you do that for?”
“It was attacking you,” Izzie said, shrugging.
“It was the size of my shoe!”
Gadara materialized on the stoop and held his hand out for the gun. Izzie passed it over.
The archangel looked at Eve. “Are you okay, Ms. Hollis?”
“No.” She looked down at the blood on her clothes. “I’m really fucking far from okay.”
“What happened?”
“A stray wanted some dinner scraps.” She glared at Izzie. “And ending up getting blown to smithereens instead. What the hell caliber pistol is that?”
Gadara turned his attention to the gun, then to Izzie. “This is yours?”
“Yes.”
“You were told to come unarmed. I will provide everything you need.”
Izzie’s purple stained lips thinned stubbornly. “I told you, I saw that ghost program on television. I could not come to this place without protection.”
“You have no faith,” he said, eyeing her with a narrowed gaze. “You have no belief in me. I am here to help you rebuild you life and attain the skills to live it to the fullest.”
“And there are millions of demons prepared to end it,” she argued.
The archangel hovered above the stoop, his silence as condemning as shouted rebukes. Even Eve shuffled nervously and she had done nothing wrong.
“What happened?” Ken yelled from the back of the kitchen.
“Seiler shot something.”
“What? Let me by.”
“It was only a dog,” Izzie muttered, looking mulish.
“A dog?” Ken scoffed.
“Everyone back in the house,” Gadara ordered, his voice resonating with celestial command.
The persuasion was so forceful, it was nearly tangible, and Eve took an involuntary step forward. She forced herself to stop by supreme effort of will.
“Why were you packing heat right now anyway?” she asked Izzie. “And where did you hide it?”
Izzie turned on her boot heel and shouldered her way back into the house.
Eve quickly moved to follow her. She didn’t feel sick anymore, at least not physically. Sick at heart, yes. And so furious with Izzie she wanted to strangle her.
Gadara caught her arm as she rushed by. “Leave her.”
“Her problem is with me.”
“And now it is with me.” His dark eyes burned into hers, taking on a golden sheen. “You suffer from lack of faith, too, Ms. Hollis. It is why you often find yourself in situations such as these.”
She opened her mouth to protest, then snapped it shut again. They both knew what was really going on. Reiterating wasn’t necessary. “I want to know what answers she gives you.”
He smiled indulgently, his teeth white against his brown skin. “You assume I mean to question her.”
The cryptic reply was so like him. So like all the angels actually.
Gadara gestured toward the drive way. “Take Dubois and two guards with you back to the other side of the duplex. You can clean up and prepare for bed.”
“I don’t feel . . . right,” she said, surprising herself. She wasn’t quite sure why she was telling Gadara that when she didn’t trust him.
He studied her. “In what way?”
“I’m hot.”
His brows rose.
“Hot flashes. Intermittent fevers. That sort of thing.”
“That is impossible.”
“Tell that to my body.”
“You are under stress, Ms. Hollis, and experiencing dramatic and rapid change. It is not surprising that your mind would expect your body to have physical responses to such extreme pressures . . . even to the point of phantom maladies.”
“Which is just a convoluted way of saying it’s all in my head.” She dismissed him with a frustrated wave of her hand. The persuasive undertone in his voice wasn’t lost on her, but it wasn’t effective either. “My on-the-fritz brain and I will just run along now.”
He dismissed her as easily, turning his back to her and levitating over the remains of the stray. As he spoke a foreign language in a low tone, his arm made a wide gesture over the gore, turning it into ash, which sank into the earth.
Eve was depressed by the waste and tantalized by the tiny bit of information the poodle had managed to impart before dying.
. . . those around you. You feel it, too. You’re smack dab in the middle—
Smack dab in the middle of what? And what did the people around her have to do with it?
CHAPTER 5
Alec made it as far as Santa Cruz before he pulled off Highway 1 and secured a motel room. He didn’t want to travel any farther in Eve’s car. The Alpha had obviously sent his dogs to track her, hence the attack at Qualcomm Stadium. Alec would need to switch to a rental to avoid being recognized before he drove into Brentwood—the Black Diamond Pack’s den.
As he pushed his key card into the door lock, Alec thought about Eve at Fort McCroskey. Frustrated by circumstances he had long ago lost control over, he pushed the door open with undue force. She wouldn’t be the same person by the end of the week. The experiences that came from being marked changed people in both drastic and subtle ways. He loved who Eve was and that wasn’t going to change, but he also missed the eighteen-year-old girl who’d given her innocence to him. That was one of the penalties for his sin, the same penalty his parents had paid when they gave in to temptation—you can take what you shouldn’t, but in the end you still won’t get what you wanted.
I’m coming for you, Charles, he thought, looking around the motel room with distaste. If you had left well enough alone, I wouldn’t have to be here.
Unfortunately, the Alpha’s death would set off a chain of events that could ripple outward, affecting other packs and creating room for new—possibly more dangerous—Alphas.
“Better the demon you know,” Alec muttered.
When Charles was gone, his Beta would step up. Pack members would scatter, reinforcing other packs or creating new ones. Charles, for all his many faults, was familiar and—previously—fairly cooperative. His demise would most likely give birth to greater threats, since the inheritance of power was often accompanied by an initial display of force, not goodwill toward the enemy.
Alec stepped deeper into the room. The door shut behind him. For years he’d lived on the road like this. A new town every few days. A different motel room. Another forgettable girl to screw when the need to do so distracted from the hunt. There had been no one to worry about him and no one for him to look forward to going home to. He’d spent thousands of nights lying in the dark, watching the glare of vehicle headlights drifting across unfamiliar ceilings. Nowadays, he had a sweet condo on Pacific Coast Highway, right next to his dream girl, and he resented having to settle for less.
Eve was in his life full time now, and he spent many of his nights in her bed. Sometimes she sent him home, but he knew she wanted him to stay. She hoped it would make it easier to say good-bye to him if she practiced doing it now. But Jehovah’s intent was to make choices difficult and nothing she could do would change that.
Restless, Alec hit the streets on foot. He needed an Infernal. Or more accurately, he needed an Infernal’s blood. He had to find a cocky, stupid one who would throw caution to the wind and want to brawl. There was at least one in every town. He just had to find it. Sometimes the search took hours; other times he was lucky and stumbled
across one fairly quickly. Tonight he didn’t care how long it took. He wasn’t heading into Brentwood until the morning and he knew worry over Eve would keep him awake most of the night.
He strolled over to the downtown area of Santa Cruz and the bustle of Pacific Avenue, whistling all the way. Boutiques and sidewalk cafés commingled with music and bookstores and countless restaurants. Pedestrians were attired in a wide spectrum of styles ranging from business suits to torn fishnets paired with Dr. Martens.
Perfect. Alec smiled. Infernals loved crowds. More mortals to play with.
His first stop was at a coffee/smoothie shop where he ordered a cherry-laden concoction because it reminded him of Eve. The girl at the counter was mortal, pretty, and a flirt. A month ago, he would have arranged to meet her after work. No promises, no entanglements, and he’d sleep hard in reward. Not any longer. Tonight he’d exhaust himself with a different kind of exertion. His biceps flexed at the thought.
There was no steady pump of adrenaline, as would accompany a sanctioned hunt, but it would come later. Marks weren’t vigilantes; they couldn’t attack Infernals at will. The loophole was that if a Mark was endangered, he had free rein to defend himself to the death. There was always a back door, if you knew where to look.
As Alec moved leisurely through the milling shoppers, he stayed watchful. There were Infernals all around him, the scent of their rotting souls competing with the smells of food, hot beverages, and human perfumes. He was in search of any demon who could be goaded into a fight, one whose blood would create his signature fragrance—eau de Infernal—a scent that would disguise his and give him the cover he needed to penetrate a den full of wolves.
He knew the moment he’d found what he was looking for.
She stepped out of an Irish-themed pub several feet ahead of him. As suited her Norwegian heritage, the Mare was fair skinned and blonde. Her demonic blood made her willowy and stunning, an irresistible lure to most men. Someone, however, had turned her down, if her scowl was any indication. She was irritated, agitated, and tense. Everything about her screamed “end of my rope,” which hinted that the right amount of goading might provoke her to overlook both the rules and his identity.
Mares were shape shifters who thrived on nocturnal torment. Chest pains, horror-filled dreams, tightness of breathing . . . The blonde bombshell in front of him fed off the distress she created in her sleeping prey. Her class of demon was the reason the term “nightmares” had come into wide use, and they were easily riled when denied a particular target. Correction: they were easily riled, period. Any sort of dispute created the negative environment they craved.
As he approached, he grinned. “Crash and burn?”
She bristled visibly. “Go away, Cain.”
“What turned him off? Did you push too hard?” He studied the dark circles under her eyes, bags carefully hidden beneath expertly applied makeup. His focus altered from confrontation to curiosity. “You’ve waited too long to feed.”
She attempted to pass him.
He sidestepped into her path. “A gorgeous Mare like you should have dinner crawling all over her. Why leave empty-handed?”
“I’ll scream,” she warned.
“Do it,” he goaded softly, his smile fading. “Let’s see what happens.”
Fear added an acrid tinge to her scent. The cheekbones he’d admired from afar were prominent due as much to gauntness as to breeding. With proximity, she appeared to be famished. That went against a Mare’s very nature. They tormented sleepers for both sustenance and pleasure. Even if she didn’t need the former, she wouldn’t deny herself the latter.
Her crimson sheath dress left her arms bare. Circling her forearm just above her elbow was a moving band of twisting vines and veined leaves—her detail, proclaiming her a servant of Baal, the demon king of gluttony. Another reason she should be well fed.
“What do you want?” she asked crossly.
“I wanted to brawl. Now I want to know why you haven’t eaten.” Alec gestured at the throng around them. “There’s no lack of food.”
“Why do you care? Go pick a fight with someone else.”
He stepped out of the way. “Fine with me. You don’t look capable of giving me the stress relief I’m looking for.”
The Mare remained unmoving for the length of several heartbeats, clearly suspicious of his easy capitulation.
“Go,” he ordered. “You’re boring me.”
She departed with swiftness, her stilettos clicking impatiently down the sidewalk. Men watched her walk, looking for any sign that an advance would be welcomed. But her posture rejected any overtures and the aggressive set of her frail shoulders caused other pedestrians to clear the way.
She reached the corner of Locus Street and glanced back. By then, Alec had moved to the short wrought-iron fence that surrounded the patio tables of the pub. He sat on the railing and lifted his smoothie cup in toast.
As soon as the stoplight changed, the Mare bolted across the street.
Alec took off, too. He raced across Pacific Avenue with preternatural speed, dodging the moving cars with such dexterity the drivers never saw him. From the opposite sidewalk, he shadowed the Mare, using the crowd for cover. Music poured out of a busy coffee shop and a group of slightly tipsy women tried to detain him, but Alec kept pace. He watched the Mare withdraw a cell phone from her purse. She paused at infrequent intervals, looked backward, sensing his pursuit but unable to confirm it visually.
Fucking complications.
Nothing came easy for him. All he’d needed was a pint or two of Infernal blood. Now he was chasing a desperate Mare and facing the possibility of being outnumbered. If she had anyone in her corner, she’d be calling for reinforcements.
As if he didn’t have enough on his plate with Charles.
Walk away.
His mark wasn’t burning. She wasn’t a target. She’d refused to take the bait. He couldn’t hunt her.
Alec growled and the couple in front of him leaped to the side, clinging to each other.
He could no more back off now than he could resist Eve. When his attention was caught, it was firmly snared. Until he knew why a Mare was killing herself—starving while surrounded by an all-you-can-eat buffet—he couldn’t let it go. Someone or something was exerting enough pressure on her to make eating unpalatable. Her survival instincts had goaded her to hit the clubs in search of a meal, but fear had prevented her from taking a victim home.
It didn’t make sense for a higher ranking Infernal to order a minion to commit suicide, so why had her superior done that to her? Infernals wanted to rule the world. The greater their numbers, the better. If they wanted something dead, they killed it and made sure the deed was done. They didn’t leave it to chance, such as waiting for starvation to take its final toll.
The Mare reached the end of the downtown section of Pacific and rounded the corner, heading into a somewhat quieter area of town. The foot traffic began to subside and the businesses changed from high-end and trendy establishments to smaller, less affluent merchants. As the energy of the surrounding venue changed, a new atmosphere descended, swirling around Alec like an evening mist—damp and chilling. He hadn’t sensed it on the other side of town, but here it was prevalent.
Something wicked this way dwells.
Alec shot an accusing glance heavenward. It wasn’t a coincidence that he had exited the highway at this particular destination.
He watched the Mare turn into the delivery bay of a hotel. Unlike the serviceable but amenity-less lodging he was staying in, this was a full-service establishment with a dozen stories worth of rooms. He noted the gargoyles rimming the roof of the building and a grim smile curved his mouth. Ever since he and Eve had investigated a group of tengu demons masquerading as grotesques, he knew to be on his guard. As long as Infernals had a way to mask their scent and details, everything was suspect.
Increasing his gait to a lope, Alec reached the mouth of the alleyway. Beneath the smell of motor oil and r
otting garbage in Dumpsters was the stench of Infernals. More than one. Rolling his shoulders, Alec limbered up for the battle ahead. The demons were desperate and frightened; he could smell their disquiet. That made them more dangerous. When you had nothing to lose, there was no reason to hold back for safety’s sake. He knew that from centuries of personal experience.
Alec walked into danger without preamble or stealth. There was no point. They smelled him coming.
There were a half dozen of them, four men and two women, one of whom was the Mare. They were a ragtag bunch, their clothes and hairstyles as varied as the downtown crowds. They faced him as a unit, arranged in a half-moon formation. And they all looked emaciated.
Their weakened states evened the odds considerably, but deepened the mystery.
“Are you hunting Giselle?” the other girl asked.
It was a reasonable question. If the Mare was an assigned target, nothing could save her. But if his pursuit was due to any other reason, they might be able to bargain her out of trouble.
“No.” Alec stepped forward. “I just didn’t want to miss the party.”
“Leave her in peace,” one of the men rumbled. He held a fat cigar between lips hidden by an unkempt beard. A kapre. He was a long way from his native home in the Philippines. The protective stance he adopted in front of the second girl—whose Baphomet amulet betrayed her as a witch—offered a possible reason why. Kapres followed their loves for the entirety of their lives.
“Make me,” Alec said.
“We’re no threat to you.” But the kapre’s voice lacked conviction and his eyes shifted nervously.
None of the Infernals would look Alec in the eye.
A frisson of warning skated down his spine. His Mark senses burst into full acuity in a brutal rush of power. Giselle’s gaze darted to a spot just over his left shoulder.
Confirmation of the impending ambush came with the whistle of a blade. Alec dropped to a crouch. As the katana sliced through the space where his neck had been a split second before, the kiss of a breeze told him how close he’d been to decapitation.
