Eve of Destruction

by S. J. Day

“Rule of engagement number two: this is not a hunt to kill. The Infernals work for me, so refrain from overzealousness. Some of you will strike first and ask questions later. It will take time to learn how to suppress your instincts long enough to use mental reasoning.”

  “I thought learning to trust our instincts was the point,” Edwards said.

  “When you are frightened and something lunges out at you, what is the usual instinctive response?”

  “Fight back,” Izzie said.

  “Or run,” Claire offered.

  “Correct. But you are marked, Ms. Dubois, and you will not flee. The mark will have filled your veins with adrenaline and you will thirst for blood. And if it was a mortal who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time? Someone who is as frightened as you and fighting for his life, mistakenly believing you are the enemy? Instincts are blunt instruments; reasoning minds are sharp.”

  Silence weighed heavily over the group.

  “Any further questions?”

  Eve spoke up. “What would you consider a successful mission?”

  The archangel smiled. “Since the goal of this exercise is discovering that answer for yourselves, telling you would defeat the purpose. I can tell you what I would consider to be failures: the injury of one of you, failure to cooperate among yourselves, or the injury of one of my Infernals. There are more, but those are the outcomes I would find most disturbing.”

  Ken rubbed his hands together. “I’m ready to go.”

  “Excellent. Chose your weapons. One per person, please.”

  Eve watched the others pick over the selection. Izzie and Romeo both selected knives. Edwards picked a revolver. Molenaar went for a 9mm, as did Laurel after rejecting all of Romeo’s varied suggestions. Claire liked the Glock. Ken went with brass knuckles. Eventually, only Richens and Eve remained. The others moved with Gadara over to the tent area to be outfitted with their armbands.

  “I hate this,” Richens muttered. “Why did I have to get a field assignment? Why didn’t they put me to work doing something I’m good at?”

  “You’re asking the wrong person.” Eve studied what was left to choose from—a couple of knives, a revolver, a 9mm, a telescoping baton, mace, and a taser.

  “Take a gun,” she suggested. “A knife requires proximity.”

  “Right, then. You take a knife. If the Infernal gets through you, I’ll shoot it.”

  Eve glanced aside at him. “Are you kidding?”

  “Hey.” His boyish features took on a sullen cast. “I’ll be analyzing the scene for clues. If you watch my back, we’ll get done a lot faster. Brain and brawn, remember?”

  “That might work if you knew anything about faeries. Since you don’t, you’re no better off than me. Is Edwards watching your back, too?”

  “Edwards is a pain in the arse.”

  “Not interested in being a bodyguard, eh?”

  “He’s still griping about you. He thinks Cain is going to blow his top and kill us if something happens to you.”

  Her brows rose. “What would you guys have to do with anything bad happening to me?”

  “My point exactly! If anything, Cain should appreciate that you had colleagues.”

  “I’m sure Edwards would have preferred it if Izzie had said yes,” she trawled, “instead of me.”

  “Screw Edwards.” He scowled. “I’d never work with Seiler.”

  “She says differently.”

  “She’s loony.” Meeting her gaze directly, Richens reiterated. “I didn’t ask her for a damn thing. I didn’t like her before and I like her even less now, the bloody liar.”

  “How would she know what you were up to?”

  Although she asked the question, Eve found herself believing him. He seemed sincere. Izzie . . . well, she had seemed sincerely insincere, which was honest in its own way.

  “Maybe she was in the kitchen when you and I were talking. I don’t fucking know.” He ran a rough hand through his short hair. His hooded sweatshirt was black and had “Killer Rabbit!” screened across the front along with an image of a predatory hare attacking a medieval knight.

  Eve’s mouth curved.

  “What the hell is so funny?” Richens snapped, his compact frame vibrating with anger.

  Her smile faded. She’d forgotten about his quick temper. “Your shirt.”

  Dropping to a crouch, Eve selected the 9mm. She checked the magazine, then straightened and walked away.

  “Hollis! Wait.”

  But she didn’t. She joined the others just as Romeo volunteered to outfit the class with the armbands. They had come to McCroskey with a skeleton crew and every Mark was expected to pitch in when he or she could.

  Romeo’s gaze met hers, so dark she could see why Laurel would want to drown in him. “Come here.”

  Eve shoved her gun into her waistband at the small of her back, then shrugged out of her sweater and presented her arm. He attached the band directly over the Mark of Cain and double-checked it for a tight fit. It was slender, maybe a quarter of an inch wide, just enough to cover the eye in the center. The intricate triquetra and circled serpents remained visible.

  “How does that feel?” he asked, his voice velvet smooth and seductive.

  “Fine.” She looked at him, noting his heavy-lidded stare. Izzie had called him a gigolo and Eve could see how she had come to that pronouncement. With his slumberous eyes, fit physique, and accented voice, he fit the “Italian Stallion” image to perfection. Eve could believe a woman would pay for his sexual favors.

  “Flex,” he ordered.

  Complying, she fisted her hand and tautened her biceps. The band tightened, but didn’t become prohibitively uncomfortable. “Still fine.”

  “Buono, go wait with the others.”

  Eve grabbed her sweater off the picnic table bench. “Need any help with yours?”

  He tugged up his T-shirt sleeve, displaying his band. “No, bella.” A faint smile curved his mouth. “Thank you for asking.”

  “No problem.”

  Laurel walked up and set her hand possessively on Romeo’s waist. “Hi, babe.”

  “Cara mia,” he greeted.

  If looks could kill, Eve thought as she walked away. Laurel was the jealous type, apparently. Having experienced the green-eyed monster herself the night before, Eve understood. But Laurel and Romeo were such an odd couple. There appeared to be little true affection between them. Theirs was a liaison created by circumstances, which was fine if that worked for them. Eve wasn’t going to dwell on it. She had her own difficulties to deal with.

  She rejoined the group. They waited at the start of the street that led into the training area. Once again, she looked over the visible area. A female mannequin wearing a sun-bleached and tattered coat stood on a nearby corner, her wig askew and flapping in the salt-tinged breeze. She was pushing a carriage that was missing a wheel. The smell of mold and decay permeated the air and emphasized the sense that time forgot this place. The tableau made Eve’s stomach churn.

  “Can you think of how the insides must be?” Izzie asked, drawing abreast of her.

  “We’ll find out in a minute.”

  “I can’t wait.” The blonde palmed her blade with obvious familiarity. Her pretty face was fully made up with darkly rimmed eyes, pale powder, and purple lips. The palette was oddly beautiful on a woman so fair. She still managed to look dainty, despite the spiked collar around her neck. “I visited California once before, for Knott’s Berry Farm’s Halloween Haunt. I went three nights. It was great.”

  “Good for you.”

  “You do not look excited.”

  “Not my cup of tea.” Which was a total understatement. She kept picturing The Texas Chainsaw Massacre in her head. It didn’t give her the warm fuzzies.

  Izzie’s voice lowered. “You have killed an Infernal before. What was it like?”

  “You just . . . do it.”

  Eve thought about the water demon she vanquished. He had been trying to kill her. His umpteenth att
empt, which made him officially a nuisance. She had been terrified, but something inside her reared up and fought back. She was still astonished that she succeeded. She was also surprised that she wasn’t haunted by her actions. Fact was, she would do it again.

  Izzie snorted. “That is all you can say? Only ‘do it’?”

  “Yep.”

  The sudden apprehension Eve felt wasn’t due entirely to the creepiness of the fake town. A lot of it had to do with the eagerness of the others in her class and her lack of the same. Ken was pacing in his impatience to start. Claire had a camera with her, as if this was a sightseeing event and not training for murder.

  “Those things take dodgy photos,” Laurel said, walking up with Romeo and Richens.

  Claire shrugged. “I won’t jeopardize my good camera.”

  “What do you need one for?” Eve asked. When Marks and Infernals were in their element, they didn’t show up on film. They functioned on a different plane altogether. Eve assumed that was why her mother couldn’t see the Mark of Cain on her arm.

  “Posterity.”

  “You should take one now,” Eve suggested, trying to find the same enthusiasm the others exhibited. Maybe posing for a group picture would foster solidarity among them. It certainly couldn’t hurt. “Of all of us.”

  Claire gestured to Sydney, who stood nearby in full black urban commando garb. “Will you take the picture for us?”

  Everyone lined up into two rows—men kneeling in the front, women standing in the back. Claire asked Gadara to stand to one side. The result was an assemblage reminiscent of an elementary school class photo.

  Yanking up her poplin sleeve, Claire said, “Show your armbands, s’il vous plaît.”

  The group posed with funny faces and proudly presented biceps wrapped with the armbands. The mood was festive.

  Which made Eve wonder why she felt as if something was about to go horribly wrong.

  “You’ve reached Evangeline Hollis. Leave a message, and I’ll return your call as soon as I can.”

  Alec terminated the connection with a quick tap to his headset, then he applied more pressure to the accelerator. The black convertible Mustang’s 300-horsepower engine rumbled with pleasure, hurtling the sleek sports car along Highway 17.

  “You’re going the wrong way,” Giselle said.

  He tossed her a dry glance.

  As they passed a freeway sign, she pointed at it. “You’re going north.”

  “I know where I’m going.”

  “Gadara headquarters is in Anaheim. To the south.”

  “Do you have a point?”

  Giselle frowned behind her new five-dollar sunglasses. They’d purchased more appropriate clothes for her at a truck stop—shorts, a tank top emblazoned with California, flip-flops, and a kerchief to wrap around her head.

  They were cruising with the top down. Hot wheels, beautiful day, wrong girl. Alec would say two out of three wasn’t bad, but he missed Eve too much.

  And his girl wasn’t answering her cell phone.

  He knew she was in training, but after their conversation the night before, he needed to talk to her and make sure she was feeling better. He also needed to ease the sense that something was off, and only the sound of her voice could do that.

  “You promised to take me to safety,” Giselle argued.

  “No. You asked me to take you with me. I’ve done that.”

  She pivoted in the seat. “We can’t go north!”

  “Why not?” Alec kept his hands relaxed on the steering wheel, but inside he was still and watchful.

  “Because it’s too dangerous.”

  “You’ll have to give me more than that.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m hunting.” He glanced aside at her. “Don’t be coy.”

  “I’m not coy, damn you. I’m scared.”

  He knew that much was true; he smelled the fear on her. “Tell me why.”

  “Tell me you’re not going after Charles Grimshaw.”

  Alec smiled. “I’m not telling you shit. The sharing between us only works one way.”

  “That’s not fair!”

  With a quick glance at the rearview mirror to check for traffic, he eased diagonally across the second lane and pulled to a stop on the shoulder. “If you don’t like the rules, get out.”

  Her features altered into the enraged mask of her Infernal soul. “You’re a dick.”

  “You’re right.”

  “You need me.”

  “You wish.”

  She crossed her arms. “You have no idea what you’re up against.”

  Cars and trucks roared by, shaking the Mustang on its wheels and stirring exhaust in the slightly chill air.

  “Make me care,” he challenged. “Tell me why I should.”

  “Do you want to die?”

  “Not gonna happen. I’ve known Charles for years.”

  “No one knows the Alpha, not really.”

  “Don’t talk in riddles.”

  Her too-slender fingers fidgeted with the hem of her shorts.

  “Okay.” He backtracked. “What does Charles have to do with you?”

  Mares and wolves weren’t known to associate. They were too different; one a physical aggressor, the other a mental marauder.

  Giselle chewed her lower lip, her eyes darting over their surroundings, running in the only way she could—mentally. Alec was more than alert now. There was no doubt she wanted to reveal only the amount necessary to stem his questions.

  “I don’t have time for this,” he snapped.

  “If I tell you everything here,” she whined, “what leverage do I have to get you to take me back to Anaheim?”

  “You have no leverage. I need your blood, that’s it. Obviously, I don’t need you alive to get it.”

  “I’m running from Charles,” Giselle blurted. “I need to get away from his territory, not drive into it.”

  “Does he have anything to do with what happened last night?”

  “Start driving south and I’ll tell you.”

  Alec’s mouth curved. “Nothing you can say will get me to turn around. I have business to attend to and until it’s done, everything else takes a backseat.”

  She looked prepared to argue, then her gaze met his and she knew it was pointless. “If you won’t listen to me, will you listen to Neil?”

  “Who is Neil?”

  “The vamp who staked himself.”

  He recalled the events of the night before. Servo vestri ex ruina.

  “Save myself from ruin?” he scoffed. “I’m getting a tan; Neil’s dead. He should have taken his own advice.”

  “Save yourself from destruction, you idiot. And trust me, if Destruction gets a hold of you, you’ll be dead, too.”

  Alec tossed his arm over the back of her headrest and pushed his shades up with the other hand. He stared at her with cold eyes. “Want to rephrase that?”

  She pouted. “Sorry.”

  “Start from the top.”

  Giselle groaned and collapsed back into her seat. “Can we talk about this in Anaheim?”

  Knowing they would attract the California Highway Patrol if he stayed on the shoulder too long, Alec faced forward and eased the car back into traffic. He pulled off the freeway at the next exit and into the parking lot of a gas station/convenience store. From the sudden gleam in Giselle’s eyes, he knew she thought their stop was a good sign, which just showed how different the reasoning was between Infernals and Marks. Alec knew who ran the show in his world. He had been given an order by God. Ignoring it was not an option. Demons, on the other hand, were all egomaniacs. None of them wanted to admit that Sammael ruled the roost in Hell. They all preferred to delude themselves with the thought that Sammael’s commands were optional and they followed them because it was fun.

  “Okay.” He slid the manual transmission into first gear, pulled up the emergency brake, and turned off the engine. “What is Destruction?”

  Giselle’s mouth took on
a mulish cast. Her arms crossed.

  Alec opened the driver’s side door and unfolded from the seat. Rounding the trunk, he reached into the passenger side and plucked her out. She hadn’t worn a seat belt—against California law—and he hadn’t cared enough about her well-being to enforce it.

  He returned to his side of the car and slid behind the wheel. “See ya.”

  “You are not leaving me here!” she protested, her lips white. “You need my blood.”

  “I also need my concentration, and being pissed off at you affects that.” He reached for the ignition.

  “Destruction is Sammael’s pet.”

  Pausing, Alec glanced over at where she stood. “His pet?”

  “A hellhound, but unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. It’s a hybrid of demon and Cerberus, nephilim and Mark.”

  His jaw tightened.

  Giselle’s shoulders slumped and she looked even more gaunt, which he hadn’t thought possible. “Sammael has been working on a new breed for centuries. None of them were viable; they all died.”

  “Except for Destruction.”

  “Right.” She pulled the door open and dropped wearily into the seat.

  “Was it the Mark blood that made the difference?”

  “Yeah. Mark blood regenerates; it held all the parts together.”

  Holy shit. They were using Marks to create new demons. “What does Charles have to do with this?”

  “Charles was the key. He’s the Hound Whisperer. Sammael was able to keep the mutt alive, but he couldn’t train it.”

  “Use a canine to train a canine.”

  Charles was one of the most powerful Alphas in the world. He ruled his pack with an iron fist. He was also wily enough to stay under the radar, which enabled him to expand his territory with only minor interference from Marks. He might have continued to grow in power, if he hadn’t sought revenge for the death of his son by killing Eve in the Qualcomm Stadium bathroom. And now this.

  “What does this have to do with you?” he asked.

  “Once Sammael saw how successful Charles was in training the beast and how destructive it was, he wanted more of them. The hound is powerful and ravenous.” Giselle’s eyes turned fever-bright and she began to pant, her body thrumming with excitement. “If there were enough of them, they would wipe you all out. Every single Mark and angel. Every archangel. Even God. They’re unstoppable.”