Seal of Destiny (Seven Seals Series Book 1)

by Douglass, Traci

  Without turning to be sure, Mira pictured Bebe’s huge knockers in the guy’s grill. The deep male rumble confirmed her suspicions. Too easy.

  “You want any help stowing those bottles, piccola?” The same rumble now moved closer to Mira’s location as she knelt behind the bar. “Ciao?”

  Mira whipped around to find her pseudo-stalker grinning from above the counter. She returned his smile with a frown; her breath hitched and warning bells sounded in her mind. With a flip of her hair, she dismissed him. “No, thanks.”

  She placed the bottles under the bar while Bebe changed tactics. “Oh, I love the accent. What’s your name, sugar?”

  “Kagan.”

  The low timbre of his voice slipped over Mira like a silken shroud, lulling her jitters. She glanced up, finding his gaze still locked on her. Shit. The annoying tingle moved from her abdomen straight up her spinal column. This guy messed with her head. He reminded her of things best forgotten. Dangerous things. Distracted, Mira stood and tripped over the box. Out of sorts and more exhausted than she could ever remember, Mira pitched a small fit, kicking the crate. Wood splintered and shards flew beneath her steel-toed fury.

  “Hmm. Somebody’s got a temper.” Kagan’s amused tone struck her from behind.

  Fuck him. Mira whirled and flipped him off. Kagan tipped his beer in salute.

  Cheeks heating, Mira cleaned up the broken shards of her outburst before hazarding a second glance in his vicinity. Now he faced away from her, and she took the opportunity for a closer inspection. His broad shoulders and muscular arms were relaxed, his weight supported on his elbows. The hint of a tattoo peeked out from below the short sleeve of his taut black T-shirt, and Mira tried to imagine the rest of the intricate inkwork.

  “Hey, Mira! Some help, please!” Her head shot around. One of the male bouncers waved to her from the dance floor. Mira pushed through the tight circle of onlookers and spotted two men mid-brawl. One of the guys was a regular, a college kid dressed in a Blackhawks jersey with a linebacker body the size of a refrigerator. His opponent: a skinny Goth who’d apparently insulted his favorite hockey team. Two bouncers struggled to pull the fighters apart, but the behemoth’s strength and bulk made him difficult to maneuver.

  Mira winced when the giant let his massive fist fly. He struck a bouncer instead of his opponent and broke the bouncer’s nose. Blood flew, and Mira opted for a more peaceful approach. Her petite size always waylaid the heavyweights. And she wasn’t about to be arrested for an unprovoked ass-whooping. Not tonight.

  “Excuse me. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” Mira’s clear tone cut through the noise of the crowd, her tap insistent on the refrigerator’s shoulder. All action ceased. The brawlers turned in her direction. Things looked optimistic when the outsized Goth used the distraction to scramble away.

  No such luck with Bulk. He turned on unsteady feet and swayed, towering above her. His gaze roved before landing on her crotch. “I want me a piece of that.”

  Mira’s patronizing smile faded to a darkening frown. “I’m not on the menu, asshole.”

  The guy stepped forward. Mira issued a final warning. “Don’t. Do. It.”

  He wasn’t coherent enough to heed the alert. She flicked her gaze to the other, uninjured bouncer and nodded. Bulk took advantage, grabbing Mira around the neck. One instant, he was twisting her into a bear hug and the next, she braced against his attack, her elbows whacking into his face and her knees whomping repeatedly into his groin. He staggered and fell to his knees. Mira made quick work of any resistance by twisting his arm behind him until he smacked the ground, belly down, while her booted foot pressed his cheek into the sticky floor.

  “Told you.” Mira tossed her hair over her shoulder. The crowd widened. She stepped off his face to straddle his back, pinning both his arms to the ground with her knees to the backs of his elbows and her palms pressed into his shoulder joints.

  “Get off me, bitch!” The linebacker bucked beneath her.

  Mira leaned closer. “What’d you call me?”

  “Bitch!” he roared.

  “Yep. That’s what I thought you said.” She pressed her fingers against the nerves surrounding his carotid. Soon he was unconscious.

  She rose up and dusted her hands on her jeans. “Hey, Bebe, call for a cleanup in the loser aisle, will ya?”

  Applause erupted. Bebe gave Mira a thumbs-up and reached for the phone.

  • • •

  Kagan righted his toppled stool and sat down. He grabbed his beer and took a long swig from the bottle, forcing his tense muscles to relax. Threat eliminated.

  He’d watched the dance floor skirmish escalate until the violence erupted into a brawl the bouncers were ineffectual in terminating. When they’d summoned the girl to handle the oversized oaf, his hackles rose. Women were to be protected, not thrust into battle. Still, she’d handled the problem with the skill of a seasoned defender.

  Mira strutted past him without so much as a glance. He read the rear of her hot pink T-shirt after she passed, its black glitter letters sparkling in the dim neon light: Skills sharper than a backstabber’s dagger. Kagan raised his beer bottle in another silent salute to her retreating form. Si, the girl’s combat skills had been excellent. He tracked her movements, noting the cool distance she kept from others around her. She remained a loner, an isolated island, in the midst of the throng. Mission aside, her contradictions were intriguing. Kagan turned his attention to the safer realm of the dance floor, and concentrated on the best plan to isolate his target.

  The loud crash of glasses beside him snapped his head around. Mira glared up at him, her arms crossed and legs braced, ready for a fight. “Okay, buddy. Who the hell are you and why are you watching me?”

  Kagan held up an innocent hand accompanied by a wary smile, his beer bottle dangling between his fingers. “How about one question at a time?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. You’re slow.” She presented him with the same patronizing mini-smile she’d given the oaf. “Okay, let me break this down for you, caveman. Who-are-you-and — ”

  “Basta!” Kagan grabbed her by the arm and twisted slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to let her know he meant business as he directed her to a corner booth. He ignored the half-full beverages and coats scattered on the seats and shoved Mira into the confined space. When the booth’s original owners took issue with his hostile takeover, Kagan dispatched them with a lethal glare. He wasn’t sure where the girl had gotten the idea his mind was damaged, but he was damn sure he didn’t like it. He moved in behind her to block her escape.

  “Oh, hell, no!” After several unsuccessful strikes to his muscled physique, Mira tried to slide out beneath the table. The angle proved too awkward. Defeated, she shoved as far away as she could into the corner and propped those killer boots on the seat in front of her in warning. “You better let me out of here, asshole, before I call the cops! I caught you stalking me, pervert!”

  Kagan took a deep breath. He never lost his cool in battle, and he wasn’t about to start now. “Pervert? You’re of age, si?”

  Mira glared. Kagan ticked through their earlier interactions, searching for a reason behind her intense hostility. His preternatural instincts sensed her intention before her hand reached his carotid. He blocked her quickly, locking her small hand within his and forcing it to the table beneath his own. Her pulse raced against his palm. He took another swig of beer then flashed his most endearing grin. “Let’s start over.” He released his bottle and extended his hand. “I’m Kagan.”

  She refused to acquiesce. Kagan dropped his hand and spoke in quiet tones meant to calm, to reassure. “I know I’m a stranger, but we have things to discuss.” He glanced around the crowded club, at the bodies packed tight. “We can’t do it here, though — no privacy. My apartment is close. Why don’t we go there and talk?”

  M
ira kicked him hard in the thigh.

  “Merda!” Kagan grabbed his throbbing leg. “What’s in those damn boots? Marble?”

  “Let me out of here, jackass, before I sideline your baby-maker!” Mira struggled within the tight confines of the booth. As she squirmed, the spicy scent of her shampoo wafted, and he was overcome with the strangest urge to plunge his hands into the riotous mass of her hair, to feel it curl around his fingers. She tugged on the hand pinned beneath his, and his thumb traced over her thudding veins. He leaned back, his gaze narrowed, and his heart pounding along with hers. The odd tingle sped through his torso, and his mouth turned to cotton. Her gaze blazed up at him, a swirling mix of green and golden brown. He noted the dark smudges below and wondered what kept her from slumber.

  Dolce Cristo! Kagan looked away, fought for control. This was getting way out of hand. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d bedded a woman, but apparently it had been far too long.

  Kagan drank while the girl continued her rather half-hearted struggle, unseen behind his large frame. From the way she’d easily toppled the oaf, he’d expected more of a fight, yet she seemed to be pulling her punches. He stopped to consider why, then shook his head. Didn’t matter, anyway. To admire a beautiful woman was one thing. To care about said woman’s personal life was something else entirely. Especially when the woman in question was his target.

  A sudden electric jolt tore through Kagan, and his gaze shot toward the entrance of the club. This jolt he recognized. Another immortal had arrived.

  Chapter 3

  A rotund balding man shoved to the bar. The smell of sulfur stung Kagan’s heightened senses. This is no mortal. The added stench of rancid meat identified the culprit more clearly to him than a nametag. Argus. An unnatural twitch twisted the demon’s neck to the side, a sign the body’s previous occupant still struggled to resurface. The possession must have been completed in a hurry, without full eradication. Odd choice. A shared body was an unstable body.

  With one hand kept secure on his target, Kagan slipped his coat on then reached to loosen the bulb in the fixture above the table, dousing them in shadows. Impromptu cover complete, he stretched his legs into the aisle and angled further to block his target behind him.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Mira punched him hard in the back. “I do like to breathe, asshole.”

  Once more, her fingers shot over his shoulder going for his carotid — she was nothing if not persistent — and once more, Kagan caught her hand. This time he brought it to his waist. “Try that once more, piccola, and I won’t be so congenial. Che palle! I’m saving your life, here!”

  Mira stiffened when the heavy weight of his Glock brushed against her arm. He reached in and clicked off the safety. Her fists clenched against his side and her tone turned virulent. “You’re certifiable.”

  Her words ghosted warm across the cotton of his shirt, and the damn tingle returned to charge his nerves despite her snippy comment. He forced himself to relax and, beer in hand, waited for the demon to attack. “No, piccola. I’m prepared.”

  • • •

  Electricity tore through Argus the moment he’d entered. He scoped out the room and searched for its source, ignoring the stares. The strength of the current meant only one thing: Divinity had sent one of her Scion pussies to protect the girl. His hunches were never wrong.

  Still dressed in his host’s hideous polyester work suit, Argus stood out like a boil amidst the club goers around him. He didn’t give a shit. He shoved his way to the bar and took a seat, the stool creaking beneath him when he settled and leaned forward. “Beer. Now!”

  Eyes closed, Argus deployed an invisible pulse of energy to disable the electronic devices in the room, including the DJ booth. The crowded dance floor heaved a collective groan as the music screeched to a halt. A muscle convulsed in his neck, and Argus’s head jerked to the side. Fucking human. A brutal mental smackdown forced McClaine’s weak spirit beneath the river of darkness now raging inside him.

  Argus eyed the woman who delivered his beer. His gaze locked on the huge knockers tucked in her tight white T-shirt, the words Let’s Get Drunk and Screw scrawled across her chest. His smile spread as he sensed the shiver through her body, and his hand snaked out to grip her wrist. “What’s your name, bitch?”

  “B-Bebe.”

  “Where’s Mira Herald?” Argus increased the pressure on the blonde’s arm, jerking her forward into the bar. She shook her head. He squeezed harder. The bones crunched and Bebe cried out. Argus savored the sound, his pleasure mounting as her pain escalated.

  “Tell me now or I’ll put a bullet in your pretty head.” He pulled out his newly acquired weapon — a gift from the punk who’d tried to mug him. Argus chuckled, remembering the satisfying snap of the thug’s neck as he’d twisted. Good times.

  He pointed the barrel of the Walther between the blonde’s eyes and cocked the hammer with a sinister snick. Patrons scattered while one brave — or incredibly stupid — bouncer edged toward the phone behind the bar. Argus fired a warning shot into the phone. The human stopped in his tracks. Argus returned the weapon to the bartender’s forehead. His finger danced over the trigger, itching to pull. “Where the fuck is she?”

  “I-I don’t know.” Argus clocked her in the side of the head with the firearm. Bebe flinched, a stream of blood trailing down her cheek. He struck her a second time, and the bartender crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

  Argus peered down at the blonde, his appetite whetted. He pushed off the stool, the gun hanging loose at his side, then swiveled to face the dim club’s neon glow. “Show your face, Scion pussy.”

  His gaze honed in on a darkened corner. Argus sniffed the air, scenting his prey. “Which one’d the bitch send this time? Xander again?”

  “Nah, Xander had better things to do.” A deep chuckle resounded out of the dark. “Like wipe his ass.”

  Argus inched closer and squinted. “Funny Scion. How ’bout we get this party started? Here, I’ll go first.”

  He pointed his gun blindly at the crowd and fired. The bullet struck one of the college guys in the neck. Argus laughed as the kid slumped to the floor, his blood spurting in time with his pulse. Argus snatched a pack of cigarettes from the hand of a stunned patron and lit up as his victim’s life drained away.

  • • •

  Kagan shifted in his seat, managing with effort to keep a struggling Mira shielded behind him. “Keep still and I’ll protect you, I swear. Just stay behind me.”

  At his words, Mira dug her nails deep into his abdomen. “Let me out of here, you damned caveman. I can help.”

  The demon waddled closer, his lit cigarette giving away his position better than a spotlight. Argus always was the king of non-stealth. Kagan finished his beer, maintaining rigid calm. “You’ve killed an innocent, cazzo. Now I’ll have to torture you as well as kill you … Argus.”

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Scion. C’mon out and play, girlie. Papa needs some love.” Argus took a last drag off the cigarette before crushing it underfoot.

  Kagan eased the Glock from his pocket, keeping it concealed as the demon approached. One of Argus’s bullets was spent on the poor kid on the floor and one nestled in the phone. The Walther could hold up to ten more rounds. He had no idea how many were left. Foremost in his thoughts was the fact trigger-happy Argus hadn’t fired on him yet, and Kagan needed him to waste ammo. “You keep coming this way, stronzo, and I’ll give you exactly what you’re begging for.”

  “Whatever you want, Scion.” Argus aimed the gun in Kagan’s direction and fired twice. He continued to press the trigger but nothing happened, only an empty click.

  Kagan absorbed the impact of the bullets, pain exploding as his right shoulder joint shattered. Merda! His shooting arm. The Glock clattered from his useless fingers to land beneath the table.

 
Warm blood oozed down his side to meet the girl’s hands, now dug deep into his waist. He coughed and reached with his good arm for his second firearm, sharp shocks of agony cascading through his torso. Teeth clenched, he subverted the pain and focused on the footsteps approaching. At least the bastard was out of ammo.

  Argus leaned forward to get a better look at the damage he’d wrought. “Well, well. Kagan! Been a long time. Surprised the bitch picked you to come. No accounting for taste, I guess.”

  He peered into the shadows behind Kagan while he released the gun’s empty magazine and shoved a new one in place. “Shit, boy, you didn’t think I’d take a weapon without plenty of ammo, did you?” He sneered at Kagan’s pained grimace. “Aw, you did.”

  The demon stepped away from the booth and shrugged. “Never took you for a fool. Guess I was wrong.” He aimed the still-warm barrel against Kagan’s temple. “You ready to die, fucker?”

  “You first.” Kagan fired once from beneath the table, adjusting to his left-handed grip, and caught Argus in the thigh. When the demon stumbled, Kagan raised the Glock and fired four more shots into his heart. Argus fell backward, landing in a heap next to the kid he’d murdered. Kagan quirked a brow at the irony and returned the gun to his pocket. “Should keep you down a while, segaiolo.”

  Kagan slid out of the booth, gritting his teeth when the motion tore open the healing injury at his shoulder. His nose wrinkled as he stepped over Argus’s body. The combination of demon and human blood mixed to create a foul odor that reeked to eternity. He waggled his fingers for Mira when she hesitated to join him. “C’mon, Mira, we need to get out of here.”