by J. Lynn
“I’ve fucked up,” he whispered to the empty room.
Cory had, and he knew it. He had done as the thing had asked. Then this…urge filled him, riding him hard. He couldn’t shake it nor could he push the endless chant from his thoughts. Do it. End it. End it all. Do it. From the moment he left that thing in his limo it had begun. There were no other options, no other end result.
He had given up his soul for what?
Numbness came over Cory; a sense of resignation filled his heart and mind. He gazed down at the gun in his trembling hands and then at the picture of his wife and their young daughter. Without looking away, he put the gun to his temple and pulled the trigger.
…
Michael shifted the bag of groceries to his other arm as he stepped off the elevator. He barely remembered getting up, showering, and heading out to the corner store. A surreal haze had settled over him last night, and it hadn’t lifted.
It was just a messed-up dream—all of it.
Yeah, he’d keep telling himself that until he believed it. Because whenever he closed his eyes, he saw the boy’s face distorting and heard that horrible scream.
He still had no clue what he was going to do. Over an hour ago, he was supposed to meet the asshole named Luke at the Sanctuary. It wasn’t like he’d been given an option. Just told to show up. Screw that.
Heading down the hall toward his apartment, he fished out his keys. A sudden tingling at the base of his spine drew him to the alert. His gaze fell to the door. The shiver increased, and all the hairs on his body rose. Drawing his off-duty gun, he nudged the door.
It inched open.
Shit. Releasing the safety, he drew in a deep breath and entered.
What he saw was like a punch in the gut and winning the lottery rolled into one. There was a beautiful woman in his apartment. Score. That beautiful woman wasn’t human. Fail.
Sitting on his counter, as if she belonged there, Lily unfurled one leather-encased leg. A brief smile appeared, and then she was off the counter and in front of him before he could blink. Before the second blink, she had him disarmed.
Jesus H. Christ, this woman was a pain in his ass.
“They didn’t teach you that at the academy, did they?” she taunted, turning the barrel of the gun on him.
He held onto his bag of groceries even though he wanted to throttle her. He had never been disarmed before, and his heart raced at the fact that she now pointed his gun straight at his forehead. He gritted his teeth. “What are you doing in here?”
She cocked her head to the side, smiling sweetly. “We had a date tonight, didn’t we? At around eight? That was an hour and a half ago. I don’t like to wait.”
He ignored that. “How did you get in?”
“I picked your lock.”
“That’s breaking and entering.”
She smirked. “I don’t care.”
“I could have you arrested in a second,” he threatened in a low voice.
Her lips twitched again. “I’d like to see you try.”
He stared at her silently. From the way her green eyes blazed and the fact that her arm did not waver, he knew she was not bluffing. “I don’t like a gun pointed in my face.”
“Neither do I, and you keep pointing it at me.” Her gaze dropped to the bag he was holding. Glancing down, he removed a loaf of bakery bread, spaghetti noodles, and sauce. Then she flipped the gun, offering it to him handle first. “We’ve gotten off on a bad start, haven’t we?”
He looked at her warily. Wearing a tank top and tight leather pants that hugged her legs and ass, she appeared every bit the badass he knew she could be. Funny, she was the kind of girl that usually had him going wild. But all he felt was…reluctant amusement.
He took the gun from her, sliding it back into the concealed holster. “You didn’t have to come here.”
She watched him continue to unload the bag. “You didn’t come to us. We had no other choice.”
“There’s always a choice,” he said.
“The problem with that ideology is that you’re thinking on the human level of things.” She paused, pursing her full lips. “You accept what I am, but you don’t accept what you are.”
“I’m nothing like you.”
Sighing, she placed her elbows on the counter. “You know, your story is no different than any of ours.”
He set the jar of sauce in front of her hands and studied her closely. The mass of hair had parted, falling forward and baring her shoulders to him. Inked in deep black, two wings sprouted from the base of her spine. From what he could see of the intricate tattoo, each wing spread to the edge of her shoulder and then swept downward to disappear under the band of her top.
A sudden urge to reach out and run his fingers over the fine lines etched into her skin was almost too hard to ignore. He clenched his fists, then picked up the spaghetti. “I doubt our stories are the same.”
She supported her chin with her folded hands. “Let me take a guess. Your mother committed suicide. You’ve never met your father. Blah…blah…blah.”
He froze, feeling the skin between his brows puckering. “Don’t go there.”
“Listen, Michael. We’ve all been there. My mother and Luke’s mother?” she said softly. “All of our mothers died by their own hand, and none of us have ever had the misfortune of meeting our fathers.”
He slammed the container of spaghetti down. The edges of the box split, spewing uncooked noodles across the counter. “My family is not something I will ever discuss with you.”
She leaned back, staring at the noodles. “I know this is hard for you. I know every rational bone in your body is telling me to screw off, but there has to be some part in you that knows what you are. You sensed I was in here, didn’t you? You knew.”
“Not a single part of me believes I’m a damn half-breed whatever! Okay?” He swiped the noodles off the counter, and they bounced off the tile. “I’m never going to believe that.”
“You just don’t want to believe it, but you know it’s true. Do you want to know why your mother killed herself? It’s the same reason for all of our mothers! Loving an angel—a Fallen angel—drives you insane. It may only take days, or it may take years, but the end is always the same!”
He came around the counter, hands balled into fists. “Get the hell out of my apartment!”
She didn’t move. “Michael, you have to listen to me!”
He stepped up to her. Damn, he was a good foot taller and probably had a hundred pounds on her, but the little thing held her ground. She had balls. He’d give her that. “Get out—” He stopped, going cold for no reason, feeling off-balance. It was the way he had felt before opening the door to his apartment, but worse. Worse than when he saw that boy and heard him scream.
“Shit.” Lily’s eyes narrowed into thin slits as she reached into her back pocket, yanking out her cell. “Luke? Where are you? I have at least three minions and, I don’t know, two or three deadheads. Yeah, gotcha.” She snapped the phone shut, brushing past him. “Do the stairs in the hallway lead to the rooftop?”
He had already drawn his gun. “Yes. Why?”
Lily glanced at the gun. “I hope that has the kind of caliber that leaves a big hole.”
His insides tightened, and he swallowed. There was…something coming. Goddamn it all, he could feel it. The sensation slithered through him, leaving behind tendrils of dread. But the gun was a reassuring weight in his hand. “Why?”
“Because that gun isn’t going to do shit for what’s coming. We need to get out of here and now.”
Chapter Eight
Color Lily surprised when Michael didn’t question her. She could feel him at her back when she went to the door. “Damn it. They’ve found you out, buddy.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “I warned you. So did Remy and Luke. But we didn’t think it would happen so soon, because they hadn’t found you before.”
“If they are after anyone, it’s you,” he said. “You brought this bad shi
t on me.”
“Ha!” She grasped the doorknob. “I thought cops had to be smart. You, my dear, are as dumb as a deadhead.”
He tried pushing past her, but she blocked him easily. “Let me check the hallway.”
“Really?” she drawled slowly. “You want to try that one out and see what happens? Get back. Watch and learn, Mikey.”
Sparks practically flared from his eyes. “Don’t call me that.”
Flipping him off, she yanked open the door. On the other side of the threshold stood a minion dressed in a business suit. He would have looked rather normal if it wasn’t for the dead eyes and twisted mouth.
Michael raised his gun, but she was faster. The daggers came out of her silver cuffs as she shoved one deep into the minion’s chest. He jerked back before he fell to the floor. He didn’t even get a chance to make a sound. That’s how she liked them, silent and dead.
“One down,” she counted airily, “two to go!” She stepped over the already dissolving body. “Maybe I underestimated the deadhead count. There’s more than three.”
Michael came up beside her. “I’m getting this weird feeling you may be enjoying this.”
Shrugging, she edged around the hallway. “What can I say? It’s the little things.”
His eyes rolled. “How many do you think there are?”
“Maybe five.” The light in the hallway flickered and then went out. She bit back a bored sigh. They always had to be dramatic, flaunting their evil bag of parlor tricks as if it would actually scare her.
“What the hell?” he muttered behind her.
“Don’t pay attention to that. Stairwell anywhere nearby?”
He gestured across from her. “Why not go downstairs?”
“You would think that.” She sighed. “All right, Mikey Mike, things are about to get a tad bit messy.”
“What?” He stopped behind her.
“Whatever you do”—she reached the stairwell—“please do not shoot me accidentally.”
He snorted. “I have better aim than that, thank you very much.”
“I hope so.” She opened the door and stepped into the stairway. Thankfully, the lights were still on there. Although she could see fine in the dark, she wasn’t sure where Michael was with that, and she didn’t want him fumbling with the gun in the dark.
They weren’t in the stairwell for five seconds before the door busted open a floor below. She glanced down. “How many floors is this?”
“Ten.”
“And we are on what floor?”
“Five,” he responded a little impatiently.
Damn it, she hated running up stairs. “Mikey, get behind me.” When he gave her a me-man-you-woman expression, she physically pushed him up a step. It was just in time, because what sounded like a herd of elephants rounded the level below them. She leaned over, peering down.
Goody gumdrops, we’re about to have a party.
Two possessed humans—deadheads—sprang around the corner, clamoring over one another. The younger one looked about twenty-five and was drooling. She grimaced. The other was fresh and frighteningly fast. Behind them was a minion calling the shots, and she knew there were at least two more deadheads and another minion somewhere.
A voice rang out, echoing through the brick stairwell. “Kill the female. Do not kill the male.”
Lily tipped her head back at the startled man behind her. “And I’m the one bringing you the bad shit?”
His eyes were wide in disbelief.
“Shoot them in the head. It will slow them down.” She turned back to the deadheads. “Don’t worry about their bodies. I’ll take care of them before anyone has a chance to call the police.”
The fresh one crested the landing, wearing gym shorts and Nike shoes. Apparently they had gotten her on an evening run. An iPod was still hooked to her arm, creating the illusion she was still human. It was all rather disturbing. Once she got a sight of Lily, she laughed hysterically. “Kill the female,” she sang. “Kill the female.”
Lily arched a brow at her. That one definitely did not have a singing career in her future. Or breathing. She leaned back just as a gun went off in her ear. She flinched as the bullet zinged past her face, smacking into the woman’s chest. Sweet baby Jesus! She patted her cheek to make sure he didn’t graze her.
The runner glanced down at her top. There was a hole in her shirt a few inches off from her heart. “Kill the female.”
“The head, Michael!” she yelled. “I said the head!”
He gaped. “Holy shit.”
Exactly. She leaned back, planting her foot right in the face of the woman. The deadhead stumbled backward, crashing into the slower one. A middle-aged man who had the appearance of a professor lifted his head, roaring a string of guttural words.
“Get up the steps, Michael.” She went down a step, kicking the runner again. This time the deadhead fell back against the wall with an enraged scream. “And don’t shoot again, okay? Just put the damn gun away!” With that, she hopped down next to the professor and slammed the dagger into his chest. He toppled over the railing and, as he fell, his skin began to flake off.
The woman struggled to her feet, and Lily whirled to face her. Instead of listening, Michael was now on the landing beside her.
Apparently, he’d decided bullets weren’t effective. He pistol-whipped the deadhead. Her head snapped to the side with a sickening crunch. Even with her neck broken, she managed to turn back to Michael and laugh.
“Screw this,” he whispered as he fired the gun at point-blank range in her forehead. She fell backward and slid to the floor, twitching and screeching.
Lily sidestepped the runner’s flailing legs, bringing the dagger down. Such a shame. The girl had been pretty.
“Stab them in the chest with this type of silver etched with holy symbols and they are done for. Anyplace else is just going to hurt like crazy and piss them off,” she informed him coolly. “Those bullets are pretty damn useless.”
Michael stared at her. “Are you trying to teach me?”
She pushed him up the steps. “Get.”
“Nephilim,” called the minion from the landing below, “wanna play?”
Taking a deep breath, Lily turned and smiled. Like the one from the previous night, this minion was young, but the similarities ended there. Instead of black hair, his hair was dyed ice blond, and he didn’t bare any of the gothic trappings. He looked rather preppy in his pressed polo and designer jeans, smiling up at her.
She positioned herself in front of Michael, hoping he didn’t bum-rush past her like an idiot. “William, how have you been? Grow back that finger?”
The grin slipped from the minion’s face. “Why don’t you come down here and find out?”
She pretended to consider his request. Most minions were all fight and no brains, but William retained his cognitive thinking skills, and he had a couple of scores to settle with her. One of them involved the four-fingered left hand.
Edging Michael back, she sensed another was coming up behind William. Stuck in a cramped landing wasn’t the ideal place to take care of business. “So who’s holding your leash, Willy?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
Not convinced, she rolled her eyes. It was more likely for her to kiss William’s rosy butt cheek before one of the Fallen actually involved themselves in a fight. Her gaze darted toward the newest arrival. Practically a carbon copy of William, the other minion stepped in front of him. Ah, the pawn. Before her were the brains and then the brawn. The pawn rushed the steps.
Behind her, Michael shifted and raised his gun. Distracted, she called out a warning to him. “Don’t do that!”
She realized a second too late that he didn’t know any better. Trained to fire a gun when his life was threatened, it had to be hard for him to overcome the logic behind it. He squeezed off a round and bull’s-eye! The bullet struck the one on the steps right between the eyes.
She cringed inwardly, crouching. This wasn’t go
ing to be pretty.
And she was right.
The minion roared to life, charging the steps two at time.
She launched herself at him, managing to block his attempt to rush past her. They crashed into each other, slipping down a step or two in a tangle of leather and pressed khaki. When the minion reared back, she twisted out of his grasp. The light from the bulb above caught the glint of silver in his hand. It wasn’t that he had a blade that jolted her into action. All of the minions had some sort of weapon. It was the intricate writing scrolled on the length of the blade that made her take notice. It was just like hers, which meant it could kill her.
Not having time to consider where they might have gotten their grubby hands on a Nephilim blade, she sank hers deep into the minion’s flesh. His weight fell against her. “Ugh,” she grunted.
Michael came down the steps two at time, plucking the minion off her. By the time he heaved the creature over the railing, the face had already begun to disintegrate.
She passed him a thankful smile. “Two down…”
Michael’s lips twitched. “One more to go.”
She snatched up the blade the minion had held and turned back to William. Three more deadheads surrounded him. And they were all brand spanking new to the world of possession. How many human lives were wasted tonight?
“Kill her,” William ordered coldly.
All three lifted their heads, stares fixed on Lily. Normally, she would have happily gone after all three and William, but there was Michael. The deadheads were surely a decoy to get to him. They would keep her busy enough so William could go for him. Michael’s aim had drastically improved, but William was strong and smart. She didn’t believe Michael was ready for that.
“It’s your lucky day,” she announced. Not giving either one enough time to figure out what she was doing. She pivoted and grabbed Michael’s hand. “Come on!” Pulling him behind her, she raced up the stairs.
“We’re running?” He sounded shocked.
“I can’t let them get you. That’s Willy boy’s plan.” She rounded the eighth level. “They’ve got a hard on for you, boy.”
