by Anne Hope
“I’ll be with you in a sec,” the bartender tossed at Jace without bothering to look at him. Beefy arms worked as he poured vodka into a tumbler. No need for cute umbrellas or wedges of lime in this dump. Straight liquor worked just fine.
Fluorescent tubes buzzed overhead, and the muted light reflected off the bartender’s gold earring. A dragon tattoo darkened his skin from his neck all the way down his arm, ending at his thick wrist. His bald head shone as he finally turned Jace’s way.
“What can I get you?” The blood leached from the guy’s face the second he caught sight of him. He stumbled back, jostled the pile of glasses behind him. “You’re the last person I expected to see back here. Thought you were dead.”
So Jace’s instincts had been dead-on. This was the joint where they’d cut him up. His emotions still hadn’t settled, and blazing anger shot through his veins. “Guess you were wrong, on both counts. As for what you can get me, how ’bout some answers?”
The man reached under the bar, probably for some kind of weapon, but Jace was quicker. With lightning speed, he lunged over the bar, grabbed the bartender by his sweaty shirt and sent him flying into a pile of unwashed glasses. His strength astonished him. The guy was over two hundred pounds, and yet he’d lifted him as if he weighed no more than a feather.
Jace joined him on the ground, clutched his collar again. “I want you to tell me exactly what happened here two nights ago or I’ll make you lick the piss off the floor. Understand?”
“I don’t know. I just pour the drinks.” The bartender struggled to escape Jace’s iron grip, to no avail.
Jace lifted the bastard off the floor and flattened him against the bar. “Start talking.”
The man’s body slackened as Jace’s mental power took hold. “You decided to stand up for some stupid schmuck. Viper didn’t appreciate it.”
“Who’s Viper?”
“Big guy with a buzz cut and a snake tattoo. Comes in every other night.”
According to the article in the paper, the cops had no clue exactly what had gone down at The Hangout, and now he understood why. No one would have risked ratting out this Viper if he was a regular here.
“Did anyone try to stop him?”
Fear came into the bartender’s eyes. “He would’ve killed anyone who got in the way. Guy lives by his own set of rules.”
Jace released the man’s shirt, took a step back. “Last question. Is Viper here tonight?”
The bartender nodded. “Over by the pool tables.” He slumped against the bar, a confused grimace contorting his face.
Jace didn’t stick around to explain to him how he’d just screwed with his head. He had a favor to return, and payback was a bitch.
Chapter Nine
The apartment was empty, but Marcus knew Cutler had been here. Dark currents clung to the walls and ceiling, filled the place with a negative aura capable of guiding him to its source. He was a tracker, the best of his kind, possessing the ability to recognize the different frequencies being emitted. He could walk into a room and know exactly who’d been there. Energy lingered long after the creature producing it left, and he read the distinctive patterns found in each life-force like a signature.
Cutler hadn’t bothered to clean up. Dirty dishes still littered the sink. Pizza continued to rot on the counter. But one thing had changed. Pages upon pages of the Portland Tribune stretched across the kitchen table, begging for attention. Marcus hastened over and diligently scanned the small print. One particular article caught his eye. The title read Man Stabbed and Left for Dead. It was a concise, sparse account of an event that had taken place two nights ago, stating that an unknown man had been found stabbed outside a biker’s bar. The bar in question was called The Hangout.
No supernatural tracking abilities were required for him to figure out where Cutler was heading, and the outcome had disaster written all over it. A seasoned Hybrid was bad news on a good day. An unseasoned one could effortlessly trigger World War III without even realizing it. He had to get to that bar. Fast.
If he didn’t intercept Cutler in time, there was no telling what could happen. He only hoped he wasn’t already too late.
Auras flickered as Jace weaved through the crowd. Everywhere he looked, damaged, heavily inebriated spirits stood, itching for a fight. He recognized the type, though he had no idea why. This place was more familiar to him than his own home. He could smell desperation in the air, a thick, cloying essence forged by frustration and despair. Low lights cast elongated shadows on the floor, and they swayed like drunken ghosts. Every so often, the end of a cigarette glowed red, hanging from the mouth of yet another thug who had no regard for the law.
Mistrusting stares followed him as he advanced, but he ignored them. He had his sights set on one patron, a huge guy standing at the last pool table, his face set in a tenacious frown. Jace couldn’t be sure this was the son of a bitch who’d stabbed him, but some inexplicable force—call it instinct—drew him in his direction. A dark shroud enveloped the guy, smothered the light inside him. He looked like the kind of person who could easily be driven to murder, then just as easily forget about it.
“You Viper?”
The mammoth of a man twitched and directed an annoyed glare Jace’s way. The current of shock that zipped through him was a palpable thing, as thick as it was violent. “What the fuck?”
He staggered back with surprising speed for someone so big.
“Remember me?”
The guy’s throat muscles worked as he swallowed, his jaw clenched tight. “Can’t be. You’re dead. Took a blade to the chest.”
Jace had thrown him off balance, and it pleased him tremendously. “Guess your knife wasn’t as sharp as you thought.”
Disbelief gave way to fury. The bastard made a dive for him. Jace moved so quickly, Viper went crashing headfirst into a group of onlookers. Not giving a shit that he had an audience, Jace secured Viper’s arm around his back, then, without a flicker of remorse, rammed the guy’s head into the nearest table, which was covered with glasses and empty beer bottles. Glass shattered and hailed down on the faded hardwood floor.
His strength surprised him. Inexplicable power coursed through his veins, dark and ravenous. It screamed for pain, revenge, bloodshed. But most of all, it craved death.
With a fierce growl, Viper spun around, thin strips of blood swirling down his face and leaking into his mouth. He looked crazed, intoxicated by anger, consumed by it. Next thing Jace knew, an iron fist struck his jaw. The blow barely stung. In fact, he hardly moved.
For the first time, fear flared in Viper’s eyes, but he refused to surrender. Persistence was a disease, and this guy suffered from it more than most. He whipped out a stainless-steel pocketknife. Jace caught a whiff of his own blood on the serrated blade.
Uncontrollable rage seized him. The world was riddled with Vipers, ruthless scumbags drunk on their own power. They preyed on the weak, took what they wanted when they wanted, not giving a crap how many broken bodies they left in their wake.
But no more. For this particular predator, everything would end tonight. Jace would make sure of it.
The guy lunged again, but Jace sidestepped and reciprocated with a swift uppercut to the midsection. Viper doubled over, and the blade slipped from his fingers and clunked to the ground.
Somewhere behind them, two guys began to argue. Jace ignored them, focusing all his mental energy on the asshole who stood determined to stab him yet again. “Drop to your knees,” he ordered.
Viper immediately complied, his expression both pissed and confused.
The commotion in the bar intensified. Madness spread like an airborne virus. Previously docile patrons started swinging at each other, ramming each other into walls, smashing tables and glasses and glittering bottles of booze. A smoldering cigarette butt floated to the floor, scattering ashes as it fell. The alcohol acted as an accelerant, and everything ignited in a brilliant blaze.
“Pick up the knife.” Jace should’ve
put an end to this, forced everyone to leave this hellhole and seek refuge in the cool night, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He needed to see Viper bleed, see his soul rise from his body and the light leave his eyes.
Viper did as he was told. Thick fingers closed around the handle.
“Now bring it to your throat.”
The color drained from the bastard’s face. “Please.” Even as he pleaded, the sharp tip of the blade compressed his Adam’s apple.
Suffocating heat enveloped them. Clients and employees alike stopped beating each other and made a run for the door as The Hangout continued to burn.
Jace rounded on the pathetic heap of a man quaking at his feet. “I’m going to send you to hell.” He was about to issue the final command when the door burst open and a dark form walked through the licking flames, unscathed.
“Don’t do it, Cutler. This isn’t what you want to become.” Bottomless, navy blue eyes bore into him, framed by a face far too beautiful for a man. Black energy rippled from his body and—unlike the humans—no golden aura enveloped him. He was a creature of darkness, same as that murderous nurse Diane. Same as him. “You have a choice. You can fight it. Once you go rogue, there’s no turning back.”
Jace struggled not to lose his focus. Viper’s throat began to bleed where the blade dug into his flesh.
“You need to trust me.” The fire-kissed stranger plowed deeper into the room as the flames crept closer.
Jace’s head began to ache. Unexplained weakness unwound within him, a numbing drug that left him feeling suddenly depleted. He released the mental hold he had on Viper. With a sob, the man clambered to his feet and made a scramble for the back door.
Shadows dueled with dancing flames. They masked the stranger’s face but failed to conceal the approval shimmering in his gaze. “You did the right thing.”
The guy’s praise did little to comfort Jace. “Who are you?”
“Name’s Marcus.”
The fire rolled in to blanket Jace’s feet, but his flesh refused to burn. Horror and repugnance knotted his gut. “Scratch that. What are you? And what am I?”
“Come with me and I’ll tell you. Better yet, I’ll show you.” The fire wrapped curling tongues around Marcus, made him look like the devil himself rising from the sulfurous bowels of hell.
A chill cut through the heat, burrowed deep in Jace’s bones. He didn’t know much, but he knew one thing. He couldn’t trust anyone.
Not even himself.
At least one of these creatures wanted him dead. Who was to say this guy wasn’t in league with Diane? Maybe Marcus was yet another hit man sent to finish him off, courtesy of his faceless enemy, Athanatos.
“Hope you don’t mind, but I think I’ll pass.” Not taking his eyes off the other man, he inched toward the back door. “Love to stand here and get burnt to a crisp with you, but gotta run.”
The door Viper had neglected to close slammed shut. Jace struggled to pry it open with no luck. Brisk, barely audible, footsteps resonated behind him. He swung around to find Marcus standing no more than four feet away. The flames had ceased feeding on him. His clothing was burnt, torn and ragged, but his skin remained unharmed.
“We can’t burn,” he explained, “or feel pain the way humans do, or bleed.”
“But we can die.”
Marcus’s lips quirked. Jace wasn’t sure if the result was a smile or a sneer. “Not easily.”
“What do you want from me?”
“I just want you to come with me. We could do it the easy way or the hard way. Your choice.”
Jace wished his mind wasn’t so muddled, that he was numb again so he could think more clearly. Instead, a medley of emotions battled for dominance inside him—denial, dread, hopelessness. He didn’t have a clue which would prevail. All he knew was that he didn’t want to die here tonight. Not without seeing Lia’s face one more time. Just once more so he could understand the strange hold she had on him.
Directly above Marcus, a brushed-metal light fixture hung from the ceiling. It looked heavy enough to hurt. Of course, if what Marcus had said was true, it wouldn’t make a dent, but it could prove a distraction.
Jace willed it to fall. The walls shook as the fixture detached from the ceiling and crashed down on the other man. In the split second it took for Marcus to recover from the blow, Jace yanked the door open and bulleted into the velvet blackness of night, where shadows diligently rolled in to conceal him.
Then he ran. Ran faster than humanly possible. Ran until the world became nothing but a black smudge and he was sure no one could follow.
But he was wrong.
A figure hurtled from the shadows and sent him smashing into the sidewalk. Jace grappled for freedom, swung his fists at his attacker. The two men spun around, engaged in a fierce wrestling match.
“Why do you have to be such a pigheaded asshole?” Marcus growled. “I’m trying to help you, you idiot.” Then he pulled out a silver dagger adorned with a gold hilt. “This blade is drenched in angel’s blood. One nick and you’ll be powerless.”
It surprised Jace how well he could see the thin red sheen that coated the knife. He also noticed the fine white scar on Marcus’s wrist, some kind of symbol that looked like the letter I followed by the number three, or maybe an incomplete capital B. “Thought you said you were on my side.” He didn’t wait for Marcus’s answer. Instead, he snaked his way into the man’s head, secured a hold on his mind. “Let me go.”
Marcus fought him. The guy’s will was strong, not easy to bend, and Jace was so damn exhausted from his tussle with Viper. Thoughts clashed as each man struggled to triumph over the other. After several seconds of mental jousting, Jace’s suggestion finally took root, and Marcus loosened his hold on him. Before his assailant had a chance to recover his wits, Jace slithered free, but in his haste to escape, he accidentally brushed his forearm against the dagger. The blade cut through his flesh like it was softened butter. A slow, sizzling burn instantly traveled up his arm toward his shoulder. Weakness clawed at him, a fast-acting poison swimming through his bloodstream.
The world around him wobbled, slipped in and out of focus as he labored to his feet. Holding his injured arm, he hobbled down the moon-silvered street, embraced by cool air and a sky that fought to close in on him.
Chapter Ten
Peace hovered over the house, a rare cloud that came and went with the wind. It wasn’t a state she knew well, and she wasn’t sure how long the reprieve would last. Her father had gone away on a business trip, and when he returned, the madness seemed improved. The small rips in his psyche had mended.
But it wouldn’t be long before they bled open again. Just a few days in her presence and all hell would break loose. Sometimes she wished she could go away, escape to a place no one knew about. A place where there were only animals and birds and creatures that didn’t think she was a freak. Maybe she could track down her mother…
A cooing rose from the closet. The cry was persistent and hungry. She’d forgotten to feed the pigeon, and it was demanding its supper. Lia pulled a bag of unsalted sunflower seeds from her desk drawer. She’d done some research at the library, found out what pigeons liked best. She’d even learned how to feed it by shoving the seeds down its beak, then chasing them down with a mouthful of water. She’d thought it would be gross at first, spitting water in the bird’s mouth, but it seemed to be working. The hatchling was thriving. After a few weeks, it had even started to come into its wings.
She cupped the pigeon in her palm and stroked its iridescent coat. The newborn feathers felt silky yet brittle. “Hungry, huh?” Raising the bird to her chest, she carried it to the center of the bedroom. “Sorry I’m gone so much, but I can’t miss school.”
She sprinkled sunflower seeds over the carpet, placed a small container of water next to them, then released the bird, curious to see if it could feed itself now. Her instincts had been correct. The bird poked around for a bit, then decided to peck at the seeds.
&
nbsp; A laugh tickled her chest. The sight of her feathered companion hopping from seed to seed amused her. “Boy, you really were hungry.” Joy wasn’t a feeling she knew well, but at the moment it filled every corner of her soul. For the first time in her life she had a friend.
She’d never known acceptance could feel so good. But her happiness was tempered with the knowledge that one day soon she’d have to release the pigeon. She couldn’t hide it in the closet forever. At any minute it could start to fly, if it hadn’t already.
Now that her father was back, concealing it would become a challenge. No sooner did she think the thought than footsteps pounded the stairs. She jumped to her feet, quickly gathering the pigeon and returning it to its box. After closing the closet door, she hurried to pick up the seeds on the carpet.
She wasn’t fast enough. Her bedroom door swung open with a hiss.
Startled by her father’s sudden appearance, Lia took an involuntary step back and accidently kicked the container of water, spilling its contents on the rug. Her father’s gaze narrowed, took in the mess at her feet.
“What have you done?” The question was nothing more than a rasp, but it cut through her like a scream.
“Sorry. I dropped my sunflower seeds. I’ll pick everything up.”
“Haven’t I told you no food or water in your room?”
Lia fell to her knees, hastened to collect the remaining seeds. “I know. I forgot.”
“There is no saving you, is there?” Her father’s disappointment stung more than his anger. Like everyone else, he thought she was hopeless. “No matter what I do, you’re cursed to live in chaos.” He shook his head, and the pain on his face was as sharp as a slap. “That was your mother’s only gift to you.”
He rarely spoke of her mother, but when he did, it was always laced with regret, bitterness and something else. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, but which felt oddly like fear. The fear of the inevitable.
