by Holley Trent
“No, it’s delicious. It gives you a delightful rush.” She smiled and patted Nichole’s leg until the woman smiled as well. “I always feel so energized after a harvest. So many women are saved by what we do.”
“What happens to the men?” Nichole asked, still smiling but in a more forced way.
“What do you mean?” Why should she care what happened to the men?
“After you remove their souls. What happens to them?”
“They die.” Ashley shook her head. “Of course.”
“Do we absolutely have to kill the men?” Nichole asked in a whisper. The petite woman picked at the fringe of her gown.
“The soul is extracted. Living is no longer possible,” Ashley replied, though she knew the answer wouldn’t satisfy her student.
“But … ”
Although Nichole had pledged to support their mission with a whole heart she questioned their methods. Ashley started to worry about Nichole’s commitment.
She held up a hand and waited a beat. Partially for the calming effect on Nichole, but also because it gave Ashley a chance to be sure her voice would hold a patience she didn’t completely feel. “Would you have wanted your boyfriend to continue abusing you? Could you have left him on your own? For all the free will you had left, he may as well have tied you up. Would you have wanted him to do it to another woman?”
Nichole responded vehemently, as Ashley had predicted. “No, of course not.”
The gravitas with which she spoke caused Ashley to smile. And she could see Nichole had more to say, so she waited, a level gaze firmly on her charge. Finally, the reason for the woman’s contrary behavior was about to surface. Best to get it out in the open.
“It’s just that … ” Nichole’s saucer-like eyes met Ashley’s. “Not all men are evil.”
Ashley nodded. “We don’t target the ones who are behaving. It’s like weeding a flower garden. We only remove the plants that could harm the others.”
Nichole went back to picking at her hem. “But some men change,” she whispered.
Ashley wanted to shake the young woman, to tell her that men whose souls were corrupted couldn’t simply clean them out again. It was only a matter of time before most men strayed down an evil path. It was their nature. But she knew from the way Nichole fidgeted she had yet more to say, so Ashley held her tongue.
“My dad changed for me.” Again, Nichole lifted her huge eyes and seemed to search Ashley’s face for something. “Before I was born he did drugs and messed around with loads of women. When my ma got pregnant with me he stopped all of that and became my dad.”
In Ashley’s experience, the male would only make that choice if it were the easiest to make. But Nichole’s voice rang with love and wonder and stilled Ashley’s interruption.
Nichole smiled as she rubbed at her knees. “Ma said they loved each other so much.”
The emotion that poured from Nichole felt sweet and soft. In spite of herself, Ashley listened like a child to a fairy tale. She’d believed in love like that—once—long ago.
Nichole ran her hand over the fringe of frayed fabric and sniffed. “Then, one night, he was in a wreck on the way home. I was eight. Losing him broke our hearts, but Ma always told me how he’d changed when I was born. She said everybody deserves a second chance.” Nichole rocked slightly back and forth, lost in memory.
Ashley remained quiet. She’d been given a second chance with the sisterhood, an out from an abusive and likely deadly marriage. A chance to help herself and women like her to be strong. How many chances did someone get?
Nichole’s words burrowed into Ashley’s heart. Could there be a man strong enough to fight the inherent male corruption and love her? Care for her? Live for her? In the years she’d been with the sisterhood she’d never encountered such a man.
“Nichole,” Ashley said gently, “how many second chances did you give the man we found you with?”
Nichole nodded and squared her shoulders.
Still, the thought of a redeemable man tugged at Ashley’s mind. Could one really exist?
• • •
The woman seemed to have more arms than an octopus. Eric Adams, private detective, disengaged himself from the grateful woman’s embrace and said, “You’re welcome, Mrs. Jaxon-Miller.”
He’d attempted to evade her several times already; fortunately, the fifth time seemed to be the charm. Though she pouted, it seemed she got the hint and lit a cigarette instead of trying to kiss him again. She said, “Oh, no. I’m changing my name back to Jaxon. Allison Jaxon won’t be associating herself with that jackass anymore.”
Two days ago, she’d walked into the closet he called an office and asked him to follow her cheating husband. It had taken Eric less than an hour to snap the photos she’d just chucked across the room. Apparently, her husband cheated regularly, and in the open to boot.
A few puffs of her cigarette and the room filled with smoke. He was willing to overlook his usual no-smoking rule if it meant Ms. Jaxon was keeping her hands to herself. She dropped the half-finished cylinder into her water bottle and gave him a pointed look. “We really should talk about compensating you for your trouble.”
She was slightly older, and she was hot. Especially in the tight miniskirt and heels that made her legs look like they went all the way up to her neck. A year ago, he may have taken her up on the offer. Back then, he’d been a ladies’ man. Back then, he’d been a man.
The Bestial Butcher case ended all that. The Butcher had turned his partner on the police force, Lydia Davis, into a werewolf. A werewolf. Eric had barely believed her when she told him. Then, during the raid that finally brought down the Butcher, the beast ripped Eric apart in an attempt to lure Davis into the open.
Luckily for Eric, the Butcher had used his mouth to tear open his stomach, and the disease, or whatever it was that changed a human to a werewolf, passed to him. Even as the surgeons operated to close his wounds, they closed on their own.
Fortunately, the surgeon had seemed content to take the credit for Eric’s miraculous recovery. The next day, the surgeon’s expression was more than a little uneasy as he examined Eric’s healed wounds.
Then, with the help of Lydia, Eric had checked out of the hospital the following day.
“Hey, sexy, where did you go?” Allison Jaxon was sitting on his lap, brushing the hair back from his face with one hand while working the fly on his jeans with the other.
Eric stopped himself from standing up and dumping her onto the floor. The woman needed reassurance that she was still sexy. While he wouldn’t sleep with her, he could boost her ego a smidge. He caught the hand that was in his hair and moved it to his lips. “Allison, you are one of the sexiest women I’ve ever met, gorgeous, and successful. But you should know I can’t mix business and pleasure.” He lifted her from his lap as he stood and set her on her feet, grabbing her ass and leaning close to whisper into her ear, “No matter how much I want to.”
Then he stepped back and let his arms drop to his sides. He was taking a chance handling her this way. He hoped he was right that she merely needed some validation. She panted, and for a moment, she looked ready to pounce. Swallowing hard, she reached into her purse and said, “I’ll write you that check.”
After Ms. Jaxon left, Eric tucked the check into his wallet. Private detective work paid the bills, albeit not well. Being a cop hadn’t paid all that well, either. In some ways, he missed it. But after Lydia left the force to start her family, he realized it was too difficult to explain how he could smell better than any police dog. By scent alone, he could tell if a person in interrogation was lying. Unfortunately, as a cop, he had to prove it. For instance, he would have had to produce cause to search the home of the pedophile who had kidnapped that little boy even though the pervert who answered the door reeked of the child.
Eric’s new partner hadn’t understood when Eric barged in as the man tried to close the door. He hadn’t understood when Eric punched the man into unconsciousness be
fore the pedophile could draw the 9 mm tucked in his waistband. He hadn’t understood when Eric broke through the closet wall of what seemed to be a bedroom office. As a werewolf, his strength had doubled. Of course, during the full moon, it tripled.
Eric had found the boy. Saved the day. But the questions didn’t stop, and he couldn’t answer them. He couldn’t work on the force anymore. Not when he couldn’t be honest with his own partner. No sane man would believe him.
When he talked it over with the incredibly pregnant Lydia, she understood. “I found that the only team I can really trust is family,” she’d said. Then she placed a hand on his shoulder. “And you, you’re family now, you know.” If he ever doubted it, all he had to do was reach out with his mind. Apparently, because of the closeness of the pack, he could talk telepathically with his pack mates.
He knew, but it didn’t help. He could handle being alone professionally if he had someone to come home to, to share his day with. Hell, to share the night with. But it couldn’t be casual anymore. Wolves mated for life. Now, sex meant forever. If he wasn’t careful, he could be bound for life to a complete bitch.
To anyone on the outside he appeared healthier than he ever had. Sure, he had a quicker temper than he used to, especially during the full moon. Because he’d refrained from human flesh for his first full moon, with the help of Lydia and her mate, he didn’t look at humans as food. However, he now ordered his meat rare, and when the moon was full he barely cooked at all. The all-natural, raw diet cut the body fat, and the pet shampoos he used when he “wolfed out” made his hair full and shiny. Anyone who knew him thought he was happy.
The phone rang, startling him from his thoughts. A quick check of the caller ID and he answered. “Aaron Decker, how are you? How’s Sin City?”
“Troubled. I could use you down here, man.” Aaron sounded tired. More tired than when they’d gone through the academy together. “We’ve got a missing person case, juvenile, possible runaway.”
“I don’t know what I can do.”
“That’s all the false modesty you get. You were top of our class. You might have turned in your badge, but your reputation has grown in the last year. You’ve got instincts, and that’s what we need. There’s no evidence of abduction. The child left a typed note on her computer explaining she was running away, but that doesn’t feel right to me. Not to mention she’s the daughter of Miles Koburn, an influential man on the city council.”
Politics involved, too. Geez. “Aaron, you might want to get the feds involved. Better resources—”
“You’re not coming?”
The question hung in the air. He knew Aaron well, but could he work as part of a team again?
“It’s an eleven-year-old girl,” Aaron said. “The clock is ticking.”
That did it. “I’m coming.”
• • •
Ashley flipped her hair over her shoulder and strode confidently down the Strip. The dark night was lit by the ever colorful flashing lights. Other cities boasted that its citizens never slept, and although she’d never had a reason to leave Las Vegas, she was sure the nightlife here could give any of them a run for their money.
Every adult in this town focused on two things: sex and money. Women, men, young or old. All other necessities came second to the conquest of the seven deadly sins. And even these sins circled back to sex and money. Ah, but that was the good part. As the Mother taught her all those years ago, the deeper the coat of sin, the sweeter a soul.
Ashley had learned in the first few days of her own training that the sisterhood’s goal was to rid the world of the evils done at the hands of men. Not every soul was as corrupt as the next, and the less tainted a man’s aura, the worse the taste. Usually, after identifying those men whose hearts were mostly pure, she avoided them.
But now that Nichole had brought up the idea of a redeemable man, Ashley’s eyes lingered on the less polluted specimens. The ones she used to ignore. How they held their women close. She wondered what it would feel like to be held by such a man.
She ran her nails through her hair. Focus. She needed to concentrate on the task at hand.
The hunt could be fun. Reading thoughts, weighing sins. Separating those indulging in a weekend of transgression from those who made depravity a way of life.
She remembered her induction and rubbed a thumb over the onyx band around her left ring finger. The ceremony, the belonging. She would never be a victim again.
Striding past the people lined up outside a club, she slid into the front of the line. She’d found prey in this club before. A wink to the bouncer at the door and she was waved through without paying the cover. He wasn’t the purest man in the bunch, but as long as he remained useful he’d live. She spared a moment to wonder if the bouncer knew how close he stood to death’s door.
The rhythm of the music pounded in her chest like a second heartbeat. Colored spotlight beams crisscrossed the room. She wriggled and bounced to the pulse like those around her.
She danced through the crowd, gathering her hair behind her head, and then, raising her hands in the air, she let her long dark hair fall into shoulder-length blonde curls. No one in the pulsating room noticed; neither did they notice her eyes swirl through a rainbow of colors and land on a deep, seductive blue.
Tonight, she would find prey for Nichole. The best way to learn was to do. So, after a week of orientation, Nichole would get to put what she’d learned into action. Tonight, Ashley would find Nichole’s first kill.
Ashley’s instincts led her to a man around fifty. Short and stocky. His thinning hair whispered of once being strawberry blond, but the bad comb-over lay limp, thin, and peppered with gray. Stretching his mouth into a vile grin, he stood at the bar and leered at the woman dancing on top of it.
The aura around the diseased leprechaun of a man swirled in dark blacks and browns. Oh, yes, he was a ripe one. Ashley strode toward him, waited until he turned in her direction, and affected a vacant expression.
“Oh.” She stumbled against him and allowed her breasts to press against his arm for a moment longer than necessary. “Sorry,” she mouthed at him.
“That’s all right.” He gripped her shoulders and moved her to stand at the bar next to him. “Let me just buy you a drink.”
He waved at the bartender, and she leaned toward him again, this time catching the sweetly rotting scent of his corruption. She’d found a perfectly nasty one in the first club of the night. It seemed too easy.
The bartender passed the leprechaun her drink, and he gripped the glass by the top. If she really were the ditsy drunk blonde she pretended to be, she would have missed the little white pill he dropped into the glass. Too bad Nichole hadn’t come out with her. He was almost too ripe to resist.
Giggling, she accepted the drink and downed half of it. The drug would have no effect on one of the sisterhood. She nuzzled up to his ear and yelled, as the music wouldn’t allow for the seductive whisper the move called for, “I like you. How long are you going to be in town?”
“Baby,” he shouted, “I gotta get back to the wife in two hours!” He grabbed her ass and pulled her closer. “I need to make this count.”
“Where are you staying?” Nichole would have an easy time with this one. Her first time should be as pleasant as possible. Ashley could distract the wife while Nichole took the husband; the wife would be much better off without this jerk.
“The Palace.” Short as he was, his face barely reached her cleavage. He turned his head and attempted to help himself.
She stepped away, threw her head back, and laughed, as if the Palace weren’t good enough for her. She patted him on the cheek and made a show of stumbling away from him into the crowd. She felt his rage radiate at her back.
Once outside, she checked the bottle of pills she’d palmed from his coat. No label. She shook it and watched the little white tablets rattle around. Pleased that he would find no victims tonight, she emptied the pills into a nearby garbage can and then tossed the
bottle in, too. Tomorrow, Nichole would ensure he would never take another victim.
• • •
Eric received the e-mail from Aaron with the tickets while at the bank depositing his check. The flight would leave first thing in the morning. Before heading home to pack, he stopped by his grandmother’s house to tell her he would be out of town for a few weeks.
Her small townhouse occupied an end unit in a historic neighborhood. It had been passed to her from her parents, and she’d raised her children there. Then, when Eric’s parents died in a robbery gone wrong, she’d taken him in.
The way the detectives had brought his parents’ killer to justice was what led him to choose to join the force. They’d reviewed the clues, followed the evidence, and given them peace.
Although the neighborhood had gone downhill over the last twenty years, his grandmother insisted on staying in her home. No matter the crime statistics, or the fact that Eric’s grandfather had had to put bars on the downstairs windows.
After his grandfather passed away five years ago Eric found himself stopping in daily. He couldn’t cook, and since she made such terrific food and was on the way home, he would stop in and do a chore or two—then he would look meek and hungry. He spent many an off-hour mowing her postage-stamp-size lawn, moving furniture, or fixing things. Just his way of paying her back for the great food.
She was like a mother to him, and at seventy-one, she needed to be taken care of, though she’d never admit it. She didn’t know about his transformation last year, and if he could help it, she never would.
He knew from experience that unconditional acceptance could only go so far. Years ago, he’d almost gotten serious with a woman. Unfortunately, he’d been applying to the police academy, and she was an accomplished thief. No matter what he said, she couldn’t or wouldn’t stop. He couldn’t love someone who would cross the line he was going to defend.
He walked up the two steps to his grandmother’s barred screen door. With the thick metal door open he could hear gentle singing coming from the kitchen.
Before he could knock she called out, “Come on back, dear.” She never locked her doors. She refused to get a security system, but she always knew when he arrived.
