Breaking angelina (Paranormal investigations # 1.5)

by Rita Webb

  Darkness already claims the shadows. Isn’t

  Alaska wonderful? I wasn’t meant for these harsh

  winters and dark days. If there is a god in heaven,

  he (or she) didn’t create me for this icy hell.

  I deserve sunshine and warmth.

  If I have to kill everything in my way, I will.

  Kill. Yesss.

  No, not kill. I don’t want to kill anyone. Well,

  maybe Cyndi.

  The alley is empty. No doors or windows.

  Nothing but three blank walls, the bitter cold air

  whistling in my ears, the damned snow that never

  ends,

  and the voices whispering

  whispering

  always whispering.

  A hundred times I decided not to do this, but

  each time, the voices clamored louder. They won’t

  leave me alone.

  With a sigh, I rotate slowly in a circle, searching

  for the entrance to Brogg’s Bar. There’s nothing

  here. Three brick walls, dumpsters, wooden crates,

  and snow, but no doors, no neon signs, no drunk

  patrons stumbling out the door. Nothing.

  If I’m going to have illusions—voices whispering

  in my head, talking cats trying to sell me curses,

  love potions—the least I could do is create an

  imaginary bar.

  Chapter 10

  ~ HUNTER ~

  Whiskey burns on the way down. The pain

  reminds me I’m alive. I stare at the empty bottle,

  my reflection glares back accusingly. Rage flares in

  me; I want to smash the bottle. Instead, I gently

  place it back on the table. Dammit, I can already

  feel the buzz receding.

  The infernal druids, with their rune tattoos and

  their peace symbols tied around their necks, party

  in front of the stage. I can smell the traces of fae

  blood flowing through their human veins. Their

  ancestry gives them an affinity to nature.

  I wish they’d take their celebration of mead and

  nature someplace else.

  Riley moves deftly from table to table, bringing

  drinks, bending over to show a little cleavage as she

  scoops up her gold coins, smiling as she swipes

  their empty bottles and replaces them with full

  ones. One man tries to grab her ass, but she ducks

  out of reach with a small smile.

  “Nuh-uh,” she says, “you know the rules, Brenn.

  No touching.”

  Every time I see this girl, she wears a different

  face, size, race, gender, but I always know it’s her

  because she smells like nothing but magic and clay.

  She reminds of the Siren trapped in her cage. No

  matter how much she smiles or how she changes

  her appearance, her eyes are always filled with

  longing. I wonder if she wishes she were real.

  “Barkeep!” I hold up the bottle.

  “You know the rules, Hunter. Pay first.” The scar

  on the ogre’s right cheek turns his mouth into a

  grimace.

  I dig out a gold coin and flip it onto the bar. It

  spins for a moment before rattling to a stop. I’d

  already spent most of the gold Jezebarra had paid

  me. Most of it tracking down the circus, the ticket,

  the gadgets ...

  I’ll need most of the remaining gold to raid her

  lair and take those swords. I’m not certain it’s

  worth the effort, but if I let this insult go

  unchallenged, word will get around. Jezebarra

  needs to be made an example of. No one betrays

  me and gets away with it.

  But I need some more money to go after her.

  Jasper’s equipment is not cheap, and although he

  owes me for screwing up on the coin and for selling

  me the crappy shield. The kind of equipment I have

  in mind he probably doesn’t have the talent for, but

  I don’t know how much Spyder would charge.

  “I have a name.” Brogg sets an open whiskey

  bottle in front of me and scoops up the coin with

  his long sausage-like fingers. His bulky frame fills

  the space behind the bar, but somehow he moves

  without knocking over the glasses and bottles lining

  the shelves. Surprisingly graceful for a half-ogre.

  Tattoos and scars crisscross his bark-like, olive-

  green hide. His green hair grows in patches like

  moss sprouting over the damp earth.

  “Whatever you say, barkeep.” I take another

  swig. Sighing, I close my eyes as the numbness

  spreads back through my body.

  As usual, my thoughts return to her. I can still

  hear her voice, rich and warm. My Sammi, my wife.

  Her soft gray fur beneath my paw. Her wing

  stretched over me at night. The curve of her hip,

  her soft breasts pressed against me, and that

  sweet, warm spot between her legs. The way she

  nuzzled me, how she moved against me in the dark

  of night.

  I can still smell her blood dripping from the

  walls, her naked, broken body spread out on the

  bed I had built for our first anniversary. Her dead

  eyes stare at me through the refracted glass.

  The stench of her terror clung to her body, and I

  memorized the stink of the semen burning my

  nostrils. Ten soldiers to molest one lone woman. If I

  ever meet them, I will tear their hearts from their

  bodies and eat them. I will rip their guts out and

  strew them across Drakon.

  My fault, I should have been there. Husband.

  Father. Failure. I didn’t protect them.

  I take another numbing swig of whiskey, but it

  doesn’t drown out the pain.

  I wasn’t there to save her.

  I should have known he would do something like

  this. The murdering, backstabbing, whoreson is

  guilty of fratricide. What’s a little rape and murder

  to someone like that?

  I should have taken the family and ran when I

  knew he wanted me for a job. But where could I go

  to hide from the Dragon Emperor? Usurper or not,

  he still has the full backing of the Allied council.

  When I turned the job down, he didn’t get upset, or

  so it seemed.

  He said in a mild voice “I understand your

  concerns. I’m sorry we couldn’t come to a mutual

  agreement.”

  The sick bastard shook my hand and everything.

  I stayed close to the house for a week afterward,

  just in case he wasn’t as understanding as he

  seemed. One does not thwart the will of a dragon

  mildly. He waited two months.

  I remember seeing them before setting out to

  hunt that last summer morning, Lissie fighting with

  Blaze over breakfast. If I’d only known it would be

  the last time I would see them…

  His Royal Highness wanted me to know who did

  this to them. Their room was scorched, one wall

  ripped out—the obvious signs of a dragon attack.

  The only things left of them were bloody scraps of

  her dress and his foot.

  The sound of shattering glass draws me back to

  the present. Blood on my hand—how did that get

  there?

  “Dammit, Hunter that’s it. You’re out of here.”
/>
  Brogg crosses the room toward me.

  I look around the bar. The druids have left. The

  musicians are packing up. Riley’s counting her tips

  for the night.

  I watch my hand as it heals up, the glass pushing

  out as the wounds seal. How many times did she

  heal up before he was done playing with her? Did

  he make his guards watch? Did they join in? How

  often did you need to cut a chimera to make them

  bleed that much?

  “But I’m finally numb feelin’ nothing.”

  “You can’t even speak straight. Get a real meal

  before you come back, and get some sleep.” Same

  height as me but nearly twice as wide, Brogg seizes

  by the scruff of my neck in one hand as if I weigh

  nothing.

  “And watch the arm. I just healed it this

  morning. One more swig?” The relief from my pain

  won’t last long.

  He tosses me out the front door. “And don’t

  come back until you’re sober.”

  Chapter 11

  ~ ANGELINA ~

  Rotating once more, I take in the empty alley—

  nothing here except bare walls and trash. I turn to

  leave. Hey, at least I tried. The voices should be

  satisfied with that, right?

  Something creaks behind me, and a voice yells,

  “And don’t come back until you’re sober!”

  I whip around to see a man flying out of a door,

  crashing into the opposite wall. A door that hadn’t

  been there a moment ago.

  Tall, grizzly beard, he reminds me of Hagrid.

  Except his eyes aren’t kind and gentle. He slips on a

  patch of ice and stumbles back to his knees on the

  cement floor.

  A pang of sympathy rings through my heart. I

  used to look down on some of the lushes on the

  cheerleading squad. Now I longed to get drunk, if it

  would only drown out the voices for a few

  moments.

  “Hey, mister, are you all right?”

  “Go away, kid. I’m fine,” he slurs.

  “No, you’re not. But you will be. Let me help you

  up.” I reach out a hand, and he grabs my arm

  halfway to my elbow. Pulling himself up, he almost

  yanks me off my feet. My arm still in his grasp, he

  looms over me, drawing in a deep breath like

  someone sniffing flowers. I turn my face away from

  the stench of him—alcohol, sweat, and old

  cigarettes—and try not to vomit. How can he smell

  anything over his own body odor?

  His hand still clamped to my forearm, he leers

  down at me. My head doesn’t even come to his

  shoulder, and his massive chest is wide enough for

  three of me.

  I take a tentative step back, but he drags me

  closer.

  “Darling, is that you? You smell divine. Are you

  my guardian angel now?” He looks at me, really

  studying me. His eyes are amber, flecked with

  golden flames.

  “No. I’m just a girl.” A nervous laugh escapes my

  throat. Is he going to let go of me? What was I

  thinking? Let’s help the poor, defenseless, drunken

  mountain of a man.

  “I could just eat you up.” He licks his lips. He

  sniffs again and stiffens. No longer slurring, he now

  stands without wobbling. His grip tightens on my

  arm, his hands trembling. “Who are you? Who are

  you working for? Where is the bracelet? Did he

  send you?”

  “I—um—” I glance around the alley, wondering

  if I can find a way to escape. His emotions—desire,

  rage, agony, distrust, and loneliness–hammer at me

  in rapid succession, making me sag in his grip.

  “Please—you’re hurting me—”

  He growls and pushes me away; I stumble and

  have to reach out to the grimy wall to keep from

  falling over. He leans against the other wall his back

  to me, breathing like he had been running.

  “I—I’m looking for—for the Hunter. An old

  woman in a bookshop told me I could find him

  here. Is he—is he inside?”

  “What would you need with that bastard?” He

  turns to look at me, his amber eyes narrowing.

  “That’s none of your business.” I lift my chin and

  glare at him, letting my voice go steely the way my

  sister’s does when she gets stubborn. It might have

  sounded more convincing if it hadn’t come out as a

  panicked squeak at the end.

  “True enough.” But he makes no move to

  answer my question. Leaning his head back down,

  he continues to stare at the wall. “Better be careful,

  working with the Hunter. His prices are steep, and

  if you can’t pay, he’ll find other ways for you to get

  it from you.”

  I shudder, but crossing my arms, I lift my chin

  higher. “I can decide for myself.”

  “Then wait here and I will fetch him.” Pushing

  off the wall, he removes his Stetson, his long coat,

  made of fur patches, billows around him in the

  wind. His image shimmers, changing and warping,

  as if I’m seeing it through the bottom of a thick

  glass mug.

  Fur spreads across his body and over his face;

  his nose lengthens into a snout. Then stands before

  me is a wolf, with back haunches ending in bird

  legs, arms folded across his chest like a human

  would. White wings, specked with brown feathers,

  stretch wide from his back like an angels. I can’t

  help myself; I reach out and touch the velvet of his

  feathers. The wing twitches.

  “What are you?” I gasp.

  “Dangerous.” He snarls, and his white teeth,

  long and sharp, glisten in the streetlight.

  “You’re the Hunter?”

  He nods briefly, then leans forward, closes his

  eyes, and inhales deeply. “You smell like heaven.”

  Taking a step back, I cross my arms protectively

  across my chest. “I thought you were drunk.”

  “I was. Fast metabolism.”

  “I—I want to hire you.”

  “My fees aren’t cheap. And if you try to stiff me,

  I will hunt you down.” Now seven feet tall, he

  towers over me—a mountain leering down at me.

  He’s naked, save for a feather piercing his pointed

  ear, a twisted band around his neck, and a loincloth

  barely covering … other parts.

  I quickly look away, more than a little disturbed.

  “Fine.”

  “What do you want tracked down?”

  “A siren. I want to kidnap a siren.”

  He tilts his head lifting a furry eyebrow. “A

  sweet, little vanilla mortal like you, kidnapping a

  siren? What kind of trouble are you stirring up,

  angel?”

  I grit my teeth.

  “There are only three sirens in this world.

  Something that rare isn’t going to be cheap, say ten

  grand.” The way his eyes flash golden makes me

  take another step back; a chill runs through me. I

  feel like a mouse staring into the eyes of a cat.

  I swallow back the lump of fear in my throat.

  “Ten-thousand dollars? How am I suppose
d to

  come up with that kind of money?”

  “Not my problem, princess. You figure it out,

  you know where to find me.” He steps in close,

  backing me into the wall. His muzzle turns to my

  throat. Is he going to rip it out?

  I can feel his breath on my skin. My knees feel

  weak. He sniffs at my neck like a dog. A great big,

  scary dog.

  “And now I know how to find you. Take care,

  sweet thing.” He turns back to the bar and I run.

  Chapter 12

  ~ HUNTER ~

  I sneer at my reflection, loathing everything

  about myself. My teeth are sharp, ready to tear

  into my prey, and yet I can’t sink them into the one

  who deserves to be torn apart. An army stands

  between me and him, and I’d be dead before I get

  close enough.

  What is wrong with me? Why did I go after that

  little human in the alley? Why did she smell of fae

  and half-dragon? Too faint for it to be her blood,

  but strong enough to be a recent encounter.

  So many questions. It’s just been soooo long,

  and she smelled so much like my Sammi. Cinnamon

  and sugar, and the musky scent of her sex. If I

  hadn’t caught scent of the bracelet on her, who

  knows what would have happened. It was all I

  could do not to take her right there.

  The mirror sneers back at me. I’m no better than

  that abomination sitting on the throne. I almost

  raped her.

  No.

  I’m not like them.

  The mirror explodes into a thousand pieces—a

  thousand eyes all accusing me. I hate myself.

  I’m glad Sammi can’t see what I’ve become.

  She’s the one who convinced me not to use my

  talents to track down people for the Emperor. Said

  it would be immoral to hunt sentient creatures for

  money. She believed I was a better man than that; I

  guess she was wrong.

  For her, I refused the Emperor’s gold. She died

  for that choice and yet here I am, a bounty hunter,

  doing what the Emperor wanted me to do after all.

  That bastard always seems to get his way in the

  end, one way or another.

  I should have been home that day, rather than

  out hunting. When Sammi needed me most, I

  wasn’t there. Worse, we had argued that morning.

  She wanted me to stay, saying she had a bad

  feeling about the hunt, that I would be hurt. But