by JL Madore
“Bo was driving,” Zander said, lifting his wings to shelter them from the gusting wind. “No way would the Viking abandon his dagger if he walked away from the wreck. Our boy is MIA.”
The implications of that statement hit them hard. “I’m sorry to hear that.” Colt said, toning down the attitude. “When I heard a leopard raced out the back window of a mangled Navigator, I figured Nephilim life was spiraling sideways again. How’s Storme?”
“Heading into surgery,” Seth said, checking his phone. “Austin and Cassi are at the clinic now. They say it’s not life-threatening. Storme caught her leg on a chunk of steel during the escape and Drina has to sew the damage back together while she’s still a cat. They’re not sure how it would affect things if she shifts.”
“And Phoenix?” Danel asked.
“Focused on keeping her in cat form and calm.”
Zander exhaled. “That’s one good thing. Her needing him will keep him and his beast level. So, who did this and where’s the Viking?”
Colt shook his head, and scrubbed the back of his neck. “Witnesses from above report a cement truck ramming them over the barriers. Witnesses below report a zoo cat racing down Lakeshore and, at the same moment, a fire supervisor truck arriving. Apparently, three guys in uniform used the jaws of life to cut open the truck and then they evac’d the driver.”
“Bullshit.” Zander scowled at the heap of scrap metal that used to be his vehicle. “Jaws of life take longer than that. If municipal rescuers were on scene, they’d still be here getting him out.”
“Exactly,” Colt said. “Yet, less than fifteen minutes later your truck is sprung like an opened can of sardines, and the responders are long gone. That’s Darkworld mojo.”
“We could detect what kind if Brennus were here,” Seth said. He met Colt’s arched brow and nodded. “He’s our mojo master. He’s on assignment at the moment, but we’ll get him down here.”
A gust of wind slapped Danel in the face, and he popped his collar. “So, what now. Amber alert?”
Zander pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled. “This is becoming one fucking annoying reoccurrence.”
He agreed. Three times in two years. Tanek had turned up dead. Kyrian had turned up tortured to shit. And he had been living it up as an amnesia born-again Nephilim with Ronnie while the garrison lost their minds.
This shit-pile could avalanche in any direction.
With the Red-Metal Rebellion in full swing, they no longer had the luxury of relying on their immortality to downgrade the urgency of a situation.
Shit like this was life or death until proven otherwise.
“Okay, thanks, Cop,” Zander said, his feathers in a ruffle. That was because of fury more than the wind. “Keep us in the loop, and we’ll do the same.”
Before Colt turned to head back to the scene, he covered his mouth as if he were scratching his chin. “Z, call the station and report the vehicle stolen from the club parking lot. You don’t want to be tied to this mess. Jungle cats. Fake firefighters. This won’t end well.”
Danel hoped the cop was only talking about the politics of the investigation. On the Viking side of things, it had to end well. There was no other acceptable outcome.
Good guys always won, right?
Well, Bo was one of the best guys he knew.
CHAPTER THREE
Layne hated lying to her sister, even for an honorable purpose. She had no idea where the driver was taking them on this outing and didn’t care. Why? Because, despite Gheil’s low opinion of her, she loved her family and wanted nothing more than their happiness.
She didn’t hold out much hope for their older brother—the mighty Djinn Master was above such trivialities as happiness. Her sister knew what it was to be happy—or had known, at least. If Layne had to twist the truth, maneuver behind the scenes, and make the tough choices now, they’d see she was right in the end.
Things in motion would stay in motion. The connections she’d made would take the Djinn farther in the Darkworld revolt than playing nice with the enemy.
“You’re penseful tonight.” Jhaia straightened her long skirt and crossed her legs in the seat opposite her.
Layne shifted along the bench seat to the bar and poured herself a cranberry and orange. She held it out for her sister to sip, but she declined. “I went out earlier and met up with some friends. They threw it in my face that the Djinn are aligning with the Watchers. It’s humiliating, you know. It makes us look bad, and Gheil either doesn’t care or doesn’t notice.”
Jhaia searched in her purse and retrieved her lip liner and a mirror. “He notices. It simply doesn’t deter him. Only a true visionary sees an unpopular path unfolding and accepts the momentary bad to gain the lasting good. The Nephilim are as tired of killing Darkworlders as we are of being killed.”
Only her respect for her sister that kept her from laughing. “You believe that?”
“I do.” She finished with her touch-up and zipped her things away. “Nephilim aren’t the monsters the Darkworld makes them out to be. They feel and bleed and love just as we do. They believe more issues will be solved by cooperation and communication than by confrontation and combat. Gheil and I share that sentiment.”
Layne sipped from her glass and let the tart sweetness slide down her throat. “They’re proposing an alliance because we’re gaining ground in the rebellion. They’re scared. They die now and know they lost their edge.”
Jhaia shook her head and frowned. “You’re smarter than that, Layne. If you want Gheil to respect your counsel and take your opinions to heart, you must rid yourself of anger and accusation and see things as a leader of a great people.”
She did. That was the whole point. It wasn’t her who blurred the battle lines. Gheil was out of touch with the wants of their people. Her taking steps was in his best interest, to ensure they weren’t kicked from the Dark Prince’s table.
The car stopped, and Layne looked out at the eight-foot iron gate. After a moment, they moved inside and waited at a second gate. When the one behind the car locked up tight, the one in front hummed to the side.
“Where the hell are we?”
“Language, Layne. Best behavior tonight. I mean it. The woman you’ll meet, Thea, has been good to me since Taid’s death and I value her friendship. Don’t ruin this for me.”
Layne heard the threat in her sister’s voice, and the seriousness of her warning sank in. This evening mattered to her. “Okay, got it. I’ll be Miss Manners. But what has you so invested? What is it about this woman that makes your friendship so important?”
Jhaia smiled, and the tension in her shoulders eased. “Thank you. I look forward to seeing your best behavior.”
Bo jolted awake to 10,000 Volts of electrical current exploding in his cells. White cloudbursts overtook his visual cortex, the violence of his muscles convulsing, sinking his teeth deep into his tongue. Blood filled his mouth and ran warm down the back of this throat. Hanging by his arms, he quaked like an epileptic inchworm blowing in a hurricane.
When he got yanked from the crash and taken hostage, he knew this would suck. He underestimated how much.
“He’s awake. Get him into the chair.”
The world went spinny, and when things settled, he sat in a wheelchair. Arms and feet bound to the chair frame by red-metaled shackles. His neck braced to a steel bracket in back.
He had no mobility.
He spat the metallic pool of scarlet from his mouth and focused on breathing. At least sitting in the chair, they’d stopped electrocuting him.
“Get him geared up. I want to see how he tests now that we’ve given him some juice.” The bodiless voice drifted in from above.
With his head lolled to the side, Bo rolled his eyes up toward the line of fluorescent lights and saw nothing but the blinding buzz of his headache thrumming in his skull.
Long, hairy arms reached past him to the mechanical equipment set up four feet in front. Only one species had a wooly reach like that.
Rugaru.
That, at least, was something to go on.
Rugaru were fast, strong, and had only two weaknesses—fire and decapitation. He let his head fall forward. He no longer wore his weapons vest, so decapitation wasn’t an easy fix. He summoned his heavenly gift and tried to get a read on the machine they were hooking him up to.
Nothing. He tried again. The only intel that came back at him was the white noise he’d been ignoring for weeks. Was his Nephilim juice offline? Tipping his head from side-to-side, he understood why.
The metal collar tight around his neck wasn’t a torc—it was a binding collar negating his Nephilim abilities. Rough fingers swept the hair from his face and temples to clear the way for a new set of electrodes.
He hated to be inhospitable, but he did not sign a consent form to have Darkworlders fuck around in his head. Pulling at his restraints, the daemon-designed alloy burned his flesh.
It didn’t matter how many times he cozied up to the Nephilim-killing kryptonite, it hurt more than anything he ever got used to.
“The more you struggle, the more you’ll burn. Relax. Once we have the readings we need, you’ll go free.”
The word of a Daemon kidnapper—worth nothing.
Colt Creed reminded himself he loved his life. It was tough some nights—most nights—well, any night Zander and his wrecking-ball brigade ruined his mundane routine and twisted his balls in a vice. But all in all, life in the Human Realm policing the greed and stupidity of humans was hands down a fuck-ton easier than dealing with Darkworld deception.
If he weren’t a heartless demon, he’d feel bad about Bo. Of the nine Watchers in the Toronto Garrison, the Viking was the golden retriever of the bunch. Loyal. Easygoing. Good to pick up the slack and a dependable comfort to have by your side. Like having your favorite knife going into a fight.
The scene of Navigator versus gravity dead-ended with the departure of the bogus rescue crew. Unless he could track their route with traffic cams, the males who took Bo were vapor. There was no need to waste his time with the cyber-hunting either. Sure as shit, Danel already hacked into the police system to do that himself.
Finishing up with the tow truck and witnesses, he covered the bases with the other boys in blue and headed back to his truck. He lifted his chin and acknowledged Brennus on approach. The guy had dropped his tailgate and sat there, his tree-trunk of a leg swinging loose.
“Celt? Something I can do for you?”
Brennus’s mouth quirked up at the side and his dirty demon mind immediately flipped to their no holds barred union in the horse arena back, when Seth was near death.
“Can I get one of those?” Brennus indicated the cigarette Colt just lit up.
He took the cancer stick from his lips, shielded it from the wind, and handed it over. The demon in him liked that the warrior’s mouth now sucked on what he’d just wet in his.
Yup. He was now throwing wood right there in front of the guys from his department. He shifted, giving the scene his back, and gripped the shoulder straps of his Kevlar vest. The tough guy stance got exactly the reaction he aimed for.
Brennus was all about the rough and tumble.
The Celt took a long draw on the gifted cigarette and offered it back. Colt shook him off, knowing the sexual spiral his mind would take if they kept that up. Why in Hell were his insides fluttering like a school girl on prom night?
He was immune to that shit.
“So, Celt, are we talking about the amazingly awkward or pretending it didn’t happen?”
Brennus shrugged. “I’ll leave that one up to you. If ye never wish te speak of it, I understand—we crossed a solid line that afternoon—but my question wasnae whether we’d talk about it . . . it was when might it happen agin?”
Colt chuffed, staring off at the late-night traffic jam building on the Lakeshore. The hockey game must have let out and everyone was inching their way back to the suburbs.
Another round with the Celt?
Murky waters, that. Sleeping with the enemy. Wrong side of the tracks. Crossing streams. The first time was instinct and emotion. No fault. No foul. If they crossed that line a second time, that implied intent and a commitment to the destructive behavior.
Still, he couldn’t say he wasn’t intrigued.
“I’m surprised sex with me is even on your radar after the weeks you spent in Purgatory. My cousin has a standing invite to Shayton’s private parties. The guy usually goes six months before heading back to the watering hole.”
Brennus’s brow pinched beneath his long, russet hair. “Yer keepin’ tabs on me then?”
Colt shook his head, surprised at the bite in the Celt’s reaction. “Zander mentioned you and Bo weren’t able to join the battle against the Leviathans. My cousin mentioned there were a couple of Watchers at the party. Two plus two.”
Brennus slid off the tailgate and latched it. “Yeah, well, I wasnae thinkin’ about hittin’ it hard with ye here and now. My brother is in the hands of the enemy at the moment. Forget I said anything.”
Colt followed Brennus as the warrior rounded his truck and stepped into the shadows. “Don’t be an ass. What’d I say? I don’t give two shits if you’re wrung out after a session in Purgatory. I’d give my left nut to get an invite.”
“Fuck you.”
He caught the Celt’s jacket and spun him around.
Brennus broke his hold and shoved him back into a concrete support of the expressway above. Colt’s Ice Demon side rose to the forefront, and he gripped the guy’s lapels and hauled him in close. “Don’t start what you won’t finish.”
Brennus’s lips were hot and rough. With one hand pinching the back of Colt’s skull, the warrior ground against him like he’d fuck him straight into the hospital. Nothing sweet and warm. The guy was angry and demanding, the weapons stored under his jacket jabbing hard into his ribs.
And that hit all of Colt’s buttons.
The warrior crushed him into the concrete column, the Celt’s anger and frustration filling the crisp night air—a demon aphrodisiac. A bite brought blood to his lips and a surge to his cock. The sucker-punch to the gut was a sexy surprise. Colt took the hit and almost creamed his fucking jeans.
And then, it was over.
Brennus ripped himself off, his gunmetal gray eyes as wild as his long, red hair blowing in the wind. Without a word, he stomped off, fists clutched at his sides.
Colt secured his footing, straightening to his full height. Hard, bleeding, and panting like a fucking dog in heat, he watched the Celt’s ass sway as the guy stormed off. This wasn’t over. Whatever this was heating up between them, he’d be damned a second time if he gave up without seeing where it went.
“Game on, Celt. Game on.”
Layne accepted the dainty china cup of tea, cursing the Dark Prince for his wily ways. Yes, she was playing both sides of the Red-Metal Rebellion, but to put her smack in the middle of the Nephilim camp was plain evil. Or genius. The Dark Lord was testing her, and she hadn’t figured out why. Was he giving her inside information to strengthen the rebellion? Was he testing her promise to Jhaia to consider her perspective and hear about the council? Aughh—so evil.
So, no male strippers. Sad face.
The exciting ladies’ night plan was a lame tea party with Thea, wife of Egyptian Watcher, Seth.
The female, a resplendent blonde Angel of Powers, was the lead in putting together the Otherworld Council—because an Angel of the Choir knew all about the injustices of Darkworlders. Not.
Anyway, they were stuck in the Three Bear’s cottage with Goldilocks, her angel brat sleeping in the bassinet in the corner, and a massive warrior firmly in place to babysit. Whether he was there to babysit the kid or them? She wasn’t sure.
Jhaia accepted a plate of peach cobbler and nodded. “When do you expect our first meeting to be held?”
Thea dabbed her mouth with her napkin. “I thought the equinox. The first day of spring, to signify new beginnings, new growth.”
&n
bsp; Oh brother. Can this woman be for real?
“That’s wonderfully symbolic,” Jhaia said, obviously under the influence after drinking the Watcher Kool-Aid. “And not long to prepare. Will we have a proper representation of the species by then?”
Thea shrugged. “I’m calling an informal planning session this week. We’ll see who responds. I’m expecting to have Shedim, Shadow Caster, Shade, Dragons, Drake, Djinn . . .”
As the two of them listed off the species that had already caved to the idea of working together for a harmonious future, the baby cried in the corner.
“He’s awake,” Jhaia said, lighting up. She brushed herself off and placed her napkin onto the table. “May I?”
Thea smiled. “Of course. He’ll be thrilled to see you.”
“Give me two, ladies,” the hulking warrior said, bent over the little bed. “We need a little hazmat cleanup before we’re ready for visitors.”
Perfect. Just how she wanted to spend her evening. Layne rolled her eyes.
Jhaia caught it and scowled. “On second thought, Layne, would you like to be the first to hold little Zane?”
She frowned at her sister. “I’m fine, thanks.”
Jhaia shook her head. “No, I insist.”
When the assassin in the corner was done with the diapers and wipes duty, he brought over the little blue bundle. It kinda weirded her out that Watcher assassins even knew how to hold a baby, let alone change one.
“Here you go,” the guy said, bending to hand her the child as if he were presenting her with the most precious treasure. “This is Zane.”
Determined to make a few smiley faces and then hand the kid off, she looked down at—Her heart tripped and swelled in her chest. The swirling silver-blue eyes didn’t belong to the mutant offspring of an Angel and Watcher scum.
“How? Whose?”
Jhaia’s smile grew wider. “It’s Taid. Thea’s mate, Seth, saved him from captivity and attempted to bring him home to us. Sadly, it was not meant to be, but he gave him the freedom of choice. Taid passed unto the collective free in spirit.”
