by JL Madore
As much as he wished they had something to go on, the truth was, they didn’t.
“That’s it? They tortured Taid, and get away with it?”
“They tortured more than one boy, Layne. There are dozens of other families suffering the after effects of what went down in that warehouse. Until someone helps us track them down, our hands are tied.”
He pointed down a private road to a large treed lot and the run-down old hotel. “We haven’t given up—and we won’t—but tracking bad guys isn’t as easy as car chases and knife fights on TV. Half the people we protect consider us the enemy. Every night is a battle against the tides.”
Bo climbed the series of steps leading up to the old hotel and Layne pulled back on their joined wrists. She opened her gift to scan him, and he dropped his emotional guard. He was annoyed and incredibly frustrated—both sexually and emotionally—but wasn’t planning anything duplicitous.
“Why are we here?” she asked, her feet firmly rooted. “What’s in there?”
“Dinner . . . and we’re running late, so let’s get inside.”
She didn’t move.
He propped his hands on his hips. The motion dragged her hand across the front of his jeans. Suddenly, he wasn’t hungering for pizza.
He stared at her lips and leaned closer. Her eyes widened, and she threw him an ocular fuck-you. All right, his desire would have to wait to be sated.
In the meantime, they needed to eat.
“Look. I’ve got a hundred pounds on you, and I’m hangry. I could throw you over my shoulder and force you inside. I won’t. I called in a favor to feed you. I thought you might want to see another side of the Darkworld. It would be rude not to show up, but I’ll leave it to you.”
He opened one of the glass double doors and waited.
With a huff, Layne pursed her lips and stepped inside.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Brennus blinked at the Egyptian twins and his mind spun out on what they’d just told him. “Bonded? How is that even possible? What happened to Shayton’s gatherings remaining consequence-free?”
“No idea, but Bo’s on deck and getting sized up for his wings.”
Part of him was happy for the guy. Of any of them, Bo was most likely to want a wife and family. A much stronger part of him did a thank-you-baby-Jesus dance that the goddess didn’t tie him down. He wasn’t a hundred percent but thought his sexual preference gave him a hard pass on the whole beast release insanity the others suffered.
He was a solid P man. Vajayjays and whining shit machines didn’t blip his radar screen. And that was fine. He had no interest in hooking up and locking down—in any way.
In the distance, sirens ping-ponged back and forth across the city streets like cops and paramedics playing tag in the dark. Coming up on the fringe of the Don River, no humans walked the pitted asphalt streets. The action of Toronto happened three blocks east.
Phoenix lifted his head and cranked around at the same time Brennus’s dinner sank heavy in his guts. “Aye, that’s some wicked bad mojo. Not fresh though. I’d say we’re a few days late to help whatever poor souls got taken down.”
The three of them side-stepped down the embankment of the Don River, their shitkickers crunching over the brittle grass. They kept one hand out to the side as they slid, trying not to ass-plant as they went.
A couple of hundred feet below the network of raised highways and bridges, the area offered an isolated wild, right in the heart of the city.
When they arrived at the plateaued ground on the river’s edge, Phoenix stroked his moonstone to life and led the way through the skeletal brush.
“What exactly does this wicked mojo feel like?” Seth asked, holding his phone up, the torch adding to their light. “What are we looking at?”
“Shite . . . something like that.”
It was like a scene out of Hannibal—bodies, cut apart and pieced back together in a totem of death that reached more than thirty feet in the air. Body parts, male and female, assembled with artistic flare, some clothed, most naked. Torsos attached to femurs. Wrists protruding through navels. Innocents mangled into a repulsive sculpture birthed in a truly fucked-up twisted mind.
“Sweet Lady,” Brennus breathed. “Just when ye think the worst is behind ye.”
They chose their footing, wading through the artistic cast-offs. Pieces of corpses littered the frozen ground, intestines tangled with limbs, and everything drenched in black ichor.
His eyes burned from the stench.
Everywhere their light panned, it illuminated death. Gore squished and squelched under the tread of their boots.
“Where are the heads?” Seth asked. “With that many bodies, there had to be at least ten or twelve noggins rolling around here.”
The three of them fanned out, looking for any wayward parts or blood trails to lead them in any direction. If this were a human dumping ground, they’d back away and leave it to the authorities, but based on the energy radiating from the column of death, this was an Otherworld massacre.
“Brennus, you call Colt,” Seth said, scowling at the scene. “I’ll hit Zander.”
As they started dialing, Brennus doubted he’d get an answer. When he’d gone to the cop’s apartment the night before, the place was empty. No blunt smoking in the ashtray. No coffee steaming in a mug. No female crying out in ecstasy.
The cop hadn’t been there for a while.
Had he broken the Ice Demon?
When the call went to voicemail, he took the cue. “Aye, Colton, it’s me. We’ve got a mess of major proportion down here in the Don. We’ll need a crew for this one. The place is polluted with dark energy.”
He stepped away from his brothers and lowered his voice. “Whatever happened . . .” He didn’t even know where to start with that. “We can put the genie back in the bottle, Cop. No worries. S’all good.”
In the back of his mind, Brennus sensed this wasn’t a run-of-the-mill withdrawal. Whatever happened wasn’t normal. Not right. But he didn’t know what the hell was wrong.
Seth hung up and flipped his phone to photo. Recording the tower from all sides, he let off a long whistle. “How do we get this mother down? No way we can get a cherry-picker in here, and if we burn it, we’ll draw lookie-loos, sure as shit.”
Brennus checked the foundation. The thing was spiked into the frozen ground on steel rebar. No chopping this tree down. “Phoenix,” he said. “If ye verify there’s no one around, maybe the two of you can fly up there, lift it out, and bring it to the ground.”
The rush of dark magic started with Phoenix as ground zero and pulsed outward. No one’s around. I’ve got this. Phoenix lifted his palms and his Mark burst into neon. With his magic engaged, the totem started to shift, then move.
Having seen Phoenix levitate an entire building, the feat of raising and then lowering a towering death stick seemed less amazing. Still, the scene itself left a unique impact.
“Who does something like this?”
Seth shrugged, stepping off the length of the thing going heel-toe with his boots.
“The world is a verra sad place, my brothers. What I wouldna give to go back to the days of clan wars and gatherings. At least then, the bloodshed made sense.”
Zander dropped in from the sky with Danel, their black wings and leathers almost invisible against the night. “Well, ain’t that creative,” the Sumerian said, frowning at the patchwork of bodies. “Any of our victims human?”
“I dunnae think so.”
“Where are the heads?” Danel asked.
Seth nodded. “Right? It’s like a puzzle and no corner pieces to get you started. Annoying.”
Danel sighed. “This is gonna take all night.”
Zander unzipped his biker jacket and tapped the chest piece on his weapons vest. “Tanek. If I’m not back by dawn, can I bother you to bathe and dress Nio? Austin’s coming down with something. I made her promise to sleep in.”
“No bother, Z,” Tanek said over their co
mm. “I’ve got your girls.”
Brennus rolled his eyes and went back to help with the crime scene. Yeah, he was damn relieved mating wasn’t in the cards for him. It would kill him to end up as some Nancy boy focused on diaper duty instead of their real duty.
Layne followed her Watcher guard into the old hotel and gaped at the interior. Warm and opulent with purple velvet wing chairs, gleaming floors, and a grandfather clock that looked like it came straight out of the history pages. The atmosphere diametrically contradicted the rough exterior. “What is this place?”
“Hello, there.” A tall female poised and dressed in a traditional silk gown greeted them at the door. With each swish of her full, teal skirt, her long ginger hair swayed to the movement against her ribs. “Welcome to our home.”
Layne noticed the insignia on the frosted glass waterfall in the lobby and clued in. “You’re the Mistress of Shedim.”
“Cassiane,” she said offering her hand. “And you are Gheil’s youngest sister, the one who went to university for Clinical Psychology, yes?”
Layne balked at her insight, supremely uncomfortable about anyone knowing anything personal about her. Knowledge, after all, was power, and it only worked in your favor if you held it over your enemy.
She considered everyone her enemy.
“Hey, Cassi,” Bo said, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “Sorry to intrude on your home time.”
“Nonsense.” Cassiane brushed a tender touch down the leather arm of his jacket and Layne had a heated impulse to swat it away. “Kyrian’s delighted to cook. I’m afraid with the nutritional requirements around here, his foodie skills are wasted.”
Layne walked in step with the Viking, taking in his relaxed gait and their easy conversation. The two were quite familiar with each other, and she suddenly wondered how intimate that connection was.
Bo reached ahead of them to thumb the call button of the elevator, and the doors opened. When the two halves slid back, he waited for them to enter first. “Kyrian mentioned that DonorWatch is branching out again. How’s that going?”
“Amazingly well, actually,” she said, the color in her cheeks flushing more with her smile. She pushed the button to take them to the top floor, and the elevator car lurched into motion. “I thought it might be difficult to replicate our successes here over in Europe, but there are a great many old-world families ready to move into a new era.”
Bo tilted his head toward her, his loose blond hair brushing his shoulder. “Cassi started up a corporation that provides the Darkworlders with organ and tissue feeding needs, an alternative to killing in the streets. DonorWatch acquires donated organs unsuitable for transplant and reallocates them across the country to Darkworlders in need.”
The elevator bumped to a stop, the steady beep that counted off floors croaking like a strangled animal.
Bo snorted. “Can’t the Greek fix that?”
Cassi laughed. “I won’t let him. I’ve gotten used to it and think it’s funny. It drives him crazy, which I think is funnier.”
They emerged from the elevator and met a young boy coming from the opposite end of the hall. “Good evening, Mistress. Watcher. Milady.”
“Hey, Edward.” Bo raised his uncuffed hand for a high five. “How’s things?”
“Good,” he said, hustling into the empty elevator car. “Jayna’s sire said I could come over for a movie with her.”
Bo laughed. “Then what are you doing wasting time talking to us, my man? Get going. Don’t keep a lady waiting.”
The doors closed and Cassi gestured for them to follow her into the penthouse suite. The sweet aroma of ash logs burning in the crackling fire welcomed them. The healthy flames cast golden light dancing over leather sofas and polished furniture. She took in the old-world tapestries and oil paintings hanging over damask wallpaper.
“You have a lovely home,” she said, her lifetime of social training demanding she acknowledge that fact.
“Thank you.” Cassi’s smile beamed a warmth that suggested the sun shone from within her chest. ”It’s not the castle of my heritage but it satisfies our needs, and my people are safe and happy.”
Layne heard a little about the split of the Shedim camp when Stryker was struck down by the Watchers. Two sisters at odds. One choosing to join the rebellion, the other choosing to slink away and play house in the human realm. This would be the latter sister, she presumed.
“Not to be rude, but why are we here?”
“To eat, I hope.” A well-dressed Watcher joined them in the living room, a black apron tied around the waistband of his designer slacks. “I’m Kyrian. Sorry I didn’t meet you downstairs. We were at a crux in timing, and I didn’t want anything to burn.”
“No worries, my brother,” Bo said, clasping wrists with the warrior. “Thanks for having us. It smells amazing.”
“Aww, shucks, wait until you taste it before you compliment the chef.” Kyrian wrapped his arm around his wife’s slender waist and noticed the handcuffs. “I remember those. Danel set you up for an outing, did he?”
Bo nodded. “I thought it best . . . considering.”
“Considering what, exactly?” Layne said, tired of being the invisible one in the room. “Considering I’m such a dangerous criminal? Please. You’re treating me like a common thug to bully me. It won’t work.”
Kyrian’s smile faltered and he flipped back his hair, his wings ruffling out behind him. “I’ll lay this out for you once, sweetheart, and then we’ll put it behind us. You’re under arrest instead of being dispatched because of Bo. You fucked with one of our own, you endangered my wife, my brother’s wife, and your own fucking sister. I don’t care who your brother is, if Cassi or anyone I love suffers so much as a hang-nail because of you in the future, you’ll answer for it. Instead of whining about the indignity of a handcuff, be thankful you’re not burning for eternity stretched out on the webs of Hell.”
Layne wanted to say something snappy buuuut he was right. Gideon assured her no one would get hurt and no one had. That didn’t mean it couldn’t happen. She should’ve considered that more carefully, especially since Jhaia attended that meeting.
Cassi drew a deep breath and clasped her hands together. “All right, so since that’s said. Let’s eat, and let all that filthy water wash under the bridge. Shall we? And please, boys, let the girl eat with two hands.”
Bo took the cue from Cassi and ran his thumb over the runes of the strange alloy. After muttering something in an ancient language, the shackles popped open. Dropping his head, he stared at her, eye-to-eye. “We’re here as their guests, we eat, and then we leave together. Don’t make me regret this.”
It galled her a Nephilim warrior thought he was doing her a favor. Maybe they weren’t the mindless automaton murderers they were made out to be, but they were a far cry from being the good guys.
“And who, by your account, are the good guys?” Bo whispered, his expression severe.
Had she spoken out loud? She hadn’t realized. Well, she wasn’t about to apologize for speaking her truth.
“Didn’t you say something about being hangry?” She gestured toward the dining room.
Layne watched the three through dinner and by dessert, she’d had enough. The Shedim Mistress had power, the respect of her people, and the money and intelligence to stand on her own, yet she doted on her Watcher like he turned the world. How could she not see what he was?
She watched Bo out of her periphery and understood the draw. The physical strength and attractiveness of Nephilim was unquestionable. Bo was brutally handsome.
If Henry Cavill and Bradley Cooper had a secret love child chiseled by the heavens to make him intimidating, and then dipped in awesomesauce, that would be the Viking.
Desiring a male she shouldn’t seemed dangerous and exciting, but hungering to be near the male who went against everything she knew—that was a flat-out no.
Cassi stacked her plate over Kyrian’s and set her napkin on the table. “Why don’t you boys t
ake the dishes into the kitchen and then enjoy a cigar in the study.”
Kyrian’s eyes widened, and she squeezed his hand. “I’m perfectly safe, my love. Layne and I will absorb the warmth of the fire and enjoy a glass of wine.”
Kyrian looked to Bo, and he didn’t seem sure either. The Viking frowned. “We’ll be in the next room, and I’m locking down all the doors and windows.”
Cassi chuckled. “Whatever you like, Bo. I promise we’ll manage.”
As the boys rose and gathered the dishes, Cassi grabbed the plate of brownies and led the way to the seating area in front of the fire. “Wine? Sherry? A liqueur?”
“Wine is good,” Layne said. “Red, thanks.”
Cassi poured a healthy dose of a lovely burgundy and offered the crystal glass to her. “Kyrian saves this vintage for special occasions. I hope you enjoy it.”
Turning back, she uncapped a small decanter, and infused her drink with almost a third a cup of what looked to be blood. Layne tried not to think about that.
Different strokes, amirite?
Layne sipped the burgundy contents and swirled the glass in her palm, watching the firelight play with the surface. The richness of the wine hit her tongue and her mouth burst to life. As the fruity tang passed down her throat, the sensation continued, warming her from the inside out.
“I know how you feel,” Cassi said, easing to the edge of the sofa cushion opposite her. “The numbness. The hammer of your heart. Wanting the thing which most repulses and enrages you in life.”
Layne drank deeply. “You think you know me?”
Cassi swallowed, savoring either the moment or her libation, she didn’t know which. “You’re wondering when your life will stop spinning, and where the centrifugal force will deposit you when it does.”
Layne passed her glass under her nose, breathing in its bouquet. “This is ambrosia. What is it?”
Cassi smiled. “I’m pleased Kyrian’s tastes are appreciated. It’s an 1895 from a little vineyard in the South of France that he and Zander found on their travels, years ago. He said it was the quaintest little village between the Mediterranean Sea and the Atlantic Ocean.”
