by Emma Cole
She zeroed in on a tall man in a slick suit that watched the crowd from a balcony, arrogant as any overlord would be. His glittering silver eyes with their odd sheen met her dark ones, widening briefly in fear and shock before shuttering and leaving only indifference in his gaze. An edge of the sharp slash of a mouth kicked up into a smirk, issuing a silent challenge. His eyes never betrayed the threat she sensed creeping ever closer to the door at her back.
But no, it wasn’t coming from outside the building; it moved through it. Through solid walls, at a rapid unrelenting pace. Retta’s own eyes narrowed in acceptance of the gauntlet that had been thrown.
Darkness ate the whites of her eyes while the centers flashed as scarlet as the streaks in her long, midnight hair. Siphoning off the excess wouldn't be needed after all. A shockwave only the supernatural or those sensitive enough to feel boomed through the room, knocking a piece of the fleur de lis carpeted wall to the floor in the shape of a man. The form’s skin pinked up, losing its pattern from the wallpaper to reveal an auburn-haired man; Jack had made his appearance. He came up swinging with one mallet-shaped hand, while trying to impale her with the other— a stump ending in a wicked knife.
Retta let out a dark chuckle at his inability to follow through. Rage could be such a dirty bitch when she carried the ability to pull out the motivating emotion, leaving the person impotent. He gave up after a few vain tries, hands unwillingly morphing into proper extremities. Not wasting any time as he lunged at her, he hit an invisible barrier that knocked him back on his ass.
“Jack! Enough!” The shouted command came from the man who no longer observed from the balcony but now strode on long legs up to Retta and her assailant. “You can’t kill her. You’re only going to piss her off if you keep it up.” The dark-haired, suave man spoke with a sense of urgency, eyes flashing quicksilver, as if he knew perfectly well who she was.
“She’s a threat, boss. Can’t you feel it? Didn’t you see it?” Poor little chameleon was all sorts of butthurt.
Oh, he’d felt it, alright, if the pallor of his face was any indication.
In an effort to save his friend and partner, the interloper stepped in front of him. Deliberately, he edged the chameleon out of the way while holding eye contact with the pissed off she-demon gracing his club. Extending a steady hand, the man was braver than many before him. Come to think of it, both of them were.
“Kingston. I oversee the Racquet Club. And you are?” he asked far more politely than the expression he was sporting conveyed he’d like to be.
Retta took a moment to debate taking his offered hand and, with a shrug, accepted his long fingers into her smaller grip. She didn’t hurt him as she could. Hurt him, as the chain wrapped around her insides, trying to tug them to the outside, urged her to. Instead, she forced a husky word around the pain, ignoring her curse and its demands. “Retta.”
Kingston’s gaze went opaque again at the touch of her skin to his. Jack watched on in disgruntled bewilderment, obviously having fully expected to dispatch her with his boss’ blessing.
Eyes clearing rapidly, Kingston answered her unasked questions. “They’re not here. I’ll have security pull the feeds.” The pain of the demand for justice, spurred by her delay, lifted its crushing weight long enough for her to hear his whispered, “Kismet,” to his crony before he strode off further into the casino. His long legs extended the space between them quickly.
Jack’s auburn topped head jerked back in denial even as his eyes stayed glued to hers, searching for something she didn’t understand. The pain came back to crush her in waves from her hesitation in following Kingston. It had grown and was demanding retribution for her missing brothers. She jerked forward almost unwillingly, instinct driving her.
At the last second, before she was out of his reach, Jack darted out a hand to stroke one of the lines inking her porcelain skin. He sucked in a breath. Eyes, a golden-orange to complement his hair, widened, nearly making the popping feeling in Retta’s chest go unnoticed. Nearly but not quite, because it caused the smallest of relief. The bit of power, bursting like bubbles in soda pop hitting the air, almost made her want to grab him again to see if it would repeat. Ignoring the urge, she stepped into motion again to follow the bossman up the steel staircase guarded by identical shifters, reptiles of some sort, if the slit-pupiled eyes were any indication.
Their steps were all eerily silent as they went up the metal stairs. Retta, senses wide open to keep track of Jack following her in case he tried anything, picked up the subtle sheen of a spell. She figured it must be a muffling spell, and at the thought, Retta shivered with the reasons behind it. Bloodthirsty by nature when she had to be, she rarely sought violence out unless her temper had gotten the better of her. Apparently, that was not the case with this crew, hence the Death Dealer moniker.
Continuing up to the landing where she’d first spied Kingston, she felt the tingle of a barrier as she crossed. Unsure of its purpose, she coalesced her power into an almost tangible rope, ready at a moment’s notice to let it fly. Expanding her senses to their furthest capabilities, she gasped in outrage at being duped.
“You’re nosferatu!”
Her accusation stopped Kingston in his tracks, his shoulders stiffening in the black suit jacket. “I was unaware that my species should have been divulged to an irate demon I’m attempting to assist.” His words were frosty yet guarded as he kept his back to her, making no move to turn and face her.
Retta had flattened her back up against the blacked-out wall to keep both Kingston and Jack in her sights, and confusion set in as to why he wasn’t attempting to attack. Few beings could drain her if they caught her, but this was one of them; whether he knew it or not, she was unsure. Except she could feel his heat and not the kind that came with a recent feed. Even that couldn’t account for the blood moving sluggishly yet audibly through his veins.
As if he sensed her trying to puzzle it out, he volunteered the information.“I was born this way, not made. I do not suffer from uncontrollable urges or most of the weaknesses of my kind. Removing my heart and head, as with most other supes, would be effective enough to end me.”
At his confession, much of the tension left her. His willingness to offer that information went a long way toward easing her. That and Jack hadn't tried to intervene or move in on her position at all.
“Very well, then. Please continue.” Retta urged him along as if they’d stopped to comment on the gray and black décor of the hallway, nary a print or knick-knack in sight to break up the starkness.
Wordlessly, he resumed walking, still never turning to look at her. She was curious what he was hiding because there had to be something. His capitulation had been too easy, and as she pushed off the wall to follow, she tucked that question away to investigate at a later time.
The corridor was long, leading her to believe it might actually wrap around the entire upper floor. Kingston paused briefly at an unmarked black door to allow a scanner to validate his handprint. An almost inaudible, mosquito-like, sonic tone sounded, followed by a click and the whoosh of an airlock releasing. Had there been any background noise besides the breathing and heartbeats she could pick up from the men, the doors' portent would have gone unnoticed. But it was silent in the hall, and the small noise had been noticed. Nothing that was sealed in that manner could mean anything good. Even if it doubled as a panic room, it would be soundproofed; she would be an idiot to blithely waltz in.
Warily, Retta edged further away from the duo, picking up static that made the hairs on her arms stand on end as she slid her feet soundlessly across the carpeted floor. Gaining sufficient distance, she tried to peer around Kingston's stock-still body without getting too close.
A muttered, "Ah, fuck," perked her attention. There was something in there bossman didn't want her to see. Which meant she was heading in posthaste, reservations be damned.
Retta shoved past Kingston’s slim yet sturdy figure. Dude had some muscles going on under the snazzy suit.
She didn’t have time to stop and speculate though. Inside the office suite was a blue-haired, black-eyed demon, literally sucking the soul out of his paralyzed victim who was staring wide-eyed in horror at something only he could see.
“Hey, asshole!” she called.
The bottomless pits jerked up to hers, menace blaring out, ready to defend his kill as if he were a starving, rabid animal. Even if he was, she couldn’t let a soul eater loose to kill at will.
“Get the fuck away from him.” She could feel her own eyes darkening, the whites sucked up by the shadows before they blazed red and she passed judgment on the soul that was left in the man. Admittedly, it wasn’t a good one, or all the good bits had already been eaten. The former was most likely the case.
Striding in, she reached out to break the feeding cycle. The demon’s hand snapped out to grasp her wrist, instantly draining the excess energy leaking out of her.
With a gasp, he jerked her to him, taking her by surprise, to fuse his lips to hers. Without any preliminary notice, his tongue demanded entrance, licking at the seam of her lips until she parted them. Tongue diving in to forcibly widen the space, the soul eater wrapped his arms around her short form, cradling the entirety of the back of her head in his palm, holding her as if he’d never let go. His kiss turned softer. Teasingly, he sucked her tongue into his mouth, creating a sensation she’d never known that echoed between her thighs.
A whimper escaped her, dragging her back to reality and the fact that he was sucking her power directly from her mouth. He was also making small, seemingly involuntary movements against her while emitting a low keening.
Bringing up her arms, Retta shoved against his chest, trying to get loose as she jerked her head from his grasp. Accidentally but effectively headbutting him in the nose brought him back to awareness. Except he didn’t let her go. He just gave her a dopey grin that bordered on a leer before his knees gave out, dropping him on his ass and taking her with him.
Retta landed on top of the giant of a man, picking her head up from the hard, shirt-covered chest right in time to see his eyes roll up into his head as he passed out cold. Bewildered, she gave his cheek a brisk slap, feeling the rasp of the day’s growth of hair shadowing his square jaw. The only response was for his head to flop to the other side.
Chapter Three
A slow clap sounded behind her, reminding her that they weren’t alone in the room. Retta jumped to her feet, accusations ready to fly, only to find Kingston sucking the man in the chair dry. This time from two neat holes in his neck. She stared incredulously from the vampire, to the dead-to-the-world soul eater, to the clapping chameleon who grinned like a loon at the tableau.
“What the fuck? You dirty twat! You said you didn’t get bloodlust.” Indignant, Retta crossed her arms over her ample chest, tapping a toe while she waited for answers. Shooting daggers at the vampire, she continued to wait for him to daintily wipe his mouth and fingers with a black handkerchief. Idly, the thought crossed her mind that the color probably hid the bloodstains.
“I did not say I didn’t get bloodlust. I said I don’t suffer from uncontrollable urges. Anyone starving to death would be ravenous. In this case, the man was slated to die. Better he be a meal that’s needed than go to waste.” He smirked at her as he delivered his next words. “You filled Ace up and then some, so I took his leftovers. I could still eat again if you’re offering.”
Furious, she spat back, “Try it, fang-face, and you’ll be taking a trip to the dentist for implants.”
That wiped the expression from his face. Or maybe it was the fact that even though ‘Ace’ had drained off some of her anger, it was still so much more potent than others, and she was fed up with their smarmy attacking bullshit. It manifested in billowing shadows that darkened the room as it spread further from her body.
Jack was no longer clapping. No, now he was the one edging against the wall, trying to reach the big blue-haired man on the floor. A pointed glare from her empty stare froze Jack in place.
“Please don’t hurt them.” His plea instantly doused her rage at being used.
Had he begged for his own life, she most likely would have ignored him. Attempting to save another pulled on her deeply buried heartstrings. Usually, people, nons and supes alike, were so self-serving. Unless it came to mothers and children, and those were something she avoided like the plague.
Ignoring the pang in her chest at the thought of a family she could never have, her shadows seeped back into her skin. Clarity firmly back in place, Retta waited as patiently as she was able for an explanation.
“I apologize,” Kingston began while straightening already straight sleeve cuffs, real cufflinks and all, no buttons for the bossman. “I forgot that was on the agenda today. The man was a deviant. I’ll spare you the details unless you insist. Just know, he was one hundred percent guilty, and I can prove it. As for Ace, I’d say he bit off more than he could swallow. He’ll be out for a few hours with that large of a feed. Please.” He gestured to a chair, not the one that held the dead man that, until now, had gone unnoticed.
Striding over to it, Retta perched on the edge, confident she could handle anything she needed to from the position. Jack, with the help of Kingston, picked up the cookie monster wanna-be and deposited him on a chaise on the furthest side of the room. Involuntarily, Retta’s muscles twitched, urging her to go to him. It was a familiar, yet odd, feeling. Her buildup was still aggressively pushing at her, demanding she touch the unconscious male. Fat chance of that happening. Twisty and stabby, the twin pains dictating her body could just simmer down before they got her into a bad situation.
Kingston took several long steps back across the room to the desk and activated something out of sight, causing a portion of the top to rise up out of it containing a monitor bank and keyboard.
Retta studied his movements while keeping the other two in her peripheral. She began to relax minutely when no one made a move toward her. Curiosity winning out to see what was on the monitors bossman was working on, Retta shifted to better see the screens, avoiding the rapidly cooling body on the floor. Would it be seen as a weakness if she asked to have it removed? Maybe I could demand it, she mused.
Kingston pressed a button on the desk, an intercom crackling to life.
A chipper voice answered his summons. “Mr. Rayne, what can I help you with?”
“Send a bio container up please, Melody. That’ll be all.” Without waiting for an answer, he went back to tapping on the keys while concentrating on the monitors. Before she could open her mouth, he spoke. “Precog, doll.” One pale slim finger tapped his temple, and he winked at her. Winked! And called her doll.
Did he think this was a game? A slight rattle of the room was all the warning they got before she tossed him out of the chair, pinning him to the floor with her anger. Stopping short of actually putting her booted foot on his chest, she held him there. Turning to the monitor, Retta saw the security footage was up, starting from just before she felt Tomas vanish.
Employing all her senses to catalog anything pertinent, she hit fast forward on the video. A five-second distortion and a flash of light was all the warning that it happened. Stopping and backing up, Retta felt a pang in her heart at seeing Tomas' face. Then he was gone. Poof, bright light, and a fuzzy recording. No screams, no hesitation. Fast-forwarding to Alec, she found the same thing.
A defeated slump pushed and shoved on her shoulders. Urged her to give up. She ignored the niggling voice telling her she wasn’t good enough, that she couldn’t save the only family she had left.
Steeling herself against the urge demanding she touch Ace as she walked to the door, Retta released the force holding Kingston to the carpeted floor. Jack continued to hover protectively over the prone form on the couch, watching her every step. As she reached for the knob, a gust of wind hit her back a half-second before a warm hand grasped hers, spinning her around to face one pissed off vampire.
Oh, goody. Her leaking fury had bossman all sorts
of fired up. She needed to shut it down, but drawing it off him might tip her over into nuclear territory. Nobody wanted a modern-day Hatfield and McCoy situation; in this town, that was a distinct possibility. It was unusual for her to not immediately put a threat down, but for some unknown reason, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Even as he bared pointy, elongated fangs determined to sink into the soft flesh of her neck.
One moment she was standing there, warring with her indecision, and the next, a blur shot past her, barreling into the vampire.
“Mine!” The hulking blue-haired brute slammed the posh man to the floor yet again.
She almost felt sorry for him to continuously end up flattened.
A fine black mist flowed from Kingston and into the man pinning him down. He was drawing the foul energy off him.
Then it registered that the overgrown cookie monster was staking his claim. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt. Well, maybe not the t-shirt. More like several years’ worth of hell on earth as a souvenir of getting kicked out of her home.
Still standing there, mouth agape making her resemble a gulping fish out of water, Retta was at a loss. She couldn’t bring herself to eradicate them, and that was going to be an issue.
Tossing her head, she opened the door. One foot managed to breach the threshold before she was jerked to a sudden stop by Jack. The shit had a whip made of his own warped flesh and had wrapped it around her arm.
“You need to let go,” she gritted out, not playing around with these weirdos any longer. They obviously had their own agenda that she wanted no part of.
“Five minutes. I’ll explain every–”
“No!”
“Jackson, shut your mouth.”
Taken aback at the outburst from Kingston and Ace, Retta couldn’t help but take Jack’s bait. They could kiss off if they thought they would prevent her from doing as she pleased.
Dropping into a dangerous purr, one that usually coaxed out information willingly, Retta dragged a long black-tipped fingernail up the tail of the whip wrapped around her arm. “Be a good boy, Jack, and share with the class.”
