Storm of Sin

by Patricia D. Eddy

  With each word, the edge to Sin’s voice gets harder and harder, and I’m afraid he’s about to grab the commander and shake her. I rush over to him and try to take his arm. “Stand down, Agent. Now!”

  I don’t think he hears me, but the commander lets out a screech that sends me to my knees with my hands over my ears.

  Disoriented, I only catch a glimpse of pure white feathers, then the scent of blood, before Sin wraps his arm around my waist and helps me back to one of the guest chairs.

  Blood wells along the edge of his jaw, and a handful of pinfeathers float through the air. Commander Eve’s eyes are wild, but the rest of her? Shit. She’s totally put together. Except for her long blond hair, which looks like she just touched one of those static balls at the county fair.

  Gathering her tresses and securing them with a rubber band, she looks anywhere but at Sinclair. “Agent Dawes, I’m sorry you had to see that.”

  “You’re...sorry?” My gaze pings between the two of them. Sin presses a handkerchief to the wound, his expression shuttered, yet the commander looks almost...exhilarated. “You just injured one of your own agents!”

  “I lost control. And for that, I apologize to both of you,” she says.

  Shaking my head, I can’t believe what I just witnessed. “Not good enough. Sure, he was being a complete dick, but—“

  Sin growls, “I was justified in my actions.”

  “The hell you were,” I say. “Is this how you deal with all of your problems? Combat? Because I don’t want any fucking part of it.”

  I spin on my heel and make it halfway to the door before Eve’s words stop me cold.

  “We don’t know the timeline because the first man to be taken broke the pattern. James Temple escaped, long enough to get to you, Agent Dawes. Long enough to beg you to kill him.”

  Six

  Zoe

  “Temple...” I brace my hand on the door, Commander Eve’s words echoing on a loop in my head.

  Sin appears at my side. “Zoe? Agent Dawes? Sit down. You look...ill.”

  He offers me his hand, but I bat it away. I don’t care how close I am to passing out or losing my breakfast, I won’t do either of those things in front of a man who thinks it’s cool to be called Sin.

  He lowers his voice to a whisper, “If we are to work together, you will someday need to trust me.”

  I huff, but let him guide me back to the chair. My mouth is dry, and the headache doing a tap dance inside my skull shifts into double-time. I force my shoulders back and meet the commander’s gaze. “Tell me what you know about Temple’s...death.”

  “Very little,” she says, her expression unreadable. “But his body bore the same mark as the other men taken over the past eighteen months.“ Tapping her tablet, she brings the image up on the wall behind her. Unlike the women’s tattoo, which shows a female faery in chains, wings unfurled, head bowed, this tattoo is of a man carrying a whip. His wings are larger, and his face is hidden behind a black mask.

  “Temple didn’t have any tattoos,” I say. When Sin arches a brow at me, I shake my head. “Get your mind out of the gutter. The man was afraid of needles. I had to go to the precinct’s blood drive with him and recite old case notes just so he could donate a pint of O neg.”

  “This was on his forearm,” Eve says, then flips to a photo of Temple’s body in the morgue, naked from the waist up.

  My stomach lurches, and I clench my fingers around the arms of the chair. Don’t lose it. Not now. You’re a cop. Act like one.

  But seeing those same distinct whip marks across his chest—marks that couldn’t have been made more than a day or two before he died—threatens to destroy my control. The photo flips to one of his back, and I swallow hard, tasting bile. “He...was tortured.”

  “Yes, Agent Dawes. As were all the other men across the country. Branded and whipped repeatedly,” she says.

  “To keep them in line.” Sin’s voice carries an edge of fury, and when I steal a quick glance at him, his irises are once more rimmed with red. “Thorn has a woman he works with. A Fae named Regina. His queen, of sorts. She wipes the victims’ minds clean, then Thorn takes control of their thoughts, their bodies…until they go insane.”

  “Regina?” The unfamiliar name shocks me enough to stave off my impending vomit-fest, and I sit up a little straighter. “And how do you know about these people?”

  “They are not people,” he snarls, then softens his tone. “Grayson, as much as I would prefer to never speak of this again, it is my story to tell. May we have the room?”

  The commander looks as surprised as I am at Sin’s conciliatory tone and the use of her first name. “Fine. I could use some flight time. You have an hour.” She slides the tablet across her desk towards Sin. “Everything you need to know is in the case file. The Bureau’s full resources are at your disposal, Sinclair. This reign of terror has to end. Here.”

  “It will,” he says with a nod. “Or it will end me.”

  Sin

  Telling Zoe about my past on the first day of our partnership? This is a mistake. But the dead man—James Temple—he was a San Francisco police detective, and apparently, Zoe’s former partner.

  Fuck. No wonder the photos affected her so.

  She sits with her elbows on her knees again, staring at the autopsy pictures along the back wall.

  “Thorn and Regina are two of the ancients.”

  “The ancients?” Zoe asks. Her face is still too pale, and the idea of glamouring her and making her forget all about the Bureau, about her partner’s death, about me...? It is strong. But despite her lack of experience, she is curious and determined. And something about her calls to me. Demands to be respected. Honored, even. She lost someone she cared for. I must explain why.

  “Demons.”

  She narrows her gaze at me. “Like you.”

  “Not like me.” The words escape on a growl, and I punch the wall hard enough to snap several bones in my hand. Zoe yelps as the pain zings up my arm.

  “Shit. Sin. What did you—?” Her jaw drops open as I straighten my fingers and the bones start to knit back together in front of her. “That’s...”

  “When I have recently fed, I can heal many injuries in a few minutes,” I say. “One of the benefits of being...what I am.”

  “You mean an incubus.”

  “No. I mean the other part of me we will not speak of.” No one knows my true origins, and I certainly will not be sharing them with Zoe.

  “You’re seriously not going to tell me.”

  “No. It is not relevant to this case. Suffice it to say, Thorn and Regina are the two most vile demons ever to walk the earth. He was ‘born,’ if you will, at the beginning and is older than any of us. She…well, he caught her in his thrall soon after.”

  “The beginning of what?” Zoe pulls her notebook out of her pocket, but I shake my head, and she drops it on the commander’s desk with a huff.

  “Of everything. The universe, the whole of creation, is based on balance. Good and evil. Black and white. Yin and yang. For every good thing the Almighty created, something evil sprang into existence as well.”

  The weight of the past, of my sins, exhausts me, and I sink down next to Zoe, staring at the commander’s glass paperweight. It is shaped like the moon, and stirs memories of begging for my death while the demon who insisted I call him mio maestro—my master in Italian—branded me.

  “So, they’re really old. And what? Really strong? Like vampires?” Zoe asks, the curiosity in her voice helping me to focus.

  “Thorn is part incubus. Fuck. For all I know he may be a full-blood incubus, but unlike most incubi and succubi who feed off of arousal, he feeds only on fear.” I run a hand through my hair, suddenly greatly appreciative of the ability to control my own body and mind. “Alone, he is more powerful than any demon I have ever known. But with Regina at his side, they are unstoppable.”

  “No one’s unstoppable.”

  I spin her chair to face me and let my
anger rise to the surface. “Listen to me, Zoe. They are. Regina can compel any human or other with only her voice. Force them to do almost anything she wishes. They are helpless to resist. Thorn? He is even worse. I told you I could influence my…chosen targets with my talents? See some of their thoughts?”

  She nods, her lower lip trapped between her teeth.

  “Thorn can see everything. He can force a man or woman to stab themselves in the heart with as little effort as you would spend to bat away a fly. And he lives to terrorize his victims until they go mad from fear. Every. Single. Moment. Pure torture. These two are nothing you have ever seen. And you will not go up against them. Ever. You will lose, and then you will die.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do, Sin.” She shoves back at me, springs to her feet, and stomps over to the wall behind the commander’s desk. “This was my partner. The man who trained me.” Jabbing at Temple’s photo, she chokes back an oath. “And I had to kill him. I deserve to know why.”

  “Because once you are under Thorn's thrall, you are nothing. No one. Whoever you were before? That is gone. Wiped away so thoroughly, your soul rebels and drives you insane. It is the worst kind of pain, knowing you used to be someone else—someone better—but having no memory of that time and no hope of ever reclaiming it.” My chest heaves, my throat tight. “The moment Regina first spoke to your partner—for she always initiates the contact—his death was assured. You...you showed him mercy.”

  Zoe doesn’t move, her expression unreadable, but when I take a wheezing breath, I can taste her emotions. It would be so easy to glamour her, and between healing my broken bones and reliving the worst experiences of my very long existence, the temptation is strong. Turning away, I struggle for control—something I have not had to do in centuries.

  “Sin.”

  She’s close enough to drop her voice to a whisper. “How do you know all of this?”

  My fingers shake as I shed my jacket and unbutton the cuff of my dress shirt, rolling it up to my elbow. Facing her once more, I hold out my arm. “It took me years. To scar the skin this deeply. But the ink is spelled. It returns. Every decade or so, it seeps through. When that happens, I take two weeks somewhere full of people. Somewhere wild. Las Vegas. Monte Carlo. Ibiza. Somewhere I can find a soundproofed room to hide my screams as I burn my flesh over and over again. Somewhere...I can feed to my heart’s content to replenish my strength each night until I no longer have to see the reminder of the thing he made me into.”

  Zoe’s green eyes take on a slight shimmer as she lays her hand over the scars. The familiarity of the touch, the empathy in her voice, do something to my heart I am ill prepared to handle. Emotions I have not felt since I descended into Hell flare to life, and I look away. Until her fingers tighten subtly. “You? Were…?”

  “Yes. For hundreds of years, I was his slave. And the things I did...” I clear my throat when my voice cracks. “I have only scraps of memories. A blessing I am certain I do not deserve. After I fought my way free from his control, I dragged him to Hell. Both of them. But one does not simply drop two of the most powerful and vile creatures in existence at Beelzebub’s doorstep and walk away. Hell’s Prince is too cunning. Too desperate for more souls to torture for all eternity.”

  Her breath hitches, and she locks her gaze with mine. “You were trapped there with them.”

  Seven

  Zoe

  My partner has been to Hell. And not in the figurative sense. My fingers still rest over the heavily scarred skin on his arm, and I pull away, my cheeks flushing hot. “I’m...um...sorry...”

  Sin waves his hand away like finding out you’re working with someone from the Underworld is an everyday occurrence. Maybe it is for him, but not for me. “You could not have known. What remains to be seen is whether Commander Eve knew before she sent us out on this call.”

  He picks up the tablet and taps the screen a few times, then gives me a curt nod. “All of the files have now been transferred to my secure online vault. I would rather not encroach on the commander’s private space any longer. There are soundproof conference rooms upstairs. We should claim one for the next few hours.”

  Logic. I can work with logic. And detachment. His eyes are mostly one color again—a sapphire blue, but there’s still a hint of red surrounding them. His voice is cool and professional, and he straightens his shoulders as he buttons his sleeve, then shrugs into his jacket.

  His defined muscles stretch the crisp black shirt. I shouldn’t look, shouldn’t notice, but even as shocked as I am by his admission, I’m not dead. And it’s been a long damn time.

  Stop it, Zoe. He’s your partner. And a demon. Let’s not forget that part.

  He pulls a keycard from his pocket. As he passes it to me, our fingers brush, and all of a sudden, it’s like someone lit candles all around the room. Light flickers over the back of his hand, and I think I hear him whisper, “Please, love. Hold on.”

  “What did you say?” Jerking back, I stare up at him. “Hold on?”

  “I said nothing.” Sin narrows his eyes, then nods at the rectangular piece of plastic. “That keycard works on all of the electronic locks in this building. You will need it. Even for the bathroom.”

  Spinning on his heel, he heads for the bullpen, and I follow as he weaves among pairs of desks arranged in neatly defined rows. “That is yours,” he says, gesturing as he pulls out my chair.

  The desk across from me is bare save for a keyboard, mouse, and monitor. Nothing personal. No pictures, plants, or even a coffee cup. Mine is just as empty, but I have a photo of my grandmother and my favorite pen in my bag. It’s something at least.

  “Aren’t we—“

  “We are. I thought you might want to see your workspace.” Sin lifts his shoulder. “If not, follow me.”

  “I don’t know about you, but I need coffee.” I veer off when the scent of stale brew grows stronger and head into the small break room area where I promptly run right into a seven-foot-tall man with fur sticking out of the cuffs of his dress shirt. Oh my God. He’s...a yeti.

  “You the new recruit?” he asks. His voice is deep and scratchy, making his words sound almost like he’s growling. “Kunchin.”

  I stare at his palm—his very large, very leathery palm—for a second longer than I should, then snap myself back to the present. “Zoe Dawes.”

  “Human, huh?” Kunchin chuckles at my shock. “Eve sent out a memo. You’re the first one we’ve had.”

  Nodding, I glance at the coffee machine. “I don’t suppose it’s any good?”

  With a snort, Kunchin sidesteps me and opens the fridge, retrieving a carton of vanilla creamer. “If it were anything but swill, you wouldn’t catch me using this sugary shit. Want some?”

  Behind me, Sin clears his throat. “Zoe? This case is not going to solve itself.”

  “I’m not going to solve it either if I don’t get some caffeine in me,” I snap back. “And yes, Kunchin. I’ll take some of that ‘sugary shit.’”

  Frustration stiffens Sin’s shoulders as we climb the stairs to the second floor. Eight rooms line a long hallway, a few with red lights glowing next to small screens on the wall. We find an empty space, and he swipes another keycard over the lock and pushes the door open, letting me enter first.

  It’s like some futuristic Star Trek bridge in here. Along the far wall, a bank of computer terminals stretch out, and the whole room has a bluish hue from the BOO screensaver. Shockingly, the Bureau’s logo isn’t a ghost, but a pair of swords crossed over a rather normal-looking badge. Speaking of badges...

  “Do we have...credentials?” I ask. “If we’re interviewing a witness, we need some proof of who we are, right?”

  Sin pulls a small leather folio from his pocket and flips it open. The Bureau’s badge shines in the blue lights. He’s not smiling in the photo. Quite the opposite. Which, I guess is his default look, so it’s fitting.

  “Was anyone going to bother to set me up with one of those?” Rolling my eyes,
I sink down into one of the chairs—fully ergonomic and so comfortable, I think I could fall asleep in it—and pull out my notepad.

  “The commander has done a smashing job preparing you for your first day,” he says with a scowl. “I assume you have not signed any of the release forms either?” When I shake my head, he sighs. “After we finish here, I will take you down to Other Resources. Eve is not usually this...sloppy.”

  Sin presses his index finger to a sensor in the middle of the table, and a computerized female voice fills the room. “Welcome, Agent Sinclair. Please say a command.”

  “Display Fort Baker case file, autopsy notes, and photos on Screen One.”

  Within five seconds, an entire wall is filled with images of the crime scene, the tattoo, and the shifter’s hollow eye sockets. My stomach pitches, and I look away.

  “Can we hide the picture without her eyes?” I ask, hating the weakness in my tone. “At least until we need it?”

  Surprise laces his response. “Computer, close Image 56-B.” After a few seconds, he says, “The photo is gone. This is visceral for you, is it not?”

  “If you mean illogical and annoying and something I can’t control? Yes.” Cupping my hands around the steaming mug of over-brewed, bitter coffee, I use the familiar scent to ground me.

  He frowns. “What are you?”

  I almost drop the mug as I jerk my head up. “Human.”

  “Are you certain?” Sin leans closer, and though two feet of table separate us, I can feel his presence. Like its always been there. Right next to me. Or…close by anyway.

  “Yes! My parents were human, my grandmother was human.” He doesn’t appear convinced. “Don’t you think I’d know if I weren’t? Shit. From the amount of information Commander Eve had on me before she recruited me, she’d know. Pretty sure those files went all the way back to the time I threw up all over my teacher in kindergarten.”