by A. Vers
Caine scoffs. “You know I don’t do that shit.”
I snicker. “Caine was just verifying his masculinity, Raina. You know, since he pussed out to stay with us girls.”
Raina nods, the motion slow, contemplative. “You know? You’re right.” She peers at the demon. “I forgive you, Caine. How about I paint your nails to make it up to you.”
His teeth flash. “You touch my manicured nails, Queen, and I tie you to the bed.”
She pouts. “But you know bondage isn’t my kink.”
Their banter continues and my cheeks hurt from laughing by the time we hit the tunnel to the coven house.
Caine slips up to the airlock door to unlock it, and I glance back the way we came.
“He will be fine, Lilah,” Raina says, softly. “We’ve been hunting Vlad for almost a year. Every time we get close, he slips away. Now we have a meeting place, and there is no way for him to run this time.”
I turn around. “I know, but I’m still worried.”
She smiles and brushes my hair behind my ear. “Then we need a way to fix that.” She peers at Caine as she tugs me to the now open doorway. “Hey, demon boy, you ever do any stripping?”
I don’t know who chokes more. Me or Caine.
His dark head whips between us, mouth opening and closing like a fish on land.
She chuckles and pushes past him, towing me behind her into the dim house. “I knew I could get him to shut up eventually.”
42
Ruin
A GULF BREEZE FLOWS in from the water below. Thick palms sway just off the shore, offering shadowed hideouts for all manner of dark beings. And I have two of the best.
Tanner and Gage will be down there by now. Waiting.
Markus lays next to me over the roof of the warehouse closest to the port, binoculars in hand. It’s been quiet since we got in the car, a silence that followed us to the dock.
My King knows this was a line he should not have crossed. But for now, we are putting it behind us.
He raises the binoculars back to his eyes. Even at this distance, we can’t risk letting our irises glow. It’s a dead giveaway for our location.
“Three guards on the eastern front,” he murmurs. “But still no sign of Vlad’s forces.”
I swear fluently.
The supposed meeting time draws ever nearer, and with every second that passes, I grow more antsy. If it was anyone but me, I would call it nerves. Anxiety.
But Vlad should be here soon, and then this will all be over.
Leaving Lilah and Raina with Caine and the remaining coven members weighs heavily on me. And the man at my side. It’s the longest he has been away from his Consort in two years.
I try not to think about the mayhem Caine could be causing, but despite his nature, his ability to transport both women immediately makes him the only option for someone to be left behind. It doesn’t hurt me and him are on the same page with this.
If anyone even tries for Lilah, they will not survive his wrath.
Or mine.
My eyes flow over the old wood platforms, and the newer, more modern, cement expanses. Each lamppost illuminates the shipyard workers and the cranes as they move steel containers from one side of the jutting dock to the other. Forklifts beep and the constant whir of motors helps to hide our presence even more.
“Ruin, we got movement on the road.” Horan’s voice fills the communications piece in my ear. “Two SUVs, and a truck.”
“Boat,” Tanner breathes, cutting the other man off.
Markus sets the binoculars to the side as we both go to our knees.
“What side?” I ask.
“Port,” Gage keys back.
“This is it, men,” I say into the mouthpiece. “Treat every being like a supe. Soft toes, no glow, and weapons at the ready. We hit fast and we hit hard. Not an ounce of this shit makes it to the streets.” Stooping low, Markus and I turn and run silently along the rooftop.
He grabs his rope and vaults over the uninhabited side of the warehouse. My hands hit the thick weave beside his, catching it in my gloves. I loosen my grip and swing out. My body plummets, rope gliding through my fists.
Wind rushes around me, roaring in my ears. The ground nears fast, and I start to tighten my hold. Heat sears my palms, but the gloves take the brunt of it. I drop onto the packed-dirt access road and sprint off after Markus.
Thick brush grows along the roadway, offering ample cover as we reach the edge of the dock itself. Waves from the Gulf crash along the narrow strip of beach under the platform. In the distance, a few dark shapes wait just below the pier, crouched and with guns in hand.
The whir of a boat engine accompanies an influx of choppy surf. Spotlights shine over the pier and across the tops of the hedges. Markus and I drop.
He peers at me. I motion him forward and we scuttle along the row. Voices call out in the dark, asking for registers and logbooks.
Markus and I dive under the dock before drawing level with B team and scurrying up the opposite side of the bank. We flit past the first row of containers and come up behind the crane.
The dock sprawls out before us.
Men clamor from the smaller vessel in the water. The first two are enforcers, thick and dressed in linen slacks and T-shirts that barely hide the weapons and muscle under the cloth. They scour the shadows before motioning.
Thick black boxes and trunks are hauled out from the hull. They stack them two and three high on the concrete. The enforcers take up positions of attention, hands clasping wrists as they wait.
A burly man follows the cargo, white shirt open to display gold, rope-like chains. He scans the pier, a shimmer of light filling his eyes.
Could this be our supplier? Draven’s boss?
I key my com. “Tan-man. You got a flavor of the week?” I breathe.
There’s a crackle of static. “Wolf. Alpha. Enforcers are, too.”
Damn it.
I look at Markus. His lips are pursed, brows narrowed. “Any change of wind...” I mutter.
“They will smell us,” he finishes.
The crunch of gravel has both of us crouching as several dark cars pull out to the very edge of the lot. Headlights illuminate the ship and the supplier below. The men crane their heads back, eyes flinty and expressions carefully blank.
Doors open all along the vehicles and men in suits climb from the dark depths. Ear pieces thread around the backs of their necks.
“Gentlemen.” The voice is heavily accented Russian. And not Vlad/Draven.
I still.
A tall man climbs from the center SUV, his dark hair carefully gelled away from a strong face and tied in a neat tail. His suit is impeccable, and his dress shoes glint in the light all around.
He spreads his arms wide.
The burly fellow, with too much gold around his neck, walks over the platform. They embrace, amicable voices lowering as they speak in hushed tones.
His men carry the trunks closer, and the groups seem to converge. I wait.
“Come, open the trunks,” the Russian says with a smile.
The wolves flip the locks and the lids raise.
“Tell me someone has visual,” I breathe over the mics.
Static crackles in my ear.
“Too many, Cap.”
I swear under my breath.
“Fuck it. Move out,” I call.
The night comes alive as men pour from every area of the dock. They converge down from the buildings and up from under the pier. Weapons rise from the waiting criminals, and fall just as fast.
“What is the meaning of this?” the Russian bellows, pushing forward.
My arms never wavers as my Glocks level with his face. “Turn the trunks, asshole.” They remain still. “Now!”
He eyes me and jerks his chin.
A few men on their side grasps the handles and spin then around.
Weapons bulge from the interior. Shotguns, AR-15s, and more handguns than I can count.
Bu
t there isn’t an ounce of Brightex between them. That feeling of dread grows.
Seems our informant was right about a deal, but wrong about what kind.
43
Lilah
THE THEATER SCREEN fades to black, and I stretch. Raina breathes softly next to me on the bed of blankets and pillows we scrounged. Her hands are pressed protectively to her flat stomach, and I reach over to tug an afghan tighter around her slim frame. Sometime around the Notebook she fell asleep. Though the movie continued, I no longer paid attention.
Watching Caine make faces at the screen during all the sappy parts was more entertaining.
Caine huffs at his place next to the long aisle; his hands are pressed into his slack’s pockets and a look of perpetual boredom rests on his face. “How many blasted romantic comedies can two women watch?” he asks.
Chuckling, I climb to my feet, grab the empty plate, and walk over. “More than I am sure you have ever heard of.”
His hellfire eyes roll as he follows me from the theater. “I am more of an action-adventure sort,” he grumbles. “Or porn. Porn is nice.”
I look at him.
“Demon, remember?”
My snort is all derision. “You’re Asmodean. Porn for you is like a virgin daquiri for an alcoholic. It’s the idea, not the real thing.”
“Ah, but have you ever been inside an adult bookstore as an Asmodean? The lust in one of those places is needy to a point of degradation.”
“Why not go to a strip club? Isn’t that the same?” I ask, genuinely curious as we step into the kitchen. The room is dim, only a handful of recessed lights cast an amber glow on the marble counters and stainless-steel appliances.
He leans next to me at the counter as I refill my plate with slightly burnt chocolate chip cookies. Caine snares one before answering. “Strip clubs are ... interesting for me.”
My brow raises. “Interesting how?”
“You know, you are awfully curious about me, little bird. Why is that?”
Leaving the plate on the counter, I turn to face him fully. “I like you, Caine. I think you’re genuinely a good guy under the snark and attitude. Even for a demon.” His eyes pulse as he watches me. “And that is why I am so curious.”
His lips peel back to flash his teeth in a grimace. “I am not a good guy.” The tone is condescending.
I roll my eyes, snatch his cookie, and shove it between his teeth. He sputters and pulls it free with a glower. “Yes, you are. As evidenced by you staying behind.”
He tosses the cookie on the counter and presses close to me. From so near, the dark stubble along his narrow jaw grows visible. Every striation in his strange irises gleam. Bright and angry.
Hot.
His body heat rolls over me as he pushes me against the counter. “Did you forget what I am, little bird?” Gone is the teasing demon from seconds ago. His voice is Sin, low, tangible. It caresses over me like a calloused hand rubbing from my neck down. He inhales. “Even now you respond. With Ruin’s scent all over you, inside you. You shouldn’t tease me so.”
My face flames and I push at him. “Back the fuck up, Caine.”
“Are you sure you want me to?”
I look at him, really look at him.
With the fringe of his midnight hair and the long dark lashes framing his eyes, he is almost goth. Brooding. Sinister.
The body under his silk shirt and slacks is strong, lean. Built like a professional swimmer with wide shoulders and thick thighs.
A bad boy in every sense of the word.
“No,” I say honestly. “And I am okay admitting that.”
“If I didn’t care for Ruin as much as I do ... if it had been you that night, maybe things would be different.” He steps back, eyes wild. “But I do care about Ruin. I respect him. And I respect you.”
“I am a demon, girl. Are you stupid enough to forget that?”
“Why should what you are matter?” I ask. “I am falling for a vampire, Caine. Me. Of all people.” He winces. “But I see you, always on the outside looking in. And I know you get it. Not being one of them, not really.”
“I think it’s why you won me over so easy,” I say, only partly teasing. “I saw you. One of them, this powerful being on the outskirts of the coven, a part but not, and I know that will be where I wind up if I decide to stay. On the edge.”
When I advance on him, he damn near flees, pressing against the island counter; his agile hands close over the marble top as his pulse beats widely in the pale column of his neck.
“Caine, just stop.” He blinks at me, or maybe my tone. I try to smile. “You don’t have to pretend. It’s okay. What you think you feel for me is not it at all.”
His chest heaves, gaping the top three open buttons of his shirt. The strong line of his collarbone gleams out at me, framing a network of thin scars. “I don’t know what–”
My eyes roll and I press against his front, arms winding around his waist as I hug him.
He stops breathing.
Up close, his heart thunders in my ear, and the brimstone scent of his skin is musky, laced with amber and something spicy. He is like stone against me. And my hands pat his muscular back gently.
“Little bird ...” His voice is strained.
“It’s okay, Caine,” I breathe. “It’s okay to just have a friend.” I hold him tighter. “We can be on the outside together. Me and you, yeah?”
His body shakes against me, a fine tremble of motion. He loosens his hands from the counter. I wait for them to fold around me, but he just puts me gently away from him.
A rosy color stains his vessel’s cheeks, and he won’t meet my eyes. “Humans and your sentimentality.” But he grabs the plate of cookies and pops one in his mouth.
I force my lips not to smile and follow him back out in the hall.
“Oh how the mighty have fallen. A demon? Really?”
The new male guest waits across from us, his hair shoved back and a manic gleam filling his eyes as he holds a knife to Raina’s slim neck. Ice turns my veins sluggish. Cold.
“How did you get in here?”
“I’m a supernatural, dove,” he says. It’s such a parody of Caine’s endearment that I blink back angry tears.
“Let her go,” I growl.
He presses the blade tighter, and a trickle of blood flows down her neck. She pales.
My lips part. “Raina–”
Caine throws the plate, catching the male in the face with it like a damn discus. Raina’s ice blue eyes spin to gold, dropping twin dainty fangs against her lip. She elbows the male and wrenches away. He snarls.
His fist flies, catching her in the cheek. Raina spirals into the air and slams into the wall with a gasp. “Caine. Go!”
He hesitates. “Raina...”
She coughs again and tries to jump up. “He’s Vlad! Get her out, damn it.”
My eyes lock with Draven’s and he smiles. “Guess my secret is out, dove.” He spins in place and kicks Raina in the stomach. She screams, hands going to her belly on an instinct that I am sure means what I think it does. Her slim body collapses, tears pouring down her face.
Draven–Vlad starts toward me, turning the knife in his grasp.
A wall of flames jump to the ceiling and Caine grabs my hand, hauling me back into the kitchen and to the back entrance of the tunnel. “But Raina–”
“Raina is a vampire, Lilah. She can get out,” he snaps. “My orders are to protect you.”
Stumbling into the tunnel behind him, I have to run or fall.
I peer behind us as things crash and bang against the door.
Caine pulls harder, urging me faster through the dark corridor of stone.
“Call a portal,” I say, voice too high.
He swears and then begins to snarl. “I can’t. The bastard has a ward up on the building. We got to get outside.”
Behind us, a massive boom echoes. Caine lets go of my hand and pushes me forward. “Go, Lilah. I’m right behind you.”
&
nbsp; I hesitate.
He shoves me. “Go, gods-damn it!”
I stumble, slip on the stone, and clamor upright to take off again. Shadows seem to boil around me, offering a million places for Draven or one of his cronies to hide. I barrel through them, breathing erratic in my ears.
My hands cast out, trying to feel in the dark.
Something cool brushes over my fingertips. I stop running as my palms and arms slam into a metal door. Pushing at it, I whimper when it remains closed.
I trace my shaking hands over the sill, feeling for the keypad. It brightens under my touch, illuminated with a soft red glow. “Access code ... What the fuck is the code?”
“Seems someone would have told you that by now. What with how close you are with them.”
All the blood drains from my face as Draven’s voice rolls down my spine. I turn slowly to find him feet away in the light of the keypad.
His hair is burnt off one side of his head, the skin over his cheek melted and smoking. Even his clothes are in tatters, and the distinct scent of blood mixes with burning cotton and flesh.
He raises the long knife and dark fluid trails off it to drip on the floor.
“Where is Caine?” I ask, dread filling me.
Draven smiles. “Don’t worry, dove. I took special care of the demon. I know how close you are.”
My stomach knots.
Caine.
I can’t stop the tears as they fall, and I don’t try.
He steps closer and the knife gleams. “And now, my dear Lilah, I’m going to take care of you.”
44
Ruin
I STAND ACROSS FROM Markus and the local police chief. The stout man hitches his duty belt higher as his officers finish cataloguing the scene. That he made the trip himself is more to his greedy nature than any sense of nobility or pride in his position.
“I am so glad we could work together on this case, Mr. Alport,” Chief Walker says as he claps Markus on the back. Markus appears ready to shoot daggers with his eyes.
And who can fucking blame him? It wasn’t the bust we wanted. The one we needed.
Still, I try not to rush them, to not hurry the diplomatic proceedings. But my insides roil with anxiety, and I can no longer deny it.
