Blackstorm (Nightwraith Book 2)

by Gaja J. Kos

I’d sworn to myself I wouldn’t be at anything but my full strength until this Alexander business was over, so it was nice to have the circumstances cooperating with me for a change, and not throwing disgusting amounts of shit my way just for the fun of it.

  Martin was off on business, as he’d been for the better part of the day, but he promised he’d swing by as soon as he was done. Just in case.

  Hopefully, the case would never present itself.

  I mixed a dry martini and handed it off to Edgar who was waiting that particular table, then casually leaned against the counter and watched him go. A sigh ruffled in my chest. I really needed to ask Alin if he knew which necromancers had fallen victim to Alexander already. Not that there was much I could do about it, but even extending a helping hand to their families was better than nothing. I seriously doubted all of them had walked the darker path of raising the dead for their own—or their employer’s—nefarious purposes. The majority of us were still just regular folks, even if our calling wasn’t what one would label as light on its own.

  Edgar moved gracefully among the patrons, his impressive height reminding me of a particular demon lord I knew. That, however, was where the similarities ended.

  Where the zombie’s stature was slender, although fit, Alin was built like a mountain. And that easy-going charm that weaved around Edgar like a lively halo, making him the patrons’ favorite, was the staggering opposite of the pulsating anger that coiled around the demon lord in magnetic waves—alluring and attractive much like light was to moss. Right up until it singed it to death.

  I groaned inwardly, keeping that last thought in mind while at the same time reminding myself of the almost forgotten topic at hand.

  Dead necromancers.

  I made a mental note to ask Alin as soon as I saw him tomorrow—before he’d beat the common sense from me with the promised blades, or whatever half-naked ensemble he’d flaunt in my face—then scooted over to the dirty glasses in the sink. Just as I picked up the first one, the door of the bar swung open, and I caught a glint of russet hair. My fingers tightened around the glass.

  It seemed I wouldn’t have to wait until tomorrow after all.

  Alin strode into the bar, all power and muscles and that hint of importance a person was either born with or didn’t have at all. It was as much a part of his genetic makeup as his demonic skills, an aura testifying to his high rank in society, Shadow and thug alike. But what surprised me the most was that the patrons of The Night Hag seemed to have sensed it, too.

  A few threw their money on the tables and scurried out the door as soon as Alin cleared it, but those who remained—that was respect their expressions showed. Two or three even dipped their chins in greeting and wished him a pleasant evening.

  My eyebrows rose before I could control them. No wonder the demon lord knew so much about my bar. We were moving in the same bloody circles!

  However, what shocked me even more than that unpleasant bit of news was just who the individuals belonging to said circle were. Humans and supes, only definitely not the kind one would immediately associate with gang related business. Shit, there were even a few women with silver hair and soft, wrinkle-lined faces that looked at Alin with recognition in their eyes.

  A low breath whistled from my lips.

  The demon lord had fans.

  I forwent washing, wanting to keep my hands dry in case Alin tried to pull a stunt on me, and made myself busy with wiping down some pitchers instead. I’d just started storing them on the shelves at the back of the bar when he strode up and perched himself on one of the empty high stools right beside me. The two middle-aged guys sitting a little farther down the bar quickly picked up their beers and found themselves a booth by the windows, giving us some privacy. Damn.

  “Care for a drink?” I asked, finally meeting Alin’s gaze, determined not to make a scene out of him strolling into The Hag as if he owned it. Well, not all of it, at least.

  He eyed the shelves briefly before pinning me with that emerald gaze. “Scotch, please.”

  “A man after my own heart,” I jested as I spun around, then abruptly clamped my mouth shut when I sensed Alin’s attention burning a hole in my tattooed back.

  Damn it, I hadn’t meant it like that.

  Although I wanted to slap myself for that unfortunate slipup, any lingering frustration was long gone by the time I faced him again and handed him the glass. “So, what brings you to The Night Hag?”

  He glanced around the bar, something almost appreciative lurking in those green depths, and took a sip of his scotch. How a man could make something as trivial as drinking into an utterly sensual display was beyond me.

  I swallowed, cocking my head to the side in a prompt for an answer that just couldn’t come soon enough.

  “My associates are coming here tomorrow to watch the place. Given the track record of unwelcomed creeps you’ve been having lately, it didn’t seem wise to leave The Hag without supervision.”

  “So why not send them in tonight?” I asked rather warily.

  He smiled. A small, curved smile, touched by truths I’d never hear. “Wanted to see if I can spot anything out of the ordinary myself.”

  Right. Like anybody would be foolish enough to stalk the place in his presence. I narrowed my eyes at him, noting the slight mirth lining his features, and shook my head. Whatever. Let him keep his secrets.

  “You built all this?” he asked after our little staring contest passed.

  The question caught me off guard. Even more so the genuine intrigue embedded within the smooth tone of his voice. I nodded.

  “Worked my ass off raising zombies for Weirder Ways until I earned enough to buy it.”

  He choked on his scotch. “You raised zombies for the circus?”

  Weirder Ways was a supernatural-only show. Supe performers, supe audiences. It started as a small business in Slovenia, but expanded all across Europe like wildfire once word of the enchanting performances got out. Humans weren’t the only ones looking for entertainment, and WW certainly catered to the somewhat less mainstream tastes, offering a side of the supernatural the community in hiding rarely saw. On such a massive, intense scale, at least. It was all legit and cruelty-free, a true gem in that regard as far as supe jobs went, but the long hours and constant travels were a bitch.

  I’d only lasted eight months in their company, but my bank account fattened up enough during that time to settle down and start my own business.

  “Ever been to a show?” I asked.

  Alin still watched me like I was some rare creature that fascinated him to no end. “Several. Though not to anywhere you were one of the performers. I hardly think I’d forget seeing you in the spotlight.” He motioned to me—to my hair, to be exact—although his gaze wandered elsewhere as well.

  My cheeks heated, but I fought off the blush. To a point.

  “How come you had to work? Didn’t your mother deem your business worthy of her support?”

  I tensed. I so did not want to discuss Yelena with one of her rivals. Not because I was protecting her—she sure didn’t need that—but because I tried my best to stay away from demonic politics. However, there was no edge in Alin’s voice. Nothing that would indicate his question encompassed more than my own life. I bit my lip, then poured a glass of scotch for myself.

  Cradling the drink in my hand, I leaned against the polished counter and shook my head. “I didn’t want the business to tie back to her in any way. The Night Hag is my baby.” My words trailed off as I remembered the deal. Not just my baby any longer. But somehow, despite the hollow ache in my chest, allowing Alin to run his black market trade here actually seemed a far lesser evil than having my mother involved. Why, I had no clue. And I wasn’t about to think too hard about it either.

  I sipped the scotch, the full, potent flavor exploding in my mouth and coaxing a small groan of pleasure to reverberate through my chest. Alin watched me, amusement dancing plainly on his hard, chiseled features. He tipped his own glass at me
, and I returned the gesture, again wondering why he’d come here tonight.

  While I didn’t doubt his power was scanning the bar continuously in the background for any sign of trouble, the way he acted seemed…casual. At ease, even. Had he actually come here to chat?

  My confusion must have shown because he chose that exact moment to spew another question. One that, naturally, did a big fat zero to ameliorate the situation. “Is there anyone close to you? Anyone special?”

  I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

  Thankfully, he saved me from embarrassing myself by adding, “As long as you’re in my care, Lana, so is everyone you love.”

  Any other emotion I might have felt moments ago was quickly replaced by sleek, cold fear. “You think Alexander will come after them if he can’t get to me?”

  “It’s best if we don’t leave anything to chance.”

  I nodded a bit too feverishly at that.

  “My sisters,” I said, finally answering his previous question. “Liva resides in Faery with her High Lord”—one of Alin’s eyebrows rose at the comment, but I pushed on, not wanting to explain that certainly not every Fae hunted demons—“and Lena is off on a mission somewhere. She never specifies where her job takes her, but I think it’s fair to say that of all the people I know, she’s certainly the one who can take care of herself.” A ghost of a smile touched my lips. You didn’t become one of the world’s lead bounty hunters by being anything less than exceptional at dealing with all sorts of threats. And ending them. “But neither of them are necromancers…”

  Alin’s gaze was alight with fire at the stillness that swept through me so suddenly, I nearly dropped the glass still in my hand.

  He straightened, fingers digging into the counter. “What?”

  “My sisters aren’t necromancers. But Martin is.” I swore, then downed the scotch in a single swallow. “He—he’s like a brother to me. If Alexander wanted to do something to hurt me, Mart’s the one he would go after.”

  “I’ll have my men guard him twenty-four seven,” Alin said, his voice becoming the powerful whip of a demon lord. “We’ll keep your friend safe. You have my word.”

  Still somewhat shaky, I nodded, then went to refill Alin’s glass. His demeanor changed in those few seconds it took me to return, his features losing the hard edge of urgency. And that, more than anything, made me trust his conviction. Made me trust him.

  “Was Martin your mentor?”

  Again, there was nothing but pure interest in his voice, and I quickly found myself nodding. “At least as much of a mentor as someone only two years older than me could be. Being human, he had a whole lot of theoretical knowledge, but not that much experience. So, basically, we just winged it most of the time, trying to figure out what worked and what didn’t.”

  His gaze swept across the two zombies walking around the main floor. “Seems like you did a good job.”

  I grinned, and the smile Alin flashed me in return was nothing short of breathtaking. It whisked away the hardness of a man who had dropped way too many corpses in his life, but didn’t impede even an inch of that power that clung to his skin, marking him for the lord he was.

  “What about you?” I asked, fighting to contain the sudden urge to trace my fingers down the line of his jaw. “You can’t expect me to lay out my entire life without getting at least something in return.”

  He laughed, but the cunning emerald eyes told me that was precisely what would happen. “You already know all there is. I grew tired of the Shadow World, so I moved my business here. Running a crew of magic-sensitive humans and supes makes up for a far more intriguing workday than dealing with my demonic subjects.”

  “You do still deal with them, don’t you?”

  He shrugged. “Someone has to keep the assholes in line.”

  I chuckled. I’d spent a fair amount of time in my mother’s court, so I knew a fair deal about the kind of assholes he was talking about. The lesser demons were a bickering bunch at their best, and they possessed astonishing ass-kissing abilities that made me go from zero to nausea in the span of a few seconds. Needless to say, those visits in the throne room were enough to put me off the path of demonic glory Yelena had wanted me to follow.

  “Not all of them are that bad,” Alin added after my chuckles subsided. “But ruling a traditional court—well, you can only laugh at your own snide comments for so long.”

  I laughed again, noting the way his entire face brightened, as if free from the armor the long centuries had put up. “You know, you aren’t quite what I was expecting.”

  He looked at me, a half smile lingering on his lips and an alluring softness in his gaze that all but stole my breath away. “You aren’t quite what I was expecting, either.”

  The bar was deathly quiet around us, and it took me a moment to register that all of the patrons were gone, the zombies waiting idly at the other end for further instructions. Which meant they not only billed everyone, but cleared the tables as well.

  A glance at the clock told me why.

  I was so caught up in Alin that I’d missed my own last call. Thank the goods for a highly functioning back burner.

  The demon in question stood and finished his drink, then placed a stack of bills on the counter that covered far more than the scotch. I wanted to protest that the drink was on the house, but Alin snagged my hand before I managed to blab a single word.

  His startling gaze met mine as he brought my hand up and gently brushed his lips against my knuckles. The touch was light, fleeting, yet the heat now soaring through me was anything but.

  “Until tomorrow, Lana.”

  His thumb trailed across my fingers one last time, and then he was already moving out the door, leaving me alone in the silence of the bar with nothing but two idle zombies and an electric storm of utter confusion brewing in my mind.

  Chapter 11

  The next day, I was standing dressed in my loyal running outfit, once more in Alin’s lair. Only this time, it wasn’t the room with the boxing ring he’d taken me into.

  The space was wide, the floor made of that lightly padded material that didn’t impede your movements but made any potential falls just slightly less painful. Sadly, it didn’t work for the emotional kind of stumble. The memory of last night still echoed in my thoughts, the phantom caress of his lips pressing against my knuckles refusing to subside regardless of how hard I tried. It certainly didn’t help that the demon lord was once again shirtless, assaulting me with the full display of all that honed strength, wrapped in a gorgeous, lightly tanned package.

  Luckily—or not—Alin wasn’t the only one demanding my attention.

  I stared at the weapon in his battle-scarred hand, my palms sweating. I’d expected knives or swords, something along those lines, but what he was offering me now was a vicious, vicious-looking dagger that vaguely reminded me of a karambit. Its blade was curved, designed to create maximum damage, and the hilt even had a finger grip at the top so it could be spun around. I shivered. It was a weapon designed to kill, not maim, and that was precisely what Alin wanted me to do with it.

  “You might not have a choice, Lana,” he said in response to my nonverbal protest. “I need you to be confident that you can take a life if the need for it arises.”

  Shit. I didn’t want to take lives.

  I closed my eyes for a brief moment, focusing on nothing but steadying my breaths. Once I stopped going down the road of hyperventilation, I firmly reminded myself that if Liva, with all her blonde perkiness and desire to walk the light path had slaughtered Fae when she and her consort had been in danger, then so could I. I wasn’t losing any vital part of me. At least not anything that would beat losing my damned life.

  “Fine,” I hissed, meeting Alin’s eyes.

  He flipped the dagger around, offering it to me hilt first. “Always keep it on your person. It is…coded…to your magic, so you can use it as an extension of your power along with the physical blade that it is.”

  My
eyebrows shot up, and I glanced at the dagger again before seeking out his leveled stare. “You’re saying I can infuse it with magic?”

  He dipped his chin, a strand of russet hair coming loose from the band and brushing against his jaw. “The dagger is a minor sacred item. While it does not possess the properties that the Sword of Ala or the Stuhac Arrow do, it attunes itself to its bearer, lives and breathes with them as one.”

  And he wasn’t bullshitting. I could feel the blade’s presence becoming a part of me, an extension of my power that hadn’t been there moments before.

  I frowned. “How did you know it would react to me? As far as I know, even minor sacred items don’t always accept just anyone who lays their hands on them.”

  Something flashed across his eyes but vanished too fast for me to catch. “I’ve sensed your power. I knew.”

  That wasn’t the whole truth, but I didn’t push it. “Thank you. For the dagger.”

  He inclined his head, a smile that I didn’t like in the least spreading across his face. “Ready to test it out?”

  I wasn’t. But I found myself following him to the center of the room nonetheless, wondering just how many more bruises I’d leave with this time.

  After Alin made me go through a thorough warm-up routine that had me sweating in rivers, I once again held my newly obtained dagger in my right hand. He said we’d focus on using my dominant one first, then move to the left. His motto seemed to be not to let anything take you off guard, even a damaged or lost limb.

  It was a logic I couldn’t argue with, although it did leave me more than a little uneasy.

  “This is a reverse grip,” he said, holding an actual karambit in his hand so that the tip of the blade reached out from the bottom of his palm, his index finger looped through the safety ring. “It gives you excellent control of the knife as well as power and stability. This”—he shifted the blade around, his pinky finger now hooked through the ring and the tip protruding from between his index finger and thumb, which was placed on the back of the karambit—“is a forward grip. It lacks power, but offers you more precision. Depending on the situation, you will use either or both. The reverse is good for punch-like stabs, the forward for causing deep slashes. I trust you see the appeal.”