CHAPTER ONE
“Relax,” Roxy had said. “You’ll just be handing out beers and filling shot glasses. What’s the worst that could happen?”
Well, ten minutes into the job, and I’d gotten an order for a frozen watermelon margarita with sugar on the freaking rim. Wouldn’t have been a problem…for someone who actually knew a thing about bartending. Thursday nights were always said to be busy, but that was only because The Rockhouse broadcasted the football game. Any other Thursday, Roxy and I would’ve been the only women in the bar.
“Two strawberry daiquiris, three Long Island Iced Teas, and a Bloody Mary,” Roxy declared with a guilty smile, approaching the bar with an empty serving tray. One look at me, and she immediately cowered back.
“I’m gonna murder you,” I growled.
“Sorry, Scarlett,” she lamented. “But how was I supposed to know that a giggling gaggle of socialites would wander in here?”
She had a point. No one north of Prescott Hills would ever dare stop in this neck of the woods, unless they were already shitfaced. But because karma apparently wanted to be a bitch, as per usual, a drunken bachelorette party would just so happen to show up tonight. And they all had a hankering for some pretty complicated cocktails.
Roxy grabbed another fresh basket of complimentary fries and took it over to the table of tipsy socialites, eying the designer heels they’d all discarded thoughtlessly on the floor around them. I, too, cringed at the thought. Not only would one single shoe pay my entire month’s rent, but I’d witnessed firsthand what had been on these floors. I wouldn’t have been caught barefoot in here even if my own shoes were on fire and the floor was soaked in Purel.
“Can I h-have a Pee-Piña Col-a-da?” slurred a blonde as she all-out crashed into the bar counter with a drunken cackle. Based on the plastic tiara on her head and the massive diamond on her ring finger, it was safe to assume she was the bride-to-be.
Shit.
I consulted the liquor recipe guide that Roxy had shown me earlier. Piña Colada… Piña Colada… Bingo!
Put one cup of crushed ice in a blender... Add one ounce of coconut cream... Add two ounces of white rum…
“Heineken,” another patron ordered three stools down.
“Two Miller Lites!”
“Shot of Jack!”
The game had clearly gone to a commercial break, because half the joint was suddenly flocking to the bar.
“Pee-Piña Col-aaah-daa,” the blonde enunciated again, seeming to play with the abundance of vowels in her mouth.
My head only spun all the more as orders continued pouring in. But that was suddenly the least of my problems.
My spine instinctively stiffened, feeling the icy prickle crawl its way up my back. Someone—or rather something—was close. My gaze combed through the crowd, as if that actually helped. It’s not like Hellhounds walked around with, “Hey, I’m evil. Stab me here,” signs brandished over their hearts. The only giveaway apart from their serious allergy to silver was the branding made by their Masters. And again, it wasn’t like they flaunted it around. Unless they decided to wolf-out, they looked as human as anyone else in the room.
Damn you, Roxy. If I’d been waitressing like I was supposed to, I would’ve made note of every face in this joint. I would’ve spotted this monster the moment he or she walked in. And there were too many people in here now to determine who was new to the joint.
“Barten…d-der.” The blonde scrunched up her nose, giving me a long once-over. “Are you really a bartender? ’Cause you don’t eve…even look old enough to dr-drive.” She plopped her head down on the counter and hiccupped, only making her snort on top of a giggle.
Well, despite the fact that she was shitfaced, she wasn’t far off. No, I wasn’t too young to drive, and yes, I was old enough to be behind the bar. But just barely. I literally turned eighteen not four days ago. The same day I got this job.
Oh, lucky me.
I hated the day, for many reasons, and the fact that it put me into this very pickle only added it to the list.
It was hard finding a job in the middle of a college town where every other student was looking for the exact same work as you. So I didn’t have much choice but to venture off the beaten path—to the rather dodgy end of the coast two towns south. But hey, I needed a little freedom outside of the pack. I took what I could get. Who knew you could legally serve as a bartender at eighteen?
And this was the first time my extracurricular activity had followed me to work.
“P-Piña Col-a-da,” the blonde slurred again, barely managing to prop herself up. She attempted to snap her fingers, but failed miserably. “What? Are you, like, sloooow or something? Give me my d-drink.”
Okay, my patience was officially spent. It wasn’t my fault Steven called in sick at the last minute. And it wasn’t my fault that Roxy had been banned from bartending, either. For some strange reason, our boss thought that it was bad for business when you drank more shots than you served… Weird, I know.
I cracked the top off a beer bottle and placed it in front of the blonde.
Her eyebrows furrowed as she looked at the glass. “What’s that?”
“A Piña Colada.”
“Really?” She picked up the bottle, studying it like it was the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen. “Isn’t there supposed to be, like, an umbrella…or something?”
I thumped the side of my head. “How could I forget?” Plucking up the tiny garnish, I plopped the umbrella into the top of the drink, the neck of the bottle eating the entire stem.
She just shrugged and drunkenly danced her way back to her table. Roxy didn’t miss a thing, throwing her empty serving tray over her face to hide her laughter.
***
My skin continued to crawl for the next two freaking hours. I repeatedly called Nick with no luck. Wasn’t surprised. He was on a hunting gig of his own. And I deflated at the thought. There was no way he wouldn’t tell Marcus that a Hellhound was at the bar. I’d be forced to quit this job before my next shift. When you were a “vulnerable” half-breed like me, Reapers didn’t let you take that kind of chance.
Pouring my 400th shot of Jack, I could feel the repulsion suddenly uncoiling itself from around my bones. Sure, the unidentified beast could very well have just come in to knock back a few drinks, but there was also a chance he/she may have been hunting… Being the sick bastards they were, Hellhounds loved to play with their food. And a bestseller on their menu: damsels in distress. The bar was now brimming with tipsy women, so they would definitely have a variety to choose from.
Whirling back towards the front entrance, I was forced to stand on my tiptoes in an attempt to get a better view over the crowds. Still couldn’t see anything.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Whoever this was must have just left. “Take over for me.” I flung my smock over to Tom, our cook, as he dropped off the next order of chili cheese dogs.
“I’ve got food to make!” he bellowed out after me.
“I’ll just be a minute! Promise.” With how packed it was in here, it would’ve taken too long trying to maneuver my way through the crowds to the front, so I darted into the hallway behind the bar and headed for the back door.
Hellhounds always toyed with their prey, liked to give their victims a false sense of security. It was all the more tantalizing for them to witness the unbridled horror as some poor sap watched the hottie from the bar suddenly shift into a massive, ravenous wolf. With this in mind, I at least knew I had a little time before the beast would attack.
Bolting out into the alleyway behind the bar, I was prepared to take off for the front of the building when heavy breathing hit my heightened senses. I looked to my right. Lo and behold, some rock star-wannabe in tight leather pants had a sexy little brunette pinned against the concrete wall. And they were going at it…hard.
Hey, I had no gripe with a little P.D.A., but when you were about one thrust away from doing “it” right in front of me, I drew the line.
His mouth buried into the side of the brunette’s neck, and she yelped, pulling away. “Owww!”
The guy only laughed lowly, bearing a wicked grin. “You want me to stop?”
His fingers grazed down the length of her neck before he gave the skin another little love bite. And just like that, the brunette was moaning again as the pair resumed their make-out session.
I always wondered if Hellhounds had some kind of hypnotic power, because it didn’t seem to take much for most men or women to fall under their influence. Thankfully though, I’d never have to find out firsthand. It didn’t matter if you were a full-blooded Reaper, or just a half-breed like me; demonic influence didn’t work on other Supernaturals.
Before I could take a step toward the couple, the back door flung open. A portly face greeted me on the other side of the threshold, and it wasn’t a kind one.
“What’re you doin’, Scarlett? I’m not payin’ you to entertain the garbage cans.” My boss lumbered outside, wearing his usual, greasy white tank top that was about three sizes too small. He was only a couple inches taller than me, sporting a bad comb-over, along with a thick beer gut and some serious man-boobs.
Honestly, they could’ve rivaled my own cup size.
My gaze instinctively fell back to the couple, forcing my boss’s attention to them as well.
“You’ve gotta be kiddin’.” He grabbed the steel pipe propped up next to the doorframe and banged the pole against the metal trashcan beside us. He normally reserved the act for scaring away raccoons, but the deed proved just as effective with the two lovebirds as they shrieked. “What does this look like? A motel? Scram!”
Leather Pants growled something under his breath as he retracted away from the wall. The brunette rolled her eyes in response, welcoming the rocker’s arm as it snaked around her waist. She kissed him on the cheek, and the two disappeared down the other side of the building towards the parking lot.
“What’s the holdup, toots? Get back in there,” my boss then directed to me.
I couldn’t let that poor girl leave with him.
Crap.
My boss hauled out a couple of packed garbage bags and tossed them into the pile next to me.
“I’ll take care of those,” I assured, grabbing the remaining trash.
He just grunted and turned back around, tossing his trusted pipe aside. “Hurry it up, then. And don’t leave the damn lid open. We don’t need any vermin crawling in there.”
The moment the door closed behind my boss, I dropped the bags and raced out to the parking lot. A black Mazda roared to life, giving me just enough time to witness the vehicle speed away—with the brunette in the passenger seat.
With the cool breeze nipping at my bare arms and exposed back, I couldn’t get a proper reading on my monster-radar. Maybe I was faulty, because the sensation didn’t seem to fade, even after they drove off. Damn it!
Maybe I was wrong. Maybe the Hellhound was still here.
Dragging my feet around the building, I regrettably snatched up the collection of garbage bags that had accumulated at the back entrance. Seriously, when was the last time someone actually carried this stuff out to the dumpster? I got my answer as I heaved the first bag in. The removal service hadn’t been by since I started working here, and yet, a heavy metallic thump followed as the bag cleared the side of the dumpster. I leapt up to look over the brim, and sure enough, the damn thing was empty.
Thankfully, Supernaturals were stronger than most humans, so despite my small frame and thin arms, I had more power behind me than one might guess. It took five more trips back and forth before I finally snatched up the last of the clutter.
“Well, hello, beautiful.”
I looked over my shoulder to see over six feet of unfamiliar muscle.
The stranger gestured to the unlit cigarette resting between his fingers. “Got a light?”
I reached into my back pocket and tossed the guy a matchbook from the bar.
“Thanks.” The burning bulb of the cigarette highlighted his full lips as he took in his first drag. With short cropped hair, hazel eyes, and a leather jacket that could barely contain the taut muscles of his chest, this guy definitely made for an opposing—albeit attractive—individual, given the circumstances. “I’ve gotta say, you’re the prettiest thing I’ve seen all night.”
“Yeah, I call the look ‘dumpster chic,’” I jabbed, heaving the last trash bag into the container. I’d only looked away for a second, and yet when I turned back around, the ten-foot gap separating us had been obliterated to mere inches.
The stranger cocked his head down at me, eyeing me far too freely. “What’s a pretty little thing like you doing in a place like this?”
That icy, unmistakable current prickled up my spine, making me outwardly shiver as he stroked a finger up my throat.
Shit.
“I’m working,” I said, trying to inflect my voice with a cheery tone as I nodded at my name tag. “How about you come on in, and I’ll pour you a shot. On the house.”
His serpentine smile only grew. “I have a better idea.” He leaned in closer, eliminating what little space was left, only to grind the lit end of his cigarette out on the dumpster ledge. “How about you come with me?”
I barely had time to hear the click before the stranger pinned the tip of his switchblade beneath my chin.
Well, this was new.
Hellhounds weren’t exactly known for carrying weapons. It wasn’t like they needed them, when they had serrated teeth and razor-sharp claws at their disposal.
“Look, I don’t have any money or anything on me,” I muttered. Feigning ignorance was my best play at the moment. He wouldn’t expect a tiny thing like me to be packing hardware. All I needed was a second to snatch my trusted blade from my ankle holster—
The beast of a man gave a low laugh. “Awww, how cute.”
His hand snatched hold of my conspiring wrist, slamming it against the side of the dumpster so hard that I heard a crack. Blinding pain shot up my arm, and I practically doubled over—right into his chest—as I felt the broken bone threatening to push through the skin.
“What’s wrong, Angel? Will it not heal fast enough?” he sneered.
Shit, shit, shit!
Angel.
He knew I wasn’t just some clueless damsel. He knew what I really was.
“Agree to come peacefully, and maybe I won’t rip the whole thing off.” The beast’s grip tightened on the injured wrist, twisting it just enough that another small crack followed.
I finally yelped, only inciting his smile to grow as he knelt down to look me in the eye. A mischievous smile of my own formed through the tears. He didn’t realize he’d just given me my opening. I flung my free hand up, smacking it into the side of his face. Instead of following through with the hit, I kept my palm pressed to his cheek.
“Goddamn it!” He immediately released his hold of me, thrashing my hand away. Sure enough, his skin was marred with a distinguished burn mark, smoke still rising from the wound. The Hellhound’s gaze snapped down to my hand, at the simple metal band on my ring finger.
Silver.
“Fucking bitch!” His eyes blazed their tell-tale yellow glow as he flung himself at me. I swiftly ducked his advance, letting him tackle the dumpster instead as I swept to his side. Unfortunately, he’d taken out my dominant hand, so I was forced to fight as a lefty, snatching out the knife from around my ankle.
He didn’t waste any time, furiously thrashing at me with everything he had. Given I was at a disadvantage, I only managed to maim him with a few superficial scratches. Since the cutlery was also forged from silver though, it still hurt him like a MoFo.
But why had he abandoned his own knife? Or better yet, why wasn’t he shifting? The yellow glow in his eyes was proof in itself that he wanted to. So why not just wolf-out and rip me to shreds?
I sliced my blade at him again, drawing a bloody line diagonally down his good cheek. He outright roared, the sound more animal than human, and snatched a hold of my arm. In one swift motion, he sent me hurtling through the air. My body slammed into the side of the brick building, robbing me of oxygen as I collapsed to the ground.
Instinct sent me curling up into a breathless heap. Where was it? Where was it? I dug franticly in my jean pockets, finding the tiny plastic bag jammed inside. Before I could pry it out, I was flipped over by my attacker’s steel-toed boot.
“You have enough yet, Angel?” he spat, wiping the bloody stream trickling down his cheek.
The beast clamped his heel over the knife still secured in my grip, pinning it to the ground. I tried yanking at it, but it wouldn’t give. I grappled at the necklace around my neck, tearing it off before jamming the pointed end of the small silver crucifix into his ankle. He cursed again as I ripped it back out.
“Stubborn little bitch, I see.” He grabbed the front of my shirt and yanked me off the pavement, forcing me to abandon the necklace as it slipped from my fingers. It didn’t matter. I had him.
Hooking my hands around his neck, I throttled my attacker’s head down, right into my knee. I could hear the crunch, releasing him to see his nose mashed in. The maneuver would’ve taken down anyone else, but Hellhounds weren’t like humans or Reapers. Unlike us, they didn’t feel pain, unless administered by silver. Merely touching it would fry their skin like a hot iron poker. Hence, my trusty bag.
Despite not feeling the impact, the Hound’s eyes still instinctively teared up, blurring his vision just long enough for me to fish inside my pocket. He blinked a couple times to fend off the bleariness—to find me standing directly in front of him, with a wicked grin plastered across my mouth.
His confusion barely reached his face as I lifted my clenched fist, revealing my palm. With one simple puff, I blew the dust right into his eyes. He tripped over his own feet as he stumbled back, falling flat on his ass. His hands tore furiously around his eyes, and I rejoiced in the screams that followed. After the unspeakable torture their kind inflicted on so many innocent people, it was good to know at least one of them got a little taste of their own medicine.
“You bitch! What did you do?” he barked between a colorful rant of obscenities.
I snatched up my discarded knife and headed back over to my roiling attacker. “What? You don’t like silver powder?” I coughed, managing a semi-decent breath. “It’s supposed to be great for the skin. Works miracles on blackheads from what I hear.”
I stood over him with the tip of the blade primed in my good hand. But before I could level it down into the Hound’s chest, firm fingers caught hold of my wrist.
“Not so fast there, girlie,” sneered another voice behind me. The uninvited guest threw me to the side, making me eat a mouthful of gravel as I struck the unpaved section of the alleyway.
Peeling my face off the ground, I looked up to see my attacker staggering to his feet…with a yellow-eyed friend in tote.
One Hellhound was hard enough. But two? Yeah…I knew better. I scuttled back, preparing to bolt down the alleyway, until two additional figures walked onto the path, blocking my only way out. Plus, I’d lost my knife. Unless I could miraculously leap over the bar or a ten-foot chain link fence in a single bound, I was officially screwed.
Dumping the remaining powder I had into my palm, I whirled around and charged at my original attacker. He instinctively recoiled, but his companion grabbed him by the back of the collar, shoving him into me to take the hit. Just as expected, I threw the dust into the guy’s face again...which was exactly what his friend was counting on. Having used up my last trick, I plowed past the injured Hound, only to have his partner race right after me. I got within yards of the bar’s back door when arms hooked around my waist, their momentum tossing me face-first against the brick wall.
Immediately, the pressure from what I could assume was a belt fastened against my windpipe from behind. Never good.
“Relax, Angel. I’m not gonna kill you,” my attacker jeered. “This is just till you pass out.”
I was already feeling lightheaded, which meant the oxygen supply to my carotid had been cut off. I instinctively grabbed at the fabric, wasting precious seconds. ‘Always turn to face him,’ I could hear Nick demand in the back of my mind. I immediately wrenched myself sideways, throwing my hand into the Hellhound’s eyes. Just like with his friend, my silver ring seared the skin just above his left lid. The belt fell away from my throat, and I collapsed to catch my breath, dodging behind an empty stack of boxes.
My protective wall of cardboard was obliterated in one fierce swipe as the Hellhound reeled after me. I met his proposal, springing up from the ground and belting him in the side of the head. He lumbered sideways, almost drunkenly, before taking notice to the steel pipe in my hand.
Hellhounds may have been immune to pain, but they could just as easily be knocked unconscious. The victory was short-lived, however, as three separate sets of hands grabbed me. Each of the men wrestled with my flailing limbs as I thrashed about in their hold. They had me off the ground, and I bellowed as my world went black.
Someone had just secured a sack over my head!
“Is that anyway to treat a lady?” drawled a lilted voice in the darkness.
My weight jostled in the men’s arms when I heard something snap. In an instant, they let go of me. I blindly hit the ground, smacking the back of my skull in the process. I still managed to yank the hood off my head, allowing me to see what the hell was going on.
One of my attackers was lying next to me, his neck twisted at an unnatural angle. I looked up, seeing…someone else. And he certainly didn’t seem to be in cahoots with the others. Not when he was pummeling his fists into one of the men’s faces—repeatedly. Only once the Hound fell limp did the stranger stop, throwing the dead weight into his cohort.
And he didn’t waste any time, catching the next contestant in a headlock. “Apologize to the lady.”
“Screw you!” the Hound growled, writhing in his hold.
“Is that honestly the best you could come up with? Not particularly clever, are you?” The stranger plucked out something from the inside of his jacket and drove the shimmering object into the assailant’s chest. The beast barely grunted before disintegrating into ash, something a Hellhound only did when stabbed in the heart—with silver.
My powdered-faced friend staggered back, clearly not liking his new odds. He turned to flee down the alley when that same shimmering object sliced through the air, finding itself right at home in the left side of his back. It must have been a clear shot, because yet again, the Hellhound turned to ash before he even hit the ground.
“You alright?” asked the stranger. He couldn’t have been more than a couple years older than me, and that English brogue of his would have melted Roxy into a puddle on the floor. His thick, layered charcoal-streaked mane, five o’clock shadow, and bronzed skin only made his intensely icy blue eyes pop all the more in the limited light of the alleyway.
This guy couldn’t be real.
Standing at a cut and athletic six-feet, his attire made him stand out like a sore thumb in these parts. Everyone here was what one might politely refer to as a roughneck, flannel and tattoos galore, while this Brit sported a conspicuously half-unbuttoned white dress shirt, a long sleek frock coat, and an unbound black silk neck tie.
Amid my confusion and fascination, I managed to nod.
A wavy lock of black hair escaped from behind the stranger’s ear, falling onto his chiseled cheekbone as his gaze drifted down. He scowled, wiping at the flecks of blood that now tarnished his immaculate shirt.
Before I could speak, my name sounded off in the distance.
“Scar? Scarlett!”
The stranger’s lips pulled into a sly smile. My attention was ripped away from him as the back door banged open, seeing Nick race outside. I turned back to the stranger, only to face an empty alleyway.
Where did he go?