CHAPTER TWO
Austin lay on her back, the vague thought that she needed to wake, turning over in her head. Her body ached. It hurt to think. It hurt to breathe. She pushed at the fog blanketing her mind. Did she have the flu? Her stomach churned. Maybe. She brushed at her face, a heavy pull against her wrist triggering a sharp, cutting pain.
Oh, sweet Texas. She’d been taken. A wave of disjointed images drummed at her consciousness: Stetson’s growl outside her apartment, hands grabbing her, something foul pressed over her face.
“Don’t be afraid.” The voice came from close beside her and she gasped. “You’re safe. I won’t hurt you.”
She scrambled back and felt the ground beside her. She closed her fist around a stick and swung through the darkness. “Get away from me. Stay back.”
“I’m back,” he said. His clothes rustled as he shifted beside her. “Stop flailing. Your wrist is bleeding.”
The timbre of his voice triggered something weird in her head and she stilled. A bright blue glow briefly silhouetted a massive man in front of her. As his words faded, so too did the strange sight. How? Was she still drugged?
“Who are you?” She focused on the black void before her. “You gonna kill me?”
“My name is Zander Ambrose. I’m here to help.”
She stared, mesmerized as the vision returned. A warm rush spread over her skin. She could see him. Sort of. Wavy hair flowing past shoulders as broad as a barn door, wide palms up between them, arms and thighs bulging with muscle. The man loomed large. The man who’d grabbed her had been big too.
Her stomach lurched again. She still felt hands on her, fingers digging into her arms as she’d fought. They stripped her. She leaned to the side to retch. Nothing came up. She hadn’t eaten since . . . she didn’t know how long.
“You are safe now,” the man said in a softer tone.
She didn’t feel safe—chilled to the bone, sore, scared.
Not safe.
She needed to think. Where was she? Cool, dewy grass prickled her bare arms and legs, the smell of damp lawn and soil in the air. No heat of the summer sun beat down on her. Downtown’s usual hum and hiss remained eerily quiet. Nighttime. Somewhere remote. The day’s humidity hung still, mixed with the slight scent of ozone. A coming storm. She breathed in again, deeper this time. Blood and death. That was the place where she’d been held.
“Are you one of them? Those men who kidnapped me?”
“No, but they’ll be back. We need to go. My truck’s not far.”
She stared at him, mesmerized. If she focused when he spoke, she saw more than just an outline. She could make out the hint of his features. Twelve years. Twelve years since one stupid moment, no different from any other, left her hospitalized and changed forever. One moment’s distraction in the rodeo ring and she’d been told she’d never compete again—never see again.
This wasn’t traditional sight, but it was something.
“We should go,” he said.
Memories sifted to the front of her mind. The men who took her, their voices had affected her too. Those toxic voices. Sharp white ribbons streaked the air and clawed at her like fangs in the darkness. She’d thought it was the drugs. Maybe it still was.
“You have a truck?” She wanted to leave this place, but what chance did she have of defending herself against him if he turned out not to be her rescuer? She touched the metal cuff biting her wrist and followed the chain links to his. His wrist was strong and thick. If he wanted to hurt her, rape her or even kill her, she couldn’t escape.
He brought his hands under her elbows and forced her protesting muscles to work. Standing was a struggle, her balance wonky from either drugs in her system, or days of captivity, or hunger, or the whole ordeal.
She locked her knees like a newborn calf. “We need to call the police.”
“My phone is dead, but I can plug it in, once we get to my truck. Now, let’s go.”
When he turned to step away, she stayed rooted in place. He cussed, and she shook her head. “Hold your horses, Mister . . . what did you say your name was?”
“Zander Ambrose.”
“Alrighty, well Mr. Ambrose, the way I see it, one thug kidnapped me already, I shouldn’t just volunteer to be hauled off by another. Give me a minute to think.”
“I’m not the enemy. Here.” He slid his fingers against his forehead and showed her something she couldn’t see. “As I searched for a woman in trouble tonight, I was attacked myself. When I woke, you and I were cellmates.”
“Why? What is this about? A cult? Some kind of biblical initiation?”
“I have no idea.”
Austin weighed the truth of his words. His voice rang strong and sure, but she’d been through too much not to be wary. Maybe he was a victim in this like she was. Right. Can you say Stockholm syndrome? She shook her head. Reality check. She’d been kidnapped, stripped naked and handcuffed to a massive stranger. Time to wake up from this nightmare.
He took a step closer and she tensed. He cussed again. “We don’t have time for this. We need to go.”
There wasn’t one good reason to trust him, in fact, she’d be a fool if she did. The stench of blood and death clung to him like he’d bathed in it. She shuddered. No sir, she was no fool. “This makes no sense.”
“Violence of this nature rarely does.”
She ran her hands down the weighty leather she wore. “How’d I get out here? Who are you, Mr. Ambrose?”
“I’m the man who freed us from that wall and covered you with my vest. I’m the man who is trying to help you.”
She stiffened. “You laid hands on an unconscious woman?”
“Would you rather I left you crumpled and naked on the cold concrete?”
“I’d rather not be here at all.” Austin drew a deep breath and assessed the garment belted around her. It was makeshift but offered her some modesty. “I thank you for this. And if you are a helpless victim here too, I’m sorry I—”
“I’m not helpless,” Zander snapped. He straightened to his full height and towered over her. His aura surged.
She shivered. The last thing she needed was to anger an Adonis Hells Angel, drug dealer, psychotic cult follower, or whoever he was. She needed to get outta Dodge. But without Stetson . . . She blinked fast against the sting in her eyes. He’d let off one heck of a yelp when she’d been attacked. He’d tried to keep her safe. Maybe someone from the apartment got him to a vet. She needed to believe that.
“So, what?” Zander said. “Will we wait here until our host comes back?”
That was no answer either. She tugged at the hem of the vest where it kissed her thighs. What were her options? “Promise me you are one of the good guys.”
“On my honor, I swear it,” he said. As ridiculous as it was to put stock in that sentiment, the way he spoke sounded reverent. “I give you my word, we’ll talk to the police and get free of these cuffs as soon as possible. You can report what you saw and get back to your life.”
“I didn’t see a thing.”
“Well, you’ll have to give a statement if you expect the police to find who did this to you. You may know something and not realize it. If you’re afraid to speak out—”
“No. I honestly didn’t see a thing. I’m blind, Mr. Ambrose, so if your intent is to lead us to safety, I’ll need a little help.”
Stryker remained invisible against the night sky. The tumultuous clouds of the breaking storm shrouded the moon, the dull sheen of night pierced by few stars. Perched on a flat rooftop, he watched as the Nephilim warriors ceased their verminous scurry a moment before their mighty brother-in-arms exited with the human puzzle he’d left him to solve.
The legendary Zandros of Kish. The Sumerian powerhouse. Feared in battle. Renowned as a soulless killer and mindless soldier of the heavens. Legendary indeed.
Stryker crouched behind a rusty vent stack, the bitter stench of tar burning his sinuses. So many sensations. His cells tingled. His blood pumped. His muscles filled with a kinetic anticipation he thought lost to him after his only son was slaughtered.
He blinked against the eastern sky. Darkness retained its hold for the moment, but the power of daylight was building. This would be the dawning of a new day. The beginning of the end for the Sumerian. For all Watchers.
Those repugnant puppets policed edicts of control and cared nothing for those deemed beneath them. They slaughtered any who dared contest. He licked his lips and relished the acidic burn of blood on his tongue and throat. He dared.
Zandros removed the human from the scene and Stryker raised a brow. The half-breed bastard’s mark glowed blue against the night. Each intertwining symbol represented an essence hunted and expired with single-minded violence. His boy was there somewhere, highlighted on the roadmap of his killer like a sick reward.
Nephilim were bred to end lives. No matter how precious.
He brushed a thumb over his signet ring and let his thirst for vengeance grow.
Energy prickled his skin as a portal between worlds opened. The air in front of him wavered and warped, and Devious’ hulking frame breached the opening. His apprentice stepped onto the roof and bowed his head. “It is done, Master. The female taken from the Watcher’s nightclub has been delivered and received.”
“And is our peculiar friend happy with his payment?”
“Quite.”
Stryker stroked the hilt of his new red-bladed weapon and smiled. His plan was perfect. Perfectly executed. Perfectly anonymous. Perfect.
“Gone are the centuries cowering in apology for being who we are born by nature. Life shall be more than living in decayed tombs of buildings that once were. No longer will Darkworld children weaken and die, rationed to starvation.”
Stryker squinted at the gray haze threatening the Toronto cityscape. “Humankind no longer trains for battle or carries weapons of consequence. We needn’t battle to survive. A new world order is on the horizon, Devious, one where daemons seduce any mortal stupid enough to follow—to feast on blood, body or soul.”
Law of the jungle, after all, ensured survival of the fittest.
Stryker’s head spun with details, each phase of his plan more deliciously gruesome and torturous than the last. He may have failed his son, but his beautiful Cassiane would one day rule the Shedim in a world of safety and abundance.
Zandros of Kish had no idea what awaited him, and wouldn’t . . . until too late.
Zander’s shitkickers ate at the industrial parking lots and parched brown grass as he backtracked his way through the shadows toward Spadina. Four hours. He couldn’t believe that in just four hours, what started out a normal night at his club, had taken a header into the shitter. A female snatched from his club. Getting shanked and knocked-out in a warehouse of horrors. Niobe’s death cracking him in the balls.
And then there was this woman.
What good was he to his squad with a blind human attached to his wrist? His hands were tied. Literally. He stormed across a loading area and came out on a deserted street. Sticking to the few trees edging the properties, he kept them out of sight.
He’d check in on the corpse cleanup as soon as he got home. One way or another he and his boys would get these night crawlers. They’d send them back to Hell, with Nephilim calling cards shoved up their asses. Way up.
That thought fueled the wildfire burning beneath his skin.
Crack. The streetlamp across the road rained sparks on the pavement. He ducked behind the next building. The energy vibrating from him had a life of its own tonight.
The woman stumbled over cracked pavement and cried out.
He had a hold on her arm, but with their momentum, he couldn’t keep her on her feet. Tumbling forward, he curled around her the best he could. It was an awkward fall. Stone and glass bits embedded into his shoulder. They landed in a tangle of arms and legs, her soft curves sprawled over him.
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he panted.
She pushed him away. “I don’t need an apology. I need the police. And I need my dog.”
Her pained expression and the heave of her bosom stabbed him in the gut. The raw flesh of her foot made the churn worse. An impressive flap of skin hung off the side of her heel. What was wrong with him? She’d been kidnapped, shackled and stoned and he’d been careless with her. Safeguard humanity. Protect the innocent.
When had he forgotten his primary duty?
He knew how stones hurt and still, he’d raced through the shadows like his ass was on fire. “I wasn’t thinking. My apologies.”
“I’m blind, Mr. Ambrose, not weak. If you’re apologizing because you’re brusque and rude, I accept, but don’t go feelin’ sorry for me.”
He hadn’t been rude. Had he? He picked glass from his shoulder and wiped his hand on his jeans. “Catch your breath. My truck’s not far.”
She brushed debris from her nicked feet and winced.
“Does that hurt as bad as it looks?”
She jutted her chin out and blinked. “I’ll live.”
Considering the aftermath of evil in that warehouse, a cut heel was getting off easy. He ripped the sleeve off his t-shirt and lifted her foot into his lap. “How did you end up in this mess? Can you tell me what happened before I found you?”
She wet her lips. “No, I’m afraid not.”
The smoky scent of deceit singed his nostrils. The fact that she didn’t trust him pissed him off more than the exposure threat. Why couldn’t she just answer his questions? He had no time to inspire a Hallmark moment.
He wrapped her wound and sighed. “How about your name. Could you tell me that?”
She scowled so fiercely he had to bite back a smile. “My name is Austin.”
Right. With her country twang, Austin was more likely her hometown rather than her name, but it had been a tough night and he’d take it as a win.
He scanned the abandoned street. No obvious points of sentry. No indication of a tail. Thing was, his instincts disagreed. His internal switchboard lit up for the second time tonight. He helped her to her feet, but this time, instead of grabbing her cuffed wrist he held her hand.
Lightning cracked over Lake Ontario. A succession of strobes illuminated a long line of two-story factories. She stiffened and squeezed his fingers. Her fear filled the air. His desire to ease her peaked. He didn’t understand the impulse, couldn’t explain its origin, but he couldn’t ignore it. So much like Niobe. He’d kill the Shedim who did this to her. He’d find them and cut them to shreds.
His mark burned. It radiated a brilliant shade of blue.
This is wrong. The energy bolt that struck him must have scrambled his synapses. Or the woman had bewitched him. Or maybe it was a sign of the freakin’ apocalypse. He had no clue. All he knew was emotions raged like a twister within him, and she—all flushed, bedraggled and covered in filth—stood smack in the eye of the storm.
He swallowed hard and inhaled. Her feminine scent filled his lungs and images of her silky tanned flesh flooded his mind. Long legs. Rounded hips. Slight waist. Perfect ass—
Goddamn it. He scrubbed a rough hand over his face and got them moving again. He didn’t do humans. Never had a taste for the race. He kept his sexual encounters to Otherworld females—Light for a simple release, Dark for a night of punishment. Otherworlders knew who and what he was on sight and didn’t expect anything beyond a workout.
Never human. They couldn’t see his mark and had no idea who or what they accepted into their fragile bodies. He would never be like the bastard archangel who sired him. Never sentence an innocent child to a warrior army with no thought to the women left to die in the process. It wasn’t right.
He glanced at Austin. This woman, tough and suspicious, yet so vulnerable, stirred something in him. And yes—more than what stirred in his jeans. Such a bastard.
His self-loathing reached an impressive new high by the time they rounded the raccoon corner. He relished the end of this little backstreet tour and fished his keys from his pocket.
“Was she your girlfriend?” Austin asked. “The woman you tried to help?”
Why did she care? Testing his story? Filling awkward silence? Checking his relationship status? Get a grip. “No. A buddy and I saw her get snatched from a parking lot and took chase.”
Not that it did her any good. This slayer either had gonads the size of bowling balls or a brain the size of a pea to think he’d let an innocent be harvested from his property. His club was an established Otherworld safe zone. Everyone knew that.
“And where’s your friend now?”
Zander exhaled hard. “Knowing Tanek, still chasing down the bad guy.”