CHAPTER FOUR
Danel dragged a hood-rat, human teenager, through the warren of maze-like corridors that made up what the locals referred to as ‘Hotel California’. The abandoned hotel stood as a derelict reminder of its former glory. The fabric wall covering pooled down over urine stained burgundy carpets, the stench of booze and vomit almost overpowering the growth of mold.
At least once a month the sensors set up throughout this hangout of horrors alerted them that yet another group of fidiot human teenagers was sneaking in for a thrill.
Turning the corner to the lobby, he shoved the barrel of his sawed-off into his thigh holster and released his grip on the kid’s hoody. The mindless boy staggered his baggy-ass past torn couches and overturned tables, to his trembling flock, who—Danel was pleased to see, had wisely obeyed him and remained right where he’d left them—threatening them with the pain of death should they think to move.
“Next time you want a thrill, try a theme park,” he said, approaching the nifty little bonfire they’d kindled in the center of the lobby floor. “And read the fucking warning signs. You are not welcome here.”
Every entrance sat chained tight and covered in no-trespass signs, graffiti warnings and threats of bodily horror. Still, these imbecilic creatures flocked, with their bolt cutters, vapid girls, and cases of cheap-ass beer, to fire up a baggie of ditch weed and wait for the paranormal experience of their insipid lives.
He wished he could just sit back and let humans reap what they sowed. They imitated the Dark Ones, coveted them, had their bodies surgically altered to resemble them. Alone in places like this, who could blame daemons for exploiting human stupidity. The only question was—would they prefer to be a drink box, a meat suit or a midnight snack?
An improvement, any way he looked at it.
A Barbie-doll wannabe stuffed into a midriff-T sidled forward, eyeing him shitkickers to leather trench to crotch. Nipples peaked. Cheeks flushed. Her pink tongue glossed full lips. Typical. She swayed her double-jointed hips his way, and her lust hit him like a punch to the gut. Humans only saw a Nephilim’s angel side and were drawn to it. If she wasn’t part of such a pathetic race, she’d see his mark—his true warrior appearance. If she had any clue, she wouldn’t be so quick to send out the come-hither signals.
“Are you a ghost hunter or something?” she said, her voice saccharine sweet. “There is something real freaky going on here and you’re like, not even scared.”
“No, the ghosts live here. This is their domain. Tonight I’m an idiot hunter. And look, it’s been a busy night—I caught eight.” Confronted by the dazed looks of half-baked confusion he rolled his eyes and walked away. Why did he even bother?
Oh, right, perpetual servitude.
An undulation of utter darkness hovered in the shadows. To say that the space behind the dilapidated reservation desk ebbed blacker than black didn’t describe it. It was the absence of light—the absorption of it. He nodded to the shapeless mass and the Night Shade took form. Danel recognized him.
Decent spirit. Old. Hungry. He’d encountered his kind before and knew what he needed. With a wave of his hand, Danel locked the lobby doors and leaned up against a lopsided planter. “Up for a little game of quid-pro-quo, my friend?”
The darkness ebbed closer. “What is it you want, Watcher?”
“Intel, if you have it. If and when I ask.”
Orange eyes glowed brighter. “And in return?”
Danel gestured to the flock of mindless sheep bleating quizzically behind him. He always aimed to make friends on both sides of Otherworld lines. Not all Dark were bad. Not all Light were good. Smart to cover the bases. “A fear feed. Eight should satiate you a good long while.”
After considering, the spirit nodded. “Very well, Watcher. You have my vow. Information when asked, if the telling puts neither me nor mine at risk.”
Danel appreciated the end-clause. Smart. “Done deal.”
He chuckled at the confusion blanketing the human youths. They, of course, could only hear one side of the conversation and had clued in that something unpleasant was going down. Well, unpleasant for them. He chuckled again. “Go for it, my friend. Give it all you got.”
With what might have been a smile, the nebulous male transformed into a six-legged beast with several heads and tusks poking out at odd angles. The veil hiding his presence dropped as the thing launched off the counter and his skin burst into flames. An eardrum piercing screech shattered the night.
Eight humans scattered like shrapnel, ricocheting around the space, careening off each other and pulling the locked handles of the main doors. Three girls dropped to the litter-covered floor in a trembling heap of tears, while the baggie-ass kid and his buddies tripped over them before scrambling back to their feet and run some more.
Danel watched teens Ping-Pong around the room and laughed harder. These were the moments, few and far between, that he loved his job. Another Shade and two residual ghosts materialized.
“Go ahead,” he said to the newcomers. “Scares only. No soul-siphoning or possessions or we’ll have a problem.”
The fright night portion of the evening had just burst into an inspired second wave when his phone vibrated on his hip with the third text from Kyrian - 911.
Releasing his hold on the main doors, he let the heavy wooden slabs swing open. Protocol demanded he clean the group’s memories. Screw it, the text said urgent. Worst case scenario, a pack of drunk potheads would spout off ghost stories nobody believed. People would chalk it up to a hallucination manifest from bad weed.
The kids bolted. The smell of fresh urine and the slap of rubber soles to asphalt told him that group wouldn’t be back.
“Sorry to cut your fun short,” he said to the hotel haunters. “I’m on the move.”
“Safe evening, Watcher,” the Shade said, settling beside his friends.
Danel checked his gear, slung his arm through the duffle’s handle, and moved into the humid night. The low rumble of an angry sky had him searching the almost starless night. Not that he could see anything celestial even if it were there. The lights of the city drowned out anything happening in the stratosphere and beyond. He preferred the days before modernization. Days when you could lounge on a village hillside and stare up at the brilliance of constellations.
After re-securing the chains on the front door he thumbed through the contacts on his phone and hit Kyrian’s number. “Yeah . . . Greek, what’s the emergency?”
***
Zander tore his gaze from the Tavern clock on the wall and checked his watch. Nope. Despite what it felt like, those two-hundred-year-old hands still ticked away the approach of day. Six a.m. and he was about to explode.
An auburn-copper sunrise washed the Toronto skyline like an ocean of blood. As the gray of night dissolved, the window of opportunity to catch those responsible for the slaughterhouse kidnappings would slam shut. Twenty minutes more and the cockroaches would scurry down Hell’s darkest crack until nightfall. And in mid-August, the next round of darkness loomed more than fifteen hours away.
“Z, did you hear me? The garrison wants a face-to-face.”
Zander’s head dropped to the back of the couch. How many hours had he been awake? His eyes burned and his head weighed a ton. The silk sheets at the end of the hall called to him, though it might be difficult to convince Austin to slide into bed beside him. He supposed he could have taken her there instead of parking her on the couch when she’d passed out.
She shifted in her sleep, undulating against his side. Her warm breath teased the hair on his neck. His erection throbbed behind his jeans like it had its own heartbeat. He closed his eyes and winced. It had been so long for him. Too long.
“Zander? Are you listening?” Kyrian moved closer and shot him a dry look.
Right, the men wanted a pow-wow.
“They’re worried, my brother. Tanek is MIA and you—”
“And me what?”
Kyrian threw his hands up. “Pick your point of panic. Your side not healing. Your mark glowing. Getting knocked cold.”
Zander shot a sideways glance across the blanket mountain atop the woman. Yeah, he’d been knocked cold. It didn’t have to be said aloud. Ball-shriveling weakness wasn’t something you broadcasted in the Otherworld. Especially if the success of your life’s mission depended on people remaining wary. Fear was their best offense. “You’re a bunch of gossipy old women, the lot of you,” Zander said. “It was an energy overload. End of discussion.”
“Something’s off, Z. We all feel it, so don’t deny it.”
Zander probed the tender flesh not healed on his side. “Where is Danel? Did you fucking tell him to get his ass down here? Did you give him my order—”
“Hey now, piss off the messenger and he might just stab you while you sleep.” Kyrian’s voice held an edge he saved for violent club patrons. Bred for appearances and politics in the highest social circles, the guy was all about emotional restraint.
Until he wasn’t.
“Apologies, adelphos,” Zander said in his brother’s mother tongue. “None of this is your fault.”
Austin moaned against his shoulder. Her eyes fluttered as her consciousness resurfaced from the depths of exhaustion and whatever traumas she suffered.
Kyrian retrieved his phone from hip pocket and slipped off toward the kitchen to give them a little privacy.
Wakey-wakey, sleeping beauty. Welcome back.
“You’re safe, Miss Navarro.”
She arched her back and covered her mouth as she yawned. “How long have I been out?”
He tried not to notice that her breasts weren’t properly contained in the vest. Tried and failed. Miserably. “An hour. I thought the rest would do you good. How are you feeling?”
“I’m uh, tired. Sore. A little dizzy. More myself, though.” She sat up, gathered the blanket’s edge, and covered herself. “Where are we?”
“In my loft above the club.” His neck tingled as he remembered carrying her. After her initial collapse in the kitchen, he’d scooped her up in his arms. She’d roused a bit, nuzzled against him, and then fell asleep, breathing little feminine noises against his neck.
“Is your friend here?” She wrapped her arms around herself. “The detective.”
“He was. I told him what I knew and he called it in and went to the warehouse to join the investigation. He said to call when you wake up and he’d come back. Kyrian is speaking with him now. In the meantime, can I get you anything?”
“No, I’m fine, thanks.” The grimace on her face was subtle but one of her facial cues. A small line appeared between her eyebrows when she was tense, it deepened when angry, and when she hid truths from him, the edges of her lips turned down in an almost imperceptible grimace. Like now.
It wasn’t an all-out lie, but evasion for sure. “What is it?”
Her cheeks flushed. “Well, I need to use the ladies room.”
“Not a problem, the powder room is—Oh. I see.” He realized her dilemma when he pointed toward the open entrance and her wrist flopped along for the ride. Well shit. Zander scraped his free hand across his brow and shoved the blankets to the side. “There’s nothing to be done about privacy.”
She threw him that scowl she seemed to save for moments of moral indignation. “I’m not using the washroom with you standing there like some pervert.”
Kyrian laughed, returning to the living room. “Pervert? What did I miss?”
Zander coughed to hide his amusement. “I’ve been called worse.”
“Today even.” Kyrian leaned against the leather recliner.
Austin’s attention moved between them. “Are you the friend who takes these off?” She held up their joined wrists. “I appreciate the rescue but once I speak with the police, I’ll go.”
Zander’s insides chilled at the thought. “No, Kyrian lives here with me. Danel is the one for the handcuffs and he isn’t back. It still might take time for him to get these off, though. My guess is, it’s not an easy task. These cuffs are—”
“How long?”
“Well, I’d bet tomorrow for sure—”
“Tomorrow?” She raised her free hand to her forehead and fingered through her long, chestnut hair. “Call a locksmith. Hell, bring me a hacksaw or a blow-torch and I’ll cut them off myself.”
Austin wielding a blowtorch was something he wanted to see. “I don’t think that will work. Feel here.” He guided her free hand and moved her fingers over the metal surface. “By the metal’s weight and the fact that there are no keyholes, I imagine these will be tricky.”
“Know a lot about handcuffs, do you?” She said, lifting her chin. “Believe it or not I’m not accustomed to walkin’ around half naked in front of strange men with my hoohaw on display. I want to talk to the police and get free of these.”
Kyrian doubled over in laughter and Zander bit his lip.
“What? What’s so funny?”
Zander sobered. “I’m sorry—we’re sorry.” He threw Kyrian a look. “It’s just after the stress of the night when you said your hoohaw—” He cleared his throat. “It struck us as funny.”
“Hmmff,” Austin huffed. “Yuck it up, big guy, but I can’t wait ‘til tomorrow to pee.”
“No, you can’t, so let’s take care of that now.”
When she resisted him this time, he pulled her to her feet.
She grappled with him and before he remembered the knife sheathed at his back, the preternatural blade pointed at his chest. “Don’t you grab me!”
Zander took a lazy step back and eyed the silver tip gleaming between them. The studded leather belt he wore went slack around his hips. She’d sliced clean through it. “What will you do, cowgirl, stab me with my own weapon?”
She sidestepped along the sofa’s edge, both hands clenched around the hilt. “Wrangle me again and that’s just what I’ll do.”
He tilted his head to get a better look. “You’re holding it wrong. Come at me like that and you’re liable to sprain your wrist. You’ll never get enough thrust to do damage. Keep it close to your body and lunge with your weight behind you.”
Kyrian chuckled. “It amazes me how often women want to kill you, my brother.”
Zander waved away the prod. “I was explaining to Austin that in our present situation, she can’t dig her heels in. She has to think past her next move.”
“Like how far she’ll be able to drag a two hundred and forty-pound Sumerian?”
“No, like how she can’t wait on Danel if she needs to take a piss.”
Kyrian laughed. “True enough, Danel is no one you should hold your bladder for, sweetheart. No telling when the bastard will turn up.”
Austin’s mouth dropped open. “Y’all are crazy. I’m holdin’ a knife here.”
Zander shrugged. “I invaded your personal space, my apologies. As for your standoff, you won’t hurt anyone.”
“Don’t be so sure.” To punctuate her point, she gave the air a jab.
He stepped closer. “Your expression gives you away, cowgirl. You’re not committed to your threat. Let’s go into my ensuite. It will give us more space to figure this out.”
Her fluster was adorable. “You’re just that cock-sure?”
“Bring the knife if it makes you feel better.”
Her shoulders sagged as she dropped her aim. “I’m still not peeing with you standin’ there watchin’ me.”
He set her hand on the back of his and led her back towards his bedroom. “That’s your prerogative, but after all this excitement, I need to use the facilities too.”
She moaned. “Perfect.”
“Hey, Z?” Kyrian jogged up the hall behind them and offered them a pair of black sweatpants. “So Austin can cover her hoohaw. She’ll swim in anything of yours.” He turned back down the hall, shoulders racking as he walked away.
Zander fought his sudden instinct to shred the cotton offering. For some reason he didn’t understand, Austin wearing Kyrian’s clothes made his dark side surge. He scrubbed his shadowed jaw and exhaled. “The ensuite is here.”
They crossed his chamber, heading to his bathroom. What was it like for her, being led through strange surroundings? He scanned the brown and gold granite counters, black cabinets, and custom antique sconces. How did she see it?
“Heated floors?”
He glanced at the intricate tile mosaic beneath her battered bare feet. “I’m a bit self-indulgent when it comes to comforts.”
She shifted the knife to her cuffed hand and ran her free hand across the sandblasted, shower doors and along the smooth edge of the black Jacuzzi tub. He let her control their shared arms as she explored the space and got her bearings.
He was prepared to let her go on but knew she was stalling. “So, who’s first?”
“Uh, you, I suppose.”
“Coward.” Zander chuckled and closed the distance to her humiliation. Her hand brushed his thigh as he undid his jeans. He pushed it out of his mind so he could do what they’d come to do. Once finished, he stepped back, flushed the toilet and pulled her over while he washed and his hands. “Your turn.”
He turned his back and gave her as much use of her hand as he could. Nothing happened. “Something wrong?”
“Give me a break. I’ve never had to do this with a man two feet away before.”
Without turning, he leaned to the side and opened the faucet. “Better?”
“Much. Thank you.” After she washed up, she slipped into Kyrian’s track pants and secured the ties to fit. “Any chance we can eat while we wait for your friends? I’m starving.”
His own hunger surged forward, but no snacks in a refrigerator would satisfy his current need. “I’m sure we can find something to tide us over.”