CHAPTER FIVE
Danel slowed his ‘69 Mach Mustang in the drive-thru line and idled behind a soccer mom in a red mini-van. The throaty rumble of his engine didn’t provide the usual balm to soothe his anxieties this morning. For some godforsaken reason, his attention focused on the stupid stick-figured stickers on the windshield ahead of him. Half the human population displayed them. Who cared that this woman had four kids, a dog, two cats and—what the hell was that?
A turtle? Unbelievable.
What would they think if they knew they’d posted a shopping list for daemons? No husband—easy prey. Four kids—tasty. A dog—mommy’s gotta walk Fido sometime. Stupid sheep. He lowered the window and turned down the Def Leppard blaring from his Blaupunkt speakers. His music collection boasted a who’s who of classic rock: ACDC, Blue Oyster Cult, Ozzy, Queen, Foreigner . . . anyone who could vibrate cobwebs from your brain.
“What’s the holdup?” He gave the horn a blare. What was Ms. Dodge Caravan doing out in the pre-dawn hours of Saturday morning anyway? When the van moved forward, he edged up to the speaker and waited for his cue.
“Large double-double and a toasted everything bagel with herb and garlic,” he said when prompted. He ignored the rote response crackling through the speaker, let his muscle car prowl forward, and fished his wallet from the inside pocket of his slicker.
Caffeine was his vice. He needed it—craved it—would kill for it if the situation demanded. As he pulled away from the takeout window, he sucked back a steaming mouthful of nirvana. He had to admit it—despite humans being stupid, petty, and more self-destructive than one race could sustain—they knew about addictive substances.
His phone vibrated and he checked the ID. “Yeah.”
“What’s your ETA?” Kyrian’s voice had an edge.
“Two minutes out. What now?”
Kyrian grunted. “Aside from Zander’s mojo threatening to short out the entire block? Not much.”
Danel unwrapped his bagel and bit off a chunk. “I can’t believe he brought the human there. It’s exposure waiting to happen. Not to mention it’s where you sleep. Kyrian, do you want one of those in your space, breathing your air?”
“She’s one woman, D. You got your reasons for hating them—and they’re good ones—but keep it tight. Zander swears she’s out the door as soon as you get the cuffs off.”
Danel chewed off another bite and swallowed. “Perfect. Then why call me. Lop off her wrist and send her on her way.”
“Yeah, there’s that little problem of our duty to protect.”
“Hey, I embrace my duty. I save them. I keep the boogiemen from their closets. I kill to keep them alive, but bringing strays home? That crosses a line. Besides, I could argue, amputation might save her life. If the archangels find her there, she’s dust motes in the wind, baby. Best to have her clear ASAP.”
“Let’s try the handcuffs first.”
Danel took another swig of coffee and hung a louie. “If upper management finds out, Zander’s ass is nuked and fallout spreads, my friend. I’d rather not be anywhere near Michael when that happens.”
“You and me both, my brother. You and me both.”
Danel stopped at the light outside Zander’s club and eyed a jogger and two men in suits crossing the street. In another hour, all the rats would scurry to their wheels to restart their never-ending race of pointless lives. “Okay, I’ll be right up.”
Ending the call, Danel slammed his baby into a spot in the side lot and jumped out. After making quick work with the keypad on the side door, he slipped inside and ignored the redheaded waitress gunning for him from the kitchen. Bolting straight into the freight elevator, he closed the screens, punched his floor, and got moving. As he waited for the third floor, he noticed his empty hand. “Oh for shit’s sake.”
He forgot his coffee in the car.
Kyrian met him in the outer foyer with his hands up like an idiotic traffic cop. “Keep it calm, Danel. Zander’s in a foul place and the woman’s innocent in all this.”
“You sure about that? You get no sense she’s Otherworld?”
Kyrian shook his head. “She’s one-hundred percent human and she’s blind. Didn’t see a thing. If we can get her freed and out of here, we can avoid exposure and at least this part of the cluster-fuck might be over.”
Danel rolled his eyes. Who cared? The reason they referred to humans as sheep or cattle was because they were as weak of mind as they were will and body. The only use for them was a female on all fours with her legs open. He didn’t think even that was worth it. Nah, humans provided a life source for the Otherworlds, beyond that, they were a waste of oxygen.
Pure and simple.
Kyrian threw him another scowl as they entered the loft. “Remember, play nice.”
Danel’s knuckles cracked as Zander sauntered up the corridor from his bedroom arm-in-arm with a brunette. Wearing a mash-up outfit and covered in bruises, she looked like she’d been dragged through a knothole backward.
He caught a glance of the handcuffs and cursed. He scrubbed his goatee and counted to ten in three different languages. Didn’t help. Okay, cards on the table. “You’re an idiot to bring her here, Zander,” he said, in the divine tongue they all spoke. “You realize that, right?”
Zander raised their joined wrists. “Read the script, if you can get them off, Miss Navarro would be more than happy to go home.”
Danel tugged the cuffs into the light.
“Easy.” Zander’s scowl deepened. “Apologize to her.”
He snorted. “Yeah, hold your breath.”
Danel hit the wall hard enough to rattle his molars. The left cross that followed, sailed into his jaw and snapped his head. The lights flickered before his eyes. He wasn’t sure if it was Z’s connection to energy or the explosion inside his cranium.
At six-foot-four, the Sumerian emanated stone-cold killer on a good day. This had not been one of those. His steel forearm, the one linked to the woman, stayed pinned against Danel’s throat long enough for the oxygen to cut off and the message to sink way down deep.
Z leaned in for a close-up. “Don’t fuck with me, D. I’ll give you a pass because me being your superior is fresh, but I am your superior for the moment. Mouth off to me, or hurt her again, and I’ll rip your head off your neck, Persian. Got it?”
Nailed to the plaster, the vein on Danel’s temple screamed. God, Zander had fists like concrete blocks. He fought to drag in air. “If you want me to look at those cuffs, you can’t kill me quite yet.”
Freed from the hold, Danel spent a few minutes getting reacquainted with oxygen and then, when the current in the air died down, he took another gander at the cuffs. Strange. The inscriptions were ancient Otherworld, but the symbols weren’t Dark or Light—they were from the Choir of Angels. Enochian.
Whatever they were made for, the power signature behind them ranked way above his pay-grade. “You just have to piss-off the men upstairs, don’t you?”
Zander shrugged. “It’s what I live for. Now tell me.”
“I can’t. Maybe Raph—”
Z shoved a finger in his face. “Not a word. Not to anyone.”
“But I have no—”
Zander pegged him with a glare. “That’s not how this plays out. I may not like you, D, but I respect your skills. You can get these off. I know it. Now stop dicking around and free me. That’s an order.”
Following Zander’s orders made Danel barf in his mouth, but he was a soldier. They needed the woman gone. Having no idea what the cuffs were about, he focused. Energy tingled beneath the pads of his fingers. The runes responded to, yet resisted his gift. This was powerful shit. No way they should mess with things this far up the ladder.
He steadied the human’s chafed wrist in his hands. Squaring his shoulders, he read off the spell etched in the alloy. As he spoke the divine language, her expression remained blank. Blind, eh? That was convenient. He pressed his thumbs against the Enochian markings. The contact solidified the connection. Powerful. Intriguing. Nothing he tried opened the links.
“You’re screwed, Zander. These are beyond my abilities. You need to consider—”
“Keep on it,” Zander said. “Look shit up. Figure it out. It’s what you do.”
Danel scrubbed a hand over his manicured chin and thought about the Enochian complications to things. These were laced with Choir magic. “Zander, give me some juice this time. When I recite the incantation, send your mojo into the cuffs. Kyrian, open your blade and drip Seraph blood on each of the cuffs.”
Kyrian unsheathed his knife and unlocked the hilt to access the heavenly weapon’s inner chamber. “You think angel blood will help?”
“I’m making this up as I go. Can’t hurt.”
Zander nodded, and for once, the guy looked genuinely agreeable.
Danel took a breath and started at the beginning. This time, he recited those words with feeling. They had to get these things off and this woman gone or they would all suffer. The power of the cuffs fought him. He’d all but given up when the links popped open and he unhooked both Austin and Zander’s wrists. If he didn’t know better, he would have sworn the manacles let him win.
Crazy. He clicked the two sides together and slipped them into the deep pocket of his trench for closer inspection later.
Austin glanced up to where, yet another tall, muscled man stood before her. He didn’t have the bulk of Zander, but he obviously worked out on a regular basis. “Thank you,” she said. “I am grateful to be free of those things.”
“Yeah, thanks, D.” Zander rubbed his wrist. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
“Nice job, D.” Kyrian chimed in. “Good timing too. Colt called. He’s on his way back from the warehouse. He says he’ll go over what he found, take Austin’s statement, and then take her home.”
Home? A shiver slid down her spine. She wasn’t sure she could walk into the building again. Which was stupid. After she gave her statement, if the police detective thought her safe to return home, she would. She refused to cower to the events of the past two days—no matter how desperate she was to curl up like an armadillo. She just needed to regroup, wash this whole experience off and get back to herself.
The thought of a long, hot shower suddenly became the most enticing thing in the world—until she caught the scent of bacon. Her stomach growled. She laughed and covered her stomach. “Sorry, I sound like a hibernating bear.”
“Don’t apologize, cowgirl,” Zander said. “I need to clean up and talk to Colt about the nitty-gritty of what he found. Are you all right if I leave you with Kyrian as your host for a bit? He can feed you and get you anything you need.”
“Fine. Is there somewhere I could shower after breakfast?”
“I’ll set you up.” Kyrian’s green aura lit the space to her right. He gathered her hand to lead the way.
She hesitated. “If you give me your elbow, I prefer not to be led like a child. Since my hands are free now, I can manage.”
With a light touch on Kyrian’s arm, they crossed the wood floor. Austin created a mental map of Zander’s loft. The dining room was beside the living room and catty-corner to the door. The place sounded large and felt open. Then again, a loft built over a nightclub was bound to be large and open.
What did the space say about the man? She’d felt the metal chain that looped from Zander’s belt into his jeans pocket, the leather cuffs he wore on both wrists, the wide thumb rings that adorned both hands. He was autocratic, aggressive and when opposed, threatening.
She imagined dark walls with maybe neon, lager signs for atmosphere. There would be a big manly bar, and either a pool table or a vintage motorcycle in the corner. “Kyrian, could you describe the loft to me, please?”
“There are two bedroom suites at each end of the space with the usual dining room, kitchen, living room, laundry, office type rooms toward the center.”
“And the décor?”
“Twelve-foot ceilings, detailed wood moldings, amber-and-gold light fixtures and dark cherry floors. The walls are a rich gold color and have an almost Masters Gallery feel with all the paintings.”
That blew Austin’s mind. He ran a sex club, cursed like a foul-tempered trucker and wielded intimidation and physical strength to get what he wanted. Why would he live in classic style with museum grade artwork? But Kyrian lived there too. “Is the loft yours?”
Kyrian stopped and set her hand on the back of a chair. “No. It’s Zander’s place. I’m a squatter. I started helping with the club a few years back and claimed a bedroom.”
Kyrian’s deep Mediterranean accent bounced around the enormous dining room. Despite the succulent smells of food beckoning her, she wandered down one side of the long table and up the other and traced the chairbacks. Twenty in all. Wow. Her apartment had no dining room and her kitchen table sat a very cramped four.
She sensed when Zander joined them. He smelled of sandalwood soap, cologne and fresh, clean male, a huge improvement over the blood stench he’d given off all morning.
“Kyrian is the gentleman of our little group,” Zander said, his voice deeper than usual. Chair legs scuffed over the wooden floor as he stepped in beside her and pulled one out. When she settled, he placed a linen-wrapped cutlery setting in her hand.
“He is also a foodie with a gift in the kitchen. There is a ten-inch plate before you. A bacon cheese omelet a six o’clock with home-fries behind and buttered toast on the rim at two o’clock. A fruit platter sits beyond your plate with watermelon, pineapple and mango wedges. Is that all right?”
“I wasn’t sure what you’d like,” Kyrian said. “You’re not a vegetarian, are you?”
Austin laughed. “Definitely not. I’m Texan born and raised on down-home barbeque.” She unwrapped the napkin from the cutlery and located her plate’s edge. The ambrosia in the air eased more tension away. “This is perfect, thank you.”
“And to drink? Juice? Coffee? Tea—”
“Beer,” she said, with more force than she meant. “If you have it.”
Kyrian chuckled and headed along the opposite side of the table. He stopped about fifteen feet away and opened a buffet cabinet or something. “We live over a nightclub, sweetheart, we have beer. Dark? Light? Craft? What’s your pleasure?”
“Dark ale?” Austin ran a hand through her tangled hair and listened to the high-pitched ring of bottles jingling. She’d spent two days in that tin-can warehouse, drugged and thirsty. Her mind had been a fog, but still, she tried not to think about what was happening. Instead, she obsessed over the sweltering heat and how good a beer would taste. The roasted malt aroma. The rich tang on the back of her tongue. The icy bite as it washed down her throat and chilled her belly from the inside. Silly, but the distraction helped.
Zander squeezed her shoulder. She knew his touch by the tingle he fired under her skin. “I’ve set out a few things in the ensuite opposite my chamber. Kyrian will take good care of you, but I’ll only be up on the roof if you need me.”
Austin nodded and located the fried potatoes. She speared a few with her fork and gave in to her hunger. Kyrian did have a gift. The buttery warmth loosened the knots in her empty stomach. She took another bite. Good. She’d eat, shower, and pretend everything was dandy until she believed it.
All too soon Zander’s detective friend would arrive and she’d have to relive the past two days. How could she explain the monsters and fangs that slashed at her, the voices that cut through her darkness in sharp, evil swipes? They’d think she was crazy or that the drugs had skewed her memory. Maybe they wouldn’t take her statement seriously.
She couldn’t let that happen—not if she wanted those men caught and put behind bars. She’d think of something. Something that didn’t make her sound like a lunatic.