“I haven’t seen you in a week, then I get this frantic call saying you need to talk. It has to be about a man, so spill it.”

Amaya planted her ass at the breakfast bar and waited until Pilar finished pouring her a cup of coffee. She took a slow sip, and set the cup back down. Only then did she sigh and take a deep breath.

“First, how is the business going?” Amaya refused to be a selfish friend, one who only talked about her woes and ignored everyone else’s. Plus, it was impossible to ignore the sordid array of dildos, vibrators, and anal beads sharing the table space with her.

“The adult toy market is booming!” Pilar laughed and tossed her coppery hair out of her face.

“Obviously.” Amaya studied the title on one of the packages. “What is Clone-A-Willy?”

“It’s exactly what you think it is,” she giggled.

Amaya was dumbfounded. “Why would some guy want to clone his dick?”

“Silly girl. It’s for her. Not for him.”

Amaya still didn’t get it.

“What if your significant other is out of town and you’re feeling horny. You don’t have to suffer until he comes back, because you’ve cloned his willy. You have the best part of him, ready to use twenty-four hours a day.”

Amaya’s jaw slid open.

“And the best part, Clone-A-Willy doesn’t need a break and a compliment to boost his fragile ego.” She caressed the package with a loving hand.

Amaya blinked slowly. “I am horrified and amused all at the same time.”

Pilar clapped and jumped up and down, her hair forming a copper cloud. “Hurray! I have done my job as your best and only friend. I got that woe-is-me old look off your face.” She leaned across the counter and placed a sloppy kiss on Amaya’s forehead.

“I have a hard time believing any man would let someone make a model of their junk.”

“Are you kidding? That’s John and that’s Kevin.” She pointed to the red and orange dildos in a display case on the sectional behind Amaya. “I even have one from Russ. I keep that one in my nightstand.” She gave a naughty chuckle, then her features turned serious. “Now, what’s got you so mopey, Joanna?”

The corner of Amaya’s upper lip curled in disgust at the sound of her former name, the name her grandparents gave her. The name she legally changed when she turned eighteen.

“Ha, I prefer the rage on your face to that sour puss mug you just had. I’m ready for you to tell me whose ass I have to kick.”

Pilar could and would do it too. They were the same height, but Pilar was more statuesque with long, lean lines to her body as opposed to Amaya’s curvy hips and generous boobs. She had the softest sapphire eyes with a dark ring around the edges. She was all smiles, all business, until something pissed her off, and then she’d flip. She didn’t need to pummel you with her fists or blades, because she’d cut your throat with words so vicious, the poor unfortunate soul would limp away to bleed out in private. Amaya had watched her bestie in action and was awed by her brutality. The man who tied her down would have to be up to the challenge.

Amaya couldn’t tell her everything. Really, she couldn’t tell her anything. She hated lying, but lying had pretty much defined their friendship. Pilar thought Amaya was an antisocial introvert who had a weapons fetish and kept late hours. Her bestie wasn’t wrong, she just didn’t know the full extent of Amaya’s fetishes. “There is a guy.”

“I knew it. I was right. It is about a man!” Pilar jumped up and down again. Then she clutched her chest. “You actually like someone? We’re not talking about a hookup, but a genuine man in your life? Because I refuse to get excited over a quickie.”

Amaya couldn’t help laughing. “Yes. We are talking about a real man.” Sort of. “I think I fucked up.”

“So, you like this guy?” Pilar nodded at her own question.

Amaya rolled her eyes. “Would I travel all the way to your boushy, gated neighborhood if I didn’t?”

“All right. Don’t get snippy. I’ve just never known you to admit liking a man.”

“I like men.”

“I’m not talking about men. I’m talking about a man. Singular, not plural.”

Then her record was safe because UnHallowed weren’t men. Though, by the feel of the bulge in his jeans, he had all the parts. Her core tingled. Why am I getting wet just from thinking about him! “I do like him when I really shouldn’t.” The image of his crimson eyes, the last thing she’d seen before he vanished, popped into her mind. “We can’t be together.” It’s all sorts of wrong.

“Good grief, girl. You are not Juliet and he is not Romeo. There is no problem too big to overcome, unless he’s a cheating asshole. So, spill. What’s the big ‘Oh my God! We can’t be together’?” Pilar slapped the back of her hand to her forehead and pretended to swoon. “I bet it’s not as bad as you think it is.”

How to explain he’s a fallen angel, exiled from Heaven, and I’m part angel? Heaven and Hell don’t want us together. “We have different religions.”

Pilar’s head snapped to the side. “You’re religious? Since when? This must be recent.”

Amaya rubbed her forehead, at a loss for how to continue.

“What’s his name?” Pilar helped her out.

“Bane.”

“What’s he look like.”

“He’s tall. I’d guess about six feet. Broad shoulders, really muscular.”

Pilar purred and dropped her chin into her palm. “I’m liking this image. Go on.” She waved her hand.

“His hair is slicked back, but sticks up when he runs his fingers through it after I piss him off.” She giggled.

Pilar pointed a finger at Amaya. “See that. You’re in serious like. In case you’ve forgotten, that’s one step down from love.” She moved to the opposite counter and brought back a dome-covered chocolate cake. Amaya sputtered while Pilar plated two thick wedges. “Don’t waste time denying it. Now, what else is so wrong that you can’t be together?”

“Well, we work together and you know the rule about that,” Amaya mumbled around the cake.

“Oh please. I’m sleeping with Landon, my business partner, and things are working out just fine. Sometimes, business and pleasure do mix. I could be the poster child for it.” She twirled her fork in the air.

Amaya had to laugh, something only Pilar brought out of her.

“My suggestion, since you came all the way over to the burbs to get just that, is to screw his brains out and let the chips fall where they may. A lot of issues can be solved between the sheets.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.”

Pilar shrugged. “I know you haven’t had a lay in months.”

Make that twelve months. “I know Bane is the enemy and you don’t sleep with the enemy.”

“Oh, please. All men are the enemy, until you make them not the enemy. And it’s obvious you don’t want him as an enemy, so don’t make him one.” Pilar opened a bottle of Moscato and filled two wine glasses.

The truth was startling, and made Amaya gulp a mouthful of wine. They started as enemies, didn’t mean they had to stay that way. “I haven’t exactly been nice to the guy.”

Pilar waved her fork in Amaya’s face. “See, too many one or two-night stands. Every now and then, you gotta be social, talk to the guy before you curl his toes with mind blowing sex.”

Amaya swatted her away. “I talk to them, they just don’t say anything worth listening to or remembering.”

“Make him dinner. There is some truth to the saying ‘the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.’”

Bane wasn’t a man and UnHalloweds didn’t need to eat. Did he even have a stomach? “I’ll think about it.”

“Sooo, this hunk got any friends I can get acquainted with?”

Amaya choked on her wine.

She left a while later, after promising to attend a gallery opening Pilar was hosting in a couple of days, but she didn’t want to go home. Rather, she was afraid. Shit. She’d never been a coward, but that kiss and her reaction—neither was good, couldn’t lead to anywhere good. Plus, she had no idea whether she should apologize or pretend both didn’t happen.

The gas indicator flashed on her dashboard. She had to fill up or she wouldn’t make it back to Danville. She pulled into an old cash-only station before merging onto the highway. She grabbed her purse, slung it sideways across her body, and headed inside, to find the door locked. Yet, the lights were still on and she could see a guy safely behind a bulletproof cage. He had headphones on and a joystick in his hand. Amaya angled her head and spotted the security monitor with a game playing. Banging on the door finally got his attention.

“Pay at the pass window,” he said from an overhead speaker. A big red arrow pointed to a two-by-four window near her elbow.

“Gimme twenty on pump three.” Amaya inserted her cash. The clerk gave her a thumbs up sign, then disappeared. She walked back to her car. The farm was ninety minutes away, she had that amount of time to figure out something. Maybe dinner wasn’t such a bad idea. She couldn’t coo—”

An arm circled her neck and hauled her back into a padded chest. “Easy, bitch. Gimme your money and I won’t take anything else.” He tightened the hold around her neck.

Amaya’s heart slowed and everything came into focus. The height and build of her assailant—five-ten, equal to her own. The width of the man—stocky, extra-large with a beer belly. His grip was loose, because he thought he had the upper hand. He thought she was a victim. Distracted by thoughts of Bane, the man had invaded her personal space, something that never should’ve happened.

“Take her shit.”

A kid appeared at her side. No more than ten years old, he had a skullcap and a face mask covering his nose, mouth, and jaw. The knife in his hand seemed too big, but he wielded it well enough to cut the strap of her purse. She expected him to run away after it dropped into his hands. A smart thieve would have done so. The boy stood there, either waiting for a new set of instructions or to see what his partner would do next.

“Check her pockets,” the man said, and the boy didn’t hesitate to slide closer—too close—and reach into her jacket pocket.

Amaya snatched the knife out of the boy’s hand. She struck fast and hard, stabbing the forearm of the man who held her. The knife hit bone and she twisted. He screamed and tried to push her away. She spun in his arms and had him by the throat. “You picked the wrong bitch.”

She yanked the blade out and had it a millimeter from his eyeball. He backed up. She moved with him until she had him up against the pump. Killing him would be easy, the entire scene played out in her mind.

Bury the knife in his socket. Pull it free. Lift his chin. Run the edge across his throat.

The temptation was there, always beating at her restraint. Murder wasn’t what she was created for, trained for, what Braile restored her life for.

She wouldn’t cross that line. Couldn’t.

He beat at her arm, growing weaker with every strike. After all, air is a precious commodity that a human cannot do without. She released him and stepped closer.

He buckled as he sucked in a sharp breath and he latched onto her arms. “Run, Joseph!” he rasped.

Joseph sprinted away with her keys, her cash, her credit card, and her IDs. Amaya flung the man away and took off after the kid.

He wasn’t faster than her, but the boy did have a head start. She didn’t waste her energy yelling at him to stop, or asking someone to grab him. She wanted to be the one to run him down.

He headed toward the highway. She hoped his intention wasn’t to dart into traffic, and picked up speed. The boy proved he wasn’t crazy and diverted to the strip of land adjacent to the underpass that led to a dry ditch the homeless favored. Last summer, the police had cleaned and chained the area. By autumn, the homeless had cut the chain and reclaimed their small patch of land.

Joseph streaked through the encampment as if he knew the lay of the land while she stumbled along, bumping into people, knocking over their precious items. A woman cursed her and a man grabbed her jacket. “Cop! Cop! Cop!” he bellowed into her ear.

“I’m not a cop!” Amaya knocked him away.

Damn it. She’d lost sight of the boy. Following his last direction, she rounded a set of tents. The ground gave way to a steep decline and a dry creek bed. The highway lay to her right with a culvert to the other side. The boy headed toward it and so did she.

She jogged down the decline, kicked up rocks, sent them tumbling, skidded on her ass, ripped the seat of her jeans, and finally landed on her feet. Joseph looked back at her and ran on. He reached the culvert and abruptly halted. Her purse slid from his fingers.

Why did he stop? The thought crossed her mind as she increased her speed. She reached him a second later, grabbed him by the back of his neck, and shook. “Don’t you know stealing is a cr—”

At the end of the culvert, partially in the shadows, a Darkling blanketed a man. It was too late for her to do anything. Though still standing, the man was already dead. The boy didn’t need to see this. She gripped his trembling shoulders to turn him around, but he wouldn’t move.

“What is it?” he whispered, and leaned into her side for shelter.

Should she tell him? Nightmares would follow him all the rest of his life, though she suspected that was already an occurrence. “Go home, Joseph.”

“I am home.”

Damn. “Who is that man? Do you know him?”

He shrugged. “Don’t know. What’s it doing to him?”

Feeding. She picked the boy up by his shoulders and turned him in the other direction. “Get out of here.” She shoved him on his way, watched him stumble a bit before he found his footing and took off.

Keeping the man and the Darkling in her sights, Amaya snatched her purse from the ground. She took what she needed from the interior, stuffed her pockets with everything important, and then freed her blades from the sheaths strapped to her forearms, hidden under her long-sleeved shirt. She faced the drama unfolding in the culvert, prepared to kill the Darkling.

Except…the Darkling didn’t consume the unfortunate man. The man consumed it. He opened his mouth and either drank the dark entity in, or it crawled willingly inside.

Amaya hesitated. What would it do? This new behavior had to be documented, studied, reported to Michael. The man veered away from her and exited the culvert at the opposite end. She followed and tracked him through the awakening city. He nodded, said good morning to people, stopped for coffee and two muffins. She tracked him all the way to his house, a split-level duplex that had seen better days. He jogged up the stairs, whistling a merry tune.

She circled around to the back and spotted a woman through a crack in the kitchen blinds. The man walked in, gave the woman a long good morning kiss, which turned into a series of kisses, heavy petting, a shifting of clothes, and action on the kitchen table. She wasn’t a voyeur. Not her thing at all.

She watched because nothing about his normal behavior and the strange behavior of the Darkling made sense. Darklings consumed humans by absorbing them, leaving nothing behind. They couldn’t devour everyone, or else humanity would’ve ended at the beginning. Only those with a corrupt heart were at risk.

But what she saw, that was a game changer.

Amaya retraced her steps back to the homeless encampment. She stopped in the culvert, searching for clues, as if she were a member of CSI. Needless to say, she found nothing and left the culvert without any idea as to why a man with a family had made a pit stop in this dump. She climbed up the embankment leading back to the tents and cardboard homes. Halfway through, Joseph jogged up to her. She ignored the boy until he blocked her path. She moved around him and kept walking, the patter of his rapid footsteps behind her.

She spun sharply and said, “What?”

Joseph stepped close and looked up at her. His gaunt, dirty face disturbed something inside of her, a bud of maternal instinct she had no idea what to do with.

“What was that thing?” he whispered.

She couldn’t say it was nothing when clearly he saw the Darkling. A colorful lie wouldn’t work on the street savvy kid. Protecting him from another nightmare was pointless. The truth, she didn’t know what the hell they saw.

Amaya kept walking.

The patter of feet continued behind her. “Please.”

Amaya stopped and ground out a curse. Please was her kryptonite, especially coming from a kid. Joseph came around her and blocked her path. The streets were busier since she entered the homeless encampment. She dropped to her haunches to keep the conversation between the two of them. “Who was that man you were with?”

“My uncle,” he said.

“You live in that encampment?” She received a nod. “Anyone else you can stay with?”

Joseph shook his head.

“Then I suggest you turn yourself into social services, kid. You need to get off the streets ‘cause I’m not sure what happened back there, or if it’s gonna come back again. The night is not safe.” She squeezed his shoulder.

He scowled at her. “The night never was safe to begin with.”

Amaya couldn’t deny that statement. “Some things are predictable. That thing back there”—she pointed toward the encampment— “that is the kind of danger you can’t predict. You and your uncle can’t fight it. All you can do is get clear of it.”

Joseph snorted and patted his chest. “I ain’t scared.” He knocked her hand off his shoulder and swaggered away. False bravado or not, the boy had balls, hopefully he’d get to keep them.