XANDER

In the hall, a battered Seth sits on the sofa holding his arm. Poor guy looks like he's been through some shit. Either Taron roughed him up first, or someone else is responsible for his torn clothes and bruised face.

Heath wraps a makeshift tourniquet made from Seth's shirt around his arm, while Vee stands beside them, her knuckles white around the blade held in front of her.

Oh fuck, she'd better not freak out again.

"What the hell?" says Heath. "Taron? What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Nice to see you, man."

I bristle at his smug attitude. Does he really think he's getting out of here alive? I pull an overturned chair upright and shove Taron onto the seat. "Talk."

He ignores me and turns his head to appraise Vee. "This Truth? You found her, then? She's cute."

Vee points the knife in Taron’s direction. "Who is he?"

He continues to trace an interested gaze over Vee as Heath answers her. "He's a vamp. Rogue. Works as an assassin but for supes, not humans."

"Are your colleagues involved?" I interrupt. "Should I look outside for them, too?”

"Colleagues?" Taron snorts. "You mean Syv and her deadbeat friend? We're not colleagues."

I don’t care what he says, Taron trades information and occasionally clients with Syv and Abel. Syv’s activities are less blood-thirsty than Abel and Taron’s; she’ll kill if asked but her expertise in locating and "rehoming” magical items pays her more. Nobody knows exactly what or who she is, but we’ve never had issues with her. Abel–another vamp and a straightforward, skilled assassin. He’s hit our radar a couple of times, but is aware we watch what he’s doing.

"You work together," I reply.

"No, we respect each other's work and sometimes pass on info. No way was I sharing this job with them."

"Why?" asks Heath.

"What can I say? I had an offer too good to turn down that I didn’t want them getting a sniff of. Mine's a dangerous job, and the cash I'm being paid for this would set me up for a long time. Twenty year holiday, maybe."

I stare down at him. His hair and clothes are damp from outside, black jacket open across a black shirt. Dark denim covers his legs and his boots could kick someone into next week if needed. The dark brown eyes set in his gaunt face are rimmed by red. He pushes strands of hair from his eyes, his long nails covered in blood. "Paid for by who?"

"I said I have no fucking clue."

"The money magically appeared in your account?" says Heath derisively.

"Half did. The rest arrives once I provide evidence the job's done."

"He's lying," says Vee. "Taron met the person, but doesn't know who he is."

"Who? Demon? Human?" I snap

Taron shrugs, then tips his head towards Vee again. "Do you know how to use the knife, sweetheart? You don’t look like you’d be much help to anybody.”

Fuck this. I punch Taron in the face, bone cracking on bone, but he just wipes the blood from beneath his nose and laughs at me.

"How many humans have you killed?" I snarl.

"None. This would be the first. I didn't know he was, or I wouldn't have taken the job!"

"But you didn’t walk away, Taron.” I jab a finger into his chest. "You could've walked away. Stupid move, man."

"Who was it you saw?" interrupts Heath.

Taron rocks the chair back onto two legs. "Human. Maybe? I dunno, hard to tell sometimes. The guy was tall. I think."

"You think?"

The bravado drops from his expression and his brow knits. "I'm not sure, he looked..." He hits the side of his head with a palm as if attempting to push a thought into place. "Tall. Hair was... Dunno." He blinks. "I can't picture him anymore."

"Oh yeah, how fucking convenient." I reward his lack of information with another punch.

Taron's head reels back and the chair almost tips. He rights himself and scowls at me. "Beat the shit out of me if you want, but I don't have any answers."

"Bullshit," I growl.

I rub my knuckles and stand over him. The guy knows who we are, and he'd be stupid to fuck with us, but he's bloody trying. I'm tempted to cover that sneering face in more blood, and if he doesn't talk soon, I'm going to lose my shit.

Taron jerks and his eyes widen, before he takes a huge gasping breath. Huh, I didn't hit him that hard.

"Just talk, Taron, and we might be nicer to you," says Heath.

"Speak for yourself," I mutter.

Taron heaves another breath and squeezes his eyes closed. "Fuck!" His body jerks again and trembling runs through his arms, spreading to his legs. What the hell? He doubles over and attempts to clutch the sides of the chair, and wheezes.

I step back. This isn't a performance for us. "Taron?"

He lifts his head and stares at Seth who returns his terrified look. "Chaos. It's fucking chaos," he rasps out.

"Yeah that's one word to describe the situation," snorts Heath. "You have no idea the shit you're involved in."

Taron continues to choke as if I held my hands around his throat. He shakes his head, eyes bulging as he drags nails at his chest and scratches until blood seeps through the shirt. Taron tugs in desperation and rips at his collar as if the material suffocates him.

Shit. Magic? How much time do we have? "Is anybody else coming here?”

He shakes his head and jabs a finger at Seth as garbled sounds come from his mouth.

"What? Is he in danger? Who wants him dead? Tell us!"

Heath approaches and places a hand on my arm. "I don't think we'll get any more info out of Taron."

I drag both hands though my hair and swear.

Vee steps forward and breaks her silence. "What's that?" She points at his shoulder with her knife.

Taron's torn shirt reveals the edges of a glowing mark on his chest, above the collarbone. I pull his shirt further to one side ignoring his desperate whimpering as he grips at my wrist.

A circular, runed symbol I've never seen before glows white with an intensity to match the light Heath can produce. I've seen runes branded on creatures many times, but scorched or drawn, not this. I'm no expert, but I don't recognise it either. Fae or demon runes have hallmark symbols incorporated, but there's none in this simplistic one.

"Who did that?" I ask, but Heath's right. Seth isn't about to answer any more questions.

The guy's energy ebbs as his eyes well with blood, and when he opens his mouth to speak blood gushes between his lips. I've seen vamps die many times, usually when I slice their heads off, and I give them clean deaths. Instant. If I'd want to torture one, I'd skewer their dark hearts and watch as the creature drowns slowly and painfully in its own blood.

Like this.

But he wasn’t injured when we found him, and his self-inflicted scratches didn't do this. What the fuck is happening?

The blood continues to flood from Taron’s mouth and pools on the floor. He stares back at me, immobile, the expression telling me he’s aware as we are he won’t survive.

"Kill him,” whispers Heath. "I don’t want to watch this.”

I waver. He means Vee shouldn’t watch this. I've dealt with Taron as an uneasy ally. We don't get along, but until today, I thought we were on the same side. Maybe it’s not too late to get info from him.

What the hell is the mark on his shoulder?

Distracted by my thoughts, I don't have a chance to respond when Vee steps between us, holding her knife horizontally. I reel when she shoves the blade hard into Taron's bloodied throat, remembering the day outside, when I showed her the knives and told her she could kill or defend herself. But this isn't self-defence.

Taron's head separates from the neck as if Vee sliced through butter, the way I told her when she was hesitant back then. The blood flow stops, cauterised by the silver in the knife as it does with the species, and she stares down as the head tumbles to the floor. Taron's body slumps and he rolls from the chair.

Holy shit.

His hands begin to shrivel as the decay from death held at bay for years takes hold, and I whip out my phone to photograph the mark that killed him, before his body disintegrates

I wait for Vee to collapse back onto the sofa beside her human friend, but she remains upright, staring down at the scene in front of her. Seth groans and drops his head onto the sofa arm muttering, breathing laboured in panic.

Heath joins in my stunned staring at Vee. Turning away from the body, she drops the knife to the floor and looks to me. The last time we were here, and she witnessed death, Vee's eyes filled with terror.

This time they glitter in anger, and in them, I recognise myself.

"He killed people, now I've killed him," she says in a low voice. "He was going to kill Seth.”

I look to the ceiling. Vee helped end his suffering, but would she have ended his life anyway? Did her need for revenge take over, and she lashed out without thinking?

I don't need to ask myself these questions because I'm acutely aware of the answers.

When War takes hold, thinking switches off.