He wrestled the hilt free, then bit out, “It’s been fun.”
Aiming at the tender spot between throat and arm, Alec thrust the length of the two-foot blade diagonally into the demon’s body, bisecting her chest cavity from left shoulder to right hip. His aim was perfect, nicking the heart. Instantly she exploded into a pile of sulfuric dust, and Alec dropped to the ground, prone. He rolled to his back, then jumped to his feet, brandishing his new weapon with affected insouciance. The fact that none of the other Infernals had tried to join the fray while he was distracted was puzzling. Demons played dirty, always.
The witch standing beside Giselle crumpled to the ground, her multiplicity spell broken by the death of her warrior half. A moment later, she burst into ash, unable to survive without the part of herself Alec had killed.
The kapre bellowed in agony. It turned and leaped to the brick wall that enclosed the end of the bay. Punching through the facade with fingers and toes, he crawled halfway up the building. Then he threw himself from the sixth floor and hit the oil-stained cement in an explosion of ash.
“What the fuck?” Alec was stunned.
In centuries of hunting, he’d witnessed only a handful of suicides. Infernals would rather go down fighting. It was the best way to ensure Sammael didn’t hold their demise against them . . . too much.
But he quickly shook off his astonishment in favor of saving his own ass and getting what he needed from the remaining demons—blood and information.
“So . . .” The word was drawled, the mark regulating his breathing and heartbeat so that they remained as steady as a ticking clock. He brushed at the ash on his shirt and jeans with the back of his free hand. “Did you draw straws? Or should I just pick one of you to vanquish next?”
Someone was going to answer his questions and someone was going to give him some blood. The only question was: which one?
The male on the far right volunteered. With a roar that drowned out the sounds of the city around them, he leaped forward and bared his fangs. A vampyre.
“I just had a smoothie,” Alec said. “I should be extra sweet . . . if you can manage to get a bite.”
The demon withdrew a stake from the small of his back. Alec beckoned him closer with a wriggle of two fingers and a cocky smile.
“Servo vestri ex ruina!” the Infernal snarled.
Alec raised his sword. “Dei gratia.”
The vamp thrust his weapon deep into his own chest and exploded into dust.
Another Infernal pounced from the depths of the ashy haze that filled the air. The third male. This one tilted his leonine head back and howled at the moon. A werewolf.
“It’s my lucky night,” Alec muttered. “I got a mixed bag of nuts.”
The wolf was short and stocky. His barrel chest and thick forearms and thighs warned Alec that this particular tussle was going to take some effort.
Or it would have, if the wolf hadn’t put a gun to his temple and blown his brains out.
“Holy f**king shit.”
If Alec hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, he wouldn’t have believed it. As the report of the shot reverberated around him, he wondered if his smoothie had been spiked. In his reality, mass suicides among Infernals were unheard of.
When the ash from the third Infernal took too long to clear, he widened his stance and adjusted his grip on his blade, prepared for a charge. But nothing rushed at him from the depths of the churning cloud. It only grew bigger, more opaque, as if being continuously fed.
Were the others checking out, too?
Alec’s gut knotted. The order of his existence—so damn repetitive he had begun to think he was living his life on a loop—had been thrown completely out of whack since Eve had been marked.
As the floating debris in the compact delivery area finally began to dissipate, his suspicions were confirmed. There was nothing left of the Infernals. No one remained to explain what the hell was going on.
Disturbed and disgusted by the waste, Alec tossed the katana into one of the Dumpsters and exited back out to the street. Every step he took away from the scene was heavy with reluctance. Leaving empty-handed went against his very nature, but what choice did he have? Without an Infernal to pursue, he had no leads to follow.
Raguel, he called out.
Yes? The archangel’s voice was as resonant in thought as it was in reality.
You need to send a team of Marks to Santa Cruz. In explanation, Alec relived his recent memories through his connection to Raguel.
There was a moment’s stillness, then, Call me.
What? Why?
A jolt caused Alec to stumble mid-stride, followed by the silence of a severed communication.
Raguel?
He reached into his rear pocket for his cell phone, cursing when he realized it was still in his backpack in the trunk of Eve’s car. He had tossed it there before they left Gadara Tower, figuring that the only person he was interested in talking to would be sitting right next to him. Now he’d have to wait until he reached his room to call Raguel, a delay that was too lengthy. What game was the archangel playing? Raguel needed to send a team of Marks out here immediately. Someone had to figure out what the hell was going on, and it couldn’t be Alec because he had places to go and a wolf to kill.
Two blocks away from his hotel, Alec knew he was being tracked. He veered off the sidewalk and entered a convenience store. Skirting his way past the public restrooms, he ducked into the employees-only area. Within moments, he was exiting out the rear service door and rounding the building to catch his shadow unaware.
But it was he who was caught by surprise.
She hid in an unlit corner of the lot, her shoulders hunched forward and her Nordic appearance hidden under the glamour of a dark-haired Latina beauty. The red dress, however, was unmistakable.
Alec slipped along the low cement block wall that bordered the edge of the parking lot and came up on her from behind. The Mare was functioning so far below normal she didn’t scent him until he was a few feet way.
“Cain.” She faced him. Her face was tear-streaked and her mouth bracketed with lines of strain.
“Giselle.” His arms crossed. “You change your mind about that brawl?”
“It was the only way,” she whispered. “They have to believe I’m dead or they’ll find me. They’ll kill me.”
“Who?”
Her blue eyes, so hard and wary earlier, were soft and pleading now. “Take me with you when you leave Santa Cruz. Then I’ll tell you everything.”
Eve was tired of staring at the water stains on the ceiling. It was driving her nuts to lay unmoving in her bed when she felt so restless and sticky with heat. On the opposite side of the room, Claire’s steady, rhythmic breathing illustrated the other Mark’s continuing slumber.
Lucky, she thought grudgingly.
Sighing, she tried closing her eyes to see if that would put her to sleep. She had spent the last two hours ruminating over the same questions in a frustrating loop.
Why hadn’t Alec called her back?
What did Richens really want?
What had the dog intended to tell her?
What the hell was wrong with Izzie?
Something was rotten; that was all Eve knew for certain. And speculation over what it could be was keeping her awake.
The dog smelled something I’m not picking up. And no one else was catching it either. How was that possible? She could understand her classmates being behind the curve, since they were all still growing accustomed to their new “gifts.” But what about Gadara? And his guards?
Eve slid her legs over the side of the bed and pushed her feet into a waiting pair of flip-flops. Her flannel pajama bottoms and matching top had seemed like a good idea that morning. Now that she was suffering from a low-grade fever, she inwardly cursed her choice. She’d never be able to fall asleep when she was too hot for comfort.
As she picked her way to the bedroom door, the hardwood floors creaked and groaned despite her best efforts at a stealthy exit. Claire mumbled in her sleep and rolled to her side, facing away from the disturbance that Eve was creating.
When she gained the hallway and closed the door behind her, Eve exhaled her pent-up breath with relief. Izzie and Laurel were in the master bedroom, which shared a wall with the room she occupied but was farther away from the common areas. Lack of window coverings allowed plenty of moonlight to illuminate the empty living room, delaying any need for her nictitating lenses.
Pausing in the center of the main living space, Eve shook off the feeling of a ghost walking over her grave. The men’s half of the duplex was on the other side of the master bedroom walls and the three other females were only feet away. Yet her body was tense and her stomach was knotted. Every creepy, awful horror flick she’d ever seen was brought to life by the musty smell and unfamiliar noises of the house and surrounding exterior. The illusory perception of some homicidal maniac standing behind her made her want to shiver . . . if only the mark would let her.
“Damned sadistic imagination.”
Eve. The rumble of Reed’s voice hit her as the sensation of a hot summer breeze—a warmth drenched in the darkly erotic scent of his skin—engulfed her.
She reached back to him, grasping for the thin thread of awareness that flowed between handlers and their Marks. She’d heard that some Marks were able to share whole thoughts with their handlers, but she didn’t have that ability. For her, it was only distant echoes of emotion. She secretly wondered if that was her fault, if she was afraid to let him in because of Alec.
Or maybe . . . due to more personal misgivings.
Feeling too exposed, Eve retreated both mentally and physically, stepping out of the shaft of moonlight and into the shadows. As she withdrew, she felt Reed lunge for her. She froze, startled by his vehemence. His concern and apprehension were so strong she felt them as if they were her own. Something was wrong wherever he was, something that had him checking on her and assuring himself of her safety.
Eve rolled her shoulders back. Alec and Reed had their own burdens to bear. They had more experience, but their jobs weren’t any easier than hers. She was a big girl and she needed to take care of herself.
I’m okay, she told him. Don’t worry—
A group of dark forms moved through the moonlight, arresting her in midthought. Their shadows raced across the patch of light she’d just vacated.
Frightened, Eve’s gaze shot to the window and out to the view beyond. The street was eerie in its lifelessness. The streetlights were dim, the houses across the way were dark, the road was empty of cars.
“Just a flock of birds,” she whispered, wishing she was one of those people who weren’t afraid of anything. “You need sleep, that’s all.”
A large hunchback shape lumbered across the lawn toward the men’s side of the duplex, moving in the opposite direction of the shadowy figures.
“Christ,” she breathed, then winced as the mark on her arm burned in chastisement. Her mark enhancements woke with a start, stealing her breath. Her fever returned with a vengeance, but instead of wiping her out with exhaustion, she was possessed by a wild, edgy energy. She’d ridden on a roller coaster once that had made her feel much the same. The car had shot from the station like a bullet, building speed with every second, hurtling her toward a towering precipice framed with a ring of fire.
Eve sprinted to the front door and opened the locks. She looked outside, engaging her nictitating membranes to see. The two guards who had been stationed at the front and kitchen doors were already in motion, running stealthily around either end of the hedge fence that bisected their property from the neighboring one.
But they were still heading in the opposite direction of the hunchbacked form.
Her gaze lifted beyond their retreating backs. There were other unwanted visitors out there. She could see what looked to be half a dozen tall and lean forms moving rapidly in a disjointed pack. Their presence prevented her from calling out to the guards or even whistling.
She glanced down the hallway at the other bedrooms and considered waking the girls. But Infernals had hearing as good as hers and trying to keep quiet would eat time she didn’t have. If that lumbering thing was after Gadara, she couldn’t allow it to get any closer.
Threats are to be neutralized, not minimized, the archangel had taught. Do not prevaricate. They learn with every confrontation and you do not want to give them the chance to ambush you in the future.
“Go,” she muttered to herself grimly. “You can scream for help after you stop it.”
Locking the door behind her, Eve took off around the front of the house. Blood lust spurred her stride and her muscles flexed in anticipation. Her senses were so acute she could hear the faint sounds of a television show coming from an occupied house a couple of blocks away.
Usually archangels were ensconced in buildings filled with Marks who acted as an early warning system. It was impossible for a stinky Infernal to sneak past all of them and get to an archangel. At least it had been impossible before the creation of the Infernal mask. Now, all bets were off.
Gadara had only four guards to protect him and a class of newbie Marks who couldn’t even smell whatever the poodle had detected.
Kicking off her sandals, Eve ran barefoot across the coarse dead grass that covered the shared lawn. Ahead of her, the bulky creature rounded the front of the duplex and disappeared down the cement pathway that led to the entrance of the men’s side. A light was on in the living room, but a sheet had been draped over the window, blocking the view of the interior. As Eve ran past, she heard Gadara speaking. The resonance of his voice betrayed his power, creating a potent lure to an ambitious Infernal.
You can do this. She deliberately ignored the size of the Infernal she hunted. The demon was easily six and a half feet, with massive shoulders and a protruding back. Eve had no idea what class of Infernal fit that description or what its specialty might be. It could have razor-sharp teeth and claws, or it could spit fire like the dragon that killed her on Sunday. Or perhaps it had some other, deadlier talent.