“Okay.” He slid the manual transmission into first gear, pulled up the emergency brake, and turned off the engine. “What is Destruction?”
Giselle’s mouth took on a mulish cast. Her arms crossed.
Alec opened the driver’s side door and unfolded from the seat. Rounding the trunk, he reached into the passenger side and plucked her out. She hadn’t worn a seat belt—against California law—and he hadn’t cared enough about her well-being to enforce it.
He returned to his side of the car and slid behind the wheel. “See ya.”
“You are not leaving me here!” she protested, her lips white. “You need my blood.”
“I also need my concentration, and being pissed off at you affects that.” He reached for the ignition.
“Destruction is Sammael’s pet.”
Pausing, Alec glanced over at where she stood. “His pet?”
“A hellhound, but unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. It’s a hybrid of demon and Cerberus, nephilim and Mark.”
His jaw tightened.
Giselle’s shoulders slumped and she looked even more gaunt, which he hadn’t thought possible. “Sammael has been working on a new breed for centuries. None of them were viable; they all died.”
“Except for Destruction.”
“Right.” She pulled the door open and dropped wearily into the seat.
“Was it the Mark blood that made the difference?”
“Yeah. Mark blood regenerates; it held all the parts together.”
Holy shit. They were using Marks to create new demons. “What does Charles have to do with this?”
“Charles was the key. He’s the Hound Whisperer. Sammael was able to keep the mutt alive, but he couldn’t train it.”
“Use a canine to train a canine.”
Charles was one of the most powerful Alphas in the world. He ruled his pack with an iron fist. He was also wily enough to stay under the radar, which enabled him to expand his territory with only minor interference from Marks. He might have continued to grow in power, if he hadn’t sought revenge for the death of his son by killing Eve in the Qualcomm Stadium bathroom. And now this.
“What does this have to do with you?” he asked.
“Once Sammael saw how successful Charles was in training the beast and how destructive it was, he wanted more of them. The hound is powerful and ravenous.” Giselle’s eyes turned fever-bright and she began to pant, her body thrumming with excitement. “If there were enough of them, they would wipe you all out. Every single Mark and angel. Every archangel. Even God. They’re unstoppable.”
Alec growled low, disgusted by her joy. “Answer the f**king question. What does this have to do with you?”
The glazed look of pleasure faded from her expression. “Every Infernal from the Oregon border down to Seaside, California, was tasked with feeding the growing pups. They take decades to mature, and they eat. And eat. And eat.” She growled. “Why do you think I look like this? You try getting a plate of food and only eating ten percent.”
“They’re feeding from you?” he asked, incredulous.
“Like I said, ten percent is our share. That’s why Neil and the others checked out. Sammael gave strict orders—no leaks of the Lebensborn-2 program. If we’re too weak to fight off a Mark attack, we are to take ourselves out of commission before we’re captured. I thought Charles would back me up when I argued against that, but I was wrong. He’s hot and a great fuck, but I’m not going back to Hell for anyone or anything. Especially not for a guy who thinks I am just a disposable piece of ass.”
Lebensborn. Alec’s fists clenched. Sammael considered the Holocaust his greatest masterpiece, his trial run for Armageddon. That he would revisit the horror, even in name only, made Alec fit to kill. “I’ve never met an Infernal willing to commit suicide.”
“You’ve never met an Infernal with Destruction on his tail,” Giselle retorted. “Charles warned us that if we returned to Hell as a traitor to the program, Sammael would make us pay. When the choices are to get ripped to shreds by a hellhound then tortured by the Prince or to kill yourself and wait in the earthbound queue, suicide is the lesser of the two crappy options.”
“You didn’t follow through.”
“Thanks to you.” She smiled. “What are the chances that you would come along? Cain of infamy, the only Mark powerful enough to give me a shot at staying on Earth. It has to be fate.”
Alec’s gaze lifted heavenward. He never knew at moments such as this whether he was following a divine plan or just monumentally cursed to always step into shit. Perhaps this was all part of an elaborate punishment for his machinations to resurrect Eve. If so, he would consider the price worth it.
“Are the puppies still with Charles?” he asked.
She nodded. “That’s why we want to drive in the other direction. They’re housed in a kennel dead center of a gated, wolf-only community. You’re good, but you aren’t that good.”
Alec turned the ignition. “Was that a dare?”
Giselle paled. “No! I didn’t mean it that way.”
He backed out of the parking spot and headed toward the northbound onramp. Brentwood was an hour away. “I’ve never been one to turn away from a challenge.”
Raguel. The archangel needed to be brought up to speed. Then, Alec would grill Giselle to formulate a plan of attack. And when he found a private moment, he would touch base with Eve and make sure she was okay. As long as she was doing fine, he could manage the rest.
“This isn’t a challenge, you idiot!” Giselle screeched. “This is a kamikaze mission. We. Are. Going. To. Die.”
Alec grinned, then opened the throttle.
CHAPTER 8
Eve hated horror movies. She didn’t believe she had ever watched an entire one. Usually she had her face buried in her hands or she left the room. Her best friend, Janice, refused to sit next to her during slasher flicks and boyfriends quickly learned that it was safest to stick to blow-’em-up action films. She loved to watch stuff explode, but creepy music and waiting for mass murderers to pop out of closets was too much suspense for her.
Too bad Richens hadn’t figured that out yet.
The Mark lagged behind her, as if she would be of any help at all during a surprise attack. He also exacerbated the problem by stage-whispering all manner of provoking statements, like: “Did you see that?,” “What was that noise?,” and “Do you smell anything?”
Thankfully, Edwards held his tongue, bringing up the rear with a silent stride. They were searching through the ground floor of a three-story building that was dressed as an office unit. It was the tallest building in Anytown and perhaps the most inhabited by vermin. Roaches climbed gray walls and rats dashed across the retro-patterned linoleum. A worn mannequin with a broken face staffed the receptionist desk, its dead eyes staring blankly. Eve shuddered and tried not to look at it. Her overactive imagination made her feel as if she was being watched with malicious intent.
Morning light spilled in through the windows, many of which were broken. Shards of glass shimmered on the dusty floor and crunched beneath their booted feet. Outside, the cries of seagulls filled the air with a mournful cacophony.
“This would have worked better at night,” Edwards said gruffly. “We’re open targets in the daylight.”
“Gadara says fifty percent of hunts are conducted during the day.” Richens snorted. “I’ll be asleep then.”
“You can’t sleep through a call.” Eve’s tone was wry. “The mark burns like hell.”
“I can sleep through anything.”
No point arguing. He’d figure it out soon enough.
“Ow!” he screeched, lurching into her.
She stumbled. Her armband heated to burning, defeating any need to ask him what his problem was. From the outside, Ken whooped a joyful war cry. A smile curved her mouth, and Eve pivoted to face her companions. “Too bad you’re not asleep.”
Richens glared.
Edwards hissed, “How can you joke at a time like this?” He spun around wildly, his posture hunched and his revolver up.
Eve sniffed the air. “The Infernal isn’t near enough to smell. Yet.”
“It’s around here somewhere.”
Richens looked at Eve with wide eyes. “Now what? Is this how it happens in the field?”
She nodded. “Your handler will also communicate with you, either in person or with some kind of telepathy.”
“Crap.” Edwards’s jaw tautened. “I don’t want someone poking around in my head.”
“You’ll appreciate it when the time comes.” Eve thought of Reed and how she sometimes leaned heavily on his support. He calmed her in times of stress, though he was often miles away. It was a bond of some sort. A connection. And it was screwing with her equanimity. She was a one-man woman. At least she always had been.
A hot, spice-scented breeze wafted over her. It was stronger than usual, more forceful. Reed. Either he was close in proximity or their tie was strengthening. Both possibilities gave her a tingle of apprehension. He was responding to her, letting her know that he knew she was thinking of him. How much of her emotions did he feel? How deep into her thoughts could he go?
Richens set his hand on Edwards’s wrist, pushing it—and the gun—down. “Put that away before you hurt someone.” He glanced at Eve. “So what now?”
“We hunt.” A flutter tickled her tummy at the words. The feeling was a mental trick, like sympathy pains. She wasn’t brave or kick-ass. Tracking and killing evil beings from Hell scared the shit out of her.
“Lead the way,” Edwards said, sketching a mocking bow and gesturing her forward with a wide sweep of his gun hand.
“No way.”
“What the hell are you here for, then?”
Her shoulders went back. “I led the way in here. It’s someone else’s turn now.”
“Don’t be a baby, Hollis,” Richens said.
“Screw you,” she retorted. “Be a man.”
“We’re scared,” he whined, reminding her that he was barely past his teens.
“So am I. If you wanted a fearless leader, you should have tagged along with Ken and his brass knuckles.” She was glad they hadn’t. It was doubtful that anyone else would have teamed up with her, and the thought of searching through the creepy fake town alone made her nauseous.
Edwards stilled. “You’re scared?”
Eve growled. “Of course I’m scared! Why wouldn’t I be? Four weeks ago the most stressful thing I faced was fitting a client’s wish list into her budget. Now I’m lucky to survive the day, between the Infernals that Cain pissed off in the past and the ones I’m annoying right now.”
Sighing, Edwards’s features softened. He patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. “I’ll take the lead.”
“Someone do it,” Richens snapped. “Before one of the others bags our faery.”
“It’s not a race,” Eve reminded, wondering how a petulant narcissist had come to be selected as a Mark.
“The hell it isn’t. We’re talking about our souls here, Hollis. I’m playing to win. Besides, if this was a group effort, wouldn’t we all be together instead of wandering around separately?”
Edwards shrugged. “He has a point. Okay. So we’ll search this building, then move on if we don’t find anything.”
Starting out tentatively, they began with the bottom floor and worked their way up. As they opened the stairwell door to the uppermost landing, the scent of Infernal drifted into their nostrils. Edwards held up one hand, slowing them to a halt. He made eye contact with both of them and placed a finger to his lips in a gesture for silence.
Richens rolled his eyes and mouthed, We’re not bloody idiots. Then, he pushed Edwards over the threshold and into the hallway.
Edwards made a strangled noise and brandished his revolver with terror-goaded carelessness.
Eve marveled at their dynamic, whatever it was. Richens was a kid. Edwards was middle-aged. Why he deferred to the younger man was a point that inspired much speculation.
Richens peered around the jamb, his head swiveling to get a 180-degree view. Eve put her foot to his ass and kicked him into the hallway.
What’s good for the goose . . .
“Mind out!” he shouted, stumbling into Edwards, whose weapon discharged into an overhead fluorescent light fixture with a thunderous boom. Plastic and glass rained down on the two. They cursed in unison, lifting their arms to shield their heads. The report echoed through the once-quiet floor, killing any hope of a stealthy entry.
“Oops.” Eve vacated the stairwell behind them, unable to watch Edwards’s obvious fear and not join him. “Sorry about that.”
“Are you insane?” Richens barked, pointing his gun at her.
“No, but I’m beginning to think you are.” He didn’t appear to be frightened at all. More like curious, watchful. Like a spider.
“What is going on out here?”
They all turned their heads to find the source of the clipped female voice. They found her down the hall, standing in the doorway of an office. She looked to be in her midfifties, her silver hair restrained in a chignon and her mouth a grim line. She wore a business suit in gray—a knee-length skirt and matching jacket. She reeked of rotting soul.
Her gaze dropped to the three guns pointed in her direction. “I am ringing the authorities.” She pivoted on her heel and slammed the door.
“Maybe we should shoot her,” Richens suggested.
“She’s not the one,” Edwards said. “My armband isn’t hurting.”
“Yeah, but she might call the faery and warn her we’re coming.”
“True.”
Eve waited for her armband to signal a proximity warning. After a long moment, she shrugged off the possibility, opened the stairwell door, and left. Hurried footsteps followed . . . and approached.