The bank of elevators looked like paradise, all lit up and welcoming her back to safety. Her vision narrowed as she made out the sounds of boots slamming against the asphalt. Her heart beat a mile a minute when she came to a sudden stop barely a foot away from the console between two elevators.
Bashing her palm against the button, she risked a glance over her shoulder.Shit!
He was faster than she thought — or maybe she just hadn’t hit him hard enough. The look on his face was terrifying. It wasn’t just furious, but edging perilously close to feral. For one hysterical moment, she found herself transfixed by the tiniest detail: when his lips pulled back from his teeth, she noticed that he had both upper and lower fangs. Like all orcs, the lower pair were prominent, but she’d never heard of someone havingfourfangs before. No one but elves, anyway. Had she noticed that earlier? No, she didn’t think so, but something was off. Too bad she didn’t have time to figure out what it was.
Theding!of the elevator drew her attention back to the doors. “Thank you, thank you, thank—”
The brushed chrome doors slid open. Atria blindly rushed to get inside, but immediately bounced off a wall of stone and stumbled back onto the sidewalk.
One huge hand clasped her upper arm. A thick Scottish brogue rumbled above her. “Whoa there, miss. You need some help?”
ChapterSeven
Chest heaving,she looked up to find one of the gargoyles staring down at her. His skin was pale white, his head was shaved on the sides, and his wings were huge and mottled with scars. When he smiled, he showed off a chipped fang.
Atria wasn’t one to judge someone on their appearance. Gods knew she had seen every kind of person in the Sanctuary, and often those who admitted to the worst sins were people who were pink-cheeked and pretty. So it wasn’t the gargoyle’s rough looks that made cold dread seep into her stomach.
It was the way he and his friends, who stepped out of the elevator behind him,felt.
The intent to harm wasn’t necessarily a feeling. An empath could not definitively say if someone would commit violence or a crime simply because their emotions carried a certain tenor. But it was also true that most highly skilled empaths like herself lived intentionally secluded lives, surrounding themselves primarily by those who would never feel those urges anyway.
Atria had lived among the wider population for well over a decade. She’d felt every kind of ugly, clinging emotion on the spectrum, as well as encountered those rare, rare few who felt nothing at all.
She knew what the potent cocktail of potential violence felt like.Determination. Exhilaration. Impatience.
All three emotions rolled from the men in waves to make a chilling feeling all its own:bloodlust.
Her mind blanked as she processed the new danger before her. Atria’s eyes darted between the faces that were leering down at her and managed to force out, “My boyfriend and I had a fight. I’m just going back into the airport because I— I forgot something—”
“Ach, I dinnae think you need tae do that. We’ll rescue you from the big bad orc.” The gargoyle’s grin got wider as his fingers tightened around her arm. Turning his head to look over his shoulder at one of his friends, he commanded, “Get the cameras.”
The blood drained from her face so fast, she felt a little woozy. There was no way the orc was right. She refused to accept it. Maybe they were just pushy? She’d heard that gargoyles could be that way when they decided to protect someone.
But the bloodlust lingered on the back of her tongue like old bile. No, she had been around enough to recognize when a person had good intentions. These men had none.
Gut churning, she attempted to extract her arm from the gargoyle’s grip as his friend casually pulled a small black device from his pocket and clicked a button.
A jammer.She’d handled plenty of those in the lab, and they were built into several rooms for confidentiality purposes. They blocked all signals — including those that transmitted images from a camera to a monitor.
They were also extremelyillegaland banned from being sold for personal use.
Atria’s resistance kicked up a notch at the sight of it. “Please let me go,” she breathed, yanking hard. When all that did was make him tighten his grip, she raised her other hand in a panic, intending to telekinetically knock him back.
Another hand clamped on her arm. Dragging his claws down, he gripped her wrists until they were pinched so tightly together, she could feel her bones grating against one another. Those huge fingers curled into manacles, their clawed tips digging into the soft skin of her arms through the weave of her sweater. Her telekinetic ability was mid-level at best, and without the use of her hands to focus, she was completely vulnerable.
Her breaths came faster. How had he known to lock her hands down? Was it instinct, or was the orc right — that these men werehuntingher?
“Five minutes, Dan.”
The gargoyle holding her,Danapparently, gave her a lascivious wink. “Plenty of time. Now, pretty, where’s your boyfriend? Dinnae tell me he left you here all by yourself.”
Atria’s eyes roved. Wherewasthe orc? He’d been hot on her tail a moment ago, but his heavy footfalls had faded. Clearly he wasn’t behind her. Had he left?
No,she thought, reaching out with her other senses to probe the area.No, he’s here.
Thinking fast and hoping hard, she stuttered, “I told you we fought. He drove to the hotel without me. I need to go into the airport to make a call.”
Dan cocked his head. The look in his eyes was purely predatory; the kind of amusement a cat gets with a mouse trapped between its paws. “I thought you said you forgot something.”
