* * *
Titus waited for the cleaners to finish whatever the fuck they were doing, the spell surrounding the hound making the edges of the scene hazy. If he looked away, his peripheral would show nothing but a shadowed florist, and not the two five-foot witches who both frowned down at the hound.
“Has this happened before?” Viktoria asked, her obsidian gaze so direct when she lifted her head, it was disconcerting. “This creature not ‘breaking down,’ as you put it?”
“Not that I’m aware.” Titus ignored the glare from Viktor, the attention sharp barbs against his skin. He’d been staring since they first arrived at the scene ten minutes ago, only looking away when his wife demanded a second opinion, or when he wanted to glower at Lucifer instead.
Lucy remained uncharacteristically silent in the corner, watching everything with a slightly feral smile. He’d only been joining them on watch the last few weeks, and each time they’d been partnered together. Which meant he was a fucking babysitter. That and his cousin. For a male recently mated, Axel had a lot of time on his hands to constantly hover, as if waiting for Titus to explode.
Viktoria snapped out in Russian, and he frowned until he realised she wasn’t speaking to him. Viktor’s voice was much softer than his wife’s when he replied, pulling out a white handkerchief from his pocket before gently laying it on the ground.
“This is not something we usually take care of,” Viktoria said, watching her husband kneel in his perfectly pressed, black suit.
“It’s an unusual situation.” Titus knew little about the cleaners, Riley usually dealing with the exceedingly expensive service. “But my Sire said you’re the best.”
Viktoria’s expression remained passive, the compliment only causing a subtle shift of her perfectly painted lips.
“And discreet, of course,” he added.
Viktor spoke from his position by the hound, his briefcase, a patent black as spotless as his shoes, open beside him.
Titus waited, Russian a language he wasn’t fluent in.
“We accept the job,” Viktoria said, her accent that of English upper-class. “We will handle this as we see fit.” She dismissed him with a flick of her hand.
Titus gritted his teeth, not appreciating the command for him to leave. “Viktoria,” he said with a gentle incline of his head. “Viktor. A pleasure.” A lie, even more so when Viktor looked up in the reflection of the shop’s window, a flash of fear tightening his face before he caught it.
Titus turned, feeling the magic brush against his chi as he passed through an invisible barrier, and he knew if he looked back, he’d see nothing but cobbled stones, and a closed florist surrounded by an arch of pink and purple fake flowers.
“Those two aren’t witches,” Lucifer said, moving in step beside him. “They’re something I’ve never felt before.”
Titus tightened his lips into a thin line. “You see how Viktor watched us? Like he was examining a rat.”
“That’s because he was testing our chis. Little fucker,” Lucifer growled over his shoulder. “You see in his little bag of tricks? There were these vials that looked like liquid metal.”
Titus dragged a hand over his face, his body restless. “I’ll drop Riley a text and meet you back at the house.”
“Wait,” Lucifer said with a frown. “Where the fuck are you going?”
Agitation at the interrogation, at being constantly questioned.
“Ti?” Lucifer called after him, but Titus was already moving, needing to work out the relentless energy that never let him rest. Let him think.
The black magic from earlier coiled tightly inside, polluting with every breath. It was pure, undiluted power, heightened when he added blood to the mix. Agreeing to cut Axel had been a mistake, the resulting surge of magic too dangerous. Too unpredictable.
Enough!he thought, ignoring the effluence. Ignoring how easy it would be to accept the power, to let it corrupt him. Control him.
Titus didn’t want to think. To feel.
He used to work out in the gym, using the equipment until his body could take no more, and he could finally sleep. But at home there were too many fucking questions. Too many worried glances. So instead, he ran. Ran until his feet bled. Until his legs ached, and his head was empty. Until there were no more thoughts, nothing but the weight of each, mechanical stride.
He crossed Tower Bridge, the early morning sky still pitch black as he welcomed the quiet, the route so familiar he easily slipped into autopilot. There was nothing but the rhythmic pounding of his boots hitting the pavement, of the wind whipping against his face. He finally started to feel the beginning of exhaustion, enough that he may have been able to sleep. To rest without nightmares.
Titus reached the edge of the Royal Park, the streets silent as he crossed a corner, only to feel the air shift a second too late.
A single thought broke through the emptiness of his head, the pain lasting a second as the bullet tore straight through his chest.
Chapter3
