Slipping through the shadows, he followed the strains of violence abrading his mind. None could hide their psychic signature from him for long, yet this mortal he’d been hunting for several months had done just that. This time, he’d get the slipperybastard.
He passed a rundown motorcycle club with flashing neon lights. The stares that came his way from the bikers hanging outside didn’t bother him. His extreme six-foot-eight height, and his waist-length hair he usually wore in several warrior braids always drewnotice.
Moments later, he slowed, the trail dead-ending outside a warehouse. The scent of fresh blood beckoned him like a beautiful siren and his jaw clenched. The alley remained quiet, but not for long. Two homeless humans began bickering deeper in thealley.
Before they arrived and mucked up the psychic vibration of his prey, Dagan studied the three dead bodies. Two were reduced to nothing but fleshy meat-sacks, bones and muscles pulverized. Blood and gore dripped out of their ears, nose, and mouth. The other had been stabbed in his side. If it were just the knifed man, Dagan would have walked. Humans killing each other were not hisproblem.
The pile of rags with the knife wound shuddered. A low moan left the vagrant as he stumbled to his feet and tripped over the bodies. He cursed drunkenly. “B-bastard, tryin’ to take myfood.”
“Hold it.” Dagan grabbed his arm. The ripe fumes coming off him had Dagan keeping his breathing shallow. “Whathappened?”
The homeless clutched his bleeding side. “He t-took my cart, stabbedme—”
“Who else washere?”
“Want my cart back. Satan. He kill ‘em bodies. Three bodies. Pooffff—one gone.” He swung his arms wildly, spittle flying everywhere. Dagan hastily evaded the saliva rain. “Gonna use his weapon…kill—kill!” He made stabbing motions. “Want my cart back—want my cart.” He zigzaggedoff.
It had to be a demon. Only they were pulled back into the Dark Realm at the time of truedeath.
One of the dead snagged his attention, though. Frowning, Dagan lowered to his heels near the pulverized body and slipped his hand beneath the man’s shirt. Sure enough, he found the telltale ridges that ran down his shoulder blades where wings should have been. AFallen.
Shit. This killer would be dangerous to not only the human populace but the Guardians, as well. In a flash, the last moments of the man’s life passed through Dagan’smind…
A surge of fear exploded as he rose into the air. He couldn’t breathe. His skull compressed. Unrelenting pain spread. “Don’t—don’t do it…”a plea, then resonating silence…Death.
Nothing to point Dagan to what the killer looked like or who it was. However, the same bitter iciness he’d been tracking these last months prevailed in thisplace.
He mind-linked with Aethan, needing the Empyrean’s abilities to clear out this psychic killing before the human authorities came across the bodies and led them down a path that would cause Michael to go bat-shit crazy.Downtown. Have a messhere.
The killer struck again?the warriorasked.
Yes. Twobodies.
On myway.
As Dagan rose to his feet, another scent teased his nose, fruity with a hint of spice…and something more. He drew it inside him, studying the newclue.
Rage, so much rage…yet, beneath it all, like a mile of grit, despair and anguish abradedhim.
A familiar shift in the air and Aethan took form beside him. The cold moon highlighted the warrior’s multihued blue hair he’d pulled into a ponytail and glinted off the small silver hoops in hisearlobes.
Hands on his hips, Aethan surveyed the death scene, expression grim. “With this kind of power, we’ll all be atrisk.”
Didn’t he know it? With a nod, Dagan dematerialized, tracking the fadingvibration.
* * *
Shae Ion blew awaythe strands of hair dipping into her eyes and stared through her viewfinder at the homeless man seated on an up-turned crate a short distance away. Several stray cats circled between his legs. The moon cast a pale light on the moment, giving the scene a raw, realness to it. Despite his poverty, the old man dropped crumbs of whatever he was eating for the strays. Her camera shutter whirred as she captured several shots for herNightlifeseries.
As a freelance photographer, she traveled to places the world forgot existed. Besides,National Geographicdemanded the best, and she needed her work to be gritty and beyond exceptional to get their attention. More, being self-employed gave her the time she needed to search for hermother.
She lowered her camera and rubbed her burning eyes. Six months had passed, and still nothing. Hiring a PI had been a waste of time. He’d come up with not a single lead. Now she’d been reduced to this. She only hoped Harvey came through forher.
A gut-wrenching thought knocked the breath out of her lungs.Oh, God, please, don’t let her bedead—
Rough hands grabbed her shoulders. Her Nikon crashed to the asphalt. Her heart slamming against her ribs, she jabbed her elbow into her assailant’s throat and spunaround.
The guy stumbled back. His eyes glowed, streaked with red. “What’s a pretty little human like you doing all by her lonesome in thisplace?”
