Too bad they never would.
Ignoring his feline watcher, he continued toward the biker bar further up the narrow street, avoiding the patches of slushy snow, his breath a white mist in the dead cold.
Moments later, he slipped into the dimly lit, noisy joint. A cacophony of yells and cusses ricocheted off the faded, peeling walls that hadn’t seen a lick of fresh paint since their probable construction decades ago. Cigarette smoke hung inside like a dense fog, causing his nose to twitch. As he passed the single pool table occupied by a few bearded human bikers and the local Otium demons, silence fell for a second before starting up again.
They knew him, didn’t like him.
He didn’t give a shit.
He was an antisocial son-of-a-bitch, except when he wanted to play pool. Tonight wasn’t that night.
Nate crossed to the bar, manned by the heavyset demon who owned the place. A few customers hunched over their beers at the wooden counter, desperately clinging to their solitude. Nate dropped onto a vacant stool at the far end. Someone cranked up the music from an ancient jukebox. The booming tune and the balls colliding against wood amplified every lick of sound, increasing the crushing pain in his head.
He gritted his molars, wishing humans were given the same heightened senses as him, then they would live the same fucking torture daily. He dropped a few dollars on the counter and rubbed his temples.
“Vodka neat,” he muttered to the figure in front of him. Another shaft of pain flayed him along his spine, almost cracking his bones. Shit! He grunted at the reminder he had to feed, but he wasn’t in the fucking mood to gratify his beast side just yet.
The bartender set his drink on the counter. The door behind him crashed open, letting in a blast of icy air. At the familiar stink of sulfur and burning spice, his mouth thinned. Even secreted in this run-down bar in the worst part of the Bowery, he couldn’t be left the fuck alone.
Derrodus was a thorn in his ass. Always following him.
“There you are,Sicari.” The demon snagged the seat next to him as if Nate’s silence was an invitation to join him, all smiles like they were best buds. “You’re hard to track. Did you get the thieving git?” he demanded as if Nate answered to him.
“Fuck off.” Nate tossed back his liquor, the burn barely distracting him from the searing pain, left the glass on the counter, and strode out of the noisy joint, into the freezing weather. He halted on the sidewalk near a row of parked bikes and pulled up his coat hood, not to keep out the chill, but to ward off any more attention.
A stench of sulfur hit him. With his heightened sight, his gaze instantly lasered in on the movement of several dark figures deeper in the backstreet, traversing furtively as if tracking something or someone.
Damn cretins! He took off after the horde.
Their heads snapped around to him.
“Sicari?” One smirked, revealing fangs. “Come to join us?”
“You brought these plagues to this world?” he snapped at Derrodus, still on his ass.
“Couldn’t stop them.” The demon shrugged, pissing Nate off further.
Suddenly, they stiffened, and like feral dogs, their heads snapped around to stare down the dark alley.
“Blood,” another groaned. “Frrrrresh blood.”
“No,” Nate growled, but his warning disappeared in the fetid, sulfuric air left behind. The bastards were gone. By Hade’s balls! This wasn’t his job, stopping these friggin’ shits.
But while he was on Earth, he didn’t want them creating havoc in his area. Or he’d put himself directly in the sight of those damn Guardians again, and he needed to be under the radar, especially considering the job he did, and the fact he lived here, too.
The faint sounds of screeching and fighting reached him. Annoyance surging, he took off after the fucktards.
CHAPTER3
Ely hung backin the recessed doorway of a warehouse deep in the Bowery. It was close to midnight, and not a hint of any of those Dark Realm pests skulking about. Man, even the rats seemed to have gone into hibernation.
As the moon slid out from behind the heavy, dark clouds, casting its pale glow over the buildings, she circled a finger, summoning the warehouse shadows. They glided over, slipping around her hand like a dense glove, some parts forming solid bands that not even light penetrated.
How odd. She peered closer at the bands.
Usually, this ability was like playing with smog, and one she’d used to hide—always hiding from her guards, her parents, her so-called friends—
Ugh, she shut out thoughts of her past and timid self. Releasing the shadows, she stepped out from the recess as two figures strolled toward her. Cops. Before they saw her, she let her molecules dissolve and became one with the gloom.
