Neither lights nor sounds bother me like they used to.
And for once, it’s too noisy and too busy for any of the supernaturals already present to take note of my arrival. I count both creatures of the light and of the dark, along with a few elementals, although the majority of the patrons are human.
I glide through the shadows, neatly sidestepping the dancers grinding their bodies together. I ignore the little packets being passed up ahead. It isn’t drugs that bring me here tonight, although I have rules about those, too.
Anarchy is already here, dressed in black, sitting at the crowded bar on my far left, a thigh-high slit revealing one leg crossed over the other.
Her brothers are also positioned around the room, each of them in collared shirts open at the neck. Their pointed ears are concealed behind their hair, not that any humans would notice in the crush of bodies.
The elves are all breathtakingly beautiful, their blue eyes reflecting the flashing lights and their lilac hair appearing silvery in the haze.
For a moment, I’m reminded of the keeper, but I put him firmly from my mind.
He’s out there. Somewhere.
After Lucian and Orlan transported him to St. Michael Cemetery, the supernaturals who live there took him in, and that was the last I knew of him.
After that, Lucian acquired control of the gargoyle clan. He and I debated about whether or not the previous general should take over. She was James’s informant and a more than worthy leader, but she made it clear that new management was needed or some of the clan’s learned behaviors wouldn’t be stamped out.
While taking over the gargoyles was important for Lucian, it came with a price. It hurts him to be apart from Anarchy, but their bond is strong enough to withstand the distance, and I make sure to reunite them as often as I can.
Now, I move to the back of this establishment, toward the rooms that aren’t open to the public. Shadowy places where dealings happen contrary to my rules.
I pass through a hallway that leads to a door marked asStaff Only. Mirrors line the wall as I pass.
Just as I barely recognized myself the first time I looked in a mirror, so too now, I don’t know who the woman in the mirror is.
She is powerful. Her sleek, black hair is swept smoothly back, gray strands framing her face while the golden ends brush her shoulders. Not a knot in sight. Her body is lithe and strong and her muscles are honed, her body swathed in black pants and a black top.
She walks with purpose and self-assurance and is no longer wild-haired.
I dismiss my reflection as I push open the Staff Only door, which leads—as I knew it would because the dark elves conducted their reconnaissance well—into another corridor, at the end of which is another door.
I don’t miss a step, ramming my claws through the deadbolt, keeping the second door locked before I push it open.
Large cages line the right-hand side of the dirty room beyond. Three of them contain a single occupant.
The demon I’m after is sitting with five other men, all bear shifters. They’re drinking at a table in the center of the room.
Or, they were.
As I burst through the door, they fly up out of their seats, some reaching for blades, others for guns.
My wings sweep out around me, sliding neatly through slits in the back of my shirt to form a shield before a barrage of bullets flies at me.
I counted their guns before I spread my wings, and now I count their bullets, my sensitive hearing picking up each individual shot as the projectiles beat against my feathers.
They run out of bullets soon enough.
Silly of them not to carry more firepower.
With an outward sweep of my wings, I tuck them away again and charge forward.
I still can’t fly. I probably never will. I’ve come to the conclusion that these wings weren’t made for taking to the air, and I’ve resisted the urge to use my power to change their composition.
If I alter this part of me, where will I stop?
But I’ve certainly learned how to use them in a fight.
