1
It wasall Angel’s idea. The hell week of hazing—or, as it was officially known, training for Tactical Field Work—left me sore, tired, and grumpy every night. Which lasted about as long as it took Angel to convince me to let him massage away the aches. Okay, so the man had magic hands, and I sort of melted when he touched me. Was it a mate thing, or an Angel thing? It didn’t matter. The coming promised three-day weekend—mandatory, as we’d be on call for a seven-day TFW rotation—looked like paradise, if I could get through this finalrescue drill.
An unknown teammate hid inside a haunted, abandoned warehouse across the Veil, waiting to be rescued. The smiley face logo was even creepier in a world filled with ghosts and supernatural monsters. How did I know it was haunted? Because the fucking ghosts were everywhere and loud. Did they bother the rest of the team? No. Was I allowed my mate and lover at my side? Again, no. Angel wasn’t my target. Rather, he was the opposition, poised to keep me from completing my mission. And I hated every minute of it.
I crouched behind a stack of moldy, long forgotten storage containers, hounded by shades of wavering white. A headache formed behind my eyes.
“They keep walking through me,” one ghost complained.
“It stinks like people in here,” another groaned.
“You could point me in the direction of my target,” I told them, annoyed at the constant bitching. These weren’t like TV show ghosts looking for a guide to help them crossover. Nope, this was like Karen Central. Everyone had something to bitch about and no interest in fixing anything, not even to get me out of their hair sooner. At least the noisy bastards wouldn’t alert the team to where I hid.
If I was rescuing Remi again, I’d have to punch someone. He’d doused me with glitter last time, which meant I was still picking pieces off of every part of me three days later. The victory of rescuing him had been short-lived after the confetti bomb, as the team had slammed us both to the floor, and we lost, due to the distraction of sparkling bits not at all related to magic.
Alone, I could focus. Or at least I tried to. My power buzzed under my skin, restless and hungry, reacting to every supernatural presence in this godforsaken warehouse. The shades chattering like magpies, the building saturated with supernatural energy, and the nearby grumbling of bored hellhounds set as my guards. The most entertaining and terrifying fact about the hounds was their ability to vanish into shadows, unseen by anyone, even most NHVs, Non-human Variants. I could sense them, my demon magic alighted by their presence, but the rest of the team couldn’t.
My earpiece snapped and crackled. “You’re running out of time, Holt,” Angel said, sounding smug. “T-minus seven minutes to secure your target before we come in guns blazing.”
They were armed with paintball guns. Protocol demanded caution at all stages of training, especially across the Veil, but they’d pepper me with the colorful splats, not caring that they bruised, to prove a point. I was HV, a human variant, and not a physically strong one at that. That my boyfriend, a shifter whocould climb walls like Wolverine, took pleasure in catching me, even while I was guarded by supernatural fire dogs he insisted I have on duty made me want to bite him, hard. And then maybe kiss him stupid.
“Eat glitter, Mao,” I growled into the mic, barely above a whisper.
“I have,” he teased back, reminding me that he had, in fact, found glitter in my ass crack.
“Flirt later,” Ezra snapped across the line. “T-minus four until we arrive, Holt.”
I exhaled, long and slow. Right. Target. Rescue mission. Professionalism.
The ghosts chose that moment to start shrieking like a flock of seagulls fighting over abandoned French fries. Someone was coming.
I stretched my senses and let the building’s energy wash over me. Somewhere to my left, a pipe dripped with the rhythm of a bad R&B solo. And directly ahead was a flicker of movement too graceful to be Wade, too quiet to be Remi. Possibly Victor? The asshole loved calling victory over me. Jealousy, perhaps, since Angel was mine and not his?
I crept to the edge of the boxes, searching for any sign of a living being. The warehouse was huge and far too open for my liking, and yet I’d been unable to find my target. Where the hell were they? Bobby had only once been my target, due to my magic seeking him out in seconds. Kerry had the same issue, as did most of Victor’s team. Demon blood and I were a bit like a hunting hound chasing a fox. Tiana remained in the vehicle during TFW, monitoring the camera feed. Angel and I had a bond that I could almost always trace, though he practiced shielding himself from me. I had yet to master the reverse, which meant the second they entered the building, he’d make a beeline in my direction.
“Get moving,” I muttered to myself. “Can’t find the bastard if you’re pinned in a corner.”
Keeping low and in the shadows myself, the slight scent of sulfur reminded me of the hounds. Were they following me? Had they smelled like that before? I glanced into the darkness, thinking that maybe it wasn’t wise if I wanted to stay hidden, and the edges of it looked like a dog.
At least at first.
The shadows wriggled with dark maggots of moving ink blots with rainbow oil edges. Was that part of the drill? I’d spent days with the hounds, trying to learn their secrets and tricks, finding myself more a cat guy than a dog man. Dogs in general had a little too much energy for me. They acted like giant puppies until you did something to piss them off, and then they dripped lava and snarled dagger-toothed smiles. At least with cats, the murder mittens stayed hidden until you rubbed them the wrong way.
The dog-shape shifted, its shadow limbs dissolving into smoke, then solidifying, as it grew. My gut flipped over in terror as I was reminded of the creepy kid turning into something the first time I’d stumbled across the Veil. And that something had wanted me.
“Let’s play.” The shadow-thing’s cackle slithered across my skin, the same bone-chilling sound that had haunted my nightmares since I’d first stumbled across the Veil.
Wait. Not a memory. Not a drill.
It loomed over me, a writhing mass of darkness with too many teeth and no actual face. My fight-or-flight instinct screamedrun, but the bastard had me cornered between a pallet of rotting boxes and what smelled like expired demonic takeout.
Fuck it. I dropped the paintball gun and grabbed the Taser Angel had strapped to my belt for emergencies. The nightmare swiped, claws like obsidian switchblades reaching for my throat.
“Fuck me sideways,” I cursed and jammed the prongs into the creature’s outstretched arm as I ducked the swipe.
Blue lightning crackled and sparked. The shadow’s arm convulsed, bursting into smoke. It howled a wail like I imagined a banshee might. I scrambled over the nearest set of boxes, needing to be free, even if it meant being caught by every other thing hunting me in this building.
“Jude Alexander Holt,” it cackled, sounding pained and irritated now. “Play with me.”
